It's Not What You Say...

Last week I took Edie to a gym.  I thought it was about time she learned to do dead lifts etc.  Seriously though folks, I mean I took her to a gymnastics centre.  We went with some friends and their babies who are all around Edie's age.  It was seriously cool in many ways.  Firstly, there was all the equipment that you'd hope for - bars, beams, spring boards, large mats... all the things that just make you want to go nuts and jump around like you're 7 years old.  Secondly, it was freezing.  Totally, bone-chillingly icy.  It was a cold day in Dunedin (I know, shock horror) and of course the gym was in this large warehouse space.  They had made a token attempt to heat it by putting in these tiny bar heaters.  Unfortunately, they were on the ceiling (apparently they had skipped the "heat rises" lesson at school) and there were about 4 of them for the entire cavernous space.  I stupidly didn't think about the fact that I would have to take my street shoes off inside and only wore stockings so my feet quickly lost all feeling and turned to ice.  I left Edie in her wooly hat and jacket the whole hour she played there and even then her little hands were purple.  This was just the beginning of the gymnastics experience for me.  Not all of it was cool.
As a stereotype, little girls seemed to do one of 3 activities when I was young.  All little girls may or may not have done other sports and extra-curricular activities, but these 3 were the staple: gym, ballet (or dance of some sort), and horse-riding.  The horse riders were the privileged few, the lucky ones whose parents had the money or the resources at hand to allow them to attend gymkhanas and brush manes.  To be honest, they seemed a bit 'horse mad' to me but perhaps this was because I was just jealous.  So the rest of the young female population fell into the other two categories: gym and dance.  These two did not seem to be activities that were able to be combined.  No one ever seemed to do both.  You could do dancing and soccer, or gym and brownies, but you could not do gym and dancing.  I have no idea why this was.  It was like the Sharks and the Jets.  Gym girls didn't mix with dance girls.  Anyway, I was a dance girl and so the closest I ever came to doing gymnastics was at PE, and watching Nikki Jenkins win a gold medal at the Commonwealth Games in 1987.  In fact, my whole perception of the gymnastics scene is founded on what I know from the Olympics, Commonwealth Games, and 60 Minutes-type exposes of extreme coaching techniques employed in the sport.

So the fact that this gym was freezing cold encouraged my perception of hard-nosed training methods where you had to suck it up to survive.  This idea was only encouraged by what happened through the rest of Edie's hour of gymnastics.

We were greeted by the lady running the session in a friendly if slightly direct manner.  We let the kids loose on the age-appropriate equipment she had set up.  There were a few other kids of various ages and their Mums, all doing their own thing.  After about 5 minutes, some child-friendly music started.  After about 15 minutes a particular song started at which time the gym coach produced some colourful scarves to wave around at appropriate moments during the song.  She encouraged us to grab the scarves and our children and join in.
If you know me, you know I'm not a wall flower.  When I was about 14 I think I found my mother mortifyingly embarrassing (who didn't at that age?) because she would always jump up for "audience participation".  If someone needed a person to join in, clap along, read out loud etc., Mum would step up.  At 14, Edie is sure to be embarrassed by me because I am now exactly the same.  I am quite happy to save someone from being left in the lurch and join in where necessary.  I find that if you start, others will eventually join in and a better time is had by all.  It depends on the circumstances of course, but you get the general idea.
And so naturally I picked up a scarf and began waving it according to the directions of the song and the gym coach.  Happily, my friends were just as quick to scarf-wave as I so we were united in our lunacy.  Some of the other adults had struck up a conversation elsewhere and the gym lady encouraged them to join in.  Firstly, she just called out for them to come and get a scarf.  But the more they ignored her, the more insistent she became.  I think the words "Pick up your children and bring them over here!!" were uttered in what I thought was a oddly insistent tone.
At this stage, I was thinking the gym lady was beginning to fill some of my other ideas about going to gymnastics.  First freezing cold gymnasiums, now implacable coaches...  This idea was cemented when she turned her ire on me.
I had offered several scarves to Edie but she was happy just to watch Mummy lummox around.  I can't blame her.  Here I was waving my scarf up high, touching the ground, waving it left, waving it right, and other tuneful actions as per the ditty.  I was committed but I was not committed enough for Gym Lady.  She turns to me, waving her scarf at Edie and snaps, "PUT A SCARF IN HER HAND".  I don't take kindly to being snapped at so I promptly told her that I had tried but I couldn't force my 1 year old to hold onto something she didn't want to.  She didn't mention it again but it was clear I was not winning any Top Mum awards in her book.
From then on I thought of the the gym lady as the Gym Nazi.  I have to say, she tried hard with the kids, making her way round each of them and encouraging them to try out the equipment.  But she was bossy with the adults.  She treated us like we were also 7 years old and needed 'a good firm hand'.  I was left with mixed feelings about the experience.  I appreciate that when you are trying to get a group of adults, possibly strangers, to join in an activity, you need to be proactive and encourage people to get involved to make the experience they're paying for worth their while.  The message that she was trying to convey made perfect sense.  But it was how she said it that rubbed me up the wrong way.  And it wasn't just me getting a bit pouty for being told off, my friends noticed her tone as well.

