Media, Parenting

Ranty McRant Face

(Celeste Erlach, Facebook)

Yesterday, Celeste Erlach’s Facebook rant to (about?) her husband went viral. It was picked up by media outlets across the globe, including our own Irish Independent. She was clearly upset and at the end of her tether, and she called her husband out on his lack of help with the kids – they have two, a baby and a toddler.

 

I must admit that my initial reaction was ‘Lady, try doing it all on your own, all the time – that’s hard.’ Regular readers will know that I have two daughters with just 26 months between them, and that I have been parenting alone for nigh on 15 years. Then, I caught myself on a bit. I might be all on my own, but Celeste Erlach isn’t. She is married, and has every right to expect that her husband will step up and help. Sure, he’s in an office all day while she’s at home all day – but they are both working. Why does his work stop when he gets home, and hers continues? If she’s married, then she can expect a partner who shares the workload.

 

I am cautiously aware that this rant only provides one side of the story – and it’s a snapshot of that one side as well. Ms Erlach gives specific examples of what she wishes her husband did better, but there is concern (which was addressed on PJ Coogan’s show on CorkFM this morning) that Facebook is not the place to air marital grievances. Part of me is inclined to agree, though another part of me is aware that only posting ‘the good stuff’ on FB can create anxiety in those who read our status updates – they compare their insides to the outsides presented. I’m all for posting the good with the bad. What I’m not all for, however, is using Facebook as a tool to shame people. Shame is a powerful tool of social control – just ask the Roman Catholic Church who used it to great effect in Ireland – and it’s also an emotion that we don’t talk about very much.

 

It would appear that there is a lack of communication between Celeste Erlach and her husband and it would also appear – if you look at her Facebook page – that she has used her rant as a vehicle for attention, and to raise her own profile publicly. I’m struck by the banner on her page, though, which reads ‘Ask Yourself: What kind of Mom do you want to be?’ Clearly, Celeste Erlach wants to be the kind of mom who shames and humiliates the father of her children in a very public way. I’m not sure that’s fair on them. Turning to social media to berate the other parent of your child/ren is, I would suggest, potentially damaging to their relationship with that parent, because it smacks of a lack of respect.

 

I’m not suggesting that this wife and mother doesn’t have legitimate gripes. I’m not suggesting that there multiple ways her husband and the father of her children could help. What I am suggesting, however, is that it might have been kinder, and more useful – to her own family, and to the thousands of people who have viewed, liked, shared, and discussed her rant – if she had shared her concerns privately, found a workable solution with her husband, and shared that publicly. If she had written this letter and given it to him, expressing her frustration, her physical, emotional, and psychological needs and found a workable solution with her husband, that might have been a better post to share to share with her friends and followers.

 

I think that approach would have been more valuable; no one would have been publicly shamed, humiliated or reprimanded, and her children would have had good conflict resolution modelled for them. I think that’s worth a lot more than a shed-load of ‘likes’ and ‘shares’.

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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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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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Health, Media, Parenting, Personal, Uncategorized

‘Don’t Use Words I Don’t Want You To’ – Irish Minister

pregnant-belly

As if running the Department of Poverty wasn’t a big enough job for Leo Varadkar, he’s decided to elect himself Minister for Mansplaining, and give himself cabinet responsibility for correct terminology as well.

Leo has decided that for every person, everywhere, who is ever pregnant, the correct word to use to describe the contents of their womb is ‘baby’.

‘Foetus’ Leo mansplains to all of us who have ever, will ever, or might ever, be pregnant, is not a word that we should use. Nor is it a word that should be used in reference to our pregnancies by mere mortals without a medical degree. ‘Foetus’, according to Dr V, is a medical word. The implication being that those of us who don’t hold medical degrees should not use medical words. We should not refer to our fingers as ‘digits’, either, he cautions. Presumably in case we lose the run of ourselves entirely, and start having a go at performing craniotomies during our lunch-breaks.

I only wish Dr V had been around 13 or 14 years ago, when I started telling my daughter that her vulva was her vulva, rather than her ‘fanny’ or her ‘front bum’ or her ‘butterfly’. I hope she doesn’t get notions above her station as a result. Idly, I wonder if Leo referred to his penis as his ‘passion pencil’ until he was a fully qualified medical doctor. Or if he’d be chagrined if he heard me talking about a migraine, and explaining to my GP that it had started occipitally? Would he chastise me, do you think, and tell me I should talk about the back of my head, instead? Except, referring to the back of my head is not as precise as referring to my occipital bone; and sometimes it is necessary and useful to be precise.

Does Leo not understand that women are allowed to refer to the contents of their wombs however they please? If a woman wants to refer to the product of conception inside her as ‘foetus’, ‘baby’, ‘peanut’, ‘sprog’, ‘alien’ or any other word she likes (the last time I was pregnant, my daughters referred to the contents of my womb as ‘The Minion’), it is not my place to tell her that she is using the wrong word. I would respectfully suggest that Dr V adopt the same attitude.

I find his diktat that all women should refer to their foetuses as babies – and that their friends and families should, too – to be more than vaguely unsettling.  If women aren’t even allowed, by Leo, to use the language which feels most appropriate for them, at a given time, what else does he think they really shouldn’t have a choice about? Or that they should only have limited choice about?

