Expectations: Meet Reality

balloon launch
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Yesterday afternoon, I spent some time helping two little guys launch a squeaking balloon down the staircase, with the happy effect that it squealed overhead and repeatedly smacked its little balloon head against the wall or ceiling before deflating and twisting earthward.

It would be pleasant to turn this into a metaphor, but I’m struggling.

There, no metaphor needed. I’m struggling. That’s it, plain and simple. I hesitate to spit it into word form, especially on a public forum, but there it is. A blog is a troublesome creation: it’s very much in the moment, and therefore can magnify the smallest ups and downs in a person’s life, and this here is a down. Right now I’m happy when I’m running, and that’s about it. But get that right now really is right now.

Suffice it to say that I’m tired after a second night up with a sick child. I’m irritable after another day home with my children, who are on holiday, but who can’t leave the house or have play dates due to the aforementioned sickness. It occurred to me today that the only thing a person can really accomplish while home with four children is cooking and housework — plus the vacuuming covered the noise of the periodic tantrums and steady stream of complaints. So the house is pretty clean. Which is something. But it’s not enough.

I would like to reflect on my impatient response to International Women’s Day, a day I usually respond to with honour and interest, solemnity, even pride. But this year, on this International Women’s day, all that welled in me was intense frustration. And I think my response is the key to unlocking exactly where I’m at right now, and why I’m struggling.

My expectations do not seem to be in line with reality.

I expect that girls and women will be treated as individuals, with the same opportunities as boys and men to pursue lives that are interesting and fulfilling. Every time I read another story about a horror perpetrated on a woman — because she’s a woman — my response is THIS CANNOT BE! Every time I read another statistic coldly demonstrating women’s under-representation in, well, you-name-it, most anything that has to do with power or cultural critique or leadership my response is HOW CAN THIS STILL BE? Every time I read some trumped up story on “The Mommy Wars,” or “Stay-at-Home Mothers v. Working Mothers,” or even hear myself referred to as “a full-time mother,” (what, exactly, is a part-time mother?), I want to shrug it off as mere noise, but instead I feel something akin to disbelief: WHY?

A few more WHYs.

WHY would any family rationally choose to have more than one or two children, understanding that childcare, particularly during the early years, will either cost one parent his or her career, or two working parents the better part of a decent salary? Let’s ask the politicians who a) have no interest in funding childcare and b) want Canadian families to produce more children FOR THE ECONOMY. (Surprise! They tend to be the same ones.)

WHY is Canada’s major news magazine running a photo, this week, of a woman shaving her face under the headline “Man Up,” suggesting that women should be more like men if they want to succeed in the workplace? WHY are we always being told to be someone we’re not? Which reminds me: WHY is success in the workplace our main measure of success? Further to that, WHY are good and moral choices so often couched in economic terms, as if that’s the only language that matters, the only real currency? I heard a news report, happened to be on International Women’s Day, in which an economist (who was a woman) explained that educating girls and women is a sure-fire way to increase the economic well-being of communities and nations. So let’s do it, people. Let’s do it FOR THE ECONOMY.

The peace of dogs

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paw in hand

First day of March break.

With the sounds of sibling irritability yowling in the background as I write this — “Where’s my hat? Who took my hat? WHERE’S MY HAT?” “Don’t push me away so I can’t go to the bathroom!” [crying] “Go away! Go away! Get out of the kitchen!” “It’s not your kitchen!” “Yes it is!” “Where’s my hat?” — I’ll pick out the good things.

Like the doggie-sister love, above.

*

P.S. I’m adding a post-publication, end-of-day extra list of good things this first day of March break has held. It’s been a lovely, lovely day, despite the occasional howls and yowls.

* I slept in.
* I cleared away every last stack and pile of paper that has been accumulating on every flat surface for the past couple of months. I kid you not. Huge project, DONE!
* I vacuumed.
* Just when Kevin and I were wondering what we’d feed the kids for lunch, my mom arrived with offerings from the market, and so we had hot dogs on fresh buns; and then we ate market-fresh chicken drumsticks for supper, marinated in yogurt and Indian spices, along with Indian-spiced rice, and green salad. And a glass of wine.
* I ran 15.5 quick km in gorgeous afternoon sunshine, watching the snow melt, with my elder daughter beside me on her bicycle.
* I finished two books, and updated my ongoing 2013 reading list: see here.
* I felt like I was on holiday. So did everyone else. And tomorrow I get to play soccer!

In which I go just a little bit political, people

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It’s International Women’s Day. As a long-term forever feminist, I appreciate there being a day to shine light on the distressing and mind-boggling inequities suffered by girls and women world-wide. But I noticed a curious tone to some of the posts coming through on my Facebook feed on the subject: irony, impatience, humor mingled with rage. Oh, a whole day for women? How can we thank you enough? (As an aside, I was also intrigued by a post on a cookbook devoted to vulva-shaped cakes.)

