So apparently Twitter is about to turn all wallstreet on us and this means that they will be the new insidious threat to our online privacy, because they have this enhanced tracking power built into their platform that will allow really, really targeted ads to be sent to people across their multiple devices. Or so sez Mother Jones. This has different people in a flutter because it will be even worse than what facebook or google does.
I don't worry a lot about this. I mean, I stay informed and I regularly go into my FB settings to make sure as many "private" tick boxes are ticked. But I'm not exactly cowering in fear. Why?
Because judging from the hilarious offers and ads that pop up on FB and during my internet browsing, the Internets have no clue at all as to what I want and what I might buy.
Examples: while reading an atheist blog, I get ads offering me to meet Christian singles. I read American liberal political blogs, and ads for donating to the Republican party appear in the banner. The BBC News website streams commercials for Jaguar Canada to me (not in the market for a car, let alone a Jaguar). I could list more, but you get the big picture. Not only are the ads not within my sphere of interests, but they are often at the polar opposite of my tastes and leanings and with the content of the website I am visiting.
This is not the result of me making extraordinary efforts to hide from data collectors. My cookies are enabled and I have very basic firewall and anti-virus thingies on my 'puter. I shop online occasionally.
But I think I stay off of the radars and confound the ad-generators mostly because I used this seemingly antiquated and apparently little known approach to using the Internet. It's called "discretion" (she says as she posts a very public blog...). No, I'm not trying to be ironic.
I am relatively discreet when it comes to my internet use, especially with the social network platforms. Here's what I don't do that I think has helped me feel that my privacy is a little more private than other internet users:
1) No third-party app access to my FB account. I play Bejeweled Blitz and Candy Crush and whatnot. I do not use Game Center nor do I allow these games to access my FB profile. What I play and what my score was last night is nobody else's business (and I don't fucking give a flying fuck about your score or your fake farm animal either). But more importantly, I don't think my FB account and FB 'friends' are Game Center's, Apple's or any game-maker's business. So, no, I won't use the Birthday App on FB either, no matter how many times I am invited to do so.
2) No 'Liking' of companies on FB nor any mention of them on Twitter. Ever. I really do not like a capitalist profit-seeker enough to give that entity access to my information or 'friends'. The less they know about me, the better. (One exception: I 'liked' Oreo's page when they issued the rainbow Oreo picture in support of equal rights.)
3) I have accounts on FB, Twitter and Pinterest but use them discreetly. I don't link those accounts together so that these guys can gang up on me and I am mostly a lurker on these platforms. I avoid oversharing and I do not allow my smart phone to automatically announce to the world that I'm at this mall or that airport. I do not allow my phone to geotag my pictures. I don't post pictures of the food I'm having at the restaurant. I don't post pictures during my vacation as an advertisement for burglars to come break into my house. See, I just don't think any of those things are :
a) crucial for me to share nor crucial for anyone to know
2) anyone's business
iii) especially a third-party capitalist's business
4) I don't leave my email address to retailers at the cash when they ask me for it. I do not accept the 3 thousand credit card offers that the cashiers or junkmailers offer me. I have very few fidelity cards and will most likely get rid of some that I do have because I never use the points and all I get out of the deal is more spam in my inbox.
5) I log out of Twitter and FB on my smartphone and tablet when I am out and about and rarely (if ever) use their Apps. I use both on my browser and make sure to log out when I'm done.
And so I don't really worry all too much about being tracked or targeted by retailers and social networks who want to sell my info to said retailers because without being obsessive about it, I limit access to those types of people when it comes to me and my accounts.
Am I totally safe and anonymous and hack-proof? Not by a long shot. But I think my refusal to blindly link accounts and platforms together and to announce every detail about myself online has already proven to me that the trackers have a hard time tracking me. Because, c'mon, christian singles for a married atheist on an atheist blog? You can't get more off-base than that!
So if you find that the banners and pop-ups and FB ads are eerily accurate and pertinent to your habits and preferences, it's only because you let them find out all that stuff about you, in the end.
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
Monday, September 23, 2013
The Charter
I've done a fair amount of reading about this stupid Charter o' Values that the Marois government is using as a wedge issue to drive the next election (reading this tripe is how I fall asleep at night) and there's a thought that keeps occurring to me that I haven't really seen expressed, which can be summarized as follows:
Freedom.
Allow me to expand on the point.
One current of thought flowing through this whole debate comes from some women and their supporters who have emigrated to Canada from places like Tunisia and Algeria. I have nothing but humble respect for all immigrant people who uproot themselves and start all over again in a foreign country; however some of these particular women have been in the media expressing their support for the ban on head scarves for government workers because (they say) the head scarf was used in their countries of origin as a tool and symbol of domination and the subjugation of women by (radical Muslim) men.
Do I agree that these women should never have been forced to wear a scarf? Abso-fucking-lutely.
Because Freedom.
And now, these women and many others want to speak for women's rights/equality by... telling other women what they shouldn't wear. Because... not Freedom???
Are there Muslim men out there who force their wives and daughters to wear the scarf (and worse) against their will? Abso-fucking-lutely.
But that doesn't give the right to any other woman, government or organization to step into the role of the abusive Muslim man and replace his edict with another. It certainly doesn't give anybody the right to tell a woman who chose to wear the damn thing (of whom there are many) to take it off, either. A feminist who tells that woman to take off her scarf is as bad as any Muslim who tells her to put it on.
Because Freedom dictates that in this country, those women have the right to walk away from their asshole husbands and wear whatever the fuck they want. They have the right to wear a scarf in fucking peace and not have a desperate gang of seperatists ostracize them. Because Freedom is why they came here: to live their own personal pursuits of happyness in peace, which they felt they could not do in the countries they fled. The homes they left behind. The Freedom was worth it. Which is why they are mostly all HELLNO about the Charter. And why, as an atheist who lives by the idea of the separation of church and state, I am against this bogus charter thing as well.
And why if you truly left a dictatorship in the name of freedom, you cannot possibly be in favor of creating oppression here. If freedom means both the neo-nazi and the humanist have the right to speak, it must also mean that I can wear a paisley snot-rag on my head while the Muslim woman wears her scarf.
And so while I'm at it, let me offer the same answer to the nitwits who argue that if I were to go to a 'Muslim country' I would have to adopt their laws/customs and put a piece of scarf on my head, and so this gives Quebecers the "right" to force Muslim women to "conform" to "our values" and remove it once they hit Quebec soil.
Once again : because Freedom, you dumbasses! Those countries aren't free. This one is. Get it? We don't do that here and that what makes us so awesome.
And if going to those countries and being forced to wear a headscarf is so offensive to you, why would you use the same tactic that offends you so much in others???
Freedom.
Allow me to expand on the point.
One current of thought flowing through this whole debate comes from some women and their supporters who have emigrated to Canada from places like Tunisia and Algeria. I have nothing but humble respect for all immigrant people who uproot themselves and start all over again in a foreign country; however some of these particular women have been in the media expressing their support for the ban on head scarves for government workers because (they say) the head scarf was used in their countries of origin as a tool and symbol of domination and the subjugation of women by (radical Muslim) men.
Do I agree that these women should never have been forced to wear a scarf? Abso-fucking-lutely.
Because Freedom.
And now, these women and many others want to speak for women's rights/equality by... telling other women what they shouldn't wear. Because... not Freedom???
Are there Muslim men out there who force their wives and daughters to wear the scarf (and worse) against their will? Abso-fucking-lutely.
But that doesn't give the right to any other woman, government or organization to step into the role of the abusive Muslim man and replace his edict with another. It certainly doesn't give anybody the right to tell a woman who chose to wear the damn thing (of whom there are many) to take it off, either. A feminist who tells that woman to take off her scarf is as bad as any Muslim who tells her to put it on.
