47. Parenting styles

 

We just came back from a very restful weekend in Bali but the following day saw me crashing back to ‘reality’ with a giant thump!  Ahhh…..that mountain-load of ‘enticing’ laundry, beckoning at the end of each holiday…but it is what it is. So, by noon, I had powered through two loads of washing, taken Buddy to the groomers, done the food shop and gone on my 10-km run.  As I struggled through the door with the groceries, Matt looked up from his Maths session with Tia and said, “Oh, the groomers called and I think Buddy is ready to be picked up.”   Off I trudged again, then made lunch for the hungry mob, drove Matt to work, came home, more laundry and then prepared dinner.  I think you get the picture..

At some point during dinner, Tia turned to me and cheekily asked if I had done my piano practise.  Unfortunately for her, we weren’t on the same ‘comedy channel’ at that moment as I recounted every-single-task I had ‘slaved’ through that day, asked if anyone accomplished anything beyond lounging around reading or watching TV, and then dared her to re-ask the question.  Of course, in hindsight, that was a little harsh.  After all, I only had to ask and the girls would have pitched in.  But no, I wanted them to help out because they thought of it and not because I asked them to.  I know, I know.  I am beginning to sound like a crazy woman. 

I came across an interview a few weeks ago whereby multi-talented Australian actor-singer-dancer-extraordinaire-all-round-decent-and-wonderful-human-being-and-husband Hugh Jackman, aka Wolfman from the X-men franchise, shared his thoughts on parenting.  What?  Did I just sound like I have a celebrity crush?  Awww, you caught me out.  But I am only human!  Anyhow, Hugh (Haha!  First name basis!  If only!) talked about how he “yells at his kids, they drive him to despair, he worries that his deficiencies as a parent mean he is slowly but surely stuffing them up”.  He also talked about and how children can push your buttons and make you feel such extreme emotions, and the anger or fire they can sometimes incite.  I was like, “Oh my goodness!  That is EXACTLY how I feel!”  So its just as well I’m not married to Hugh Jackman because it just wouldn’t work out with both of us stressing about the same things.  Sorry Hugh.

My beautiful husband Matt, on the other hand, has such a wonderful approach to parenthood.  When I read out an excerpt from that same article about how so-and-so’s mom said, “Relax, you worry too much.  You feed them, you love them, that’s it”, it was his turn to have his that-is-EXACTLY-how-I-feel moment. I sometimes feel envious of Matt and those of my friends who have this wonderful parenting style whereby they are so attuned to seeing the big picture and able to block out the ‘other stuff’ that, in actuality, is just ‘noise’ ...

But I cannot because at least every other day (if not everyday), there are ‘boxes’ that need to be ticked, exploits that need undertaking and ‘fires’ that need putting out.  AND, if we were BOTH laissez-faire and make-it-up-as-we-go-along, would our household still work the way it works (on a good day)?  Or would those ‘little things’ fall through the cracks because non-verbal clues were missed?  Would the girls learn to think beyond themselves, realise the importance of dreaming, or master the tools needed to pick themselves up and try again with a little fine-tuning?  Am I beginning to sound a little hysterical again? Sorry.  Okay, deep breath and stop panicking over all the ‘what-would-happens’.

At the end of the day, I don’t purport to be ‘superwoman’ and do not even try to pretend to have all the answers.  Honest with my girls about my shortcomings, I am not afraid ask for help and try to encourage the girls to go on fact-finding missions when appropriate. And with three such different individuals whose needs demand that my parenting style is constantly refined and modified as per child and situation; sometimes my appeals for us to work together as a team so the day is smoother works, and other times, not so well.  But it’s the life I have chosen and I am at peace with it.  All we can do is try our best to prepare them to stand confidently and successfully on their own two feet by giving them love, inspiring courage and fostering integrity.

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17. Its a little TOO quiet..

 

Those who know me well know this: despite all my complaining and feeble protests, I love a busy household.  I love the excited chatter of my three girls and their friends bouncing off the walls and the tactical scheduling of their increasingly busy diaries. And at the end of the day, I love going into each daughter’s room and saying “good night” and trying to make them laugh or smile one last time, just before they turn in for the night.

But whenever any one of them goes away on a sleepover, our home takes on a different dynamic, and everything is just a little bit more subdued.  Life becomes a little less hectic and crazed.  A little too quiet.  SOB!

I remember the first time Faith went away for a week-long school trip when she was 9 years old.  She was my first to go away for longer than a night and I was so excited for her.  I dutifully attended all the briefings set up by the school to “assure parents” of the wonderful adventure the children were going to embark on and how these first steps towards independence (at 9!) would be beneficial for them in the long run.  We were then sent away with a swaddle of consent and medical forms, indemnity waivers, packing lists to fill-out and study.

And so the weeks flew by quickly, until suddenly, it was time for us to see Faith off on her trip.  Determined not to be teary, I gave her a huge hug and told her to have a fantastic time.  She quickly disappeared into the animated crowd of children and as the buses pulled away, she quickly mouthed “I love you”.  I felt something tug at my heart and found my eyes wet.  That walk back to the car was the longest walk ever.  But I didn’t have time to dwell on it as I had to rush back to my two other little girls who needed me.  When I finally had a moment to myself later that day, I was shocked at myself.  Hang on!  What is that feeling in my chest?  It was an ache!  An actual physical pain that refused to go away.  No, I was not having a heart attack.  I was just missing my child and it manifested into something physical, only going away when she came home. 

The same thing happened when Tia went away, although, this time, it was only for 3 nights. Out of my three monkeys, Tia is my shy, can-be-reticent, and can-get-over-emotional one.  I was beside myself with worry.  Will she like the food?  Will she get scared?  Will there by anyone who would give her a reassuring hug?  I canvassed the nicest teachers I knew who were going on the trip, tearfully asking if they would please keep an especial eye on her in case she became overwrought. 

