The Mommy Wars: other voices

When I flick through various newspaper supplements, lifestyle magazines (ugh whatever the hell lifestyle is), or scroll down the latest quasi-guru infested websites, there seems to be no shortage of articles and commentary on the challenges of motherhood. On the face of it, this might appear a progressive trend only the most churlish would curl a lip at, but look closer and they read as postcards from a few select parenting resorts. Common though they may be among many.

When we talk about motherhood and work in these various spaces, it is often to the absence of voices of working class women being included. Despite hopes that this would change with the advent of cheaper access to the net, and a broader understanding of ‘balance’ and responsibility newsmakers surely have for contributing towards an equilibrium of comment with all the attendant tensions that would bring, it hasn’t. If anything, it has gotten worse.

There are too many trend stories about middle and upper middle class women and their dilemmas in the workforce/home dominating the waves. The validity of their experiences, and the right to unpick them both individually and collectively, is a given. But to many, and across much of the media, it cements a disturbingly singular narrative and the face of modern parenting in the Irish workplace. And this is worrying for everyone.

I don’t believe ordinary middle class and upper middle class women intentionally seek to exclude the experiences of working class women, or single mothers, or mothers from minority communities; but the narrow parameters around pat concepts we accuse the media of lazily drumming up, clearly do.

We’re all familiar with the routine by now. The mainstream “mommy wars” pits two homogeneous groups of women from broadly similar backgrounds against each other. The complexities of balancing workplace struggles, retaining personal identity, sanity, and a sense self-worth against childcare options, are reduced to notions of ‘choice’. Combined with boiled down statistics from a proliferation of (often dubious) studies conducted exclusively with a cohort of women from ‘professional’ sectors, all nuance is lost. Respecting personal choice as a response is all the rage. Add in negative equity and crippling childcare costs, and the cheap argument is rounded out into one that is null and void, where we all essentially just get along and support one another.

Buried below all of this, are the experiences of swathes of mothers who are unemployed for other reasons, or who work in the retail, caring, and catering sectors struggling to put together a living wage. The challenges they face in securing and paying for proper childcare are immense. It’s up there with securing sustainable work. And making the subsistence pay stretch. Low-income leads to poor physical health, poor mental health, inadequate diet, risky consumer choices, lack of opportunities to broaden progression routes within the training and work-force, and all the other by-products of poverty that don’t need spelling out here. The mainstream Mommy Wars excludes this narrative. The Mommy Wars exclude the need for everyone to push together, not just on the need for mutual respect, but for economic justice for other mothers. For fair wages. What might appear as a media-manufactured instrument of a fictional war, creates another barrier for those further down the line to battle against. Limiting responses to the Mommy Wars with proof of camaraderie among middle class women inadvertently drowns out those voices who are not.

In the main, mothers from every background are contending with busy lives and juggling a multitude of tasks to keep themselves and their family on the straight and narrow. They have enough to do. But it is unfortunate, that in on-line discussions concerning child and family nutrition, and other parental “choices”, the frequency with which choices of others are ridiculed, and certain women shamed, is becoming ever more apparent. Even from those who in another breath lament the existence of the phoney mommy wars while calling for respect and understanding.

The sugar industry preys on the paltry wages of poor mothers and works in an insidious way. And while breastfeeding might currently be the preserve of “educated” women, the self-satisfaction often accompanying the reporting of one’s commitment to it, while politely wagging fingers at those who do not, is at best futile. More than that, these discussions characterise the Mommy Wars of a particularly ugly kind. One in which those whose actions being challenged don’t have recourse to comment. Not in on-line fora, not on parental website articles, and certainly not in the national press.

Education brings with it a number of responsibilities as well as advantages. Continuing to educate ourselves on the experiences of everyone is surely one that comes with learned territory. We’re sophisticated enough to engage with the issues of all women.

The Irish Times: Our Wedding Story

He*, a managing director of a moderate ego, and She*, a self-employed irritant, both from Earth, met virtually through work, which they were trying to avoid at the time. Their first date was over too late for her to retrieve her car from the car-park before it closed. She paid the sixty quid call-out fee.

“After a few months of ripping the piss out of each other, we agreed to meet up,” she said. “We went out for drinks and dinner. I was a little disturbed by how his head would wobble as he cut his steak but he did a great impersonation of The Godfather and Michael Flatley and could give me a run for my money when it came to remembering one-hit wonders.” He proposed two years later (to her) after. She spent the evening celebrating their engagement taking calls from the Groom’s sisters exclaiming how lucky she was. She was uncertain how to handle these threats.

In September 2011, they were married at the registry office in Cork. The reception and honeymoon for two was held afterwards in West Cork.

“Neither of us spent our childhoods there and don’t know a soul, so it felt like a second home,” said the Bride.