Because Freedom dictates that in this country, those women have the right to walk away from their asshole husbands and wear whatever the fuck they want. They have the right to wear a scarf in fucking peace and not have a desperate gang of seperatists ostracize them. Because Freedom is why they came here: to live their own personal pursuits of happyness in peace, which they felt they could not do in the countries they fled. The homes they left behind. The Freedom was worth it. Which is why they are mostly all HELLNO about the Charter. And why, as an atheist who lives by the idea of the separation of church and state, I am against this bogus charter thing as well.
And why if you truly left a dictatorship in the name of freedom, you cannot possibly be in favor of creating oppression here. If freedom means both the neo-nazi and the humanist have the right to speak, it must also mean that I can wear a paisley snot-rag on my head while the Muslim woman wears her scarf.
And so while I'm at it, let me offer the same answer to the nitwits who argue that if I were to go to a 'Muslim country' I would have to adopt their laws/customs and put a piece of scarf on my head, and so this gives Quebecers the "right" to force Muslim women to "conform" to "our values" and remove it once they hit Quebec soil.
Once again : because Freedom, you dumbasses! Those countries aren't free. This one is. Get it? We don't do that here and that what makes us so awesome.
And if going to those countries and being forced to wear a headscarf is so offensive to you, why would you use the same tactic that offends you so much in others???
"Do you work?"
I follow a few irreverent motherbloggers from Chicago who, I shit you not, swear more than I do. They are Baby Sideburns and People I Want to Punch in the Throat, as well I Just Want to Pee Alone.
Baby Sideburns has a blog up this morning that re-hashes the notion of what a stay-at-home mom would be paid, should she perform her duties with pay. You can read it here.
Now, I do not think that I should be paid to be at home with my child. I do think we should get some hella good tax breaks and whatnot, but not necessary a paycheck. There's a point I do agree with, and it is the following:
"Do you work?" I know, I know, a common complaint, I'm not the first and I'm not the last, but this is a standard question asked by just about everyone. It comes right after the, "So, what do you do?" standard new-meeting-interview question. The "do you work?" riposte always comes right after the statement, "I help my husband with his home-based business and am at home with my kid, and I am heavily involved as an official in an amateur sport." This answer just isn't enough for people; they just need more than that because society has taught them that the SAHM (stay at home mom) is not enough, not a contributor, not a moverandashaker - they aren't satisfied with this image and therefore neither should I. There's an soupçon of 'is that all?' that spreads across their faces and tones that inevitably comes with the added spices of total incomprehension, some disgust, and quite frankly, total, utter disinterest. The sign I see stretched across their foreheads reads BORING and NOTWORTHMYTIME. The standard follow-up 'do you work' is often presented more as a second chance to redeem myself, as though one could not possibly just stay at home with a child and be happy and/or interesting. The more insensitive and brash worker drones actually ask the question with a different phrasing : they say, "But... you work, right?". Of course, I don't really encourage further conversation with the brainwashed automatons by issuing my standard answer, to whit: "No, the TV watches my kid while the cabana boy serves me margaritas by the pool all day long." But quite frankly, most of these people don't hear the answer because their chins are already turning to the next person, someone who is actually interesting and not a waste of time to talk to.
I understand this attitude from some men. I can also understand this to a certain extent coming from women who don't have children. Until some people actually work with children or have some of their own, they imagine being at home with a child being this bliss-filled life of book clubs, pleasurable shopping and scrap-booking - or whatever other shit I have no time for and no interest in - because caring for kids is easy : you feed 'em, you supply them toys and DVDs and you're set. No alarm clocks, no commute, no traffic, no boss... You read your book-club novel on a park bench while your child plays blissfully on the playground. (Disclaimer : as a former educator, I always referred to SAHMs as women who do not work outside the home.)
I don't forgive women who treat me this way when they have children. Because these women should know better, they should know that there's no peaceful sitting on park benches with a pre-schooler when nobody else is at the park on a weekday and even if there were, he needs you to intervene in a very hands-on manner because he doesn't want to share the slide with anyone and screams at them to get off, and needs you to tell him that sand is not for throwing, and needs you to check his pants 40 times in an hour because you're in the middle of potty-traning and there is no bathroom at the playground (which he would refuse to use anyway)... See, I get that the childless professsional doesn't get that, but not other mothers.
Other mothers should know better. Other mothers should know that while you are in the presence and responsible for a baby, toddler or preschooler, that child is the boss. Not in the sense that the child orders you around and whatnot (not in my house anyway), but in the sense that your entire schedule, your entire day, revolves around this persons needs. If your Little Person (LP) is going on his next snack or meal, all other plans go out the window and you have to stop and eat. Period. If the LP needs a nap, you are not dashing to the drug store that afternoon. If your LP needs a nap and refuses to do so, you are SoL on pretty much EVERYTHING you needed to do that day, because the day is now devoted to taking care of a crabby, loud, floppy, teary, unmotivated and unreasonable shit-and-spit machine that does stuff like insist they cling onto you on the couch to watch Cars for the three thousandth time, but insists on keeping his hand on your face because he's decided that you aren't allowed to watch the movie and you must look at the wall. Nor are you allowed to speak, comment, sneeze or go put a load of clothes into the machine. So you sit there, getting nothing done except get more tears and snot on your shirt because you inadvertently glanced at the TV and set off the LP all over again...
Oh, you could choose not to do any of these things and insist on making your LP conform to your schedule, but you quickly learn that only person you punish by doing this is yourself. And you turn yourself into one of those annoying, whiny parents who complain that you have whiny, annoying children that you 'can't take anywhere'. See, I can take my child anywhere, as long as I've otherwise respected his needs and schedule... But I digress...
Yeah, other mothers should know better. They should know better through the sigh of relief they let out once the door of the daycare closes behind them in the morning and through the brace-for-impact breath of air they take before stepping inside to pick them up at night. They should know that when they get a report of a "bad day" and a bag full of vomity clothes that had they been at home, THEY would have dealt with the vomit puddle, the tears, the change of clothes, the laundry - everything from start to finish, which is what a SAHM does. No respite. No union breaks. No window-shopping on your lunch hour and picking up a new shirt for that thing you're invited to on the weekend. No stopping at the drug store (alone and unfettered) on your way to or from the daycare. No sitting at your desk with a coffee while you quietly check your email. No lunch at that new Thai place around the corner. No adult conversations with other parents, trading tips or recipes. No special donut day for somebody's birthday. While you are doing all of that, I am absolutely not having a grand ol' time with Manuel the Cabana Boy. And you know it.
Now, I understand that you don't want to hear the minute details of how I got my LP to sit on a potty and consistently produce pee all last week. I know better, I won't do that to you. I also understand that some people avoid the subject of my being at home with my LP because they would love to be able to it too, and can't, and therefore avoid the subject.
And I already listed the wonderful 'no' list in my life (no commute, no traffic, no worrying about being late) and so I don't want to harp on comparing my daily life to that of a work-outside-the-home mom (I do refuse to use the term 'working mom' however). This post is all about how people lack respect, and I won't make my point by implying I don't respect the WOtH moms - I respect them so much that I don't know how they do it.
The point here is that I don't get the same respect back. And all this is illustrated by a single exchange I had a few weeks ago.
In the course of my volunteer work, I've been on a federation committee for a few years - and often felt like a committee of 1 person until this year, when they asked a second official to be part of the committee as well. Yay! Some qualified help! Especially appreciated for the yearly training seminar that I have been planning, organizing, powerpointing for and presented alone almost every year.
Almost a month before the seminar, I contact this new committee member to see if she can do a part of the training. She says she'll think about it and concoct an activity.
Two weeks out, I still don't have any details or anything resembling a plan.
One week before, I prompt again and get told that it will be a short, 15-minute activity. So I pick up the slack, plan another activity to complete the training and the schedule.
