Nature v Nuture

Before my children were born, I assumed that they would look somewhat like my husband and I. Naturally I wondered which combination of features they would inherit, and hoped that the best in each of us would prevail. However it did come as some surprise that three of our four daughters have blue eyes, whereas my husband and I have hazel!

Two of my daughters have bodies much like their father, and two are built more like me. The daughter that looks most like me, even has three small brown freckles on the left side of her face - in almost the exact same places as mine. This daughter prefers to lie on the floor, rather than the couch – just like me; and my third daughter walks with her feet turned out to the sides, on account of her extremely tight calf muscles – just like her father. Two daughters have fine, limp hair (me) and two have luscious, thick hair (him). Two have narrow noses (me) and two have button noses (him).

Whilst I expected physical similarities, I did not appreciate that children also inherit personality traits so strikingly similar to their parents. These little quirks shape the children’s view of the world, and affect their experience of it.

My oldest daughter is 12¾ years old. (Yes, I count in quarter years – my child is frighteningly close to being a teenager and I am not letting it creep up on me unnoticed!) She is all of the things that oldest children so often are; responsible, serious, conscientious, bossy, and somewhat anxious. She has experienced difficulty finding where she fits into the social dynamics of her year group, which is complicated by her being one of the youngest and least physically developed girls in the class.

I noticed recently that my beautiful quiet achiever was becoming very withdrawn. Upon talking to her, I learned that she is mourning the loss of her closest friend - to a group of which she has found herself on the periphery, not knowing how to integrate. The topics of conversation among the girls are not of particular interest to my daughter at this stage, and she feels overwhelmed by the dominant, outgoing personalities of the other girls.  Her reaction at first was to spend lunch times alone, wandering forlornly around the school, hoping her friend would feel guilty and rescue her.

I reflected upon my own experiences at her age, and realized that my daughter was going through exactly the same thing that I did. I know that the only person to suffer by her morose guilt-tripping behavior would be her. She wants to be a part of the group, and remain close to her friend, but just doesn’t know how to whilst still remaining true to her own interests and personality. We talked through it together, she had a cry, and we came up with a strategy.

It amazed me how similar this experience was for her, on account of her personality, and her reaction to the situation. I was so grateful for my experience, which although awful at the time, has helped me to guide my daughter. I genuinely know her pain, understand her responses, and what she can and can’t do to help herself.

When I was a child I loved to sneak around my home, eavesdropping on the conversations of my family members. I loved to read things that I wasn’t supposed to read, and be in places I wasn’t supposed to be - without anyone ever knowing. Fascinatingly, to me at least, my 10½ year old delights in doing exactly the same thing. I frequently find her hiding around corners, listening to my conversations. She wants to be James Bond when she grows up, and turn this ‘interest’ into a career.

My husband tells me that when he was bullied as a child, he used to laugh until the other kids stopped hitting him. It wasn’t a strategy as such – he says he genuinely found it funny that these kids felt the need to physically hurt him in order to feel important. The would-be bullies soon lost interest and left my husband alone. His personality and his reaction to those situations saved him from what could have been a truly awful experience.

My third daughter is uncannily like her father. When her sisters snatch things from her, or tease and taunt her, she generally reacts by laughing or quietly moving away. This benefits her as much as it thrills me; because she is totally unflappable 90% of the time. She laughs easily and with her whole heart, loves the finer things in life, and has no enemies – just like her father.

Each of these traits that I see in my children cannot have been learned, or ‘nurtured’, because they have not witnessed us as parents, behaving this way. They must have been inherited in their genes, in just the same way they got their recessive blue eyes, fine/thick hair, tight calves, and brown-left-side-of-face-freckles genes. Knowing some of the past tendencies and traits of my husband and I, particularly when we were teenagers; I sincerely hope that not ALL of the personality genes passed through to our children! I guess we will have to wait and see.

Connected Creatures

This is a post script to my last piece, prompted by a recent conversation I had with my youngest child; centred around the daily ritual viewing of 'Peppa Pig' episodes.

We arrived home from childcare and as usual, madam went straight into the living room for some 'quiet time' - code for 'mum has just finished work, is starving and needs to be left alone for at least an hour, or ideally, until it's time to get the 'big' girls from school'.

