...for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.' (Edmund Burke)
The Potty Diaries is not usually a contentious blog. I use it to practise my writing, record amusing or significant events in my family life, and occasionally to witter on about stuff that bothers me but is probably not of much interest to anyone else.
However, I've been watching what's been happening in the public arena with regard to comments and attitudes on the Roman Polanski case with interest and a certain amount of disbelief. I'm not going to go into details on the history of all this; they are a matter of public record, and irrefutable. Hell, the man pleaded guilty to raping a thirteen year old girl. That's guilty. As in 'I did it.'
Apparantly however, there are a large number of people who think that because, after admitting his guilt, Roman Polanski ran away and didn't go home for years, because he has had a number of tragedies in his personal life (none of which I want to diminish, they were diabolical, no doubt about it), and because - poor diddums - he didn't even get to go home to collect his Oscar in case he got banged up as a result, we should put the events that happened 1977 behind us and move on.
Now, I'm well aware that the quote I've used to title this post is dramatic, and can be used with reference to any number of news stories circulating today with even more relevance. But consider what Noble Savage writes on her post 'This is what rape apology looks like':
'If Polanski doesn’t end up serving his sentence I (and countless other girls and women) will have completely lost any last, teeny-tiny shred of hope that rape would ever be taken seriously in the eyes of the law, and our society.'
Take a look at her two posts to-date on this subject, and see whether you still feel comfortable with consigning this debate to la-la land and dismissing it as something that happened somewhere else and which isn't relevant to your life.
Then ask yourself whether you're happy for the great and the good of Hollywood, who have never experienced the pain and humiliation that the 13 year old girl in question did (and, please God, never will), to be the only ones who's voices who are being heard, speaking out - in Polanski's favour, no less - on this issue.
I'm not.
Wednesday, 30 September 2009
Tuesday, 29 September 2009
Stymied...
At lunch today Husband was trying to coax Boy #2 to drink - never an easy task. My younger son hasn't yet worked out that often, when he thinks he's hungry, he is in fact thirsty. So it's an uphill battle to get him to take on any water /juice / milk.
Although when all else fails, our little connoisseur can often be tempted by a glass of elderflower cordial with a single ice cube in it. (Thank you, Mother-in-Law, for starting that precious habit...).
So, back to lunchtime;
Husband: "Come on, Boy #2. Have some water, please."
Boy #2: "No."
Husband: "Yes. If you don't drink you won't grow up big and strong."
Boy #2. "No. I'm not thirsty."
Husband: "Please. One for Papa?"
Boy #2 passes Husband his cup. "OK. There you go then... Drink up!"
We're doomed, I tell you. DOOMED!
Although when all else fails, our little connoisseur can often be tempted by a glass of elderflower cordial with a single ice cube in it. (Thank you, Mother-in-Law, for starting that precious habit...).
So, back to lunchtime;
Husband: "Come on, Boy #2. Have some water, please."
Boy #2: "No."
Husband: "Yes. If you don't drink you won't grow up big and strong."
Boy #2. "No. I'm not thirsty."
Husband: "Please. One for Papa?"
Boy #2 passes Husband his cup. "OK. There you go then... Drink up!"
We're doomed, I tell you. DOOMED!
Monday, 28 September 2009
It's Monday...
... and I'm having one of those days. If I tell you that having started putting my weekly shop through the self-service till at Sainsbury's this morning, the white noise, beeping, and bossy computer voice all got a bit too much and I had to find a kindly check-out assistant to cancel my purchases so I could retreat to the safety of the conveyor belt where someone else would put my barcodes through the scanner, do you get the picture?
So, given my lack of vitality, I'm not even going to attempt to write anything entertaining today. Instead, I'm going to send you over here to Powder Room Graffiti, where I'm having a bit of a rant about fussy dinner party guests.
I know. Me, having a rant? What are the chances of that?
So, given my lack of vitality, I'm not even going to attempt to write anything entertaining today. Instead, I'm going to send you over here to Powder Room Graffiti, where I'm having a bit of a rant about fussy dinner party guests.
I know. Me, having a rant? What are the chances of that?
Sunday, 27 September 2009
British Mummy Blogger of the Week
There's something about an Indian summer. We're having one right now in London; or at least, we've had sunshine and clear skies plus 21 degC plus for the last week, and if you're at all familiar with the weather in the UK, you'll agree that a week of any of that (not necessarily together, either), is enough to qualify.
