Archive for January, 2009

Mother’s Little Helper

January 31, 2009 · Filed under health, parenting

I have cut down on my tea intake, and am now operating in a fug.  I didn’t realise that I had become such a tea addict.  It was incremental, adding “just another” cup into my routine, and somehow suppressing the knowledge that it was a caffeinated drink.

In my quest to overcome a weak pelvic floor, I sought medical assistance.  (In cases of low motivation to change, I find it helps to invest time and money in a professional to whom I then have to answer as to whether I actually made any changes.  Sad I know.)  I was diagnosed with both stress and urge incontinence.  I won’t bore you with the details, but the upshot was I had to get going on my kegels, and also measure all drinks and urine for 48 hours.  You see where this is heading.  I had to write down *all* the cups of tea I was drinking. 

The health professional involved was then able to comment on my high level of caffeine intake.  Her interest in this was that apparantly caffeine can irritate the bladder muscle.   My interest in this was that I am a lactating mother and someone with a (misplaced) pride in my healthy lifestyle.  She recommended that I *notice* whether I had an urge to pass urine about 20 – 30 minutes after a caffeinated drink.  I determined that I would immediately cut down to two cups of tea a day.

Well, I can report from the frontline that caffeine is a very powerful drug and it appears that my whole lifestyle was dependent on it.  Without  mother’s little helper, I drag myself around looking for any opportunity to nap.  The upside is, my waterworks problems are pretty much gone.  Who knew.  I’m still doing my kegels.  I can lift my pelvic floor 6mm, and I need to aim for 10mm to be safe, and 15mm if I want to go trampolining.  Given my current lethargy, this is unlikely.

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Thoughts on Adoption

January 28, 2009 · Filed under ethics, parenting, politics, society

Some readers may be wondering…. well, what happened to that plan?   After immersing myself in adoption readings, what do I think now?   Well, I no longer think I can do it.  The politics of adoption *are* fraught. 

There is the psychology of the adopted child.   Even a tiny newborn baby experiences and grieves the loss of their birth mother to a significant degree.   And this primal wrench echoes through their life in issues of attachment, abandonment and insecurity.   Apparantly the ‘genetic markers’ of a child’s appearance and mannerisms that are reflected by the biological family are very important in a sense of belonging.  Many adoptees who discover that they were adopted later in life, experience almost a relief:  “I knew there was something not right”.

These issues are compounded by transcultural adoption.   I found advice that you should not contemplate a transcultural adoption unless you already have friends from that culture – to provide at least some reflection of the ‘look’ and culture from which the child came.  Initially I found this idea difficult.  Surely it was clear that “culture” was not genetic – it was a social construct.  If you were brought up in Australia, then surely you would identify with Australian culture?  Also, wasn’t the need to ‘look alike’ a reflection of racism that we should be working against – not reinforcing?  (In my sideline investigation into racism, it turns out I am a moderate racist www.implicit.harvard.edu/implicit/ , but on the upside, I have no bias against gay people).   A friend referred me to Jung’s Collective Unconscious for a theory that in fact culture *is* genetic.  Ok, now I’m wading in waters that I’m likely to sink in.  I looked into this briefly, and I concede the possibility.    Blogs of transcultural adoptees would support this.   These peoples’ search for identity is ongoing.   

Ok, so no great surprises here.  I assumed that it would be better for the child to stay with their biological family, but we’re talking about cases where that option doesn’t exist, right?

Well, no.  In my naivete I thought that children put up for adoption would be orphans – that is, had “no family”.  But the truth is that many of the children put up for adoption have “no family that can afford to keep them”.  It seems that the issue is ultimately one of social justice.     I read some disturbing stories whereby the adoptive family actually met the poor (in all senses of the word) mother/extended family of the relinquished child….. and didn’t seem to consider that if they sent this family some regular money, it might well be possible for the child to stay with their biological family.   Even if the child *doesn’t* have any living relatives, it would be better if their culture of origin had the resources to accommodate them.

Initially I came to the conclusion that based on all this, international adoption was not for us, but maybe we could consider adoption of an older Australian child who needed a family.  But then I thought – isn’t this essentially the same issue of social justice?  Whoever heard of a middle class child being removed from their family by child protection authorities and put up for adoption?  Again, it’s an intersection of poverty and social dysfunction (though in this case  society seems to find it easier to blame the individual parent.)

