There has been a lot of discussion on television and social media lately about the opening of the film Fifty Shades of Grey. This is not a movie I am planning on seeing or a book I am planning on reading (for many reasons not to be discussed here)... but I want to hone in on an idea that is coming up in the discussion... the concept of Romance.
When we think of Romance, we think of the box of chocolates, the flowers sent to a workplace, the candle lit dinner, the walk on the beach, or the weekend locked alone in a mountain cabin with a fireplace and a bear skin rug don't we?
We think of the grand gesture... the proposal at the top of the Eiffel Tower... or the proposal on the beach next to the fire that his best friend lit... or the proposal over dinner with the engagement ring in the glass of champagne after a decadent chocolate dessert...
We think of poetry..."How do I love thee...?" "Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments..." "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?"...Roses are red violets are blue...
We think of Romance as one of those things that shows that a relationship has spark... that your special someone loves you and only you until he or she dies. We have a love affair with love affairs on film and television... love at first sight... romantic dinner dates... following your heart no matter how many people may be hurt in the process.
In some ways Romance is like that... there are grand gestures... decadent desserts and diamond rings... happily ever afters...
But the happily ever afters aren't littered with roses and diamonds taking place in palaces with diamond sunbursts and marble halls. The most romantic fictional literary couples after they marry would still have to do the washing up and would still have morning breath just like the rest of us...
So I put it to you that yes, romance is about the chocolates and roses... some of the time and mostly in fictional universes. In the time and place in which we find ourselves romance is an entirely different beast.
Some years ago Luke and I served on a beach mission team in Kiama. Each member of the team was customarily interviewed at a meal, and I was asked what Luke's most romantic present to me had been. I remember talking fondly of the first birthday I celebrated while we were going out, at which he gave me a couple of history books by Alison Weir (which I still have and love)...and all the girls in the room simultaneously sighed... how romantic! He knew what I liked and was interested in and went out of his way to find it!! The guys were all thinking...he got her books?
Romance is about knowing someone intimately and doing little things to make their life better. It is about the tiny daily acts of kindness that make up the tapestry of a life...
Romance is making me tea in the morning with milk and one before I even say a word... romance is falling asleep with me on the couch each night as we listen to Mike Duncan's Revolutions podcast... romance is getting up in the middle of the night to replace a dummy or cuddle a crying baby so I can keep sleeping... romance is lovingly preparing dinner after a long day at work... romance is making a mix tape with songs he wanted to introduce me to (back in the day)... romance is praying with the kids each night before they go to sleep... romance is doing bathtime every night and seeing it as fun!... romance is about taking Miss 3 out on Daddy-Daughter dates... romance is about shoehorning me out the door to spend time with friends... reading to me from a mutually favourite book... binge watching tv series for fun...giving me freedom to study again even though it will make things harder for him... giving me freedom to go places alone to recharge...and sitting in bed in companionable silence each night each with a book...
Sure we love going away for weekends without the kids... sure we love going out to the ballet or nice dinners in the city and things like that... But I never expect to be given flowers... it hasn't happened yet, and if it did I would think it was strange... it is more likely to be books or dvds anyway these days...
I know that may not be everyone's experience of Romance... what is yours?
Friday, February 13, 2015
Tuesday, January 27, 2015
On the retirement of the bassinette...
It is time.
It is time to retire the bassinette. The sleeping home of my three little cherubs.
It was the same bassinette that my mother slept in as an infant... the same one my sister Fiona slept in in the early 70's... the same one I slept in in the early 80's...
It has held the children of family and friends for over 65 years. It has held my children on and off for 5 years. It will probably hold the children of my sister and brother (when they have them)...
But for now it is time to retire it.
The bassinette has sat in the corner of our bedroom for 9 months now. It held Silas for basically 6 months...by far the longest of any of our babies. And has sat empty of an infant ever since.
The bassinette, like the bouncer, has since become the receptacle of miscellaneous junk... clean clothes, books, toys... it gets moved out of the way when we need to get into the cupboard against which it stands...
It is time to put it away. For the last time in this house.
But I can't.
The cynical amongst you might say that this is because I value the storage space it gives me... and to an extent they would be right... it would mean actually putting things away where they go instead of just dumping them in the bassinette at the end of the day.
But there is more to it than that.
Even though I know that Silas is my last baby, putting away the bassinette says that his early babyhood is over forever...irrevocably finished. His is 8 months old and yet he is still my tiny boy, who I cradle to feed many times a day...sustenance from my own body. He is still "Baby Silas", dwarfed so tiny next to Bede and Tabitha. He can't crawl yet so the illusion of helplessness is still there... but soon he will be off and moving. My last tiny boy will be moving towards toddlerhood, away from babyhood... away from total dependence on me for his every need.
It is sad.