Of course, living in a basement flat does mean that perhaps we don't get to enjoy quite as much of the sunshine as most people, but we're making the most of the weather with trips to the riverbank and Battersea Park Zoo. That was last weekend, mind you. By the time this weekend rolled around we were laissez faire about the weather. "Sun?" we said. "Hah! We get that all the time. Let's make the most of it and go to the... cinema. What better to way to spend a cheery Saturday morning than to climb on the tube (again, note the absence of light), and on reaching our destination walk around the corner and into a dark cavernous space for a couple of hours..."
Hmm.
Not quite getting into the spirit of things, I agree. But in our defence, we went to see Thomas the Thank Engine 'Hero of the Rails', a thoroughly enjoyable new DVD release from Hit and in which - gasp! - the engines actually speak. (You probably need to have a preschooler in the house to understand the magnitude of this development). It was good. We enjoyed it. Buy it for your pre-schoolers as a Christmas pressie. As a mark of how enthralling he found it, Boy #2 didn't need to get up to go to the loo once during the hour long showing (which is more than could be said for his mother).
Apparantly there were even a few 'slebs to look at - although I'm rubbish at knowing who they are, and always find myself thinking 'You know, I'm sure I've met you before - or is it just that you were on the Bill once?' And, in my usual seamless link, let's move from 'slebs (because of course, on BMB we are all 'slebs...) onto this week's British Mummy Blogger of the Week.
Nikki at Clinically Fed Up writes of herself:
'Shacked-up mother of 3, part-time social policy and psychology student, part-time everything else a shacked-up mother of 3 is required to do under some law nobody told me about. I would have killed someone for this blog in the 1980s, now I barely have time to wash AND dress in the morning. If I have posted something it means the family weren’t fed hot food that day...'
It takes a lot to get me thinking about actually making pickle (what else is Mr Sainsbury for, I ask myself, than to supply me with roasted tomato pickle), but she's managed it. (Oh, and thanks Nikki, for helping me to cross the Magimix food processor off my potential list of pre-Russia purchases). And her description of finding buried treasure with a very wide aperture was very entertaining...
To check out the British Mummy Bloggers Ning, click here. (Note: It's called 'Mummy', but Dads can be members too)
Of course, living in a basement flat does mean that perhaps we don't get to enjoy quite as much of the sunshine as most people, but we're making the most of the weather with trips to the riverbank and Battersea Park Zoo. That was last weekend, mind you. By the time this weekend rolled around we were laissez faire about the weather. "Sun?" we said. "Hah! We get that all the time. Let's make the most of it and go to the... cinema. What better to way to spend a cheery Saturday morning than to climb on the tube (again, note the absence of light), and on reaching our destination walk around the corner and into a dark cavernous space for a couple of hours..."
Hmm.
Not quite getting into the spirit of things, I agree. But in our defence, we went to see Thomas the Thank Engine 'Hero of the Rails', a thoroughly enjoyable new DVD release from Hit and in which - gasp! - the engines actually speak. (You probably need to have a preschooler in the house to understand the magnitude of this development). It was good. We enjoyed it. Buy it for your pre-schoolers as a Christmas pressie. As a mark of how enthralling he found it, Boy #2 didn't need to get up to go to the loo once during the hour long showing (which is more than could be said for his mother).
Apparantly there were even a few 'slebs to look at - although I'm rubbish at knowing who they are, and always find myself thinking 'You know, I'm sure I've met you before - or is it just that you were on the Bill once?' And, in my usual seamless link, let's move from 'slebs (because of course, on BMB we are all 'slebs...) onto this week's British Mummy Blogger of the Week.
Nikki at Clinically Fed Up writes of herself:
'Shacked-up mother of 3, part-time social policy and psychology student, part-time everything else a shacked-up mother of 3 is required to do under some law nobody told me about. I would have killed someone for this blog in the 1980s, now I barely have time to wash AND dress in the morning. If I have posted something it means the family weren’t fed hot food that day...'
It takes a lot to get me thinking about actually making pickle (what else is Mr Sainsbury for, I ask myself, than to supply me with roasted tomato pickle), but she's managed it. (Oh, and thanks Nikki, for helping me to cross the Magimix food processor off my potential list of pre-Russia purchases). And her description of finding buried treasure with a very wide aperture was very entertaining...
To check out the British Mummy Bloggers Ning, click here. (Note: It's called 'Mummy', but Dads can be members too)
Friday, 25 September 2009
Play Dates
Poor Boy #2. For nearly four years now he's been the side-show to the main event - his brother - being pulled from pillar to post, from playdate to party, from school to after-school activity. He's been good-natured about it, sure, but heck, when a guy is nearly 4 years old he needs some space and time of his own, know what I mean?
