The funny side to life as a working single Mum. My stories of embarrassing escapades, toddler tantrums and great expectations.
Sunday, 25 January 2015
Hard or soft boiled?
Sadly, this isn't another gripping piece about my love of breakfast or TV cookery shows. Incidently, I did make a delicious soft boiled egg for my salad this afternoon.
Anyway, over the past couple of months lots has happened, lots has changed, lots has transposed. Something I have realised, just today, is that over the past 17 months as a single Mum, I made a choice to harden myself. I have always been rather a softie to be honest. A vegetarian at 9, believing in soul mates forever, helping the homeless and volunteering abroad later on.
When my heart was finally and fully broken, I made a decision to be tough and protect myself. Consequently, I changed into a different version of myself, that i'm not all too sure I like. I became less sympathetic of those outside of my close inner circle, I became more judgemental and, as such, more hateful. That's just not me.
Now, I do think I need to protect myself and to be honest, take less shit; does this mean I need to be hard? Of course it doesn't. I like being kind, I like helping others to be happy and I love seeing the brightness in everything. I miss it, in fact.
When talking to a friend about this, she told me 'you are soft and that's why we love you.' That just says it all really.
Contrary to this, my Mum advised me that if I were in fact soft, how the hell did I give birth to a giant baby, in my house, without pain relief? Good point, Mum.
Something to note is that my Mum always makes good points and always has done. No one knows me quite like my Mum.
This got me thinking: are my soft attributes really all that soft? I make a choice not to eat food, which may be delicious, to live by my morals. I travelled to Africa alone, when I had never even left the South of England alone! I saw and heard things there which were painful and I had to leave the beautiful children I met behind me. Soft? No. I have risked and felt heartache because, deep down, I still believe in love. I call that brave.
So, rather than consider myself soft or hard, I'm going for strong. It's far more accurate. I'm a strong mother and strong individual. That's just me.
Sunday, 7 December 2014
Christmas, nostalgia and philosophy.
So, it's been a while since I've written anything here. It's 3 months exactly.
With Christmas looming, I can't help but wonder what it is about the season which drives me to melancholic nostalgia. Is it the end of this year and start of a new one? Is it the dark mornings and darker evenings? The colder climate with its promise of snow?
Christmas to me is often shrouded with ghosts, making me feel somewhat like the protagonist of Dickens' most famous Christmas story. Harking back, I find myself wondering about past lives I have led. Reflecting at my present, I feel blessed. Looking to my future, I see the unknown. Much of my past, which has led me to this point in my life, was unexpected and unplanned. With this in mind, I am unsure whether my meticulous planning is really worthwhile anymore.
Have I been wasting my real life while trying to create a life? At times I feel like I've spent so much time planning my life and trying to reach my goals that I have missed out on actually living. I have certainly achieved in life on paper and have had adventures along the way.
Recently, when studying poetry with my year 8 class, we got to discussing the idea of 'living in the present.' Now, what I am referring to is not 'the moment' because in my mind, every fragment of your life is not a moment; it can't be. The connotations of living in the moment also trouble me, for I am not suggesting that every fragment of life should be exciting or challenging. My suggestion to my class was that we should take time to look at what is happening right now and relish in it. Whether that is discussing poetry with a class, having a cup of tea or hugging my son; these are all equally as important fragments of time. They are mine and I should own them fully, giving them the respect they deserve.
The philosopher and sociologist Bruno Latour once said that 'philosophy is not in the business of explaining anything. Actual occasions explain what happened, not philosophy.' In this case, my analytical mind will not bring me answers; my fragmented occasions, however, may do.
Saturday, 6 September 2014
Domestic goddess?
Recently, a friend commented that she felt relieved to discover I am not the 'domestic goddess' she always thought I was.
I was shocked. I have always seen myself as more of a domestic villain rather than a goddess.
Then I started thinking about what I actually do in the domestic sphere. Here it is just for today:
Housework (all of it)
Made omelette for our lunch
Baked Nigella chocolate banana muffins
Prepared garlic vegetables to roast for dinner
Now, this is on a Saturday, while also entertaining my 2 year old and a full time job.
You know what? I am a total domestic deity.
Maybe we should all actually look at what we do every week, everyday and take note of our own minor achievements. Someone should, after all.
Monday, 1 September 2014
Boobs, bits and balls.
On a completely different note, my 2 year old son is able to identify 'boobs' and 'balls' by name. If he walks in on my dressing, I receive shouts of 'BOOOOOOOBS! ' followed by a mass of giggling. At nappy changes and bathtime, it's as though he has discovered his balls for the first time, every time, and is questioning them: 'balls?'
Should we continue this masquerade?
Some time ago I wrote about an article I'd read about women having to choose between being a homely mother and wife or wild social explorer. I've come to thinking about this again.
As women, what is expected of us and what happens when we don't meet these expectations?
