The day Santa was Busted: Should I Exchange or give him the gift anyway?

 

Santa was nearly busted in our house yesterday. After realizing I was officially flying by the seat of my Christmas pants, 9 days out and only having  purchased a money tin and some slime, panic officially set in.

My husband arrived home early for the first time in months so I jumped into the car and raced to the shops to at least get the main presents for my two boys. I managed to chuck a few other things in the trolley and set off home again. Proud of my fruitful and sneaky shopping venture I walked through the font door with a smugness ( because nothing  can be sneaky when you have 3 children, if i’m caught in the shower alone I am glared at like I have cheated on them).

I warned my husband not to let the kids go to the car as the haul was in the back seat. Not quite sure why I said that as they wouldn’t normally go to the car alone anyway. But there’s a first day for everything! An hour later after discovering the front passenger door wide open my stomach dropped to the floor. One of the kids had been into the car, and I knew immediately it was my eldest, sneakiest son who had been snooping. I knew he would have seen the lot. After some questioning he admitted to ‘just seeing the nerf guns’- so obviously he had also seen the two scooters from Santa right next to the guns too. My heart sank. The boys had only the day before asked Santa for the scooters and here I was with 2 in the back seat. I was so upset thinking he had uncovered the secret at the age of 6. I nearly cried.

So here I am  9 days out wondering what to do. Obviously I have to now say that Santa wasn’t bringing scooters because he noticed mummy had bought them but I’m faced with one of those motherly moments where you know you should teach your child a life lesson. Should I return the scooter that he saw and getting something else? or continue to give it to him on Christmas Day knowing he will not be surprised? I just don’t know what to do with this one…should I teach him a lesson or is the lesson going to be about letting him spoil his own surprise?

I have spoken to a few different people but everyone had a different opinion on what was the best thing to do.

So What would you experienced mummies do?

 

 

When maternity leave leaves you on the scrap heap

 

After another glorious year of maternity leave it is that time again to start thinking about returning to work . I have written before about my frustrations with having to return to the bottom rung each and every time you have maternity leave (read it here-  New Year, New job and the Glass-Uterus Effect ) and I have conceded that this is just life, but it doesn’t make it any easier to swallow.  Since having my eldest son 6 years ago I have always been all to aware of the need to maintain my teaching hours in order to stay up to date with changes in curriculum and methodology. For you teachers out there I am sure you would agree that a year is a long time in Education. As the school year comes to a close I ‘ve started to look at my options for next year and to be honest there aren’t many at all for a mum of three who is no longer a permanent employee who can’t face working full time.

If you are permanent then in most cases you are able to return to work in a jobshare/ part time capacity as the school/ principal is obliged to assist in your return to work where possible.  If you aren’t permanent then you are free agent, no one owes you a thing and it is up to you to start again from the bottom just to get some relief work. With this uncertainty comes having to commit to 3 days worth of childcare x 2  ‘just in case’ you get called in for a relief day on those specific days. If no work comes up then you are stuck paying $300 for nothing.

I have always loved my job. In the early years after graduating, single, childless me worked my bum off, volunteered countless hours and would attend the opening of an envelope in hopes of gaining a permanent position. It worked and after 3 years I was given permanent status. No more worrying about whether you had a job each December and if you were going to be paid in the holidays. Fast forward 12 years and a resignation after moving interstate and now I find myself competing with young girls with 2 years experience and hours to give for even the most graduate level positions.

It makes me angry, I feel like I’ve done my time- but what is the solution? Well that is to go back full time and start from the bottom again. It was my choice to have my three beautiful children, and as my husband points out, there are many childless women in leadership positions who would happily swap for my position as a mum. I agree with him. I also look at friends of mine who for various reasons have gone back to work full time with small babies and wonder if i could do it too.I did do it with my first son, and at the time it felt right. It wasn’t until after that it felt so wrong. Maybe I should have and I wouldn’t be sitting here with 12 years experience looking for jobs again. But then I look at my last baby girl (as she rips this laptop from my hands) and my stomach hurts thinking about leaving her with some one else every day. Before long she will be waving at me through the school gate and I’ll then have those hours to give again, just like  did 12 years ago.

