Roast beef on Sunday, Curry on Monday

Sunday was always family dinner in my house. Mum generally cooked something that took time. The oven would send out hot waves of comfort and I knew all was right in the world – at least for a moment. It was typical to sit down to a roast dinner of some sort. Roast beef meant that Monday was curry night. Mum would set aside some of the roast beef for dad and the rest of us would sit down to a warm, spice laden dinner. As my mouth embraced the rich headiness of coriander, turmeric, ginger and chili it would also be soothed by the sweetness of the plump raisins that were tumbled through the dish. In my own home, over the years, I too have adopted Sunday night as family night.
Over the years, depending on who my family the dishes have changed. It has only been in the last few that I have made roast beef. Ryan is joyous about the roast beef. For me, it is all about the curry on Monday. When I make roast chicken, it means soup at some point with homemade stock that has sat simmering on the stove Sunday night making the air thick with its herb-infused steam. I often put lemons in with the stock. They lend a tanginess to the soups that remind me of summer when I most need to be reminded that the rain will stop and the grey sky will become blue again.
As I have become older, it has become more and more apparent that I am my mother’s daughter. Last night I had a dream that someone had taken a picture of me and in it I was my mother. I turned to Ryan and said “Look at how much I look like her.” It wasn’t a horrible moment; in fact it was quite wonderful. Now, if you had told me twenty years ago that I would be like my mother I would have coiled away, spitting assurances that that would never happen. The teenage angst has passed and I am proud of being my mother’s daughter.
Along with the Sunday dinners, my mum gave me a sense of how important family is, whether they are family by blood or by choice. I am surrounded by an amazing network of aunts who always provided a good backdrop to my mother. They are linked together by their love for one another and us children but have made different choices and have different ideas of the world. They often provided me with another view that was much needed. My daughter too is surrounded by aunts, who I hope will help guide her as she unfolds into the woman she will become.

Putting It On

Today was the first day of my mother’s group. I joined it because I know myself too well. I have to pay for this group which means that I will feel obliged to go. Currently on my bulletin board is the pamphlet for the New West Baby Talk program. I dutifully picked it up the last time I dropped by the health unit. I opened it up, read the discussion topics, carefully pinned it to a prominent place on our bulletin board where it has slowly become covered by other pieces of paper. You see, I hate meeting new people. I’m not very good at it. The idea of walking into a situation with a bunch of strangers makes me want to volunteer to clean the toilets in an all boy’s school. A “drop-in” program would pretty much assure that I never actually drop by. Therefore, the paid group.
I signed up for this program for a number of reasons. The first being that I had such a positive experience with the Birthing From Within prenatal classes put on by Dancing Star Birth that I trust that this will be a safe place to be. The second reason is that I realized I now have a life ahead of me that will involve me having to meet new people and put myself into situations that I would never do if I didn’t have a daughter. Maybe it is a form a therapy. An understanding that just because I have inherited this aversion from my mother doesn’t mean I need to pass it on to the next generation.

So I got up this morning, changed Imogen and myself twice (there was a rather explosive incident with some regurgitated milk) and started driving. I took the highway because I knew that any other route would surely result in my ending up somewhere else. While driving I smelled something burning and decided it must be because my house was burning and I should go back – and then I noticed the truck in front of me exhaling blue smoke rings. I continued to drive on. I realised that I had forgotten a toy for Imogen and there was no way that I could go to this event without a toy because she is just becoming interested in her hands and holding things and I have to make sure to encourage that. Then I remembered I had purposely not brought her a toy because she doesn’t have anything that she can actually hold in her hand that doesn’t come from China and the reason that I was going early was so that I could check out the new store on Hastings to by her a toy that fit in her hand and didn’t come from China. On I drove. By the time my mind had come up with another reason as to why it wasn’t possible to go it was too late I was already there. The parking gods were even blessing me with copious free parking. So I went. I didn’t vomit and neither did Im.

What I found interesting was that I put on make-up before I went. When I was younger I would never leave the house without make-up. As I have become more comfortable in my skin, I’ll go anywhere barefaced. Unless, I want to dress up or I am nervous. Today it was for the second reason. As I went through the motions of applying the foundation, eyeshadow, mascara and lip gloss I realized that I needed to do this (even though 4 month old kissable babies and lip gloss do not mix). As each layer went on, I could breathe a little deeper. I could remove myself a little further. I was hidden.

