I opened my computer midday today to be greeted by this little alert. I am grateful for cheeky little girls who know how much I love them. And who share my sense of humour. And who have their own gmail accounts so I could do exactly as she asked when she asked.
I’m trying to understand why women do it. Stay with men who abuse them. Physically or emotionally. Stay with men who repeatedly have affairs. It saddens me that perhaps its because they feel thats as good as it gets. That they are more fearful of being alone, of not deserving more, of not being financially sound, of what people might think, of shattering the illusion of happy families. It all just saddens me because it is just sad, when a persons hopes and beliefs about love and care and trust and respect are continually shattered. I do understand the need to protect and provide for our children, but accepting abuse is not doing that. No matter how much you love. Or are loved. It is teaching your son its ok to treat women in this way and teaching your daughters that they don’t deserve more. Imagine how much taking a stand might teach them. It will be sore and devastating and often financially debilitating but it has to be better. In ways you won’t know now but your children will one day thank you for. What saddens me most is all the excuses. It is simply not okay to abuse anyone. No-one gets to avoid taking responsibility. Everyone, everyone has a choice. Not to do it. And not to accept it.
I felt really awkward this morning at gym. An older (well, older than me) australian lady was going off in a very judgemental and actually quite aggressive way about muslims in particular (said in a hushed tone), but then it became about anyone being ‘allowed’ to live in Australia, and how they should live according to the australian ways and customs and save any beliefs pertinent to their culture for their homes. Including their language. Apparently a french couple were talking to their french child in earshot of her at a school outing, at which point she felt it her moral right to reprimand them for not speaking to their child in English, the spoken Australian language, if this is the country they have chosen to live in. In amongst the ignorant rant, there actually were some issues definitely worthy of debate in terms of multiculturalism, if it is truly possible, and how to integrate yet respectfully retain one’s own culture in a new country. But there was no nuance with this lady. She was extremely dismissive of immigrants generally. I felt awkward because I am an immigrant. I assume because she was speaking so openly in front of me and attempting to include me in her conversation, that because I look similar to her and speak English, I’m ok. Seriously? I felt awkward because it just wasn’t the place to have this debate yet my silence and refusal to interact in the conversation in anyway may have implied acquiescence. I wish she was an isolated case. Why are people so fearful of difference. Not all people of different faiths or cultures are fundamentalist, extremists, and then, in my opinion, misguided and worthy of fear. Do some people honestly believe, really believe that if someone just looks different to them, speaks a different language to them, believes in a different god to them, or none at all, has less money than them, has more than them, they are not deserving of kindness. Of acceptance. They are not equal? Honestly. Do you?
When both our beautiful daughters were born I remember being overwhelmed, not only with love (and relief that it was all over), but also with gratitude that they were healthy. And still today, right now, this moment, I am so very grateful that my precious girls are healthy. I do know this is something most of us do take for granted and seldom even realise or even consider how grateful we should be for that reality. Every now and then something makes us stop and think and give thanks. Today it was the link I was given to a youtube clip of a wonderful brave young boy with cerebral palsy. What a beautiful boy and family, who bring joy and empathy and compassion to the fore in so many people. The wonderful image of his courage and tenacity hasn’t left me all day.
I am grateful for a friend who does the best ever foot massages, a friend who pours mother’s milk without being asked, a friend who heats the cute country cottage in readiness for your return after a 22km walk in the pouring rain, and mostly a friend who saves you from blood engorged leeches with a wooden stick. I am grateful for friends who know just what you need. Even when you don’t.
I found my old recipe book, from when I was ten or so. I have promised to make rusks for the girls and knew I had my gran’s recipe somewhere. I am grateful I kept this old recipe book, not only for the only rusk recipe worth keeping but for the wonderful memory of me and my ouma and a typewriter. I loved those days and my rusks might not be as good as my gran’s but they will be filled with wonderful memories and so much love.
I love what Lynn said about her being precious. About what is precious to her. This unchartered territory thing of teens is quite challenging. Often delightfully so, but sometimes, I am alarmed. And not at the teens. I seem to be ranting a tad, but I too tend to be a little precious about the things that I hold dear. And I hold all children dear. I know I’m not a prude and I really think I have quite an open and often novel view of the world. But I just don’t think its ok for parents to have parties for 14 turning 15 year olds and provide alcohol. I’m not sure if they are just lost, misguided, trying too hard to be cool parents or have just given up. Which would be sad. Maybe I’m just old fashioned. But that would mean being a bit behind, a bit unaware, maybe a bit blinkered. Not having an open view of the world as it is today. And I think I do. So is being ‘a cool parent’ refusing to set boundaries and consequences. Just giving up on parenting. Not caring enough. I know kids will experiment and should experiment and I know I shudder at what I got up to as a teenager, and that it is necessary to challenge the boundaries, and I know we would prefer to have our kids misbehaving in our homes. But really. The boundaries need to be set to be able to be challenged. Alcohol was never provided at our parties when I was 14. Or 15. We were not encouraged to get trashed. Am I wrong? Have I really got it that wrong? Am I really just old fashioned? And if that is what it is, then I am really cool with not being a cool parent. Because I love my kids far more than I love being cool.
I am very grateful to my niece Georgia who is doing an assignment on life changing experiences and is using me. I am grateful not because I think I’m worthy, but because it sent me on a trip down memory lane as I had to source photos for her. And it reminded me especially oh how much I love and am grateful for my never straight never curly hair, my not quite as thick as they were eyebrows, my sparse eyelashes. Oh, and my health. Thanks Georgie for reminding me how much I still take for granted and how much I have to be grateful for. And that includes you.
I am grateful for cupcake mix. Because today after school, I was the best mom ever.
Realising how young Jem really still is and being grateful for her little quirks got me thinking about something that does actually bother me a bit. I’m a little taken aback by how some parents let their young girls and by this I guess I’m referring to girls of thirteen, fourteen and under, dress. We are encouraging our daughters to grow up, yet we are the very ones who shake our heads in regret at how quickly they are growing up. I do agree we need to let them be themselves and grow and experiment but we also need to be parents, guiding and explaining and sharing. I thought about this a couple of weekends ago as a group of girls walked down Thomas Street, tottering on heels they couldn’t walk in, some wearing skirts that barely covered their fannies, hair and make up done to the nines, walking in a pack. They then crossed the road, clearly uncertain what to do with this so called womanly fabulousness. And got ice-creams. They were all about 12 or 13, apparently year 7’s. Inappropriately revealingly dressed and thankfully nowhere to go. And they looked ridiculous. Like girls who were playing dress up. But weren’t. All self aware, and self-conscious wearing bustiers but with no busts. Well, some of them. I loved Noosa then for those girls, but I truly truly did wonder, what were their moms thinking
grace and dignity 