What a Palaver!

by Mothership on October 27, 2009

Good Grief!

Controversy! Drama! Headlines!

Well perhaps not the last one, but for the first time since writing this blog I had a couple of quite angry comments on my last post re. my thoughts on the marine biology teacher and her plastic crafts including threats of litigation and being accused of Teacher Abuse which is a new one on me. I mean I have heard of it but I thought you actually had to be there hitting the educator in question or shouting FUCK OFF or something, not just writing down your *ahem* not-highest-thoughts on a blog before publishing the more responsible letter you actually sent.?Then I got, by some cosmic timing, a visit to the blog from a lady who was in the past a regular reader before she became exasperated; generally by my refusal to have nice days and particularly by my taking issue with Five (then Four’s) nursery school teacher over grammar. I hadn’t actually mentioned a teacher in the interim but she drew the short straw re. subject matter and it really hacked her off so I managed to get three separate people very hot and bothered in a very short space of time.

Funnily enough, none of the outrage was focused on the theme of the post, which was:

PLASTIC IN THE OCEAN.

let me repeat that

PLASTIC IN THE OCEAN

but was more concerned with how I had dared to pick on the teacher, how I had been mean to her, how I had said something behind her back when she’d been polite, how this was violation of copyright (but then it wasn’t but I was still horrible), how it was a violation of her privacy, it was AT BEST ugly, she would be furious, humiliated  blah blah, squeak,moo, bleat, miaow, honk etc.

Well, they may be right. Her letter was absolutely polite. I disagreed with it and I wrote disgruntled THOUGHTS. And then I mocked myself (twice) for my grumpiness before writing the proper response which was also measured and polite. Some people might have missed that bit, or thought it wasn’t mitigating. Okay. It will not be the first time my sense of humour has missed the mark, especially here in Stepford. There is a high premium on earnest here.  British wry, dry and ironic tends to curdle with that.

However, I can argue the toss and it will have zero effect, and also distract wildly from the MAIN THRUST of the issue which was..

PLASTIC IN THE OCEAN

I had a fabulous response from the Marine Biology teacher to my letter. Really quite humbling. Adore her.

Here is what she (may have – I don’t want to be sued, Tamara!) said:

Dear Mothership

I appreciate your concerns and ideas!  It has really made me think about rethinking my activities and crafts that i’m doing with the marine biology program.

When I first started these crafts in 1995- with X from the X university- many of our materials came from a recycling progam- and sending the environmental message of reusing someone elses trash for art was the theme. The crafts were very popular. Students take my class over and over and enjoy keeping them as toys. Its rewarding to think that I am helping to foster their interest and, hopefully, appreciation of the marine environment.   I also send an environmental message in my lessons of how we humans can prevent further harm to our environment.

But it’s not enough!!  There are much better and different ways that I can still do these crafts- that will send stronger environmental awareness messages – and be more environmentally friendly, as youve said- and Im sure the children will still love them!  It’s been easy doing the same crafts over and over because of all the positive response ive received in the past from parents/students about the class.  But I really need to see beyond that, and I thank you for bringing it to my attention for the future marine biology programs I do.

I’m so happy to have Five in the class and I hope she continues to enjoy it!  I also hope to meet and talk to you again soon.

Thank you for your heart felt concerns,

—

PS. The kelp beads are from algin (kelp) mixed with non- toxic tempera paint.  I’m going to change the ziploc bag to take it home in to something else that can be more readily reused or recycled.

So something learned on both sides (kelp mixed with tempera! Who knew?? I love it!), a better parent-teacher relationship forged, and the ocean WINS!

I might have lost a few commenters though. I don’t think I’ll miss them.

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Sea it my way

by Mothership on October 25, 2009

Five has been taking a PTA sponsored class after school in Marine Biology.

I am delighted that this has been offered as an extra curricular activity, not only because it means I get to pick her up at 1.30 instead of 12.15 once per week (although that is a distinct bonus), but because she is passionate about the ocean, saving the planet (bless) and extremely interested in all sea creatures. We can barely tear her away from the beach or the aquarium and she will spend hours poring over books about orcas, crabs, jellyfish etc. Most of her classmates are similarly obsessed. Part of that may be due to living in a seaside town but this is a self-selecting group;  they opted to take marine biology because they are interested in the subject.

So, it was somewhat to my consternation to find, when I collected her after the first week, that the ‘craft’ that they came home with was a small plastic ziploc baggie filled with water and some sort of plastic or silicon beads.
I questioned Five as to what they were and received an excited but garbled explanation typical of a Kindergartner. I did not really understand the relevance to the ocean and clearly neither did she. I found it somewhat odd that she was bringing me a disposable plastic bag full of colourful man-made beads.  Her fascination with it lasted about ten minutes and then about an hour after we got home the bag sprung a leak and I only just managed to stop her flushing the beads down the toilet. I didn’t think that they really belonged in the sea any more than I thought they belonged in Marine Biology for Kindergartners so I put them in the trash where they went off to make the city dump a more colourful place.

This week the lesson was about jellyfish. I know this because when I collected her she proudly showed me a jellyfish she had made from clear plastic sheeting with long, trailing curly plastic tentacles. My heart sank when I saw it. The irony was gobsmacking.

Wasn’t the teacher aware of the huge impact plastic had on the sea? What were these kids doing with all that junk? And why did they keep getting disposable plastic crap?

