Tag Archives: kids

The Mother of All Mothers

Posted in children, family, life, lifestyle, mother, motherhood, mum, parenting, personal, Uncategorized by

Life’s too short to drink shit coke – Catherine Rainey

To anyone who has ever read any of my previous posts, it should be pretty obvious by now how important my mother is to me. Subtle references to her spending nights with me watching Father Ted may, on the face it, seem like nothing more than a pastime we shared together but the truth is much more poignant and indicative of a bond much greater than some mutual interest in a TV show.

In fact – and it’s only occurred to me now – I don’t think Mum even likes Father Ted.

On those nights neither of us particularly enjoyed ourselves. She would hold my hand in the reassuring way that only a mother can, offering words of comfort while Ted did his best to distract me from whatever anxieties took the forefront that evening. She often lay until the wee hours, kept awake by the less-than-soothing theme tune and repetitive laughter track, never daring to move until I found sleep.

With many a night spent like this – and undoubtedly hundreds more of a different nature with my siblings (of which there are four) – it is safe to say that, as she turns 60, she must be fucking exhausted. I can only assume this, however, as she would never complain of those hours of lost sleep, unlike me who manages to moan at every opportunity about sleepless nights on account of my own child. She is of a higher order you see; in a league reserved for only the finest of mothers. I imagine she secretly wears a medallion on the inside of her lapel, symbolising her patronage to some mystic motherly force which few others are accepted into.

I take this opportunity to again pay homage to my mother and her services as she celebrates her birthday 60th today. In typical Rebekah fashion I have not bought her a big bunch of flowers or a piece of jewellery befitting of such a momentous occasion; instead I offer up these humble words – which also coincidentally happen to be much less expensive. Just as Dad receives rubbish Star Wars memorabilia and novelty mugs for his birthday, you too must pay the price (excuse the pun) for raising such an “economical” daughter.

(This might be a good time to bring up the fact that you will also probably have to pay for my share of your birthday meal.)

It is often said that being a mother is a thankless job. True. There are no pats on the back, no monthly pay packets, no periods of annual leave.  The truth is mothers do not “mother” to be thanked. It is out of pure unconditional love that they dedicate their entire lives to pursuing so little of their own interests and goals in favour of their children’s. They derive their satisfaction from other more meaningful sources – from the smiles on their kid’s faces, the late night cuddles, and the achievements of their children. That said, after only 15 months in the motherhood game, I’d imagine a “Thank you” every now and again would be nice.

After all these years I can say with no uncertainty that I never thanked you enough. How could I have? How could those two little words ever amount to the recognition and appreciation you deserve? Nonetheless, I say it now and for the world (the handful of people who read my blog) to hear. Thank you.

Thank you for loving me each and every day of my life. Thank you for giving me a childhood that I can only think of with fondness. Thank you for rewarding me with my wonderful brothers and sisters, all of whom remind me of you in their own little ways. Thank you for putting your own grief to one side in order to tend to mine; to this day I still don’t know how you did it. Thank you for being brave; never afraid to argue the truth or sing louder than the voices around you. Thank you for finding strength when others could not. Thank you for guiding me in the right direction while always allowing me to make my own decisions.  Thank you for being an individual; your inability to give a shit of what others think inspires me to never blindly follow. Thank you for being the grandmother to my son; as I watch the two of you bond I am reminded of the tender love you gave and continue to give me. Quite simply, thank you for being you.

At half your age, I can only hope that I amount to half the mother and half the woman that you are. Happy birthday Mum.

P.S. Sorry for reminding everyone of how old you are.

Granny Knows Best

Posted in baby, children, family, home, life, lifestyle, mother, motherhood, mum, parenting, personal, Uncategorized by

grannyYou thought you were doing yourself a favour when you bought those fitted bed sheets. I mean, sure, when it comes to dressing the bed – one of the most dreaded chores in the history of the world – you’re glad you can easily navigate tucking those corners in without breaking into the sweat-blinding, enraged fit that comes with “unfitted” sheets. Like most things in life, however, this is also too good to be true. Just as the last sheet came off, this one too will face the washing machine, the tumble drier and the inevitable (dun dun dun) folding.  Let’s face it, they are the cloth equivalent of the Rubik’s Cube.

