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Main Page Site Index Getting Pregnant Pregnancy Parenting Pregnancy and Parenting Journals Fertility Nutrition Pregnant Moms Morning Sickness Women's Health Child Health	Email Dated January 23rd, 1999 This month's Bearpit column is actually an email from the author's husband, Graham. Judy is laid up with the flu and this was the very inciteful email that he sent to explain his stand-in life as Mr. Mom! Dear Vickie Please pardon the delayed submission of this month's column. This note comes from a rather busy husband. Judy is laid up in bed with a very bad dose of the flu; the sort which ensures that she does not care less whether her children eat or not. Frankly, she does not care whether she eats either. This could be a useful way for her to lose weight but I am not sure that I want to take on full time child-care as well as holding down a full time job. It beats me why so many mothers want to do both. I can understand those who have to from economic necessity but I think I prefer to go without some luxuries and have the kids cared for by a loving mother. I am a fairly hands-on dad and am used to sharing most of the routine tasks in the house. With me working full time and Judy at home, we split the responsibilities, agreeing general policies and Judy applying them practically at home. Judy does the majority of the household tasks during the week and I do more at weekends when I am around. A few of the household tasks will have to go by the way whilst Judy is out of action but the kids are fed, bathed, dressed and entertained so the details can wait. The vacuuming can wait for a bit, not least because there appears to be a mountain of toys on Tamsin's bedroom floor and Angus's cot appears to hold a soft toy sanctuary and a small library - he likes books! Heavens knows where he sleeps but I found him snoring, face down across a mountain of teddy bears, bed clothes removed and room otherwise freezing. It did not seem to worry him a bit. Tamsin is trying a little manipulation of mother and father, trying to play me off by suggesting her mother allows certain activities, including not tidying her room. The news that Daddy's rules apply in the house whilst Mum is out of action has not gone down too well but the threat of non-attendance at a party today has done the trick. I might even master the washing machine if this goes on for long. Judy is fiercely protective of doing the washing, alleging that I would shrink or bleach every garment, given half the chance. I suspect her of being machine obsessed as she claim similar incapacity on my part in programming the video recorder. I could not care less, as I rarely watch videos. Odd then that I am supposed to figure out what is wrong with these machines when they fail. Equally odd are the offers of help I have received from various mothers. They are not so much offering to lend a hand as implying that men are inherently incompetent to deal with children. I am not sure how full time house husbands cope. The kids are pretty good and I enjoy looking after them but the social calendar is just packed and I find it hard to remember all the appointments. I see why Judy keeps a Filofax running. I have come to rely on a secretary to make sure I keep my appointments and when you shift roles, keeping the appointments diary for two busy kids as well as yourself and nurse-maiding a grumpy wife, you find it a rough transition. Tamsin is only partially approving of her father looking after her full time. There are frequent reminders of lapses in standards; "Mummy doesn't do it like that!" and equally frequent gruff responses of "Hard luck, Daddy does!". She is looking forward to Mum being well enough to return to normal duties. Angus seems not to notice provided food appears at regular intervals and the video recorder is reloaded. I am now expert on Postman Pat, Spot and Bananas in Pyjamas. The last of these feeds back to the first as mention of Bananas reminds him that he is hungry and what he really needs to fill that gaping hole is a banana; NOW!. If I do not react quickly enough, he can be heard pushing a chair across the kitchen floor in order to grab some fruit from the fruit bowl. In more adventurous moments, he uses the chair to climb the table, then steps onto the bench and reaches the high cupboards where, foolishly, we had left some chocolate. There is something immensely depressing in finding a small child stuffing the last two pieces of your Christmas stocking Toblerone, saved carefully for a special moment, into his mouth. Why is a mouth which is too small to fit a baby toothbrush without causing grievous injury (if the screams of agony are to be believed) able, when confronted by a large chocolate, to consume it whole. His mother was claimed by her orthodontist to have a small mouth. Her parents didn't believe it (she has always been voluble) and somehow I don't see it in Angus either. If he keeps eating at the present rate, he will quickly overtake his tall, willowy slender sister in weight, if not in height. We have visions of him wicket keeping at cricket for England (or Australia; dual nationality helps at some points in life) as he is short but very strong with an ability to fall from great heights holding a biscuit intact, ready