I pulled this quote from Lynne Harris’ article “Everybody Hates Mommy” on Salon.com:

… and as much as the magazines make motherhood look pretty, and it often is awesome, it’s also fucking hard, and we’re tired, and we get slammed both for working and for not working, for paying both too much and too little attention to our children…

While I didn’t find much of interest in the article overall (it was very New York-focused, and as such far, far from my experience), there were a couple of interesting tidbits, this quote among them. I agree with Harris’ observation that mothers face harsh judgement for their choices. I definitely fall in the “judged for not working” camp, and have squirmed many times when working moms tell me “I went crazy during my maternity leave” (well, duh, we all do–the first three months suck ass) or “I would crave intellectual stimulation” (me too, which is why I write software in my spare time).  I had a career, made good money, and tied a large portion of my identity and self-worth to my professional successes. But here I am, doing something else now, and loving it. Does that make me less intelligent? Less interesting? Less feminist? Yes, yes, yes, I once thought. Not so much anymore.

Once I let go of judgement and expectation, this being home thing started to become really fun. Sure, there’s laundry and diapers instead of conference calls and white papers. But there’s also the occasional nap with RecessionBaby snuggled on my chest and the joy of knowing that, just for a few more years, he’ll be able to wake up to his own rythm, not to frazzled parents trying to shuttle him off to daycare before sunup.

The fact is, moms and dads who work do no less parenting than I do. They just have to do all that and fit in 20, 40, 60 hours at the office too. They face no less harsh judgement for it. “Why did you have kids if you can’t afford them?” Or to those who can afford to stay home but don’t, “Why have kids if you don’t want to raise them?” Ultimately, parenting, like so many things, is “fucking hard” and it’s fucking complicated, too.

My survivial tactic is to ask myself if I’m happy. If I’m happy today, satisfied with the experience we are providing our son, satisfied with the quantity and nature of intellectual stimulation in my life, satisfied that we have enough food in the cupboards and smiles in our home, then I’m not going to change anything. In the meantime, a growing child will provide ample change to any situation, and we’ll see where it takes us.

What started with last Friday being Dadda’s day to play Mamma, became a week long one (probably longer as far as Dadda goes).

Last Sunday I woke up with a plan to bake with and for Scooby (and the rest). After keeping the butter out to soften I was done and decided it was time to do the sick-Dadda-act. That is, lie down with a duvet, whine for water, tea, food, attention and the rest. Within five minutes it was not an act anymore and was down with decently high fever. Dadda packed me off to the room. In tryingto keep the humour, I asked him for food in bed. Believe-it-or-not I did get it in bed.

Monday started off well. By four I was frantically squeaking out to Dadda. Needed him back home “jetzt”. I was done for the next two days. We decided to keep Scooby back from school since we were not sure what I was carrying.

Dadda just took over the kids and home and work . My misconception that I was irreplaceable for the kids was rudely set aside. Dadda’s day started at four and ended at one (in the night). I started to feel bad for him.

But then since Moms don’t have the luxury to fall sick, I was glad for my little “sick” holiday. On Thursday Dadda had to be back at work and I had to be back at work as well.

Scooby and Uvi are still not doing great but I think we’ll I’ll survive with Dadda a call away.

Take #6

Him: “What was your income over the last year?”

Me: “Nothing.”

Him: “If a job was offered to you in the next two days, would you accept it?”

Me: “No.”

Him: “Are you actively seeking work?”

Me: “No.”

Him: “What do you do?”

Me: “I’m a stay-at-home Mother.”

Him: “Fair enough.”

Kids get sick.  A lot!  My nephew, Xander, is an industrious one and doesn’t let a simple illness keep him down.  Not five minutes after his mommy instructed him to stay away from his brother, Zereth, to keep him from getting sick as well, I overheard Xander threatening Zereth with a little germ warfare…  It’s no wonder when children get sick, their entire family (parents and siblings alike) are taken down with them.

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As I am expecting child #5, I figured out a long time ago that most of the things that you think you need with your first child are really not necessary. I have whittled my baby needs list down to mostly essentials with a few “nice to have, but don’t really need” items. 

Of course, by breastfeeding exclusively we won’t need any of the bottle-feeding paraphenalia, but I would like to make my own nursing cover, burp cloths, and bibs. A nursing pillow, like a Boppy, is great to have too. Nursing also requires a few good nursing bras and a stack of nursing pads (store-bought or home-made). By not starting solids until at least 6-8 months, I can get by with a booster seat at the table. And I love my Vita-Mix for making my own healthy baby food.

Since we co-sleep, we don’t need any nursery decor or furniture, just our Arm’s Reach mini co-sleeper  and some waterproof pads for our bed. A changing table just seems like a waste of money and precious space in our full house, especially when it’s so easy to change baby on the bed or floor. I have made each boy their own baby blanket and this time I’m going to make a flannel rag quilt.

