Alpha Mummy is the blog for mums who work, used to work, or want to go back to work one day.
Subscribe to a feed of this Times Online blog at http://timesonline.typepad.com/alphamummy/rss.xml
Check out this amusing list of things you only learn once you have kids, from the US.
It's a pretty good list, although I think he's left out some very important ones, such as:
11. You were never really tired before.
You thought you were exhausted when you used to stay up all night drinking on Thursday then work all day before heading out to another party on Friday. You believed you were shattered during a week of exams at school. But then you had a baby and realised that it's possible to drift through an entire year drifting in and out consciousness without any proper REM stage while simultaneously working the straps of a Baby Bjorn or singing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star as dawn breaks. You now know what it means to have tired bones.
12. Half-eaten nursery food is still palatable.
A biscuit - sodden and gummed for 20 minutes - can still be popped into your mouth after being passed on from your toddler. Cold chips and abandoned fish fingers are perfectly fine, if eaten while hovering over the sink before loading the dishwasher. In fact, almost any manner of food fits into your diet as long as it is handled and spurned first by your offspring.
13. It's not so important to be 'cool'. (pictured)
Kids demonstrate that it's a lot more fun to roll around on the floor, make animal noises and funny faces, and generally act goofy than to pose in the corner, sneering and making snide comments about other people's outfits. But beware - from their teens to their own parenting years they'll forget this rule. Be prepared to soldier on in your unhipness.
Got any of your own?
 Michael wrote in with the following response to the pester power post: his list of the items that have only flourished because of pester power.
Top 5 Victories for pester power
1: Bratz Dolls
Few mothers, and absolutely no fathers, want their child to grow up taking fashion cues from Bratz dolls. With their teenage hooker pouts and micro mini wardrobes they are a flash forward to a million parent-teenager arguments. Still, they sell in terrific quantities, and challenge the by contrast rather demure Barbie for the top selling girl’s toy slot most Christmases.
2: Swords and guns
No matter how hard woolly liberal parents try to dissuade their young sons from choosing weapon-inspired toys, the violence just seems innate. Try as you might to encourage the caring, nurturing side to your son he just wants to stab people. With a big plastic sword that could easily have someone’s eye out. Might as well let him get some practice before he moves on to the real thing.
3: Electric hair twirler
Every young girls who sees this perceives it as the pinnacle of personal grooming. Every parent sees it as a guaranteed trip to A&E. You’ll thank every God you’ve ever heard of when the battery finally runs out.
4: Electric powered toy cars
Not the ones that cost £20 and can fit in his toybox. The kind that cost upwards of £400 and demand their own garage. Every small boy wants one of these. Until he hits 3'5" and he can’t get in it anymore. Then it’s a very expensive ornament. That’s four feet long. Bought exclusively by overachieving dads or parents who are just plain scared of their own kids.
5: Super soaker water gun
Impossible to play with indoors, deeply antisocial in any public space, and just plain annoying in your garden. You don’t want to buy it. You’ll end up with two.
Picture taken by callme_crochet on Flickr.com
 "Pester power" has become one of those marketing terms that strikes fear in the heart of parents, mostly because it translates into whinging, crying, pouting and floor-rolling whenever you pass a display of something sugar-filled or stamped out in cheap plastic.
My husband tries to combat this by telling the kids they can have a "treat" at the store, then amends this to "a fruit treat - any piece of fruit you want" right before we check out. You can imagine how well that goes over.
Can pester power ever be used for good instead of ill? It seems like the eco-folks have enlisted kids to encourage parents to turn off lights, recycle and so on. Yet are there good ways that other companies can use pester power, or does it require having a product or food that parents like anyway ("Please, mummy, can I have the sprouting broccoli spears!")?
Or should we ban advertisers from appealing directly to kids? After all, any advert that claims a cereal is "fun" or a toy is "cool" is not talking to parents - should it be allowed?
I remember very clearly what I thought I was going to get out of motherhood. I was banking on two things: one, that it was somehow going to "complete me" as a woman, and two, that it was also - and I never really examined the practical mechanics of this - going to give me enough time to write a novel. I think I'd read an interview with JK Rowling, and envisioned the child sleeping in a crib under the desk whilst I bashed out some fabulous cross between the two best books ever (Riders by Jilly Cooper, and The Railway Children.)
