Stupid Girls

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I'm feeling the strain at the moment, so this chance to blog about something unrelated to my complicated life is a blessed relief to be honest.

I heard Paris Hilton on the radio today, talking to Fearne Cotton about how her "airhead" image is a persona she gets into and plays on for her tvshows. According to Hilton, she is making fun of her own image.

Of course, I have to ask why someone would have that image in the first place?

This INFURIATES me! Why on earth, if she is that intelligent, would she feel the need to act stupid? Talk about kicking the feminist movement while it's down. I'm even seeing evidence of it in real life: girls who have real brains, who know their stuff and have valid, informed and relevant opinions, pretending to be interested in nothing but Jordan's newest perfume or a new pair of shoes. In fact, I've even seen one girl pretend she didn't know the answer to a question because of the people she was with! Why do people assume that being liked and being intelligent for women is mutually exclusive?

I feel a Pink moment coming on...

Speaking of feminist movements, I completely congratulate Anne Widdicombe for taking exception to David Cameron's plan to have female only candidate shortlists. It might seem like a good idea on the face of it, but it will only lead to questions of the successful candidate's actual ability. I agree with Widdicombe, that: “Women must get there on their own merits, and know that when they’re sitting in the House of Commons.”

Well said Anne - we don't need helping handouts from anyone thanks - we're far and away smart enough to get there on our own.

Busy day for the Simpsons!

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Today has been a very exciting day in the Simpson house.

First of all it was Ian's first day with the police. It's been a lot like living with the Tigger for the last two or three days, he's been so excited. Today doesn't seem to have disappointed either, so I'm really pleased for him. I'm also pleased for myself, that I don't have to have a countdown every day of how many days till he starts with the police...

Seriously, it's been a long time coming, and it's great to see him finally getting to do what he's always wanted.

Secondly, Pregnancy and Birth magazine emailed me and asked me to cover for a week - I can't believe it! I know they gave me great feedback and they'd been so positive, but I really wasn't sure on how well I'd done. (My confidence in myself just doesn't stretch that far!) To be offered actual, paid work with them is so exciting, and makes me feel very proud. So next week it's back into proper ladies shoes and making packed lunches. I can't wait!

Finally, I had to apply for IJ's school place today. I cannot believe my baby will be starting school next year. Also, I can't believe how stressed I became when filling in the form, in case he doesn't get our first choice of school. I've always been a bit scathing of the panic around school places, thinking more of a student's ability to achieve is based on their attitude and that of their parents. But now I'm actually quite worried....hmmm....

Also, Wogan's off! Good god! I'm quite sad about that, it has to be said....

Back to mummylization

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Poof! The magic pixie of work experience, who taunted me maliciously with a taste of what my life might have been like if I'd chosen a high powered career over kids (or more accurately, my A-levels instead of having a fag in The Pit) has now renounced her gift, and I've found myself plonked back down in Domesticity land, without any bloody ruby slippers or even a scarecrow to keep me company.

Hmmm. Possibly a little fanciful.

Anyway, work experience is over, and I've got four weeks of full time mum space to fill before I return to Uni. Today we went to the beach (2 good mummy bonus points) saw my Nan and Uncle (4 good relative points) and then came home and listened to my kids fight with each other and scream in the back garden. After calling them back in repeatedly in an attempt to make them behave, I gave in and returned to normal: Hollering out the back door and threatening to remove toys, physical violence etc (minus 500 points) which, seemed to have exactly the same affect. Right now Alex is watching Cbeebies and IJ is having a wobbly in his bedroom because I've spent him to bed early due to his horribleness. I am losing the parenting battle. They've spotted the fatigue I'm suffering and have hit my weak spot: the two of them have ganged up on me.

And somewhere in my subconcious, a wee voice is whispering incredulously..."And you want another one?!"

Well, yes, I do. I can't explain why either. I love my children, especially when we don't have contact with the outside world so no one else can make judgements on me, them and my rubbish parenting ability. I just feel that I want another one. I see myself with three children. But on the other hand, I also see myself with a bmw one series...

Aaaargh - the boy is refusing to give in and go to bed...I may have to write more later, if I get time around the first book club meeting (Yes, the book club is happening!! Hurrah!!!) This is a terrible blog,..Don't read it!!

To be continued when I am slightly less insane...

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Best feeling in the world: Alex and IJ being relatively pleased to see me and regaling me with stories of what they've done this week.
Favourite thing IJ has said since I've been back: "Mummy, I've got to tell you something....I've got a drink. It's water, and if you pull the lid up it all comes out"
Favourite thing Alex has said since I've been back: "Toes" >HE KNOWS A WHOLE NEW WORD!!!<

Grouch - Haven't even been offered a cup of tea yet, he's just gone to get dinner now ("Well, I just didn't think about it"), my house smells like feet, there is crap everywhere, if you open the cupboard under the stairs, prepare to be buried by the mountain of crap he's shoved in there to try and make the place look tidy...

