Mother duck, fun maker, pied piper, peacemaker

It is the summer holidays, although I use the word summer loosely so far. And while I shouldn’t complain because much of the rest of the world is either being ruled by the tyrant King Covid or ruined by those other guys, when I say it’s the summer holidays I mean theirs not mine. It's the school holidays, and with my annual leave non-existent as an independent contractor I have already squeezed the juice out of 2 weeks I couldn’t really afford to take off unpaid over the most expensive and least relaxing time of the year known as Christmas. So along with many other working parents who’s eldest isn’t yet old enough to look after their youngest, I rejoin the circus with my PhD in juggling. I do have a partner, he is not their father and that is a story for another time, but step parents can often opt in and out with varying degrees of helpfulness, while I do the Lionesses’ share of the child rearing, house cleaning and cooking (another word I use loosely) and I also work, albeit part-time and yet somehow also constantly.

My partner is self employed, so we are able to work around each other to a certain degree, but I am still left feeling like I’m doing everything poorly. Half assed work, half assed housework and self-care, half assed parenting. Average somehow isn’t enough. “You only get 18 summers with your kids” echoes in my ears as the sun doesn’t shine on my day off and the kids are not helpful or enthusiastic and don’t feel like doing anything in the real world, yet spend hours on their devices managing families and building houses of their own in their parallel universe of Roblox.

Sometimes you have to ask them; “did this happen in the real world, or on Minecraft”? I put down my juggling balls and put on my ringleader’s hat. “Let’s walk the dog” I suggest to a choir of groans. “Let’s go to the beach, wear I jacket” I say, wondering if I can sneak in my ear phones to drown out the sounds of how unfair it all is. It is loudly unfair. All the free fun seems weather dependent, and home is full of things that fall off shelves and remind you they need to be done. Let’s pack a picnic and go for a hike. Let’s make some memories, the kind you see in everyone else’s facebook photos. But let’s not post too many of them, because I can’t simultaneously hate something and be something at the same time and scrolling makes me feel less than. On the one hand I want to proudly share my children’s achievements and milestones with friends and family far away, but I also don’t want to make you feel how I feel when I see you on your new paddleboards in the inlet. Like I wish I could work more hours to make the money to afford those, but then I wouldn’t have the time to spend on them, and everyone says that time is what matters the most in raising children. Try telling that to 3 kids who have been targeted with ads for paddleboards based on your scrolling history. Photographs capture a moment in time. During that half an hour after lunch when the sun came out briefly and they stopped slapping and screaming at each other for 5 minutes. This is not an accurate representation of a day in the life of my family! We didn’t really have a great day, we had a great twenty minutes after lunch before the bee sting and the stubbed toe.

I will mention at this time that my village is small, that is; the circle of people around me I can count on to be helpful or supportive in a practical way. There is pretty much no one I feel comfortable calling on for help with the kids, because everyone is busy and has a lot going on in their own lives and I can’t really afford to pay fair babysitting rates. And it’s not like there’s just one or two kids. There are three. And they fight. It is essentially like asking someone to look after three feral cats. I do know that I don’t find asking for help easy, which I recently read is a trauma response to feeling abandoned and like you had to do everything yourself (and perfectly) in your life, because to count on others was emotionally dangerous.

I have three children and two hands. Only one still wants to hold my hand to be fair, but I still need more eyes at the beach in the waves, on the street on their bikes. I have to be at all times aware of potentially dangerous situations and hypervigilant against possible catastrophe. Mother duck, fun maker, pied piper, peacemaker. This is the most important job I will ever do and I love being their Mum. It’s the only thing I actually care about doing really well, because it’s all that really matters at the end of the day. I can handle the challenges and responsibilities of essentially being a solo parent. But they don’t make it easy! Why are they such dicks to each other and me? The constant complaining, the faces they make at each other to get a reaction. The mean words, the mis-communications, the accusations and interpretations. The tantrums over having to help me with a few basic chores. They would just like to lie on the couch with an ipad and be delivered food all day. Well same, kind of, but that’s not going to happen! While I’m tired from doing all of the things I still want to spend the time I have leftover creating happy memories with them. It’s hard when I’m met with such reluctance and resistance, so my brief window for fun turns into lecturing and negotiating instead, repeating the same warning 3 times, swearing and yelling and then feeling guilty about it. Yay parenthood! They just don’t seem to get that I’m doing the best I can. And everything I do “out there” is for them and us here, to better our life, to maximise our happy times. Every time I leave the house with the children in the school holidays it seems to costs $50 and money doesn’t grow on trees, although I do have a Chinese lucky cat in the hallway, waving it in.

It’s the summer holidays but it’s theirs not mine. They want to spend it online, and I want a peaceful life. When the facebook memories come up I see their happy smiling faces and I remember all the fun we had.