The price of motherhood

Warning - This is a rant post.

Scenario 1:
A young woman decides to take a year or two off from work to go exploring the world, learn about another culture, try her hands at something different/exciting. Nobody questions it, work colleagues wish her well and are excited for her. Two years later when this young explorer returns to the marketplace, she is welcomed with open arms, set up for promotions and salary increments, and generally considered an asset to the organisation.

Scenario 2:
A young woman decides to take a year or two off from work to look after her young family, be there for her little ones, and not miss out on her children's early years. People question her - how  does she feel about giving up her career? There is no sense of excitement, its more like the end of a promising work life. Two years later when this young mum wants to return to the marketplace, she is asked to justify her actions, her skills are tested again (lest her brain have dissolved into babyfood), and is made to start from scratch and work her way up.

While these are both hypothetical cases, do they not sound uncannily true?

How is it possible that we place the tiniest of tiny value on motherhood? Anything, any work is considered better, more worthwhile than being a mother. There is only one thing worse than being a mother - being a mother who wants to spend time with her children, who wants to raise her children herself and watch them grow. The market out there does NOT support parents, definitely not mums who take motherhood seriously. No wonder children are going through crises after crises. We just don't value parenting as a society.

Have you ever noticed, how on the trains, if there is a person on board with a dog, the dog and the owner get looks of adoration from fellow passengers. Not so for a parent. If there is a child on the train, everyone avoids proximity to the child and the parent/carer. Worse still, if the child is crying - you've had it. If looks could slaughter, you would be mince, were you to have a crying child with you on the train.

Something is very wrong with society, with the way people think. Surely, children, being our own future, should be valued and cherished? Surely, raising our children is an adventure that society and the workplace must look up to? Surely mothers wanting to return to the workforce should be welcomed with enthusiasm and fervour?

This world makes very little sense to me. I am going back to my yarn and crochet hook. At least there is order and a sensible function of cause and effect there.

I am Charlie

Inhuman, barbaric, vile. I could go on but I find myself consumed with anger and disbelief. No religion preaches such monstrosities. If your God condones this, then it is not a god. And if you condone this, then you are not human. 

The pen is mightier than the sword. May more pens take up the fight. And may our children inherit an irreligious world. Bereft of the sickness that organised religion has become. We are capable of thriving without the religious crutch. The challenge is to learn to walk ourselves, as conscious, thinking beings. Do we dare? 

Bare beginnings

This time of the year always takes my by surprise. The bare branches of the trees, the bare, seemingly empty space left by the now gone Christmas tree and decorations, and the bare newness of a new year. Like the empty pages of a new notebook, waiting, challenging you to fill it with untold stories, bold new adventures. But that's now how everyday life works, does it? No new adventures here, just getting up at 6 in the morning, getting the kids ready for school, not forgetting their lunch boxes and PE kits, managing to reach school in time. Small deeds of great significance. Building character, building lives. All from the bare newness of each day. Going on great adventures is easier. Writing lofty tales is more thrilling. 

Every year I resist this transition. From the cosiness and warmth of the holidays to the cold, get-on-with-the-job practicality of January. I'm sure many people do. I try to dull my senses to the fact that time doesn't, cannot possibly stand still. I try all means at my disposal to trick myself into believing that it may well, for some brief moments, have indeed halted its motion. Then January comes along and shatters my bubble. I find my child-like desire to hold on to lazy days spent at home with family rather curious. In all likelihood it's roots lie in my childhood. When we spent endless happy holidays discovering the world and ourselves. 

The little things

We did something entirely wonderful yesterday. A speedy car journey away lies a magical old house built a long time ago to entertain the children of a wealthy family. The house has extensive, versatile gardens and you never know what you will discover around the next bend. The house, and it's lands, are now in the trusty hands of the National Trust. And that allows common people like us to 'make it our own', if you like.

If only it wasn't so cold. Our feet were icy, despite warm footwear, and fingers felt numb and frozen. But there is something to be said for having fun outdoors in the face of adverse weather. I know it takes supreme effort to get out of one's warm home, put on layer upon layer of clothing, and brave the reluctance of stubborn children who would much rather spend the day playing odd games on the iPad. More often than not, though, it is worth it in the end. It definitely was this time.

The children played and got completely involved in the activity trail. The views were stunning, the air fresh, crisp. Healthy, wholesome entertainment for the full family. To add to it all, we had the company of good friends. And cake to end the day. There was a grumpy saleswoman at the cafe but probably best to remove that little bit of an irritant from memory as swiftly as possible. All in all, a top day.

Lights, bells and hitting the accelerator

Another year bites the dust. Everything feels different, yet not too much. My kids are growing up, Simba is now fast approaching his sixth birthday and I sometimes struggle to keep up with his amazing mind, and awesome flare-ups. Babi has become this gorgeous, smart, clever little girl person. When did this happen? How is it that the little moments slipped unnoticed, leaving in me only a deep sense of joy, like a smile that lingers on? And how do I rationalise the sadness, of my babies growing up, of A and me growing old, of life throwing one challenge after another and the little moments getting over-shadowed by the small, and big, challenges? 

I breathe, and sing, and tickle the children, and laugh, and spend wonderful evenings with cherished friends. We eat, drink, chat about the kids, laugh a lot, listen to beautiful music, enjoy the banter. Steady my heart! As the one and only Alanis Morrisette says, "What it all comes down to, is that everything's gonna be quite alright. "

Obsessive making

For some inexplicable reason, round crochet goodies just had to be made, like at 1:23 in the morning/bang smack middle of night. I finished making them and then just had to post them. However, the moment I started writing, Simba yelled from the bedroom "Mamma! Mamma!" and all personal ambitions had to be shelved for the day/ night.

So here they are, first this this morning. Don't they look cute? My first attempt at round crochet. Took some getting my head around but not too bad.

PS: I think we'll use them as coasters.

Spring

It's nearly here. It's taking it's time. But the signs are everywhere.

Can't wait.