I was very bemused the other day to read a story on how someone had bid something like $60000 on e-bay for a designer handbag. Apparently there were only a few of them made and they were the new "in" thing. I thought it was very funny.
Who on earth is that crazy about handbags that they would want to fork out so much money? I've never been into handbags, unlike my older sister. When we were teenagers, she practically had a handbag to match every outfit. At one count I think she had 19.
I never quite understood the fascination with handbags (or shoes for that matter). In that respect, this Domestic Goddess is decidedly untypical of the stereotypical woman. But over the last few years, I have felt myself longing for a handbag. Not necessarily a designer bag either. A R20 bag from the local fleamarket would probably do.
Because, ultimately, in my life, its become about whats IN the bag.
I have small children. And ever since they were babies, I have not carried a handbag. I have, instead, been carrying a nappy bag. Because kids neccessitate stuff. Lots of stuff.
In a typical babyhood nappybag, you will find bottles & formula, 10 nappies, assorted lotions and potions; at least 2 changes of clothes for babakins (unless you have a puker, in which case 2 is not enough); bibs; a dummy; babyfood or finger biscuits; wetwipes; a changing mat; a burp cloth; rattle or soft toy and some plastic packets for disposing of smellies.
Oh, and your purse, cellphone and keys. If you remember them.
Packing a nappy bag is an art. Very few men can do it. The contents change as the baby grows up. While I no longer carry an official nappy bag, I carry in its place a bright pink and blue Winnie the Pooh backpack.
As I have an as yet unpotty-trained 2 year old (we're getting there) it still contains nappies (only 2) and wetwipes. Instead of the bottles of babyfood, it will probably have at least 2 boxes of juice; a container of raisins, a lunchbox with sandwiches; and possibly a toy (not if I can help it though).
Oh, and my purse, cellphone and keys. If I remember them.
I'm desperately trying to maintain my image as Domestic Goddess instead of Harrassed Mother and have made some attempts to get rid of the Winnie the Pooh backback.
I tried a large handbag, but the lunchbox wouldn't fit in. I tried a baskety bag type thing, but the handles broke. I tried another shape large handbag, but the straps tore away from the body.
There was simply too much kidstuff that require storage while out and about. I am not easily defeated however. I recently acquired the smallest handbag I have ever owned. It barely contains my purse, my cellphone, my keys and, wait for it, a tube of lipstick. But I love it. Because it is truly mine, and contains no vestiges of childhood paraphanalia.
I found a solution you see. I make my Superhero carry the Winnie the Pooh backpack. Whats in your bag?
Showing posts with label motherhood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label motherhood. Show all posts
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Domestic Goddess answers Kids Questions
I love my two daughters endlessly. And I love being a mom. I, like most mothers, think my kids are the absolute bestest kids in the whole wide world.
They do not have the perfect mom. And nor are they perfect angels. But we love each other just perfectly.
I am thoroughly enjoying being part of their growing up and learning. I think its amazing how much and how quickly kids learn. But there is a slight dink in this whole process.
Kids, particularly little ones (teenagers are another breed altogether), think their parents know everything. And to fill in the gaps in their knowledge, they ask you questions. Hundreds of them. From the ubiquitious "why?" to the macabre "how does your skin fall off when you are dead?", they just want to know. Everything. Immediately. And you are their mobile encyclopedia.
I love my kids questions. Even the challenging ones. I have answered lots over the past few years. My older daughter is now 6, and my youngest is 2. So I have years of questions ahead of me too.
The questions I have been asked have given me plenty of food for thought. Ponder on some of my favourites and share your answers......
Q: Do sharks eat mermaids?
A: I answered this one as I thought appropriate. No, they don't because mermaids are not real. This answer did not impress my daughter. So she went to Superhero Dad. His answer got her nod approval: No, they don't because King Neptune, who is boss of all the sea, said they weren't allowed to.
Q: What is your soul?
A: This took some thought. So eventually I settled on the answer that your soul is your thinking and believing part. She was happy with that.