I wait until Tuesday to hand in and distribute the final schedule. I work until late at night both Tuesday and Wednesday to complete everything (you remember how it's impossible to get something like that done while the LP is awake, right)? So it's all about midnight powerpoint sessions (after I edit that letter hubby needs to send first thing tomorrow, you know, the kind of stuff that keeps money in the account and food on the table...)
Thursday afternoon, 24 hours before the seminar starts, I get somewhat giddy email saying that the 15-minute activity will now be more like 45, because the person really gets carried away once she gets started, haha, I hope that's ok!
Well, no it's not OK, because you basically are unreliable and wasted my precious (sleep) time, and have now messed up my fucking plan and schedule. But all this is not the completely insulting and annoying part.
The insulting part is when I call another mom/official to kvetch about the total lack of respect for the seminar, my time and my efforts, this other WOtH mom tells me the following:
"I know it's annoying, but cut her some slack and accommodate her like you always end up doing with everyone, because you rock. And after all, she has a job."
And that, folks, sums up my entire point. It's okay if another mom shits all over my time and effort because she has a "job". I have to respect her, but in return, I basically get dismissed.
Do I work? Yeah, I fucking work and am on-duty 24 hours a day, 7 days a week (compounded by the hubby's home-based consulting business - and if you think that means he's home and therefore helping me with the kid, well... I may have another blog post for you real soon...).
I don't want to be paid for any of this.
But a little goddam respect for my fucking time and efforts would certainly be appreciated.
Baby Sideburns has a blog up this morning that re-hashes the notion of what a stay-at-home mom would be paid, should she perform her duties with pay. You can read it here.
Now, I do not think that I should be paid to be at home with my child. I do think we should get some hella good tax breaks and whatnot, but not necessary a paycheck. There's a point I do agree with, and it is the following:
"Do you work?" I know, I know, a common complaint, I'm not the first and I'm not the last, but this is a standard question asked by just about everyone. It comes right after the, "So, what do you do?" standard new-meeting-interview question. The "do you work?" riposte always comes right after the statement, "I help my husband with his home-based business and am at home with my kid, and I am heavily involved as an official in an amateur sport." This answer just isn't enough for people; they just need more than that because society has taught them that the SAHM (stay at home mom) is not enough, not a contributor, not a moverandashaker - they aren't satisfied with this image and therefore neither should I. There's an soupçon of 'is that all?' that spreads across their faces and tones that inevitably comes with the added spices of total incomprehension, some disgust, and quite frankly, total, utter disinterest. The sign I see stretched across their foreheads reads BORING and NOTWORTHMYTIME. The standard follow-up 'do you work' is often presented more as a second chance to redeem myself, as though one could not possibly just stay at home with a child and be happy and/or interesting. The more insensitive and brash worker drones actually ask the question with a different phrasing : they say, "But... you work, right?". Of course, I don't really encourage further conversation with the brainwashed automatons by issuing my standard answer, to whit: "No, the TV watches my kid while the cabana boy serves me margaritas by the pool all day long." But quite frankly, most of these people don't hear the answer because their chins are already turning to the next person, someone who is actually interesting and not a waste of time to talk to.
I understand this attitude from some men. I can also understand this to a certain extent coming from women who don't have children. Until some people actually work with children or have some of their own, they imagine being at home with a child being this bliss-filled life of book clubs, pleasurable shopping and scrap-booking - or whatever other shit I have no time for and no interest in - because caring for kids is easy : you feed 'em, you supply them toys and DVDs and you're set. No alarm clocks, no commute, no traffic, no boss... You read your book-club novel on a park bench while your child plays blissfully on the playground. (Disclaimer : as a former educator, I always referred to SAHMs as women who do not work outside the home.)
I don't forgive women who treat me this way when they have children. Because these women should know better, they should know that there's no peaceful sitting on park benches with a pre-schooler when nobody else is at the park on a weekday and even if there were, he needs you to intervene in a very hands-on manner because he doesn't want to share the slide with anyone and screams at them to get off, and needs you to tell him that sand is not for throwing, and needs you to check his pants 40 times in an hour because you're in the middle of potty-traning and there is no bathroom at the playground (which he would refuse to use anyway)... See, I get that the childless professsional doesn't get that, but not other mothers.
Other mothers should know better. Other mothers should know that while you are in the presence and responsible for a baby, toddler or preschooler, that child is the boss. Not in the sense that the child orders you around and whatnot (not in my house anyway), but in the sense that your entire schedule, your entire day, revolves around this persons needs. If your Little Person (LP) is going on his next snack or meal, all other plans go out the window and you have to stop and eat. Period. If the LP needs a nap, you are not dashing to the drug store that afternoon. If your LP needs a nap and refuses to do so, you are SoL on pretty much EVERYTHING you needed to do that day, because the day is now devoted to taking care of a crabby, loud, floppy, teary, unmotivated and unreasonable shit-and-spit machine that does stuff like insist they cling onto you on the couch to watch Cars for the three thousandth time, but insists on keeping his hand on your face because he's decided that you aren't allowed to watch the movie and you must look at the wall. Nor are you allowed to speak, comment, sneeze or go put a load of clothes into the machine. So you sit there, getting nothing done except get more tears and snot on your shirt because you inadvertently glanced at the TV and set off the LP all over again...
Oh, you could choose not to do any of these things and insist on making your LP conform to your schedule, but you quickly learn that only person you punish by doing this is yourself. And you turn yourself into one of those annoying, whiny parents who complain that you have whiny, annoying children that you 'can't take anywhere'. See, I can take my child anywhere, as long as I've otherwise respected his needs and schedule... But I digress...
Yeah, other mothers should know better. They should know better through the sigh of relief they let out once the door of the daycare closes behind them in the morning and through the brace-for-impact breath of air they take before stepping inside to pick them up at night. They should know that when they get a report of a "bad day" and a bag full of vomity clothes that had they been at home, THEY would have dealt with the vomit puddle, the tears, the change of clothes, the laundry - everything from start to finish, which is what a SAHM does. No respite. No union breaks. No window-shopping on your lunch hour and picking up a new shirt for that thing you're invited to on the weekend. No stopping at the drug store (alone and unfettered) on your way to or from the daycare. No sitting at your desk with a coffee while you quietly check your email. No lunch at that new Thai place around the corner. No adult conversations with other parents, trading tips or recipes. No special donut day for somebody's birthday. While you are doing all of that, I am absolutely not having a grand ol' time with Manuel the Cabana Boy. And you know it.
Now, I understand that you don't want to hear the minute details of how I got my LP to sit on a potty and consistently produce pee all last week. I know better, I won't do that to you. I also understand that some people avoid the subject of my being at home with my LP because they would love to be able to it too, and can't, and therefore avoid the subject.
And I already listed the wonderful 'no' list in my life (no commute, no traffic, no worrying about being late) and so I don't want to harp on comparing my daily life to that of a work-outside-the-home mom (I do refuse to use the term 'working mom' however). This post is all about how people lack respect, and I won't make my point by implying I don't respect the WOtH moms - I respect them so much that I don't know how they do it.
The point here is that I don't get the same respect back. And all this is illustrated by a single exchange I had a few weeks ago.
In the course of my volunteer work, I've been on a federation committee for a few years - and often felt like a committee of 1 person until this year, when they asked a second official to be part of the committee as well. Yay! Some qualified help! Especially appreciated for the yearly training seminar that I have been planning, organizing, powerpointing for and presented alone almost every year.
Almost a month before the seminar, I contact this new committee member to see if she can do a part of the training. She says she'll think about it and concoct an activity.
Two weeks out, I still don't have any details or anything resembling a plan.
One week before, I prompt again and get told that it will be a short, 15-minute activity. So I pick up the slack, plan another activity to complete the training and the schedule.
I wait until Tuesday to hand in and distribute the final schedule. I work until late at night both Tuesday and Wednesday to complete everything (you remember how it's impossible to get something like that done while the LP is awake, right)? So it's all about midnight powerpoint sessions (after I edit that letter hubby needs to send first thing tomorrow, you know, the kind of stuff that keeps money in the account and food on the table...)