I found it hard to smile and congratulate Five on her work and I couldn’t speak to the teacher because she was busy with the next class.

I wrote later to the PTA to ask if my comments and concerns could be passed on:

Dear —,

Our daughter, Five, is a Kindergartner, currently taking Marine Biology (which she loves). We are delighted that the PTA offers the wonderful extra-curricular classes that it does and are so glad and happy to be able to not only take advantage of them but to support them as well in any way that we can.

However there is something we would like to bring to your attention as it has concerned us and we wonder if it can be discussed with the teacher?

We noted, to our dismay, that today’s project was to make a craft – a jellyfish – from various types of plastic.

This is somewhat ironic given the role that plastic is playing in the destruction of our oceans and marine life today:

Here are some facts (source: National Geographic)

As much as 10 percent of the 260 million tons of plastic produced annually ends up in the oceans.

267 marine species are affected by plastic garbage—animals are known to swallow plastic bags, which resemble jellyfish in mid-ocean

We’d be more than happy to try to help think of alternative, more ocean-friendly crafts that the children could enjoy, and we would really appreciate this being addressed.

All of our childrens’ futures depend on it

Regards

Mothership

I received a response from the Marine Biology teacher. My thoughts are in blue. I did not share these with her.

Very interesting!! I guess they did not hear the part of the class where we discuss the problem of plastic being mistaken for sea jellies and the importance of making sure plastic NEVER ends up in the ocean if we can prevent it.

No they didn’t. they were too busy pretending their sea jellies were kites and arguing over whose tentacles were longer.

I also explained how important it is to pick up any plastic or trash for that matter and put it in recycling or trash.  Plastic looks so similar to real sea jellies- and we use it in our craft because if that.

So, the reason for using plastic is BECAUSE it looks like a jellyfish.  Just as long as this particular piece of jellyfish looking piece of plastic doesn’t end up in the sea (if we can prevent it).  No mixed messages there.  And it’s fine to make something that you will throw away an hour later.
YOU DID NOT THINK THIS THROUGH!!!!!

Our sea jelly tentacles come from reusing skateboard wheels which came from art from scrap. I certainly am NO advocate of plastic normally!!

Except for the first class where you used a disposable plastic baggie full of plastic beads and water which probably got flushed down the toilet by most parents and ended up .. in the sea. And the bag in landfill. If we’re lucky. And it’s still disposable. And it’s still PLASTIC.
YOU DID NOT THINK THIS THROUGH!!!!!

Outside of teaching the after school classes I work for (a company that takes people to a local island nature sanctuary) and have made a thousand+ trips to the islands and have picked up hundreds of balloons. I am completely against anything that is not biodegradable or toxic in the ocean or in the environment and am a firm advocate of disposing these type materials in a way that will not harm the environment.

Oh? You’re completely against anything that is not biodegradable in the ocean or the environment? Plastic is not biodegradable. It is toxic in the ocean and even if it is disposed of correctly it will either go to landfill, or , if viably collectible and recyclable, it will still use greenhouse gases to do so . This is not ‘unharmful’ to the environment and it is CERTAINLY not necessary for a bunch of five year olds to learn about  marine life.
YOU DID NOT THINK THIS THROUGH!!!!! How many more exclamation marks can I fit in this line??!!!!

In conclusion to all of this, the bottom line is,  in NO WAY should our marine biology plastic sea jelly craft end up in the ocean!!

NO WAY should you make a plastic sea jelly or plastic any kind of craft IMHO

Thanks for passing on the email. I hope I don’t seem too defensive, – um yes – but as a fellow ES and Biology graduate, I try to convey in my teachings the power and impact we humans have on all living things.

As regards teaching the little ones about the ocean and plastic: FAIL.
You certainly had a powerful impact on me, though. I’m GALVANISED!

Stimulating an appreciation for nature is my goal in every aspect of my work in the classroom and in the field.

Then why are you using non-natural materials to do so?  We live by the beach and you work on the ocean in your other job. I DON’T GET IT!!

I appreciate your concern and am open to any other alternative ideas we could do for the sea jelly craft.

Thank you!

___

After thoroughly enjoying spluttering with outrage and feeling self-righteous, I wrote this letter instead.

Dear —

Thank you for your swift response to our concerns. We appreciate you outlining your perspective and position and are happy to hear that we are on the same page regarding plastic, the ocean, nature and the environment.

However we still think that there is a significant danger of young children missing the point that plastics are dangerous and toxic to the ocean if on the one hand we are telling them that information, but on the other hand they are being given crafts that are made of plastic.

They will not make an environmental connection between a partially recycled plastic craft and the sea whatever we say to them.  They will just think that it’s fine to make something out of plastic because it’s fun for them, then throw it away a scant few hours later.

A disposable culture that we foster in them.

If we are lucky these crafts will not end up in the ocean, but in landfill instead.

I’m not sure we can say that about the beads in the water in the plastic baggie from the first week’s craft – most parents will have just flushed them down the toilet by dinnertime.

I have no doubt that you work extremely hard at your teaching and have very important things to pass on to the children. ?Five loves your class as do all her schoolmates and we are grateful to have you at school.

We would be more than happy to try to come up with alternatives for crafts for the children.  It is not clear to us how much time in each class is given over to making a craft, whether it needs specifically to be representative of the creature you are teaching about that day, what your budget is for the craft and how much involvement you would like or would be appropriate, but we would very much like to help in any way that we can to ensure that you can bring your craft materials in line with your core values.

