A week so far of random events; an Alexander Technique lesson for me, haircuts for the children, an orthodontic assessment for Boo tomorrow. In between, today, she got her ears pierced - a rite of passage for a nearly-teen and one which seemed bizarrely poignant and stressful! She was anxious, scared that it would hurt. We'd talked and talked about it and she decided that she wanted to go ahead and I totally get that. Sometimes there is a need to prove oneself. But there, in the salon, I got this strange feeling that the perfect baby that I produced was being wilfully damaged; pierced! It's all part of growing up and a reminder again that she is not me; mine, but not mine. We are separate beings even if I still feel that my children are some sort of cosmic extension of myself; the logic that if I am cold, they must be cold etc. I am determined to embrace the changes of this nearly-teen stage as it is precious, if not taxing at times. It's like shepherding half a person; not yet formed but a lot more formed than she was. I catch sight of her sometimes and think: did we create that beautiful young girl?! We all think our own offspring are beautiful so you'll forgive me the conceitedness; but she is beautiful. And now beautiful, with earrings!
 |
| via patterson maker |
There was a big storm here this week that had the greatest media build-up I have seen in ages for a weather event (rivalling only the ash cloud and the freak snow conditions of recent years). We hunkered down for the night on Sunday night not knowing what to expect; fearful of what the morning would bring. However thankfully other than some crazy-strong winds and a whole lot of willow tree all over our garden, we did OK. Strange though, how I quite liked the instinct to get ready for the storm and be self-sufficient in the event of power cuts and food shortages.
We are going to spend the weekend in London this weekend for an annual city break with friends; I can not wait. Much as I love my little life I can yearn for something different, if only for a couple of days. I wonder what has provoked this impulse to flee the rural idyll? It's partly to do with an uncomfortable conversation that took place in our house about the role of the 'housewife'. Always before I have liked the 1950's irony of that word until...the penny dropped recently...that I have become one. Whilst I knew this and crucially, I choose this, something in the word and it's connotations made me see red. I am ashamed to admit I saw the negative in it. What I found surprising though, was that after all those years of being the working mother, which to some extent I justified in the knowledge that I was providing a positive role model to my children, their attitude to me is indeed that of house-worker. They expect me to do the bulk of the housework - and I do - and it doesn't occur to them that perhaps the load should be shared. Or indeed that I would rather be doing something else, less mundane! One for me to ponder over the laundry, or whilst making the beds, or the washing up for that matter! If my role is to stay at home, then surely I am the wife of the house?!
 |
| via patterson maker |