I know what my heart says- but I still have this internal battle every school year as I see opportunities come and go.It would be much easier if I hated my job and could use that as an excuse not to return, as I am sure many mums who weren’t particularly keen on their careers pre-children do, but I don’t, I love it and couldn’t think of doing anything else.

I guess for now it is part time relief or bust! How did you feel about returning to work after maternity leave?

 

 

 

a little bit of mindfulness in between the madness

  
I used to spend a fair bit of time drafting my posts – but 3 children down and I rarely find time to change toilet rolls these days so my new idea is to just scrap the planning and write… Mistakes and everything. Won’t make for the most exciting read you’ve ever had but who knows-Maybe I’ll begin managing more then 1 post a year again.

On Saturday I escaped my house, the kids and my husband and went to the beach. At first I couldn’t get out quick enough. After a months of no sleep, a busy husband and feeling very much like I was responsible for everything and everyone in our house  i needed to get away, if only for a couple of hours. I was exhausted and sat on the sand with coffee in hand. The sun was on my face and sound of the water was all I could hear, it had always been so calming for me. I sat quietly – wanting to enjoy every bit of the ‘no- fighting’ ‘no-crying’ ‘no – whinging’ that wasn’t going on. After an hour or so my desperate need to get away had dissolved into the sand beneath me and I was filled with intense gratitude. After a year of trying to force myself to be ‘mindful’ and to enjoy practicing ‘mindfulness- despite hating the voice of the silly man on the app that was recommended to me, it all suddenly clicked into place.

All it took was some time away, some mindfulness, to again appreciate what I have around me. 

Aside from taking the photo i was able to sit for 2 hours without looking at a screen. I’m starting to believe our need to have constant contact with our phones and a life that isn’t ours or isn’t lived out in front of us maybe the catalyst for us all feeling the need to lead ‘better lives’ to eat ‘better food’, that being a mum and beingaverage isn’t  enough. When since should you feel like a lazy ass because you’re not running a ‘mummy business?… I’m flat out just trying to keep the children alive let alone sewing vintage bibs and screen printing owls onto organic monochrome jumpsuits in the 2 spare minutes I have for the day. 
I took this picture to remind me of this feeling next time I feel like escaping….to remind me to turn it all off and to just face the sun and enjoy being average. 

Really, It’s not that hard…

  
Since having Elsie I’ve missed about a million phone calls, forgot to push send on 100’s of texts and have been down right shit at getting in touch with friends. Actually why lie… It isn’t since Elsie, it isn’t even since Sammy, and yes there’s probably even some incredible evidence they I did this even before having kids! 
We’ve all been there… The phone rings, your hands are full and you think to yourself ‘shit…will have to call them back, have so much to say that this spare 3 seconds won’t be enough time so I’ll call back when the kids are in bed’. Problem is by the time the kids are in bed, dinner dishes are done, you’ve finished trying to think of exciting things to put in the school lunchbox ( decide you’re going to put sultanas in knowing full well your child doesn’t eat them but it looks good if the teacher has a nosey) it’s 8pm and you’ve jumped into bed. You go to put your phone on charge and while you do, get distracted by stalking Instagram accounts of perfect strangers hashtagging cool things such as #tbt and #bbg . You’re not cool enough to know what they mean so have to google #tbt and #bbg, within half hour you’ve decided that ‘mumtobikini’ is so inspirational you’ll need to follow her and 19 of her friends. Before you know it, it’s 10pm and you should be sleeping, knowing the newborn will be awake in an hour or so- and all you’ve achieved Is gaining 20 new virtual friends, some contemporary knowledge of hash tagging and a sore wrist from scrolling. You’ve decided it’s now too late to call your friends back but and tell yourself ‘ I’ll call them tomorrow. But no you won’t And so the cycle begins again. 
Today I decided to start calling people back. I’m ashamed to say one friends son was now nearly 2, and I swear he was a newborn when I last called. The second one wasn’t able to answer as her son was in hospital at that very moment. The third call I missed while feeding was my other pregnant friend calling to tell me she had whooping cough. Last month I returned a call to find out my other best friend was pregnant and I hadn’t the time to return her call. 