Well, hahahahahaha, obviously. Hahahaha. Having a child doesn't "complete you as a woman". As the minx-goddess Sarah Silverman said, "Today I learned that everyone has hole in their heart, but that you can’t fill it with a kid - because they’ll stomp on it and stretch it and make it impossible to fill in the future."
And as for the novel - well, I'm sure you can guess. As I discovered in the first few weeks of motherhood, having a newborn is a very special era in your life, when you have so little time that you often have to split having a poo between two separate days - summoned from the toilet by hysterical, red-faced screaming from what appears to be a semi-malignant otter in a pink towelling suit, who genuinely quite hates you.
But you know what? I reckon I have got a lot out of my becoming a mother. Probably more than my kids have, who are downstairs at the moment watching Tracy Beaker on CBBC, eating dry cream crackers they've scavenged out of the kitchen, whilst I write this in bed. Indeed, I reckon I've got so much out of it, I could make a list:
1) Learning that everything is "a phase". Not just biting, or a fear of Daleks, but socio-political movements, anger about the Euro, bird-flu, Alanis Morrissette. They all come, and they all go. There's not point in getting terribly worked up about them. All you need to do is hold calm in the centre.
2) Often, you don't need to do anything at all. Raising kids is, in many ways, like being sent to interview a fabulous, blingy r'n'b star. They don't really want you to interact with them very much, or ask them any questions. You've just been sent there to witness how fabulous they are, and occasionally go "Wow, you came from the projects. That must have been tough. You're amazing." Substitute "You came from the projects" with "You had to do a spelling test", and that's pretty much all kids want from you, 80% of the time.
3) Really getting a handle on the fact I'm going to die. I was never really that ambitious before I had children, because I thought I had approximately six million years left to sit around smoking marijuana, watching daytime TV and keeping a scrapbook of Richard Madeley's best sayings. But now I've made a child who's nearly four feet tall, I am very aware of the passing of time. I am going to die relatively soon. I need to get on with things. I've got my hustle on. Simillarly, I've...
4) Developed a work ethic. You never really know how much you can cram into a day until you've got kids. You also never know how many things you can do simultaneously until you've got kids. I can now easily make the tea, over-see reading aloud, keep on eye on a playdate, book a holiday, worm a cat, hold a conversation with my husband about someone we hate, and write a feature, all at the same time. All mums can. We never even mention it. And working until 2am just isn't a big issue any more. Let's face it - it's much, much easier than looking after a toddler. Working until 2am is a blessed relief, compared to attending a birthday party at ClownTown on the North Circular Road. Everything become very relative.
5) Lost my fear. I could never watch violent or scary movies before I had kids. My imagination was feral, and I once had a panic attack after my sister merely described to me the plot to The Blair Witch Project. After a three-day posterior labour, however, I came out of that hospital nails. I watched Gladiator when Dora was six days old, and didn't bat an eyelid as decapitated heads went flying through the sky. "Yes," I thought. "That was a bit like the Second Stage."
6) Made me more socially adept. I never really liked talking to strangers before. Indeed, if my husband invited his friends round, then went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea, I'd run off to the toilet until he came back. I was very awkward and self-conscious. Seven years of nurseries, play-dates, school-trips, school-gates gossip and sundry playground-hanging have changed all that. Firstly, it became embarrassing that my two year old was more socially adept than I was - going up to people and saying "SLIDE!" in a very cheerful manner, then playing with them for two hours. And secondly, you realise conversation between two human beings doesn't have to be the slick, Emmy-Award winning, West Wing-style patter you believe it should be in your childless world of pubs, parties and work. Humans are actually quite simple, happy people. You can just talk about the kids' shoes, the vicious local tom-cat, and the new chutney they sell in Budgens, instead. And feel a lovely, village-y, lo-fi glow about human interaction.
