Parenting, Personal, Uncategorized

Me Time

What is ‘me time’, and when do I get it?

I became a mum at 28 – after nearly ten years of trying to start a family. My daughter lit my life up even more than I could have imagined (and I have a reasonable imagination). The love I felt for her was matched only by the arrival of her sister two years later. I was amazed by how much love was inside me. I still am.

By the time I was two weeks pregnant with my younger daughter, I was a single parent with a seventeen-month old, and another another on the way. I was very lucky, though; I had a fantastic live-in nanny with whom we had a great relationship, who was a great cook, and who adored my child (and, later, my children).

When I moved back to Ireland (worst mistake of my life, but complex and complicated – a whole other blog post!), I was completely on my own with the two girls. I started to hear about ‘me time’ from other women.  I started to hear about how I needed to make time for myself, how I needed to find time to get away from my children and indulge myself with kid-free time.

I was never really convinced. Until I had them, my entire life was – more or less – focused on trying to become a mother. Once I had realised that ambition, I wanted to revel in it. I wanted to enjoy every minute of it.

Here’s the thing; for me, ‘me time’ is time spent with my babies – who are now 13 and 15 – it’s where my joy is. Where my bliss is. Where I feel happiest. I don’t want to ‘escape’ from that; why would I? Why would anyone spend their lives trying to achieve something, and then spend the rest of their lives trying to get away from that same thing?

I adore my girls. I am very grateful for the relationships we have; I am delighted with the fact that they they have a wonderful relationship. They are best friends, as well as  being sisters.

 

Of course, I understand that it makes sense to spend time away from other people – even people you adore, people you love to spend time with. But if ‘me time’ is meant to be a reward, if ‘me time’ is meant to be something you do for yourself, then my ‘me time’ is the time I spend with my girls; enjoying their company, sharing experiences with them, encountering the world together. It took a long time for me to realise this: I felt like I was failing, somehow, by wanting to be with my girls as often as I could. I had my children because I wanted to. I had my children because I wanted their company – and there’s nothing wrong with that.

Manufacturing time to be away from them is inauthentic, though of course, as they get older, they find themselves wanting to spend less time glued to me; which is perfectly age-appropriate. The thing is, though, that they are choosing to separate from me, rather then being pushed away. Rather than being told that I need to be away from them, they are telling me that they want to engage with the world on their terms, which often means I’m not invited. As my girls age, I will have more and more time without them. I’ll have more ‘me time’ than you could shake a stick at. I don’t need to find it – it will find me.

 

 

 

 

 

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Parenting, Personal, Uncategorized

The Love That Grows

Ishthara & Kashmira Baking, October 2007

 

I love my kids. That should go without saying, but not everyone loves their kids (as I know from my personal experience of growing up in a house of horrors).  Every day, I go about doing what it is I have to do, and am aware of the fact that I love my girls. In much the same way as I am aware of the fact that I am white, Irish etc. It’s just there. It’s just a fact.

Every so often, however, I fall in love with them all over again. Or fall deeper in love with them. I suddenly get gripped and overwhelmed by how amazing they are, and how they are containers for so much goodness, and joy, and love, and understanding, and kindness, and gentleness. I am overwhelmed by how awesome (literally, not colloquially) they are. I am humbled by the fact that they have allowed me to parent them, that they are so patient with me, and allow me to bear witness to their unfolding into adulthood.

 

It reminds me of when they were babies, and all I could do was gaze at them with gratitude and admiration. Now that they’re teenagers, I love that feeling of heart-swell I get, that feeling that my heart has to grow to accommodate the love I have for them. I am delighted that my love for them continues to grow, that it doesn’t stagnate, that there is more, there is more, there is always more.

 

Pic: Ishthara and Kashmira baking, exactly ten years ago – I didn’t think I could love them more, but I do! 

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Happiness Is…

Happiness is walking in your front door and hearing your 13 year-old daughter and her friend in gales of laughter.

Happiness is having a chat with your 13 year-old daughter and her friend, and really enjoying the conversation.

Happiness is phoning your 13 year-old daughter’s friend’s mum and telling her that even though you have met her daughter a number of times, you haven’t met her, but you wanted to reassure the mum that her child is safe, and fed and happy.  That you haven’t sold her into the white slave trade.

Happiness is hearing your 13 year-old daughter’s friend’s mum laugh and tell you she’s glad you phoned, and she’s glad the girls have made friends (what remains unsaid is that you know that your girls find it hard to meet people like them).

Happiness is knowing your girl finds it hard to meet people like her, but she finally has, and – not just that – they get on like a house on fire.

Happiness is walking into your fifteen year-old’s room while she’s on the phone to her boyfriend, and he says ‘Is that your mum? Put me on speaker, please, I’d like to say “hi” to her.’ And you and he have a lovely, comfortable chat with your fifteen year-old contributing.