None of these concerns adequately address my initial position, which was that yes, there are all these crappy social conditions that need to be vastly improved, but in the meantime what about the children caught in limbo?   Already in state care. Don’t they deserve a loving (albeit non-biological) family?  Well, of course they do.  So I conclude that adoption is a reasonable individual answer to collective problems.    How much this individual answer corrupts or postpones solutions to the collective problems is unknown, but in my view it probably does.   

I am left again, bereft of a black and white answer in this grey world.  At this stage my personal answer is not to adopt, but to *somehow* come up with a way to work towards the collective solution.  Sigh.  Talk about lessons in feeling inadequate.

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Dementia

January 27, 2009 · Filed under relationships

I had my regular Saturday outing with my dad.   He has dementia, brought on by drinking too much.  He lived with us for about 11 years, until 6 months ago when we put him into aged care.   The 11 year bit makes us sound very virtuous, but the truth is that as soon as it got hard, we raced to get him into care.  My distrust of institutional care and belief in the extended family crumbled at the first hurdle….  we just couldn’t manage.

So now I visit every Saturday morning and take him on an outing.   Sometimes this can be quite enjoyable, but often I am left with feelings of inadequacy and despair.  This weekend for instance, P & the boys were occupied, so I felt able to ’spend more time’.  First we went to some local shops so dad could buy a hat, and we sat and had a drink.  Then we drove to the local garden centre where we had lunch and I bought a few seedlings.  Parts of this were very pleasant and I *think* dad enjoys getting out, but we do have awkward times too.  Dad can’t initiate conversation, other than anxious questions about his circumstances.  Where do I live?  How far away do you live? Do I have any money?  So the burden of pleasant chit chat falls to me – and basically I’m useless at it.  Silences fall.  Sometimes in desperation I say things I’ve already said.   When dad has to go to the toilet it’s hard.  I need to stand right outside the door of the gents, as he gets anxious about how he’s going to “get out” of the toilet.  He struggles with the zipper on his trousers so I help him do this up – which I have got used to, except the doing it in public bit. 

Then when I have to leave him at the hostel.  He doesn’t want me to leave.   He’s already forgotten that we’ve spent the past hours out together.  He just know I’m leaving.  He sort of avoids catching my eye – I think so he won’t start to cry – and starts another round of anxious questions.  The worst of these is:  “What am I going to do?”  On the weekend there are no activities staff at the hostel, and dad can’t self-initiate any activities.  He can’t read anymore.  He doesn’t have any hobbies.  All that is left is to wander around and around the halls.    Other residents seem to sleep the day away, but my dad doesn’t sleep during the day.  I don’t have any solutions to offer, and in the meantime my anxiety levels are rising to get back to my own family, who I have now been away from for hours.  I eventually extricate myself and race away to my car, feeling like a complete shit. 

I get home and have the same conversation with P again.  Around and around – what can we do?  would it be better for dad to be back with us again?  (a definitive “no” from P, and I know he’s right – but sometimes I think the burden of  guilt I feel for leaving dad there is worse than the complete frustration and annoyance of having him at home.) P informs me that the only answer is death.    The truth hurts.  I’m not ready for that and I twitter around trying to think of other things.  Could we hire an extra visitor?  Can I pressure my mum (who divorced him 22 years ago) into visiting him?   All of this is further exacerbated by our plan to travel around Australia, leaving in May.   I’m planning to abandon him for around 12 months while we take a nice holiday.   I know, I know,  I’m well versed in all the reasons why my life shouldn’t be put “on hold”  pending some resolution (read:death) of my dad’s situation – I mean, that could be 20 years away, etc etc.  

All that is left is to feel bad.

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Flying the Flag (part 2)

January 22, 2009 · Filed under politics, society

You need to read part 1 to make sense of part 2.

Normally my “blogging” consists of stuff festering in my head, and when I get a chance to type it just spills onto the keyboard.  Then I tweak, and post.  I didn’t like Flying the Flag part 1.  It seemed to have the wrong tone.  It was too glib.  I didn’t post it, and commenced my own research into the meanings of the ‘flag renaissance’.  This consisted of buttonholing everyone I came into contact with into discussions about the flag, happening upon a RN program on the history wars, and studying the demographics of flag wavers.

