To the person who let off fireworks from 3.30am till 5.20am last night

I just want you to know I’m going to find you.

A sleep deprived mother is basically more terrifying than Liam Neeson. You need to know that.

And you should be scared. Because when I find you I’m going to pay you back for waking my kids and me by letting off fucking fireworks at fucking three fucking thirty am till five fucking twenty am.

It may take me years to find you. But that’s OK – I’m committed.

One night you’re going to be asleep. Like I was. When you fucking woke me up.

At 3.30am I’m going to begin a fireworks display, in your room, on you.

From 3.30am till 5.20am. For your enjoyment.

I’m not going to do this every night forever, that would be crazy. But it would also be predictable – and I want you to never know when I’m going to suddenly turn up and shoot fireworks at you.

Before a big exam – I’m going to shoot fireworks at you. Before job interviews, just as you are psyching yourself up in the lift, the doors will open, and I will be there – to shoot fireworks at you. Your first date with that person you’ve been talking to online for months? I’m under the table, and just when you are about to pash I’m going to jump out and shoot fireworks at you.

It’s going to be very hard for you to maintain relationships. When you find that special person who can look past the fact that a mother of two covered in war paint follows you everywhere shooting fireworks at you, I will be quietly pleased.

We have formed an attachment to each other over these past 12 years.

I feel quite teary as I pull off my celebrant mask to reveal myself and shoot fireworks at you for almost two hours at your wedding.

Your new life partner is quite devastated that part of her wedding dress caught fire during the ceremony and again at the reception, but I make no apologies when I burst out of your mattress and shoot fireworks at you when you try to console her in your fancy hotel room.

You did this.

You made the choices you made.

As I emerge from the birthing pool in the delivery suite and shoot fireworks at you at the birth of your first child I wonder if I have gone too far.

You beg me to stop. You’re sorry! You know you were an insensitive dickbag who woke up children and kept everyone awake because you’re a massive jerk. Now that you’re a parent you see the world differently.

I look upon you kindly, I see you more than my own family. I almost feel fond of you. Maybe it is time to stop.

OK I say. You’ve learned your lesson.

You drop to your knees and sob. After 18 years together we have reached our graduation.

That night you have the best sleep you’ve ever had in your life. There is no sense of dread anymore as you close your eyes. You feel free.

Until 3.30am when I burst forth and shoot fireworks at you.

….

Don’t let off fucking fireworks outside of fucking Guy Fawkes Night and after fucking 10pm.

***

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Love and nappies

As I listened through the monitor to my husband trying to get our baby to sleep I suddenly had a thought that I was pretty sure it was our anniversary. And I’d forgotten to buy him something. As the baby cried, and I listened to my husband quietly singing a song to him, shushing him, gently imploring him to sleep, I thought about our children and how they’re clearly the greatest thing to come out of our partnership.

But something else has emerged as well – my husband as a father.

We have been together happily since we met as teenagers. But seeing him as a father feels like I have had the wonderful good fortune of falling in love with a wonderful man twice.

He is an excellent father. We never know when we choose our partners just what kind of parents they will be. We can guess, by how they talk about children, how they act around nieces or nephews, slightly tipsy conversations at 3am… But we don’t know, until we’re there and then there’s no going back. I imagine it is the most devastating thing to embark on this journey and find your partner will not step up to be the parent they need to be.

My husband is a different father than I thought he would be. He is as relaxed as I thought he would be – but he has a determination to be a good father that I didn’t expect. He thinks carefully about what kind of parent he wants to be and he adapts. I knew he would likely roll with the punches, as he always does, but he seems to enjoy the relentlessness of parenting in a way that always surprises me.

Today a journalist from Radio NZ came to our house to interview me and some other mothers about antenatal depression. She also talked to my husband. He asked that his face not be shown, he is notoriously shy, quite the opposite of his mouthy, loud, extroverted wife.

One of the first questions asked was about sleepless nights. He said he didn’t mind as it was ‘all part of the job’.

It probably isn’t an answer that would delight a journalist – but to me, it says everything about my husband.

And it also says a lot, I think, about love and parenting. Really being there matters. Accepting our children as well as loving them matters. And sometimes love is as simple and as profound as giving up sleep and not minding.

That may not sound very romantic. But actually I really believe that great love isn’t candles and red roses and extravagant gestures (I’m generally suspicious of these things…)

Great love is putting the baby to sleep again and again and again and again even though it’s easier when your partner does it because they have boobs or they smell a certain way or whatever. Great love is gently taking the baby from your partner’s arms when they fall asleep feeding them even though you could just carry on watching TV. Great love is taking over when your partner can’t take it anymore. Great love is doing that before it gets to that point. Great love is all of the little things.