Happiness is heading back downstairs and heating up food the three of you made the night before, and smiling at the memory of the assembly of the food and the discussions that led up to it.

Laksa 24.08.17

Happiness is a glass of thick, syrupy Zinfandel on a Friday evening.

 

Happiness is knowing your babies are safe.

Happiness is a roof over your head.

Happiness is the little things.

Happiness is the big things.

Happiness is the little things that are huge.

 

Wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, I hope you’re dancing with happiness.

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Parenting, Personal, Uncategorized

Terrible Teenagers

Girls in Masks

My Tremendous Teens & Me

About an hour ago, I heard an advertisement for an article in tomorrow’s paper. The piece promises ‘experts to tell you how to deal with your terrible teens’ and it really annoyed me. Why would anyone talk about ‘terrible teens’? Why would anyone tell parents that their teenagers are ‘terrible’? More importantly, why would anyone tell their teens that they are ‘terrible’?

 

I was so cross. Why would anyone tell anyone that they are ‘terrible’ – unless it was in that jesting way of ‘oh stop! You’re tehhhrrrrible‘ ? And why, oh why, would anyone tell a sensitive teenager that they are terrible? Why are we so happy to shame teenagers? Could you imagine if the same language was applied to older people? Imagine if there was an advertisement on the radio for a piece in tomorrow’s paper that would tell you how to deal with your ‘Problematic Parents’, or your ‘Exasperating Elders’? would that be okay? I hardly think so. Why is it permissible – even expected – to tell our teenagers that they are difficult? I’d also question the credentials of any ‘expert’ who would suggest that teens are ‘terrible’.

 

Here’s the thing; teenagers will live up – or down – to the expectations placed on them. Given that, how about this for an idea; instead of popular culture telling our teens they’re ‘terrible’, how about telling them they’re ‘terrific’, or ‘tremendous’? Instead of writing articles about how to deal with ‘terrible’ teens, why don’t we have experts writing articles about ‘terrific’ teens?

 

I would also respectfully suggest that any parent who thinks their teen is ‘terrible’ might want to look at their parenting first.

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Health, Parenting, Personal

Cut Child Benefit to Punish Parents?

So, I read this afternoon, that some GPs are in favour of reducing child benefit by half in cases where parents don’t have those children vaccinated.

I think this is an appalling idea. Child benefit is a monthly, non-means-tested payment made, by the Irish State, to ease the financial costs associated with raising children in Ireland. Many households here rely on Child Benefit to help pay recurring monthly bills; gas, electricity, insurance, mortgage etc. You can’t argue that children don’t benefit from those bills being paid; or that they aren’t necessary for the child’s well-being. In other households (like mine), that €140 per child, is ear-marked for educational purposes. Other people use it for shoes or clothes. A few, a very lucky few, save or invest in order to have a lump sum for that child on their 18th birthday, or to help with costs associated with third-level education. Whatever the money is spent on, the clue really is in the title – the money is for each child in the country to help defray costs associated with raising that child. Cutting the benefit will not punish the parents, it will punish the children.

To suggest that a financial payment for a child should be cut if that child is not vaccinated against childhood diseases is a display of angry, lazy thinking at its worst. If the desire is to increase the uptake of vaccinations, then surely a better approach is to educate parents, to address their fears and concerns around vaccinations? Then – and I know this might appear radical – how about allowing parents to, you know, parent? By that I mean provide them with information and then encourage them to decide for themselves what is right for their particular child, and their particular family, at that time.

The idea that child benefit should be halved for children whose parents don’t act in the way that a certain group of people think they should act is patronising, paternalistic, and arrogant. It indicates that the group calling for this diminishing of the benefit believes they are absolutely right. In this instance, a group of doctors think that they should be able to wield a financial stick at parents who don’t agree with them. Missing the point entirely, of course, that such action would impact more on the children than on their parents. It also further encourages the myth that child benefit is a boon to parents – that it can (and should) be rescinded for non-compliance with a particular directive. What next? A slashing of child benefit if they don’t go to school? A further cut if they’re not breastfed? Another if they’re obese?

I would point out to this group of GPs that to punish a child for the lack of action on the part of their parents – which you view as negligent in the first place – is, by your own logic, punishing the child twice. Don’t do that. Don’t suggest that your frustrations be taken out on an already vulnerable group.

 

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Uncategorized

Today

I don’t write poetry much / often these days – who has the time to be brief?! – but I wrote this the other day for someone I love, who happens to be dangerously ill, and who I’m not ready to let go of.

 

Today

If all you can give me

Is today

Then give me today.

I won’t ask for tomorrow.

 

If all you can commit to

Is now

Then just give me now

I won’t demand then.