I wonder what colour eyeshadow I’ll wear next week?

Helicopters & Confetti

Awhile ago we had heard rumors of Toronto finance firms receiving memos from their Human Resources offices on how to deal with parents who come to interviews with their children. That is correct, adults who had graduated from university and wanted jobs in finance were coming to job interviews with their parents. At the time I laughed, because it was so ludicrous and figured it must be an urban myth. Not so. In last week’s Province there was an article in the Finance section dealing with this very topic. (‘Helicopter’ parents breathing down hirers’ necks). What has happened to our society that this is seen not only as ok but concessions are made to meet these parents’ and their children’s demands. A couple of pages over was another article bemoaning the fact that the new crop of 20- something employees are needing constant praise and when not given it fall apart. (“Sadly it Might Be Too Late For The Confetti Generation” I can’t find the link but have the article as a JPG file if you want to read it.)

Does anyone else see the relationship between these two events? We have created insecure, dependent adults that are emotionally stunted. We have infantalised a generation and are on our way to creating more ‘adults’ like this. I am sure that the ‘helicopter parents’ are the extremes but in an educational system where there are no natural consequences for actions (or inactions) we are well on our way to a society that is run by teenagers in adult bodies. This may seem harsh but the time for niceties is long over.

I have seen first hand the results of allowing children continual ‘outs’. We are so paranoid about hurting their self-esteem that rather than helping them build confidence in themselves we teach them that they don’t really need to do anything at all. We no longer fail students because studies show that it does more harm than good. I agree, for the students who aren’t able to do the work because they have a learning disability. However, I have seen more and more kids realise that they don’t have to do anything and they will continue to move on. What lesson are we teaching these students? Worse, what happens when they reach high school or the ‘real’ world where they can fail or be fired? I agree, children should not be berated or belittled. They should not be made to feel ashamed. Doing these things will result in a lower sense of self. But so too, does not having expectations, never being challenged and never failing. How can a person have a true sense of self pride if they have never had to achieve anything on their own merit?  When we lower our expectations, we are telling them that they can not do better. In not having expectations WE are failing our children and our society as a whole.

I also have to question the motivation of parents who are still fighting their children’s battles for them. They may think that they are doing the right thing but in fact it is one of the most selfish acts I can imagine. What happens when the parents have gone and their children have to do it alone? What happens when their children want to establish themselves in a relationship? Have children of their own? How will they ever be successful in these areas of their lives if their parents are still sweeping in to save the day? What need is being fulfilled for the parent?

seven

Years ago, sitting on a curb during a backyard bbq someone once told me that our lives go in seven year cycles. I have been thinking a lot about this over the past week as I realised I am at the end of my 5th cycle. It struck me that the beginning of my last cycle I was starting my new career and a relationship. Now, I am starting this one as a new mother and wife. Remembering that comment has given me something to focus on. I have been struggling this past week, not completely comfortable in letting go, even if it is only briefly, of being in the classroom.

September has always been the start of the year for me. For the past 30 years, the Tuesday after Labour day has meant that I found my way into a classroom. Tuesday this year has come and gone and there is no classroom for me this year. Or at least that was what I thought at first. This year there will be no room or building to go into. There will be no report cards or transcripts. However, what there will be is this body of mine that I shared with another living being and am now watching as she negotiates her way through the world. There will be times that together we will figure things out but I think mostly our learning will be done side by side. As she is learning how to trust herself, her body and others I too will need to relearn these lessons.

“Birth is not only about making babies. Birth is about making mothers- strong, competent, capable mothers who trust themselves and know their inner strength” Barbara Katz-Rothman

I have been going to sleep thinking about the Buddhist sand mandalas. The effort and attention that is required to create them and that ultimately, their destruction is the goal. I feel my soul stir when I see or think of them. It hears the reminder that everything is created to change and it is comforted. My favourite ones are the mandalas created on sidewalks with the intention that it is not necessarily the creator who will be the destroyer but that it will be the mundane that will brush the grains of sand aside. It is wonderful reminder that transition and change are not always events but can occur with the quietness of a simple sentence spoken on an ordinary day.