Blog or die!
picture by Plasticsturgeon
Yes, I have been slack. I forget how important it is to blog routinely, so that I stay fresh and fluid with my thoughts and feelings. Truth is, my life is in upheaval and has been for the past several months. I’m still reeling.
First, mother-in-law had a serious asthma attack, which she survived, but she is now bedridden and feeble. I surprise myself, using that word, ‘feeble’. She would have hated anyone using that word with reference to her.
And I am still dealing with the emotional fall-out from her near miss, and how my blogging about her here hurt some family members who felt it was too private to blog about. They were right. I hope they can forgive me.
Journalling has been part of my life for so long now that I feel unbalanced if I go too long without leaving some kind of record, whether I’m jotting notes in a notebook, scribbling it down on paper, contributing to a forum or blogging proper, it is some kind of compulsion. I always feel better after hitting the Publish button. I highly recommend it as a therapy.
Sometimes the words flow and I know exactly what I’m writing about. Other times the meaning evolves and it’s not until I type that summary sentence that I realise, “Oh, so that’s what this is about!” Sometimes it’s simply an emotional purge that will be lost to oblivion when I hit the X and close the window without hitting publish. I do that more than you realise, dear reader.
But it isn’t as rewarding as putting my ’stuff’, both the good AND bad, out there in the public realm and getting a response back from some generous reader saying, ‘I have been there, too’.
But after removing my offensive previous post, there were no words to fill the empty space. I felt my words had dried up, which is an unhealthy place for an aspiring writer to be. I had to get on with the business of real life, tending to the children and the daily grind of school lunches and taxi-ing them around, attending uni for myself and fulfilling the assessment requirements, plus my extra-curricular Masters project and the school P&C (which I am failing at miserably), as well as systematically working through the FBC newsletter, which I have only begun to edit, as well as maintaining relationships with my friends - who are having their own tough times - and my significant other, darling hubby, whose needs always get pushed to the back of the line when things get overwhelming. At such times you just know that something’s going to give.
So now a dose of chicken pox is plaguing the family, I have no choice but to slow down and take stock. It was a good decision to pull everyone, even those who remained pox-less, out of school and work and to just be at home as a family while we wait for the scourge to pass. This week has been a breath of fresh air. I am reminded that keeping life simple and keeping family together are about the only important things there are. Without all the rushing and driving and social obligations I am a calmer person and a better mother and all of a sudden I rediscover my inner writer and those words that have eluded me for so long begin, once again, to flow.
August 27th, 2010 - Posted in community, sustainability, grief, health, self-care | | 4 Comments
Guest post
picture by Peter Becker
Having an Only Child by Emilia Liz
The other day my mother and I were sorting through my daughter’s old baby clothes. We put them in two piles, one for things she could wear in the upcoming months and another for those she had already outgrown. We debated what to do with the second pile of clothing: should we give it to my brother and sister-in-law, who are considering having a third child; send it out West to my newly married cousin and his wife; or donate it to the Salvation Army or some other charity? For now we’re keeping it on hold. One option that didn’t come up, though, was saving it for me in case I have another baby. It suddenly struck me: my daughter Gabriella Michelle will probably be my only child.
I didn’t deliberately set out to have only one child. Over the years my ideas on family size have changed. When I was young, I wanted four children, just like my mother’s family of origin with her, my aunt and their two brothers. Then I entered a “the-world’s-too-awful-to-bring-children-into” phase (it’s called adolescence). After I got engaged in college, my then-fiancé and I pictured a family of two children, a girl and a boy. But eventually I came to like the notion of an only child. This preference was driven home to me by various babysitting experiences. While I love spending time with my niece and nephew and having them play with my daughter, I realize I can’t handle more than one small child at once.
An alternative to having an only child is waiting six years or so for when my daughter is no longer so dependent on me. Given that I’m forty years old now, however, by that time there’s a good chance I’ll either be infertile or, in the event of a pregnancy, at higher risk of problems like miscarriage or Down syndrome. There are other options besides the so-called “natural way,” namely reproductive technologies and adoption. I’ve never seriously considered the first: while I’m by no means against reproductive technologies, what might be appropriate for, say, a childless couple in their thirties would not feel right for me, a woman over forty with a biological child.
On the other hand, I have looked into adoption more closely. But my chances of expanding my family this way also seem slim. Foreign adoption is expensive, not only in terms of fees for the process itself but in wages lost from time taken off work to travel to the country in question. In addition, my age, marital status (I’m in a so-called “visiting relationship” but not legally married), and the fact I already have a biological child would probably place me at the bottom of a prospective adoptive parents list. I’ve explored domestic adoption as well. Unfortunately, most of the kids available here in Canada have emotional and/or developmental problems due to neglect, prenatal exposure to alcohol, etcetera, and I don’t personally feel capable of raising a child with these kinds of issues. (Of note, I once ended a relationship with a man with manic depression partly for fear any children we would have might inherit his condition.) On one website I examined there was a single child I would have considered adopting – a beautiful East Indian girl with a purely physical handicap – but lo and behold, the next time I checked the site she was gone, placed with a family. And I’m sure that if I had applied to take her I would have been competing with other families viewed as more suitable than mine, for the reasons mentioned above.