Today I realised that the perfect time for that chat doesn’t actually exist. It’s actually now. I thought today how one day it might be someone’s most important phone call that I miss. The one that is to tell me they have cancer, or the one that is to tell me a partner has passed away or the one that is to tell me their child is born. And here I am thinking I’m so busy that I can’t answer the phone. My aim from now is to answer the calls even if the boys are jumping on my head, screaming and making it impossible to hear.even if I’m trying to do the food shopping and Sammy is launching roast chickens and tomatoes at other shoppers. I’m going to try hard to Atleast answer – then ask if I can call them back.

As busy as I have thought myself to be, I feel like I’ve let down those that have needed me. If I was important enough for them to think about in their busy days- then they should also be as important in mine. Really… It’s not that hard. 
P.s I did say ‘try’… Could take sometime to make this transition so feel free to use mess bank if it’s not as quick a change as I intend 😂😂

Life with 3- It’s a girl!

 

I have been wanting to write this for the last 9 weeks. Because I wanted to share, but also so that once the newborn love bubble has popped I could remember this feeling forever. I’m looking at this beautiful little raven haired parcel, our little pixie whose new born hair sits just over the top of her little tiny ears, and still can’t believe how lucky we are. After having two bubbly, full of fun little boys we hit the jackpot and have our little girl. It’s funny, I didn’t really know how much I wanted a girl until we actually had her in our arms. Her name is Elsie, and she is just perfect.

The moment the doctor had delivered her and told us it was our girl, I was overcome with shock. I still can’t believe it-I had to ask if they were sure she was mine. Why would we deserve such a perfect little baby? They placed on her my chest and I just cried the ugly, snorting, raw type of cry that only a mum could understand. I couldn’t take my eyes off her then- and haven’t done since. She is the first girl that her brothers will love.

Nine weeks on and baby number 3 has certainly turned our lives upside down but in the best kind of way. There are the things that I catch myself saying, doing and thinking that would’ve shocked the first time mum version of me. There are now things that must just wait and then there are the things that you want to just slow down. With two children you can still try to have control over your house, your life and your sleep. By number three there is no disguising the fact that shit just got hard, but also that you are happy to just let things slide.

I used to be able to beat my washing….now my washing has well and truly beaten me with a big dirty stick. So much so that most days I only get around to chucking clothes on the spare bed and rarely get around to putting them away. We just accept that clothing is now permanently located on the ‘bedrobe’. I just noticed yesterday that some items are appearing for the 4^th time on the bed without ever having set foot in the wardrobe. It’s like a one stop shop that has something for everyone. A place where jocks and socks can mingle freely, and where tshirts and jeans can live harmoniously in one big cult like community without being judged for being on the wrong shelf

I never ever would have let my kids leave the house in mismatched clothing. The thought of stripy tshirts and stripy shorts in the same outfit horrifies me and here we are in 2016 like some Playschool presenter rocking every colour of the rainbow in one outfit. My middle child Sammy has decided now that he will dress himself. He likes to choose outfits while I am stuck on the couch feeding Elsie- knowing full well I can’t do a thing about it. He has now worn the same soccer top for the fourth day in a row….only on the fourth day it was covered in spaghetti. I let him wear it to avoid the argument and to be honest I physically couldn’t chase him around the house and dress him with a baby hanging on to my nipple like it was an all you can eat buffet. I have surrended! Let him wear what he wants! Yesterday this included my socks, because he didn’t like his.

Online shopping delivery guy has become my new bestie. I hear his rusty truck pull up and his squeaky little trolley pushing up the driveway and am overcome with excitement. I see him and think ‘ I really hope he has the toilet paper- we have no tissues left, the wipes are almost out and to be honest the paper towel is just too scratchy’.  This little angel who for some reason can only give a delivery timeframe to the nearest 3 hours appears at my door and peacefully delivers my groceries. Groceries that with 3 children would’ve taken me 3 hours, 2 mid shop trolley abandonments, 14 threats of smacks and no treats, 4 arm squeezes and secret underarm grabs, 4 tantrums and the promise of  2 kinder surprises to get myself.

