'Y-E-S. Yes!
Yes? Mammy, why does your badge say Yes?'
'Well, you know the way sometimes you have a day off school and help Mammy to vote on important questions? I want everyone to vote Yes on the next important question.'
'Why, what's the question?'
Now, what on earth do I say to that?
My children KNOW gay couples. They know that they are simply two people in love, the same way Mammy and Daddy are in love.
They KNOW that everybody is just as good as everyone else. That it's not kind to treat someone differently because of the colour of their skin, their need for a wheelchair or hearing aid, or the fact that they have a Jedward lunchbox.
How do I explain to them that some adults do not know as much as they do? That some adults are hanging desperately to a notion of superiority, of worthiness, at the expense of other people's happiness. That joining together and celebrating marriage between any two people in love is merely a first step in allowing ALL couples to hold hands in public, without fear of actual violence.
Aged 6.5 and 5, my kids have not yet learned to fear difference. They see things as simply as many adults can't. Love is love, and that's that.
So do I tell them what the referendum is about? Honestly, I would prefer them to learn about it in their history books. I would like them to come to me in ten years' time and marvel that they were alive at a time when LGBT people were NOT allowed to marry.
WHY should I have to explain to them that some consider gay people to be incapable of marriage, or unworthy of it? Why would I expose them to such unthinking bigotry and tell them that this negativity exists in the world? By exposing them to hatred, do I run the risk of some of it staying with them?
They are too young to be faced with the harsh realities of those who attempt to control the rights of others. Those who think that LGBT people are 'equal, but...'
So please, vote Yes in the marriage referendum. Bring humanity a step forward, take a step to uniting our society. Don't try to convince another generation that society consists of 'them' and 'us'.
We listen to so many people telling us, without supporting evidence, that gay relationships are harmful to children. But can fear, intolerance, hatred be good for anyone? Won't somebody, please, think of my children?
Friday, 13 March 2015
Monday, 2 March 2015
To Our Fourth Child
Dear Popsicle,
You are not a First Child. When I was expecting your big brother, joy abounded from the people I'd meet just going about my day. Spotting the little bump proudly stretching my tight maternity clothes, they would ask if it was my first. When I said yes, those strangers would positively twinkle at me, telling me how much my life was going to change and sharing such 'helpful' advice as "Whatever you do, don't breastfeed", "Make sure you breastfeed", "Keep that baby close, the years are short" and "Show the baby who's boss".
Beaming in return I nodded at all advice, calmly confident that we - and your brother - would work things out as we went along. And thankfully, that seemed to work for us as we became a family of three.
Nor are you a Second Baby, the baby who prompted knowing smiles from all we encountered. "That's a lovely age gap, they'll be the best of friends", "You're going for the girl, are you?" and "Proper order, a fine young man like that needs a little sister to look after". Advice was still forthcoming too, mostly on how to avoid sibling rivalry. The people we met were still on safe territory overall, feeling they could easily understand and have some input.
But, sweetheart, you're not even a Third Baby. The sight of my third big bump was accepted by most as a funny sort of indulgence. Our first kids were getting a little older and clearly I wanted one more 'go' at the teeny baby stage before retiring my ovaries. I was being a little greedy perhaps, but no harm. "Sure the older ones will be able to help now, you'll get on grand".
And now your impending presence is announced every time I walk down the street. On realising that you will be a fourth child, there have really only been two responses from the people who like to think they're in the know.
Option A is that your Daddy and I must be 'gluttons for punishment' with a laugh and a headshake to indicate that the speaker would never be so foolish.
Option B is often from the older generation, where four children was actually a small family. They reassure me that you'll 'slot right in and you'll hardly notice at all'.
What those people don't understand is that you, my love, are not an afterthought or an also-ran. Far from going unnoticed, your arrival is eagerly awaited by older siblings as well as your Daddy and me. Strangers on the street haven't heard the squeals of delight as you move my belly about beneath the hands of Little Man and Little Lady, and I often wonder what Little One thinks of the pummelling you attempt to give him each time he sits in my lap.
I am looking forward to seeing your little face every bit as much as I did with your brothers and sister, and to that particular mixture of smugness and awe on your Daddy's face when he holds you for the first time. I sing your very own 'bump song' to you, the same song I plan to sing while I nurse you to sleep in a few short months. While you kick, and squirm and grow inside me, I can hardly wait to see if you'll be another old soul, or a free spirit - or whether you'll surprise us anew.
Your arrival will be celebrated not by two, but by five people who will form your immediate family, who will each love you and annoy you (sometimes in equal measure) as you grow.
Sweetheart, you are not our first baby, but you will likely be our last - and you will be cherished.
