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Archive for the ‘school kids’ Category

What do you do if you’re 5 and your computer time is up for the weekend and now you want to sneak back on for some watching of favourite youtube clips while your mother is off reading in bed but you can’t spell much? You ask your mother, very innocently, if she can write the phrase “Lord of the Rings, War in the North” on a piece of paper cos no reason, really.

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This weekend we had a child to stay for a sleep-over and I am really a bit worn out and I wondered what we could offer in the way of fun things to do at our house. Because I can’t even get movies to play on the TV at the moment. And I don’t have the spare energy to figure it out nor the spare cash to pay someone else to figure it out.

But it was Anne Lamott who said something like you play to your strengths as a parent and this is what I’m good at… pulling unusual ideas out of my arse. So, I remembered an abandoned house I’d noticed on my morning walks and I asked the kids if they wanted to explore a haunted house and … bingo!

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Doesn’t it look like something out of Cormac McCarthy’s The Road?

“Then they set out along the blacktop in the gunmetal light, shuffling through the ash, each the other’s world entire.”

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Back at my home..
I have exceptional taste, yes. I bought the arse tea cosy here.

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Last month my father came back to Australia and stayed with me for a week. He was exhausted on the first night and after he went to bed I stayed up and wrote my column at the kitchen table. The next night I was incredibly tired and he stayed up alone for the very sad task of writing his mother’s obituary.

He read that obituary at the funeral the following morning. His writing was beautiful. It was all about how accomplished and yet unappreciated his mother had been for her domestic talents. My column about being accountable one day to my children’s future therapist was published that same day, and in a way, I realised my father and I had both written about feminist motherhood.

Every time I look at my kitchen table now I remember how we both sat and wrote our words there, one night after the other.

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A doctor friend collects these little empty bottles from his surgery and gives them to me to use as tiny vases. Morphine and Ketamine can be the name of our hipster home decorating shop.

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Jay says there are positive consequences of swearing that are largely disregarded. He is working to develop the social, cognitive science of swearing, which affronts the major perception of cursing as an immoral use of language.

“A lot of times you don’t get to the argument about the positive uses of these [words],” Jay says. “Their use in humor, their use in bonding, their use as a relief from pain or venting or frustration — I look at this as an evolutionary advantage. Why would we have this language? It must do something for us.”

From National Public Radio.

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Giraffes galloping.

Laneways.

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Television journalism-ing, like her aunt.

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Bela luta.

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Cormac in his window seat.

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I don’t really know what I’m saying with this – uh, it was different back then? But also, I suppose, that it’s ok for your children to fit around you sometimes rather than the other way. I’m not particularly susceptible to guilt about how my children spend their holidays: I mean, I’m here most of the time aren’t I? Quality be damned. But it is hard not to succumb to the sense that you should be constantly laying on a smorgasbord of age-appropriate and improving activities, when in fact, some of the best and most enlightening times of your childhood can be neither of those things. I felt a lot closer to my father – who could be a rather distant, intimidating figure on the end of the phone from York – after those strange, chaotic weeks. I liked how we’d hop on and off the 52 bus, or drop into Patisserie Valerie to buy croissants on grey summer London mornings with that particular smell of warm city dirt and diesel. I loved our skiving saltimbocca lunches and I liked discovering him in that other, adult context, at home in the big, glamorous city and at home in his work. I liked to see him being impressive, concentrating, or laughing, pink cheeked and tipsy with Casper on his shoulder. You discover your parents in another light in those moments: I remember too, opening the front door at home to my mother, joyfully staggering drunk having just been awarded her PhD. It’s instructive, important, sometimes slightly shocking, to see their life beyond you.

Oh this is lovely, sense-making writing from Belgian Waffling.

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My latest column for Fairfax newspapers is here:

Go ahead and brainwash your baby. There are few enough privileges as a parent, you might as well seize this one. If you want to change the world and make it a less sexist place then this little human sponge of yours is the best chance you’ve got. Because truth is, the world is going to try to brainwash your baby right back. I’m wary of anyone being too prescriptive about either parenting or feminism these days, I’ve made my share of compromises with both, and I’m not much interested in perfectionism. But in case you’re after a starting point with anti-sexist parenting then here’s three general tips from my own experience.

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I went with the kids to stay at the beach on the weekend with our friends at their beach house. I don’t think I’ve ever arrived anywhere more worn out.

At one point my friend took my daughter to the shops with her while her teenage son took my four year old boy to play outside with him. I sat in front of a window, all by myself, looking out over the sea thinking I will just have a minute to take in the view and then I will finish reading this book I am reviewing. Two hours later I finally looked down from the sea to find the book in my lap.

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Cormac on the beach in the evening being very pensive.

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My friend’s teenage son helping Cormac cross the channel. It was deeper than we expected.

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Watching all the children swimming in the sea from my friend’s beach house verandah.

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Lauca and my friend’s daughter boogie boarding together.

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Horses in the sea.

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Cormac and one of our friends.

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Lauca learning to make twine as a form of active meditation. Yes.. that didn’t come from stressed out me.. that little intervention came from one of our friends. He’s Aboriginal and he taught her how to make a traditional form of string.

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