The school run has become an outrageous cruel and sick joke. I will leave it at that…mums will understand. No need to elaborate.

I drink beer now….sometimes at 4pm. Some days I ask myself ‘Is 3pm too early?’.

Suddenly knowing this will be my last baby, the hard things are no longer hard for the same reasons.  Rather than finding it hard to wake up at 2am I’m finding it hard to accept that each night it could be the last time my baby will wake me in the night to let me know she has missed me. It’s not hard that she has wanted to cuddle all day, especially from 4pm till 6pm when I’m trying to cook dinner. It is hard knowing that one day she will be too big to carry on my chest while trying to peel potatoes with one hand. It’s suddenly not such a pain in the ass to sort the clothes she has grown out of already, now it breaks my heart that I’ll never have another baby to wear them.

Having number three has given me a heart I didn’t know I had.  I didn’t know it could be so full, so complete and so thankful. As hectic, messy and loud as life has been this past 2 months there has not been a minute since having her that I would ever take back.

It’s been a long time between drinks…..

 

Hello! Is anyone out there?  No I’m not trying to impersonate Adele, but am totally expecting to be writing to myself for a few weeks because let’s face it- it’s been a long time between drinks…literally.

Well here I am crawling back with my tail between my legs to ask for ‘blogging’ forgiveness. It has been 9 months since my last post and well…..the longer you leave things, the easier it is to keep avoiding. So the best way to get back on the horse, is to just jump back on and not think over think things too much. So I thought a quick update of all things teacher versus mummish was on the agenda so ease me back into things lightly.

Anyway, Attention everyone, breaking news! Since my last post it seems that ‘not making plans’ worked out really well- I wasn’t just writing rubbish after all. In 5 short weeks baby number 3 arrives, and we are also happy to report that the baby will not have to reside in the front courtyard of our tiny townhouse, as we magically found a new house as well. Despite my husband’s most convincing speeches about how easy it is to fit just one more child into a 3 door Barina hatchback, we have also managed to trade in the boy toy lawnmower for something more family friendly. It has definitely been a huge 6 months and to those considering it- the third child really tips you over the edge…everything needs to be bigger!

I finished up work at the end of the December and for those clever, experienced teachers who told me that job-sharing was hard, despite me mentally thinking ‘piece of cake’ – yes you were correct, it was bloody hard!. Since finishing up so many people have asked ‘I bet you’re glad to be finished’ and the answer was of initially yes. Eight weeks later I have decided it is far more exhausting staying home and looking after 2 boys than it was looking after 30 children.

My beautiful first born baby also started big school last week. He was mine for 5 years and now he begins a life that I will know little about, besides the small snippets he can remember to tell me when he stumbles into the car like an exhausted monkey every afternoon. Apparently his new school excels in providing quality ‘playtime’, as this is all he manages to report from his busy school day. Must remember this when I go back to work…no more planning or teaching anything, It’s a waste of time! All parents will judge my professional performance based on how exciting the adventure playground was.

Personally the last few months have been tough and challenging. Us female creatures are tough to conquer at the best of times but add some hormones and some negative thinking to the mix and we become ticking time bombs. Big apologies to the friends I haven’t called. It wasn’t because I don’t care…It was because I just couldn’t. But I think I am back for now. Big hugs to my wonderful husband for always providing the ‘positive’ in a dark day

There’s excitement in the air at our house and we are so looking forward to meeting our beautiful new human and celebrating with a few hundred glasses of wine (between responsible breastfeeding guidelines of course ……I can already tell this one will enjoy merlot). This post was sponsored by Avent Breast pumps.

 

 

 

When the only plan you have left is to have no plan at all

I have always been a planner. Up until a few years ago my life was displayed as a series of dot points listed on one of those shopping list magnets that you find on the fridge. It read something  like this:  get a part time job tick, finish year 12 tick, get into the course I wanted at uni tick, find a teaching job tick, gain a permanent position tick, have kids by the time I was 30 tick etc, etc, etc.