For instance, how could we help you design crafts using only natural, non-toxic, biodegradable materials, or found objects from the sea/beach?

We would welcome an open and continuing dialogue and appreciate working with you on this.

Kind regards

Mothership

I concede that I may be a two-faced bitch, but at least both of them are trying to save the ocean, right?

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Careers I will not be taking up Part 1

by Mothership on October 21, 2009

I have had an unconventional career path. I have mentioned before my years as a singer, songwriter and composer. I may not have mentioned the time spent working for a costume shop, mostly dressed as a gorilla. Or when I worked painting murals in a bar in Virginia.

But I’m a restless soul. I like to do new things. Right now I’m doing MOTHERHOOD. I won’t be giving that up, of course, but as the children grow I like to think of what it is I will do next.

Oh! The wide vista of possibility! It’s dazzling, enchanting, seductive, and perhaps a little daunting in its sheer enormity.

LibertyLondonGirl wrote a lovely post today about it never being too late to become whatever you wanted to be.  This is wonderful.

It is also never too late to rule out things you do not ever want to do for a living. I am relieved to report that in my quest to find out what I want to be when I grow up I have been able to tick another one off the list.

Today, at Five’s school Mrs.K complimented me on being “the volunteer parent most able to maintain discipline amongst the group”.
I wondered if this really was a compliment. Could it also mean that I am the fiercest, most terrifying mother of the class and they’re all crapping themselves when I walk in the door? Sometimes when I hear myself speak to the children I am taken aback by how like a strict, old-fashioned British schoolmarm I sound.  I half expect a grey bun and  whiskers to sprout and and start rapping them over the knuckles with a ruler for getting glue on the table.

Actually that’s quite a satisfying thought.

Today a particularly unprepossessing little girl asked me:

“Do you have a baby in your tummy?”

“No” I smiled

“Then why do you have a big fat belly?”

I stopped smiling.

The CHEEK of it!

I don’t, as it happens, have a big fat belly (I store my blubber elsewhere, thank you), but I was quite gobsmacked that she would say that so openly to an adult.

Through gritted teeth I managed to set my face into a massively insincere semblance of kind concern and say

“You know, making a personal statement like that is rather rude, my dear. Please do not speak to me in that way again. Do you understand? “

“Well, okay, but it’s just ‘cuz I thought you looked like you were really fat”

*writes lines furiously in head: I will not kick Five year olds, I will not kick Five year olds, I I I I will will will will not not not not kick kick….*

Schoolteacher.

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Death and Distraction

by Mothership on October 19, 2009

Why is it that when I have a whole long day stretching ahead of me to write I can’t think of anything to say? I thought of LOADS of things last night that I needed to get down on paper but unfortunately Husband had bought a bottle of nice red on sale and I unwisely drank it with him, got a bit teary, stumbled off to bed, woke up with a migraine, then took a pill, had some nightmares and woke up stupid.

I have continued in that spirit all day.

Today’s wordcount: 27

Instead of writing my masterpiece I have:

Farted about on Twitter

Chatted to ex-bandmate on FaceBook

Failed to think of clever status update on FaceBook

Internet window shopped and felt retail claustrophobia.

Felt premature Yuletide anxiety – will have to do some Christmas shopping before I go to England but also can’t bear the thought of it.

Started a fast

Ended a fast (1/2 an hour later). Switched it to fruit diet.

Ended fruit diet. (40 mins later) Switched it to no carb diet.

Ended no carb diet. (almost immediately) Decided diet of any kind is bad for my soul.

Make forty ninth cup of tea. Add sugar (medicinal)

Opened Word. Squinted at screen. Closed Word.

Felt narcoleptic.

Planned Halloween supper including making these and this

Now I’m going to KMart to buy stupid spooky accessories before picking Two up from nursery. I have to justify today, somehow.

Did any of you do anything vaguely useless today, or am I the only one?

By the way, please look carefully at your neighbours’ houses as they prepare for Hallowe’en. Some of the ghoulish decorations might turn out to be more authentic than you might suppose.

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Hallowed Be Thy Name

by Mothership on October 14, 2009

Let me state for the record that if you are American and religious I may be about to offend you.

Sorry.

It’s been lovely having you. Thank you so much for bearing with me. Some of you may have been fooled into thinking I was a model of thoughtful tolerance and  insightful wisdom, at least when it came to my children but actually, no. It turns out I am the worst kind of old fashioned prim-faced British snob, and worse than that, I am an ageing red-diaper-baby-hippie snob.

There is no worse kind.

You may or may not know that around these parts Kindergarten has the terrible affliction of only lasting until 12.15 which means that Five is completely bored all afternoon and needs to have at least a few organised activities to stop me her from going doolally-pop.  She’s doing marine biology (fiddling about with fish and sand) on a Thursday and I try to organise a playdate once a week, but she had been asking and asking about taking music lessons which does slightly gall me given that I AM A MUSICIAN FFS and we’re not exactly short on instruments/influence/attempts to get her to try things at home.

