A Martyr for Mothers

It’s hard to say to your friend that her mothering stinks. Why do some people have children? Why can they only love soft pudgy little squealing things under the age of two. And what do you do when this type of person is your friend? Well I don’t go choosing my friends. This girl has come into my life and because we have lots in common like the same skin tone, the same warm Caribbean blood, two mixed kids, older white husband well it makes sense that we should be friends. But oh boy but I have more in common with trees than with her. At the very least both the tree and I know how to nourish our fruits till they’re ready to drop and serve another purpose.

And it’s not just my friend who is so callous. This character trait if you care to look around is share by a good few too many mothers (and fathers). A good friend told me that his wife had an itch so big to ressume her studies and internship three months after the birth of her baby. Put the little squealing thing in a crèche and off she went. He justifies it, kids at that age are less aware of their environment. (Man had I married you would have felt the back side of a frying pan!)

My girlfriend, Lord save her soul, has got a husband to write her a letter confirming her employment in his office so that she can escape having to come take the boys home for lunch. The preschool refused saying that because it was her husband’s company she could find some sort of compromise. The crèche bought it and now her two year old is in minded care from 8:30 till 4:30. And she wonders now why she is so violent with her. Well what do you expect? If that’s the only way he’s going to get your attention…. Oh well at least she’s got a great figure now in the past month she spent both morning and afternoon at the gym. But it’s like house work it’s all going to come undone again. And such wasted time.

What are we afraid of? My next door neighbour and I sometimes have a two minute power conversation over the hedge. It always ends in “ah this world we’re living in is too fast”. Everyone wants their kids to become independent as soon as possible. Send them off to crèche at three months or to a day mummy. And then have the audacity to look down at other women who dare do differently. “Certainly you want a have a job?” a neighbour told me bewildered that my four year old son isn’t in school yet. I told her that I had a full time one already. “But your kids are with you all the time,” another says looking like something is definitely wrong with me. I think, it’s early days yet. They’re gonna be in school for the rest of their lives anyway so what the hell is the rush.

I know, we as a society are trying to catch up with time. We’ve bought into the fallacy that life’s moving on and we have to keep up. Such utter nonsense. Life’s not going anyway. Life is here and now. Opportunities are like buses, there’s always going to be another one in a few minutes. And it will get you the same place. You’ll just have seen more of the sights along the way.

A long time ago before I became a mother I was an English teacher to professional in Paris (no I didn’t teach them to spell, told them where to get good dictionaries). This experience paved the path for the type of mother I was to become later. I heard it all. The mothers who had to squeeze in mothering between 6:30 and 7:30pm to a child who howled the whole way through because she needed more. The mother who had two babysitters, one for the morning shift and the other the afternoon shift. The fathers who travelled so much that when presented with their kids at the rare weekend by the ex wife were at a complete loss as to what to do with them in a park so stayed the whole ear glued to the mobile. My girlfriend’s idea of mothering is dragging her charges off to for a two hour trip in the car just to have her nails done or get some designer clothes. Or dropping them on the school whole day so she can have her bum looking good. It makes me want to get smack happy and it’s not my kids I want to smack. It’s her. Oh it was such a joy when I had a mother in class who takes the Wednesday off to spend with her kids. And the father who loves to take his trekking in the forest at the end of the day. I know which kind of mother I wanted to be.

Let’s take the time to love our children. To be with our children. To give them the gift of our attention and time.

There are solutions which won’t present themselves to us until we step down from our comfort zone. But the bills have to get paid you say? And I think, which bills? The manicurists? Dropping our standards a bit to spend time with our kids won’t starve us. The day my mom started working full time as a teacher was the day I lost my mother and since that day when the lovely afternoons after school (with the five o’clock sun shining on us) learning to crochet and having her read Thumbelina I haven’t felt mothered. She’ll argue she had to. We needed the money. I’d say, you could have become a fishermonger and sold fish while we played between your legs. We probably would have eaten better too. Children need their mothers and their fathers. They need someone there who really care. Not someone who is being paid to care.

In the rush which is our life we must remember that there is always the option to take a step back wards. Or two. There will always be another bus latter. Invariably. A longer ride allows you to see the scene more clearly.

About the Author...

A voice from France with its heart still it the sunny isle of St Lucia. No matter where we are where we land in life our light will shine if we let it. Sometimes I sit and ask myself how did I get to here, to be who I am and where I am today. By a series of accidents? Nah a series of decisons. Be they good or bad, I've come to live with them because here is where I am now. And here is really nice. Here is being the mom of two really energitic boys (5 and 3) a partner to a man who is a very good friend, a writer? Well only if you like it..... An open heart and open mind and warm smile. Her number one love is her "self".