(Seriously though, how do you fold them?)

I have been in awe of my mother for most of my life but, if I’m honest, I took for granted these subtle skills she mastered on a daily basis. It only occurred to me the other day, when I went to “fold” one of these cotton enigmas (and when I say fold, I mean roll into a heap and discard in the darkest corner of the house) that I realised this was my job… forever… and I might, some day, actually have to figure out how to properly do it.

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This all sounds fairly dramatic considering we’re talking about a bed sheet here. But it was the wider implications of this realisation rather than the folding of this one sheet that scared the complete and utter shit out of me. To this day, I have very much relied on my mother. And I’m not even referring to the big things at this point; I mean for those really small, niggling things like sewing a button, knowing how much soy sauce to put in your stew and what another word for conundrum is. To me she represents a fountain of knowledge and experience that, I fear, one day my children will look to me for. Once such a comforting notion, the concept that “mum knows best” has all of a sudden become incredibly frightening.

As a youth, my mum always encouraged me to watch her performing these seemingly insignificant tasks, presumably so that one day I would be able to do these things for myself. Of course I didn’t. I always figured I’d eventually pick it up and while I can make a mean spaghetti bolognese, my culinary skills are severely lacking, not to mention my sewing abilities.

I realise my mum is not your typical mum and I could never aspire to her greatness. The woman is 60 and, just a couple of weeks ago, twisted her ankle playing BASKETBALL.  That’s the kind of woman we’re dealing with. But beyond that, she’s an extreme gardener who can rock a pair of waders; an experienced upholsterer who, despite her arthritic fingers, still knows her way around a toolbox; a general knowledge genius who manages to retain information on pretty much every subject; and, above all, the most selfless woman I have ever known. She’s also a dab hand when it comes to GCSE art (wink wink).

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 FYI these are waders. FYI this is not my mum in waders.

To now draw a comparison, I genuinely don’t think I can name all the colours of the rainbow.  In fact, I’m not even going to try as I don’t think I can deal with the confirmation that I can’t.  My point is, is that someday my son, and hopefully my future children, will look to me for the wisdom that I was so fortunate to have in my mother.  They may not need me to reupholster their furniture or build them a pond but no doubt they’ll have their own special challenges ahead for me – a fact which, if I’m honest, terrifies me. From the hard “life” questions to even just the hard math questions, what if I don’t know best?

The good news, I suppose, is I still have time to learn. I still have time to learn how to sew a button, bleed a radiator, cook a turkey and fold a fitted sheet. And thankfully I have the master to learn from. So, for now I’ll happily give way to the fact that Granny knows best and hope that someday I will earn this honour myself. I realise this will be a long and difficult process; after all, those are big waders to fill.

P.S. Once I have mastered the art of folding the fitted sheet, I will post the instructions.

The Good, the Bad and the Unpredictable

Posted in baby, children, family, lifestyle, mother, motherhood, parenting, personal, thoughts, Uncategorized by

UnknownMy mum came to visit me yesterday – seemingly only to listen to me give off for half an hour about how hard done by I was. Her parting words were: “The only thing you can predict is their unpredictability” (in reference to babies, of course). One year on from the birth of my son and this couldn’t be anymore accurate.

Caleb never ceases to surprise me. Because he turned one last week, I knew I’d have to write a post about him – it seemed only fair since I somehow managed to find the time to basically write one about Whoopi Goldberg a few weeks ago. I had originally planned on writing this post last week and it was going to be very sentimental and sweet as you could imagine. I was thinking of writing a little letter to him that he would read when he was older and say to himself, “Awe, look how great I was to my mummy”.  I never found the time though because the rascal wouldn’t give me peace.

And then there was yesterday. I’ll not even tell you what I thought of writing about yesterday. I had seen almost every hour the night before on account of Caleb’s crying, had broke out with very painful acne which rendered me housebound, and was subject to clingy moaning and grabbing all day.  Sitting down today to write – in the peace and quiet – having slept a good solid eight hours, I could now write the most beautiful sonnet about Caleb, likening his face to a most heavenly cherub, counting the ways in which I love him in true Shakespearian style.