However I do take the point that it is not quite the same as doing your own musical thing outside the family, so it was with some pleasure that I discovered that her teacher’s husband, who is a very popular music teacher in the local primary schools, had started a kids’ choir at a local church and was looking for children to join.  There is a holly bush surrounded by ivy we walk past on the way to school  and Five serenades it with a chorus of “The Holly and the Ivy” every single morning. The choir sounded just the ticket – perfectly delightful  and I had misty-eyed visions of Five singing ‘Away in a Manger’ at Christmas and me dabbing my eyes proudly with a hanky when she got chosen to be Mary in the nativity play…

Scrrreeeee !!!!! *needle across vinyl*

Sorry about that. Back to reality.

The first week, unfortunately, Mr. K, the choirmaster was called out to jury duty so the children were left with the preacher and his guitar and a few elderly church volunteers who read them a bible story, told them a terrifying tale of someone having a coronary, needing the paramedics, ambulances, ER, death etc. but it was okay because God was there (Five to me, later: Really? It was okay? Or just slightly better than if He hadn’t been there? ). Then the preacher taught them a song about Jesus.

It wasn’t a hymn.

It was a song that went:

Ramalamalong we’re gunna sing a SONG ’bout JESUS! /Sing it Sister Susie, gunna SEND ol’ SATAN away (Bye bye!)

I was horrified. This was NOT what I wanted.

I suppose that some part of me hoped to step back in time to a Barbara Pym novel where a handsome but distracted vicar would be dispensing social niceties over comforting cups of tea while his wife arranged flowers, some noble ladies in floral dresses and hats organised jumble sales and the curate smoked a pipe and had a bicycle clip permanently affixed to one leg along with his confirmed asexual bachelorhood. Meanwhile our precious tots would be singing traditional hymns and carols and not understanding any of the words, just like WE did.

This, though, had more than a whiff of the hellfire and brimstone about it and was positively evangelical in its approach. I was tempted to retrieve Five immediately but she was smiling and holding hands with a girl next to her she knew from school so I hung back and waited. Perhaps it would be different the following week when Mr. K came back from jury duty..

The next week, which was today, I took her back. She was terribly eager to go. They played games and ,more importantly, got juiceboxes and goldfish crackers at snack time so pretty much nothing short of the passing over of the Angel of Death was going to keep her away.  Mr. K, thankfully, was there. I was banking on there being a significant reduction in death-stories and if not any traditional hymns, some more secular music. In the intervening time I had heard quite a bit about Mr. K and his style – he is a huge 80’s music fan so the kids get to learn a lot of his boyhood favourites. Fine with me. I’ll take Devo over RamalamaSatan any day of the week.

The children lined up ready to sing and the church ladies came bustling forward and told them that they were all going to say a prayer, but they were going to hear the same prayer from three different versions of the Bible. Wouldn’t that be FUN!?

*deathly (but it was okay because God was there) silence*

A comfy looking lady in a polyester pantsuit circa 1974 told the children

“Here is a prayer from the King James’ Bible
Therefore all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them: for this is the law and the prophets.
That means whatever you do to other people make sure you’d want them to do it to you! That’s all! But instead of telling you in that fancy pants silly Shakespeare language I just toldja in plain ol’ English which is much better and easier to understand!

I bridled at this.  I know she means well, and I take it that The King James’ Bible is written in Early Modern English but that doesn’t mean that it’s better to start dumbing them down and spoonfeeding them soundbites from the Bible as told to televangelists instead because Shakespeare is a silly fancypants. I, personally would far prefer it if Five had no fcuking idea what was going on, skip straight to the music, please.

Me, I’m like Tess of the D’Urbervilles. I only liked church for the songs and if they chucked a bit of K.J.poetry at us along the way, so much the better.

Fortunately Mr. K took over at this point and started singing with the children.

He was fantastic.

The first song was a gospel number and he had all of these little kids, most of whom hadn’t even heard it before, grooving away and singing counterpoint to one another. I instantly forgave him for not doing “Praise My Soul the King of Heaven” (a personal favourite). Two was grooving and clapping along in delight so they even had an audience.

Now not everybody’s 80’s music is the same and, particularly in the US, I spend a lot of time cringing when I hear the oldies stations playing terrible music from that decade because I it was pants and I hated it even back then. Occasionally, though, a track  will have grown on me unsuspectingly in the intervening years and Mr.K had selected just one of these for the kids to sing. Or maybe I still don’t really like it but hearing thirty 5-7 year olds belt it out was so incredibly hilarious that I have revised my opinion.

Remember Journey? Don’t Stop Belieeeevin! Oh, the hair! And his awful nose..

I swear, Two even got his virtual lighter out in praise of his older sister and her cool.

Me, I just wanted to set fire to the woman with the non-fancypants Bible but I will restrain myself as I do not want to be branded a heretic.

My reputation is sketchy enough in Stepford as it is.


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Spooked Again

by Mothership on October 12, 2009

I don’t generally recycle posts – shoddy workmanship and all – but this one really deserved to be hauled out and dusted off for  Halloween as I’ve been all in a kerfuffle over the costume catalogues that have been arriving, unsolicited, for weeks now.
Husband and I have been quietly putting them straight in the outside bin before Five and Two are are corrupted by the kiddie porn contained within their pages.

You will note that Five is referred to as Four (as she was then) and Two as One. But other than that most things are pretty much the same in our household.  I urge you, if you have time, to click on the highlighted links in my posts. I don’t have too many of them but they will often yield interesting or amusing and pertinent information and I have rigged them so they’ll open in a separate window (ooh! I’m so TECHNICAL MINDED! *clapclclapclap*)

Finally, before I set off on the body of the post, I would like to apologise to Iota who was possibly my only reader this time last year and definitely the only person who commented back then. A virtual bottle of champagne to you, and everyone else; go and read her blog, it’s great.

