Archive for the ‘Personal stories’ Category
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2
Sep
2010
Spanish Wedding – Medieval style (Architecturally Speaking – not dress up as Buxom Wench speaking)
This weekend I went to a wedding in the lovely, picturesque town of Ayllón en Segovia. It´s only an hour from Madrid and the area is dotted with other, equally delightful little towns (Riaza is worth a stop). We discovered you can still walk into a little tavern in a fortress wall or looking over a medieval plaza as the bullfighting plays on the television (or indeed, if you go at the right time, the town’s bullfighting or running of the bulls festival might actuall be going on live in the plaza) and buy a beer for one euro. And you thought Spain was all beaches and 15 euro cocktails.
The wedding venue, The Cloisters of Ayllón, was breathtaking. These are the kind of ruins you find all over Spain – there are so many medieval castles and ruins people literally don’t know what to do with them. The volume is simply too big for a National Trust type scheme to meet the task of restoring them all. (The government runs Paradors as part of a conservation plan – historical buildings converted in to affordable hotels and you really should stay in at least one if you visit Spain).
30
Aug
2010
Kate’s Genius Child-Rearing Inventions #2
I know people were awestruck at the brilliance of last week’s invention, but this week you are TOTALLY going to want to invest in my Genius Child-Rearing Inventions Company. Ltd. So here we go…
DRESSING RACK
Not much like this.
You know when you have a wriggly child? A horrible-painful-won’t-stay-still-for-thirty-seconds small person aged anywhere between 9 months and 4 years? Yes yes, so cute to look at and adorable lisp, but SO annoying to dress. So here is your answer – a wooden rack. Yes, I know what you’re all thinking – child abuse rah rah rah. Two words for you – what. ever. You are going to be SO jealous when you see my little wooden thing where you simply slot the child in the top and they are held immobile with limbs flapping out the sides, ready to slip on shoes, socks, hats and jumpers. For a Genius Inventor I know I am not massively good at explaining how things might work, but if you think about it more like a giant Connect 4 game rather than a torture rack you might get the idea. Except the children won’t have to be flat. Or painted orange and blue. Just normal children, only held in a wooden rack ready to be dressed.
You know you want one.
25
Aug
2010
At what point will people laugh at me in the streets? The wearing of leather trousers.
baaaaaaaaaa
So I had a long post written this evening all about the hell of school holidays. (I may still post it, it’s mildly diverting awesome, so look out for it. Witty and insightful.) Then I was going to write about the political stalemate in Australia. (Not really, although obviously I have been contacted a lot with my political pundit background). But then I decided that I need to be true to myself. What do they always say – write about what you know? So I’m writing about a big issue that has been plaguing me all week. Leather trousers. I know – you thought we were covering the big issues before, what with soccer kisses and Ikea, but we have got even MORE highbrow.
Specifically, can a mother in her mid-30s (at what point do your mid thirties become your late thirties? I think 39 personally) get away with leather trousers? Even more specifically:
- In what area of her life will she be wearing them? Will she ever actually put them on or will they be assigned to what her husband refers to as the ‘aspirational’ section of her wardrobe? Alongside the summer garden party frocks (I live in England), the white trousers (I have children) and the 6 inch velvet heels (although how good would these look with the leather trousers? VERY good, that’s how good.)
19
Aug
2010
Note to child: I am not play equipment
CC photo credit: rosmary
In yet another in my series on summer and my poor adaptation to full-time mothering, I’ve reached a point of putting my foot down on the baby/11kg toddler crawling all over me every minute of the day and demanding to be carried all the time – which, all of sudden, seems to be pretty much all day). I can’t take it anymore.
You see, Monkey, contrary to what you seem to think, my little cherub, I do not exist for the purpose of being crawled and climbed upon. I am in fact, not playground equipment, or, as my South African mother would say, ‘a Jungle Gym’.
While I may call you Monkey, you are in fact not born of the jungle. And so, not only am I not a Jungle Gym, you will find on closer inspection that my hair is not a collection of jungle vines on which to swing, (though I am very flattered that someone perceives my hair to be of greater body than the flimsy fairy floss it more closely represents).
11
Aug
2010
The Longest Summer Days
This is not what my summer holidays are like (photo: Supagroova)
When people talked about long summer days, I always had the impression that it was a positive thing. Clearly I wasn’t talking to many parents on the topic. Summer days are not just described as long by parents because the sun is in the sky a lot longer but because you are with your child (or, gold help you, children) AAALLLLLLL day. For a lot of us, that’s a new and surprisingly excruciating experience. No playgroup, no childcare. And then there is all the extra effort of stopping your child breaking everything and discovering a whole new set of dangers in another house. There is no small amount of additional time and energy spent monitoring the movements of a child intent on discovering every corner and no-go zone of the your chosen holiday accommodation. The ornaments, so many sodding ornaments… I’m hoping for a minimalism come-back to sweep the rental properties industry, without the sharp corners.