I was concerned that my reaction to the flag was a reflection of my personal neuroses, rather than anything else.  If I had a therapist, ‘the flag’ would have been my topic of the week.  I don’t, so you, dear reader, are the unfortunate recipient of this stream of consciousness.  To be more specific, when I see the flag where is it *meant* to be (top of Parliament house, going up a flagpole at the olympics) I don’t have a visceral response.  I have an intellectual response: that the flag is quite attractive, and I wish we could lose that stupid union jack.  When I see the citizenry waving flags with no sporting event in sight, I get concerned.  Is this just me?  Am I the victim of some version of the cultural cringe?

Reassuringly, when I raised the question of the flag, I was met with similar observations.  “Yes!” ”It’s a new thing”  “Where did it come from?”  When I specifically asked whether the flag had been appropriated by disenfranchised young white men, I got two responses:  “yes”, and “yes maybe”, with one person specifically including young women as well.   So, with thanks to the people who humoured me by discussing the flag, here are some further thoughts.

Essentially, it’s a hangover from the Howard years.  We have been caught in a pincer movement from conservative forces.  First, the defeat of the republican movement at the 1999 referendum, and a deliberate fostering of nationalism - the “three cheers” version of Australian history, including hijacking and mythologising the “Anzacs”.  And then “the market” spotting a gap for Australian flag merchandise.  (All “Made in China” with a huge mark up, according to my retail source).  This explains why it seems to be a Gen Y phenomenon.  They have been brought up on this stuff – nationalism and identity through consumption.  All the flag wavers I’ve seen are young – with the exception of middle aged women… mothers of Gen Y?

It seems my fuzzy thinking that somehow the flag has become ‘white’ has some validity too.  I was advised that when the republican movement was burning bright, some Aboriginal groups disclosed that they found the flag offensive (Australia Day is their Invasion Day after all)  I haven’t see any ‘non-whites’ waving the flag.  A co-researcher has an immigrant colleague with a car flag.  When queried, she disclosed that she was very proud to be Australian and had done her best to “integrate”.  OK.  If she’s arrived in the last five years or so, she probably thinks this is what Australians do.  Further confirmation of the ‘whiteness’ of the Australian flag occurred when someone suggested that we further our research by attending the upcoming “skyshow” and carrying alternative flags.  Someone could wave an Aboriginal flag, someone else an Indonesian flag, etc. The point is, you don’t have to actually do this to know that you feel nervous about doing it.

So where to from here?  Do we try to reclaim the current flag, or lobby for a new one?  I think it has to be the second, and to that end I *am* joining Ausflag.  But I’m worried about how long it’s going to take.  Is anyone interested in joining me in a quixotic enterprise, whereby we seek to market Australian flags with *no* union jack in the corner, made from Australian cotton, and actually manufactured *in* Australia?

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Flying the Flag (part 1)

January 22, 2009 · Filed under Uncategorized

Australia Day celebrations seem to have started early this year.  Surely this is a new phenomenon?   In the last few days I have seen at least 12 cars flying the flag.  Surely this used to only happen on the actual day?

For any international readers, you might be fairly uninterested to know that Australia day falls on the 26 January, which in time-honoured Australian fashion is celebrated with a public holiday.  When I was a child it was one of a number of unidentified public holidays with no particular customs attached.  Then about 25 years ago, FM radio stations decided to celebrate by sponsoring large firework displays.  Then less than 10 years ago our national flag made a reappearance.  It can be flown from your car aerial or window, or worn as a transfer on your body.  If you are a woman you can wear it as a bikini.  If you are a man, you can wear it tied around your neck as a superhero cape.  (What are Mr Australia’s powers?)  The latter application also works for international sporting events, rock music festivals and racially fuelled riots.