I would say up until recently that things have pretty much worked out in the way I had planned on my little fridge magnet. I strongly believed that with hard work and persistence you could actually control the people and things around you and could purposefully steer your life towards the final destination you had picked out for yourself. But at aged 32, life jumped out with a stop sign or maybe just a slow- down sign, a sit back and take it easy sign. Life decided that it was time to throw the plan on its head. This week I’ve realised that the only plan you can ever truly have, is no plan at all.

Most of you know that at the beginning of the year my husband and I had decided to try for baby number 3. I had it all planned. Start trying in March pregnant by April (as was the case with baby 1 & 2) that way I could finish off my current school year and still qualify for some maternity leave. The timing would be perfect. Six months down the track, and clearly my senior citizen ovaries are still on a day trip to the bingo. Still no sign of our perfectly timed baby. Excuse me plan-where are you? How dare the plan have not worked! What happens to my list now? Will I have to rewrite it? My husband tells me to relax, that it takes most people a long time to fall pregnant and deep down I know he is right. He is the opposite of me – the ‘non-planner’. After a life time playing football professional football, he learnt at a young age to just take things as they come. He constantly reminds me not to plan too far ahead because you never know what’s around the corner, and of course he is right. I have no right being disappointed. I have two beautiful, healthy sons. I know nothing of the sadness in the hearts of couples who have been trying to fall pregnant for years and have nothing or no one to show for it. I had just not planned on it taking this long. So now my plan is to have no plan at all.

In my high school years I remember thinking how great it was that besides Narelle Maylin’s family, my family was one of the only one’s still intact. We were almost the weird ones. We were close, supportive and all living in the same house. Our house was the one people came to on a Friday night, we liked each other so much we didn’t see the need to leave. This may sound no biggie, but at Parafield Gardens High School it was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. I hadn’t planned for a time when this wasn’t the case. In fact I could never have imagined back then that we would all be living in different places. If there was one thing I believed back then, it was that family was first. That there was never anything or anyone that could dissolve us. I planned for the day when my own kids were surrounded by my family, Christmas’s, birthdays, good times and bad times.  I hadn’t planned to be here alone.  Now my plan is to have no plan at all.

We had planned to be in a bigger house by now. Our three bedroom townhouse with no yard seems to be closing in on us by the second, as two young boys burn past my feet on their scooters while I’m cooking the dinner. Our tiny dwelling seems to be giving birth to toys. I swear every day that I wake up the toys have multiplied- soon they will swallow us up. Last night I had to remove a matchbox truck, a minion and ninja turtle mask from my bottom before I could get to sleep. We keep waiting and looking. I hadn’t planned on still being here, so now the plan is to have no plan at all.

I had also not planned for a world without my mum in it. A few weeks ago I received a phone call telling me my 54 year old mum had had a heart attack. It felt like a joke.  Are you f&%$# serious was my exact response. Many scenes in our lives come as no surprise, we have usually played out pertinent events in our heads, even rehearsed our responses, but this one I wasn’t prepared for. I hadn’t prepared for the possibility of having already had the last hug from my mum without knowing it, and without having had the opportunity to hold on a few minutes longer. The opportunity to tell her the things a mum should know every day, not just on her last day. I haven’t prepared for a time when I can’t ring her and ask her what to put down in my tax return. I haven’t planned for the time when I go home to Adelaide and she is not there anymore. I haven’t planned for the time when I can’t call her crying and know she will be by my side as soon as she can. Luckily, and despite the poorness of her current mental and physical health, she is still here, alive and kicking with her achy, tingly, smelly diabetic feet. I now have the opportunity to make my last hug count. The day after her heart attack, after a long day at the hospital I returned home to her house for a sleep. We opened the door and looked around at the lounge room left as it was the moment she was put in an ambulance. Her clothes over the back of the chair, her makeup all over the bathroom and her little black shoes beneath her place on the couch. This could’ve been all that was left, and thank God that the image of her little black shoes won’t be the last thing I see of her. I hadn’t planned on ever losing mum, so now the plan is to have no plan at all. Every hug will be the last one.