I managed to force a stick into her hand though...

I seem to come across this a lot.  Not Gym Nazis, I haven't met many of those.  I mean people who are bemused that others don't see things their way or won't do what they say.  It would seem that the ability to couch questions or directions in an tactful way is rare.  When people go into a store and launch into a tirade of vitriol at a staff member, do they really think that the person they're yelling at is going to go out of their way to help correct any mistake that's been made?  When someone feels they have been promised something at work that they have not received, do they honestly think the best way to remedy this is to approach the powers that be with a barrage of aggressive questions?  Don't get me wrong, I am the first to say that there are times when you need to resort to more drastic measures, but going straight for the jugular is like shaving all your hair off just because you don't like your hair cut - it's probably not in your best interests and you've skipped about 5 steps between.

I think it comes down to empathy and the ability to see potential outcomes from one's actions.  People need to be able to see things from a variety of perspectives to be able to anticipate what the result of their actions might be.  If the Gym Nazi had understood that her tone and wording made her reasonable requests sound demanding and patronising, I'm sure she would have been mortified.  Conversely, if I had just understood that I needed to give my child the freaking scarf, she wouldn't have had to yell at me.

What I'm really saying is think about how you talk to other people as it effects the way they'll talk back to you.  I clearly need to look at this myself when I next meet the Gym Nazi.  I'll make sure I have an extra scarf and a friendly smile.

Good Advice (whether you want it or not)

I was a bit gobsmacked the other day when I read this post on a blog I like.  For those of you who can't be bothered clicking (I'm pretty link lazy myself), the post shows the writer defending the publishing of a photo of her child crying.  I'm reposting the photo here so you can see it for yourself.

If you're like me, you're reaction to this photo is probably something like "haha, I know how you feel honey.  Putt putt has driven me to tears too.  And you had to be dragged around with your wee harness.  Oooh cute yellow shoes".
Apparently though, there are many other people out there who did not react with the same level of amusement.  In fact there were many people who responded to this with quite a different reaction.  The writer reported people saying that she was a bad mother and even more extreme, that her child should be taken away from her.
Can I get a "What the actual heck?", please??????

I am not here to debate the pros and cons of having a child wear a harness (or whatever they're called).  I will however quickly defend the idea of taking a photo of an upset child.  Children throw tanties.  It's part of the way most children communicate.  They're expressing their wants and desires and they are testing out every possible method of doing this.  Throwing a wobbly doesn't mean the child is desperately unhappy, just that they don't like something at that particular moment.  So taking a photo of a child in this state is like taking a photo of an adult saying "I'm so bored right now", but it would make a pretty crap photo.  Kids pulling pouty faces is amusing because it's such a fantastically infantile way to communicate.  They (hopefully) only do it for a short period of their lives and so it falls into the "Kids do the Darndest Things" category - lots of people like that category of humour.  Which is why I think this photo of Edie is funny.

We didn't stick pins in her to upset her then laugh uproariously and stick a camera in her face.  The camera was at hand because this was the first time we put her in her fancy new chair and this was her reaction.  As it turns out, it was funny because it was the opposite reaction from what we anticipated.  And because Edie is making her feelings very clear.  It still makes me laugh.

Anyway, this is not the point of my post today.  What I actually want to talk about it why people think it's their place to offer their opinions to others, completely unsolicited.  Especially when that opinion is judgmental and contrary to the behaviour of the recipient.  I freely admit that on more than one occasion, I have given my opinion to someone who didn't want it.  We've all done it, it's not that I'm a terrible person for doing this, just a little injudicious with my thoughts.  However, I have noticed that there are two particular times in one's life when the "advice" comes thick and fast.

The first begins the day you announce that you are engaged to be married.  Suddenly, every woman and her chihuahua is telling you exactly what you should and should not do in the lead up to your wedding day.  Shot gun weddings begin to seem appealing.  Most of this advice comes from the right place - people are trying to be helpful.  They are sharing the learning from their experience, or the experiences of people they know.  Or read about in some magazine.  Or met once at a bus stop.  It's just a reality of your situation and I found it quite easy to just smile and nod and move on.

The second time in one's life when people have verbal advice diarrhea is when you become pregnant.  People tell you how to get through your pregnancy, what you should or shouldn't do in labour, what things you must buy or must not buy... the list seems endless.  And again, it's mostly well-meaning.  You just take what is useful to you and ignore the rest (although it can all be pretty confusing as you really have no idea what the hell you are doing).  And then the child arrives and you now have to negotiate the mine field of raising them - pleeeeeeenty of advice for that too, let me tell you.

But it's when this advice turns to judgement that I become bemused.  "Oh no, you can't do that".  "There's no way you should be doing it that way!".  "You're making a mistake there".

Are people really so obtuse that they can't appreciate that each person's situation is different?  That someone may gain insight from their experiences, but that they are just that - their experiences, not yours.