Well!  I don’t know what I was so worried about!  When I picked Tia after a very long drawn out three days of chest aches, sleepless nights and Matt laughing at me, I asked about her trip.  Tia excitedly raved about how much fun she had and how she LOVED being away!  “LOVE BEING AWAY”?!? What is she talking about?  I MUST be so delusional with happiness I was imagining things but talk about surprise!  “Really?  That’s great!”  Mustering up as much lightheartedness in my voice as I could.  I then asked if she missed anything / anyone from home (HINT! HINT!).  Her response?  "No."   She said.  "Just your cooking."  I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry!  Here was my middle child who ALWAYS talked about how she was NEVER moving out of home, showing me I had worried unnecessarily!  So she didn’t miss me per se but hey, I’ll take ‘missing my cooking’ any day if it meant she found the courage to find qualities in herself I had been trying to instill.

Sigh.  I have wonderful trailblazing girlfriends with children who are now young adults off exploring the world – without their moms.  All around the globe, I hear too many accounts of ‘adieus’ and wonderful homecomings and each time, emotion overwhelms me and I feel a melodramatic tug at my heart.  I realise the adage “children are only on loan" is so true but I have such wildly conflicting feelings about the day when my three will undoubtedly take off on their own adventures -- with my blessings.

But I have a plan!  To continue building an unbreakable bond where they always will feel the need to come home often, if only to share a meal, a joke or two, and a glass of wine.  Hmmm... what shall I cook tonight...

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10. HOME AND AWAY

Matt and I sat down the other day to work out how many times we had moved houses since getting married.  Let’s see… in Sydney, there was the one close to the beach with the curved window where I watched my belly grow; the one where Faith (daughter number one) spent her first months; the blue one we bought, gutted then painted in bright canary yellow (I STILL cannot believe how bright that colour was!), and the one near The Gap (yup, notorious for the wrong reasons but with the most spectacular views of the ocean).  Then, in Hong Kong, there was Parkland (where Faith got a good laugh because I nearly peed my pants when she pointed out the almost-like-an-anaconda-uninvited-guest in our living room), etcetera, etcetera.  Long story short, Singapore makes this move number 10 -- that’s packing AND unpacking every 14.4 months!  No wonder I’m permanently exhausted.com!

When I was younger, relocations were due to circumstances beyond my control – my parent’s divorce.  Then, as a young adult, it was my work which saw me constantly selling-up to take a contract overseas (where better money awaited), only to have to start from scratch all over again once the gig was wrapped-up.  You'd think I'd learn!  Presently, and for the past 11 years, Matt’s job has seen us decamp from Sydney and set-up homes in Hong Kong, London, and now, Singapore.  Each move is proving to be more challenging with each additional child, (and MORE ‘stuff’ that nobody will let me throw out!) and now, a dog as well!  I dread the next call summoning us to move again – because undoubtedly it WILL come -- its just a question of when.

The most recent relocation took us from London to Singapore via Zurich and Dubai.  “What kind of crazy route is that?” you ask?  The latter two were the other ‘possibilities’ of where they wanted to post us.  I remember the early part of the ‘adventure’:  Matt coming home and saying we were moving to Zurich and how excited he was: the fresh air, the lifestyle, the skiing!  I, however, felt sick. 

I had been trying to learn french for the past few years and had not made much headway due to my inability to be ‘guttural enough’ in my pronunciation.  With German requiring even more ‘grrrr’, the probability of me mastering the language was zero to the infinity-of-infinity.  

And skiing?  Let’s just say when I first stepped onto a ski field at ripe old age of 38, I had never been so terrified in my life.  Not just of breaking something, but of being the CAUSE of someone else getting hurt because of my inability to stop.  “Get out of the way!” I would frantically call out. “I can’t stooooooooooooooooooooop!  SHIIIIIIIIIIIT!!” 

Added to my anxiety was the reputation of the Swiss to take life very seriously.  Oh man!  I am so going to be a social pariah with my loopy sense of humor and my flair of putting my foot in it! The impending move brought back horrible memories of when we first arrived in London, when stress saw my mouth transformed into a grotto of ulcers – about 20-or-so of them – and of how lonely and lost I felt. 

Driven by a renewed sense of fear, after a few months of staying up till-all-hours surfing the internet to research, and trying to be positive about the “next adventure” (as per Matt’s directive); I finally plucked up the courage and confessed.  I had it all planned out.  I would plead my argument rationally over dinner.  Matt sat there, listening patiently to my manic and hysterical outburst, then asked, “In your mind, what is the worst thing about this move?”  I replied as honestly as I could, “German.  I REALLY don’t want to learn German.”  Then, he burst out laughing.  Unfortunately, Matt’s laugh is very infectious and so, feeling foolish, I became even more determined to get over my anxiety.   

Luckily for me though, yet another few months later, the Zurich idea was canned and they were moving us to Dubai!  Hurray!  Somewhere warm!  Plus zero percent tax!  Seeing the disappointment on Matt’s face made me even more determined to make this work and be positive. 

“Honey, what a wonderful opportunity for the girls!  Asia, Europe, and now an Arabic country!  How many children get to experience such a truly global upbringing?  This will probably propel them into distinguished careers with the UN or an NGO, no?”  Yes, I sounded like a salesman + tiger mom on speed.  Anyhow, our reconnaissance trip was quickly booked.  But then, the call came.  “Dubai’s not going to work.  You will have to move to Singapore.” 

Was I relieved?  Guilty! And though I recognize we would have transformed wherever they sent us into a wonderful home (even if it meant paying people to become our friends!), I cannot deny the news finally filled me with a childish glee at our next adventure.

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