10
Aug
2010
World’s Worst Mother Award – or how to counter your smugness in a couple of easy steps
So you know when you are feeling really smug about something that things can take a turn for the worse?
This could well be me accepting the award
Like when you move out of your first house in London that you hate into one that you absolutely adore, and then regularly drive down your old street just to lean out the window and say ‘’aaaarrrrgggh, suffer’ to the old house? And then get a call from your landlady at awesome new house saying she wants awesome house back for herself and you have one month to vacate? And you end up living with your parents-in-law?
Or like when you feel really clever about getting up to date with all your personal admin and then realise you have forgotten to renew your visa meaning a last minute dash to Wales on the day it is due to expire, and costing an additional £830 for a priority in-person appointment? And 24 hours before said priority appointment, manage to lose your passport while organising papers for said visa? Meaning an emergency emergency appointment at Australian High Commission to replace said passport, only to discover (day before emergency trip to Wales) that some amazing soul has handed it in at the High Commission but in the process of preparing documents, photos plus emergency drive-as-fast-as-you-can taxi rides, adding another 100 quid to the cost of said visa process?
6
Aug
2010
A Must Read that really is a Must Read
I read, not so long ago, Ben Goldacre’s excellent book, Badscience. It’s the kind of book that makes you want to tell every single person you meet that they MUST read it. You really have to watch yourself and make sure you don’t cross the line from letting people know about something they can’t possibly find uninteresting to talking about it so much people stop inviting you to parties.
Everybody should read this book. When I finished reading it I initially thought about writing a book review post, rather than this post a month later that’s more like a fan letter and a plea for the whole world to read the book rather than a review. At the time I decided against it, figuring that having featured for some time on several best seller lists since its publication a few years ago, there wasn’t really much I was going to be able to add. Besides, there are people that do reviews a lot better than me, here is a fairly thorough one from The Telegraph.
2
Aug
2010
Why I am an awesome parent – my new parenting philosophy
ideal parenting position
A male friend of mine sent a group email with the MOST fabulous article this week about ‘idle parenting’. It sparked much comment and a whole new language. The opening sentence of the article by my new hero Tom Hodgkinson sums up the whole concept:
Cancel all clubs, ditch the after-school activities and leave those kids alone.
In other brilliant highlights, the article includes gems such as:
a lazy parent is a good parent
A lot can be achieved by lying in bed. Simply by doing nothing, you can train children to do useful things.
My kids are happy because we’re happy.” Do not suffer. Enjoy your life.
I had no idea that I was already subscribing to such a widespread and legitimate* child raising methodology. But I am loving it.
20
Jul
2010
The big child raising issues. Or how to annoy your husband in the middle of the night.
Do you worry about your children much? I mean clearly, crossing the road, not jumping into the pool or licking other people’s dogs – the things we all worry about. But I am talking about the really big issues. Those that keep us awake at night.
Sometimes I think I am doing aok – I have a nice little pigeon pair (what on EARTH does that mean by the way? And as an aside, I got a lot of congratulations on the birth of daughter. To which I of course blushed and looked suitably proud and modest. Like I had ANYTHING to do with it. Except of course my secret girl making potion sprinkled liberally on husband while sleeping.) . Anyway, a nice little pair who are occasionally well behaved and haven’t set fire to anything in months.
12
Jul
2010
First world problems
I am sorry to say that I am coming to you live from the outdoor sofa of our villa in Ibiza. A good part of this afternoon was spent lounging on a beach bed ordering white sangria (who knew that such a joyful drink existed?) and dipping in and out of the ocean pretending that my bottom looked EXACTLY like the Brazilian teenager’s on the beach bed in front of me – it doesn’t, which is quite shattering. There have been some other significant downsides to the holiday thus far:
- The supermarket was closed tonight on our way home from the beach. We had to settle for pizzas from the local pizzeria up the road. Which meant no cleaning up which I really enjoy on holiday.
- Son has a puncture in his floatie. Spending a fair bit of time swimming in circles as a result. Doesn’t seem to notice which is a little worrying.
- Due to lack of willingness on my part to spend a lot of time cooking, baby daughter has had same thing to eat for three days in a row and surprisingly still seems unkeen on couscous with steamed broccoli. Fusspot.