********************************************************************************

I never realised until I became a parent that the calendar year, to a child, is not counted in days, weeks and months, but instead is delineated by occasions that will yield either gifts, baked goods or ice cream that I ‘magic’ into the freezer (this last mysterious power only available to me on public holidays)
For instance, I’m frequently asked – starting around Dec 27th – how long it is until Christmas. 
Then we recite the calendar according to Four
First it’s Valentine’s day (chocolate), then Easter (chocolate), then her birthday (cake, presents) then One’s birthday (cake, more presents that she will appropriate), then Labor day (magic ice cream) then Halloween (candy), then Thanksgiving (big rip-off, no presents, no chocolate)  then finally it will be Christmas again. I usually try to think up a few extras to throw in to get across the idea that it’s a really long time until next Christmas, but she’s already composing her list by the time I’ve run through the year.

So now that we have Labour day and its accompanying ice cream out of the way, it is time to prepare for Halloween. It is not yet October but we have been spotting pumpkins, candy corn, plastic skeletons that light up and sing ‘The Monster Mash’ when you pass by, false fangs and blood, wigs. ie the usual paraphernalia. It’s all out there in the shops, waiting to be bought by ghouls big and small for a night of unholy glee.
Four has been talking about her costume for, oh say, eleven months now (November 1st, if I recall correctly was when she started planning this year’s sugar-fest). Rather sweetly she has insisted on being a black cat for several years running and was a bit put out that her costume from the last two didn’t fit her and that tank-boy One could not be squeezed into his age 4 months lamb suit either. She talked about what she might be this year and asked me to help her get a new one. Now, in our household we try to have a relaxed approach to clothing and Four is just as likely to be wearing her tutu on any given day as she is a pair of grubby cargo pants from the boys’ section with her ’sabre tooth tiger shoes’ and possibly all three. We have, however, tried to keep her from being unduly influenced by the vicious mores of gender biased commercialism ever since that memorable day when she was sitting in the bathtub and suddenly asked me

“Mummy, will I have to give up my voice to make someone love me?”

WHAT?

“Well, Ariel did, so will I have to too?”

Was it too early for us to start reading her Germaine Greer together? 
Perhaps, but not a minute too soon to jettison Ariel, Cinderella, Snow White and all the other Disney Princesses from our lives. They can keep their victimhood, their alarmingly inflated bustlines and their marketing mitts off my daughter while they’re at it. 
So branded princesses nixed, I had a hunt on the internet for costumes and what I found was truly chilling.

For my little girl I could buy:

A Child’s French Maid Outfit

Nice! With a photo of a lip-glossed eight year-old  in a tiny frilly french maid outfit complete with a miniskirt, white apron, feather duster, and come-hither smile.

Don’t believe me? It’s on Amazon.

Or how about:

The Red Hot Child:  She may look like a devil but this girl is all charm on the inside. Or does she just want you to think that?”
Um, do they get their ad copy from porn sites? 
You can get this charming costume in sizes starting at age 4-6 with a midriff baring halter top and diamond shaped cutout right where there aren’t any breasts yet, but we’ll draw some attention to where they will be in TEN YEARS TIME. Skintight flared trousers with sequined waistband that points in a big V down to the crotch area are nicely complimented by a curved phallic tail and elbow length stripper-style fingerless gloves. The 6 year old who was unfortunate enough to be selected for this modeling job appears to have been studying poses from the Frederick’s of Hollywood catalogue.

Now forgive me if I’ve got the wrong end of the stick, but aren’t those kind of outfits supposed be for grown women in order to inflame men with desire so that they want to pounce on you and have wild unbridled sex? Don’t we have a huge problem with pedophiles and child molesters? So why is it okay to have these costumes out there for sale in the mainstream and why do so many people buy them? What is it about our society that makes so many girls want them and so many parents think it’s okay to let them have them? What possible benefit is there to sexualizing children, except to the very people we want to protect them from?

I left my computer feeling soiled and sickened and very glad that I hadn’t let Four look with me this time.

Last week we stopped at a local store to buy a gift for a baby we know and as it happened there were several Halloween costumes for toddlers on sale. No princesses or lil’ hookers, but lots of fairly innocuous animals in various sizes and Four and One were enchanted. We spent a happy hour making a giant mess of the display trying them all on. After some deliberation, however, Four decided that none of these would do and that she was going to be – surprise – a black cat again this year. We found her some black pants and a shirt, stuck some ears on a headband and we’re making the tail out of an old pair of tights. She’s ecstatic and so am I, and although she won’t look as polished or professional as some of her friends, she is proud of what she’s done, and it’s her own achievement.

This holiday, after all is about kids eating too much candy, not kids being eye-candy.

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Exhumed, Excited, Exeunt

by Mothership on October 3, 2009

Get out your garlic, lock up your sons, and polish your crucifixes!

I have been exhumed.

Last week I received an email to my business address from a music production company in London with a polite enquiry as to where vocalist X might be located.
I wrote back affirming my identity and asked how I could help. It emerged that a certain producer had been trying to track me down for some time and was very keen to book me to do a PA performance of a couple of my old hits for a ‘retro 90’s club night’ (wait? The 90’s is retro already?) and also to record some vocals on a remix. I was completely astonished – it has been literally years since I did anything like that in connection with my old band.

