Chicken pox
picture by nursing pins
We’ve been in quarantine for a couple of weeks now, since Miss Eight broke out in her rash. Initially, I kept the whole family home to ensure everyone caught it (thus giving them valuable immunity for the future) and to prevent us passing it on to everyone else at school. Short-sightedly, I sent the boys back to school after a week when they didn’t develop secondary symptoms (ie, the itchy rash associated with chicken pox). They were missing so much school and more than half the kids there have now contracted the virus, so what’s the point, right? Well, I sincerely hope we haven’t infected anyone else (who didn’t want to be infected) but that’s all spilt milk now.
Now the other three kids have developed their rash and, aside from general crankiness, they seem to be tolerating the discomfort very well. We chose not to vaccinate for what is normally a fairly harmless childhood illness. Dear husband remembers having chicken pox as a child, and so do I, so we figured we were safe being exposed to the kids. Most interesting to me: many of the children immunised against chicken pox at the kids’ school are still contracting it - albeit, usually in a milder form (but not always).
And even though my mother claims that I have had chicken pox twice in my life, I still assumed that having them, even once, equates with some sort of immunity. Apparently not. Darling hubby has now contracted a second case of chicken pox in this lifetime, and he is not a happy camper. His rash is mild but the migraine headache that seems to be the major symptom of adult chicken pox has knocked him flat. I feel terrible for him, but guess who ends up playing nurse … again!
While I anticipate at least one friend is going to want to bring her kids over and expose them to the virus, I can acknowledge that vaccinating against childhood illness is a choice we all get to make at some point in our parenting journey. I take responsibility for the decisions I’ve made with regard to my children’s health and I don’t like to be scare-mongered by doctors and friends who think that just because a vaccination is offered it should be accepted. Are we messing with the health of our children (and future grandchildren and beyond) by opting to vaccinate against otherwise ordinary childhood illnesses? I’m not so willing to choose convenience in this generation, without understanding how it might impact on the next.
September 5th, 2010 - Posted in gratitude, childhood, partnership, parenthood, duty of care, beliefs, health | | 2 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
Introducing Emma
picture by mr. toaster
Strong women?
If there’s one thing I miss from my pre-kids life, it’s disappearing onto the road. I used to do a lot of long-distance travel, mostly on my own. Driving for eleven hours straight across the Hay plains, down dirt roads, finding a cheap motel in the middle of nowhere or sleeping in the back seat when I got too tired. Hours at a time with nothing but my own thoughts, and my voice cracking when I use it for the first time all day to pay for petrol. Like Tracey Chapman’s “Fast Car”, the car has always been my independence, escape, and protection.
My last trip pre-kids was to Kakadu during the dry season, seven years ago. I pitched a tent with no fly over top so I could watch the stars as I fell asleep. I listened to indigenous rangers talk about rock art and kinship systems, walked down to the water hoping I didn’t see any crocs, and watched slow burns clearing the dry grass.
I went into the shop on my last night to get a can of beans for dinner, and had a chat with a young woman who had moved there from the Kimberleys to get work. She told me how she knew this guy, David Gulpilil, who wanted to make a movie about Australia set in Arnhem Land. He wanted the world to see how beautiful the place is, and they were talking to big Hollywood celebrities to come do the movie. She hoped to get work as a cook when the movie starting shooting.
Later that night, she spotted me in the bar and we played a game of pool (I’m the worst player ever). It was her first night back in the bar after a three week ban for getting in a fight (she said self-protection), and she was celebrating. When she asked why I wasn’t drinking, I told her I was getting married in six weeks and hoping to have babies, so I was getting my body ready. And she said something that really stunned me: “We need more strong women like you.”
I’ve never seen myself as strong. Here was a young woman, prepared to move hundreds or even thousands of miles from her family, dealing with the combined discrimination against indigenous people and women… and she thought I was strong.
I still don’t know what strength she saw in me. But I hope she got to work in Arnhem Land. It’s beautiful country, I’d love to go back sometime. Although I guess the car trip won’t be about solitude next time.
Emma blogs at www.emmadavidson.wordpress.com
July 8th, 2010 - Posted in parenthood, community, beliefs, wisdom, health, self-care | | 2 Comments
Conspicuous consumption
picture by permanently scatterbrained
Cars slow down on our street to check out the progress on our front yard landscaping. It’s a big job, including a swimming pool and a kabana-type shelter. I know what they’re thinking. They’re wondering how much it is costing to build this monster and where we got the money from in this economic climate. They’re probably figuring out whether we’ve met before, at the neighbourhood Christmas party maybe, or perhaps our kids go to the same school. Even worse, we probably have, they probably do, and I don’t remember their names. And they don’t like us anymore.
These things are so simple for my husband. He works hard, we both agree, so he should be able to spend the money however he sees fit, knowing it will enhance our family time, provide a place to engage with our community, be an asset for our lifestyle. “Imagine us years into the future,” he assures me, “having our family around us.”