I put it out there as a potential PhD topic for someone: to chart the renaissance of the Australian flag, and the meanings thereof.  I’m intrigued – actually kind of concerned – so please let me know your findings.   But my gripe of the day is that all this flag-lovin’ is bad news for stodgy old republican types like me.   (Again for international types hanging in there, Australia still sports the Union Jack on our flag…. some of us would like to see our national symbols reflect our status as a country rather than a colony.)  The republican movement in the past – before the flag renaissance – did a reasonable job of trying to unlink the two issues of the republic and the flag.  But come on, we all know that our national identity would become even more knotted if we became a republic……  and then didn’t eventually change the flag!   At one stage there seemed to be a consensus that when the last digger died, we could then change the flag (though some would “turn in their graves”.) But if suddenly we have a new generation who have forged this alliance with the flag, then monarchist campaigns around the flag have renewed traction…. who would have thought?

A quick check to see what Ausflag  is up to shows they haven’t held one of their “design a new Australian flag” competitions since 1998.  Note the eerie confluence of dates!  They haven’t raised their heads over the parapet since the flag renaissance!  Maybe they don’t want to be egged, and this could be a legitimate fear….. depending on the findings of the proposed research.  I’m tempted to become an Ausflag member - it’s only $25 and it might raise their morale that someone still cares.  If the flag does change, I promise not to wear it as a bikini or a cape.  Maybe we could stick to flagpoles….. or that just “unaustralian”?

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Garden Update: January 2009

January 16, 2009 · Filed under gardening

It’s a bad time for gardeners.   The desert wind roars over my poor plants and we’re pushing 40 degrees.   I’m watering – a guilt inducing activity, despite my belief that, in terms of food production, your own garden creates the smallest environmental footprint. 

All the english spinach, rocket, coriander and basil have gone to seed completely, and what’s left is chook fodder.  Only one zucchini flower became a zucchini – and was eaten in the context of a completely home grown salad – success!   The curious variety of beans came and went – in salads and stirfries.  The tomatoes have seen armageddon and are wildly fruiting.  The corn will soon be ready, and both the capsicums and eggplants are flowering. 

The grape vines are almost to the top of the pergola.  The potted grapevine that I brought with us from the old house and  thought might be rootbound, was planted in a less than auspicious spot along the back fence, and is now fruiting!

Pressing garden tasks include building the chook tractor – as Blackie and Brownie are quickly outgrowing their temporary hutch - and picking and freezing the remaining silverbeet and chard.   Really nothing much can be planted in these conditions, so the garden may be fallow for a month or so.   If we can get the chook tractor started on its cycle through the garden,  that will give me the impetus to ‘plan the plantings’.

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Why I don’t drive a Toyota Prius

January 15, 2009 · Filed under environment, politics

Well, that would be because I don’t want to spend $40K on a car. 

Irritatingly though, one’s “green” credentials are somewhat suspect if one doesn’t drive one of these.  I can’t comment much on Toyota’s engineering department, but their marketing department must be run by geniuses.  Handing out HTVs at an election for the obvious party, I was virtually accused of hypocrisy by the young Liberal opposite, when I started to pack up my stuff into my generic four cylinder. 

Recently a reporter was required to cover a “green” event (must have been a slow news day) and one of the four paragraphs was devoted to his surprise at the fact that their was only one(!) Prius parked out front.

I read that Toyota’s own (US based) research into Prius buyers revealed that around 30% of buyers bought a Prius as a *third* family car.   Do these owners get dressed in their tie dye and drive their Prius to visit hippie friends and farmer markets?  Toyota seem to be moving some units, but if this is their target market, I think we can safely say they’re not saving the world.

In keeping with its major purpose, our current car reflects our image quite well I think.   Quite neat when purchased, we have managed to let it deteriorate to its current  shabby state, with features including chipped paint, birdshit, cracker crumbs, broken tape player and radio permanently tuned to the ABC.  I do boast the obligatory “Vote Green” sticker, though I have resisted the urge to dilute the message with other worthy causes, such as “Ban Live Sheep Exports” and “Homebirth Naturally”. 

Just when my whole look was coming together, I am about to purchase a big  f**king 4WD with roo bar etcetera, for the purpose of towing my mobile home on a longish recreational drive.   I’m trying to think what stickers will work best.