Q: Are fairies real?
A: Having learnt my lesson from the sharks & mermaids issue, I said that fairies are real for children, but not so real for grown-ups. This was met with a quizzical stare by Older Daughter. She is 6, and they are learning about the difference between fiction and non-fiction at school. I don't think she's made up her mind yet. I'd hate her to lose that little bit of imagination, because when you stop believing in fairies and Father Christmas, its a sure sign that the innocence of childhood is on its way out. And thats rather sad.
Q: Why does macaroni have a hole in the middle?
A: I couldn't just say its because thats the way its always been done, as it sounds rather bland, and would certainly have prompted another round of why's from the 2 year old who asked it. So my answer was simple: to let the taste through. Satisfied, Youngest Daughter finished her supper.
Q: Are aliens real?
A: I decided to be honest. I said that the ones on TV definitely weren't real, but nobody knew for definite if other creatures lived out in space on the zillions of planets in space. I told her I really wasn't sure, and if there were some out there, that they were very far away, and wouldn't bother us much. They had their own planet to look after. And I reminded her that the ones on TV definitely were not real, but that it was fun to imagine that they could be real.
I'm always curious as to what question will come up next. Sometimes they are so simple, and other times so difficult. What questions have you been asked?
They do not have the perfect mom. And nor are they perfect angels. But we love each other just perfectly.
I am thoroughly enjoying being part of their growing up and learning. I think its amazing how much and how quickly kids learn. But there is a slight dink in this whole process.
Kids, particularly little ones (teenagers are another breed altogether), think their parents know everything. And to fill in the gaps in their knowledge, they ask you questions. Hundreds of them. From the ubiquitious "why?" to the macabre "how does your skin fall off when you are dead?", they just want to know. Everything. Immediately. And you are their mobile encyclopedia.
I love my kids questions. Even the challenging ones. I have answered lots over the past few years. My older daughter is now 6, and my youngest is 2. So I have years of questions ahead of me too.
The questions I have been asked have given me plenty of food for thought. Ponder on some of my favourites and share your answers......
Q: Do sharks eat mermaids?
A: I answered this one as I thought appropriate. No, they don't because mermaids are not real. This answer did not impress my daughter. So she went to Superhero Dad. His answer got her nod approval: No, they don't because King Neptune, who is boss of all the sea, said they weren't allowed to.
Q: What is your soul?
A: This took some thought. So eventually I settled on the answer that your soul is your thinking and believing part. She was happy with that.
Q: Are fairies real?
A: Having learnt my lesson from the sharks & mermaids issue, I said that fairies are real for children, but not so real for grown-ups. This was met with a quizzical stare by Older Daughter. She is 6, and they are learning about the difference between fiction and non-fiction at school. I don't think she's made up her mind yet. I'd hate her to lose that little bit of imagination, because when you stop believing in fairies and Father Christmas, its a sure sign that the innocence of childhood is on its way out. And thats rather sad.
Q: Why does macaroni have a hole in the middle?
A: I couldn't just say its because thats the way its always been done, as it sounds rather bland, and would certainly have prompted another round of why's from the 2 year old who asked it. So my answer was simple: to let the taste through. Satisfied, Youngest Daughter finished her supper.
Q: Are aliens real?
A: I decided to be honest. I said that the ones on TV definitely weren't real, but nobody knew for definite if other creatures lived out in space on the zillions of planets in space. I told her I really wasn't sure, and if there were some out there, that they were very far away, and wouldn't bother us much. They had their own planet to look after. And I reminded her that the ones on TV definitely were not real, but that it was fun to imagine that they could be real.
I'm always curious as to what question will come up next. Sometimes they are so simple, and other times so difficult. What questions have you been asked?
Domestic Goddess and Competitive Mothering
I've met lots of Other Mothers over the years. And although I don't understand The Collagen Mums particularly well, there is another group I understand even less.
They are the Competitive Mothers.