So he's started, in his own winning way, to make his feelings on this matter felt. No longer is he content to sit back and play the adoring little brother whilst Boy #1 calls the shots. Now Boy #2 wants to have his own playdates, his own activities, his own visits to other peoples houses with - and this is the most important thing - other people's toys.
I have to admit that organising this has not been top of my list of priorites. But today, when he asked me again to organise a play date with a boy at his school who he's been mentioning for the last 3 weeks now, I decided that it was time to do something about it. And as luck would have it, there was a party this afternoon that this little boy would be attending.
Now I'm not quite such a bad mother as I've made myself out to be here. At the end of last week I gave Boy #2's nursery teacher a note for little X's parents, asking if it would be possible to set something up. Admittedly, not knowing the surname of this boy (the curse of 'subsequent' siblings is that their mother never has time to hang around the school gate learning names and mobile phone numbers in the same way she did for their older brother or sister, I find), I had been forced to address the note to "Dear X's parents...." and also, not knowing X's schedule and desperate on my son's behalf to set something up, had been forced to list Boy #2's activities out in almost obsessive-compulsive detail (who, me?). In spite of this, I thought I struck just the right warm, fuzzy, slightly manic tone... (Oh dear). Of course I heard nothing back.
So at the party today I reminded myself of Boy #2's wish and kept an eye out for the little boy in question. Once he arrived, I approached anyone who looked remotely as if they might be his parent, and finally struck gold when I was pointed in the direction of a young-ish dark haired woman. (X is blonde. Perhaps that should have been my first clue that she and X are not blood-relatives.)
I approached her and spent 5 minutes chatting away about how Boy #2 was always mentioning X, how much he liked him, and how he really wanted to ask him over for a playdate. I mentioned the note I had previously written, to check that the nursery teacher had passed it on. I suggested a couple of days that a playdate could work, and threw in a passing reference to our proximity to a garden square with a playground in it to bait the hook. As a further sweetner I said that she was welcome to come too, or if she wanted to 'dump and run' and come back in an hour or so, that would be fine. I mentioned Boy #2's older brother, and even commented on the lovely weather we've been having.
Finally, I drew breath. She responded.
"I... sorry. I - nanny. I not speak... much... English?"
Curses.
Foiled again...
So he's started, in his own winning way, to make his feelings on this matter felt. No longer is he content to sit back and play the adoring little brother whilst Boy #1 calls the shots. Now Boy #2 wants to have his own playdates, his own activities, his own visits to other peoples houses with - and this is the most important thing - other people's toys.
I have to admit that organising this has not been top of my list of priorites. But today, when he asked me again to organise a play date with a boy at his school who he's been mentioning for the last 3 weeks now, I decided that it was time to do something about it. And as luck would have it, there was a party this afternoon that this little boy would be attending.
Now I'm not quite such a bad mother as I've made myself out to be here. At the end of last week I gave Boy #2's nursery teacher a note for little X's parents, asking if it would be possible to set something up. Admittedly, not knowing the surname of this boy (the curse of 'subsequent' siblings is that their mother never has time to hang around the school gate learning names and mobile phone numbers in the same way she did for their older brother or sister, I find), I had been forced to address the note to "Dear X's parents...." and also, not knowing X's schedule and desperate on my son's behalf to set something up, had been forced to list Boy #2's activities out in almost obsessive-compulsive detail (who, me?). In spite of this, I thought I struck just the right warm, fuzzy, slightly manic tone... (Oh dear). Of course I heard nothing back.
So at the party today I reminded myself of Boy #2's wish and kept an eye out for the little boy in question. Once he arrived, I approached anyone who looked remotely as if they might be his parent, and finally struck gold when I was pointed in the direction of a young-ish dark haired woman. (X is blonde. Perhaps that should have been my first clue that she and X are not blood-relatives.)
I approached her and spent 5 minutes chatting away about how Boy #2 was always mentioning X, how much he liked him, and how he really wanted to ask him over for a playdate. I mentioned the note I had previously written, to check that the nursery teacher had passed it on. I suggested a couple of days that a playdate could work, and threw in a passing reference to our proximity to a garden square with a playground in it to bait the hook. As a further sweetner I said that she was welcome to come too, or if she wanted to 'dump and run' and come back in an hour or so, that would be fine. I mentioned Boy #2's older brother, and even commented on the lovely weather we've been having.