I absolutely love wearing my babies because it makes my life so much easier and is good for them, so I definitely have to have my Maya Wrap baby sling. I also have found it fairly simple to make my own pouch carrier and have considered making a wrap carrier. If I get carried away, I may even attempt a mei tai carrier. My husband and I both prefer using a baby sling carrier over a plastic infant carrier/car seat, so we went for an infant-to-toddler Britax car seat.

For baby’s bottom, I use Seventh Generation diapers because they are chlorine-free. I use the subscription through Amazon.com to get an extra 15% off and they deliver them to my door! I have tried a few different cloth diapers before but I am really interested in trying BumGenius 3.0 one-size cloth diapers this time. Of course, by going the cloth route, we would also need a diaper pail, liner, wet bag for outings, and (not necessary, but handy) a diaper sprayer. But in the end, it would still save us money over using disposables exclusively for 2-3 years. But if I don’t jump on the cloth diaper train, I won’t beat myself up over it. For the occasional diaper rash, I depend on Earth Mama Angel Baby Bottom Balm. It is awesome!

As for dressing babies, I prefer simple cotton onesies and sleepers for the first several months. The little 2-3 piece outfits in the stores are adorable but just don’t look practical or comfortable for tiny babies. I did develop a fondness for the soft-soled leather shoes like Robeez and ShooShoos and I recently ran across Bugaloos, which are only $15. But I’ve already started working on making similar cloth baby shoes using this pattern. They are easy to make, inexpensive, and I can make them in an unlimited variety of colors and patterns. 

I do like to use a bouncy seat for keeping baby close and entertained while I’m busy cooking or doing chores. And some type of baby bath tub is necessary, along with a natural baby wash, like Burt’s Bees or California Baby. For play time, we like simple wooden or cloth toys and try to avoid unsafe plastics and battery-operated things. Babies usually prefer a lap, a smiling face, and whatever big people “toy” is handy anyway.

Babies only need a fraction of what the baby product marketers would have you believe. Fill their bellies, keep them clean and cover their bottoms, hold them safe in your arms, and babies will be happy (most of the time!).

While reading Jezebel’s response to Lynn Harris, I found my mind wandering in a slightly different direction.  As far as the article is concerned, I agree that class makes a big difference – lower class mothers and fathers both have to work one way or another to make ends meet and don’t have the time to stroll about the neighborhoods and give their children iphones to play games on and call their grandmothers.

But there is something more than class that irks me about the lifestyle that these stereotypical stroller mothers portray: once you become a mother, all other parts of your self-identity are erased.  You become ONLY a mother.  And while I am sure that having a child is a powerful experience and that when you love someone as much as parents love their children, that someone becomes the center of your world in many ways, why is it not the same for fathers too? Fathers are always assumed to be more than a father.  When fathers do act as care givers to their children they are praised and congratulated by women (and hopefully not joked about or emasculated by other men).  However, when women do anything more than be a mother to their children (such as work, volunteer, take a weekend, go to school) they are met with criticism and negativity, as Waldman discusses here.  One can see this with politicians, when a women who has young children runs for office, the media asks “what about her children?” and when a man runs the children only come around to show that he has family values – no one expects him to be at home with the children.

The media does not help.  While there are certainly exceptions to this portrayal of women, it still runs rampant.  A great example is Mrs. Weasley from Harry Potter (I know, very sophisticated example).  I might lose some of you here, but bear with me.  Mrs. Weasley does nothing but worry about, cook for, clean for, and nag her children and husband.  Supposedly a member of the Order of the Phoenix (a club that fights bad people), all she is ever found doing is cooking and cleaning, while all of the other men and single women save the day.  When she does fight, she is preoccupied with the safety of her children – that is not bad – but why is that HER job? Why is Mr. Weasley so laid back and focused?  Sure, some people are chill and others are worry warts, but why are mothers always portrayed as the worriers?  When a man is a worry wart – like her son Ron Weasley or Neville, it is used as a humor device, and in the end they almost always “man up” and muster the courage to get the job done, while mothers only find courage to defend their children.

My point is that

1. The roles prescribed to women when they become mothers is very different from those prescribed to fathers (particularly that men are not only allowed, but expected to maintain their individuality during fatherhood) and
2. That these roles for mothers discourage good fathering because they rely solely on the mother for being conscious of their child at all times – and surely taking turns would make for a little less stress all around the family.

This is supposedly a blog about “living creatively”, but it’s mostly been about surviving pregnancy and the early days of motherhood. Now that Little Man is five months old, we’re getting a bit more sleep and I’m creeping back into the creative swing of things with a couple of mural gigs (which I’ll post about later).  I feel like I’m coming back to life, but it’s a strange new one where time and space for myself are extremely limited. I had a hard time balancing my desire to create with marriage, a social life, and work that pays the bills before I had a baby, but now it seems like a nearly impossible challenge to carve out some “me time”. One the one hand, I want to be there for my son as much as possible. I don’t want to miss a thing and I want him to know I’m there for him. On the other hand, I hope to teach him that the best thing he can do in this life is find what he loves and pursue it with passion, and what kind of example will I be if I’m too busy/tired/afraid to pursue my own dreams?