If they were competing for themselves, perhaps I could understand it. But they don't. They compete via their children. Almost like Munchausen-By-Proxy thing where mothers fake illnesses in their children. Fortunately, these mothers don't do that.
They just compare notes on just about everything their child does in relation to what other children do. And it starts young.
From the earliest of childhood milestones. Like "Little Joey smiled when he was just 6 minutes old you know" to which the competing mother will say "Well Little Lisa smiled when she was 5 minutes old actually. I was so proud."
And thats the thing. ALL mothers are proud of their kids' achievements. Even if its something as simple as smiling on cue. But the difference with Competitive Mothers is that they will insist their child did it earlier, first, better et cetera et cetera. And its not only with milestones.
They do it with other things too - like bringing the best gift to the birthday party, or having their child dress in the latest clothes. Not because their child necessarily wants to, but simply so that the mother can talk about it.
Big topics for Competitive Mothers are things like walking, potty training, talking and then, when at school age, how much they can read, write etc etc.
Heaven help the kids when they get older, and start participating in sports and after school activities. Such pressure to perform, conform and out do! I've developed an immunity to it.
Mostly because my older daughter taught me that kids do things when they are ready, and not a minute before. She did things in her own time, at her own pace, and not necessarily in the "order" that childcare books tell you that kids should do things.
I worry about these 5 and 6 year olds that are constantly being compared and pushed. Sure, a little competition is healthy, but enough is enough.
Just this week I was discussing my older daughters chicken pox with another mother whose child had also been through it. Before you could blink, she was comparing everything from the number of spots, to the size of the spots, and the height of the fever the children had had, thus inspiring this Confession.
Do you know Competitive Mothers? What do you think?
They are the Competitive Mothers.
If they were competing for themselves, perhaps I could understand it. But they don't. They compete via their children. Almost like Munchausen-By-Proxy thing where mothers fake illnesses in their children. Fortunately, these mothers don't do that.
They just compare notes on just about everything their child does in relation to what other children do. And it starts young.
From the earliest of childhood milestones. Like "Little Joey smiled when he was just 6 minutes old you know" to which the competing mother will say "Well Little Lisa smiled when she was 5 minutes old actually. I was so proud."
And thats the thing. ALL mothers are proud of their kids' achievements. Even if its something as simple as smiling on cue. But the difference with Competitive Mothers is that they will insist their child did it earlier, first, better et cetera et cetera. And its not only with milestones.
They do it with other things too - like bringing the best gift to the birthday party, or having their child dress in the latest clothes. Not because their child necessarily wants to, but simply so that the mother can talk about it.
Big topics for Competitive Mothers are things like walking, potty training, talking and then, when at school age, how much they can read, write etc etc.
Heaven help the kids when they get older, and start participating in sports and after school activities. Such pressure to perform, conform and out do! I've developed an immunity to it.
Mostly because my older daughter taught me that kids do things when they are ready, and not a minute before. She did things in her own time, at her own pace, and not necessarily in the "order" that childcare books tell you that kids should do things.
I worry about these 5 and 6 year olds that are constantly being compared and pushed. Sure, a little competition is healthy, but enough is enough.
Just this week I was discussing my older daughters chicken pox with another mother whose child had also been through it. Before you could blink, she was comparing everything from the number of spots, to the size of the spots, and the height of the fever the children had had, thus inspiring this Confession.
Do you know Competitive Mothers? What do you think?
Domestic Goddess entertains the kids
One of the seriously important roles of the Domestic Goddess is to be a SuperMom.
You know the kind. The kind that bakes 30 cupcakes the night before a birthday party, decorates them with fairies and (this is a biggie) has the right sized container to put them in. At the same time, she prepares icecream cone clowns, finger biscuit racing cars, hand-decorated party bags, and there is not a pre-packaged anything in sight.....
The SuperMom aspect also knows exactly how to make to do crafty things with newspaper, string, pipecleaners and split pins. These last two seem to be absolutely essential tools in the SuperMom armoury.