7) Introduced me to the best social circle I've ever had. Before we had kids, everyone we knew was an alcoholic. And to be fair, everyone we know now is an alcoholic, too. But these new alcoholics have kids, and have to be in bed by 1am tops, which has almost certainly saved us all from terrible cirrhosis. And I love the almost soap-like feel of seeing them twice a day, at pick-up and drop-off, and the constant flow of gossip and updates and running gags and plans to all hire a barge together, which never quite come off.
Looking at that list now, I realise that, actually, I was a little more than a spineless creature, lying on my back at the bottom of a pond before I got pregnant. I probably should have started earlier, really. I wasted fully ten years being some hapless, incompetent, wastrel-spenk. I'd probably be CEO of UniLever, and have won the Nobel Prize for being sexy and deep, like, if I'd got up the duff at 14.
Author Nia Wyn's book Blue Sky July has been nominated for the Wales Book of the Year, as announced at the Hay Literary Festival on Monday.
The story is an account of Nia's struggle to come to terms with her son Joe's cerebral palsy.
The book's already attracted a lot of attention, including being the Radio 4 book of the week and Radio 5 book of the month back in October. You can read a Sunday Times interview with Nia here.
Also, check out India Knight's blog on bringing up a child with special needs, Isn't She Talking Yet?
 Alpha Mummy's Sarah writes in the Times today about working mums' fascination with the Lakeland catalog. I confess, I've loved Lakeland since I saw a friend's ice lolly holders (with built-in straws) several summers ago. Every time I pick up a catalogue I find myself seduced by things like towel grips, the Sink Bin (for soggy cereals and other things too wet for the bin, to thick for the drain) and the solar energy torch. It's because we crave perfection and the ability to stave off parenting chaos, Sarah says.
Certainly for me the Lakeland catalogue promises order, along with the corner plate rack. £8.99 for an oasis of calm at home? Who can resist?
Sarah also mentions a new American Book called My Beautiful Mommy, that helps parents explain to their 4- to 8-year olds why mommy is going into hospital to change her nose, get her thighs vacuumed and having huge jiggly balloons shoved under her skin to make her breasts bigger. But don't worry, darling, Mummy and Daddy love you just the way your are.
See excerpts from the book on Newsweek.
Patricia writes in with this story about her upbringing, with which I identify strongly. Is anything so sweet as the long-awaited treat like an ice cream, that you've saved up for all on your own?
Reading with interest all the very valid comments on helping children cope in today's very materialistic society I thought I would share with you my childhood and how we all helped run the home. My mother came from Italy after the war, taught herself English by going to the cinema and worked hard throughout her life. She brought us three children up to have good Christian values and to look after each other.
My jobs where, before school (aged 7 onwards) I would have to clean the "grate", roll up the old newspaper and lay the fire for the evening. On return from school (with my own key) I would then peel 5 lbs of potatoes, as these were cheap, ready for when mum came home at 5.30 from her office job so dinner could be cooked, usually a stew as this was also cheap. Or when we finally got a lodger we used to have Pasta with some mince meat in it - wonderful. Mum used to go out to work again in the local Pub and my brothers would then look after me. You may ask what Dad was doing - in the Pub drinking the earnings!
So mum had a hard life and we children shared the tasks that needed to be done. We got pocket money each week, although a small amount it was yours to do what you will with - I would save mine, this took a few weeks (only got 3 pence) and buy a tub of icecream and a flake bar and before everyone came home would eat this all to myself - delicious.
Children are part of a family unit and Parents should be teaching them that everyone benefits no matter how large or small a job is, it is doing the job in the first place that counts not the monetary value it holds. Material things should be something you acquire when you are at work and can pay for them out of your own earned money.
So Working Mothers and Mothers who are at home bringing up their children, give them values - give them boundaries - give them love, be the friend to them when they are grown, and hopefully you will have a rounded individual at the end of it.
Lizzie Enfield describes her struggle to get her four-year-old son out of absorbent pull up pants in today's Body and Soul.
She also wonders whether the new elimination communication (EC) technique could have allowed her to potty train her boy earlier.
Advocates of the process claim babies can be potty-trained by three months using cues and close observation. Lizzie has found converts who say it transformed their relationship with their child.