It is funny how life changes. How what you had planned on never seems to go according to schedule. I am sure my husband is right. It is time to relax, take it easy and take it as it comes. And just hope I am ready for the next detour.

and then there were these two…………………

I love teaching. I could probably count on one hand the times I have woken in the morning and not wanted to go to school, five of these times would have been as a result of repulsive adult behaviour, not that of the students.

I have found that children make the best colleagues in the world. They turn up each day with a clean, new slate. They don’t harbour resentment from the day before when you lost your temper, they sing to you when it is your birthday, and they are never shy of a hug when you are feeling down. They are honest. If you have worn the same shoes 3 days in a row, they will want to know why. If you haven’t washed your hair in a while, they will notice when you finally do and if you are a bitch- they will let you know. If you are absent- they miss you like crazy and in Term 4 when it is time for them to leave, they will remember the time spent with you years after you have forgotten them. It often scares me to think that in reality my students will spend more waking hours with me, than they will with their own parents. In a year they become my family, and above all they become ‘my children’.

Someday’s under the sea of paper work and red tape, you forget that what you are doing matters to someone. You may not have realised it, but as a teacher you make someone’s day ‘every’ day.

This past month Two students have reminded me that I am human. When I doubted my ability, they confirmed it for me. When I thought things were hopeless and that teaching was just getting too hard, they have reminded me it is all worth it. I just wanted to share their stories.

After only seven weeks into the school term, my teaching partner and I were confronted with a rather tricky case of bullying. This young lady was terrified of telling us in case she experienced any backlash but eventually she came forward and we helped her as best as we could. Today in the mad rush just after the school bell she handed me this beautiful letter. To be honest I am not sure what to be more excited about- the gorgeous message or the fact it had full stops, capitals AND paragraphs!!

To Mrs R

Thankyou for being a great teacher yesterday. You and Mr A did an awesome job.

I now feel very comfortable and know to come to one of you when a problem at school pops up out of nowhere.

Thankyou for asking me if I was ok yesterday. i know I can trust the year 6 teachers 100%. Thank you so much for everything. I look forward to spending the year with you guys.

Love Ellie xx

On a sadder note, last month I received the devastating news  that one of my previous students from Adelaide had passed away suddenly at aged 18.  On hearing the news, my heart just ached as it hasn’t quite done before. I didn’t have my own children when I taught her, but knew that after three years in my class that she had become like my own. After three years of sharing everyday with this gorgeous girl, it was incomprehensible that something had taken her away from a life that she hadn’t yet lived and was fighting so hard to keep. Her smile was contagious and not since have I met more gentle, loving and compassionate soul. As a Catholic, I have always believed that we go somewhere else after death and have always sought comfort from this belief,  but I must admit that on hearing this news that my beliefs were challenged significantly. I can swallow the heaven stuff when it comes to the those who have lived a good life, but for the first time this explanation was just not good enough. it made no sense that a young life could be here one day talking to a good friend of mine (The fabulous Ms Ellem) in the shopping centre, remembering the fun time she she spent with us in year 6 and then be gone forever a short few days later. For days after I couldn’t get this young girl out of my thoughts. If I felt like this as her teacher, how the hell would you go on as her mother. Being interstate, I couldn’t attend her funeral and feel a great deal of guilt about this, but while searching my email for some old units of work I found these emails she had written to me in the years after I had moved away. Writing was never her strength but she certainly made up for this in personality. Just as she always could in life, she brought a smile to my face again in death. (love how she spelt report!)

Subject: Re: Jaymie report
Date: Wed, 5 May 2010 16:14:42 -0700

heeyy what have you been up i love high school so much i have made heaps of friends i am doing good are you still teaching  whaen are you coming back down

 

love you

Jaymie xxx

and this one……………………………..

Subject: Jaymie report
>
> Dear Mrs B,
>
> I got my report on the 24th of june and mum and dad were so proud of
> me and i hope you are to. 