I knew that as a Domestic Goddess, I was perhaps a little underprepared for this sort of thing. So, being a Domestic Goddess, I ensured I was prepared. In my luggage I packed some books with titles such as "Educating and Entertaining Young Children" and "Growing Up with a Smile". So that when we arrived in Abu Dhabi, I could just whip out a book, and manufacture something gloriously entertaining for my children to do.
Excellent stuff! Good Domestic Goddess! Until one morning, when my bored children started nagging for something to do. I pulled out a book and started browsing. It appears my preparation had been incomplete. I had no splitpins or pipecleaners. Nor, having just moved continents, did I have any coloured paper, glue, string, tissue paper, craft sticks, glitter or paint. I had two colouring books and some pencils.
Never-the-less, I was not about to be defeated. I found a solution in one of the books. Home-made playdough! What could be simpler? I hauled out a bowl, and followed the directions.....
2 cups plain flour
1 cup salt
1 cup cold water
1 tablespoon oil
Mix to form a smooth past. Put in saucepan and cook slowly, until the dough comes away from the side of the pan, and forms a ball. When it is cool enough, take the dough out of the pan and knead for three to four minutes. Put the pan to soak immediately.
What on earth could be simpler? Except for the fact that it didn't work.
It came out as this grainy, sticky sludge.
I, however, believing firmly in my Domestic Goddessly abilities, persisted, and gave it to the children. The Little One (aged about 9 mths at the time), prodded it carefully and tried to eat it. The Eldest One (aged 4 at the time) moaned immediately that it was too sticky, but valiantly tried to play with it.
I left to clean the kitchen, leaving them unsupervised for about 5 minutes.
Trying to get the grey, grainy sludge off the table was hard enough, but removing it from the curtains and the lounge suite proved a lot harder.
I'm just fortunate that the pieces I peeled off the children in the bath didn't clog up the drains.....
I've never made playdough again.
You know the kind. The kind that bakes 30 cupcakes the night before a birthday party, decorates them with fairies and (this is a biggie) has the right sized container to put them in. At the same time, she prepares icecream cone clowns, finger biscuit racing cars, hand-decorated party bags, and there is not a pre-packaged anything in sight.....
The SuperMom aspect also knows exactly how to make to do crafty things with newspaper, string, pipecleaners and split pins. These last two seem to be absolutely essential tools in the SuperMom armoury.
I knew that as a Domestic Goddess, I was perhaps a little underprepared for this sort of thing. So, being a Domestic Goddess, I ensured I was prepared. In my luggage I packed some books with titles such as "Educating and Entertaining Young Children" and "Growing Up with a Smile". So that when we arrived in Abu Dhabi, I could just whip out a book, and manufacture something gloriously entertaining for my children to do.
Excellent stuff! Good Domestic Goddess! Until one morning, when my bored children started nagging for something to do. I pulled out a book and started browsing. It appears my preparation had been incomplete. I had no splitpins or pipecleaners. Nor, having just moved continents, did I have any coloured paper, glue, string, tissue paper, craft sticks, glitter or paint. I had two colouring books and some pencils.
Never-the-less, I was not about to be defeated. I found a solution in one of the books. Home-made playdough! What could be simpler? I hauled out a bowl, and followed the directions.....
2 cups plain flour
1 cup salt
1 cup cold water
1 tablespoon oil
Mix to form a smooth past. Put in saucepan and cook slowly, until the dough comes away from the side of the pan, and forms a ball. When it is cool enough, take the dough out of the pan and knead for three to four minutes. Put the pan to soak immediately.
What on earth could be simpler? Except for the fact that it didn't work.
It came out as this grainy, sticky sludge.
I, however, believing firmly in my Domestic Goddessly abilities, persisted, and gave it to the children. The Little One (aged about 9 mths at the time), prodded it carefully and tried to eat it. The Eldest One (aged 4 at the time) moaned immediately that it was too sticky, but valiantly tried to play with it.
I left to clean the kitchen, leaving them unsupervised for about 5 minutes.