Neither of these accounts, however, would serve as an accurate reflection of motherhood. It is not a blissful poem, just as it’s not some hellish nightmare. It is a wonderful combination of the two and all that’s in between. The point is, you can never quite predict what’s coming next.  The moment you feel like you’ve finally got the whole thing under control, you will inevitably lose it again.  That is one thing I will take with me from this whole  experience – you cannot get used to anything or become complacent because once you do, as sure as anything, they’ll turn around and throw the whole thing on its head.  Instead, you must learn to embrace the chaos.

I, myself, am only finally coming to terms with this. Caleb might have eaten three square meals and slept like a baby (excuse the pun) yesterday but today he will probably be throwing his food back at me and pulling my hair into the wee hours. Who knows? But isn’t that the beauty of it all?

So, one year on and where am I? In all honesty, I have incredibly mixed feelings. I watch with pride how my son is beginning to support himself while still pining for the days when I was all the support he needed. I miss how he used to helplessly roll around the floor but, at the same time, eagerly anticipate his very first step. I feel proud of myself for having got him this far and yet worry about what’s to come and whether I’ll be good enough. Time seems to have gone so fast since his arrival and yet it feels like he has always been here. Motherhood, it seems, is just one massive contradiction rife with good days, bad days and a complete lack of predicability.

We mothers spend a lot of our time giving advice we can’t take ourselves and, in true fashion, I am about to do the same. I will parcel up some small nugget of wisdom and pretend it has completely transformed my life when, in reality, I am still learning. I propose that instead of trying to pre-empt their every move and frustrating yourself when they don’t do as they did yesterday, we should welcome their little unpredictability ways.  Just as you’re finding your way in all of this, so are they. By allowing them to just be as they are and accepting that they’re going to have good and bad days, just like us, we will find for ourselves at least some predictability – that they’re going to be unpredictable.

P.S. Caleb, for when you do read this in years to come, you were great to your mummy and she cannot thank you enough for the beautiful chaos you have brought to her life.

It Ain’t All Roses and Hot Cups of Coffee

Posted in baby, children, christmas, culture, family, home, inspiration, life, lifestyle, mother, motherhood, musings, opinion, parenting, personal, Uncategorized by

 

coffee and roses

Since you’ve had your baby, you’re likely to have experienced every emotion in high definition. When you cry, you could flood your entire living room; when you laugh, you’re on the verge of wetting yourself; and when you get angry, you can almost feel yourself turn green and your trousers start to shrink. Is it the raging hormones? The seemingly never-ending sleep deprivation? Perhaps, it’s just another symptom of your self-diagnosed cabin fever?

While these are all completely apt, I believe there’s another factor slowly driving us towards insanity in our new fragile state of “motherhood” and, thankfully, it’s something we can actually control. PRESSURE. The undying attempt to achieve perfection in every aspect of our lives, be it in our home life, career, or appearance.  This is, of course, not confined to motherhood but I can say, hand on heart, I’ve never quite felt the same level of strain as I do now. While this largely comes from within, there are external forces influencing and misshaping our thoughts and expectations everyday.

Whether it’s a trip to Tesco where you meet that Mother, sporting the latest trends from Topshop, casually strolling down the aisles with her equally fashionable child or it’s that Facebook friend with her perfectly decorated home sipping her, somehow still hot, cup of coffee. To all those who feel their lives gradually spiralling out of control, can I just say, the majority of us are right there with you.

Kudos to those mums who somehow have their shit perfectly together but this is not the bar to set yourself against. It’s fine if you didn’t have time to take your child to see Santa, bake cookies or wrap your presents in photographs of your children dressed as snowmen. I assure you, your children will grow up to be perfectly normal and well-balanced adults.

Thankfully, I am blessed enough to have a close network of “mummy friends” who, on a daily basis, send me images of their unwashed dishes and adorably unkempt children.  Without these women, I can safely say I might have more officially lost the plot (NB. I still have much plot to gain). We embrace the chaos of each others lives and remind each other that those other frills are exactly just that, “frills.”