So is the EC technique another sign of pushy parenthood, or a way of giving children some independence while helping the environment?
We'd love to know your thoughts.
Previously on Alpha Mummy:
A nappy free childhood?
Bedwetting, knicker flashing and expert help
NB writes in with this illuminating list of the lies mothers tell:
1. The pain of childbirth
Trite but true, a mother will never reveal the true extent of the pain of childbirth. How could we even begin to explain anyway? Instead, when asked about it, by soon to be initiated friends, we mutter something about breathing through it and try and suppress the buried memory of our own experience of childbirth, particularly the bit that involved crawling around on all fours howling like a dog.
2. The amount of alcohol we drink
Of course we love bathing our child and the way they smell all clean when they are tucked up in bed listening raptly to what Charlie said to Lola. We are more reluctant to admit that we are on auto-pilot the throughout the entire bathing/bedtime ritual, our minds concentrated almost exclusively on that magical first, cold glass of wine that we are going to guzzle the minute the children (finally) go to sleep. Alcohol is a quick fix route to relaxation that few exhausted mothers can resist.
Continue reading "10 Things Mothers Lie About " »
I got sent this this morning on my email. It's one of those round-robins, only with a difference. The cynic in me thinks it's a bit too Hollywood to be true; but the my inner romantic really hopes it is. Anyway, see what you think.
Subject: What would you do?
What would you do? . . . . you make the choice . Don't look for a punch line, there isn't one . Read it anyway . My question is: Would you have made the same choice?
At a fundraising dinner for a school that serves learning-disabled children, the father of one of the students delivered a speech that would never be forgotten by all who attended. After extolling the school and its dedicated staff, he offered a question: "When not interfered with by outside influences, everything nature does is done with perfection. Yet my son, Shay, cannot learn things as other children do .. He cannot understand things as other children do. Where is the natural order of things in my son?"The audience was stilled by the query.
The father continued. "I believe that when a child like Shay, physically and mentally handicapped comes into the world, an opportunity to realize true human nature presents itself, and it comes in the way other people treat that child. "
Then he told the following story: Shay and his father had walked past a park where some boys Shay knew were playing baseball. Shay asked, "Do you think they'll let me play?"Shay's father knew that most of the boys would not want someone like Shay on their team, but the father also understood that if his son were allowed to play, it would give him a much-needed sense of belonging and some confidence to be accepted by others in spite of his handicaps. Shay's father approached one of the boys on the field and asked (not expecting much) if Shay could play. The boy looked around for guidance and said, "We're losing by six runs and the game is in the eighth inning. I guess he can be on our team and we'll try to put him in to bat in the ninth inning. "Shay struggled over to the team's bench and, with a broad smile, put on a team shirt. His father watched with a small tear in his eye and warmth in his heart. The boys saw the father's joy at his son being accepted.
In the bottom of the eighth inning, Shay's team scored a few runs but was still behind by three. In the top of the ninth inning, Shay put on a glove and played in the right field. Even though no hits came his way, he was obviously ecstatic just to be in the game and on the field, grinning from ear to ear as his father waved to him from the stands. In the bottom of the ninth inning, Shay's team scored again. Now, with two outs and the bases loaded, the potential winning run was on base and Shay was scheduled to be next at bat.
At this juncture, do they let Shay bat and give away their chance to win the game? Surprisingly, Shay was given the bat. Everyone knew that a hit was all but impossible because Shay didn't even know how to hold the bat properly, much less connect with the ball. However, as Shay stepped up to the plate, the pitcher, recognizing that the other team was putting winning aside for this moment in Shay's life, moved in a few steps to lob the ball in softly so Shay could at least make contact.
The first pitch came and Shay swung clumsily and missed. The pitcher again took a few steps forward to toss the ball softly towards Shay. As the pitch came in, Shay swung at the ball and hit a slow ground ball right back to the pitcher. The game would now be over. The pitcher picked up the soft grounder and could have easily thrown the ball to the first baseman. Shay would have been out and that would have been the end of the game. Instead, the pitcher threw the ball right over the first baseman's head, out of reach of all team mates. Everyone from the stands and both teams started yelling, "Shay, run to first! Run to first!"