That girl who took a photo of her child in a single flash of a moment surely has more insight into the well-being and mood of that child then I, as someone at the other end of an internet connection who has never seen let alone met that child, could ever have.  I do appreciate that there are some people who really are unfit to raise their kids and while some behaviours are a clear cut no-no, there are others that work on a scale and are therefore hard determine appropriateness without examination and discussion.  But for the most part, parents are just doing the best they can with the resources they have.  They love their kids and are making what they see as the best choices for them.  I might not agree but I'm not them, I don't have their child.  Who am I to say whether it's right for them or not?

In my (perhaps overly simplistic) opinion, the people who are willing to be so black and white about what is right and wrong are the people who need closer examination.  If they are passing on this inflexibility and lack of tolerance to any children they might have, it does not bode well.  I'm sure we can all think of other societal issues where these attitudes are having a negative effect.

So now that I've ranted about that, I'd just like to send a message of love and acceptance to all you wonderful people.  Take photos of your children throwing tantrums - I will laugh.  Wear black and green to your wedding - I'll still come and drink your bubbly.  You can even give me advice about what I should or shouldn't do.  But if I don't do what you advise, just make sure you talk about me behind my back instead of preaching to my face.  That's the constructive way to do it...

Domestic Cold War

Neither Phil nor I are very confrontational people.  We're not a couple who have massive yelling matches or get in each other's faces.  No, the most aggressive Phil and I get with each other is a bit of sarcasm and the occasional elevated voice (and then we know it's serious).  Oh and I do gesticulate behind his back occasionally.  I'm pretty sure that's reciprocal.
The biggest weapon in our argument arsenal, is The Sulk.  Phil is particularly adept at The Sulk (boy he's going to love that I'm telling you this).  The Sulk involves not actually saying what's wrong, just letting the other person know you're really shitty with them and they have to work it out themselves.  And if they do work it out, you deny that's why you're pissy. In fact, you deny that you even are pissy.  You continue The Sulk until the other person gets so fed up with trying to crack your mood that they themselves descend into a foul mood.  At this point, The Sulker knows they have won and plays their trump card: they come out of the The Sulk and then make out that the other person is clearly the one with the issue as anyone can see how grumpy they are.

But this is heavy weaponry.  More commonly, there is a Cold War going on at more subtle levels.  It happens in the back ground of our life and barely disrupts the calm of our day to day existence.  But it's there.  Oh it's there alright, chipping away at our psyche.  And it manifests most obviously in the laundry. Let me tell you about the Battle of Wills that occurs with washing.

I grew up in a equal opportunist house.  If clothing needed to be washed it went in the washing machine - there was no distinction between colours and whites.  The only things that warranted a hand-wash were woolens and this was probably because we (Mum) knew the value of hand-knitted garments.  But since buying my own clothes and having the typical ungrateful child-come-adult revelation that actually, there's more to this washing thing than just sticking all the non-woolies in the machine, I've changed my methods.  In fact, there are somethings that get totally destroyed if you just chuck them willy-nilly into the machine.  And sometimes those things cost a fair chunk of money to buy.  So these days, I separate my colours and whites (it seems I believe in segregation.  Not as open-minded as I thought I was...), and I also have a laundry bag for bras and tights etc.  It's not that washing is complex.  Far from it.  If in doubt, read the label.  And this phrase is one I have repeated to Phil many, many times over the length of our relationship.  I'm sure he wishes it was something more saucy but "if in doubt, read the label" would be right up there with, "I don't know honey, what does the recipe say?".

And here is the heart of the conflict.  The nutshell of our Cold War.  Phil hopes that if he continues to be inept at things, I won't make him do them.  I have lost many good items of clothing in the fight to get him to keep doing the washing.  And while I mourn these items and value their sacrifice in struggle, I shall not relent.  No matter how much he pretends he still does not know how to do the washing, I will still persist.
The washing is but one area of our lives where this battle occurs.  We used to have a similar stand-off with cooking but once Phil realised he actually enjoyed being responsible for a tasty meal, he came to the bargaining table.  And I freely admit that I am continually shit about other jobs around the house and Phil just shoulders the responsibility and trucks on.  Maybe he does bring out The Sulk in retribution from time to time.

So if there is Cold War, how are Phil and I avoiding nuclear crisis?  How do we cope with the frosty diplomatic negotiations that ensue?  It's not that tricky actually.  I mean, who actually gives a flying fuck about colours and whites (except perhaps the Klu Klux Klan)?  If the worst that happens is that the odd merino sock comes out of the dryer child-sized when it went in adult-sized, or my black top is covered in tea towel fluff, then life is pretty bloody sweet.  If the big gun - The Sulk - is being used only on a un-rinsed dishcloth (Phil hates when I do that) then we're obviously doing ok.  First World Problems right there.

I think that I am always grateful for what Phil does do (and he does a lot) and he is tolerant of what I don't do (I don't do much) because we just would rather have the Domestic Cold War and have each other, than have perfectly ordered washing and clean dish cloths.  A bit sickening, but there you have it.  You just need a bit of perspective from time to time to remember that.