So now I basically have accepted that I’ll probably have only one child in this lifetime. Most of the time, I think of the positives in this. They include being able to spend more time with my daughter, in volunteer activities, and at solitary endeavours such as writing this article. The extra time with my daughter has created a special closeness between us (not that parents with two or more children can’t be close to each one of them). For me, it’s not so much the “quality moments” that I cherish but rather the simple things like singing with her as I do the dishes, carrying her around the neighbourhood in my “pouch” (Baby Bjorn), and reading her the stories she loves. I also appreciate the fact I don’t have to deal with trying to divide myself between two small children who both need my attention, worrying about money, or breaking up sibling squabbles. Don’t get me wrong: I admire people like my brother and sister-in-law who can handle two or more small children at one time. I just don’t know if I could do the same.
With any decision, whether it’s living without children, having only one child, or reproducing a la Michelle Duggar (American woman with 18 kids at last count), there are pros and cons. On the rare occasion I’ll get the urge for a second baby, small and sweet like my little girl. My biggest questions, however, have to do with my daughter herself. Am I harming her by depriving her of a brother or sister? My mom once told me the good thing about siblings is that they are still there when your parents are gone. One book called siblinghood the longest-lasting bond. On the practical side, if I become incapacitated in my old age will my daughter resent not having someone else to share the burden of caring for me with? Overall, though, I’m confident she’ll be fine. I’ve researched the academic literature on the effect of being an only child versus having siblings, and it’s been fairly reassuring: some studies show only children do better than their peers; others suggest they suffer disadvantages; and still more find no difference between the two groups.
Of course my lifestyle is not for everybody. Though I don’t like societal attitudes that label parents of onlies as “selfish” or only children as “spoiled brats,” I don’t have any problem with the two-child family being the norm. And my situation could change. I might find myself in a new relationship and choose to have a child to cement it. Maybe my daughter will demand a brother or sister. Or I could develop a sudden craving for another baby for no reason at all. (Of note, I haven’t had a tubal ligation, so the possibility of having a biological child is probably still open to me for another three or four years). But in all likelihood I will remain a mother of one, and I am content with this.
July 12th, 2010 - Posted in gratitude, parenthood, grief, beliefs, wisdom | | 2 Comments
Ethical pet food
picture by furtwangl
A friend in my network is taking her family home to New Zealand, and they cannot take “Shady” their four year old black Labrador X Kelpie with them. We agreed to adopt her and she has fit in with our family very well in all but one very problematic way: she loves chickens. Her previous family didn’t know it but she loves to chase chickens, she loves to catch chickens, she loves to romp on them and carry them around in her mouth. When they’re dead, she likes to eat them entirely–there’s no waste–unless we interfere at some point in this cycle. You can imagine, this has been very bad news for our chickens.
And it has been very bad news for Shady since this means she lives her life on a running chain while the chickens are out. We snap-decided the dog would have to go. The chickens were here first, they’re our priority, and having them free range the orchard was an important part of the design of the garden. We’d only just managed to breed some chicks for the first time. Now it’s chick: singular. And we’re down to two laying chickens from a population of nine. But I don’t want to dwell on the negatives.
I called a dog trainer for advice. He said that she’s had too many chickens now to be trained out of it. I’ve been trying to rehouse poor Shady for the past two weeks but she’s a bit of a hard sell now. And in this time we’ve seen there’s a really delightful side to Shady too.
She’s playful, and affectionate, and likes to stay close to her family. She’s undisciplined, but a good communicator. She doesn’t bark much and if she gets a bit of a run every day, she’s quite mellow the rest of the time. She’s a great kids’ dog, and she’ll roll over and present her belly for a scratch if you even so much as look in her direction. She delighted us with a flying leap off a pile of earth in the yard as she ran around with the kids like a crazy young pup. She’s managing to work her way into our hearts and I keep trying to think of ways to keep this dog away from our chickens. You’d be asking for trouble keeping chickens and then keeping a dog that kills chickens, wouldn’t you?
We’ve had our share of challenges keeping chickens here. Feral dogs and cats and foxes roam the neighbourhood at night. Rats and snakes also present problems if you don’t have a secure coop for the birds. And human error, I’m sorry to say, has lost us many birds as well. So it’s not like this dog is the first chicken disaster we’ve ever had to manage. We could pen the chickens. We could fence the dog. We could put the chickens in tractors. We could set up a perimeter dog run. We could … We could ….
At the same time, this is a situation we can avoid altogether by just taking Shady to the RSPCA and being done with her.