 

If all you can promise me

Is the night

Then just me the night

I won’t ask for the morning.

 

When the grief is too much

Let me sit with you

When the fear is too much

Let me hold you

When you’re too overwhelmed

Let me save you

When worry weighs you down

Let me pick you up.

 

If all you can give me

Is today

Then give me today.

 

Every day.

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Apollo House

I wrote this piece on December 27th, but didn’t want to publish it until it had received the ‘all clear’ from the media team at Apollo House. Given that they have more pressing things to worry about, this took a while. 🙂 

 

I did my first shift at Apollo House yesterday. For those of you who don’t know, Apollo House is a government building that is owned by NAMA – the National Assets Management Agency (essentially a ‘bad bank’). That means that, really, the building (which – ironically – was a social welfare office) is owned by the Irish people. About a fortnight ago, the building was taken over by a group of activists, artists, actors and musicians, who opened the doors of the building to homeless people.

 

‘Ordinary’ people responded with generosity, solidarity, and kindness. They donated books, clothes, shoes, food, more food, kitchen equipment, toiletries, blankets, office equipment, money, washing machines, dryers, washing powder, plates, cups, coffee, tea, milk, time, talent and love.

 

NAMA responded by taking the Home Sweet Home Group – under whose auspices Apollo House is run – to court in an effort to get them to vacate the building. They claimed that part of their reaction was on the grounds that the building was unsafe.  The counter-argument to that was that the building was checked by Health & Safety Officers, and by Fire Safety Officers – who deemed the building safe. It is beyond ridiculous to suggest that people are safer on the cold streets of Dublin than they are in a secure building where they are treated with dignity: Where they have access to nourishing food, tea, coffee, water, medical care, showers, cooking facilities; and people who will talk to them, listen to them, and show them love and kindness.

 

Enda Kenny, our head of government, said that there are enough beds available so that no one needs to sleep on the street. At best, he is ill-informed. At worst, he is lying through his teeth.

 

Last Thursday, Judge Gilligan granted the order to vacate, but gave a stay until 12pm on January 11th. He further stipulated that the house could only give shelter to 40 people.
By the time I turned up for my shift at 3pm, all 40 beds in Apollo House had been allocated. People who had no beds secured for the night wandered by, asking if they could be put up. Over and over again, it was explained that we absolutely had to keep to the 40 residents that the judge had ruled. The best we could do was feed people we couldn’t accommodate, offer them clean, dry, warm clothes, sleeping bags, and a phone call to the Freephone number to seek a bed in a hostel.

 

Not everyone wants a bed in a hostel – they can be dangerous places; we heard tales of people being beaten up, robbed, having their clothes stolen; of recovering addicts being exposed to drugs, and worse.

 

After a handover and a brief, I went on the first of five runs for the day; bringing food, blankets and  clean, dry clothes to people on the streets who didn’t have accommodation. We tried to get beds in hostels for people who wanted them. By 7.38pm, however, the operator on the Freephone line told us that there were no more beds available. Of course, our runs were done in co-ordination and co-operation with other charities who were doing runs last night so that we didn’t end up visiting the same streets.

 

Inside, Apollo House is a well-run organisation. Volunteers are divided into teams – media, finance, security, support, outreach, medical, cleaning, catering, legal – according to their skills and experience. The volunteers are well-managed, with handovers at the start of each shift, proper briefings, tasks allocated, and a team manager who answers questions and makes decisions.

 

Apollo House is a home for the residents. Unlike the hostels, where people are usually only allowed to stay between 9pm and 9am, the residents of Apollo House are not put out on the streets mid-morning. They come and go as they please (as long as they sign in and out – for obvious reasons). They eat, shower, wash their clothes, watch telly, chat, read, hang out and – since yesterday – play pool  (thanks to the generosity of a man who drove from Kerry to Dublin to bring a pool table to Apollo House).

 

The Apollo House initiative is a short-term solution to a long-term problem; we all know this. But, for the 40 people who have been safe, warm, clean, fed, kept company, cared for, cared about, and nourished in several different ways since the takeover of the building, each night inside is a better proposition than a night outside on the cold, dangerous streets of Dublin.

 

The point of the initiative is two-fold; to provide for as many people as possible, and to continue to raise awareness. I’m not telling you this because you haven’t heard it before. I’m telling you this because you have heard it before. There is nothing new in the plight of the homeless in Ireland. There is nothing new about how shamefully they are treated by successive Irish governments. There is nothing new about people shivering, hungry, and wet on the streets of Dublin – and the streets of other cities and towns around Ireland. There is nothing new about women and men being treated disrespectfully on the streets of Dublin. There is nothing new about women and men being scared and vulnerable and abused on the streets. That’s precisely the problem. It is an old story, and it’s still being told, just with new narrators.

 

 

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