The funny side to life as a working single Mum. My stories of embarrassing escapades, toddler tantrums and great expectations.
Wednesday, 4 May 2016
Equality in Disney: a long way to go.
Firstly, why shouldn't children and young people of all sexualities see themselves, or versions of themselves on film. When a 10 year old looks all around and sees no one 'nornal' like them, I can only imagine it's pretty isolating. Being gay is not odd, alternative or unusual. It just is.
Secondly, how about children with two Mums or two Dads? Are they never to see a love story which reminds them of their own family? Furthermore, perhaps the parents themselves want to see a familiar happy ever after.
Next, on a personal level, what if my own son is gay? I want him to grow up knowing that he is 100% normal, beautiful and not a weirdo. I would want him to see society changing to be as accepting as his family are.
Finally, even if your kid isn't gay, why the fuck shouldn't they see a lesbian princess or a gay knight? I certainly don't want my son growing up thinking that Beauty and the Beast areally the only relationship out there. We regularly talk about how every family is unique: for Ethan this means living with Mummy (plus John shortly), staying with Daddy and spending lots of time with his wonderful Nanny. For his nursery friend, this means living with two Mummies. For another friend, this means living with Mummy and Daddy. It's all bloody family; get over yourself.
A while back, I bumped into Ethan's nursery teacher in a local gay bar. He is gay and was there with his boyfriend and friends. We spent the night talking, in between dancing, about how much I love that Ethan has a gay male nursery teacher. Not only is this a male role model in a stereotypically viewed female job, this is a gay man. Every liberal, free spirited mother's dream! In talking, I found that this particular teacher has had parents ask that he does not change their babies nappies because of his sexuality. This brings me to tears. I can't even comprehend that this attitude still exists. The teacher and his boyfriend were surprised and moved by my passionate defense of gay equality, particularly in reference to education. This is flattering but sad: is it really so shocking?
To clarify, I am not writing about sex here. This is not about who someone does or does not sleep with. This is about raising our children in a word free of hate, free of prejudice and free of ignorance.
Friday, 15 January 2016
How it feels to be a girl.
When I was around 14 I worked in a social club collecting glasses; it was great pocket money and most customers knew me through my family. One Sunday lunchtime an unfamiliar man put his arm around me and asked if I had a boyfriend. I was dumfounded and frozen, until a barmaid shouted at him to 'get off my daughter...she's 14!' You may wonder why I'm telling you this. Well, this is what it's it's like to be a girl, to be a woman. When I reminisce on this story, I remember realising that I looked older than my years and thinking the barmaid was a hero. Thinking about it now, it reveals something further. While, of course, grabbing an underage girl is a far worse act, would it have been acceptable if I had been older? No. Obviously, clearly and strikingly no.
Still, this is what we experience daily. At brownies I was cast as Buttons in Cinderella because of my short hair and skinny frame. This was pointed out to me. A male (ex) friend once told me, on a night out, that a guy I liked wouldn't be interested because I'm 'quirky, not pretty.' I have been verbally sexually harassed by teenage boys. When I walk alone, particularly at night, I am incredibly conscious of who is behind me and my routes or methods to safety.
This may just sound like another feminist rant about the injustice unto us, but it needs writing. Everytime someone feels the need to write or speak these words, they must. We do not live in an equal society. Women are not treated equally. It is still not safe to be a woman. This must change. For good.
Saturday, 13 June 2015
Bits and pieces: the trouble with willies.
For a fair while, Ethan has played with his willy and found it another fascinating part of his body. Biology. Learning. Great, I thought.
That was until he found out his willy had powers, unknown to him previously; the foreskin and the ability to move this up and down. Nothing prepared me for this. Nowhere in any class or book do they tell you that one day your lovely two year old will run in and reveal to you something which looks like it belongs in a lab.
I feel sorry for my Mum, who experienced this first, from he dear grandson.