Finally, I drew breath. She responded.
"I... sorry. I - nanny. I not speak... much... English?"
Curses.
Foiled again...
Thursday, 24 September 2009
The angst of the stay at home...
You may have noticed that every week I pick out one of the members of the British Mummy Bloggers Ning to be British Blogging Mummy of the week. This means that I get to check in on lots of new bloggers and have a good old rummage around to find out what they're writing about. Recently I've noticed that a lot of them are touching on the angst of the Stay at Home Mum.
Then this morning I noticed that Sandy Calico has also written of how telling people she's a stay at home mum makes her feel awkward, and that sometimes she feels the need to justify her role. Checking in on her comments box, it seems that she's not alone in this.
Now, this post is not about the advantages or disadvantages of being a stay at home or a working mum. I've written before of how I see each individual's choice as the business only of those involved, and if it works for your family, then it works - end of conversation.
But I am a stay at home mum; I have been now for getting on for 4 years, and I totally identify with those comments and posts. It's hard, when for your working career you've been driven by tangible targets, regular feedback, appraisals and pay rises, to suddenly find yourself in a situation where none of that happens. And it's especially hard if you discover - as I did, when I stopped working - that you have previously almost totally defined yourself by job. It was who I was; the woman with the interesting career, who got to go to interesting places, and made fun products.
Obviously, in reality my job had as much crap involved with it as the next person's, but that's not what you share when a complete stranger asks the question 'What do you do?' You don't tell them about the boring spreadsheets, the early starts, the schlepping from one meeting to the next, the utter frustration of being mediator between clients with unreasonable aims and creatives with unrealistic ideas. No, you tell them about the foreign travel, the liaison with fun people at happening companies. You tell them about the great toys you've made, the exhiliration of being able to say 'I made this happen - and look, here it is, solid, real, in my hand.' In brief, you give them a good story.
But try making a good story out of being a stay at home mum to someone who hasn't done it, and never plans to. Not easy. Their mind is made up, and very little you can say or do is going to change their perception of your choice.
It took me a while to work that out. And once I did, I realised that frankly, there is no need to justify my choice to anyone else. If it's right for me, then it's right for me. Easy to say, of course, not so easy to actually believe it myself. And that's when my second epiphany happened. Until I began to respect my own choice, to see value in it, then what hope did I have of anyone else doing the same?
Suddenly I began to see being a stay at home mum / full time mother / domestic engineer as a job. MY job, in fact. It won't be my job for ever, I will definitely move onto other jobs in the future, and some of them might even - gasp - pay me, but for now, this is it. And, after 3 1/2 years of practice, I'm good at it. Don't tell anyone, but sometimes I even enjoy it. I have made a worthwhile choice.
Like any job, some of it stinks (quite literally, hence the title of this blog), some of it's OK, and some of it's great. OK, so I don't get performance appraisals (other than 'I'm not eating / drinking / tidying this up'), and I don't get time off. I can't walk away from it and close the door on the world in the same way I might be able to if my job were in an office elsewhere, and I most definitely can't throw a sickie. But this is still my job. It's not for ever, and there will come a time when I will need something else, but here and now I am caring for my sons and it's working; they're still alive and what's more, they're happy.
When I reached that understanding, guess what? I stopped feeling the need to justify my choice to others. If they don't get it, that's their issue. I'm at peace with my role, and that's all that matters.
I'm a stay at home mum - and I'm worth it.
Then this morning I noticed that Sandy Calico has also written of how telling people she's a stay at home mum makes her feel awkward, and that sometimes she feels the need to justify her role. Checking in on her comments box, it seems that she's not alone in this.
Now, this post is not about the advantages or disadvantages of being a stay at home or a working mum. I've written before of how I see each individual's choice as the business only of those involved, and if it works for your family, then it works - end of conversation.
But I am a stay at home mum; I have been now for getting on for 4 years, and I totally identify with those comments and posts. It's hard, when for your working career you've been driven by tangible targets, regular feedback, appraisals and pay rises, to suddenly find yourself in a situation where none of that happens. And it's especially hard if you discover - as I did, when I stopped working - that you have previously almost totally defined yourself by job. It was who I was; the woman with the interesting career, who got to go to interesting places, and made fun products.
Obviously, in reality my job had as much crap involved with it as the next person's, but that's not what you share when a complete stranger asks the question 'What do you do?' You don't tell them about the boring spreadsheets, the early starts, the schlepping from one meeting to the next, the utter frustration of being mediator between clients with unreasonable aims and creatives with unrealistic ideas. No, you tell them about the foreign travel, the liaison with fun people at happening companies. You tell them about the great toys you've made, the exhiliration of being able to say 'I made this happen - and look, here it is, solid, real, in my hand.' In brief, you give them a good story.
