Us and Them

Those of us who don't have children – for whatever reason – find ourselves barred from that exclusive club that is the Mothers' Club. Recently I was at a yoga class and became very aware of the fact that two of us stood to one side talking, while the rest congregated on the floor, swapping school stories and tales of their offspring.

Most of us have encountered groups that can make us feel unwelcome - sexism at work, perhaps. Being the only woman in a male environment can be difficult – though it can also be fun. Then there's ageism – being married to someone 18 years my senior I have become used to being with older people, but at first I was very aware of being the youngest and was treated with wary friendliness by his friends. Now I've realised that age doesn't matter, and I've been welcomed as his wife.

But both those are accidents of birth, if you like. We can't help our sex any more than our age. But women not having children? Surely we were born to procreate. Thousands of years ago being barren was a curse from the gods. Nowadays it's a lifestyle choice – or is it? Those of us who don't have children still tend to have to defend our choice to those disbelieving others. We are still viewed as second citizens with Something Wrong with us. We feel excluded from the main swim of life. But there's nothing the matter with us. Why should we be treated as pariahs?

Many years ago I was swimming with a friend's children and one of them asked where my children were. “I don't have any,” I replied, splashing back. “Why not?” asked the six year old, with a frown.
I opened my mouth to explain and shut it again. It was too complicated. “I just don't,” I finished, lamely.

My husband, an observant fellow, noted the other morning that a lot of our friends don't have children. So while we obviously tend to befriend those in a similar situation, not having children shapes our lives. Our parameters are different: our anxieties not the same. We focus on different things. Not better, nor worse, but different. We have time that can be devoted to other things.

I used to wish we had children, but now I don't. For many reasons. I am content with my life. But try explaining that to the world at large.

Have any of you ever been made aware of this divide – from either side of the fence?

Me and My Girl

The above picture was taken on Saturday at Agility Class Two - Moll running towards her Mum. (I'm the one in the red coat. The other one is Lisa, one of the people who runs the classes.) The photographer couldn’t get too near but you get the gist.

In the papers over the weekend came the news that curvy women are more intelligent and are more likely to give birth to brighter children.

Have you noticed that these sort of pieces are always preceded by “scientists say” – though in a piece like this, it doesn’t say who these scientists are. Mind you, I’m not surprised. I wouldn’t particularly like to be renowned for discovering such a thing. Wouldn’t win you the Nobel Peace Prize, would it?

But I doubt the authenticity of this news as I can think of loads of examples to disprove it.

The first one is my mother who is tiny – she just peeks above five foot on a good day when she’s wearing heels, and no way would you say she’s curvy. But – and here I can boast – she’s a member of Mensa.

She evidently didn’t pass her brain cells on to her children, but that’s through no fault of her own I’m sure. Perhaps her Mensa cells got stuck somewhere in her womb?

As for her offspring – well, I’ve got my mother’s build though I’m six inches taller and my brothers take after their father who was a six foot plus rugger player.

When it comes to children, my nephews and nieces are far from stupid. Sadly, we don’t have any children, but as Himself keeps telling everyone, “Mollie’s very bright, you know.”

Later

After walk....

Following on from yesterday’s blog (as always the forerunner in current affairs!) it comes as no great surprise to hear, on BBC News this morning, that a survey has found that while most parents played unsupervised as children themselves, they wouldn’t dream of letting their children do so in case they were seen to be neglectful parents. The piece was then followed by various interviews wondering why this is so. I would have thought anyone with half a brain could work out that the media coverage of first Holly and Jessica, and now Madeleine McCann, has a huge part to play in this.

Surely the obesity problem is linked to this? If we don’t allow our children to run around and play, we keep them inside where we can keep an eye on them. So they put on weight. They don’t let off steam, so their problems become internalised and come out in other directions. And what about children’s imaginations? How do they use them if they’re cooped up all the time? How do they get to meet other kids and run around like kids should do, go swimming or running, fall over, get up again – all the things we need to learn about to grow up. It seems this society’s problems go round in every decreasing circles, fuelled by the media and paranoia.

But how do we get away from this 24 hour news coverage? I worked for one of the first 24 hour TV news channels, and of course then it was such a novelty. Now it’s par for the course. Perhaps we should all chuck our TVs into the sea, turn off our computers and stop reading newspapers. But I can’t see that happening, can you? It’s too addictive…..

Mating Seagulls

Female seagulls never look as if they're having much fun when they mate - you can almost see them standing there, groaning, saying, 'oh, if you MUST. Get on with it, then.' But after weeks of frantic squawking and wing flapping (they do a lot of that when mating), our seagulls are nesting on the roof opposite, as they do every year.
My sister in law, who lives in Vermont, comes over every other year and charts the seagull family's progress. As she's not coming over till next year, and I know she reads this blog religiously, I will keep her posted, maybe with pictures as well.
Husband is one of the few people on the planet who adores seagulls (he used to have one called Bead who went fishing with him every day) and last night was seen feeding Mr Seagull dog biscuits out of the window. I gave him a Look and he said defensively, 'but it's raining, Pop, and he's got a family to bring up.' You can't argue with that, so I turned a blind eye to Mr Seagull trampling over my rain flattened pansies and trained the binoculars instead on Mrs Seagull, who is sitting on her usual nest. It must get incredibly boring sitting there for six weeks, not able to stretch her legs at all. I'd go demented. And then, when the eggs have hatched, she must live in a constant state of terror that someone or something is going to eat her babies. What a life - makes me very glad I'm not a seagull. Still, it would be lovely to fly.....