But it is freeing... it is only a short time that I will have a small boy who needs sustenance only from me... a short time that I will be able to soothe him in the middle of the night with a cuddle and a feed... then I can have my sleep back... and the corner of my room... but my heart will be forever fuller... forever his.
It is time to retire the bassinette. The sleeping home of my three little cherubs.
It was the same bassinette that my mother slept in as an infant... the same one my sister Fiona slept in in the early 70's... the same one I slept in in the early 80's...
It has held the children of family and friends for over 65 years. It has held my children on and off for 5 years. It will probably hold the children of my sister and brother (when they have them)...
But for now it is time to retire it.
The bassinette has sat in the corner of our bedroom for 9 months now. It held Silas for basically 6 months...by far the longest of any of our babies. And has sat empty of an infant ever since.
The bassinette, like the bouncer, has since become the receptacle of miscellaneous junk... clean clothes, books, toys... it gets moved out of the way when we need to get into the cupboard against which it stands...
It is time to put it away. For the last time in this house.
But I can't.
The cynical amongst you might say that this is because I value the storage space it gives me... and to an extent they would be right... it would mean actually putting things away where they go instead of just dumping them in the bassinette at the end of the day.
But there is more to it than that.
Even though I know that Silas is my last baby, putting away the bassinette says that his early babyhood is over forever...irrevocably finished. His is 8 months old and yet he is still my tiny boy, who I cradle to feed many times a day...sustenance from my own body. He is still "Baby Silas", dwarfed so tiny next to Bede and Tabitha. He can't crawl yet so the illusion of helplessness is still there... but soon he will be off and moving. My last tiny boy will be moving towards toddlerhood, away from babyhood... away from total dependence on me for his every need.
It is sad.
But it is freeing... it is only a short time that I will have a small boy who needs sustenance only from me... a short time that I will be able to soothe him in the middle of the night with a cuddle and a feed... then I can have my sleep back... and the corner of my room... but my heart will be forever fuller... forever his.
Friday, January 9, 2015
Ages and Ages Hence...
I have been a mother now for five years come Monday.
I remember being very apprehensive about motherhood. I always thought that the endless days spent at home attempting to entertain a small person (or several small people) would turn me into a drooling mess, unable to communicate effectively or coherently with other adults. I thought that I would lose all ability to think critically about anything of an academic nature again. I thought that people would stop valuing me for my intelligence and professional experience, and that I would become *just* a mum.
How has motherhood been? How has Mr Bede, 5 on Monday changed my life?
Well suffice to say I am not currently a drooling mess, unable to communicate with other adults... I am just as adept at the art of both spoken and written words as I was before the advent of Mr Bede... if anything more so... since having Bede I have given my first talk at a brunch for Christian Women... I have started a Masters Degree in Education (for which I am receiving marks beyond any in my previous academic endeavours, including my first HD)... I have proof-read and edited a Masters Thesis for a friend that received an HD grading... I have a few things to be proud of...
So in that sense, my life is little different. My intellect is intact, and potentially more acute than it was.
But my life experiences?
My life experiences are vastly different to what they were...
Now I know the true horror of the toddler who hasn't napped. I know how to wrestle a rolling baby into an all-in-one suit without scratching or breaking the bones of said baby. I can breastfeed an infant whilst mediating a dispute between two other children, while making dinner.
Is it hard? Yes. There are days where Mr Bede has stretched me to my breaking point. And he hasn't even started.
It is very interesting to watch him grow up. Five years is at the same time a very short but very long time. He has gone from the flailing, crying infant dependent upon me for his every meal, to the flailing, running, jumping, shouting, train-imitating, Boy (and the capital is intentional. He is SUCH a boy) who is still dependent upon me for his every meal but perhaps not in as physically immediate way these days...
We haven't even got to Homework Wars or the dark and shadowy realm of the Teenaged Years to come. He hasn't even gained a fraction of his arguing and negotiating ability... and if his current verbosity us anything to go by, we should be VERY worried.
He can and often does talk from sun up so bedtime without drawing breath, offering a running commentary on anything and everything, asking questions all the time... according to my parents, I was exactly the same. He will talk to anyone he meets and makes friends easily with the person next in line, the kid on the swing, the old person at church... and even after a full day with lots of people will still ask when he is going to see more friends... again, a mini-me... He loves stories and being read to... he can basically recite whole books and chapters of Winnie the Pooh (a gift I think he gets from Daddy)...
He is and has always been a boy on the move. Able to crawl at 6 months and walk at the back end of ten months he could dribble a soccer ball at the tender age of 15 months. Now he loves to practice his fast bowling, and his forehand with equal interest and equal skill. He also loves to ride his bike for hours without stabilisers... This ia a boy who seems to have a natural affinity for sports.