But try making a good story out of being a stay at home mum to someone who hasn't done it, and never plans to. Not easy. Their mind is made up, and very little you can say or do is going to change their perception of your choice.
It took me a while to work that out. And once I did, I realised that frankly, there is no need to justify my choice to anyone else. If it's right for me, then it's right for me. Easy to say, of course, not so easy to actually believe it myself. And that's when my second epiphany happened. Until I began to respect my own choice, to see value in it, then what hope did I have of anyone else doing the same?
Suddenly I began to see being a stay at home mum / full time mother / domestic engineer as a job. MY job, in fact. It won't be my job for ever, I will definitely move onto other jobs in the future, and some of them might even - gasp - pay me, but for now, this is it. And, after 3 1/2 years of practice, I'm good at it. Don't tell anyone, but sometimes I even enjoy it. I have made a worthwhile choice.
Like any job, some of it stinks (quite literally, hence the title of this blog), some of it's OK, and some of it's great. OK, so I don't get performance appraisals (other than 'I'm not eating / drinking / tidying this up'), and I don't get time off. I can't walk away from it and close the door on the world in the same way I might be able to if my job were in an office elsewhere, and I most definitely can't throw a sickie. But this is still my job. It's not for ever, and there will come a time when I will need something else, but here and now I am caring for my sons and it's working; they're still alive and what's more, they're happy.
When I reached that understanding, guess what? I stopped feeling the need to justify my choice to others. If they don't get it, that's their issue. I'm at peace with my role, and that's all that matters.
I'm a stay at home mum - and I'm worth it.
Wednesday, 23 September 2009
Service Announcement...
I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm a bit of a luddite. Frankly it's a wonder that I ever got myself organised enough to set up a blog because my track record with 'technology' is not great. Sure, I know my way - vaguely - around a keyboard, and have been known to set up the odd -extremely basic - website for a friend, but ask me to twitter, show me an i-phone, or present me with a new camera and I will at best work out the most basic commands before thinking 'well, I managed without it before, why bother now?'.
But that, ladies and gents, is changing. Only in a small way, but great oaks, and all that. For example, I've begun by suggesting to Husband that rather than simply inheriting his much used laptop when he upgrades without discussion (as he surely will - men have a habit of just doing these things and presenting you with the shiny shiny results in a neat fait accompli, I find), I would quite like a shiny shiny laptop of my own, preferably before our move to Russia. How I'm going to fund that I've yet to work out, but give me time...
I've also been thinking about the fact that once in Russia, on-line purchasing might be something I do a bit more of. It's not that I won't be able to go out and buy stuff over there, you understand; it's just that actually getting the opportunity to do it might be a little more complicated. So if I'm going to become an internet shopper, as a person who has indirectly (i.e. via by Husband) been affected by account-related fraud, any technology I can find to make that particular aspect of life safer and easier has got to be a good idea. So I've found one.
Hmm - aspirations for laptop purchase - items found plentifully on-line - and a way to pay for things on-line. Could the two things be related? Surely not...
Very cheekily, I'm going to send you over here to Powder Room Graffiti where I've written all about it, to find out what that method is.
Happy spending!
But that, ladies and gents, is changing. Only in a small way, but great oaks, and all that. For example, I've begun by suggesting to Husband that rather than simply inheriting his much used laptop when he upgrades without discussion (as he surely will - men have a habit of just doing these things and presenting you with the shiny shiny results in a neat fait accompli, I find), I would quite like a shiny shiny laptop of my own, preferably before our move to Russia. How I'm going to fund that I've yet to work out, but give me time...
I've also been thinking about the fact that once in Russia, on-line purchasing might be something I do a bit more of. It's not that I won't be able to go out and buy stuff over there, you understand; it's just that actually getting the opportunity to do it might be a little more complicated. So if I'm going to become an internet shopper, as a person who has indirectly (i.e. via by Husband) been affected by account-related fraud, any technology I can find to make that particular aspect of life safer and easier has got to be a good idea. So I've found one.
Hmm - aspirations for laptop purchase - items found plentifully on-line - and a way to pay for things on-line. Could the two things be related? Surely not...
Very cheekily, I'm going to send you over here to Powder Room Graffiti where I've written all about it, to find out what that method is.
Happy spending!
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