Never in his life had Shay ever run that far, but he made it to first base. He scampered down the baseline, wide-eyed and startled. Everyone yelled, "Run to second, run to second!" Catching his breath, Shay awkwardly ran towards second, gleaming and struggling to make it to the base. By the time Shay rounded towards second base, the right fielder had the ball . . . the smallest guy on their team who now had his first chance to be the hero for his team. He could have thrown the ball to the second-baseman for the tag, but he understood the pitcher's intentions so he, too, intentionally threw the ball high and far over the third-baseman's head. Shay ran toward third base deliriously as the runners ahead of him circled the bases toward home. All were screaming, "Shay, Shay, Shay, all the Way Shay". Shay reached third base because the opposing shortstop ran to help him by turning him in the direction of third base, and shouted, "Run to third! Shay, run to third!"
As Shay rounded third, the boys from both teams, and the spectators, were on their feet screaming, "Shay, run home! Run home!" Shay ran to home, stepped on the plate, and was cheered as the hero who hit the grand slam and won the game for his team. "That day", said the father softly with tears now rolling down his face, "the boys from both teams helped bring a piece of true love and humanity into this world". Shay didn't make it to another summer. He died that winter, having never forgotten being the hero and making his father so happy, and coming home and seeing his Mother tearfully embrace her little hero of the day!
AND NOW A LITTLE FOOTNOTE TO THIS STORY: We all send thousands of jokes through the e-mail without a second thought, but when it comes to sending messages about life choices, people hesitate. The crude, vulgar, and often obscene pass freely through cyberspace, but public discussion about decency is too often suppressed in our schools and workplaces.
If you're thinking about forwarding this message, chances are that you're probably sorting out the people in your address book who aren't the "appropriate" ones to receive this type of message. Well, the person who sent you this believes that we all can make a difference.
We all have thousands of opportunities every single day to help realize the "natural order of things. " So many seemingly trivial interactions between two people present us with a choice: Do we pass along a little spark of love and humanity or do we pass up those opportunities and leave the world a little bit colder in the process? A wise man once said every society is judged by how it treats it's least fortunate amongst them.
You now have two choices:
1 Delete
2 . Forward
May your day, be a Shay Day
 Hello to Tina from Paris, who wrote this nice note:
I have just found you - where have you been all my life??? Needed a good laugh today (am at work, would rather be home with you-know-who).
We know how you feel (especially on a Monday), Tina. Keep us updated on the world of working mothers in Paris!
Ice cream firm Viennetta this week claimed to have found the perfect celebrity nuclear family. Respondents to their survey had to rate celebrities on whom they would most like to have as their mother, father, sister or brother. But what they were not asked to consider was how the family would function.
Let's just imagine a typical family day. You (This Morning host Fern Britten, 20 per cent) get up in the morning to cook your husband (entrepreneur Richard Branson, 28 per cent) a hearty breakfast before he jets off to his holiday island to hang out with supermodels and pop stars.
Stuck at home with your two children comedian Peter Kay (24 per cent) and actress Billie Piper (18 per cent) you are forced to watch helplessly as little Peter stomps around the living room singing 'Is This The Way To Amarillo?'
Meanwhile young Billie has come home to announce her divorce to DJ Chris Evans is finalised and that she is to star as a prostitute in the school play.
As the day comes to a close and Richard calls from a hot air balloon 10 miles above the house, you remember to count your blessings that troubled blues singer Amy Winehouse only received two per cent of the votes to become your daughter.
1) Give yourself a healthy dose of First World Guilt. Remind yourself that you are lucky enough not to be a woman in the Congo. Or Basra. Or Zimbabwe.
2) You will no longer have a daily row about which disgusting pair of sequin-studded pink trainers your daughter wears. From now on it's Uniform and that's that.
3) Your child will be exhausted at the end of the day. As a result, they will go to bed at 7pm and sleep soundly through the night. You and their father can finally get re-acquainted.
4) There will be a new and towering figure of authority in your child's life with which to secure obediance. As in: Stop that, or I'll tell Mrs Verdi.