All very flattering.

What was slightly less flattering was when he mentioned that he didn’t suppose I got out very much these days.

OUTRAGEOUS!

Just because I am no longer a chart-topping diva nor a regular on the UK club scene any more does not mean I am not a much-sought after international performer, you know!
Why up until as recently as a year ago I was making major waves right here in America, the largest music market in the world.
I was world-famous in Stepford for my Clash-inspired rendition of “Wheels on the Bus”, and many children literally cried when I sang Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, although I could never work out why their parents flashed me such dirty looks..

But it is true that I haven’t performed for over a year.

I have been mostly taken up with writing this blog, and more recently with trying to write my book.
For months I was stuck on page one of my masterwork, and although I spent many brow-furrowed hours in my bed office thinking furiously about the witty, intelligent prose and the deep meaningful content I was to pour onto the page, one rarely heard more than discontented sighs, the crumple-pause-thwack of discarded scribble on A4 and the eventual guilty clicking of my departure from Word for Twitter or Facebook.
I just couldn’t focus.
Eventually I took Husband’s advice and put myself on an online course called “How to write a non-fiction book”. This was an unusual step for me.  I dislike classes, I hate being told what to do, I am highly suspicious of the internet, which is pretty funny when you think about the fact that I spend almost all of my free time on it (yes, you may comment on that irony and I will most likely not delete it unless you are exceptionally rude).
But let’s face it, I needed some help and there were not many other options.   I was quite reassured by the fact that the tutor was a professor of creative writing at Columbia University, a published author herself, not to mention a former editor at a well known New York publishing house.
Shockingly, there was homework almost instantly. I was forced to describe the outline of my book in great detail as well as the putative market.

I mumbled something about a book based on the blog, uhh, I have a cat, I like cups of tea,did she want to know what I had for breakfast, um, some people with children might like it, um, uh..

She was pleasant but ruthless.

She made it clear that she thought that the only thing that was going to sell my ‘mommy memoir’ (I’ll pause here while you fetch your sick bags at that term) was that I had been a pop star, but now I was an ordinary mother, “one we can all relate to” and that I should be drawing attention to that in each and every chapter “whilst retaining my humorous, honest and self-deprecating voice.” . She also mentioned that I might want to turn it into a ‘How-to” type of book, as these are very popular and she thought that would be very attractive to an agent or publisher in the USA.

This was all good and interesting advice. I just had a few eensy problems with it:
Firstly, I don’t usually spend a great deal of time talking about my popstar past. I find it all a bit embarrassing, to be honest. Don’t get me wrong. I loved what I did, I was very proud of my achievements and I had a great time doing it, but I did make a conscious choice to move on to pastures new. I very occasionally have a pang of missing it, but for the most part I don’t want to be back where I was – it was too stressful. When I tell people that they usually find it difficult to believe me and often imply that the best years of my life must already be over – a bit of a downer. In addition they ALWAYS google me, snicker over the promo videos and point out how different (ie older, worse hair )I look in real life. GAH!
I would happily have exploited every crazy episode of my rock-n-roll past if I thought it would get me the elusive book deal, but this brought me to my second problem:
After six years of maternal exile chez  Hotel California I was not sure I could actually remember anything about them and wasn’t entirely certain I hadn’t made it all up.

Every time I change a nappy a bit of my memory gets wiped along with the baby’s arse.

Columbia Tutor’s advice was  all very American. I could see myself heading for a title like:
Being a Mom is Just Like Being a Rock Star! How to be a # 1 Hit with your kids.

Not really the piece of literary genius that I had in mind.  Ahem.

I began to wonder if it might be a good idea to pitch the book in Britain, especially as I have a large following there (oh Columbia Tutor, you’d be so proud of the self-promotion and claiming of popularity!). Perhaps my own particular brand of humour might be better appreciated at home? Plus they wouldn’t edit the ‘u’ out.
On the downside, though, I would have a smaller chance of being chosen for Oprah’s book club. Smaller than the 1 in 1 billion chance that I had anyway. Even more than I do now as an unwritten unpublished author with a highly selective audience.

I don’t often get home to London, much less get away on my own. Last time I visited in May was the first time I’d managed to garner the escape velocity to crash through the maternal atmosphere of anxiety and guilt that surrounds leaving home for more than an afternoon’s sojourn to the shops and that took me SIX YEARS to muster. Once achieved, however, I swore I wouldn’t let so much time pass before I did it again. I’d aim for twice per year, send out a general request to the Universe to provide me with

a) a legitimate reason to come home beyond having lunch with random people I meet on Twitter and

b) the funding for said trips.

With marvellous synchronicity, it turns out the retro club night is on the very same evening as my aunt’s 60th and my grandfather’s 90th birthday party (an event I’d been hoping to attend anyway) but the club will only need me to be there at midnight and it’s just 15 minutes drive from the party. My fee will cover the flight.
I confessed earlier that I did occasionally miss my old lifestyle a tiny bit. I think this might be just enough to scratch the itch. A one-off PA for a laugh, rather than a career make/breaking event plus day in the studio where nothing is at stake and I don’t have to rush back to make supper for anyone or worry about what time I have to get up the next day – ahh. It will be like a holiday back in time but without the worry of ‘will I ever get married and have children?” looming over me.