You may say – well isn’t that just being a parent? And yeah, it is. But many parents don’t step up. And it is different when you have very, very small children – the burden is usually on the person who spends the most time with the baby. Baby gets used to being close to them, having them put them to sleep, being fed by them…all of that relentless day-to-day stuff. As a partner, it would be easy to just say ‘well, you can get them to bed easier so you do it’ or ‘you know how to do a nappy better than I do’.

But this isn’t great parenting, and it isn’t great love. Because a nappy isn’t just a nappy. When you’re exhausted, one more nappy can feel like a lot. Like everything.

So on our anniversary I would say to my husband – thank you for all of the nappies. For always being a present husband and father. For never taking the easy option. Thank you for all of the little things.

I would tell him I miss him. Those nights when we don’t end up in the same bed because he’s in with our toddler and I’m in with our baby – Those nights are hard. Or when we’re so tired we can’t talk. It feels like a long time since we have seen each other even though we see each other every day and night.

I’d tell him I miss him but this is worth it and there’s nobody else I’d want to be tired with. Nobody else I’d want to share this with. That I think about the years we spent together just us and sometimes I feel jealous of the children in his lap – but how I also love that this life suits us so much. Suits him so much.

I’d want him to know that being a great husband and a great dad isn’t easy – but it’s important. And I love how committed and dedicated he is to being both.

I’d say that seeing him as a dad has made me fall in love with him all over again. That it has been a privilege and I’ve learned so much from him about how to be a parent. That he’s just as important to our little family as I am (even when the baby only wants me – it’s just my boobs I promise).

I’d recite the reading from our wedding:

***

Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part.

Because this is what love is.

Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion.

That is just being “in love” which any of us can convince ourselves we are. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident.

***

Never has it felt more true than since we became parents.

Love is nappies. And 40 minutes rocking and shushing and rocking and shushing your crying baby.

Relentless and tiring and tough and strong and beautiful.

Happy Anniversary Mr B.

***

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Remorse and redemption

I remember the first time I talked to my son about the word sorry. I had asked him to apologise for snatching a toy from his best friend. He had looked at me with his big beautiful blue eyes and said “Why I sorry?”

I realised that I couldn’t teach him to say sorry, I had to teach him about the concept of remorse and what it means to be truly sorry.

This was a year ago. In the past 12 months or more, I have worked hard to help him understand empathy. He already absolutely feels empathy, to such an extent that I have in the past worried about his gentleness and the way he feels so much for others. But feeling empathy as a child, doesn’t mean you understand what you’re feeling.

If some of the comments I’ve seen today are anything to go by, my sons will grow up in a world where they will not be held to the same standards others are. Should they hurt others, they will not be expected to show remorse. They will likely be given redemption whether they deserve it or not. They will not need to have empathy for others. They will not be expected to.

It’s my job to teach them that they should not just allow the toxic masculinity that hurts them and helps them wash over their lives without acknowledgement and challenge.

I am lucky that they will grow up with men around them who challenge violent men and never make excuses for violence. I am unlucky – and so are they – that they will also be exposed to so many men who will not challenge it, who will embrace excuses.

I will teach my sons that they must speak up for others. That they must know that violence against women is abhorrent and intolerable regardless of the fact that in this country they might just get away with it. They must know that it’s not enough to just not be violent. They must, must, MUST stand against violence and violent men.

I will teach them what true remorse is. I will teach them that saying sorry and not meaning it doesn’t change anything – that it’s another way to hurt someone and not take ownership of your actions. That sorry is merely the start of a conversation that may lead to healing if they do enough to really show they have true remorse. I will teach them that if they grow up to be someone who has a platform they need to use that platform wisely, to always support and strengthen others.

I will teach them that someone who commits acts of violent abuse, and then uses the immense platform they have to further abuse their victim, is someone they should never, ever support or aspire to be. And that silence is a form of support – as they have the privilege and power to be listened to when others don’t.

I hope, that one day I see my sons as young men – absolutely rejecting the culture that continues to run unabated around them. This culture that glorifies men who deserve no glory. This culture that provides redemption to men who have shown no remorse.

I have two sons – I will do my very best to raise them to rise above and reject a culture that will reward them because of the colour of their skin (regardless of their race) and their presenting gender.

I will do this for them, but I will also do it for women and those who are at risk of abuse at the hands of men who refuse to learn and who benefit from being who they are.

Men who are adults who can’t grasp a concept my now three year old knows and understands.

You don’t deserve redemption just because you request it. You don’t deserve forgiveness just because you want it. You don’t get to say sorry and think that that erases the hurt and pain you caused.

***

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Let kids be kids?

It seems that the phrase Let Kids Be Kids is having a resurgence. Don’t get me wrong – I’m into it. In fact, I say it a lot. And I believe it. But sometimes I’m astounded by the hypocrisy shown by people who trumpet this important mantra. They say it over and over again, but it just doesn’t ring true to me – because these same people only believe kids should be allowed to be kids when it suits them and their beliefs about what it is to be a child.