Love,
Mammy
xxxxx
You are not a First Child. When I was expecting your big brother, joy abounded from the people I'd meet just going about my day. Spotting the little bump proudly stretching my tight maternity clothes, they would ask if it was my first. When I said yes, those strangers would positively twinkle at me, telling me how much my life was going to change and sharing such 'helpful' advice as "Whatever you do, don't breastfeed", "Make sure you breastfeed", "Keep that baby close, the years are short" and "Show the baby who's boss".
Beaming in return I nodded at all advice, calmly confident that we - and your brother - would work things out as we went along. And thankfully, that seemed to work for us as we became a family of three.
Nor are you a Second Baby, the baby who prompted knowing smiles from all we encountered. "That's a lovely age gap, they'll be the best of friends", "You're going for the girl, are you?" and "Proper order, a fine young man like that needs a little sister to look after". Advice was still forthcoming too, mostly on how to avoid sibling rivalry. The people we met were still on safe territory overall, feeling they could easily understand and have some input.
But, sweetheart, you're not even a Third Baby. The sight of my third big bump was accepted by most as a funny sort of indulgence. Our first kids were getting a little older and clearly I wanted one more 'go' at the teeny baby stage before retiring my ovaries. I was being a little greedy perhaps, but no harm. "Sure the older ones will be able to help now, you'll get on grand".
And now your impending presence is announced every time I walk down the street. On realising that you will be a fourth child, there have really only been two responses from the people who like to think they're in the know.
Option A is that your Daddy and I must be 'gluttons for punishment' with a laugh and a headshake to indicate that the speaker would never be so foolish.
Option B is often from the older generation, where four children was actually a small family. They reassure me that you'll 'slot right in and you'll hardly notice at all'.
What those people don't understand is that you, my love, are not an afterthought or an also-ran. Far from going unnoticed, your arrival is eagerly awaited by older siblings as well as your Daddy and me. Strangers on the street haven't heard the squeals of delight as you move my belly about beneath the hands of Little Man and Little Lady, and I often wonder what Little One thinks of the pummelling you attempt to give him each time he sits in my lap.
I am looking forward to seeing your little face every bit as much as I did with your brothers and sister, and to that particular mixture of smugness and awe on your Daddy's face when he holds you for the first time. I sing your very own 'bump song' to you, the same song I plan to sing while I nurse you to sleep in a few short months. While you kick, and squirm and grow inside me, I can hardly wait to see if you'll be another old soul, or a free spirit - or whether you'll surprise us anew.
Your arrival will be celebrated not by two, but by five people who will form your immediate family, who will each love you and annoy you (sometimes in equal measure) as you grow.
Sweetheart, you are not our first baby, but you will likely be our last - and you will be cherished.
Love,
Mammy
xxxxx
Sunday, 1 March 2015
Making my own sunshine on a rainy day
There are many benefits to cloth nappies, and one day I really must share our experience with them.
But this morning, as i listen to what can only be described as a downpour outside, it occurred to me that I've never seen anyone list 'transformation to eternal optimist' as one of the reasons parents should try cloth.
Don't believe me? Well, here's how we cloth Mammies react to Ireland's changeable weather.
Windy day - Great, that'll dry the nappies quickly!
Wet day - Great, no need to do a final nappy rinse in the washing machine! Rain is amazing for stripping nappies of detergent build-up and making them so, so soft.
Sunny day - Great, that'll bleach out any stains on my lovely nappies!
Hailstones - Great, that'll beat out any stains AND save me a final rinse!
Snow - Great, an excuse to wash the nappies tomorrow, I'm off out for a snowball fight with the kids :)
Ok, that last one works for everyone really, but you take my point I'm sure!
So while we think of some rainy day activities for the kids, I'm going to pop on a nappy wash and put that rain to good use. It's a small victory, but it's mine :)
Top tip - a good outing in a few days of rain will do wonders to soften up those crunchy towels in the back of your hot press too! Go on, give it a try...
But this morning, as i listen to what can only be described as a downpour outside, it occurred to me that I've never seen anyone list 'transformation to eternal optimist' as one of the reasons parents should try cloth.
Don't believe me? Well, here's how we cloth Mammies react to Ireland's changeable weather.
Windy day - Great, that'll dry the nappies quickly!
Wet day - Great, no need to do a final nappy rinse in the washing machine! Rain is amazing for stripping nappies of detergent build-up and making them so, so soft.
Sunny day - Great, that'll bleach out any stains on my lovely nappies!
Hailstones - Great, that'll beat out any stains AND save me a final rinse!
Snow - Great, an excuse to wash the nappies tomorrow, I'm off out for a snowball fight with the kids :)
Ok, that last one works for everyone really, but you take my point I'm sure!
So while we think of some rainy day activities for the kids, I'm going to pop on a nappy wash and put that rain to good use. It's a small victory, but it's mine :)
Top tip - a good outing in a few days of rain will do wonders to soften up those crunchy towels in the back of your hot press too! Go on, give it a try...