And the book. Yes. I am fairly sure, given the serendipitous nature of things and the way it’s all going, that something interesting will happen as a result of this trip. What it will be I cannot say – new material, an epiphany, a chance meeting, who knows? But I’ve put the thought out there, and something is sure to come back.
(I doubt I’ll be sitting next to Oprah on the plane, though. I don’t think she flies economy.)

I will be in town at the end of November so I have two months to remember the words to the songs, get myself in amazing shape and reverse-age ten years.

Any tips and suggestions gratefully received.

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I’ll never cook at it quite the same way again..

by Mothership on September 27, 2009

There are some things that children say which permanently enter the family lexicon because they are so funny, apt or just plain adorable.

How sweet those childish mispronunciations and babyish attempts at big words can be!  And oh, how we cherish them long after the child in question has mastered perfect diction, bringing them out like old photographs to coo over, a reassurance that we were once the all knowing center of their tiny uncertain universes.  (Potty Mummy wrote a lovely post on just this subject the other day – you should go and read it at once, bring your hanky.)

Today Two said something which, while he pronounced it perfectly, was so side-splittingly, ridiculously hilarious, though when I think about it not unreasonable, that I have had a clear neural association burned into my brain which may have permanently altered the way I cook forever.

Five, Two and I are in the kitchen doing a spot of cooking. We have made some dinky little apple pies with a ridiculous heart-shaped individual pie-making-gizmo that I have been unable to prevent myself buying at Williams Sonoma because I have the illusion that it will not only turn me into a nicer person and a better mother but it will also magically transform my grubby, slightly crapulous kitchen into a Martha Stewart showhome. (note:illusion failed but the pies are rather sweet).

The children are eating up scraps of dough in manner of homeless urchins and it occurs to me that I might have forgotten to give them lunch so we decided to whip up some bolognese sauce with the organic ground beef I have defrosted earlier (note self congratulatory way I slip in that I buy grass-fed-hormone-free meat which almost makes up for failing to feed offspring. Sort of.).

They are standing on chairs by the counter, expectantly, as I bustle around the kitchen assembling ingredients.

“What do we need to start cooking the meat, Mummy?” asks Five

“We’ll brown some garlic in some olive oil..” I begin as I open the fridge and get out a clove of garlic, when I am interrupted by Two saying

“Poo! Poo, Mummy!”

“Have you done a poo? Do we need to change you?” I say, slightly vexed at the timing but trying not to show it.

“No! Poo! Poo in dere!” he says pointing at the fridge.

I am confused. WTF is he talking about??

“Mummy! Poo! Poo in dere! Poo in fidge! Look! Poo in Fidge!!!”

I turn around, searching the shelves, utterly mystified.

“Poo! Poo! LOOK! IN A FIDGE!!!”

Clearly exasperated he pushes his chair over, hops up and points to…

..a nice piece of ginger

gingerpoo

Ah yes. Point taken. I had never really looked at it that way before but now that he mentioned it..

“See? Poo! Why poo in a fidge, Mummy?”

I couldn’t actually answer him because by then I was on my knees literally howling with laughter and wiping the tears off my face as the children looked on, puzzled. I couldn’t even stop long enough to explain that it wasn’t really a poo in the fridge,  that it was actually a type of food because every time I drew breath I’d think about poo in the fridge and it would start me off all over again.

Two looked on anxiously. He hadn’t really seen me this helpless with giggles before.

“Mummy? Mummy? No sad, Mummy”

Ok, I really had to pull myself together, he was getting worried. I didn’t want to upset him or make him feel bad about himself. Time to be a grownup and calm down. Poo is not THAT funny, for God’s sake.

“Oh, I’m not sad, Darling. I’m laughing! It’s funny! I’m happy. You said something clever and I laughed a lot but I’m fine now. Good boy. It’s okay. It’s all okay now.”

He looked a little doubtful.

“Mummy no be sad. It’s just a poo”

Oh dear..

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ER

by Mothership on September 24, 2009

This afternoon we went on a little outing to the emergency room.

It was Two’s turn to be the patient this time.

Last time we visited it was my turn – I challenged them with 2nd degree burns all down my 18 weeks pregnant belly. I can feel you shuddering across the psychic superhighway at the thought of that blistered, stretching skin, and yes it was excruciatingly painful,  but rest assured it miraculously healed without trace and they gave me completely fantastic drugs – I was flying, I tell you. Flying.
The time before that Husband tested their diagnostic skills with a nasty case of viral meningitis which took both a CAT scan and amusingly (for me in terms of musical reference, but obviously not for him, medically) a spinal tap.

Two fell against the corner of our bedframe and cut his head open just between his eyebrows. He gushed forth a truly impressive amount of blood while rubbing his head and saying

“Red. Red. Sticky. I have lollipop now?”  but, oddly, not really crying.

I was horrified and felt quite sick with shock, while Five scampered around whimpering with terror at all the bloodshed.

I rang 911, then hung up, uncertain if that was what I was supposed to do. Then I rang Husband who didn ‘t answer his phone. Then I couldn’t find the doctor’s number so I sat for a moment with Two on my lap trying to think clearly about what I should do next, all the while speaking to both children in a calm, almost sunny voice which totally belied the FRENZIED SCREECHING going on inside my brain.

The phone rang.