I got
 religion c with my effort being good
english c with my effort being good and writing satisfactory
maths c with my effort being good
society and environment b with effort being outstanding
 science b with my effort being outstanding 

design and technology c with my effort being satisfactory

 health c with my effort being good

the arts c with my effort being satisfactory
 
 music c with my effort being good

 italian c with my effort being satisfactory

p.e c with my effort being satisfactory
I am so proud of my reprot
 Love Jaymie

What am I thinking….I could never leave this job.

Correct Me if I am Wrong…………Sexist rant

A lot has gone on since my last post. Work has well and truly begun and already I am thinking that the term ‘job-share‘ may be French for ‘get paid for three days, but work full time. Some fellow teaching Bloggers did warn me of this, but I am hoping that it is just beginning of the school year madness and that it will calm down soon.Or not?

My other job- the important one, the full time one, the unpaid and un-appreciated one called ‘being a mum and wife’ has continued to run ahead at full pace. As you may well know, children don’t understand nor care that one of your many talents has become being able to cook dinner, hold a gigantic 2 year old, chop an onion with one hand and turn up the volume on Peppa Pig with the other hand. Now that’s what I call animal adaptation! Last week I even sarcastically asked my four year old what hands he would like me to use to fill up his drink bottle, and in all his wisdom he replied ‘ You just need to get more hands mum’. Yes wouldn’t that be nice son! And you know what would happen if I got more hands? Some one in this house would find more jobs for the extra hands to do too!.

Can I be really honest here? I  just need to do a mental purge.  I am going to be very controversial now and say that the feminist movement has a lot to answer for. Not so long ago the women’s sole role in society was to be a good housewife. This involved birthing and caring for children, cooking, cleaning and keeping a husband happy. We were clear on the role, as limiting as it was, we knew our gig. Anyway, the mothers who went before us fought tooth and nail for gender equality, and I sincerely thank them for this.  For the first time we could throw our aprons and bra’s into the air, run out of our homes in trousers not our skirts, get down and dirty and begin working in meaningful paid positions. Sounds awesome right? What women wouldn’t see this as progression right?

HANG ON…….LET’S BACK THIS TRUCK UP A LITTLE ! Right back to the part where the women were supposed to be throwing away their aprons. Last time I checked, I was still wearing the apron on top of my trousers! Someday’s I’m so painfully aware of it  that it chokes me. Someday’s it’s still hanging off me as I jump out of my car ready to take up my place in society as a working woman.  What a great deal the men got out of the feminist movement, I can hear them now laughing behind our back. ‘Yes Gerald, great idea- Let the ladies work and they will still do everything else as well, it will work out great for us gentlemen mwaaaaahhhhhaaaaaaa! (insert Dr Evil’s voice here)

I realise more than anyone that in some cultures, the women’s role has not evolved and has not changed much since these times, and some days I look at these families with envy. I also realise it is apparently my choice to to wear an apron and work at the same time, but the hard part here is now we have a choice. When we didn’t have a choice it seemed easier to accept it. It is fine to be a house-mum when everyone else is too. Our roles have become blurred, we have lost parts of our identities and now scrambling to define our new role in society.  It is not fine for women to ‘just stay at home’. It is also not fine to be just a career woman. So what do we talented,  multi-tasking women do? We adapt and do both- the same as any other successful species.

My problem is that yes now we can contribute and work, but in most houses we are still the ones doing everything else as well. If we have evolved then why haven’t our home roles? Why should we work AND still be doing 80% of every other job that comes our way, child related or not. Something has to give, we can’t keep all of these balls in the air without dropping a few. We are still the ones to organize the children in the morning, we are still the ones packing lunch boxes, we are still the ones dropping by Woolworth’s on the way home to get groceries for dinner, we are still the ones to remember the children’s vaccinations, organize presents for birthday parties, sorting out clothes in the morning, finding lost shoes and nursing sick children at 2am, 3 hours before leaving for work ourselves. Yes It is in our genes, mums can not stop caring and nurturing just because we are now wearing trousers. We will continue to be cross dressing, apron- over- business -suit wearing machines who try to save the world or at least save the chicken from burning.