If only it were that simple. Do you know someone with a fenced yard who’d like a fixed, micro-chipped, vaccinated, wormed, flea-treated female dog? Please get in touch.
May 31st, 2010 - Posted in childhood, play, duty of care, sustainability, grief | | 4 Comments
On edge
picture by darkmatter
This post was partly inspired by an entry on Ali Clifford’s photographic blog Twenty-Ten when she featured a candid portrait of her mother. I was moved by the image and by the title: she brought me here. If only my feelings for my mother were so pure and so simple.
My mother has come to stay. She arrived yesterday and will be with us for three weeks while the hubby is away on a business trip. I love her dearly, but there is … history … and much that goes unspoken between us. I have tried to discuss said history with my mother. Many times. But she cannot bear the confrontation. Either she shuts down, or she blows up. And neither situation is easy to endure. Especially for three weeks under one roof.
So here we are on day one and already I need an outlet for my frustration. How can one person push so many of my buttons at once? I’ve done a lot of work, a lot of healing, over the past six or seven years and I truly thought I was at peace with the past. I truly thought I had let go of Mum and all her petty stuff. I had evolved enough to have her come and stay for longer than we’ve spent together since I was a teenager coming home for uni holidays. I truly thought I was now above it all. And as far as she is aware, I am.
Oh, but what would I give for her to be different to who she is! What if she was relaxed and open and able to talk about anything with me? What if she could rationalise her experiences and trust her memories and express her love freely? What if she could be free from pain and relieved of the weight of her anxiety and depression? What would she be like then?
But it is futile to wish her different. She is who she is. Our relationship is what it is. The only aspect of this situation I control is my own. So I will try, very hard, to have a pleasant three weeks with my mother, to give her happy memories with her grandchildren, to avoid any conflict or unpleasantness that may arise, to keep building the precarious bridge between her world and mine.
But it won’t take much to push me over the edge.
February 10th, 2010 - Posted in personal growth, nostalgia, grandparents, grief, love, self-care | | 3 Comments
Out with the old
picture by *Sally M*
I guess I would call 2009 a transition year. It began with us looking down the long tunnel of my mother-in-law’s dementia. There was no knowing what the day would hold. Since she lived with us, all other concerns were pushed aside to accommodate her needs, including the needs of our four children. I actually can’t recall their first day of school for the year, though I know I took pictures at the time. This Xmas brought back a lot of memories of her as I recalled how she’d managed to choose appropriate presents for the children, and socialise with her family at Xmas lunch. Though her illness was evident to us all, none of us could have known we wouldn’t spend another Xmas together like that.
Her decline was swift and by April she was hospitalised, never to return home. Her absence was felt for a long time, still is, though we’ve moved on from the stressful intensity of caring for her. The piano lessons Miss Nine and I began as a comfort to her have continued. Her roses, which I reluctantly planted outside her kitchen window, are thriving. And we relax in the knowledge that she is being cared for as adequately as we might have managed ourselves, in a hospice run by the Alzheimer’s Association. It is located far across town, however, so we visit her when we can. It isn’t ideal, but it is what it is. Life goes on, as it must.
The silver lining is that my time became freer and I decided, somewhat on a whim, to return to uni and do a Masters in creative writing. It’s funny how childhood fantasies find a way of becoming a reality, but here I am, finally doing what I perhaps should have done too many years ago. I am enjoying myself, without getting hung up on what will come next. And I’m relishing the extra time with family too, though I berate myself for not getting out in the garden as much as I should. Somehow, it has managed to thrive despite my neglect.
And so have the children. Master Nine and Miss Eight both earned awards in their classes for their willingness to take responsibility and help others. I suppose they have their grandmother to thank for that. Master Six has developed quality friendships in his prep class and is profoundly ready for Year One.
And thanks to my studies, Miss Four will begin daycare this new year, which I expect she will love. The local centre operates using a Montesorri foundation which is familiar and acceptable to us. But as she starts prep next year (2011!) I feel compelled to make the most of my time with her. The freight train of life barrels along at its own speed, and, as usual, I’m running to keep up.
On the plus side, hubby and I have already decided how we will spend his 2011 long service leave. We have always wanted to do a trip around Australia as a family and this may be our only opportunity to realise the dream. It gives us something to plan and look forward to as we journey through the year ahead.
As for me, I intend for 2010 to be the year I get back to me. And in doing so, get back to the basics of family, friends, house and garden. I’ll keep banging the piano, and writing and blogging. I’ll read more, spend more time in the garden and simplify, simplify, simplify as the wise man Thoreau once advised. I’m generally not one for making resolutions, but there is no better time for change than a brand new year.
So here’s to change, and the eternal challenge of keeping up with it.
January 3rd, 2010 - Posted in personal growth, gratitude, nostalgia, grandparents, duty of care, grief, wisdom, health | | 2 Comments
