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 Domestic Goddess
Hair-raising and heart-rending tales from that doyen of domestic bliss, Betty Doran, the fearless but frazzled mother of four.
Technology? Bah Humbug
May 10, 2007
My old high school prided itself on keeping right up to the minute with modern technology - give or take a few years. We had a state of the art library and a brand new science block. In the mathematics department, at one stage, they took away all our counting beans and gave us these amazing new contraptions called "calculators". We even had a "computer room" (this was back when you needed a whole room for one computer). I never ventured in there myself as I was comfortably smug in my intuitive knowledge that computers were never going to catch on... ME AND MY BIG INTUITION!
The time has come for me to admit I may have somewhat underestimated the potential of computers. I still remain deeply dubious, however. I always approach my modem with a modicum of mistrust. Even the very word "Internet" sounds like some kind of sinister trap to me.
But then I don't exactly have a good grasp on modern technology in general - cell phones, for example, mystifying! What's more I still have no idea how those amazing moving picture shows, like Desperate Housewives, get into my magic picture box. And how about electric light bulbs? Totally unfathomable! And what's with that round thingy... you know... the so-called “WHEEL"?
Technology and its entire entourage have put on space-suits and blasted-off without me, unfortunately. Sadly, I'm not much more au fait with the natural world. I tried to engage in that new age hippy stuff a while back. I got right into alternative medicine; I learned some yoga and meditation techniques. I had quite a collection of colorful candles, incense, essential oils, remedies and crystals. I even had these amazing crystal balls, but alas, just like computers, I just couldn't see my future in them.
Vacation Voodoo
May 3, 2007
My main gal-pal is off on another vacation. Just a quick tropical "get-away" this time, to help her recover from the 6 week European jaunt she returned from last month which followed the two week sojourn in South-East Asia she had a couple of months before that which was preceded by a few weeks of touring Australia in a luxury rental recreational vehicle.
I can't help but reflect that I've hardly even had so much as a weekend off in more than 4 years, not counting our most recent disastrous attempt at taking a family vacation (one to rival Chevy Chase's efforts…). The highlight of that excursion, for me at any rate, was the three hours I spent sitting in a broken down car, perched precariously by the highway shoulder with a plethora of trucks, buses and cars whizzing past my ears. I was perfectly at leisure, reading a book, entirely free from interruption whilst waiting for a merciful mechanic to come to my rescue.
But I don't begrudge my friend her holidays. I'm not bitter and I hope my intrepid traveling compatriot gets everything she deserves. I hope her masseur has cold hands and long fingernails. I hope there's a malaria-ridden mosquito doing the backstroke in her Mai Tai. I hope she falls asleep in the sun, gets sunstroke and spends the rest of her vacation recovering in a small makeshift village hospital where nobody speaks English and they've never heard of Evian and she finally makes it home tanned on one side only!
The Scientific Experiment Known As "Mothering"
April 26, 2007
Never let it be said that I don't like my kids. It's an incontrovertible fact that I adore them for at least 8 hours of every single day. Especially between the hours of 10pm and 6am when I can predict with almost unerring accuracy that at least 50% of them will be soundly asleep. And every night, before I lay down my weary head, I like to tiptoe into their rooms, gaze at their sleepy little faces and forgive them all their daily sins. It's a very cathartic experience. They just look so peaceful, so angelic, so deliciously scrumptious, I could just about eat them. And by about midday I invariably wish I had.
With a daily double of teenaged girls and pre-school boys to contend with, at just about any old time, you can generally find me in my usual spot - right at the end of my tether. It’s my own personal comfort zone.
But it has been an interesting social experiment raising my eclectic gaggle of girls and boys. And there’s certainly no limit of observations to be made when comparing their various responses and reactions to the ever-unfolding world around them. The main and most distinctive difference I have observed between my XX’s and XY’s has been in the PP’s department. Or to put it another way; where a girl may marvel at the miraculous and magisterial machinations of Mother Nature, a boy will see an irresistible opportunity to pee on it!
As part of my ongoing scientific experiment - which I like to call "mothering" - I make a point of regularly reminding my kids that I favor a particular child (interchangeable according to whim) just to mess with their heads. It encourages them to maintain a high standard of competitive sibling rivalry that spurs them on to strive for excellence when competing for my affections. If nothing else at least it does wonders for my ego.
The Shoe Of Destiny
April 19, 2007
Having just returned from yet another excursion into the depths of consumer hell (read suburban shopping mall), I'm sufficiently recovered enough to recount my ghastly ordeal in the shoe store. This was to be a special mother and daughter bonding exercise. That special search for the ever-elusive pair of party shoes that meets with the approval and expectation criteria of both daughter number two, otherwise known as the "party girl" or "tween queen", and me, otherwise known as the "party pooper" or "mean mom".
Shoe shopping is torture that comes with a serve of torment. You have to cope with errant sales staff as well as uncooperative offspring. "Do you have this shoe in a larger size?" ("Do you have a pencil I could poke in my eye?")
The sales assistant disappeared into what must be an enchanted abyss. I was contemplating sending in a bounty hunter to retrieve her but was distracted by the arrival of another customer; a mother, shopping with her daughter. Unlike me, she seemed to have the patience of a saint, gently guiding her daughter around the store, diplomatically steering her away from inappropriate choices and drawing her attention to more suitable alternatives.
Just as she was about to make her purchase the daughter announced loudly and urgently that she needed to go to the bathroom. The unflappable mother calmly took her out of the store to find a relevant facility. The daughter looked to have been about 20 years old.
I was taking a deep breath and a hypothetical walk in someone else's shoes when the sales assistant finally returned from the chasm of lost time with the SHOE OF DESTINY. I gazed expectantly at my daughter as she tried the shoe on for size. Now, was that "Hrumph" with accompanying simultaneous eyeball-roll and shoulder shrug a "yes" or a "no"?
To Insanity And Beyond
April 12, 2007
I don't know which of my kids drives me more towards the brink of insanity. Is it the 4 year old with his constant questioning? Or the 12 year old ,who alternately shrugs or 'Hhrumphs' in response to any attempt at familial interaction? Perhaps it's the 15 year old who wants all the rights and privileges of an adult but not the responsibilities? Or maybe it's the baby, who is shaping up to be the bossiest little tyrant of the lot - there's just no reasoning with some 2 year olds.
On the plus side, I have to remind myself, they'll all grow up and move out one day. Although, if the average age of kids leaving home sticks to its current trajectory, I may be around 104 when that happy day finally arrives. By then I'll be too decrepit to look after myself and I'll have to move in with one of them. Maybe I'll spend a few months of the year with each of them and share the misery around.
It's day three of the current school vacation (does anyone else think kids seem to get more weeks of vacation than actual school terms these days?) and already my entire entertainment budget has been blown. Daughter number one is especially gifted in the art of separating me from my cash. Her demonic desire for consumer goods is an insatiable, unstoppable force.
Daughter number two, by contrast, is impossible to shop with. By limiting her means of communication to a series of grunts, barely perceptible shoulder shrugs and eyeball rolling, she has managed to reduce me to a neurotic, pants-peeing, fetal-ball of frustration on numerous clothes shopping occasions. Adding a whole new definition to the term "fitting room".
Read more from Betty (2007)...
Read more from Betty (2006)...
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