This is most obvious when I have rare 'time off' from being a Mum and other parents are often shocked to hear me join in their conversations about children. I guess I just don't look like a Mum without the buggy. What is a Mum supposed to look like? I don't remember a uniform being included in my Bounty pack up on giving birth.
Much as I don't have a uniform for motherhood, I do find myself wearing a range of costumes. By day, I am a professional, desperately hoping to instill and inspire a love of English in our young people. Post 5pm I've changed into my tired but enthusiastic Mum of a toddler get up. Except on the week night my Son is wuth his Dad. Then I put on my 'single 30 year old woman' costume. It's best I keep that one to myself; it's scary. Which one is truth and which are simply a masquerade?
There are two more costumes I've yet to mention: 'date night' and 'the friend.' These costumes speak for themselves and I find self asking whether, with such an array of costumes, we lose ourselves?
I am unsure as to whether it is possible for my character to be so complex that it combines no less than five huge elements. Am I really that labyrinthine?
What about my friends? Those who have children; is it the same for them? Those without children; do they play the role of ever explaining as to why they don't have or want children? How tiring.
Speaking with a friend recently, we came to the idea of what we should have done or be doing. We SHOULD have children. We SHOULD raise them on a diet of blueberries, smiles and NO nasty TV. We SHOULD, SHOULD, SHOULD. Aside from children, we SHOULD want a big wedding. We SHOULD want the perfect little house. We SHOULD want the perfect husband and, if he isn't perfect, we SHOULD make him so. We have the ability to actually control the choices of others, don't you know?
We don't though, do we? We are only human and I suspect that the idea of should comes from ourselves. From within and from other women. Not men. We pressure ourselves to be everything. Even my stay at home Mum friends feel they should (I'm tired of shouting at you) bake cakes, they should have a perfectly tidy house and they should be the perfect wife and mother. Do their husbands expect this? Possibly, in some cases but I think it runs much deeper than this.
For years, we have and still are, fighting for our equality and mutual respect. As such, we feel a need to justify our decisions: 'I stay at home because...' 'I work because...' 'I don't want/have children because...' and so on. It all comes back to the idea of should. Women feel they should have children because we can. They should be working Mums because their predecessors fought for these rights. Contrary to this, they should stay at home because their children need them. Somewhere within us, are all of the expectations of women of the past entrained on us? Confusing.
Should we really be using the word 'should' or could we ban it from our vocabulary? Just as we raid our costume cupboard, we could consider raising our lexicon for a more appropriate challenge.
*note: while writing this, my Son was eating blueberries, half smiling and watching TV.
Thursday, 21 August 2014
Poem: Taking liberties.
I've written this tonight, more as a performance poem/spoken word performance. Here it is anyway.
Taking liberties.
I want you to know that what you did was all worth it, what you said turned to concrete,
While I'm breaking, see me spit.
The movements I'm making, liberties that I'm taking, with a lexicon forming from the back of my throat.
If lust was our calling, we were more than appalling. From our insides to out, we're always pushing and peeling.
With a caustic container, always tried to contain ya. Number fifteen performer at the end of your year.
If love is the reason, darlin, you commit treason. Every day of your life, you're always spilling the poison.
In beauty we trust, obviously hope is a must. For every self respecting poet who is covered in rust.
You see, you can't believe in fate if you are gonna survive. You know you can't believe in God if you are gonna make my brain cry.
Cos everybody knows that reason is the way you can thrive, as Liza said "everybody loves a winner" so you'd better abide.
Remember, life is a cabaret, old chum and you are the only clown. You see the tears you cry are phony, it's time for you to get down.
If love is the reason, darling, your drug is pleasing. Everyday of your life, you're building my poison.
Wednesday, 20 August 2014
The truth of it.
A whole year has passed since my family changed and I've not really shared my experience as a single Mum so far.
It's hard. Really hard. Almost impossible to define.
On a practical level, it can be exhausting, especially balancing a challenging full time career with a demanding toddler. Lack of sleep and being expected to be on top form are tiring. More tiring than I could have imagined.
On a financial level, it's stretching, worrying and unfair, quite simply.
The practical and financial challenges are easier to deal with, however, than the emotional and social tests. The children's birthday parties, with happy Mums and Dads, so proud of their child are hard. No one is supposed to say that, of course, and generally we (single Mums) only say so to each other. While I am happy spending my life as a pair, it still doesn't stop the agony of watching the Daddy fetch the drinks, sing his child happy birthday or kiss his partner in a moment of thanks for the family they have built.
Now, whenever I say this, kind friends reply by saying that these couples are probably miserable anyway. This isn't the point though; I don't wish misery on anyone. I truly hope they are happy but it still causes temporary blindness and the heaviest, yet emptiest hole imaginable.
Then, come the sympathetic glances, questions of how I manage and overly caring gestures. I am not ungrateful, as this comes from a good place, but I can't help but feel a little abnormal.
Everyone around me has either found their happy ending or is just embarking upon it.
I am not asking for sympathy and I am not asking for praise. This is just the truth of it.
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