Trying to get the grey, grainy sludge off the table was hard enough, but removing it from the curtains and the lounge suite proved a lot harder.
I'm just fortunate that the pieces I peeled off the children in the bath didn't clog up the drains.....
I've never made playdough again.
Domestic Goddess meets The Others
Domestic Goddess meets the Others
Every Domestic Goddess needs to have peers. Equals. Other Domestic Goddesses. Ladies (or gents for that matter) outside of the family. To meet with, have coffee with, and discuss the ways of the world. Politics, religion, world hunger and what happened last night in Domestic Housewives.
It is an essential part of being a Domestic Goddess you see – you need to be well-rounded, and basically Have a Life, other than the life you have within your home. For as noble as it is to be a full-time housewife, living an isolated life can pretty much make you a one-dimensional person. And true Domestic Goddesses are multi-dimensional.
Now, because I knew absolutely no-one in Abu Dhabi, this was going to be tricky. So I figured a good starting point would be to find Other Mothers. Because most Other Mothers are also striving to be Domestic Goddesses.
The first group of Other Mothers I met was at a playgroup held at our local church. It was not a churchy thing, just the only appropriate venue. The idea is simple – put the kids in the vicinity of a whole bunch of toys, and the mothers (and occasionally fathers) in the vicinity of the coffee pot, and voila, a playgroup happens!
An extremely simple idea, but one that works very well indeed. It is very informal, no educating required, just pure socialization for both mums and tots.
Little One and I tootled off one morning while Big One was at school. I was looking forward to a morning out, and the opportunity for discourse.
While Little One got stuck into the toys, I got stuck into the coffee, and within a couple of minutes, some friendly Other Mums introduced themselves. Yay! Real Conversation With Real People – no kid-level conversation for at least a half an hour! I eagerly clutched my cup of coffee while the ladies did the introductions – name, nationality, length of stay in Abu Dhabi and number of kids. I couldn’t wait. What would these ladies be interested in? The problems in Iraq? Sudan? The latest bestseller?
And so it unfolded. The conversation I had dreamed about after spending 3 long months holed up in a one-bedroomed flat with not even a radio for company.
On how badly our various children teethed. The fevers. The poos. The swollen gums. The broken nights.
Exactly what I had never imagined. But dammit man, it was actually riveting. And quite funny too – some of the mums had us giggling ourselves stupid at the odd things they tried to help their poor teething babies.
While certainly not what I expected, it was actually quite nice. I figured that perhaps because these mums where all mums of toddlers that the conversation had not turned to more “worldly” issues.
No problem for this Domestic Goddess. I tried again, and organised a coffee morning with the Other Mums from Big One’s class. Perhaps, having older children would be the trigger for more intellectual discussions.
We all arrived at the designated coffee shop, and the minute our cappuccinos and muffins were ordered, the conversation turned to labour. Not as in work, but as in the saga that is the birthing of children. Everyone had a different story – about how long it took (or how quick); how painful (or not); how early (or late) and every conceivable (pun intended) variation on the theme.
And again, to my surprise, I actually found it fun. I had spent most of my working life avoiding pregnancy, birth and children stories, because it was not “proper” and because it was unseemly to focus on anything but work while at work. Even though, in truth, I was probably thinking about my kids anyway.
Of course, it wasn’t the only conversation we had. I’ve learnt that among those of us who choose Domestic Goddessness as a lifestyle, sharing kid stories is the great equalizer.
No matter where you are from in the world, or what your religion is, if you are a mother you will probably worry about the same things that other mothers the world over worry about.
Once that’s been established, the other types of conversations (and friendships) grow. And that’s part of being a Domestic Goddess – while realizing that your children are not your whole life, they are very definitely a core part of your life. And denying them by omission (like I did when working) makes you less whole.
So while non-Mothers may think the inane conversations about the contents of baby’s nappy is completely dreary, it’s not. It is merely a stepping stone to other things.