Before the inevitable ‘My husband does all the housework and cooking in my house’ comments, Lets get real. Clearly It is not just about cooking. Of course there are many exceptions to what I am saying. There are many fabulous husbands out there who work their bums off to help their wives, and to them I applaud. The sad reality is that most, and I say this with slight caution, MOST women are still keeping the homes going. Things have to change. In the past 4 years alone 3 female friends of mine have or have at least considered returning to work and having hubby stay at home with Baby Bob, as they are the main bread winners. The men have been more than willing to let go of a few ‘traditional masculine traits’ (usually the useful ones) whilst taking full advantage of our newly acquired skills, but are a bit slow on the uptake in acquiring their own new skills. Perhaps not quite yet the norm, but certainly is a growing trend.

So where do you stand on this. Should we just drop the ball completely or should we STILL be trying to do it all?

New Year, New job and the Glass-Uterus Effect

Tomorrow is my first day at a new school. Since arriving in Queensland 6 years ago I have been extremely lucky to have remained employed at the same wonderful school, conveniently located ten minutes from home. I remember my first day six years ago. Having just moved from a really tough school in the dry, northern suburbs of Adelaide I arrived at what looked like a tropical holiday resort. With a golf club across the road, the Surfers Paradise skyline in the background and a lake right in the middle of the school oval.  I remembered thinking, ‘we’re definitely not in Elizabeth’ any more, closely followed up with ‘I probably won’t need to worry about my car being stolen while it’s parked out there’.

During my time there I have welcomed my two beautiful boys, and to be honest it has become more of a social outing than a job. Amongst the staff are teachers who have become great friends, and in some instances I have taught all siblings from the same family. For a school that was only ever meant to be a temporary stop gap while we figured out if we wanted to stay on the Gold Coast, It turns out to be the longest stint I have had in any one setting. My second home.

I am so sad to leave, but so excited to move forward. After a lot of thought my decision was confirmed last week while watching my friends prepare to go back to the classroom full time. At my school it was full time for me or nothing. That is the problem with teaching, it is often all in or nothing.

After applying for jobs close to home and being honest about my plans to have more children, I was met with ‘In light of what we discussed, there won’t be any suitable positions for next year’ and I totally get it. Being that I am on contract, I am a liability in a classroom. Having a class is like taking guardianship of 30 little lives for a the whole year- not just for two or three terms until I dare decide to have a child in the middle of a school year. Before I  hear gasps of ‘discrimination’ it is so not like that. If you are permanent then you have a rite of return as a part time teacher. As a contract staff member I was lucky to have been looked after as long as I have been between having my children. To be fair, If it hadn’t been for stopping to have babies I would have had a permanent position here in Queensland as well as in Adelaide. They call it the glass ceiling effect- a woman’s inability to progress as far as a male in the same work place, and it is alive and kicking in the teaching profession. I just call it the ‘glass uterus effect’. Our progression is severely affected by our biological requirement to stop and have children, and lets face it, that is just tough shit! You can’t have years off and expect to be the boss when you get back!

So I’ve gone further a field for a 3 day classroom position (job share), and I couldn’t be more excited. Rather than dreading the return to full time work and leaving the boys, I can have my class…and eat it too (oops…cake).  Yes it is half hour away, and yes it’s not as pretty as where I was, but it is the best option for my young family at this moment in our short time together.

Teachers out there will appreciate the lack of ownership and achievement you feel when you don’t have your own class. We didn’t get into this profession to teach 12 lessons of back to back library lessons for prep children. On most days this involves getting them safely to the library without losing one or all of them as they cross the yard like a flock of sheep, sending at least three with sore fingers to the sick bay, a poo in the pants, having my feet rubbed (not so bad) and at least 3 comments about why I’m wearing the same clothes as last week.   (FYI you kids are just seeing me at the start of my washing cycle)

So tomorrow I meet my teaching partner and see what will be my new ‘home’ for a while. For some strange reason, what would have made me sick with anxiety once upon a time, is now so exciting! Maybe it’s called growing up.

Wish me luck 🙂