This year Bede starts school up the road. He has been at preschool several days a week for the past two years or so, and has matured so much in that time. He leads the gang of boys in their games with balls, sand, trains, and all sorts of other things. He can and does lead group discussions when he has the preschool 'friend' home to visit for a week and has to report back... leads the discussion, fields questions... you'd think he was born to be in the spotlight... a natural leader.
It will be fascinating to see how school affects him, how he fits in to the group... how he learns and grows and develops... It is an exciting time...
And yet... sometimes I wish he was that tiny baby again. I would do so much differently. But then wouldn't we all? Wouldn't we all cuddle them more and stress about that skipped nap a bit less? Wouldn't we all shout less and rough house more? Tickle more?
Be less annoyed by his endearing quirks? Be less annoyed by his constant (and I do mean CONSTANT) chatter? Be less annoyed by his apparent inheritance of all my bad points?!
In some ways the next few years are going to be a lot about me learning to parent him better... learning to see his similarities to me and love them. Learning to enjoy my own annoying traits... and learning how to teach him to manage them effectively...
I remember being very apprehensive about motherhood. I always thought that the endless days spent at home attempting to entertain a small person (or several small people) would turn me into a drooling mess, unable to communicate effectively or coherently with other adults. I thought that I would lose all ability to think critically about anything of an academic nature again. I thought that people would stop valuing me for my intelligence and professional experience, and that I would become *just* a mum.
How has motherhood been? How has Mr Bede, 5 on Monday changed my life?
Well suffice to say I am not currently a drooling mess, unable to communicate with other adults... I am just as adept at the art of both spoken and written words as I was before the advent of Mr Bede... if anything more so... since having Bede I have given my first talk at a brunch for Christian Women... I have started a Masters Degree in Education (for which I am receiving marks beyond any in my previous academic endeavours, including my first HD)... I have proof-read and edited a Masters Thesis for a friend that received an HD grading... I have a few things to be proud of...
So in that sense, my life is little different. My intellect is intact, and potentially more acute than it was.
But my life experiences?
My life experiences are vastly different to what they were...
Now I know the true horror of the toddler who hasn't napped. I know how to wrestle a rolling baby into an all-in-one suit without scratching or breaking the bones of said baby. I can breastfeed an infant whilst mediating a dispute between two other children, while making dinner.
Is it hard? Yes. There are days where Mr Bede has stretched me to my breaking point. And he hasn't even started.
It is very interesting to watch him grow up. Five years is at the same time a very short but very long time. He has gone from the flailing, crying infant dependent upon me for his every meal, to the flailing, running, jumping, shouting, train-imitating, Boy (and the capital is intentional. He is SUCH a boy) who is still dependent upon me for his every meal but perhaps not in as physically immediate way these days...
We haven't even got to Homework Wars or the dark and shadowy realm of the Teenaged Years to come. He hasn't even gained a fraction of his arguing and negotiating ability... and if his current verbosity us anything to go by, we should be VERY worried.
He can and often does talk from sun up so bedtime without drawing breath, offering a running commentary on anything and everything, asking questions all the time... according to my parents, I was exactly the same. He will talk to anyone he meets and makes friends easily with the person next in line, the kid on the swing, the old person at church... and even after a full day with lots of people will still ask when he is going to see more friends... again, a mini-me... He loves stories and being read to... he can basically recite whole books and chapters of Winnie the Pooh (a gift I think he gets from Daddy)...
He is and has always been a boy on the move. Able to crawl at 6 months and walk at the back end of ten months he could dribble a soccer ball at the tender age of 15 months. Now he loves to practice his fast bowling, and his forehand with equal interest and equal skill. He also loves to ride his bike for hours without stabilisers... This ia a boy who seems to have a natural affinity for sports.
This year Bede starts school up the road. He has been at preschool several days a week for the past two years or so, and has matured so much in that time. He leads the gang of boys in their games with balls, sand, trains, and all sorts of other things. He can and does lead group discussions when he has the preschool 'friend' home to visit for a week and has to report back... leads the discussion, fields questions... you'd think he was born to be in the spotlight... a natural leader.
It will be fascinating to see how school affects him, how he fits in to the group... how he learns and grows and develops... It is an exciting time...
And yet... sometimes I wish he was that tiny baby again. I would do so much differently. But then wouldn't we all? Wouldn't we all cuddle them more and stress about that skipped nap a bit less? Wouldn't we all shout less and rough house more? Tickle more?
Be less annoyed by his endearing quirks? Be less annoyed by his constant (and I do mean CONSTANT) chatter? Be less annoyed by his apparent inheritance of all my bad points?!
In some ways the next few years are going to be a lot about me learning to parent him better... learning to see his similarities to me and love them. Learning to enjoy my own annoying traits... and learning how to teach him to manage them effectively...
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