to be eaten as he picks himself up. If he can transfer the idea of a biscuit in his hand to a ball in his hand, he might be the first member of this family to show sporting prowess. One of the down-sides to being a fill-in house husband is the appearance of a wife at the low point of the day, when kids have been fought into bed and one hopes to sit down peacefully amongst the chaos and debris for a peaceful read of the paper. If I complained of untidiness at this point in the day, Judy would issue divorce proceedings or, at the very least, throw something. As it happens, she retired to bed, realising her mistake rapidly. The temptation to cease delivery of drinks and aspirin was overwhelming, but apologies were accepted. Don't try it again though, me thinks. Playing Mother has other more daunting consequences. Tamsin has been doing ballet classes for about a year, with more enthusiasm than aptitude. She is very good at the drama part of ballet but less ept at having her feet in the right place. Perhaps her talents lie in something less rigid where creativity is vital. This morning's question from her ballet teacher threw me, however. Do we want her to do her ballet exams? They are next week and whilst there is no compulsion, her friends are all sitting them (I wonder if the right verb is 'performing them' for dancers?). We had attempted a solidarity campaign of parents not to do them but one folded to her daughter's wishes, the promise of satin ballet shoes and having her hair in a neat bun destroying the parents' objections over the cost. Once one child was entered, all the rest had to do likewise to maintain their place in the child competitive, or maybe parent competitive, stakes. None of us wish to think that another kid might be more clever, or have more opportunities than our own. Heavens knows how we will get Tamsin's hair into a neat bun. She has long curly hair which looks beautiful but never tidy. It always carries the impression of a small whirlwind, conveying Tamsin's spirit nicely even before she introduces herself. I fear the depletion of the Ozone Layer over England as we use hairspray to hold it neat. I take comfort from one of her friends, known affectionately by her otherwise fastidiously neat family, as Pig-Pen after Charlie Brown's messy pal, who was pinned down and tidied up for long enough to pass her ballet exam last year. If she can, so can we! The ballet exam means a trip to Cheltenham, an English spa town about twenty five miles distant tomorrow for practise and Monday week for the exam. Given that Judy does not drive, it means even more time off work for me to chauffeur and chaperone. The thought of a roomful of small, pink tu-tued girls (alright, one or two small boys, as well) is daunting. The parents are even more frightening. Many of the girls doing ballet seem to start at the age of three, when you have to question their real interest in the activity. It then becomes competitive between children and parents as more and more girls are signed up for classes. As a child, I attended Eisteddfords where the competitors were, for the most part, sane normal kids but the parents showed vicious competitive, tendencies which would, today, have them locked up for psychological abuse if meted out to their own children. The same desire for our children to succeed, beating all others, shows itself on the sidelines of sporting pitches around the world. Tamsin expressed an interest in tennis last year and we agreed to her having lessons to acquire some basic skills. I cannot hit a ball to save myself, getting to see more of the rough country on the golf course than most people would see whilst trekking the High Sierras. The side-line parents on the basic tennis skills course were an eye opener, encouraging their children to the point of barracking. I got odd stares for applauding kids who had a try, however ineptly. Tamsin quickly grew tired of the "sledging" and indicated that she had lost her interest in tennis. I have seen similar behaviour among cat and dog-breeders, showing their pets. I often wonder if the competitiveness that parents show for their off-spring is animal in origin and what purpose it serves. All it does seem to bring for the children is anguish as their results rarely meet the parents' expectations. Wouldn't it be more sensible to let kids get on with their own interests and bite our tongues, if we do watch from the sidelines. What was meant to be a short covering note has spread a little further. I hope that you are well. Have you got back to the US yet. We are aiming to return to Australia in about late April or early May. Kind regards Graham Peters Judy Edmonds was born in England, grew up in Australia and is married to Graham Peters, a fifth-generation Australian. From 1990-1999 they lived in England - it was meant to be a two year working holiday but it took on a life of its own. They returned to Australia in May 1999, and are enjoying readjusting. Judy worked as an academic librarian until the birth of Tamsin in 1993, and since then has been a full-time mother to her and to Angus, born 1996. She is now embarking on a new career as a freelance journalist. Her writing can be found all over the Internet now, and she is the owner/editor of an Australian parenting EZine, Chloe & Jack.