Monday, 23 February 2015
Making time for fun
Yesterday, my kids broke my heart. They asked to go to someone's (anyone's!) house to play, as they knew I was busy cooking dinner an washing and taking care of everyone.
And so, because it was Sunday and because Little One was napping in Daddy's arms and because my time will become even more diluted in a few short months, I threw up my hands and said 'I'm not too busy! What are we playing?'
For a while we played motorbikes, but I'm a little too big for the plastic push-along motorbike that I'm pretty sure Little Man is about 4 years too big for as well! Incessant rain put the kibosh on a trampoline bounce, and for a few minutes we debated boardgames. While we chatted, Little Lady absentmindedly twisted the bedknob at the foot of her bed. That's when the fun really started.
We all piled onto the bed, and I told them a little about that wonderful movie; Bedknobs and Broomsticks. Excitedly, they practiced saying 'Treguna Mecoides Trecorum Satis Dee'* a couple of times, and then it was time to give it our best shot.
As we had decided to fly the bed to the North Pole, first we wrapped up well. Always thinking of safety, we made sure everyone had something to hang onto during the flight. Little Lady twisted the bedknob the required quarter turn to the left, Little Man tapped it firmly three times, we all chanted the magic spell and then...
Nothing happened. Not a thing.
Little Man realised the bed couldn't get out with the window closed, so we opened it. Next he suggested that the bed may not actually know that magic spell, so he came up with his own:
'Little Lady loves her bed
And so do I,
We're sitting on it now
And we want to FLY!'
Excitedly, they hung on even tighter for our second attempt.
And our third.
On the fourth try they were certain they felt the bed wiggle.
And it wiggled even more on the fifth.
On the sixth try they thought they heard jingle bells and spied a reindeer out the window.
We sat on that bed for well over an hour, using every piece of magic we could think of - from happy thoughts to pixie dust to sparkly wands. The bed failed to fly, and the laundry failed to get done, but we had a heck of a fun time.
By now, our Sunday dinner was ready and we trooped downstairs to rejuvenate ourselves. The rest of the day passed much like any other Sunday, and we all assumed that was that.
This morning though, Hubby and I were faced with two (rare) sets of the Monday blues. After passing the Doctor Mammy health check, it was clear they both needed to go to school, but I wanted them to be happy about it.
I called them both into the sitting room, and announced that they were In Big Trouble. Two pairs of wide blue eyes gazed back at me. I pointed out the window, at the light dusting of snow on the car and asked them to explain themselves.
Little Lady caught on first. She twinkled her eyes at her big brother and squealed 'We flew the bed to the North Pole while you and Daddy were ASLEEEEEP!'. Little Man shrugged and grinned 'Sorry! We must have brought a snow cloud home with us, it probably got caught on the leg of the bed!'
They assured me that they had put their coats on over their pyjamas and held onto each other tight while flying, then they told me all about their adventure and they things they had seen.
On the walk to school, we watched as the North Pole Cloud made all the other clouds freeze and we danced along in the North Pole Snow.
The laundry may never be finished, my house will never look perfect, but the perfection of those cheeky smiles is priceless.
* I am aware (and here I'm mostly addressing you. Aoife) that this is the subsitutiary locomotion spell and not actually a bed-flying spell, but I took a little poetic licence with the sequence of events in the movie :)
And so, because it was Sunday and because Little One was napping in Daddy's arms and because my time will become even more diluted in a few short months, I threw up my hands and said 'I'm not too busy! What are we playing?'
For a while we played motorbikes, but I'm a little too big for the plastic push-along motorbike that I'm pretty sure Little Man is about 4 years too big for as well! Incessant rain put the kibosh on a trampoline bounce, and for a few minutes we debated boardgames. While we chatted, Little Lady absentmindedly twisted the bedknob at the foot of her bed. That's when the fun really started.
We all piled onto the bed, and I told them a little about that wonderful movie; Bedknobs and Broomsticks. Excitedly, they practiced saying 'Treguna Mecoides Trecorum Satis Dee'* a couple of times, and then it was time to give it our best shot.
As we had decided to fly the bed to the North Pole, first we wrapped up well. Always thinking of safety, we made sure everyone had something to hang onto during the flight. Little Lady twisted the bedknob the required quarter turn to the left, Little Man tapped it firmly three times, we all chanted the magic spell and then...
Nothing happened. Not a thing.
Little Man realised the bed couldn't get out with the window closed, so we opened it. Next he suggested that the bed may not actually know that magic spell, so he came up with his own:
'Little Lady loves her bed
And so do I,
We're sitting on it now
And we want to FLY!'
Excitedly, they hung on even tighter for our second attempt.
And our third.
On the fourth try they were certain they felt the bed wiggle.
And it wiggled even more on the fifth.