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Second chances, and motivation to learn

January 11, 2009 · Filed under homeschooling, parenting, unschooling

On Friday I took delivery of a hired piano.   To those of my friends who read this blog, I would like to extend my heartfelt gratitude for the ongoing inspiration.  I don’t need to read celebrity mags or biographies of famous people – I only need to look to the “extra” ordinary people in my life for wonderful ideas and motivation.

In this instance, my own husband has been ‘aimlessly strumming’ his second hand guitar – like a meditation – for years.  I have one friend who has picked up the violin after a few decades of *not* picking it up, and another friend who has recently bought a piano and intends to learn.    I am inspired.  

I was one of those children who was *forced* to learn the piano as a child.   It was not a happy time.   I could not have wanted to practice any less.  The lessons were torture (as I hadn’t practiced enough).  The exams were times of the most intense pressure and desperation.  On one occasion I broke into silent heaving sobs over the keyboard as I tried to play.  The examiner was horrified, and passed me as an act of kindness.  By the time my parents were convinced that I *really* wasn’t enjoying it, and decided a different, “no exams” type teacher might suit, I had been ruined for it.  I couldn’t play for pleasure.  It just wasn’t a pleasure.  It was, finally, a pleasure when I was allowed to stop.

Of all the things I learnt at piano lessons (and it wasn’t a complete waste – I can still read basic music) the most powerful and enduring lesson was that I “wasn’t musical”.   For decades, I never sang aloud – only miming in the obligatory school choir.   I never touched, let alone tried to play, a musical instrument. 

How often our culture’s connection between ‘learning’ and external ‘achievement’, ruins our pleasure in learning and discovery.  How often the thing you *have* to learn, becomes the very thing you are resistant to learning.  How often we self select out of things, because we won’t be as good as we “should” be.

It was only with the arrival of my children that I was prepared to sing, to ”have a go” on the toy xylophone, or blow into the harmonica.   In my determination that the world of music should be open to them, I was forced to the conclusion that, by default, it had to be open to me.   As is so often the case, your children, just by being, give you that “second chance”. 

I started to get a bit rebellious that my experiences had given me such a negative label.   That this whole field of human endevour and culture had been closed to me.  I determined that even though I would never be a great  musician, the world of music was as much mine to explore, as it was anyone else’s.

When the piano arrived, I didn’t dare play a note without music in front of me.   I raced to my mum’s to borrow some sheet music.   Of course the irony is that now, when I am so excited about the piano, and want to practice SO MUCH, I barely get a chance.  Oh well.  Better to yearn to do something, than be forced.

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Looking for some real life

January 8, 2009 · Filed under being present, parenting, politics, voluntary simplicity

Yesterday playing an imagination game with T, my character (Anthony) suggested to T’s character (Mr Rocket) that we go rock climbing.  Mr Rocket was very enthusiastic and riffed on the idea….. but to my consternation we were then queueing for a ticket in order to climb the rock climbing wall.    When did rock climbing become the rock climbing wall that we were going to buy a ticket for?   Maybe Anthony and Mr Rocket could play a video game of climbing a rock climbing wall.  Then we’ll know that we are truly lost in the matrix.  The faux experience has replaced the real experience.  Do we all feel safer?  I’m starting to feel ripped off.

I’m *SO SICK* of the pre-packaged experience.  Sorry folks, but being guided in a orderly fashion through your carefully constructed “experience” and then exiting via the gift shop is just so *boring*.  I feel like running the wrong way and smashing up the gift shop.  Of course I don’t.  I’m very well behaved.

Everywhere you go now, there is a gift shop, where you can buy items that are identical to the items at the previous giftshop.  Last year we went to the tree top walk in Walpole, and as you come down out of the forest canopy you exit via a ‘building sympathetic to the landscape’ where you can buy a Steve Parish calendar.  Also available at your local post office. 

Maybe I’m getting paranoid but in one just generation, the capitalist machine has become the “creator” of all these experiences that we “consume”, and subsequently our children will only know how to consume experiences but never to create them for themselves.

I was recently introduced to the Wii music game.  I’m baffled.  Is this a 21st century version of a corroborree?  How have they got people to buy a game based on creating music utilising faux instruments while looking at the big screen?  For the same price you could have a couple of second hand real instruments which could actually exit your home theatre.  For free, you could make music with the instruments you already have.  Come on folks, I can stamp my feet and play the spoons….. and I can also harmonise Kum Ba Yah.  Or is that the point – that we would all feel too twee and nervous to try the real thing?   Hmmm.  I hereby refuse to be cowed by the fact that I “can’t sing” and participate in all social and community singing opportunities.  If we all sing Kum Ba Yah loudly and often enough, maybe the matrix will shatter.