Of course, I come at it from a different angle, worried that we’re wasting our season ticket to the local community pool, that we won’t have the pleasure of bumping into (or making) friends there anymore, that the kids will get ’soft’ and be unable to swim in the local creeks with their friends where the rocks are slimy and scary-but-harmless creatures lurk below the surface. I worry that people will make assumptions about our family and our lifestyle and I’m worried that those assumptions might turn out to be correct. What happened to our goal to live simply, frugally, and maintain a small footprint? Shouldn’t we be chopping wood for our combustion stove so we can bake the bread before tending the composting toilet?
But it hasn’t turned out that way. It seems like, in order to live frugally, we need to spend money upgrading this or that appliance to a higher energy rating, getting more solar panels, even a back-up battery system for power outages (because the power does go out regularly here). I get terribly confused about what is reasonable consumption for a human being in a single life-time and whether we are setting our family up to feel entitled to consume. Or is the infrastructure we’re creating (swimming pool and all) a way for the next generation to not consume as we once did, because everything we need to live well is already here? I dunno. It just doesn’t come in black and white.
Eilleen from Consumption Rebellion doesn’t seem to have these dilemmas. She lives a beautiful life with so much less. When she was deliberating about needing/wanting a new digital camera and a new mobile phone, I was like, “Honey, you can do both.” But that’s not the point. The point is to consume conscientiously - and a big part of that word ‘conscientiously’ is ‘conscience’; that part of me from which my crisis originates.
If ‘frugal’ is a lifestyle I’ll admit, this isn’t it.
May 22nd, 2010 - Posted in partnership, consumerism, play, beliefs, wisdom, money, self-care | | 8 Comments
Sync-y Sex
picture by thegrocer*
Yes, I know how stupid the title sounds. No, it’s not a typo. It’s meant to be sync-y, not kinky. Here, let me explain….
It’s probably rather voyeuristic of me, but I recently discovered a network of married men blogging about married/monogamous sex (or the lack thereof). I am always amazed, and a little bit appalled, by the male point of view on sex; about the necessary frequency and variety of it, and about their desperation during the droughts in between.
Sexuality is a major aspect of being human. It would be remiss of me to blog about humanist personal growth and never talk about sex. I’m just waiting for the day the principal of my kids’ school discovers this blog and reads this entry - it’s bound to happen. But hey, we’re all human, and at least it’s not a religious school (’cos y’all will know where I stand on that issue).
I hope my dear hubby will forgive me for blogging on this subject but, like all couples, we’ve had our ups and downs in the intimacy department. We’ve even sought counselling at times. He’s a very wise and patient man, my husband, and I’m not going to embarrass him by sharing details of the history of our sexual relationship. I mean, really, there will never be a marriage that doesn’t encounter periods of mis-matched libido, changing tastes in the sensual, or extended spells of sheer physical and emotional exhaustion. Hands up if you have kids. Even if you don’t, most people have a day job to suck all the vitality out of them.
I don’t subscribe to the idea that the frequency with which other couples are doing it has any reflection on the health of my own relationship. It’s simply not on my radar. A: who cares what other people do in the privacy of their bedrooms or living rooms, or cars, or whatever? (… well, maybe I am just a little curious, but please, no pictures!) And B: I find the practice of keeping a log on such events a major, MAJOR, turn off.
Surely keeping the physical spark in a monogamous relationship is about empathy? It’s about understanding where your partner is at; about acknowledging where you’re at yourself; and then addressing the space in between?
Which, for a heterosexual man, to be more direct about it, means keeping track of his woman’s menstrual cycle, and going with the flow of her sexual receptivity during the first two weeks of her cycle, and then easing off and giving her room to breathe for the rest of the month. Really guys, let go of this twice-a-week or every-second-day attitude and trust that she’ll initiate it if she really wants it. There is nothing new about this concept. It is the wisdom of ages. But for those of whom this is new information, here’s a neat little article that explains it in its simplest terms (so the blokes can understand).
There is, of course, a biological purpose to the fluctuating desire woman experience during their menstrual cycle, which is, of course, to guarantee the survival of the human race, which does, of course, require … you guessed it - sexual intercourse. Husbands and partners can choose to work with the menstrual cycle, or be foolish, and probably damned frustrated, to work against it.
My dear husband has gone the technological route and downloaded an app for his Blackberry that keeps track of my menstrual cycle and guides him in demonstrating his love and desire for me. At first, I was leery, even offended, that some slip of a software program could possibly enhance our love life. But since I don’t chart my cycles on a calendar, and since I don’t have any visible code that communicates where my cycle is at, what choice did the poor man have? Now I see the value in this slip of a software program telling him where I’m at, physically and emotionally, and I blush to share that we’re in better sync than we’ve ever been.
March 25th, 2010 - Posted in happiness, partnership, play, beliefs, love, wisdom, health, self-care | | 4 Comments