Thursday afternoon, 24 hours before the seminar starts, I get somewhat giddy email saying that the 15-minute activity will now be more like 45, because the person really gets carried away once she gets started, haha, I hope that's ok!
Well, no it's not OK, because you basically are unreliable and wasted my precious (sleep) time, and have now messed up my fucking plan and schedule. But all this is not the completely insulting and annoying part.
The insulting part is when I call another mom/official to kvetch about the total lack of respect for the seminar, my time and my efforts, this other WOtH mom tells me the following:
"I know it's annoying, but cut her some slack and accommodate her like you always end up doing with everyone, because you rock. And after all, she has a job."
And that, folks, sums up my entire point. It's okay if another mom shits all over my time and effort because she has a "job". I have to respect her, but in return, I basically get dismissed.
Do I work? Yeah, I fucking work and am on-duty 24 hours a day, 7 days a week (compounded by the hubby's home-based consulting business - and if you think that means he's home and therefore helping me with the kid, well... I may have another blog post for you real soon...).
I don't want to be paid for any of this.
But a little goddam respect for my fucking time and efforts would certainly be appreciated.
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
The REAL wrong turn, according to Everybody
So maybe I'm feeling particularly shitty because I woke up this morning and discovered that our kinda sick-looking, half-paralyzed Beta fish died overnight. He was stuck head-down into the gravel at the bottom of the tank, like his last act in life was trying to bury himself. Since Mommy is in charge of human and animal health in the house and the buck stops with me, it's my damn fault the thing died. Don't try to tell me otherwise. Of course, the 2-year-old lost interest in the thing weeks ago and so has not noticed the missing fish, but Hubby got a little upset that we (I) had managed to kill a living thing. It's not a good day when you're flushing dead fish down the shitter before your 1st cup of coffee (that I had to drink with skim milk instead of homogenized because we're out of homogenized, blech. That's like adding white water to your coffee or worse, coffeemate).
So, good morning, it's time to change a diaper, flush a pretty but dead fish down the shitter and then drink your yucky white-water coffee. Have an awesome day.
This is on the day when I have to host/attend this cocktail event thingy that I have NO motivation to go to. The one that I got roped into because facts were either withheld or underplayed when it was presented to me, and I can't find enough bitchiness inside me to quit because I've never quit anything I've given my word to... You know, the kind of group project that everybody but you and 1 other person thinks is super great, and you and the other person think it's lame and bitch about it all the way home after every meeting? This cocktail thingy is being blown out of all reasonable proportion, there's a powerpoint presentation involved and decorations, food and drink, all for about 20 people that I don't know, and the group is all like giddy, and like "did you practice your portion of the powerpoint?" and I'm thinking, no, I did not practice presenting 20 minutes of statistics to 20 strangers because I'm used to speaking for, like, 3 days on end with people I'm supposed to teach, guide, mentor and be a Role Model to in the name of a national federation with a multi-million dollar budget and thousands of members. Plus, I think the whole thing is pretty lame and can't be bothered. The Latina Girl and I both think so and can't wait for the whole thing to be over and done with.
Today and the f'ing cocktail is same day that Hubby knows about since nearly 5 weeks ago. The day he was supposed to help me out and go get The Son from Grandma's house because I'm not available, and then booked a business dinner, informing me of it two days ago. That's after I went and told The Aunt that I didn't need her to babysit today, because he'd be at Grandma's house and Hubby was picking him up. Now there's a whole logistics thing where Hubby will bring Auntie the car seat at work, and Auntie will pick The Son up and bring him home, but only if Grandma already gave him dinner, all this when Auntie is notoriously late all the time and will probably not show up at Grandma's when she is supposed to, and then Grandma will tell me all about it on the phone tomorrow...
That's not really the point. The point is that SAHMs (Stay At Home Moms) are very, very dismissible, according to Everybody. I'm told either that I'm exaggerating, that I'm not the first person to go through this and to suck it up, or that others have Jobs and so everything must be forgiven because they Work. At Jobs. Real ones.
Show up 2 hours later than you were supposed to, and don't call to let the SAHM know? That's OK, according to Everybody, because Mom is at home and doesn't really have a 'set schedule' or 'real commitments'. Because things like nap times, meal times, snack times, appointments, meetings and promises to 2-year-olds don't count as important scheduley things nor commitments.
Say you'll babysit and then cancel the night before (nonchalantly and unapologetic)? Everybody thinks that it's OK, because, really, what kind of serious, important plans would the mother of a 2-year-old have when she's counting on her only day off in a week (or more)? A mother doesn't Work at a Job so she can do whatever unimportant crap she had planned for that day any other day. Because the 16 things you get done alone in 1 day will get done just as quickly with your toddler in tow, including that wax appointment at the salon you can't bring him to. Duh, who doesn't know that?
Do you, as a SAHM, have things like 'feelings' and 'frustration'? Oh, no, I guess it really sucks to be you. Because you CHOSE to stay at home, you see, so you have to shut up and swallow that choice for the rest of your life. Of course being a mom is the 'most important' and 'toughest' job in the world, absolutely. No one disputes that. They just don't want to hear you whine about stuff like you wanting to cry every time The Son asks you to sing that song, because you've sang that song 125000 times already this week. Or when you just want to talk about how you didn't realize caring for another human being day in, day out, would be the most bone-wearing you'd ever do (shout out here to all those who care for another human being in their homes 24 hours a day, young or old). That was your choice, now suck it up and don't bore anyone with the details.
And do please try to tell your face and attitude that you are a happy person, because you've been kind of bitchy lately, quite frankly. I mean, it's not like when he was a baby, when it was really tough and you deserved repsect and offers of help. Like back when he was sleeping 18 hours a day with 2 naps a day and could stay in a pack in play while you showered and emptied the dishwasher. Things are breeze now that he's 2, can open child-proof cabinets, walks, runs, climbs, jumps and wants to 'help you' do everything from folding clothes (which he rumples into a ball and throws on the floor) to washing countertops (screaming when I don't let him have the toxic spray-bottle of soapy-soap I'm using) to vaccuming the carpet (he only vaccums sections of about 6 inches at a time). He also requires full-time, full-eyes-on supervision all the time, or constant entertainment in the form of play, crafts, music, reading books, going to the playground, playing outside in the yard, running races, being pulled in his wagon, being pushed in his stroller, keeping his hands off of the stupid candy displays at arm's reach at all the check-out cash lanes in every store, meals, baths, boo-boo kissing, etc. And he's not really napping anymore, so full-time, awake-time duty for a SAHM with a toddler (as opposed to that quiet, sleeping and immobile baby) goes from 7:00am to 8:00pm. Yeah, but he sleeps nights, doesn't he? So what are you complaining about?
What? Daytime activities, you ask? There are no organized daytime activities for toddlers. Daytime is for daycare, Everybody knows that. Everybody expects toddlers over the age of 18m to be handed over those overworked, underpaid, under-appreciated, under-funded and (too often) under-trained and under-motivated daycare workers. I see them at work, in the playgrounds and fun centers and when they are walking their inmates in a chain-gang with their little orangejumpsuits pinnies on. I see them stare blankly off into to space while they push a bored-looking toddler in the swings, who looks at us in envy while The Son is giddy with mirth because I pretend to munch on his toes with my hands every time he swings toward me. That's the difference, you see, between a well-intended but underpaid and under-appreciated stranger and an unpaid and under-appreciated mother. Toe-munching and laughter vs. blank stares and boredom. But that is also why the mothers are so f'ing tired all the time - we're on for 12-13 hours a day non-stop, but we put so much more goddam heart and effort into it.
Now give the job and the person doing it a little more goddam respect, willya? 'Cause Mother's Day was just 2 days ago and is already a distant memory.