5) Your child will start to have interesting conversations with you.
6) They will very quickly learn to wipe their own bottoms, which means that they will not longer yell down the stairs "Mummy I've done a poo can you come and wipe it up?" just as you are about to serve dinner.
7) You can stop feeling guilty that everything they do wrong is your fault. Now it can be the school's fault.
 I love this blog dooce.com, which is very well-known in the States and written by the very funny and insightful Heather B. One of the best ideas in it is Heather's monthly newsletters to her daughter where she writes a letter, describing the latest milestones and developments. From the latest one:
"You’ve suddenly started asking about Chuck [the dog] when you wake up in the morning, as if you cannot start your day until you know where he is. When I say, you know, I have no idea where that dog is, probably moping around in black eyeliner, you will call out for him — CHUUUUUUUCK! — and continue doing so until he reluctantly crawls into the room, like, DOES SIR DESIRE MY PRESENCE?"
When my daughter had the wonderful nanny Janine before she started nursery, Janine would write everything down in a little diary, including playdates and little milestones and what she liked to eat that day. I keep a datebook by my bed now, although I generally only write in it about every two weeks or so, when I jot down funny or cute things she's said or done right before I fall asleep. Most recently she's been singing "Little Peter Rabbit has a fly upon his nose" around the house, and announcing "Did you know, mummy, did you know..." before divulging tidbits of knowledge like "this is called a tortilla" and vital information about fairies.
How do you remember and keep track of your child's milestones?
As KK points out in a post below, why is cellulite cute on babies but disgusting once we're past age 2? My daughter has dimples on her bottom and thighs and it is adorable but of course I've spent hours in front of the mirror staring at my cellulite in an attempt to intimidate it into leaving the building. More 40somethings are being treated for anorexia these days, which is not so surprising as we're all browbeat with images of older celebs who work out 3 hours every day and look like a bag of antlers swathed in Versace dresses.
And of course the horrible truth is that girls are dieting at ever younger ages (anorexia and bulimia generally develop between ages 15-25). Charities have called for social networking sites to ban "thinspirational" anorexia videos. Others say these sites can help provide a support group for girls and boys who otherwise wouldn't talk to anyone.
In the meantime I've declared a moratorium on talking about my weight in front of my daughter.
Has anyone else seen this video about anorexia? Particularly powerful.
 The Times comment page has jumped onto Jordan's breasts, figuratively speaking, with Melanie McDonagh proclaiming she's with Jordan on breastfeeding - ie, she's not doing it. "For the past eight months I have not spent most of my time as a human version of Dairy Crest."
Breast versus bottle: it's actually not an argument that works up women I know into a lather. You try to do it, some can, some can't. So you use formula. Alert the media.
Yet this comment by Melanie about the advertising of follow-on milk caught my attention: "It's patronising to assume that women are so easily swayed by advertising that they'll change their habits just because of it." Like, drinking more Coke because of its multi-million pound ad budget? Like, buying a vest from Top Shop because it's got Kate Moss's name attached to it. Now who would do a thing like that?
Jenny Colgan wasn't the only one last week to notice Jordan's OK! interview and her promotion of bottle feeding. Two charities - Save the Children and the National Childbirth Trust - have joined forces to bring action against SMA Nutrition after Jordan's hearty endorsement of bottle-feeding, accompanied by a picture clearly showing the bottle's label. The company says it has no commercial relationship with Jordan and it was all a coincidence.
I was really moved by a story I read a while back about how formula makers promote their wares in poor countries and the use of formula contributes to the death of babies from diarrhoea (after mothers mix up dry formula or dilute liquid formula with dirty water). A columnist in the Guardian wrote recently about how the UN and the Philippine government condemned formula companies for promoting their wares there.
I'm not anti-formula fanatic - I used formula with my daughter after I went back to work - but the formula companies seem to be treading a very fine line, considering how breast-feeding is related to good health for babies - especially if they use the ignorance or inexperience of women to promote their products.
 Claire writes in with a very good point:
Is it just me, or have the majority of the blogs, and the subsequent postings, on Alpha Mummy been somewhat negative and cynical of late? Are we really all that grumpy and critical, and if so, why? What are we so unhappy about?