Now, I get that this is natural and curiosity is a positive attitude but really? It's grim. Plus, trying to explain to my boy that this could hurt himself and make his willy dirty is fairly challenging. He just finds it hilarious. Obviously.
Sunday, 31 May 2015
Woodland Warriors.
I've come to realise that i'm quite the outdoors type. A tomboy. A tree hugger. Since having Ethan, I've embraced this side of myself and, while I'm by no means an adventurer, I love getting grubby and down to earth in the woods or on the beach.
Ethan is a total nature kid. He loves bugs, trees and running wild and free. On Friday, we headed to Wat Tyler Park for Woodland Warriors, which is run by the extraordinary Tiffers, whose enthusiasm for nature is catching, for both children and adults of all ages.
We started by sitting in a circle learning about the various songs of different birds and even my 2 year old was interested, holding the different soft toy birds and listening to their songs. The rest of the session was spent on various activities, from bird mask making to swinging in the trees to building a bird nest and making bird feeders.
A highlight for me was making a clay bird with Ethan and the other families, which reminded me of David Almond's novel 'Skellig' and the freedom of his character Mina.
To end the morning, Tiffers lit an open fire for us to cook marshmallows over. Wearing a huge protective glove, Ethan cooked his marshmallow up, learning about fire safety along the way. It was a stunningly beautiful moment to share.
The whole event felt relaxed and yet structured, with a balance of learning and freedom. When helping an older girl to start her own fire the old fashioned way, Tiffers said 'I'm not telling you what to do, I'm just helping', which summed up the overall atmosphere.
I have a feeling William Blake would have more than approved of Woodland Warriors, with his philosophy of embracing the natural intelligence and creativity of children and the magic of our environment.
'How can a bird who is made for joy sit in a cage and sing?'
Wednesday, 20 May 2015
Dressing up games.
When we are children, we love to dress and make believe. My son loves all things pretend and all things fantastic; from superheroes to fairies to animals. Similarly, I teach many students who love to play at make believe, even as children. It seems to help them deal with their issues and, to be honest, sometimes being someone else feels like a better option.
This leads me to my coming weekend. Comicon. Comics. Cosplay.
I am a 30 year old woman, a Mum and a teacher and yet I'm so over excited putting together my catwoman cosplay for the weekend. For just a day, I can at least pretend to be catwoman. How cool is that? To most, probably not all that cool at all but to me, it really is.
In some way or another, don't we all pretend we are someone else? Someone more ideal? Not all the time, but just sometimes. If not for escape, then just for fun! Isn't it time we accepted that children have fun and that the ability to play is important and vital, in fact, to our humanity?
I love that cosplay is something I share with my friends and my son. We both love dressing up and acting, which is something to be celebrated. It isn't forced or fake and my son is surrounded by a wonderful menagerie of family and friends joining in with his fun. What a lovely tradition to continue on as he grows up.
Saturday, 16 May 2015
Living in the 'cliff.
I have now lived in and around Westcliff-on-sea for around 10 years and thought it was about time I gave this reliable old town of mine some respect.
Standing on my balcony, I can see the 'sea' if I lean over and to the left. I love it; for it may be a murky estuary but it's always been there. When I separated from my first husband just one year after moving here with him, I took a walk to the seafront for some peace and reflection. When I was in an awful relationship and suffered an unexpected miscarriage, I sat on the seafront with a cigarette, beer and the complete works of John Keats, trying to fathom what had happened. Later, while pregnant with my son and arguing with his Dad, I sat on the seafront in the cold, listening to the waves crashing and the boats rocking.
Now, while all of these are negative experiences in my life, I see the seafront of Westcliff as consistent, stable and calming. Through any trouble, I can escape to the seaside. Maybe this is rooted in a childhood of seaside holidays, a talent for swimming or the memory of watching 'The Little Mermaid' at the cinema with my Dad, my strong and sturdy Dad, who cried when Ariel's father set her free to be with her Prince. I'm not sure of the psychology behind it; there may not be any explanation. It just is.