I don’t know if it’s something in the air, but I’m feeling a bit impatient too. 
What’s so radical about the idea of men looking after their children with the same intensity and care and aptitude that women do? None of us know what the hell we’re doing when we start off parenting and I refuse to believe I’m somehow instinctively better at it than my husband. Just like I refuse to believe that I’m better at housework. Hey, we can all learn how to clean a toilet. Just like I refuse to believe that it might be damaging to claim for myself the words “competitive,” “driven,” “confident,” and “leader” (because it’s unwomanly? it wouldn’t look good? because I shouldn’t naturally feel or be those things?). Just like I refuse to believe that it might be damaging for my husband to claim for himself the words “nurturing,” “collaborative,” “gentle.” Those words aren’t in conflict with each other; we could both claim them all, and wouldn’t that be fabulous!
Finally, I’ve observed that neither my husband nor I is necessarily better at being the stay-at-home parent than the go-to-work parent. The stay-at-home parent is inevitably more harried and flustered and irritable by the end of the day when compared to the parent who has been out of the house. So it’s nice to mix it up and share. We’re all happier.
Our most contented days combine elements of just about everything. Alone time. Parenting time. Play time. Work time. A bit of cooking, but not all of it. A bit of dish washing, but not all of it. You know? 
My greatest goal, in our family’s life, is to share everything and get along. 
Maybe that’s what is grating on me when I think about the concept of International Women’s Day. A day where women are told we’re different. We’re singled out into a category that is, still, somehow, seen as inferior, or whose inferior status must be overcome. We’re a plight. We’re a cause. We’re not like men.
None of us should carry a heavier burden, in any one area, merely because she is female, or because he is male. Are we different? Sure, we’re different. But we’re not that damn different, people. We’re just not.

Take care, make way, stand still

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Life is about taking care of what you’ve got.
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And it’s about making way for new things, too.

I’m pleased to report that our vehicle has been returned to us, after a week in the repair shop. After doing some serious number crunching, we’ve decided to keep it for now, although ideally we’d love to be driving a smaller, more fuel-efficient vehicle. Put it on the wish list. (Speaking of which: we’ve got one of those hanging on the fridge from the fall of 2011, and our wishes now look wildly out of date; most of them didn’t come true, and we find ourselves no longer wishing for those things. Curious, huh.)

I’m also pleased to report that my manuscript has left the house. I’ve put it into the good hands of my agent, whom I trust to tell me yea or nay, or some combination thereof. It will be awhile before she gets a chance to read it, and I’m grateful for the mental break. My writing days were getting obsessional in the extreme toward the end of the editing process, and it’s a relief to have space.

I would like to tell you more about where I’m at, right now.

I am standing in the middle of a wide field. I am looking at everything that surrounds me, and it is filled with possibility and potential, and vivid striations of colour and texture and weather. I could turn and walk to the east, to the west, to the south, to the north, or even to explore in a curving, meandering, curious path that does not follow any one direction. I am waiting. I am weighing. I am listening. I am gathering clues. I am open. I am not afraid of stepping the wrong way. I know there are many ways to explore this field. There are many rich and rewarding destinations. Fortune will call me, one way or another, and I will go.

I’ll tell you when I start moving. But for now, I’m quite still.

Play-by-play at the Cup final

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(click on photos to see in full)

Last night the whole family watched Kevin and AppleApple’s indoor house league team compete in the Cup final. It was the first game I’ve seen all season, usually being at home putting children to bed. It was past bedtime for a few of the fans, whose enthusiasm shines through in the photo above. I neglected to bring snacks. Thankfully, the sister took the little bro to the water fountain numerous times, for the purposes of distraction. I was too busy standing on the sidelines, shouting with excitement and doing a play-by-play narration of the game. I can’t seem to help myself.

“You’re saying things kind of loud, Mom.”

The final score was 2-1 in favour of the Gold Strikers! AppleApple played her heart out, scoring the opening goal on a beauty of a penalty kick (see, there’s the play-by-play narration), and the whole team displayed calm under pressure, whilst overcoming adversity, too.

One of the team’s top players, and their star goalie, broke her arm before the game, but came out to cheer. The player who subbed in as goalie in the first half was playing her first season of soccer. (In fact, two team members had never played soccer before this season). Another player had to walk to the field because her mom’s car had broken down — she arrived in time for the second half, and scored the second goal on an assist by AppleApple.

What I liked best was seeing how proud Kevin was of all the players, whose skills advanced greatly over the course of the season. They didn’t look like a powerhouse team, but they knew exactly how to manage the kick-ins, the corner kicks, and where to be on the field. All players got equal playing time regardless of skill level and despite the high pressure stakes (trust me, this does not always happen, even on house league teams, and even though it should). It was exciting to see everyone succeed as individuals and as a team.

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About me

My name is Carrie Snyder. I’m a fiction writer who dabbles in many forms of storytelling. Certified in conflict management & mediation. Embarking on an MA in Spiritual Care & Psychotherapy. I believe words are powerful, storytelling is healing, and art is for everyone.

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