She wore a Tiffany Rose maternity dress. The groom wore clothes. Her witness was a kind-hearted woman she had never met before who responded to her request on an Irish wedding website for someone to undertake the task. They were joined by a friend of the woman who agreed to be the second witness. Few people believe them when they tell them this until they produce photos.

just married

Posed by models

Source: lovethispic.com

The couple’s first dance was held in the lounge of Jury’s Hotel in Dublin the previous week when the pair had an impromptu dance to Neil Young’s Harvest Moon performed by the bar’s resident singer and guitarist.

They spent the drive to their hotel after the ceremony coming up with ideal first dance songs. The Groom claimed they would dance to all of them during their ten year anniversary celebrations when they would renew their vows. The Bride just threw her eyes up in an endearing way.

A highlight of the day for Him was the preparation that morning, “the breakfast roll was lovely, particularly the generous helping of clonakilty pudding.”

The night ended with them both trying to figure out the Nespresso machine after they were upgraded to a fancy suite when the manager heard it was their wedding day. They had to vacate it two days later and return to their standard suite. “It was nearly as good as the time we were upgraded to first class on Aer Lingus on a return flight from New York when I heard the squeals from a childhood friend who defied all the teachers’ predictions and made something of herself. We toasted her an hour later”, explained the Bride. “With proper Waterford Crystal glasses,” add the Groom.

The couple live in the North with their two children – a small girl and negative equity. Every day is just like being on honeymoon.

*Not their real names

In anticipation

She rounded the corner into Wicklow Street that evening with rival gangs of butterflies slugging it out for ownership of her every nerve-ending. On that most typical of September weekends in Dublin. The weather moody, undecided on what temperature it was prepared to settle on as the changing of the guards got under way. Strident shoppers zigzagged home as they were elbowed aside by unhurried hopscotch formations. Nighthawks plotting their next drink. Her outfit wasn’t exactly the colour of hesitancy, more like a shade of relief accessorised with fear. Does this look naff? Would they recognise each other? Will their opening lines clash followed by further collisions of you firsts? Am I naff? Is he naff? Isn’t naff a naff word? With that she flung open the door and there he stood at the other end of the bar.

international
Source: Patrickdonald.com

Onob

Another weekend, another Saturday supplement featuring excerpts from Bono’s parenting blog.

I take my humble place among the begrudgers. Not because he behaves like any other amoral mega-rich parasite and doing so while presenting himself as a secular saint who has the right to lecture everyone else on economic justice. Or his hair-raising hypocrisy and limited grasp of development ethics. Or that his approach to aid reform in the developing world is propped up on a string of vanity campaigns underpinned by neo-liberal profit driven gains. Or that his entire approach to advocacy is that of classic paternalism: the privileged should show charity to the poor and be lauded for it, where justice or self-determination plays no part. Or for his failure to recognise and support the right of Africans to speak for themselves and determine their own course of action. Or for elbowing aside the integrity of protest music and dumbing down justice to a ring-tone. Or that he has unfettered access to the world stage, without a mandate, on which he smarmily pats the backs of war-mongers and his G8 buddies with whom he is on first names. Or the awe-inspiring cowardice he displays whilst on that podium as he publicly gives full-marks for the development efforts of the aforementioned whilst undermining the efforts and drowning out the weary voices of those engaged in legitimate justice campaigns as they struggle to bat away the stench of bullshit left by him and the more cynical Geldof. No, it’s because those shades are fucking ridiculous.

BonoBono arriving at the Ireland Blog Awards

Aftermath

It’s a long way from Louth to Afghanistan. Bring together one person from each and they might find themselves with something more in common than struggling to decipher the language of the other.

As the air-waves become further congested with demands for the Irish government to expand on its commitment to accommodate Syrian refugees, it’s worth remembering that over one hundred Syrians have been resettled in the country in the past year. This is noteworthy for a number of reasons:

  • Among the competing concerns is the worry that Ireland is ill-equipped to deal with the selection and administration required to facilitate sizeable numbers of refugees. Ireland has been a member of the UNHCR resettlement programme since 2000 and proven itself a reasonably competent member despite selection missions drying up in recent years. The system of Direct Provision is not the only mechanism for obtaining asylum or refugee status. The state already participates in an internationally standardised framework for fast-tracking with all the necessary checks and balances. Consequently, it adheres to corresponding local reception and integration protocols. These include advance medical screening, reception accommodation for large groups of families, and coordinated partnership with local authorities, health services, education services, and welfare supports. As part of the resettlement process, a worker is traditionally recruited to coordinate a programme of support in their host community for 18 months to two years. Recent cuts in funding dramatically curtailed this support, but a cohort of experienced staff is available throughout the country, as well as many potential peer groups to offer support as only those who can empathise with their plight can.
  • In the last ten years, Ireland’s UNHCR’s resettlement programmes have partnered with the following local authorities and associated core services: Monaghan, Carlow, Kilkenny, Cavan, Laois, Sligo, and Westmeath. Programmes have been evaluated, and lessons learned that contribute towards improving the process. There are many examples of good practice and case studies of empowering methodologies to build on.
  • Those resettled to date include groups of families from Sudan, Kurdistan, Democratic Republic of Congo, and the Rohingya community resettled from Burma. The challenge of resettling a diversity of people with corresponding languages, cultures and faith, has already been tested. That diversity is ultimately healthy for any society, and integration a two-way process, apparently needs repeating.
  • Among the indisputable successes of the process has been involvement of volunteers; local people in the host towns who extend the hand of welcome, friendship and the offer of practical support to newly arrived families as they embark on their resettlement. These locals are as diverse as any random group of Irish citizens driven by a range of impulses that unite to meet the challenges of integration. Among them are returned and retired Aid workers, young people, those in search of their own meaning, and those with little to their own name. Ireland has the necessary human capital and good-will in spades.
  • Most refugees settled before 2011 have been granted Irish citizenship. They are now part of the skilled, resilient and knowledgeable labour-ready force of human nature; firmly in solidarity with their fellow citizens burdened with the task of pulling the country back up from its hunkers. Those who cannot work are no less grateful to be alive, and hang on to higher hopes for their children, with the same determination they had in holding on to them this side of the grave.
  • Prior to participating in the UNHCR Programme, Ireland had a long history of resettling refugees; a practice that goes back as far as the 1950s, however mixed in terms of number and success. The legitimacy of domestic concerns doesn’t come under attack when aligned next to the cost of humanitarian intervention. They correspond to different points on the wedge of inequality and economic terrorism. Stacked next to financial bail-outs, the cost of resettlement is negligible but the dividends innumerable and ethical gain measurable beyond compare. To start, they are real, not virtual. Inequalities in domestic healthcare, income and access to services for Irish people didn’t coincide with the recession. They have always existed. Resettled refugees will generally not be in a position to avail of private healthcare, nor will they ever have sufficient disposable income to afford it. Many subsumed into the country’s underclass. It is always preferable to death.

The exodus of Irish refugees culminates in famine coffin ships setting sail in the sea of national memory. But we don’t have to peer farther than 1969 to dig up images of homes burning across cities with families fleeing for the border dispossessed and under threat, only the border was internal to the island of Ireland where the displaced peoples sounded like the reset of us and blended in with more ease. Wilful blindness to the plight of others is not a recent phenomenon. So, perhaps surprisingly, it’s this experience of displacement that informs a peculiar resonance among a diversity of people currently living in Ireland. They, and others further along rehabilitation, have proved the critical role the arts and story-telling plays in recovery from trauma and displacement. Ireland regards itself as somewhat of a leader in such disciplines. The universal need for artistic expression and story-telling is essential for those whose cultural fabric holds little or no space for western medication and psychotherapy. We are not alone in believing in miracles and cures and healing wells.

None of us have the capacity to act as UN superstars. The refugee crisis is not uppermost in all of our minds all of the time. That’s impossible; we’re not built to manage the world that way. But winning the minds as well as the hearts of people to create a groundswell of public resistance has power, and it is enough for people contending with busy and difficult lives. We don’t need to know the geopolitical complexities to challenge some assumptions about Ireland’s ability to manage refugee resettlement. An exercise in balancing pressure with purpose.

belfast refugees

Refugees from New Barnsley, Belfast, 1969

(Source: Belfast Telegraph)

*

For more on the experiences of those Louth residents see

http://aftermath-ireland.com/about/project/

Gone girl

Other things I’ll miss now she has started school..

1st day of school

Credit: woman in suspiciously large Jackie-O Shades

  1. Being late for work. Why be on time when spending your time fretting over how you’re never on time with a panic befitting the fear that some mythical meteor is about to crash land on earth – right on our house – is always preferable to actually being on time.
  2. Stirring the various gangs of livestock out of their oblivious chewing with a predictable beep of the horn. Gets them and her every time.
  3. All the little kids at her child-minder’s stampeding and shuffling towards the glass doors in various configurations of all fours like a remake of the closing credits from The Benny Hill Show.
  4. Choosing the person to preside over her daily care after a careful selection process involving the ancient scientific method of instinct and instinct. Being dispossessed of this power is enough to send your average control freak over the edge.
  5. All of us calling the designated daily carer-in-chief by her first name. The anachronistic but inescapable beginnings of insidious human hierarchies begins.
  6. Keeping interaction with other parents to a sanity-maintenance minimum. I would rather chew my own cheek off to the rhythm of Enya’s Orinoco Flow than join the Parents Com-mit-tay. But see number four for odds of that not happening.

What did you just call me? That’ll be Mizz Neurotic to you.