The majority of famous women artists and writers I can think of (which are, sadly, not many to begin with), did not have children. It seems they had to make a choice between their career and kids, and career won out. I could go on and on about sexism in the arts and how men don’t have to make that choice and blah blah blah, but it’s been done (the Guerrilla Girls do a good job of it) and I’m not out to get famous in the art world anyway. All I want is a fulfilling creative life and a healthy loving relationship with my family. Can it be done? Are they mutually exclusive?

I’ll be thinking and writing more about this topic in coming posts. I’d love to hear more about how you do it if you are an artist and a mama.

In the meantime, here are beautiful excerpts from an essay on this issue which gives me hope. It’s called “The Divided Heart” and is by Ruth Whitman, a poet and professor (one I had never heard of before reading her essay in a collection of women’s art and writing called In Her Own Image: Women Working in the Arts).

“Writing for me was and is an assertion of my identity. I never feel so much myself, with a great sense of relief and release, as when I stop somewhere in the midst of my daily chaos with pencil and paper.”

[On becoming a mother] “I was afraid to lose my independence, my person-ness. But the whole experience of pregnancy, which I found marvelously mind-expanding as well as body-expanding, followed by the experience of viewing this beautiful piece of life for which I was responsible, gave me a passion for motherhood.”

“Perfection of life or perfection of work? Which would you rather strive for? My answer had to be – both. I began to see that life was not static. It changed continually. And one could guide the change: children could be educated to see the equality of needs and responsibilities; I could become less rigid in my view of my needs…”

“I don’t mean to imply for a moment that there were not tremendous pain and division in my heart. I didn’t want to miss companionship with my children…on the other hand, I felt resentful at having to delay my own creative development…my third child was born before my first book came out. But by that time I was beginning to understand that my libido was strong enough to make both books and babies and that in fact one strengthened the other. Both together were the real total of my life. Spiritually, so long as I insisted on my right to a private life, there was no real division. The division was in the distribution of time.”

“More and more I see the parental function – not authoritative, but educative – as the responsibility of every human being who has found out anything by living. If civilization means anything, it lies in becoming part of the great chain of learning from those who have gone before us, and of teaching those who come after us.”

“A private creative person lives inside each of us. It is one’s basic identity, with all the symbols, images, and language that each of us has stored up since childhood. It is in these universal terms that the poet and parent begin to come together, that the conflict begins to subside and the divided heart becomes whole.”

So, inspired by Jennyonthespot, I am finally blogging.  And cheating a bit, if you will allow… by participating in a ‘tagged blogthingofsorts’ for a chance to win some really cool stuff as seen here. (I want the bike.. I don’t have babies any more, or mad crafting skillz.)

If you want to play too, all you have to do is:

make up your own wish list using the format below

link back to Today’s Mama and Provo Craft

and then tag your blogger friends to do the same…

Voila!

So.. if you are listed below, you must do the same.  I’m curious about what y’all are desiring for the holidaze!

Here it is folks….my Wishy Wishy List:

1. What 5 items are top on your holiday wish list?

• Frye Veronica Slouch boots, in Red. *drooling*
• World Peace….but boots first, priorities!  I mean.. seriously, how cute would I be jumping for joy about world peace in these boots?
• Relief from financial worries (I have no shot at the boots right now people)
• A skinner body, but I’d like to keep my boobs, just like they are.
• Gift Card to Anthropologie.. of a sizable amount.

2. What is your favorite handmade gift you have received?

Preschool Christmas ornaments.  Those are just priceless.

3. What handmade gift have you always wanted to tackle?

Sweaters in which the arms are not too long for a human, or at best each the same length.

4. What was the best Christmas gift you received as a child?

A handmade Raggety Ann Doll from my Aunt Linda.  Pretty cool.  Still have it!

5. What items are top on your kids wish list this year?

• Millennium Falcon Star Wars Lego set
• American Girl Doll Kirsten

6. What is your favorite holiday food?

Fudge, plain and simple.

7. What will you be hand-crafting for the holidays?

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I think I’ll make everyone a big bag of Zero.

8. What is your favorite holiday movie?

Millions.  Hands down, best holiday movie EVA!  Love it so much.

9. Favorite holiday song?

• Do They Know it’s Christmas by Band Aid.  Christmas is not Christmas without it!

10. Favorite holiday pastime?

Decorating the house and tree for Christmas.  Oh happy happy!

Now it is your turn!

3 Giraffes- I figure, Jenny can take one of you, I get the other!

Utterances

NogginToppers

Jennyonthespot- obviously!