I know this for a fact. Because my next coffee morning is also going to be with Other Mothers. But with a difference – I am meeting with a group of Pakistani ladies who are going to share some of their culture and traditions with me. And I can’t wait!
Every Domestic Goddess needs to have peers. Equals. Other Domestic Goddesses. Ladies (or gents for that matter) outside of the family. To meet with, have coffee with, and discuss the ways of the world. Politics, religion, world hunger and what happened last night in Domestic Housewives.
It is an essential part of being a Domestic Goddess you see – you need to be well-rounded, and basically Have a Life, other than the life you have within your home. For as noble as it is to be a full-time housewife, living an isolated life can pretty much make you a one-dimensional person. And true Domestic Goddesses are multi-dimensional.
Now, because I knew absolutely no-one in Abu Dhabi, this was going to be tricky. So I figured a good starting point would be to find Other Mothers. Because most Other Mothers are also striving to be Domestic Goddesses.
The first group of Other Mothers I met was at a playgroup held at our local church. It was not a churchy thing, just the only appropriate venue. The idea is simple – put the kids in the vicinity of a whole bunch of toys, and the mothers (and occasionally fathers) in the vicinity of the coffee pot, and voila, a playgroup happens!
An extremely simple idea, but one that works very well indeed. It is very informal, no educating required, just pure socialization for both mums and tots.
Little One and I tootled off one morning while Big One was at school. I was looking forward to a morning out, and the opportunity for discourse.
While Little One got stuck into the toys, I got stuck into the coffee, and within a couple of minutes, some friendly Other Mums introduced themselves. Yay! Real Conversation With Real People – no kid-level conversation for at least a half an hour! I eagerly clutched my cup of coffee while the ladies did the introductions – name, nationality, length of stay in Abu Dhabi and number of kids. I couldn’t wait. What would these ladies be interested in? The problems in Iraq? Sudan? The latest bestseller?
And so it unfolded. The conversation I had dreamed about after spending 3 long months holed up in a one-bedroomed flat with not even a radio for company.
On how badly our various children teethed. The fevers. The poos. The swollen gums. The broken nights.
Exactly what I had never imagined. But dammit man, it was actually riveting. And quite funny too – some of the mums had us giggling ourselves stupid at the odd things they tried to help their poor teething babies.
While certainly not what I expected, it was actually quite nice. I figured that perhaps because these mums where all mums of toddlers that the conversation had not turned to more “worldly” issues.
No problem for this Domestic Goddess. I tried again, and organised a coffee morning with the Other Mums from Big One’s class. Perhaps, having older children would be the trigger for more intellectual discussions.
We all arrived at the designated coffee shop, and the minute our cappuccinos and muffins were ordered, the conversation turned to labour. Not as in work, but as in the saga that is the birthing of children. Everyone had a different story – about how long it took (or how quick); how painful (or not); how early (or late) and every conceivable (pun intended) variation on the theme.
And again, to my surprise, I actually found it fun. I had spent most of my working life avoiding pregnancy, birth and children stories, because it was not “proper” and because it was unseemly to focus on anything but work while at work. Even though, in truth, I was probably thinking about my kids anyway.
Of course, it wasn’t the only conversation we had. I’ve learnt that among those of us who choose Domestic Goddessness as a lifestyle, sharing kid stories is the great equalizer.
No matter where you are from in the world, or what your religion is, if you are a mother you will probably worry about the same things that other mothers the world over worry about.
Once that’s been established, the other types of conversations (and friendships) grow. And that’s part of being a Domestic Goddess – while realizing that your children are not your whole life, they are very definitely a core part of your life. And denying them by omission (like I did when working) makes you less whole.
So while non-Mothers may think the inane conversations about the contents of baby’s nappy is completely dreary, it’s not. It is merely a stepping stone to other things.
I know this for a fact. Because my next coffee morning is also going to be with Other Mothers. But with a difference – I am meeting with a group of Pakistani ladies who are going to share some of their culture and traditions with me. And I can’t wait!
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