I was scratching around in the kitchen trying to remember how to make a sandwich (having been fed by others for three days, this proved much harder than expected), when a little voice calls out 'mum, can you please put Peppa Pig on the Apple TV?' I replied 'sure' - it sounded much easier than making a sandwich at that point anyway. Unfortunately however, the iPad was flat so 'Airplay' to the TV was not going to be an option. I conveyed this potentially devastating news to my little friend, who much to my surprise was utterly unperturbed. 'Then put it on You Tube please', she said as she assembled cushions and blankets around her on the couch.

As I returned to the kitchen, I contemplated the stunningly simple and logical solution my 3 year old had provided. I pondered it further as I stared into the fridge, hoping that my 'mother auto-pilot' skills would kick in resulting in an edible sandwich materialising.

Perhaps this generation will be one of problem solvers? Perhaps all of this technology is broadening their minds rather than constricting them? It is so easy to criticise our tendency to rely on technology and 'Google' for everything, without giving equal air-time to the benefits. Children born today are raised in a world where they only need ask the question, knowing there will be an answer somewhere. They also know that information is at their fingertips, rather than in their parents' and teachers' heads.

Our children are raised by adults dependent upon 'i-devices' and their knowledge of them rapidly overtakes that of their seniors (in my case, by the age of 3!). Children are growing up in a world that is connected in a way that was unimaginable only a decade or so ago. They expect instant answers and solutions. This isn't because they are demanding, impatient brats; it is a by-product of the world they live in.

We are all familiar with the cliched saying about our children teaching us more than we teach them, but in the case of the i-generation, I think this will prove true in a practical rather than philosophical sense. After all, who else will we run to in despair after losing our entire contact list to a 'cloud' after downloading the latest version of something just to stop that stupid reminder popping up every time we 'sync' our phones?

Let's hope this generation also use their it-savviness to create 'intelligent' nursing homes from which we can Skype our great grandchildren in our animal onesies; and tell them about the 'olden days' of  DVD players and other devices connected to each other by cords rather than 'clouds'.

Knowledge is Power

I am sitting with my nearly 4 year old, watching 'Tangled', for possibly the 5th time this week. One of the characters in the movie is the old woman who steals the princess and keeps her captive in a tower so that she alone can benefit from her magical powers. Her way of controlling the princess is to tell her stories about how awful the outside world is, and convincing the princess that she would never cope alone.

Fear as a means of control is something that I have seen many parents do, usually subconsciously and unspoken. I believe that parents are generally well meaning, and seek only to protect their children from harm. Unfortunately however, this fear driven 'cotton-wool' parenting can create insecurity in children, which can ultimately lead to either anxiety - or indeed, rebellion.

I see it frequently in separated parents, who are both afraid of, and disempowered by, being unable to control the parenting and environment of the children while they are in the other parent's household. This sometimes results in extreme reactions including withholding the children from the other parent entirely. This is rarely in the children's interests, no matter how well intended it seems at the time.

It is interesting how our fears and limitations are projected onto our children over time.  I remember when I believed that my parents knew everything, and finding that a very comforting notion. I remember too, the realisation that they didn't. I have tried to ensure that my children understand that I do not hold all the answers (let's face it - that's Googles' job now!), and that I learn new things every day just as they do. But the truth is, it is often more convenient to let our kids think that we do know everything, and have them submit unquestioningly to our all-knowing authority!

My 'Tangled' viewing partner asked me on the weekend to put some clothes on her Polly Pocket doll. I was in a rush and didn't want to fiddle around with tiny plastic dolls, so I said that I didn't 'know how to'. She didn't accept that for a moment, saying 'yes you do Mummy. You are a grown up, and grown ups know how to do everything.' This would have been a prime opportunity to explain that I do not know how to do 'everything', nor does any one person, but that I learn things by trying them or asking for help. However, because I was in a rush (a somewhat permanent state of being for me), I just laughed and basked in the delusional glory of being all-knowing and all-doing for a moment, as I twisted and bent the clothing onto the tiny plastic body.

Parenting is a balancing act at the best of times, but knowing when to assert our authority based upon our knowledge and experience, and when to let our children find their own way, must be one of the hardest calls of all.