Brasebeats

Yes, we had Thanksgiving and a day off today and many, many other activities between my last post (whenever that was) and now…

So, while Curious George is buying me a precious five minutes between loads of laundry, I thought I’d post a couple of fun photos taken the other day while Thomas was “helping” me strip the bed.

I’ll be back with more appropriate holiday-themed photos shortly. We’re pulling the Christmas books out of the basement tonight.

This article, Everybody hates mommy by Lynn Harris is essential reading as it says  pretty much everything there is to say about the animosity running hot right now towards mothers, well the middle-class ones anyway*.

They’re usually unfairly stereotyped, but sometimes they’re also in our restaurants. I mean, I get it. I remember silently, uncharitably judging the absent mother (yes, I assumed mother) of the feral gender-vague child roaming Park Slope’s Tea Lounge (the place Sohn calls the “Teat Lounge”) who grabbed my then-baby daughter’s toy out of her hand.

“Hey, you can’t just take stuff from people,” I chided.

He/she fixed me with a steely toddler gaze. “Why?”

Oh, God. Just last week, at the playground, I saw a mother beaming at her son on the slide. Every time he went down, she said, “Thank you, Cooper!” No lie. So really, I get that everyone’s cranky and tired and laid-off and just wants to keep walking — or, depending, keep sitting. I get that people may have had supremely annoying encounters with “entitled” mothers making obnoxious demands and “SUV-size” strollers parked next to barstools. Even my most respected, most feminist, most ready-to-leap-to-the-defense-of-women friends and associates have such stories of their own.

But I still say that when it comes to mother bashing, there’s more going on. Something deeper, more venomous, even more timeless. The level of vitriol is so high, its target so clear and consistent.

*There is a whole other wave of hate reserved for the mothers identified by the Judgey McJudgeys as not being suitably middle class enough for their tastes, like those who are young mothers, those who are single mothers or those who are queer mothers, which I have written a little about previously too.

(Thanks Michelle of Canada).

Everyone has their ABC about how to build a strong marriage, so over the next 3 blogs I want to offer  my ABC reflections, but it’s not really an ABC, but really 7 M’s.

Here are the first two.

Manhood: Firstly men need to be men. By this I mean the man needs to recognise that he is the spiritual leader of the household and to act like one. I see far too many men, both Christian and non, who are more a mummy’s boy rather than a man. There are far too many men being led by their wives rather than leading their wives. The funny, if not sad thing I find, is that many of the wives who are wearing the paints in the home wish their husband would rise up and be the man and the leader of the household. Now it probably needs to be said that it’s very easy to abuse our leadership to  mean something like an autocratic or dictator. There are already too many men like this. However by spiritual leadership I mean we need to be the man and to be like Jesus. And you know how Jesus led his church? We need men to be like this. So what does that mean? Take the initiative to read the scriptures and to pray with your wives. The number of women who have shared with me how they wish their husband will take a lead in these things is countless and tragic. Take the initiative. Say to your wife: “Let’s read the scriptures and pray!” That’s not too hard to say is it?

Motherhood: A second key to building a strong marriage is to value motherhood.  Now it’s strange to talk about Motherhood and marriage, but when I read the scriptures, there is a very strong connection between being a woman and being a mother. It’s worth noting that with all the push by the feminists to dissolve any and all differences between men and women one of the casualties has been over child rearing and motherhood. Today’s feminists are pushing for equal opportunities in the work place and for equal pay. Many women want recognition for their achievements and success in the business world etc. In all this, motherhood is not good enough if not an unfortunate burden in their quest for recognition and status. So many will sacrifice being a mother for the sake of their careers. In short to be a real women is not about being a mother (or even the desire)  but about having same job opportunities as men.

While I’m all for acknowledging that women are equal, something clearly taught in the scriptures (Galatians 3:28), the bible also recognises that we are different.  Men are marked by work where as women are marked by motherhood. Now, please please don’t get me wrong because I can see it already coming. I’m not saying that women can’t work. I think they definitely can. There are many examples in the bible of women who held a job. Proverbs 31 is the classic example.  And I’m not saying that fathers should not be involved in rearing their children. Again the bible has a very high role of the father in raising children. However it seems that, as a matter of emphasis the man is the worker and the women is marked by motherhood. Of course there are many women who desperately want one but can’t. But this only adds weight to the argument that motherhood (or at least the desire)  is one of the defining characteristics of being a women. Recall that the curse on man was with respect to his work (Gen 3:17-19), while the curse on the woman was with respect to giving birth (Gen 3:16).

OK enough of this. So where am I going with this? The point I’m trying to make is for women to recognise their role as women and their calling to be a mother (if possible), and to stop trying to compete or to be a like a man. Too many women see motherhood as a hindrance. They want to be like the man – get a good highly respected, high flying well paid career. Admittedly and sadly  too many men think like this. However when  women start thinking like this, there is always a danger of the woman  competing with the husband. And when the kid comes they’ll resent it profusely and resent their husband because, while they are jet setting around the world (I’m not saying this is good)  she is stuck at home with the kid.  But if women recognise the value and the importance and the high calling of motherhood, it can save a lot of conflict in marriage. In short,  just as a man is called to be a man, so the women is called to be a women. To confuse the two roles, as we see it so often in the world today, is the source of so much heartache and broken marriages.