How a child should think and act.

Let Kids Be Kids comes up when there are discussions about morality. And yeah – usually, I’m on side with a lot of those. I’m not a fan of sexualised clothing and media aimed at (or exposed to) children. But that’s an easy thing to not be a fan of.

Kids shouldn’t watch porn. Well duh. Who the Hell is going to argue with that?

Where the rubber hits the road when it comes to the Let Kids Be Kids philosophy is when it’s about allowing children to BE who they are. Free from limitations enforced by oppression and bigotry. But, I have seen parents talk about how they’ll never let their daughter wear a string bikini because Kids Need To Be Kids but then in the same breath fall over themselves because they can’t gender-police a child who when dressed (how they as a child want to dress) doesn’t make clear what their gender is.

I have watched people splutter and sweat over how apparently entirely inappropriate it is for little boys to wear princess dresses or tutus or lipstick or necklaces. My son’s penchant for dainty floral headbands has caused many pulsing rage veins in the various necks of adults who really, really shouldn’t care what a child is wearing.

I have people insist I’m picking his clothes for him – That there’s no way a boy would choose to wear pink or something sparkly. I must be influencing him. Yet nobody ever suggests there is any influencing happening when little boys “just love trucks and think pink is a yucky colour”. How convenient for gender norms!

If you really think about it – there’s literally nothing weirder and creepier than a grown adult getting upset that a child hasn’t appropriately dressed to identify their genitals. Because let’s face it – these are people who believe genitals equals gender.

But – there is at least dialogue going on in this area to challenge and reject that rhetoric. There are many great people like Rachel Hansen setting up amazing things like Freedom Kids to address the issue of heavily gendered childrens’ clothing.

What I want to talk about is what I call Normal Toddler Behaviour. Also known as – tantrums.

Here’s my Let Kids Be Kids view:

Tantrums are normal and healthy and helpful. Don’t get me wrong – they fucking suck for parents. My heart (and head to be honest) hurts sometimes when I see my son struggling with his feelings and feeling overwhelmed. I want to put everything in order for him, help him contain all of the bubbling emotions, support him through the scary pressure he has welling up within him. That to me is my job as a parent – when he’s having a hard time, I have to help him through it.

But the fact that he needs help? Normal. Completely normal. Toddlers are not adults with developed brains. There are people in their 20s, their 30s, hell there are people at the end of their lives at 80 and 90, who struggle to keep their emotions in check. We allow that (to an extent) so why do we INSIST (some parents with actual brutal force) that children must keep themselves in control of their changing emotions and hormones at all times?

We so encourage learning – Oh you can count! Wonderful! Draw a house! Write your name! But it seems learning how to be – how to manage your feelings, name them, work with them, adapt, change – is some kind of secret process that only happens by shutting the Hell up in public and keeping away from any nearby adults.

How often have you had to rush away from a public place because you’re getting glares because your toddler is going through Normal Toddler Feelings? How many times have you had to sit through lectures about how to “control” your child. How to get them to bend to your will, obey you, be quiet – as if that’s “good behaviour” because they’re not acting like ummm children.

So what would happen if everyone just accepted that children get overwhelmed sometimes and can’t process things and get scared and stressed and their feelings explode a bit every now and then? How would the world change? For children? For their parents? For society as a whole?

What if we didn’t have to bundle children into cars and race from public places and make them QUIET and make them smaller and make them take up less space because even if they’re not having a terrible tantrum they might have a terrible tantrum!

At my son’s birthday one of his little besties became overwhelmed by everything and got very upset. Normal toddler behaviour. Her lovely parents cuddled her, talked to her, took her outside for some space, negotiated, helped her through this hard time she was having. At the time I’m sure it was overwhelming for them – but all I kept thinking about was what a wonderful little girl she is. She’s clever and funny and sassy and adorable and spirited and happy! She has this incredible little magical grin. My son adores her. I adore her! Her parents adore her.

I also thought – thank God they’re comfortable here that they don’t feel like they have to go home. Because nobody at the party minded at all – because here, I’m saying it again: It’s normal toddler behaviour. Normal. All toddlers do it. Every one. They’re learning. Every day.

This wonderous little sprite has parents who are helping her learn. She’s learning. They’re learning. We are all in this together, making space so our kids can grow freely and BE KIDS.

She quickly settled down in time to do a beautiful OH MY GOODNESS reaction to a visit from Elsa to the party – and I’m so glad she didn’t miss that. She had a wonderful morning.

How many great little life moments do our kids and their parents miss out on because so many people won’t let them be kids? Insist they’re seen and not heard – and sometimes not even seen. That a child crying is just too much for us to handle in a public space?

Pffft. Let kids be kids. A tantrum is normal. That child is learning. The parents are learning. You can learn to – learn to make space for children and let them grow.

***

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