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She who laughs, lasts
She who laughs, lasts Alison van Diggelen. June, 2000 Call me mean spirited, but it does make me breathe a little easier to hear about someone else having a heck of a time bringing up his or her kids. I’m talking about the kind of thing you read on the web. Like the dad who took over from his wife for the day only to end up with his trousers down at his ankles, a screaming baby in one arm, a mortgage agent on the phone in the other hand and his three year old taking advantage of his vulnerable buttocks. Tonight I got on the web and laughed for hours, scouring the web for similar stories. It’s the end of a long trying day, and I could hardly get the words of the kids’ lullaby song out because my throat was so tight. There’s been no reprieve for days now since, like many Silicon Valley executives, my husband is away on business on the other side of the continent. And my best friends are on vacation. I soldiered on with my son’s favorite song “Somewhere there is sunshine, somewhere there is day, somewhere there is morning town, many miles away...” I croaked along, and heard their breathing get heavier as they finally succumbed to sleep. It encourages me no end to hear about someone else getting run ragged by a couple of little people who sound even more mischievous and energetic than my two pre-school darlings. It’s uplifting to realize that I’m not alone, that no matter what kind of bad day I’m having, someone has survived worse disasters. Even when I was in the middle of a crisis in potty training with my two year old, and there was poo all over the bathroom, the dinner was boiling over and the cat had just brought a live mouse into the house. Even then, just knowing others have been there, raised me from the hell of the moment. It allowed me to chuckle a little, anticipating even telling the story in all its awful detail to my closest friends. What is it about kids? I reckon it’s one of these occasions when the whole is more than the sum of the two halves; a whole lot more. My children have a combined weight of less than half of me, likewise for their height, yet their resourcefulness knows no bounds. Sometimes, like Gulliver, I feel wound up and defeated by the little people at end of the day. Taken one at a time, which is usually what my husband and I do at weekends, is a dream. They are inquisitive, yet you have the time and patience to answer their burning questions. They are energetic and you can focus their energies on creative, non-destructive activities. You can explore at their pace and share new experiences, with no distractions. They savor your undivided attention, and you savor their profound insights. The perfect recipe for parental bliss. But during the week, I’m often answering a barrage of competing questions from my kids, impossible to decipher due to the volume and the shrill of their voices. It’s a bit like trying to keep a conversation going when you have a crossed line on the telephone: try commenting on the crossed line dialogue while you’re at it. Contrariness is the key to their break mummy tactics. If he wants to leave the park, has had enough, she will want to stay and be able to demonstrate to the whole park and all those in a two mile radius that she’s serious and has been unjustly abandoned if mother makes so much as a step in the direction of the car. I know it’s a question of getting them on your side and using humor to defuse potential conflicts. I know all that, thank you very much. What I’m talking about are the really bad days, when you have no energy and don’t want to give horsy rides down the stairs, have beanbag races around the house or play Candy Land for the tenth time. In fact you can’t even make it over the front door step and have no inclination to make a game out of putting the laundry away or making dinner. It’s those isolated days (in both senses of the word) when I need the pick-me-up, the ghastly story of some unsuspecting parent whose kids get the better of them. We all have our bad days. By being honest about it and sharing our disasters we can be stronger and laugh a little. Why is it mothers are so reluctant to share their horror stories? Is it pride, guilt or shame? Or a combination of all? Up until recently, few women have spoken up and even those who have done risked the label, “Bad Mother”. Tillie Olson, Sylvia Plath and Doris Lessing have been criticized as being “angry, unhappy women” even by professional child psychiatrists. Fortunately the web has provided a forum for an open, honest discussion of the dark side of mothering. The anonymity of discussion groups on-line allows us to share our mistakes, our misconceptions and break the conspiracy of silence about our occasional ambivalence toward our children. Even face-to-face a more honest dialogue is likely to ensue. We all have a sense of pride, but isn’t it liberating to let down the pretenses of being the organized “Supermom” once in a while and tell people about your bad day? Your honesty will probably open the floodgates to the most appalling stories of disasters and plenty of laughter among your friends. And you might surprise yourself. You may find yourself laughing about your struggles along with them. Last month, I bumped into a mother whom I’d always considered an efficient, calm “Supermom” one evening in a coffee shop. What a relief it was to find out about her terrible day and how she’d handed the kids over to her husband for the evening. It was merely a temporary bump in the road for her, but I went home that night feeling a little less inadequate about my mothering. Most of the stay at home mothers I know were successful Silicon Valley business people, who’ve given up the fast track to be with their children. It’s frustrating to the point of exasperation for them to realize that they can’t always be in control, that a two and four year old can unnerve them, press their buttons, drive them insane. But rest assured, the bad day will pass, the poo all over the bathroom will get cleaned up, or at least the stains will fade. Kids are a challenge, they can be willful and stubborn, but they are also fun and adorable. Chances are, someone has probably had it worse than you, and no matter how bad it seems, remember, she who laughs last, lasts longest ...and stays sane. My antidote to a bad day: get on the web and check out some motherhood sites. Or if you can’t get on-line, call your best girlfriend and tell her all about your day. I bet she’ll upstage you and you’ll both end up laughing, or even crying, together. Sing with me.... “Somewhere there is sunshine.....” References: www.Salon.com, Mothers who think The Myth of the Perfect Mother, Janet Swigart, Ph.D. Other recommended websites:www.mainstreetmom.com, momsonthego.com, amomslove.com, mothering.com, www.siliconmom.com © siliconmom Alison van Diggelen is the Editor of www.siliconmom.com, an online forum and resource for moms in the high-tech world.
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