Oh yes just one note: Motherhood only ever works for women when the husband is 120% behind the wife in this – and by this I don’t mean just bringing in the money. Some husband thinks this is all it is. Rather I mean that the husband, when he comes home is not straight into the TV or to the computer games, or into his hobbies, while the wife is struggling to clean, cook and take care of the kid. If you’re like this you deserve a big kick up the behind. No! To be 120% behind your wife means when you come home after work you realise that the work does not stop. You go straight into the kitchen to help with the cooking, straight into the bedroom to help with bathing the baby. You help vacuum the house, wash the clothes etc etc. Women will value motherhood more when they realise their greatest fan and supporter is their husband. Women will love being a mother when their husbands UNDERSTAND what it means to be a mother.

OK this is the first of my two M’s for making a great marriage.

Anyone who knows me knows that I tend to be moody and anxious. I have random bouts of obsessive worrying over some issue or another. Some are small, others are bigger. Some are things from the past, others – concerns about the future. Some are things we can control, others are entirely out of our hands. But in the moment of worry and obsession, I react to all of them the same way – I feel a strong physical reaction, intense discomfort at the thoughts, and whatever it is seems to be the end of the world, seems to consume me and keep me from being at peace. And somehow, there is always a reason – no, an excuse really – why THIS time it really is a big deal, and not my mind doing its usual overdrive thing.

As my friends tell me – “You think too much!” – but in the moment it’s hard to cut myself some slack and let it go. Sometimes I can, others, not so much. I pick at these things like scabs. When something is on my mind, everything reminds me of that thing. And when it dies down, or even while it’s happening, I often think that the choice of topic to fret about is a bit random – that sometimes, from my hormones or whatnot, I feel very anxious and my mind just looks for something to attach the feeling to and dwell on. And I think many of us sometimes have strange feelings of discomfort, blah, self-doubt and not being very sure of our own identities. This in turn can lead either to broad philosophical thoughts (who am I? what is my place in the universe?) and/or specific obsessions (should I take that job? is my loved one in trouble? is strapless a good idea on me?).

I don’t know when or how I got this way, how to solve it, or whether there really is anything to solve – maybe it’s just how I am and the key is to accept myself and not worry ABOUT the worrying. To put this in perspective, it’s not all the time that I am like this. Most of the time I’m not, and overall I definitely consider myself a happy person.

Now recently, while visiting with my mother, I was rather moody and we got into some of those uncomfortable deep conversations. Somehow it got into feeling comfortable with yourself and your identity (or not), as well as various other topics de jour, and my mother said – while not trying to preach to me or anything, she felt that when you have kids, these sorts of musings tend to fade away. She said you are filled with so much “joi de vivre” that you don’t HAVE this problem.

I do think her statement rang true to some extent – I’ve always thought it would be wonderful to have kids, and would give me a sense of purpose in life, and help put things in perspective. It’s only as I got older that I started to wonder if this was really true, or a good reason to have kids. It seems like I’d be having them with the idea that they would solve my issues, the things about myself that I don’t like (my anxiety and overthinking). It doesn’t seem fair to expect that of them.

Plus I wonder if parenting would make it that much worse. It was hard enough to make decisions or put worries to rest when I had only myself to consider. Then, when I found love and my husband and I started living our lives together, it introduced all these new things – how much do we influence each other? Are we eroding each other’s identities? Are we limiting our own development by being together? (For the record, I feel like we actually help each other develop, but it’s true that we all give up certain freedoms and make certain compromises when we commit to a partner/spouse.) But at the very least, I can remind myself that we are both adults, and neither of us is entirely responsible for the other – we are each responsible for ourselves. The same would not be true of children. So it could be so much harder not to freak out about things when on top of everything else there is the guilt and sense of responsibility that this other human being depends on me and my choices entirely.

I’ve also heard claims that when you have kids, you’re so busy just throwing yourself into parenting and figuring it out as you go that you don’t have time for all this angst. That could be true. But obviously I’m not going to have a kid just to keep myself busy or distracted. And if being busy were enough, then people with busy jobs (including myself during some of my busiest times) would never have this problem of angst or distracting worries, even feelings of depression sometimes. And yet, we do.

I tend to think that still, if I do reach a point where I feel ready to dive into parenthood, it will work out and overall be a positive influence. But it’s an interesting question.