We are planning a trip around Australia.   I have a really bad fear that I have been duped by “Tourism Australia” and that the vast untouched wilderness areas they pan around are actually meccas for people, “experiences” and souvenir shops – that have just been removed for the photo shoot.    P has advised me that if I really want to get away from all that, then we’ll need to go to the desert.    Sounds great.

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Reading

January 4, 2009 · Filed under homeschooling, parenting, relationships, unschooling

Next time I’m at the library, I’m going to look up the Guiness Book of World Records, to see if there is a record for the number of books read to a child in a day by an adult, with the proviso being that the adult is *not* allowed to suggest to the child “let’s read a book”.  I reckon I’m a contender.  Phew. 

A year or so ago I was inspired by another home ed mum, who told me that it was her personal rule never to say “no” or ”postpone” a child who asked to read a book.  A worthy aspiration, but one that I’ve failed at a few times (Home Ed Mum Strike 1!)

While I’m at the library, I think I might also see who came up with the idea of anthologies and applied this to childrens books.   Have they ever sat down with an anthology to read ‘just one story’ to a child?  In the past my children have been given lovely large hard cover anthologies……… and I’ve disappeared them off to the charity bin (Home Ed Mum Strike 2!)

My oldest child is now FIVE and is not a reader (Home Ed Mum Strike 3 – and you’re OUT!) 

Recent conversation with Concerned Relative:

CR:   You know, there are some things that T can’t do, that you could do at 5.

Me:  You mean…. like reading?

CR:  Well, yes.

Me:  Not all 5 year olds can read.

CR:  Well…. no…  but if he was going to school he would be learning to read…

Me:  Well, some 5 year olds who have already done 2 years of school aren’t yet reading

CR:  Well, yes, but those two years are play based…..  he would be learning to read in Year 1.

Me:  When we went to local school to spend a morning with the Year 1 class in term 3, some of those kids weren’t reading.   I know T will read, I just don’t know when.

CR:  But you don’t *do* anything with him……

Me:  I believe in natural learning.  If he’s still not reading at 7, then I’m thinking about the Steiner curriculum.  (Editors note:  I like to change my pedagogy regularly….  I’m a bit like the education department in that way)  Will you feel better when T can read?

CR:  Are you going to send them to school?

Me:  Oh, they’ll probably go one day, poor little things.

CR: (hushed voice)  You can’t say that in front of them!

Me:  Well, I’m their mother and I’m pushing my values onto them just as hard and fast as I can.

CR:  (redeeming themselves later) I think your kids are beautiful and your values are wonderful… and  I wish I could live them more too.   (Hugs all round)

Note to all concerned relatives.  I appreciate your care.  But there is NOTHING that you can worry about my kids that I don’t worry about more than you.   I could send my boys to school and kid myself that I have outsourced some of my responsibilities to build their characters, lift their spirits, teach them all the ’stuff that everyone is supposed to know’ and send them soaring out into the world.   But I haven’t.  I’ve just given myself a lot less time to do it in. 

I could carefully choose the school they were going to.  But in reality I haven’t chosen or vetted one individual who is now by default a role model or mentor in their life. 

It does feel safer to give some of the responsibility away.   When I feel overwhelmed by the responsibility, I think of the school option.  Then if things go wrong I can spread the blame around.   But the school won’t love T.  The school won’t *really* care what happens to T when he moves on.  If T can’t read on their timeframe, he’ll be a “problem”.  If T can’t read on my timeframe, then I can sit and hug with him on the couch and read books endlessly and work with him for as long as it takes.  If there truly is a problem and T  can never ever read, then I will be his reader for as long as I live.  That’s what it means to be a parent.  That’s my commitment to his engagement with the written word.

School might like to have a walk-on part in a scene from the Grand Drama that is “T’s Life”.  But my role in the supporting cast is so enduring, that I don’t even leave the stage when I die.

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