So, good morning, it's time to change a diaper, flush a pretty but dead fish down the shitter and then drink your yucky white-water coffee. Have an awesome day.
This is on the day when I have to host/attend this cocktail event thingy that I have NO motivation to go to. The one that I got roped into because facts were either withheld or underplayed when it was presented to me, and I can't find enough bitchiness inside me to quit because I've never quit anything I've given my word to... You know, the kind of group project that everybody but you and 1 other person thinks is super great, and you and the other person think it's lame and bitch about it all the way home after every meeting? This cocktail thingy is being blown out of all reasonable proportion, there's a powerpoint presentation involved and decorations, food and drink, all for about 20 people that I don't know, and the group is all like giddy, and like "did you practice your portion of the powerpoint?" and I'm thinking, no, I did not practice presenting 20 minutes of statistics to 20 strangers because I'm used to speaking for, like, 3 days on end with people I'm supposed to teach, guide, mentor and be a Role Model to in the name of a national federation with a multi-million dollar budget and thousands of members. Plus, I think the whole thing is pretty lame and can't be bothered. The Latina Girl and I both think so and can't wait for the whole thing to be over and done with.
Today and the f'ing cocktail is same day that Hubby knows about since nearly 5 weeks ago. The day he was supposed to help me out and go get The Son from Grandma's house because I'm not available, and then booked a business dinner, informing me of it two days ago. That's after I went and told The Aunt that I didn't need her to babysit today, because he'd be at Grandma's house and Hubby was picking him up. Now there's a whole logistics thing where Hubby will bring Auntie the car seat at work, and Auntie will pick The Son up and bring him home, but only if Grandma already gave him dinner, all this when Auntie is notoriously late all the time and will probably not show up at Grandma's when she is supposed to, and then Grandma will tell me all about it on the phone tomorrow...
That's not really the point. The point is that SAHMs (Stay At Home Moms) are very, very dismissible, according to Everybody. I'm told either that I'm exaggerating, that I'm not the first person to go through this and to suck it up, or that others have Jobs and so everything must be forgiven because they Work. At Jobs. Real ones.
Show up 2 hours later than you were supposed to, and don't call to let the SAHM know? That's OK, according to Everybody, because Mom is at home and doesn't really have a 'set schedule' or 'real commitments'. Because things like nap times, meal times, snack times, appointments, meetings and promises to 2-year-olds don't count as important scheduley things nor commitments.
Say you'll babysit and then cancel the night before (nonchalantly and unapologetic)? Everybody thinks that it's OK, because, really, what kind of serious, important plans would the mother of a 2-year-old have when she's counting on her only day off in a week (or more)? A mother doesn't Work at a Job so she can do whatever unimportant crap she had planned for that day any other day. Because the 16 things you get done alone in 1 day will get done just as quickly with your toddler in tow, including that wax appointment at the salon you can't bring him to. Duh, who doesn't know that?
Do you, as a SAHM, have things like 'feelings' and 'frustration'? Oh, no, I guess it really sucks to be you. Because you CHOSE to stay at home, you see, so you have to shut up and swallow that choice for the rest of your life. Of course being a mom is the 'most important' and 'toughest' job in the world, absolutely. No one disputes that. They just don't want to hear you whine about stuff like you wanting to cry every time The Son asks you to sing that song, because you've sang that song 125000 times already this week. Or when you just want to talk about how you didn't realize caring for another human being day in, day out, would be the most bone-wearing you'd ever do (shout out here to all those who care for another human being in their homes 24 hours a day, young or old). That was your choice, now suck it up and don't bore anyone with the details.
And do please try to tell your face and attitude that you are a happy person, because you've been kind of bitchy lately, quite frankly. I mean, it's not like when he was a baby, when it was really tough and you deserved repsect and offers of help. Like back when he was sleeping 18 hours a day with 2 naps a day and could stay in a pack in play while you showered and emptied the dishwasher. Things are breeze now that he's 2, can open child-proof cabinets, walks, runs, climbs, jumps and wants to 'help you' do everything from folding clothes (which he rumples into a ball and throws on the floor) to washing countertops (screaming when I don't let him have the toxic spray-bottle of soapy-soap I'm using) to vaccuming the carpet (he only vaccums sections of about 6 inches at a time). He also requires full-time, full-eyes-on supervision all the time, or constant entertainment in the form of play, crafts, music, reading books, going to the playground, playing outside in the yard, running races, being pulled in his wagon, being pushed in his stroller, keeping his hands off of the stupid candy displays at arm's reach at all the check-out cash lanes in every store, meals, baths, boo-boo kissing, etc. And he's not really napping anymore, so full-time, awake-time duty for a SAHM with a toddler (as opposed to that quiet, sleeping and immobile baby) goes from 7:00am to 8:00pm. Yeah, but he sleeps nights, doesn't he? So what are you complaining about?
What? Daytime activities, you ask? There are no organized daytime activities for toddlers. Daytime is for daycare, Everybody knows that. Everybody expects toddlers over the age of 18m to be handed over those overworked, underpaid, under-appreciated, under-funded and (too often) under-trained and under-motivated daycare workers. I see them at work, in the playgrounds and fun centers and when they are walking their inmates in a chain-gang with their little orange
Now give the job and the person doing it a little more goddam respect, willya? 'Cause Mother's Day was just 2 days ago and is already a distant memory.
Monday, March 18, 2013
Monday cliché
I truly woke up on the wrong foot this morning, when the first thoughts I was aware of were about a lost friend. Maybe I was dreaming, and the dream bled into my first waking thoughts, but it made for a sad kind of awakening.
It is possible that the sadness is rooted in other issues I'm grappling with right now, like a family member we should not have accepted to do business with who is now dissatisfied with a delay, and which breaks my heart a bit because we really like them and now it's gotten weird. Or maybe it's just more fatigue caused by our financial woes, which force me to keep a happy face on almost all the time despite crushing worries and no idea what our future will look like, or even where we'll live.
Or maybe it boils down to learning that we're getting a late-winter dumping of snow tomorrow at the end of a season of dumpings of snow interrupted only by periods of slushy, gross thaws. For one of the first times in my life, I joined the hyperbolic masses in griping about this seemingly interminable winter. But I think this is more than a simple case of Monday Blahs.
The loss of this good friend is something that I often think I've gotten over, but just when I'm cruising along without a single thought in my mind about the entire thing, my senses are sparked by something that reminds me of this person and I get sad for a moment. And for some strange reason, I woke up this morning with a strong sense of loss and a nagging persistent thought that wanted to know: why?
This former friend was the kind of friend that you talk to every day. That knows pretty much everything about you. That you've gone on holiday with, and who has stuck by you in your hard times. It was an improbable friendship between two people about whom others wondered how we ended up friends in the first place. I was closer to this person than to my own family members. I cherished this friendship. And one day, without much warning that I could feel or see, my friend stopped returning my calls.
Like the jilted lover who won't take a hint, I couldn't take the hint. It was simply inconceivable to me that there was a hint that I should have been taking. I couldn't understand how or why more than 10 years of close, intense friendship would be subjected to hint-dropping and an unspoken break-up. But when I just wouldn't stop calling and acting as though our friendship was unbreakable no matter what, my now ex-friend had to tell me explicitly that I needed to stop calling her, and that she would call me when and if she were ever ready to do so. I vaguely remember being told that the Ex "needed some space" and something about me being "intense". And for almost five years following that shocking talk, I heard nothing else from my Ex-Friend. I was never told how my unwavering loyalty in her time of need had been interpreted as being too intense. I was never told how this expressive and emotional person had gone from telling me and everyone around her that I was her sister-soul, to being banished from her life and barred from calling her. I never understood what it was about her and her life - and more personally, what it was about me and the friendship I offered - that made me go from sister-soul to banishment in what I perceived to be almost overnight.