Still, love him. At least he tried.

First week at Mother & Baby

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Well, my first week at Mother & Baby and Pregnancy & Birth magazine is drawing to a close. It hasn’t been as busy as I would have hoped, admittedly, but it’s still an invaluable experience. I’m sat very close to the design desk, meaning I can peer over their shoulders and see how much better they are at it than me. (Much much better. I really do suck at design, and it’s such a talent, the work these folks do is amazing.)

 I’ve spent an inordinate amount of time looking for Minnie Driver’s hat, nappy bag and bib (A-list Baby Watch – steal her style) and trawling through parenting forums to find out what’s hot and what’s not in Mumland. I’ve also looked at a lot of absolutely beautiful maternity wear (suddenly it seems reasonable to me to spend £200 on a coat you would probably only need for three months) and enough pairs of beautiful shoes, all smelling deliciously of leather to make me kid myself I can wear proper ladies shoes without being in tears by lunchtime through sheer pain.

 I’ve read a variety of opinions on the new breastfeeding doll, and I’m still not sure if I agree with the automatic reaction of “Gah – how odd” or “Well about bloody time, I’m sick of bottle feeding dolls”. I actually think my reaction “Blatantly the child will lose the necessary halter top in a week” was one of the most realistic. And I agree with a lot of mums who say their kids all pretended to breastfeed their dolls anyway, without a garish daisy top in sight. Having watched my two-year-old son pretend to express milk himself, I think it’s safe to say they’ll play with whatever they can get their hands on, and follow whatever example you set…So far no ill effects, although he does keep asking me when he’ll get his boobs.

 Today, I get to see the kids for the first time in FIVE days! This is the longest I’ve ever been away from them, and I can’t wait. Ian did send me a photo of Alex in his pyjamas with a pair of his big brother’s pants over the top mid week, but it’s not the same as a toddler cuddle. At the moment, I’m enjoying daydreaming about a tearful reunion, where IJ will run across the train station shouting “Mummy” and Alex struggles to get out of his father’s arms to reach for me…

 Naturally, they will both be asleep in the car when they come to pick me up, IJ will probably have wet himself and Alex will just want Daddy all weekend. Lesson no.3452 of being a mother – ‘Your kids will never miss you as much as you miss them’

 

Lesson no.1 of course is ‘Get used to being unappreciated. A lot.’ 

The London Bug

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So this week, I've joined the commuter brigade, and trekked to London every day this week for work experience at Reveal. I was apprehensive, not being a celeb/fashion type person, but actually I've REALLY enjoyed myself. I've had the opportunity to do research, write small bits and pieces, and even get a couple of bylines in next week's issue! Plus I wrote the last three blogs on their website - www.revealblog.co.uk
This was a great opportunity, and the staff were all really friendly and approachable. In short I had a great time.

Being 'a girl from a village', London does really terrify me. Every time the train pulls into Waterloo I'm convinced that every person who pushes past me is going to make a grab for my bag - a symptom of my tragically suspicious mind. I'm a victim of the fear generating media. And the warnings from my Nan.

But, there is something about London, that, the more I visit, the more I grow to love it. I got excited every morning this week when we passed Clapham and I started to see recognisable landmarks. I was even more excited when I realised I could catch a glimpse of the top of the houses of parliament. (Which are now on my 'must visit' list).

I love that in London, people wear the most ridiculous clothing, that if someone strolled round Southampton wearing, they'd get laughed at - even if it was at the height of fashion (may be because of that - Southampton doesn't really do the height of fashion). I can count on one hand the amount of people I saw this week who looked like they really didn't give a shit what they looked like. And even the ones who might not have cared as much, merely added to the pallette, which to me, makes up the colours of London. It is the mix, the randomness, the variety, and the complete acceptance of these, that summarises my feelings about London.

It is also, the reason that I feel I stand out there like a sore thumb.

Yes, I've enjoyed this week (even if every time I ventured out the office, I gripped my bag and checked I had my phone at least fifty times) and in a way, it's whet my appetite for the career I could strive for next when I graduate.

But. IJ got ill on Wednesday. 70 miles away from him, I received a phone call telling me he needed collecting, as his temperature was high, and he had a bad cough. Oh, that'll be the symptoms of Swine Flu then. (I was researching Swine Flu for an article at the time, so may have been somewhat hypersensitive....) After a variety of phone calls, I arranged for my mum to collect him.