There is an element of nuance involved in this naming business. For a lot of women, when a pregnancy is wanted, they talk about their ‘baby’ even though they know it is not, actually, a baby. Every woman who wants to be a mother, wants to have a baby; but knows that first, she will have a blastocyst, then a zygote, then an embryo, then a foetus, then – if she’s lucky – a baby. We project our hopes onto our wanted pregnancies. We imagine what we’ll have at the end. We invest in them.

Every woman who doesn’t want to be a mother, doesn’t want to have a baby. She knows that she is well within her rights – even if not well within the law in Ireland – to decide what happens to her body. She will refer to it as an embryo or a foetus when discussing it because she is using the correct terminology, whether Leo likes it or not.

Leo also mentioned asking his pregnant friend if she knew what sex her baby was going to be (thank God he used correct terminology and didn’t ask her what gender) and I’m a bit horrified by this, to be honest. It’s none of his business. If his friend wanted to tell him, he should have left it up to her to disclose, and not gone prying. Is it just me, or does this interrogation assume a level of entitlement that he doesn’t deserve?

I also find it interesting that Leo decided to speak for his friend and his sisters by telling the world that if he had used the word ‘foetus’ when referring to their pregnancies, they would have been offended. Why? Because he thinks it’s a ‘medical’ word. I find this deeply disturbing; that a man would assume a woman would take offence because he thinks their thoughts and feelings should match his own? Is this more evidence of entitlement? Or am I over-thinking this?

When I speak to friends who are pregnant, I never say ‘How’s the foetus?’ (I reserve that for when I’m gently joshing friends who are in May-December relationships). Equally, though, I never say ‘How’s the baby?’ Instead, I ask ‘How are you?’ The person I’m addressing is free to choose whether or not to interpret that as second person singular or second person plural (do you think Leo will object to my using such technical language?), and answer accordingly. I don’t decide for her what word should be used in this context. It’s not my place.

 Maybe I’m over-sensitive. Or maybe I just don’t like being mansplained at by a privileged male with an over-developed sense of entitlement.

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Parenting, Personal, Uncategorized

Dear Ireland

Dear Ireland

I don’t have long this morning to make my point, so I will be brief (we all know I can bang on a bit, so I know you’ll be a bit relieved to read that.)

I seem to be in a perpetual state of annoyance with you, but if you’d keep your word on the important things, then maybe I wouldn’t be quite so cross.

What’s been really annoying me lately is your treatment of refugee children in the ‘Jungle’ in Calais. Actually, ‘annoying me’ is an understatement. I’m actually spitting fire.  Ireland, what is wrong with you? These are babies. And you are turning your back on them. These are young hearts and minds and souls that you are deliberately failing. The damage that abandonment and trauma does to young minds is irreversible. It is. I’ve studied this. I know what I’m talking about. (I’m also an adult who was traumatised as a child, and had that trauma compounded by the state, so I have lived experience, too.) You, Ireland, by refusing to act, are condemning these children to a lifetime of psychological pain. And many of those lives will be cut short because of your inaction.  A generation of little babies damaged beyond repair. On your head be it, Ireland, because you are standing idly by and doing nothing more than wringing your hands and – I’ll bet – counting your blessings that Calais is not just outside Cork or Dublin or Galway.

I am disgusted, ashamed, and appalled by your treatment of these children who need help, and need help now. Honestly, though, I’m not surprised because – let’s face it – your track record on looking after babies and children leaves a lot to be desired.  But I don’t have time to list your past failings, I think what’s most important today is to address your current one.

Ireland, I know your memory for certain things is a bit poor. (Except the potato famine and the 1916 Rising, of course.) So let me take this opportunity to remind you of a document you signed, and then ratified on September 28th, 1992. That’s a while ago I admit; 24 years, one month and four days ago now. Let me remind you what it was – a wee thing known as the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child. You signed this, Ireland. You signed this as a solemn pledge to be bound by the contents of the document. You signed this, agreeing that it was right and proper and correct that children should be treated in accordance with the Convention.

Let me jog your memory a bit, Ireland, and remind you of your obligations under this Convention. Article 38.4, if you want to have a look at it, says that countries who sign up to the Convention

‘shall take all feasible measures to ensure protection and care of children who are affected by an armed conflict.’

Article 39 is a commitment to

‘take all appropriate measures to promote physical and psychological recovery and social reintegration of a child victim of: any form of neglect, exploitation, or abuse; torture or any other form of cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment; or armed conflicts. Such recovery and reintegration shall take place in an environment which fosters the health, self-respect and dignity of the child.’

Now, Ireland, can you honestly say that you are honouring your commitment to these children? And don’t start whining about ‘looking after our own’ first or any of that nonsense, because I don’t want to hear it. Not least because these children are our own. Every child is the responsibility of every adult. Really. If a child’s primary carers are unable to care for them, for whatever reason, then the rest of us need to step up and mind those babies and treat them with the respect and dignity that they deserve. And, yes, love them. Love them fiercely and unconditionally and without reservation.

Do it now, Ireland. These children can’t wait any longer. Do it now and argue about it afterwards. Don’t be the country that saves banks, and sacrifices children. Step up, Ireland. Grow a pair. Open your doors and your heart and welcome these children. Hold them close, nourish them, help them to heal as much as they can.

I said I didn’t have long this morning to fire off letters to you, Ireland, but these children have even less time than I do. They need you to act now.

 

 

 

 

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