And here’s the kicker – this really big question in my life, of having kids or not, does not in fact give me those anxious/obsessive feelings. I thought about it a lot of quite some time. And after starting work on my movie, and then this blog, I don’t really think about it as much, I just have ideas and if I think they might interest you readers, I write about them in my long rambling way… But they don’t give me the icky tingles in the back of my neck or the bad feelings in the pit of my stomach that other random stuff can. And when something reminds me of this issue, it doesn’t bring on a freak-out, I just think it’s interesting and perhaps address it in the movie or on the blog. It doesn’t make me uncomfortable at all, even though it is the biggest unresolved issue in my life that I can think of. I wonder what that means.

The bell tolls off in the distance and it lulls you. Close your eyes and feel your head sway to its timed calling. Lilting voices sing to you in your head and you can feel the warmth of the sun chase away the coolness of November from your tired frame. Resting your head on your arms, somewhere there are tears forming and being released onto the smooth surface of your desk.

Yet you know it will be okay. You feel it somewhere inside you … it’ll be okay.

Call it faith, call it stamina, call it sheer will to not give up like a bawling infant you know this is just part of the process of your journey. Somewhere from the inner depths you know it will be okay.

No you’re not a failure. You just needed a break.

And the sun is rubbing your back like your mother used to when you were younger, scared, and sick like you are now. And the bell in the background is a gentle reminder that the exhaustion will soon go away and so will the fears.

You will be okay.

You will be okay.

Sometimes it’s hard for others to understand why I do what I do. Why would I choose to stay home with my children, and not even send them to pre-school or school when I had the chance? Why would I want to keep having more children, who would continue to occupy my time and my life?

I was on the phone the other day with someone who questioned why I was homeschooling. Believe it or not, I don’t hear much criticism — or questions — from others about our educational choice. “Don’t you want some freedom from your kids?” was the question.

I was quite unprepared for it. It made me want to laugh and cry at the same time.

It made me want to laugh because I don’t think parents are ever or should ever be “free” of their kids. We are given them to raise them, and prepare them for greater independence someday, but even when they go to an institutional school at five years and leave the house when they are 18, they will never leave our hearts and minds. The worrying and work and love don’t stop, I think, ever.

It made want to cry because the questioner unintentionally was making my children sound like burdens, like inhibitors to my “freedom.” How sad to wish their years of wanting and needing and liking you away quicker than they go already. Parents who rush their kids out the door miss such precious years and moments that can never be lived again.

Of course, the choices I’ve made are hard. They don’t call them sacrifices for nothing! Sometimes I, too, question them, for a minute or two — but rarely longer than that.

That’s because I have an entirely different perspective of what my life on earth it is about. It is not to be “free.” I lived for myself and my “freedom” before I was a wife and mother, and I was miserable. I am not enough to make myself happy. It is in loving, serving and caring for others that makes me truly happy … even when it’s not entirely pleasurable at times.

As a Christian, I am called to imitate Christ, the epitome of self-sacrificing love, the suffering servant. He gave up his freedom, himself, his will, his life entirely as a gift for each one of us. He asks us, in turn, to take up our cross and follow him.

That means for me dying to self — what I sometimes want, what I think I need, what others think I should be doing. Giving up little and big pleasures for a greater good — to please God, to work on my vices, and to serve my family better.

It’s a completely different kind of freedom. But it’s my choice, and what I believe is God’s choice for me.

I know Canadian Thanksgiving has come and gone but all the Thanksgiving posts and tweets from my friends in the United States have me thinking. Sitting on the kitchen floor with my iPhone waiting for my kid’s store bought pizza lunch to cook, I realize all the things I’m truly grateful for when I’m not well:

• the already prepared food section of the grocery store so my kids can have a lunch consisting of more than crackers and the pickles in the bottom of the pickle jar.
• the television, even without cable, that so aptly turns my kids into zombies and gives me an hour or two to sleep without interruptions.
• the twitterverse that entertains, amuses, consoles and connects me to the outside world from the comfort of my fuzzy PJs and down comforter.
• the age and number of kids I have so they can care for and entertain themselves in a pinch. I can’t imagine having to take care of an infant or having just one child that needs to be entertained. My seven-year old daughter made her younger brother and sister breakfast, even if it did include items covered in powdered sugar. I love them.
• the seat heaters in my van that keeps the chill away as I make an emergency milk run to the grocery store. I could have fallen asleep in the parking lot all toasty warm if it wasn’t for those three kids bugging to get our of the van.

Being under the weather isn’t fun when you’re a mom and your responsibility don’t disappear, but at least these things make it doable until I’m on my feet again tomorrow. Because we all know mom’s have the incredible ability to be taken out by a bug for one day only. Something else I’m thankful for.

     This Thanksgiving was a very non-traditional one for us.  It was the first year that I’ve ever been without my parents, since my dad’s immune system’s too weak to be around the kids.  Luckily, our good friends came to the rescue and invited us to their house.  Our kids were super pumped to hang out all day with kids their own age, and we were grateful not to have to do all the cooking!  