(B)logging Off

All things must come to an end.  This will be my final post on this blog.  I have been waiting for inspiration to strike, allowing me to continue with my light hearted tales of family life; but it has eluded me.  I don't like to leave things unfinished, and I am aware that the nature of a blog requires regular posting.  I have not been posting regularly in the past two months and I have decided therefore, to sign off.

Sometimes endings are an opportunity for a new beginning.   Through writing this blog I have rediscovered my love of writing and I intend to pursue it more seriously, and privately, for the time being.  I knew when I started this blog that it was the beginning of 'something', which was not necessarily the blog itself.

I have been surprised and encouraged by the response to this blog, and I would like to thank you for reading it.  The blog has been viewed thousands of times, by people from all around the world, which is something I did not expect.

Thank you to my beautiful family for providing me with the material used in this blog.  I hope that you don't hold these stories against me one day!

I wish you grace through times of pressure, and hope you find joy in the simplest of things.

Good bye.

Little Helpers

Kids love to help. They love to help do the things that we least need help with. Sometimes they help when we do need it, but in such ways that they ultimately create far more work for us.

My kids love to bake, especially when chocolate chips are involved. They strap on their aprons, drag all manner of chairs and stools into the kitchen in an attempt to get the upper edge on their sisters, as they vie for space around our cramped kitchen bench.  They argue mercilessly about who is going to do what, as they jostle and grab at the ingredients and cooking implements.  One by one, they abandon the kitchen, leaving me to clean up the glug, flour, chairs and discarded aprons. They soon return however, lured by the aroma of the final product.

Lulu and Josie love to help clean the house. Their preferred cleaning aids are a spray bottle filled with water, and a fist full of baby wipes. I used to cringe at the wasted wipes – until I noticed how effective they were.  I was also pleased with how well they kept the girls occupied, leaving me to get on with other things. I recently seized the opportunity to have a shower while the girls were ‘cleaning’.  As I was waiting for the shower to reach the right temperature, I was startled by a swipe from a cold wet wipe on my bare bottom. Josie had snuck into the bathroom while I wasn’t looking, and armed with a wipe, had seen fit to clean me up!

The little girls recently decided to clean the bathroom using the spray bottle and face washers. They used… Every. Single. Face washer in the entire house, and saturated the bathroom. This was an example of their ‘help’ not being very helpful.  It reminded me somewhat of the time my housemate Mark brought the garden hose inside to clean the bathroom, he was 28 at the time, so I’m not sure what his excuse was.  Or perhaps that is that what happens when parents acquiesce in their children’s misguided cleaning attempts…

Josie has taken to doing the dishes; two year old style. She drags a chair up to the sink, turns the taps on and plunges her arms into the sink.  She grabs whatever dishes are in reach, whether clean or dirty, and bangs them around under the running water.   She is so eager that I have seriously considered teaching her how to do it properly! If only there weren’t sharp objects and boiling water involved. Perhaps I could start a line of miniature washing up gloves, or an all in one washing up suit!

Abby has become a great baby sitter for her younger siblings. She has been helping me with her sisters since she was very young. I used to ask five year old Abby to hold sleeping baby Lulu while I had a shower in the next room. She did it willingly and has always been a natural with babies.   Abby and Charlotte now run baths for Lulu and Josie, and supervise them in the bathroom. They wash their sisters hair, and even dress them in their PJs for me.  

Sometimes the girls have taken it upon themselves to help without being asked, and I have had to clean up a particularly unsavoury mess after a soiled nappy change went array.  These instances are fortunately far less frequent than the genuine assistance the girls provide.  The girls listen to each other read, help with  homework, and assist by entertaining Josie when I am otherwise occupied (which is most of the time these days!).  I am very grateful for my little helpers, but ever conscious not to overload them with responsibilities. After all, I can’t have them burning out just yet!

Karmic Kindness

I was on a bit of a high at one point today.  Two clients had thanked me profusely for the work I’d done for them, one even went so far as to say that I’d been like a ‘breath of fresh air’.  Many jobs are thankless, whereas others are enormously rewarding. It is very rare for family lawyers to be thanked by anyone, let alone by clients who are going through the Family Court.  Family lawyers don’t win money for people, rarely achieve ‘happy endings’, and more often than not - enter the scene when clients are experiencing significant stress and emotional turmoil.  Needless to say, the ‘thanks’ caught me a little off guard, despite being the third time I have been thanked by a client in recent weeks. 