The guilt kicked in very swiftly. Should I have left the office, where I was working so bloody hard to make a good impression, to get back to my son? It wouldn't have made any difference, he would still have been ill. My presence wouldn't have reduced his temperature or eased his cough. In many ways, he was better with my Mum, who would indulge him in a way she never did with me when I was poorly as a child. (Note the bitterness and envy...)

Nevertheless, I was neglecting my parental duties. (Actually, let me qualify that = Ian didn't feel any guilt at not leaving work to get him. So I was neglecting my maternal duties.)

Ever since I embarked on this degree, I've dreamed about having a career in the city. I've visualised working three days a week on a parenting magazine, thinking if I wished it enough it would become reality. But I also know, and have known, that I would need to pay my dues in industry first: work full time (and then some), start at the bottom. And I knew it would be harder, what with my age (where did I leave my zimmer frame). I've questioned how viable it would be, with the boys. What was I willing to sacrifice more? My dreams of being a reporter? Or the quality time with my family?

This week was a test. I came back from a 13 hour day, to see my children asleep. To see Alex, and realised he'd grown, and was developing new ways of responding and communicating while I was gone. To see IJ, and notice how much his hair had grown. To barely notice my poor neglected husband, other than to demand tea.
This has made me evaluate what I'm prepared to sacrifice. And I'm not prepared to sacrifice seeing my family. The feeling of isolation and loneliness was one I hadn't felt since I was 19, single and trying to find solace in a pint glass. I felt seperated from my home, adrift, and unrequired. When I got home, I felt surplus. Home was no longer my home, it was a place to sleep and make my lunch for the next day.

No matter what a career can offer me, it can't offer me the feeling I had when Alex saw me today, and came over for a big cuddle. It can't offer me play-doh time with IJ or pyjama days with all my boys, watching films and eating cheese on toast. I don't need a byline. I do need my family.

I dream about working from home, fitting writing around raising my boys. The more I work in industry, the more unlikely this seems. So, my lesson for the week?

If you can't have what you want, want what you have.

I'm blessed and happy.

(Cheesy, but true. And long. I'm still very very tired!!!) xx

Decision made

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I'm very excited. Finally, I have decided that rather than choosing the dissertation option for my third year, I'm going to complete a major project instead - This means that rather than a ten thousand word academic study, I'll be writing a series of three investigative articles. Now that I've made my mind up, and I know what I'm going to be writing about - I can't wait to get started!! I'm already scoping around for potential publications to market it to, and looking for articles I can keep for research purposes. The subjects I've chosen for my project fascinate me - On a broad note, I'm examing the "blame the parents" culture; wth focus on three specific areas of a person's development.

I find it fascinating how obsessed we are with parenting these days. For my parents' generation, and their parents before them, I get the impression that to them, it just came naturally. In a way, parenthood wasn't something you thought about, it was something you just did. But for most of today's parents, someone is telling them how to do it. All of a sudden, we have child psychologists, educational welfare officers, social services, Health Visitors, authors, journalists, and the nightmare of every parent everywhere: Supernanny and The House of Tiny Tearaways.

My Mum always looks vaguely bemused when I ask her what led them to make the choices they did when disciplining me and my sisters. I don't think she can really give me an answer, because it wasn't a processed choice - it was instinctive. This is something that I really envy them: They seem to have a confidence that they were right: end of. Part of me also wonders if this is another reason why I obeyed them: They were so confident, I never doubted them. My parents have made a lot of cock ups, don't get me wrong. But they were so strong in their conviction that they were doing the right thing, that I find it hard to question them on many many things.

With my boys, I think it is only a matter of time before they figure out that Mum's not sure. In fact, that Mum is pretty riddled with self doubt, and concern that she is going to get it all wrong. And once they do, well the box is well and truly opened isn't it?

But I think there are benefits to "the modern way". My Mum and Dad were always very closed books when we were growing up - Dad was more open, but I think for Mum, she had to keep a distance to ensure the strength of her role as chief disciplinarian (sp. sorry!). This had a big effect on our relationship - the shell she put up thirty odd years ago is as hard now as it was then, and my Mum is still the person I am most likely to lie to (Of course I've dusted Mum - As if I'd leave it a fortnight before dusting) in order to protect her interpretation of me. I want her to think that I'm everything she wanted me to be - even if that's not who I am. And that makes me really sad: I'd love to be myself around her, but the few times I've tried it, she is completely confused by it (and accuses me of showing off!). So even if I'm not as strong as my parents were, I'd like to think that I'm as open as they were closed. I want my children to know that I had a life before them, and that I am a human being, not just "Mum".