On the sixth try they thought they heard jingle bells and spied a reindeer out the window.
We sat on that bed for well over an hour, using every piece of magic we could think of - from happy thoughts to pixie dust to sparkly wands. The bed failed to fly, and the laundry failed to get done, but we had a heck of a fun time.
By now, our Sunday dinner was ready and we trooped downstairs to rejuvenate ourselves. The rest of the day passed much like any other Sunday, and we all assumed that was that.
This morning though, Hubby and I were faced with two (rare) sets of the Monday blues. After passing the Doctor Mammy health check, it was clear they both needed to go to school, but I wanted them to be happy about it.
I called them both into the sitting room, and announced that they were In Big Trouble. Two pairs of wide blue eyes gazed back at me. I pointed out the window, at the light dusting of snow on the car and asked them to explain themselves.
Little Lady caught on first. She twinkled her eyes at her big brother and squealed 'We flew the bed to the North Pole while you and Daddy were ASLEEEEEP!'. Little Man shrugged and grinned 'Sorry! We must have brought a snow cloud home with us, it probably got caught on the leg of the bed!'
They assured me that they had put their coats on over their pyjamas and held onto each other tight while flying, then they told me all about their adventure and they things they had seen.
On the walk to school, we watched as the North Pole Cloud made all the other clouds freeze and we danced along in the North Pole Snow.
The laundry may never be finished, my house will never look perfect, but the perfection of those cheeky smiles is priceless.
* I am aware (and here I'm mostly addressing you. Aoife) that this is the subsitutiary locomotion spell and not actually a bed-flying spell, but I took a little poetic licence with the sequence of events in the movie :)
Wednesday, 18 February 2015
Ode to a Dirty Face
I love that smear of porridge in your eyebrow
From playing peekaboo at breakfast time.
That smudge of blue under your chin
Is a reminder of the beautiful picture you drew, before you walked across it and it tore.
There's glitter in your hair
And if your sister sees it she'll know you were 'reading' her Valentine's cards.
There is a morning's worth of running and climbing caught in the jam around your mouth
And one clean cheek above which your blue eye shines with the mischief that meant we were much too busy to clean the rest.
You look, as always, perfect.
From playing peekaboo at breakfast time.
That smudge of blue under your chin
Is a reminder of the beautiful picture you drew, before you walked across it and it tore.
There's glitter in your hair
And if your sister sees it she'll know you were 'reading' her Valentine's cards.
There is a morning's worth of running and climbing caught in the jam around your mouth
And one clean cheek above which your blue eye shines with the mischief that meant we were much too busy to clean the rest.
You look, as always, perfect.
Wednesday, 14 January 2015
Ancient Egypt, kid style
You just gotta love it when kids put their learning into action. Yep, it is endlessly gratifying to watch them employ newfound knowledge in a game, reinforcing their school- and home work.
Today, for example, Little Man's reader was about a magical trip to Egypt in the time of the pharoahs. The children in the book got to make a model pyramid from a special workbook and then travel back in time to see slaves, pharoahs and the Sphinx for themselves.
Now, time travel is beyond my remit, but I did happen to have a 'Build your own Pyramid' workbook right here for when homework was finished. We talked about what the pyramids were used for, how they were built and even took a quick look at hieroglyphics.
Imagine my pride when they started playing Ancient Egypt this evening.
'What's that you're doing guys?'
'Well, we wanted to make a pyramid, so we killed the pharaoh with a sword and now we can put him in!'
Well, quite.
Thursday, 1 January 2015
Secret second lives
There's something strange going on in our house.
For a while now, Little One has displayed all the balance, strength and co-ordination needed to walk, but still he chooses to crawl. He'll stand up to play football, but as soon as the ball moves out of reach he drops down and crawls briskly to his target.
Until, that is, darkness falls. Then it's straight up on his feet for some intense walking practice. Three steps - bump! Undeterred, he stands again, six steps - bump! Straight up, five steps - bump! This could go on for half an hour at a time. Worn out by bedtime, he sleeps soundly, but come morning he will deny all knowledge of perambulation.
All day long we try to encourage steps, but to no avail. Content with his ride-on car and the power of his knees and palms he passes a pleasant day, biding his time until dusk - whereupon he is free to display his true abilities once more.
After observing this for some time, I have drawn the only natural conclusion.
Little One is, in fact, a ninja spy. We are obviously just part of his cover story. Cute baby crawling around in Mickey Mouse dungarees? Clearly not a threat. Look how excited he gets when he sees a doggie or a brightly coloured ball - the very picture of innocence. Only under cover of darkness can he reveal his true role - Ninja Baby in training. As soon as he's got the walking perfected, we'll move forward to Wax on, Wax off and Dressing All In Black.
Now, I just hope this blog entry hasn't blown his cover...
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