When I think back to leaving university and what I wanted out of life... I wanted to travel widely, I wanted to have a career which I enjoyed, I wanted to be financially (independently) secure, I wanted to find someone that I had a chance of forging a happy and lasting relationship with, and at some point I thought I'd like children. So, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick...14 years later, a couple of broken glass ceilings, a lot of frogs kissed, a few doses of dysentry, an unforgettable labour and 7 months of pregnancy later and I am officially the woman who has everything. And I am HAPPY!
Yes, balancing having children with work and lifestyle is not always easy, but at the moment the plates are all spinning...I'm just enjoying where I am and how things are. Is this success?
Underneath the piles of plastic toys, the Croc-hate, the expense of days out and the SAHM/WM debate...are the Alpha Mummys happy? Or should be careful what you wish for in case it comes true?
I would love to know.
Well said, Claire. My husband is always reminding me to be happy about the things that are going RIGHT, not just the things that are going wrong.
Christine writes in with a moving story about her predicament: a combination of providing for her kids after a nasty divorce, re-entering the workforce after years as a stay-at-home mum, juggling holiday days with work and sorting out her pension and life in general. It really struck a nerve.
I was ‘that’ woman, the woman who on the outside had it all. The big house, the fast cars, the good-looking family. I was the woman who was the envy of all those who didn’t know her and, it would appear, some of those who did. I was also the woman who smiled outwardly but was dying inwardly. My ex…the good provider, the ever so nice man, the attentive man to all around but his family, the man who hid a secret. He was the sort of man who liked to be in control. His authoritarianism drove me insane, along with his verbally abusive behaviour towards myself and the children, especially that of my eldest son, his stepson, so after a great deal of trying to do what was best for my kids, I did what was best for me and I walked away. Five years down the legal route and a deluge of bitterness and angry rebuke from him, we at last divorced. I settled out of court.
Life for me is a scary prospect at the moment.
Continue reading "A reader story that highlights AM issues" »
 They don't have physicists' atom-smashing reputation or look like Jeff Goldblum's chaos theory scientist in Jurassic Park, but the sociologists at Kent University's parenting conference are the kind of scientists I want at my next dinner party. They tell funny anecdotes, they epater le bourgeois and best of all, they quantify all those things about being a modern parent that drive so many of us mad.
The line-up at Monitoring Parents: Childrearing the Age of Intensive Parenting was full of witty sceptics talking about how government, experts and media are creating a hysterical parenting culture. It was every Alpha Mummy's dream. Susan Douglas, an American media historian who has written The Mommy Myth, excoriated the idea of the new mother who is expected (by others and herself) to achieve perfection in everything from providing her kids epicurean delights (organic, wholesome, and made fresh each day) to keeping a house that Martha Stewart would envy. Frank Furedi, the University of Kent's Professor of Sociology and author of Paranoid Parenting: Why Ignoring the Experts May Be Best for Your Child, scoffed at expert and government interference in parenting that has gone so far as to produce a pamphlet for fathers instructing them how to hug their children. ("Where do I put my arms again?")
At the conference, held this week on Monday and Tuesday in Canterbury, everyone in the room seemed to be simultaneously nodding their heads and enthusiastically putting in their two cents. When Charlotte Faircloth, a PhD candidate at the University of Cambridge, presented her paper on mothers who breast-feed beyond their child's first birthday and the ideas of what's "normal", people's hands shot up to comment so quickly you would have thought she was throwing sweets.
Andrew Billen, who also attended, writes in today's T2 about parenting paranoia. Check it out!
Alpha Mummy is the new blog for mums who work, used to work, or want to go back to work one day
(as if looking after children isn't work enough). We depend on getting stories and tips from readers,
so please Send us a tip or drop us an email
to say hello.
Eleanor Mills, mother of two, edits The Sunday Times News Review
Caitlin Moran, mother of two, is a columnist for The Times
Sarah Vine, mother of two, is a columnist for The Times
Jennifer Howze, mother of one and stepmother of one, is editor of Women at Times Online
|
Recent Comments