I can now recall a grand total of four ‘thanks’ in the twelve years since I was admitted to practice. Admittedly, I didn’t practice law for all of those twelve years, and the lack of ‘thanks’ may have had something to do with that! (I certainly wasn’t being ‘thanked’ for my mothering and general ‘housewifeliness’ at home either – there isn’t a more thankless, yet rewarding task)  Perhaps it is not a coincidence that the thanks are coming now. Perhaps I have earned my stripes, and am providing a more worthy service to my clients.  Whatever the reason, it struck me today just how validating, encouraging, and important it is to thank people for their efforts from time to time.  (It certainly makes them want to do more for you!)

I am not an overtly religious person, but I do believe strongly in a karmic force of sorts; what you put out into the universe, will be returned.  It may not be returned directly to you, it may come in an unexpected way, and perhaps even long after you have left the physical world. 

This belief was confirmed for me today as I delivered Charlotte to her music teacher’s house for her weekly lesson.  Charlotte’s teacher knew my mother-in-law, in what started out as a professional relationship, but later became a friendship.  My mother-in-law showed great kindness and empathy to this lady, at a time in her life when it was greatly needed, and appreciated.  We learned this only after Charlotte had commenced lessons with this teacher, who we located via referral from other students, and several years after my mother-in-law had passed away.

Charlotte was just one year old when my mother-in-law, her grandmother (‘Nonna’), died.  Charlotte never had the opportunity to know her Nonna, nor to appreciate Nonna’s immense musical talent.  However, Charlotte’s music teacher did get to know Nonna - and I can’t help but feel that the kindness and generosity Charlotte’s teacher extends to Charlotte – is her way of repaying my mother-in-law for the kindness shown to her all those years ago.   In this way, Charlotte is the beneficiary of her Nonna’s kindness, in an unexpected but entirely meaningful way – through the gift of music.

I love living in a relatively small community, where people readily support each other in times of hardship.  There exists an opportunity to make a tangible and lasting difference in a small community, as the sense of connectedness to the whole is very apparent.   The links in the chain are much closer together, and it is hard to ignore the fact that we are all in this together.  It is from this philosophy and deep sense of belief, that my commitment to what I perceive to be the weakest links in the chain, arises.  For me – those links are the children of conflicting, abusive or neglectful parents.   

I am determined to make a small difference, whether through my professional work, by agitating and advocating for more and better services, or by providing foster care to some of these children (we are due for approval as foster parents in the coming months).  I will do my part.  I have been privileged in my life, to receive a very good education.  Through my various personal and professional experiences, I also understand the damage that conflict has upon children.  I can use my experience and knowledge, to help people who have not been afforded the same opportunities.

I am not motivated by the prospect of personal reward, or for the karmic kindness which may ensue.  I pursue this course because it is simply what feels right to me.  I want to live in a world where people care about each other, both in their minds and in their actions. This may sound clichéd and idealistic, but I believe that as long as I am doing my bit, being part of the answer rather than part of the problem, then I will be true to my beliefs – and therefore, my heart.  

Battle of the (t)wits

It is not uncommon in our house, to have a discussion about which of the children are smarter than Tubs.  We have known for a long time that Abby and Charlotte are often more ‘switched on’ than their dad, but it seems that Lulu and Josie are edging ever closer to over-taking him as well.

Lulu, at just 5½ years of age, can write the numbers from 1 to 100 without assistance.  She does so with no reversal of numbers and no mistakes.  (I am not suggesting that Tubs cannot do this, but I doubt he was doing it age 5.)  When asked at Tubs’s birthday dinner this week, to guess how old Tubs had turned, Lulu thought carefully before answering.  She put her finger on her mouth and pondered deeply as we gave her clues, waiting with baited breath for her response.  We told her that ‘Mummy is 36 and Gran is 61’, and told her that ‘Daddy is older than Mummy but younger than Gran’.  After thinking for some time, she said ’52?’  Tubs turned an ashen shade of grey (he turned 40) and sighed, ‘Well, Lulu, I hope you enjoy cooking your own dinner, doing the dishes, making your lunch…because you are on your own from now on.’