     We no sooner than got in the door before our kids were off and running with our friends’ kids.  They completely disappeared for a good two hours before we even saw a glimpse of them.  We took advantage of that kid-free time by snacking and chatting and drinking cocktails, while keeping an eye on the ginormous bird in the oven. However, it’s always been my experience that when kids are out of sight for too long, there’s most likely something fishy going on.  I decided to try and track them down before someone lost an eye or set the house on fire.

     I finally found them down in the basement all the way back in the storage room.  When I walked into the room, I first saw my friends’ little boy sitting in his baby brother’s swing all wrapped up in a blanket  (oh, and did I mention that he’s FOUR YEARS OLD?!) I then saw my son walk across the room wearing only his pants, since the top part of him was completely naked.  And when I asked why on earth he was going topless, I was simply told by my daughter that the boys were being cavemen.  Well, that made perfect sense, then.  All prehistoric dudes strut their stuff in Gap corduroy pants and chill out in infant swings.  Since nobody was bleeding and nobody was crying, I left the naked caveman and went back to join the rest of the adults.

     When the food was finally ready to go, the boys put their clothes back on so we could all chow down on a G-rated turkey dinner.  All in all, it was a fun Thanksgiving spent with some of our favorite friends.  The kids clearly enjoyed using their wild imaginations, while the big people enjoyed throwing back a few too many drinks. Although it wasn’t quite the same as spending time with my family, I suppose it was the second best thing. Sometimes traditions have to be tweaked in order to roll with the punches that life throws your way. And I’m thankful that I’ve got such amazing people in my life who protect me from those nasty left hooks.

Usually we only do one outing a day.  It’s been my rule since Miss Q was an infant.  One outing is safe; frap-out chances near zero.  One outing is enough; Miss S HATES her carseat.  And one outing is risky; the chances of me forgetting snacks, extra clothes or my keys are high.  So, when I was suddenly faced with three major things to do- I felt the fear.

Getting ready.  Miss Q and I were up with an hour and a half in front of us; but Miss S decided this was the morning she wasn’t going to sleep till nine.  It’s funny how many things you can think of doing while you’re sitting in a chair breastfeeding.

Fortunately, there’s TV.  Honestly, if we didn’t have something for Miss Q to watch while I brushed her hair, got her dressed, and brushed her teeth, her morning routine would have pushed us back 15 minutes.  With my little zombie in front of me, and Miss S semi-content beside me, it took less than 5 minutes to do the list.  Next time I’ll remember to put on her shirt and dress before I do her hair.

Out the door.  Unlike our Beaver Lake adventure, I only brought the diaper bag and my girls.  Though half way to pick up Granny, I realized I’d forgotten Santa Buddies, so now we’re paying the late charges at Blockbuster.

Coffee was fantastic.  Though I should really call it ‘water’ as I don’t drink coffee.  We stayed too long, but what can you do when conversation’s good and the children are too?

Time was not on our side as I dropped Granny off, and gently sped home.  Miss S needed a complete change of clothes – don’t ask; and they both needed lunch.  All this had to happen in 30 minutes… we made it in 35.  Another mental note: don’t feed your child gobs of peanut-butter before going to a peanut-free zone.  Complete change of clothes for Miss Q.

Playgroup or pre-preschool, was lovely.  Miss Q painted three big goopy pictures, cut up playdough, and coloured mittens.  Miss S fell asleep in the sling, but woke like a hornet as I attempted to put Miss Q’s artwork in the trunk – a fine dance of wind, goopy paint and my body.

I couldn’t stop moving when I got home.  I found myself creating ‘Carrot Surprise’ out of our left-overs, and making my husband iced tea for his workout, while Miss Q watched Santa Buddies – hey, if it’s already late, it’s late.

Doggy Santa.  Our nightcap.  One dog, one jolly elf, two children, two adults, smiling at the camera.  Poor littles, their only official Santa picture will ever be with their furry sister.  What can I say, it’s tradition and for a good cause.

I know for most, this is a drop in the bucket, but for me, it was a busy day.  In the end I found a bowl of oatmeal I hadn’t eaten for breakfast, and that sometimes you push the envelope and win.

Despite the vehement protestations of my formerly nine-year-old self, chances are that I’ll have kids of my own at some point in the future. Even were that not the case, I’m still the kind of gal who routinely plunges her head into the ice-cold waters of the blogsphere, and am therefore reasonably up to date on the current furor vis-a-vis motherhood. Specifically, the fact that nobody seems to know what to make of it. As Lynn Harris points out, a lot of hate for the feminine side of parenting is being bandied about by non-parents; Emma Gilby Keller is making the case for women who haven’t heard the ticking of their biological clocks and refuse to see this as a personal failing; Gen Y mum Nicole Madigan is, not unreasonably, fed up with being treated as though mothers as a demographic are still entrenched in the 1950s; and more than one person is wondering about how children should (or shouldn’t) fit into the public sphere. No matter whose side you’re on, any discussion of modern motherhood seems to imply a certain amount of outrage, anxiety and general handwringing, which, given that the prospect of giving birth is already terrifying, let alone being responsible for a tiny helpless being encoded with an unspecified, potentially lethal mix of yours and your partner’s DNA, is about as close to notions of ‘helpful’ or ‘comforting’ as the Oort Cloud is from Earth. Which is to say, very fucking distant.