Years passed, and like any other bad break-up, I mourned my loss and got over it, resigned that I would never know what happened and simply forced to accept that it did. I gradually stopped thinking about it and moved on. Every once in a while, either through friends or on Facebook, I'd be reminded of this person's existence and the fact that I was deleted from her life, and I would be reminded of how much this person had hurt me with her sudden rejection. Once, we were at an event where she called someone else her sister-soul in my presence, and I had to walk away. And since this new sister-soul was able to give something to the Ex that the Ex needed, the only thing I could think about her was that she was a lying, hypocritical liar who used people when she needed them and discarded them once they no longer had anything to offer her.
But overall, I buried the relationship like a dead relative and got on with things. I did what I used to do to get over old boyfriends: I focused on her faults and forgot about what I thought had been her good qualities. I got over it, and moved on. Because what else can one do, really?
Then, out of the blue, nearly 5 years later, a phone call. An invitation to go out and have dinner. To talk. My injured pride told me to decline and stay home, but my curiosity and need to know WHY got the best of me, and I went. After some awkward small talk, I was told that there was no real reason why. There were some attempts to explain that there were bad times, lots of "it wasn't you, it was me", some apology for the break-up being so radical and so woefully unexplained and then - surprise - the admission that she missed me and an offer to renew ties. I was funny and smart and she missed that about me, and missed it in her life.
I felt more blind-sided by this offer of renewed friendship than the actual break-up itself. I came from from dinner even more confused than before and, if possible, feeling even more betrayed. There was no enlightening reason why I was treated so shoddily, nothing I could wrap my brain around and learn to accept. I hadn't done anything necessarily wrong, I just, well, needed to get gone out of her life because of not me, but her. And now I was being invited back into this person's life because I was funny? Or something? So after being pushed away for no concrete reason, I was being invited back for no concrete reason.
I couldn't accept. As much as I missed the sisterhood of friendship that I had not known up until then and have not enjoyed with anyone ever since, I could not allow myself to trust this person with my heart anymore. Had I been provided with a reason - any reason, even one that was a blatant fault or error on my part - that my rational mind could wrap itself around, I could have contemplated forgiving and forgetting and rekindled a sort of friendship with her. If there were something I could have apologized for, something that we could have avoided repeating in future... But from my perspective, all I got as a reason was, "I was going through stuff, and I suddenly decided not to see you anymore." Ok, fine. But why would I invest myself in you and trust you again? What keeps you from doing this to me again later on?? All of it is basically arbitrary, and based on whim.
And that's what came out of my mouth as an answer at that fateful dinner, five years after the break-up. I told her that I felt exactly as though I'd been dumped (which I was) and that I worked very hard to get over the pain and sadness and sense of loss I felt at being cut off from a friendship that I thought was for life, unshakable and always there to rely on. I learned to live without her without really understanding why I'd been forced to do so. And after so many years, I was over her and had learned to live my life differently. This new invitation to become friends again was like an ex-boyfriend coming back so many years after you got over him and telling you he never stopped loving you and that he wanted to be part of your life again. I can finally remember our good times fondly and without so much pain, but I can't fall back into love with you. It all just hurt too much.
Some tell me that if I were a true friend, I would forgive and forget. That the friendship I miss so much would be worth it. That it took my Ex a lot of courage to call me up and offer to be friends again. But I just couldn't do it. I didn't hate her, I wasn't really bitter anymore, and I hope she has a wonderful life.
But I have a lot going on in my life that makes me feel vulnerable, and that I steel myself to face every single day. I don't need more drama, thank you very much. I need to save up my courage every day to just get through the day, I don't have any courage left over to take a chance, open up my heart and get stomped on again.
Apparently, despite all of this, I still wake up every once in a while with a sense of loss and a need to know the "real reason" why.
It is possible that the sadness is rooted in other issues I'm grappling with right now, like a family member we should not have accepted to do business with who is now dissatisfied with a delay, and which breaks my heart a bit because we really like them and now it's gotten weird. Or maybe it's just more fatigue caused by our financial woes, which force me to keep a happy face on almost all the time despite crushing worries and no idea what our future will look like, or even where we'll live.
Or maybe it boils down to learning that we're getting a late-winter dumping of snow tomorrow at the end of a season of dumpings of snow interrupted only by periods of slushy, gross thaws. For one of the first times in my life, I joined the hyperbolic masses in griping about this seemingly interminable winter. But I think this is more than a simple case of Monday Blahs.
The loss of this good friend is something that I often think I've gotten over, but just when I'm cruising along without a single thought in my mind about the entire thing, my senses are sparked by something that reminds me of this person and I get sad for a moment. And for some strange reason, I woke up this morning with a strong sense of loss and a nagging persistent thought that wanted to know: why?
This former friend was the kind of friend that you talk to every day. That knows pretty much everything about you. That you've gone on holiday with, and who has stuck by you in your hard times. It was an improbable friendship between two people about whom others wondered how we ended up friends in the first place. I was closer to this person than to my own family members. I cherished this friendship. And one day, without much warning that I could feel or see, my friend stopped returning my calls.
Like the jilted lover who won't take a hint, I couldn't take the hint. It was simply inconceivable to me that there was a hint that I should have been taking. I couldn't understand how or why more than 10 years of close, intense friendship would be subjected to hint-dropping and an unspoken break-up. But when I just wouldn't stop calling and acting as though our friendship was unbreakable no matter what, my now ex-friend had to tell me explicitly that I needed to stop calling her, and that she would call me when and if she were ever ready to do so. I vaguely remember being told that the Ex "needed some space" and something about me being "intense". And for almost five years following that shocking talk, I heard nothing else from my Ex-Friend. I was never told how my unwavering loyalty in her time of need had been interpreted as being too intense. I was never told how this expressive and emotional person had gone from telling me and everyone around her that I was her sister-soul, to being banished from her life and barred from calling her. I never understood what it was about her and her life - and more personally, what it was about me and the friendship I offered - that made me go from sister-soul to banishment in what I perceived to be almost overnight.
Years passed, and like any other bad break-up, I mourned my loss and got over it, resigned that I would never know what happened and simply forced to accept that it did. I gradually stopped thinking about it and moved on. Every once in a while, either through friends or on Facebook, I'd be reminded of this person's existence and the fact that I was deleted from her life, and I would be reminded of how much this person had hurt me with her sudden rejection. Once, we were at an event where she called someone else her sister-soul in my presence, and I had to walk away. And since this new sister-soul was able to give something to the Ex that the Ex needed, the only thing I could think about her was that she was a lying, hypocritical liar who used people when she needed them and discarded them once they no longer had anything to offer her.
But overall, I buried the relationship like a dead relative and got on with things. I did what I used to do to get over old boyfriends: I focused on her faults and forgot about what I thought had been her good qualities. I got over it, and moved on. Because what else can one do, really?
Then, out of the blue, nearly 5 years later, a phone call. An invitation to go out and have dinner. To talk. My injured pride told me to decline and stay home, but my curiosity and need to know WHY got the best of me, and I went. After some awkward small talk, I was told that there was no real reason why. There were some attempts to explain that there were bad times, lots of "it wasn't you, it was me", some apology for the break-up being so radical and so woefully unexplained and then - surprise - the admission that she missed me and an offer to renew ties. I was funny and smart and she missed that about me, and missed it in her life.
I felt more blind-sided by this offer of renewed friendship than the actual break-up itself. I came from from dinner even more confused than before and, if possible, feeling even more betrayed. There was no enlightening reason why I was treated so shoddily, nothing I could wrap my brain around and learn to accept. I hadn't done anything necessarily wrong, I just, well, needed to get gone out of her life because of not me, but her. And now I was being invited back into this person's life because I was funny? Or something? So after being pushed away for no concrete reason, I was being invited back for no concrete reason.