Westcliff-on-sea has been the backdrop for some of my happiest memories, predominantly with my son. Playing on the beach for hours, seaside lunches with my Aunt and ice cream with my Mum. It's a tiny piece of holiday just outside my door. I've not even mentioned the number of shows I have seen at The Cliffs Pavilion and the close friends I have made here.
Some people may look at Westcliff and see drunks, druggies and depression. What I see is reality, community and home. Living here, I actually talk to my neighbours and local shopkeepers. We have a regular cafe, I have a favourite vintage store and it feels like home. It may be a little crooked and rough in places, but so is my life sometimes and that's more than ok with me.
Tuesday, 5 May 2015
Jekyll and Hyde
Toddlers are fickle beasts. You never know quite how they are going to wake up, change through the day or finish the day. Generally, my son is happy, loving and friendly but he can also be demanding, impatient and angry. Most of all though, toddlers seem to be irrational. The things Ethan gets annoyed about are ridiculous. Recently there was a fallout over the hoover. I wanted to put it away and Ethan wanted to hug it because he 'lubs it.'
Just this evening, Ethan stole a bottle of squash from the kitchen and hid it in a toy box. This was funny and cheeky. What came next was a minor breakdown because I refused to let him drink said squash straight from the bottle, as you can see. Just seconds after this photo was taken, Ethan was sat at the table eating his dinner in absolute perfection.
Toddlers, eh?
Sunday, 19 April 2015
"Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair."
I came across this photo I had sent to a friend fairly recently; my son rubbing a rubber centipede into my hair, while I'm suffering with a horrible virus.
This is parenting.
Right here is the ugly truth of it. As always, this is not to say that I don't love being a Mum. I really do. It's just that this photo and moment are ridiculously funny, exhausting and amazing in equal measures. Why not share that?
Tuesday, 14 April 2015
Health freak or just freak?
Lately, I have been trying out a lot of vegan foods and general (seemingly) pretentious healthy shit. It happens every now and again; I get rundown and ill, leading to me surviving on pizza and painkillers, until I realise it's stupid and buy out Holland and Barrett. I often ask myself when I became so middle class? That's a whole other post though.
One thing I have discovered is kale. What a delicious middle class iceberg lettuce that is! Allegedly, kale will boost my immune system with vitamin c and even give me the power of invisibility if I eat enough of it. Yum! Superfoods all round!
Jokes and inner class battles aside, I'm really enjoying the little adjustments I have made. Just being conscious of my food and body has been really fulfilling. What I have failed to tell you is that I still ate several homemade scones last night. I will never be a true health freak; I just like cakes too much.
Right, I'm off to dunk my head in a jar of peanut butter, followed by a jar of jam!
Monday, 13 April 2015
What you don't expect when you're expecting.
So, my son is now closer to 3 than 2 years old and is full of energy, attitude and surprises.
Let me list sone recent shockers:
1. Trying to persuade him to put a nappy on and he responds with 'no, Mummy...play with bum bum...it's nice.'
2. He climbed onto my head in a playful manner, only to fart on my face and laugh.
3. He shoved his feet in my nose, asking me 'do you like it, Mummy? Do you like the stink?'
4. He had an argument with his toddler friend, who was adamant he was Leonardo from Turtles. My son disagreed.
5. I gave him a delicious easter egg. He cried and laid on the floor.
What an unusual world toddlers lead you into.
Tuesday, 24 February 2015
Make do and mend.
During world war two, a pamphlet was published, called 'Make do and Mend', which offered advice on how to be both frugal and stylish during harsh times of rationing. My own nanny tells me stories of her own experience of this and it strikes me that, in some ways, aren't we all in the process of a make do and mend? Stick with it, reader, it's a hazy metaphor I'm working on here.
Now, I feel privileged to live in a time and place where I can provide for my son and myself, with the support of our family. I may buy many of our clothes and home items from charity and second hand shops, but I still feel privileged in our everyday life. We have a home, subsistence and safety, with the addition of love and fun.