Gran and I erupted with laughter.  But sensing Tubs’s disappointment with her reply, Lulu immediately re-thought her answer. ’21?’ she said, in a highly conciliatory tone.  Tubs immediately lit up and all was forgiven. ‘So…Lulu…what sort of car do you want for your sixteenth birthday? If there is ever anything you need, you just ask Daddy and he will get it for you’, he said.

I’ve blogged in the past about Charlotte’s superior intellect.  A recent, and birthday related example of which, was the card she chose for Tubs’s birthday.  It has the number 40 blazened across the front and reads ‘Dad, for your birthday I’d like to give you an honorary award to wear’. There is a picture of a cat pointing to a badge pinned to the card that says ‘I am the BOSS around here’.  On the inside it says, ‘…you can give it back to Mum tomorrow.’  Needless to say, Charlotte didn’t have to twist my arm to purchase this one!  I loved that Charlotte selected this card out of all the cards in the shop, and that she saw the humor (and truth) in it.

One evening this week, we were all sitting around the dining table, eating dinner with Gran, when Josie (age 2) indicated she wanted a serviette.  We keep serviettes in a serviette holder in the centre of the table. Josie pointed toward the container and said ‘some’.  She held up her dirty little fingers in support of her request.  As Gran was about to pass her one, I said ‘no’, and reached to the floor for the serviettes Josie had pulled out earlier, but not used.  I passed one to Josie but she frowned and said ‘No’.  I told her she couldn’t have a serviette if she was going to be silly, so she started to cry and looked pleadingly at Gran and Daddy.  I passed the serviette that I had tried to give Josie, to Gran and asked her to put it on the top of the serviette holder, and then re-offer it to Josie.  Josie watched as Gran put the serviette on the top of the pile, and replaced the weight that keeps them down.  Gran then took the serviette out again and offered it to Josie.  Josie looked around at everyone else, as if to say, ‘you don’t seriously expect me to fall for that?’ She then frowned again and recommenced crying. 

Gran then started to remove the second serviette from the top, one that had not come from the floor.  Tubs chimed in at this point and said, ‘If she accepts that one… she is a genius.’ Sure enough, Josie accepted the serviette that she had originally wanted; fresh from the top of the pile as opposed to a second rate one from the floor, merely masquerading as a fresh one.  As she wiped her hands she glanced rather smugly around the table with a look that without doubt, said ‘Now, was that so hard?’

These stories are intended to demonstrate how clever our children are, but perhaps we are too easily impressed. There are occasions when the children are required to ‘lift their game’ in order to outsmart Tubs and I, but by all accounts, the standard of ‘genius’ is comparatively low in our house when judged by the parents. I suspect this is not a rare phenomena.  

A rare but recent example of us getting one up on the children occurred this week when Charlotte presented her diary to me for signing.  (A parent is required to sign it each night, acknowledging that the child has done their required homework.) Rather than sign it unquestioningly, I asked to see her homework because she seemed to be in a hurry, eager to move on to other things.  After several requests, Charlotte reluctantly showed me her work, which displayed a distinct lack of effort and was rushed and untidy.   I refused to sign the diary, and told her to try again.  As I was offering to explain what was required, and even offering to help, she stormed rather indignantly out of the room.

Meanwhile, Tubs was way down the back of the garden, tending to his vegetables and chickens, and chatting with the neighbours over the fence (his ploy to escape the homework, teeth brushing and general pre-bedtime regime). Charlotte suddenly appeared, with her diary and pen in hand, and asked Tubs to sign it.  He paused for a moment, and said ‘Charlotte, do you know what I do for a living? I am a lawyer. I don’t just sign things. If you have walked all the way out here, to get me to sign your diary, you obviously haven’t done your homework.’  He looked eagerly toward the neighbour for approval, feeling very proud of his parenting-self.

Charlotte was quite taken aback, but didn’t argue.  She scurried back inside, and repeated her request to me.  Frustrated that she’d been gone for so long and still not done what I had asked, I grabbed an eraser, rubbed out her answers, and told her that I would sign her diary when she had done her homework properly.  This battle of the wills went on for about half an hour, and it soon became clear that Charlotte didn’t understand what was required of her in the homework task. But rather than ask for help, she scrawled any answer, just wanting to be done with it.  Charlotte soon realized that this approach was simply not going to work!  She finally relented and let me explain the task, she then completed it with relative ease and I signed her diary.  And as I did, I looked at her as if to say ‘now, was that so hard???’