Keeping your child healthy and happy, alongside maintaining a job and household, are in themselves phenomenal achievements. Neatly stacking your bookshelves and fluffing your cushions are not.

So, to those of you who maybe aren’t as fortunate as me and mummy friends, I say “you are doing great”. Your girls might be biting each other, your little boys might be dismantling your Christmas tree one bauble at a time, and you might still be two dress sizes bigger than you were, but your child is loved and so are you.

And to make you feel better, I’ve included some inspirational pictures of my life as it currently stands. My Christmas tree, missing the entire bottom row of baubles. Followed by my face, which is covered in adult acne. And finally my kitchen sink, which speaks for itself.

Great Expectations: A Mother’s Perspective

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I have never considered myself a feminist. In fact, I’ve always been uncomfortable with even the notion of “feminism.” I’ve always found something so cliched about concepts such as “Women in Business” etc. This is not to say I’m under the impression that sexism or inequality does not exist in the world, but rather that it has never affected my own personal journey. I’ve thankfully never been discriminated against (at least to my own knowledge) because of my gender, in either my personal or professional life, and no recent event has triggered this particular musing but rather a gradual maturation.

My mother-in-law (I use this term loosely) is always telling me, “It’s a man’s world” and you know what, she’s right. Obviously we can’t really go around spouting statements like these as though they’re universal truths but yeah, in my experience, it is. The point I’m making is that maybe we’ve made it that way.

I love my partner with all my heart. I’d do absolutely anything for him, which i’m sure he knows.  *By the way, the intention of this piece is not to take away from how wonderful a person he is — but rather to reflect upon my actions since being with him and their connotations in a larger sense.* He is a deeply loving and caring person and would never usher me to the kitchen or expect me to do menial chores, and yet I naturally assume these domestic roles. Yes — this is arguably evolutionary but seriously, haven’t we evolved out of this yet? Man hunt. Woman cook. No – man and woman hunt so woman and man now cook.

I don’t think we’re quite there yet.

Having recently had a baby, I’ve since felt the immense pressure that comes along with motherhood. I relish the role – really I do – but some days, I just think “Wow, this is hard.” I myself am incredibly lucky; I have an unbelievably supportive network around me and I am never alone. But at the end of the day, the responsibility rests with the parents and arguably more so with mother.

Cooking, cleaning, laundry, on top of all the baby stuff.  Not to mention, those of us (which is most) who also hold down a job.  It’s a lot. I will now quote Bilbo Baggins of all people, as he perfectly summises how i feel in one sentence.
I feel thin, sort of stretched, like butter scraped over too much bread.
Where does this pressure come from? I know it doesn’t come from the men in my life.  No one has ever told me these tasks were expected of me or that this was my role as a woman. I naturally assumed these roles on moving in with Conor. It appears to me then, that the pressure almost comes from ourselves. There might be subliminal influences from society as a whole, but I almost believe I have created this mountain of work for myself.
They say “Men can’t multitask”, which to me seems like a Get Out Of Jail Free card. I suck at multitasking. Perhaps it is subtleties like these which have, over the years, become hardwired into our thinking.
I have recently made two new mummy friends (*cringe*) and on spending time with these women, I have realised a number of things. I am not alone in these sentiments; women are strong as hell; and we put ourselves under way too much pressure.  We continually scrutinise our actions and are constantly trying to pick each other up from out own personal insults. They work damn hard and I can see that, why can’t they? We complain about our weight, denying ourselves well earned treats, and try our hardest to shift it with things like “Booty Mamma” classes.  When one of us compliments another our go-to response is usually “shut up.” What is that? No, but really, WHAT IS THAT? Even outside these circumstances, my friends have always done this.  Why can’t we take a compliment? Let’s not open that can of worms.
The point is, again we are putting ourselves under unnecessary pressure. No one is telling me to lose weight; on the contrary. The world is now embracing the “Dad bod”, why can’t we embrace our “Mom bods”?
We women are so quick to judge ourselves and each other and herein lies the problem. Appreciate your fellow woman and what they do; support and compliment them instead of putting them down. And to us all I say, “Chill out a bit.” The world will not fall apart if you don’t wash that cup.  And to the men I say, “Just offer to wash the cup”.