28
Jun
2010
The morning routine
This week, on about the fourth day of the week, as The Spaniard left for work and I swore about something Monkey had done, I saw a distinct look on his face that said, “Good grief, I’m married to this woman”.
To be fair, punching the wall in response to Monkey wheeling in to my achilles heel with his baby walker was an overreaction. But it wasn’t really about the minor injury. It was about the tipping point of stress and frustration reached before hand – that brought on by THE MORNING ROUTINE.
We start with a bottle. It goes spectacularly well, if I may say so. I give him the bottle, he drinks it. It’s poetry. Sure, he appears to have no interest in ever holding the bottle himself or learning to drink from a cup, but I’m not overly ambitious on that front.
I give him a few minutes for the milk to settle while I try and finish getting dressed. This is when he starts tearing down everything from every shelf, table, bench top or other reachable point in the house. If I get particularly tired of removing USB chords from his mouth I put him in his baby walker. This is when he starts to ram it into my achilles heel or roll it over my toes more or less continuously in an effort to be close to me. Bless.
20
Jun
2010
Recovering from the ‘other kind’ of birth
It does not take this many openings - I swear.
I am a small-time c-section veteran, having got two babies up and out ‘through the sun roof’. Not on my own you understand – there were a few doctors and nurses, but basically I am tough and brave. As an obsessive planner, the second time round when I knew I was having another one, I did some serious research. I also bought a lot of unnecessary gear and freaked out a lot. Even if you’re planning the most natural of natural births, stuff happens sometimes and it always pays to freak out in advance. Oh wait – is that right? Anyway, based on absolutely no medical experience whatsoever (although I have watched a LOT of Gray’s Anatomy which is pretty much the same thing), here are my personal top tips for recovering from a c-section:
18
Jun
2010
The children are the future, if you can get them to listen
This week I started teaching English after finally accepting that without mastering the Spanish language, in a market of 20% unemployment, holding out for a dream job in my chosen field probably wasn’t going to get me that holiday out of the community within a community I was hoping for.
To really make me work for my dollar, they’ve given me a class of children. It’s quite one thing to bluff your way through an English class with adults by reading line for line the text from a teacher’s book, it’s another altogether to be charged with controlling a class of 6 year old girls and trying to get their attention for a sufficiently large sequence of nano seconds to impart some knowledge.
13
Jun
2010
Living with a Two Year Old Teenager
not mine, but so could be.
So I have this gorgeous little boy. He’s just turned two, couldn’t be more cheery, gregarious, smiles at everyone. Talks a lot, constantly laughing. Oh wait – that’s who I used to live with. Now I live with a TWO YEAR OLD TEENAGER. That’s right – on his second birthday he woke up and decided to skip a decade or so and move straight into being troublesome teenage boy. You don’t believe it is possible? I lived with my teenage brother, I remember the signs. Witness:
- Refusal to get out of bed. Lies in bed grunting at me and needs much coaxing and persuasion to join the rest of us. Paradoxically, a lot of unhappiness about going to bed – clearly a night owl. I am a horrible mother who refuses to indulge this. Although with a few more months I may give in – he can join me for a glass of wine and some Grey’s Anatomy on the couch.
- Sweats a lot. Not yet experiencing acne caused by excessive greasiness, but am anticipating getting him onto the Clearasil fairly soon now.
11
Jun
2010
Cleaners – the good, the bad and the awkward
I think The Spaniard and I may be talking about Elsa to our grandchildren. Elsa was our previous cleaner. And what a cleaner. Coming home every Tuesday was filled with expectations of what previously invisible corner of dirt and disarray had been transformed in to a sparkling and orderly delight. Not only did she not miss a single surface, from skirting boards to drawer ledges, cupboard surfaces and ceiling corners – something you start out assuming would be standard for a cleaner but quickly learn is a surprisingly rare ability – she also dismantled and cleaned oven fans, found fresh sheets and put them on the beds without having to be provided with detailed instructions, put on several loads of washing and hung them out, and numerous other tasks you hadn’t even thought of let alone realised needed to be done; and one of the best things of all, she also re-arranged THE INSIDE of cupboards.
9
Jun
2010
The Non-Mothers Group
We like to think that we appeal to a broad audience, but de’Nile is not just a river in Africa. Consequently, we recognise that for the non-mothers amongst you, many posts in our blog might be about as interesting as watching paint dry. So we bring you, courtesy of fabulous Sydney girl-about-town, Lija Jarvis, The Non-Mothers’ Group. If you’re feeling a bit overwhelmed by the seemingly sudden avalanche of pregnancies and births, are delighted for your friends’ lives as mothers but still enjoying life in the child-free fast lane and having a hard time pretending you’re interested in listening to your mummy friends’ exchange of notes on everything from sleeping, diet and digestion to teething and discipline, then Ms Jarvis’ The Non-Mothers Group‘ may be for you.