“911. You rang”

“Oh, hello, yes, well, my son fell and hit his head (why did I immediately feel like a child-abusing liar?) and it’s bleeding and I got a bit panicked and I didn’t know what to do but now it’s stopped but I’m still not sure what to do. I’m alone with two children under five”

I felt really, really stupid, like a blithering fusspot who is calling emergency services when I could perfectly well ring the doctor or just get in the car and drive somewhere. I’m not a victim. I’m not hurt, but I really did feel like crying and I wanted someone – an adult- to tell me what to do.

WAHH! MY BABY HAS A BOO BOO! I’M NOT REALLY A GROWNUP I’M JUST PRETENDING! I’M SCARED! HELP ME!

She was incredibly nice and asked me how old he was, was he awake, had he been unconscious (no), was he sleepy, how big was the cut etc? Then she asked if I could drive him to the E.R. myself or if I needed her to send an ambulance to come and get us. She was happy to send the ambulance out to check him over but if I could drive the ER would be better because there would be a doctor there and I might feel more comfortable with that.

So we went.

It was a little sad driving past the wing of the hospital where Two and Five had been born – it is no longer a birthing center and you can see that it is empty and folorn. But the ER was open and we were seen immediately by a team of wonderful, caring, kind people who were nice to all of us. Husband turned up almost as soon as we arrived and he took Five off into the waiting room to watch SpongeBobSquarePants so that Two could be attended to without distraction. We were offered the choice of glue or stitches. The stitches would involve an injection and needles, but would produce a better cosmetic result and as it was on his face (poor love) obviously we went for those, even though he wasn’t exactly going to love having them.

I stayed with him and rubbed his feet while the orderly held his hands down to stop him from batting the doctor as she sewed him up, but apart from a slight crumple of the face  (heartbreakingly brave) he did not cry, he just lay there and let them help him.

He was a much better patient than either of his parents. Ahem.

However, as soon as he sat up he was very clear about his expectations.

“Lollipop?”

Yes. Lollipop.

A giant lollipop for my beautiful, brave, funny, charming son.

A bouquet of thanks to the kind 911 lady.

A magnum of gratitude for the caring and competent ER staff

And I think I’ll bake that Pigglecake tomorrow. We all deserve a slice.

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Pigglecake – Life Lessons from Two

by Mothership on September 21, 2009

Two is an eternal optimist.

He is also a boy of simple pleasures.

Every morning we have the same conversation. It has become somewhat of a ritual.

What would you like for breakfast, Two?

“Cake?” (no)

“Cookies?” (no)

“I-cream?” (no)

“Sweeties?” (no)

thoughtful pause

” Umm..Pigglecake?” (no!)

face starts to crumple..

How about some Weetabix?

“Okay den” he says cheerfully and chomps down a bowl or two.

After breakfast:

“Mummy? Pigglecake?”

I don’t think we’ll have Pigglecake today, perhaps again on your next birthday

“Pigglecake my lunch”   he says with satisfied certainty.

I decide not to contradict him.

The odd thing is, that no matter how many times he’s denied cake, cookies, ice-cream, cookies, sweeties, Pigglecake etc. he remains ever-hopeful and is utterly convinced that it is perfectly reasonable to suggest that I serve them for main meals. He feels free to ask for whatever he wants, and even when he’s denied his desires he just waits a bit and asks again.
It’s very admirable.
I note that despite my low-sugar policy, the boy gets many more sweeties than his sister ever did. He has a way of getting around me just by being frank, charming and persistent.

I have been listlessly surfing the internet today trying to do some market research for restarting my business. For those of you who don’t know, before we moved to Stepford from London my company had just taken off in a fairly new field and I was feeling tremendously pleased with myself. I thought it would be easy to branch the company out into the USA and also take care of my new baby (are you all on the floor laughing?).  I did, at least for a while, manage to do some work over here when I had just the one child, but by the time I had Two I was completely overwhelmed, plus I found it challenging being in a small town, rather than a city, to expand a professional network and generally get out and about. The combination of the isolation, domestic immersion and loss of professional identity left me feeling like I had forgotten how to participate in the grown-up world.
However, I can’t sit around moaning ALL the time ( it doesn’t pay very well) so I’ve decided to get the company out there again, hard though that may be. I will have to accept that I’ve lost the advantages that I had before – it will be like starting from almost scratch – very humbling.
From my years as a musician and from starting the business 10 years ago I am on first name terms with rejection but I’ve been a little cocooned from that in the sleepy haze of motherhood. I’ve gone soft and a bit stupid. A little scared, perhaps. I realised the other day that I spent several hours procrastinating just because I couldn’t bear to make a phone call to someone I didn’t know.

This was when I realised I needed a kick up the arse plus a large intravenous shot of courage.

I will not get where I want to be by being wistful, terrified or lamenting the loss of former glories.
I will need to take action, some of it uncomfortable, perhaps even a little painful, but it will be eased somewhat if I can train my mind to expect the outcome to be ultimately positive.
I might not get what I want straight away – a bit difficult for me being of the ‘instant gratification takes too long’ school of thought – but I must try to believe that it means that my heart’s desire is just going to turn up later in a different guise.(Pigglecake my lunch)

Open. Persistent. Unafraid.

Everyone wants Pigglecake.

Can it be that the ones who get it to have and eat it, too are just the ones who aren’t afraid to ask, ask and ask again?

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