I couldn't accept. As much as I missed the sisterhood of friendship that I had not known up until then and have not enjoyed with anyone ever since, I could not allow myself to trust this person with my heart anymore. Had I been provided with a reason - any reason, even one that was a blatant fault or error on my part - that my rational mind could wrap itself around, I could have contemplated forgiving and forgetting and rekindled a sort of friendship with her. If there were something I could have apologized for, something that we could have avoided repeating in future... But from my perspective, all I got as a reason was, "I was going through stuff, and I suddenly decided not to see you anymore." Ok, fine. But why would I invest myself in you and trust you again? What keeps you from doing this to me again later on?? All of it is basically arbitrary, and based on whim.
And that's what came out of my mouth as an answer at that fateful dinner, five years after the break-up. I told her that I felt exactly as though I'd been dumped (which I was) and that I worked very hard to get over the pain and sadness and sense of loss I felt at being cut off from a friendship that I thought was for life, unshakable and always there to rely on. I learned to live without her without really understanding why I'd been forced to do so. And after so many years, I was over her and had learned to live my life differently. This new invitation to become friends again was like an ex-boyfriend coming back so many years after you got over him and telling you he never stopped loving you and that he wanted to be part of your life again. I can finally remember our good times fondly and without so much pain, but I can't fall back into love with you. It all just hurt too much.
Some tell me that if I were a true friend, I would forgive and forget. That the friendship I miss so much would be worth it. That it took my Ex a lot of courage to call me up and offer to be friends again. But I just couldn't do it. I didn't hate her, I wasn't really bitter anymore, and I hope she has a wonderful life.
But I have a lot going on in my life that makes me feel vulnerable, and that I steel myself to face every single day. I don't need more drama, thank you very much. I need to save up my courage every day to just get through the day, I don't have any courage left over to take a chance, open up my heart and get stomped on again.
Apparently, despite all of this, I still wake up every once in a while with a sense of loss and a need to know the "real reason" why.
Saturday, March 16, 2013
Why I am a SAHM
The older my child gets, the stronger the reactions I receive from
people when I tell them that he does not attend daycare. These
reactions run the gamut: some are shocked that my son is being somehow
deprived of an experience they consider essential to childhood; some
smile knowingly and praise me for being home with my child; and some
just express jealousy and incomprehension about how I manage to do it.
The shocked group is by far the largest. They are completely aghast that I would even consider staying home (from work outside the home) and that I would choose to be with my own child all day. What about his socialization? they lament, looking down in pity at the happy, healthy 2-year-old standing at my knee. What about you and your needs? they ask in consternation.
My answer comes in several parts.
Opting out of daycare feels much more natural to me than using daycare. That's just what it boiled down to for me. I am the mother, I chose to put this life into the world. I chose to have this child because I want to raise him, I want to spend time with him. I am the best option for him. And that raising this baby, this boy, to be a man, is a very empowering and enriching experience. More and more, I feel like when I have to explain this to people, they won't get it anyway.
Those who give me knowing smiles know exactly what I mean. They know that you do give up some things, but you gain on many other things. Like not using an alarm clock to wake up in the morning. Like shopping in blissfully quiet stores while everyone is at work. Like not having to face a commute in a car, bus or metro. Like not having a boss. Or a dress code. And never worrying that you haven't spent enough time with your children. When I hear some working women talk about their stress levels and their unmanageable schedules, I kind of pity them. It's a rat race when you don't have kids, I cannot imagine keeping up the pace with young children. When my son waked up with fever, all I'm worried about is the fever. I cancel the day's activities and we stay home with some Advil and a blanket. For some working women, a feverish toddler represents unimaginable stress and truly difficult situations. My whole lifestyle changed when I decided to stay home with my son. I went from double-income-no-kids to clipping coupons. But when I think of everything my decision procured me, I have no regrets whatsoever.
And those who sigh wistfully and "wish" they cold stay home? Please.
For some people, this is a legitimate wish. I know mothers who are working their way through school, trying to build a better life for themselves and their children. There are plenty of people who legitimately use daycare.
But for too many others, staying home is a matter of making too many financial and lifestyle sacrifices that people are too unwilling to make. If you can at all afford it, staying at home is not something you wish for, it's something you just do. How? It's quite simple, really. You give up the things on the following list: spas, manicures, pedicures, weekend getaways, take-out food, expensive restaurants, designer clothing, the new car, the second car, movie theaters, couples-only all-inclusive holidays down south, tickets to whatever, the new iPhone to replace the old iPhone you got 6 months ago and everything else presented in commercials that make you think you "deserve" to give your money away the people that sell these things. You think you're "worth" a pedicure? I think my son is worth MORE than a pedicure. Or designer handbag. Or whatever. I know some people that say they can't afford to lose a salary, and then go on about the show they went to see, the great spa they discovered, the room they plan to renovate and the latest hot restaurant they tried. I gave that up in part to be with my son. In my case, I know this situation is not forever, and the pedis and restaurants will slowly creep back into my lifestyle. It's just four years, until he goes to pre-school, and it is so incredibly worth it.
Again, if I have to explain it, I feel like the only people who will understand are the knowing-smiles people. I have witnessed all of my child's firsts, helped with the development of his skills, speech, manners and overall education. I saw the daily increments of his change and development and know him completely. I know his daily moods and rhythms and can anticipate them, avoiding mood swings and tantrums because I cater my schedule to his routine. If he needs to break the routine, I can adjust our schedule to accommodate that. Had a bad night and need to sleep in? I can handle that, because there's no hustle-out-the-door routine that needs to be respected in order to get to work on time. He gets socialization at the community center, the library and some play spaces, and then he's out in the neighborhood (bank, grocery store, drug store, post office, park, playground, bicycle paths, museums, botanical gardens, Biodome, you get the picture) with me.
I was walking to the playground with my son last year when he spotted a blue flower - a weed, really - growing in the crack of the sidewalk. "Wha dat?" he asked. I explained it was a flower, just growing in a place they don't usually grow. My son knelt to first examine the flower closely, and then tried to smell it, shrugging when he couldn't get a smell out of it (probably because he hadn't yet mastered inhaling on command through his nose, and instead exhaled). "Pitty," he concluded, calling the flower 'pretty' in a way only I could understand. Then he got up and happily kept walking. A few paces behind us was a group from a daycare, walking single-file behind a daycare employee and all holding on to a long, tether-like strap with handles. They were all about my son's age and wearing oversize green pinnies. When they walked by the flower, one of the girls in the group pointed to it. "A flower!" she said, as she stopped walking. The two kids in front of her were pulled to a stop, and the two behind her walked into her and each other. "We don't have time for that," scolded the employee lightly. "Now please keep walking or we'll be late for playtime at the park." The girl pouted, but started walking with the others. She turned her head to look t the flower once they'd gone past it.
Why judge me for making the sacrifices and choosing one lifestyle for my son and myself over the other one? We made an independent choice that was right for our family and supported by the rest of my family. I don't regret one moment of the time I spend at home, and should be made to felt like I should be anywhere else.
The shocked group is by far the largest. They are completely aghast that I would even consider staying home (from work outside the home) and that I would choose to be with my own child all day. What about his socialization? they lament, looking down in pity at the happy, healthy 2-year-old standing at my knee. What about you and your needs? they ask in consternation.
My answer comes in several parts.
- Judging by the criticism of the attitudes exhibited by younger generations presently going through school, and judging by the growing social issues faced by this generation, not the least being violence-driven bullying and suicide and self-harm at alarmingly younger ages, what exactly am I supposed to find positive about the shared early-childhood experience that is the daycare system? Assuming that early-childhood social, familial and educational experiences are the foundations of personality, the resulting attitudes and personalities exhibited by a few generations of daycare kids are less than appealing. As a college-educated woman, who happens to have a degree in education, I feel uniquely qualified to raise and educate my own children, thank you very much. Government services being as lamentable as they are, how can any parent suggest to me that the CEGEP-trained stranger who works in some of the assembly-line versions of toddler care that exist out there be a better care-giver and educator than a loving parent? We're not talking private institutions with individualized care or the one-on-one experience of being with a dedicated nanny, here. We're talking about something the government runs and that costs you seven whole dollars a day. I know that some are better than others, but no matter how good it gets, it still boils down to a stranger versus a parent, and profit versus family. I can concede that I may do no better than a daycare with my son, but I take offense at the idea that I could do worse.