Through this network of like-minded and long suffering souls, you might find some comfort as you share your own stories or just listen to those of others as you let the relief of knowing there are others out there like you wash over you and give you the tonic you deserve.
The Facebook Non-Mothers’ Group brought to you by Lija Jarvia
We love our friends with kids and we love their gorgeous children.
3
Jun
2010
Shamelessly Using my Child as a Means to Meet People
If I lived in a NYC I'd have made friends (with a little help from my baby) with Heidi and Seal by now, FOR SURE
While the idea of gated communities and identical housed suburbia makes me break out in a nervous twitch, I have to say that Madrid generally does gated communities well. (Except for the complete lack of parks — don’t get me started). I live in a delightful little street within a gated community — yes a community within a community, we’re particularly precious —that has a common pool, tennis court and small green area (undoubtedly meeting the Spanish definition of a park which can be anything from what I would call a nature strip – that’s the little bit of council managed grass next to footpaths and in the middle of roads for you non-antipodeans — to a patch of dirt with a swing on it).
This means that now that the sun is out, so are the mothers and their children. The mothers form little clusters based on existing friendships. This is my chance to make friends, but given the pre-exisiting clusters, I need an in. It’s a little bit like school, only dressing like an Emo or sleeping with one of the members of the first football team isn’t going to get me into any of the groups.
1
Jun
2010
And somewhere along the line I fell in love
ALERT: TOTALLY SOPPY POST COMING UP. AVERT EYES IF NECESSARY
So you know how all those movies and TV shows and chicklit books describe the moment you meet your baby and you fall instantly in love? Completely and utterly, beside yourself immediately, in love? If you don’t know those books and TV shows and movies then good on you, you probably spend your time reading worthy, didactic tomes about apartheid in South Africa and tutoring the underprivileged (which begs the question about why you are reading this blog, but we’ll take anyone).
Anyway, you know that instant love feeling? Well, nope. Not me.
When number one came along, sure I felt protective. He was also very cute (massive head notwithstanding) and I was keen to look after him the best I possibly could. We spent hours marvelling at the fact that we had MADE THAT LIMB. I know, the first people EVER to create life – I know how clever we are. But overwhelming, tear inducing love at first sight? Nope. Am I weird?
28
May
2010
Madrileño’s that dress their child like Little Lord Fauntleroy
There’s quite an astonishing culture in Madrid of dressing your child to look like it’s 1880 and you’re off to church. If it’s actually a Confirmation boys are off to they will be dressed in either a sailor’s outfit or other military inspired arrangement. If you have family here you will receive a lot of this clothing by way of gifts and spend a lot of energy making up elaborate stories of the many outings baby has had in the outfit and how delightful everyone thought your darling child looked, while the offending boy dress with blue shoulder ribbons actually sits safely tucked away in the bottom drawer.
One of the more disturbing aspects of seeing an innocent, curly haired boy in a baby blue and light brown outfit of bib and brace shorts with a frilly collar, knee high socks and lace up shoes is, despite your awareness that he is an unfortunate and innocent pawn in his parent’s children-as-accessories obsession, you just can’t avoid the word SISSY flying into your head and almost on to your lips. I KNOW. Dreadful. I didn’t know that word was still in my brain somewhere. But that’s what happens when you see these kids.
25
May
2010
Contrary to apparent perception, I do feed my child
photo credit: benjamin_mercadier
Since before he could even eat solids, every time I take out my, now 11 months old, child in public, someone in his general vicinity is constantly trying to put food in his mouth. Sometimes they spontaneously form into teams of four or five, reaching out and collecting whatever completely inappropriate food may be in a 100 metre radius, passing it fire-fighting water line style along a chain to the baby while the head of the team and several others yell out suggestions and try to feed them all in succession to the perplexed child. “Give him some of the guacamole”, yells one. “No it has chilli in it” yells a rare voice of reason, “what about the chocolate cake, he’ll love that”, “no give him a sip of the coca cola, see if he likes it”, “oh I know, I have some red icy poles – it will help with the teething gums”, “give him a chip”, “no, he’ll choke, try this taramasalata dip”, “Do you think he’ll eat the prawn with some mayonnaise, the caviar, the pickled artichoke?”