Emotionally, however, a little wartime make do and mend may be more common than it first appears. My life is emotionally full of love and joy, but there still lies a small sense of making do, in terms of expectation. My life wasn't meant to look like this. A single Mum, working full time. To make do for me means not to settle, but to enjoy everything I have. To feel privileged, rather than cursed. To feel blessed in every simple joy, rather than disappointed by those who wrong me. Making do is thankful and peaceful.
As for the mending. Well, that's a huge project, which isn't over just yet. Slowly but surely I have been mending the damage to my dream and my stitching isn't bad. Sometimes, the stitches come loose or someone catches them and leaves a snag in our beautiful patchwork creation. The key is that I have good tools, positive skills and the ability to keep on mending, no matter how many times things break. Mending is strengthening and empowering.
So, there it is: a rather odd analogy for sorting shit out. Luckily, you've finished reading it and can resume usual procedures.
Tuesday, 17 February 2015
Let it go. Just, let it go.
There are some moments in this parenting business which, to me, feel momentous in their simplicity. This afternoon I took Ethan to a Frozen tea party at a fabulous local tea shop called Mad Hatter's.
Ethan chose his shirt and tie, which he then covered up with his spiderman costume. Obviously perfect attire for being in the presence of princesses.
The afternoon was wonderful. The princesses were convincing and gave lovely renditions of the songs. They were warm and loving towards the children and Ethan was totally in awe. I must admit that I was also genuinely entertained.
When the food arrived, Ethan had his own beautiful afternoon tea and loved it. As I sat opposite him, just the two of us, I realised that I have this funny, cute little boy who really wants to spend quality time with me. It really felt like something special happened between us and I can't quite pinpoint it. Maybe it was the comforting childhood memories of Disney or the delicious cakes; I'm not sure. All I know is that there is something just perfect about one to one parent and child time outside of the home and outside of our routine.
I felt so proud of my son, wearing his spiderman costume, meeting princesses and having a grown up afternoon tea. How amazing that this little human who I only evicted from my body 2 years and 6 months ago, can sit there eating his sandwiches and scones, simply enjoying being alive. He has no idea of stereotypical gender roles and no care for how others see him. All he is concerned with is the present: his food, the party and his Mummy. How liberating it is to be a child.
When I asked my spiderman tea partner who the prettiest princess is, he said 'Mummy' and thanked me for the treat. It doesn't get much better than that.
Cheesy as it sounds, when Elsa sings of her fears no longer controlling her and her feeling of immense freedom, I think we can all learn something from her. After all, being an adult can get uptight too easily and, sometimes, you just have to let it go.
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.
Sunday, 20 July 2014
Motherhood: primal or progress?
I want to be attractive. I want to feel attractive. Vain as it may be; it's important to me. I have come to a place where I am happy with my body and can always rely on my standard 'I look good considering I have a 2 year old...oh, and he was MASSIVE!' I make jokes. It's what I do.
Becoming single again and building a relationship post baby brings a whole new element to this. The father of your child kind of has to deal with your post baby body. It comes with the territory. A new man, however, is a totally different game. With a new relationship comes reflection upon your own body. On the one hand, a new found confidence and, on the other, a curious predicament.
Am I different to other women who haven't had children? How much so? Does it make a difference?
Following a passing comment I made about my stretch marks, the Mad Hatter* replied with something simply perfect. To him, my changed body makes me more attractive and sexy because I have undertaken the most primal experience possible.
With this in mind, I come to think how, as women, we are encouraged to cover or fix ourselves. This idea of our changing bodies being part of a primal transformation seems to me progress. In a society which shames our bodies through the pre and post birth stages, this return to primitive acceptance gives us all something to learn from.
I'm not saying the Mad Hatter is perfect but it certainly gave me something to consider.
Carroll's Alice said 'I cannot go back to yesterday because I was a different person then.' How very true this is.
*For the purposes of this blog, my partner is called the Mad Hatter purely because of our mutual love of Alice in Wonderland.
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