- And while we're on the notion of one-system-fits-all institutionalization of early childhood, how come these intelligent free-thinking parents buy into this too-often cookie-cutter concept of child-rearing? It's one system for all the children, and the child who isn't ready for (or isn't buying into) this production line of so-called care is labelled as a behavioral problem. "Jessica does not want to put on her snow-suit with all the other children at precisely 10am when she is told it is time for snow-suits. Nous reccomendons une consultation avec une intervenante du CLSC." I was told by a former daycare worker that ALL babies are given their own spoon when put into their highchairs at the age of 7 months. And what if the baby has no interest in using a spoon, and still wants to explore the texture and feel of the food he just began eating about 2 moths ago? Shrug. "They all get a spoon at 7 months". And so my conclusion is the following: we don't allow any individuality at all, as young as 7 months. So Baby can never evolve at his/her own pace. Ever. And if they express an emotion about being forced into a system or schedule that they aren't ready for or don't want? Get ready for that label and that intervenante. If early-childhood is not the time for following the child's pace, then it's never time, is it? And that is, quite frankly, a very sad thing.
- I don't need to parent my children via guilt trips. There are none imposed by my child, none that I imposed on myself. I am with my child every day of the year (barring the times he is with Gramma or Auntie or alone with Daddy). I don't feel the need to purchase my way back into my son's life and good graces and my firm NO remains an unwavering firm NO, no matter the behavior that follows. I need the no to remain a no because I will pay for any behaviors coming out of giving in, and I will not be able to rid myself of the indulgence-driven behavior by dumping my child into the human-storage-facility that is daycare.
- How come my child is happy to wander off and play when we go to playgroup or when we visit people in their homes, instead of being an insecure ball of nerves that clings to their parents like velcro and screams for attention? Because my quality time with my child is all the rest of the time he is with me, and he does not need to clamor for attention during the paltry few couple of weekend hours they have with their parents. I have no guilt about handing him an iPad with an alphabet app while I have a glass of wine with a friend, because we just played alphabet games together for an hour before we came over, and did so every day of the previous week.
- My needs? My needs are fulfilled, thank you very much. My fulfillment does not depend on working in an office with a boss I can only tolerate, or on coworkers more depressed than I am or on a commute from hell. My fulfillment is not attained by having extra income to buy myself yet more crap that will be meaningless to myself and others when I die. I do not need a Rudsack jacket and a pedi to believe that I am worthwhile. What I do need to to feel is satisfaction and pride in the fact that I am doing the very best I can for my son. And as far as my education goes - which some consider as 'wasted' because I don't work outside the home - I will allow the father of young the Pakistani girl who was shot in the head by the Taliban for wanting to go to school and saying so to speak for me. Malala's father says, "To educate a woman is to educate the entire family." I offer my education to my family first, not to strangers. I can think of no better use of my education than to put it to the service of my own family, so that they may go out in turn and serve themselves and others in the best way possible. If I were in charge of a lab finding cures for cancer, or the manager of something... We'd most likely be having a different conversation, but I'm not, and just like I made choices for myself, that researcher or manager would also make the best choices for herself.
Opting out of daycare feels much more natural to me than using daycare. That's just what it boiled down to for me. I am the mother, I chose to put this life into the world. I chose to have this child because I want to raise him, I want to spend time with him. I am the best option for him. And that raising this baby, this boy, to be a man, is a very empowering and enriching experience. More and more, I feel like when I have to explain this to people, they won't get it anyway.
Those who give me knowing smiles know exactly what I mean. They know that you do give up some things, but you gain on many other things. Like not using an alarm clock to wake up in the morning. Like shopping in blissfully quiet stores while everyone is at work. Like not having to face a commute in a car, bus or metro. Like not having a boss. Or a dress code. And never worrying that you haven't spent enough time with your children. When I hear some working women talk about their stress levels and their unmanageable schedules, I kind of pity them. It's a rat race when you don't have kids, I cannot imagine keeping up the pace with young children. When my son waked up with fever, all I'm worried about is the fever. I cancel the day's activities and we stay home with some Advil and a blanket. For some working women, a feverish toddler represents unimaginable stress and truly difficult situations. My whole lifestyle changed when I decided to stay home with my son. I went from double-income-no-kids to clipping coupons. But when I think of everything my decision procured me, I have no regrets whatsoever.
And those who sigh wistfully and "wish" they cold stay home? Please.
For some people, this is a legitimate wish. I know mothers who are working their way through school, trying to build a better life for themselves and their children. There are plenty of people who legitimately use daycare.
But for too many others, staying home is a matter of making too many financial and lifestyle sacrifices that people are too unwilling to make. If you can at all afford it, staying at home is not something you wish for, it's something you just do. How? It's quite simple, really. You give up the things on the following list: spas, manicures, pedicures, weekend getaways, take-out food, expensive restaurants, designer clothing, the new car, the second car, movie theaters, couples-only all-inclusive holidays down south, tickets to whatever, the new iPhone to replace the old iPhone you got 6 months ago and everything else presented in commercials that make you think you "deserve" to give your money away the people that sell these things. You think you're "worth" a pedicure? I think my son is worth MORE than a pedicure. Or designer handbag. Or whatever. I know some people that say they can't afford to lose a salary, and then go on about the show they went to see, the great spa they discovered, the room they plan to renovate and the latest hot restaurant they tried. I gave that up in part to be with my son. In my case, I know this situation is not forever, and the pedis and restaurants will slowly creep back into my lifestyle. It's just four years, until he goes to pre-school, and it is so incredibly worth it.
Again, if I have to explain it, I feel like the only people who will understand are the knowing-smiles people. I have witnessed all of my child's firsts, helped with the development of his skills, speech, manners and overall education. I saw the daily increments of his change and development and know him completely. I know his daily moods and rhythms and can anticipate them, avoiding mood swings and tantrums because I cater my schedule to his routine. If he needs to break the routine, I can adjust our schedule to accommodate that. Had a bad night and need to sleep in? I can handle that, because there's no hustle-out-the-door routine that needs to be respected in order to get to work on time. He gets socialization at the community center, the library and some play spaces, and then he's out in the neighborhood (bank, grocery store, drug store, post office, park, playground, bicycle paths, museums, botanical gardens, Biodome, you get the picture) with me.
I was walking to the playground with my son last year when he spotted a blue flower - a weed, really - growing in the crack of the sidewalk. "Wha dat?" he asked. I explained it was a flower, just growing in a place they don't usually grow. My son knelt to first examine the flower closely, and then tried to smell it, shrugging when he couldn't get a smell out of it (probably because he hadn't yet mastered inhaling on command through his nose, and instead exhaled). "Pitty," he concluded, calling the flower 'pretty' in a way only I could understand. Then he got up and happily kept walking. A few paces behind us was a group from a daycare, walking single-file behind a daycare employee and all holding on to a long, tether-like strap with handles. They were all about my son's age and wearing oversize green pinnies. When they walked by the flower, one of the girls in the group pointed to it. "A flower!" she said, as she stopped walking. The two kids in front of her were pulled to a stop, and the two behind her walked into her and each other. "We don't have time for that," scolded the employee lightly. "Now please keep walking or we'll be late for playtime at the park." The girl pouted, but started walking with the others. She turned her head to look t the flower once they'd gone past it.
Why judge me for making the sacrifices and choosing one lifestyle for my son and myself over the other one? We made an independent choice that was right for our family and supported by the rest of my family. I don't regret one moment of the time I spend at home, and should be made to felt like I should be anywhere else.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)