I’ll admit to being fascinated by the whole malarkey – not just because I’m an opinionated snark, or because the entire buisness reeks very faintly of rubbernecking, but because it’s something in which my future self is, presumably, invested. Like everyone else, I want to know how to do this right, but despite my historical belief in the idea that moral/social absolutes are arbitrary if necessary human constructs rather than universal fixtures, it is still something of a rank shock to discover that there is no inviolable Way of the Parent, let alone Way of the Responsible Adult. Except for that part about not sticking forks in electrical socks, which, really, is only common sense.

But I digress.

The point being, there’s a lot of parenting turmoil to wade through, most of it directed towards or inflicted upon mothers themselves. And while I’m hardly about to cut in on the stroller-bashing queue, I think I’ve finally pinned down what makes me, personally, uncomfortable about the whole buisness. It’s not the idea of the Yummy Mummy that stings, although I dislike the emphasis it puts on what are frequently unrealistic standards of beauty. It’s not the helicopter, cotton-wool parenting, either, although it makes both my inner sixteen-year-old and my outer twentysomething roll their eyes. It’s not even the obnoxious, ignore-the-kids-as-they-go-on-a-public-rampage non-approach to parenthood, or the designer stroller brigades. I might lament each one in turn, but they’re not trends I feel personally threatened by: call it crazy, madcap optimism, but I’d like to think that whatever neuroses I develop as a consequence of motherhood will have less to do with social ephemera than the quirks and peculiarities of my own offspring. No: what makes me edgy in all of this is the idea that motherhood has once again become a lifestyle.

It’s a thought which simultaneously intrigues and repulses. On the one hand, everyone has the right to choose their own life. Who am I to criticize anyone for wanting the best for their children, or for taking pride in the process? Feminism has failed, and failed roundly, if it says that a woman ceases to be a feminist the moment she decides to be a stay-at-home mother, or if she cares about the type of stroller in which she perambulates her child. But on the other hand, it feels as though the current argument that children should comfortably pervade every facet of adult life – pubs, restaraunts, movies – is a reprimand on the notion that parenthood is something adults might want to take a break from. That’s not to say that it shouldn’t be easy for parents to take their children places, but even within the realms of shared public space, some areas – like parks – are more intuitively child-friendly habitats than cramped pubs. Children aren’t a disease or a nuisance, some squalid facet of humanity to be sequestered from polite society until their debutante ball: they are people, they are important, and every adult, no matter how vociferous on the subject of ‘breeders’, was one once. But neither are children accessories, undetachable scions that can’t be left off the parental radar without risk of permanent personality failure.

It’s a mess, in short, one we all have to sort through in accordance with our individual beliefs and intuitions, which goes some way towards accounting for all the different types of motherhood on offer. Sometimes, in the absence of absolute moral certainty, you just have to agree to disagree. But it’s the lifestyle element of modern mothering I baulk at: because lifestyles are all about appearances, and if there’s one thing I think childhood and parenting – and life in general, for that matter – shouldn’t boil down to, it’s an emphasis on how things look to other people, as opposed to how they actually work. And yet, this is exactly what I end up doing: looking at other mothers, who are after all the only rubric available, and judging, via their appearance, how likely they are to be engaged in the persuit of motherhood-as-a-lifestyle as opposed to motherhood-in-general. If I mistrust designer prams, Yummy Mummies and kids on parade, it’s because I worry that these are the trappings of motherhood-as-a-lifestyle, and while they certainly can be, particularly in conjunction, they are not definitive indicators. They are the accessories of stereotype, not its core. But with mothers and motherhood now so visible in public – which is a different part of the debate in and of itself -  it is frequently the case that these external signs are all we have to go by.

We are, in short, trying to find a definition for modern motherhood that suits. Women are juggling children and careers, personal lives and dedicated play schedules, the desire to spend time in adult company vs the practical difficulties of foisting one’s offspring off onto anyone else, even for an afternoon, in a climate where childcare costs approximately nine zillion squared to the power of sod off. We are having children at older ages, where an increased amount of disposable income to spend on the trappings of childhood – clothes, strollers, toys – often equates to time poverty, resulting in guilt and the desire to take the kids out wherever possible, even where that means sandwiching adult social time into a playdate at the local pub. And, as was ever the case, there is no easy answer. Society has changed, and mothers, intentionally or not, are changing with it. There is value in trying to stick up for what we think parenting should be, but if all that means is talking about the Good Old Days and judging by appearances, it won’t get us very far.