lap-o-luxury

So recently we had the pleasure of a weekend at the Intercontinental Fiji... and its a b-e-a-u-t-i-f-u-l place.  I won't say I wasn't in awe, I won't say I didn't laze on the balcony day bed, next to the Cleopatra bathtub, drinking verve and feeling pretty decadent.  I can't say I was not impressed by sipping Mohitos at sunset while watching world class fire twirling gymnastics shows against the perfect white sand beach backdrop.  And yes, I did really enjoy the amazing all expenses included fresh seafood buffet dinner...

What I was surprised about however was how little it actually moved and shook me.  I was in paradise, there is no doubt about it...I was in a place that few dare to dream about visiting.  Because I am a local and get substantial discounts, and because I can just drive there for the weekend I can afford it... but most people could not and do not.

What I have discovered recently however is that I have become immune to luxury... I enjoy it, but I don't feel the thrilling tummy flutters of joy that used to be inspired by top-of-the-line sumptuousness... I admire the luxury but I feel, well, at home there... I used to worry about what to wear to the pool, about looking like I fit in... I used to feel like an impostor in another magic exciting world... now I look at the quality of the mini shampoos and shower heads with discernment and potter around like its my own backyard :-) 

Being an aid worker in a third world country has changed me it seems!  Fiji is, of course, not exactly your average third world country... my dilemmas here are less how to find enough malaria drugs and more which internet broadband provider has the fastest speed for the best price. 

Is this a positive change or a loss? Is it a good development to become less impressed by superficial luxury, more at home in my own skin where ever I am.... or have I become blase, jaded, unimpressed by the impressive?  What I can say is that I miss my innocent  days, my days of trying to look cool and natural while wide-eyed and awe-struck... I miss feeling like a weekend in luxury was the stuff of life long memories...  

No chance of reliving the innocence through my child however, she is already quite the paradise princess, unashamedly a resort junky :-)

happy face...

yeah thanks kid...

So the kid doesn't eat... we know that... its always been a struggle and my own expanding girth is emphasised, in my mind, by her slim lines...  its a constant struggle for me to find half way nutritious meal that will be approve to pass the lips and pat those boney hips.  Tonight was perhaps a new low as I proudly presented her with the evening's efforts to hear :
"oh mummy, my dinner!" in a delighted voice... and then my hopes were crushed...
"Can you please put it in the bin!"

Great... yeah... Sigh....

Thankfully she did actually eat a little of it...

being a good enough mother

So this morning I read this on the thinking mom's blog and it hit a nice spot for me...  Its nice to know that my chant of "teaching resilience, teaching resilience" has sound theoretical basis... I am not the perfect parent I thought I would be.  My kid cries, tantrums, has to deal with me "failing" to meet her every wish.  I am not the perfect parent in many ways - I am not organic, I let her have sugar, I let her watch DVD's and I am not always consistent - sometimes I just do what is easiest.  Sometimes I let her eat hot chips twice a day because its easier than battling over food she won't eat.

I can only trust that in the end - she is a very head strong and capable child, and she will make her own decisions regardless of what I do.  I am a good enough mother... and thats all I can do at this point as I continue to model to her that its ok to follow your dreams and be imperfect along the way.

In a nut-shell and in Winnicott's own words:

A mother is neither good nor bad nor the product of illusion, but is a separate and independent entity: The good-enough mother .. starts off with an almost complete adaptation to her infant's needs, and as time proceeds she adapts less and less completely, gradually, according to the infant's growing ability to deal with her failure. Her failure to adapt to every need of the child helps them adapt to external realities.

The failure Winnicott refers to is not specific to bad things that mothers do that damage their children, but instead, the perception of the child as the child grows and develops that Mom is no longer able to "fix" everything or make it all better. No parent can ever meet every single need of a child from the child's point of view. If this were true, the toddler temper tantrum would not exist. Think about those states of mind kids get into with the dramatic mood swings and crazy demands. No way in freaking hell that those whims should be catered to by a parent, hence the concept of a parent's "failure."

life dreams

How should I feel when achieving a life dream?  Excited, thrilled, justly rewarded for hard work?
How do I feel?  Like a fraud, overwhelmed, unprepared...
On so many levels I am still living as though life is the thing that will happen to me when I am grown up...and I have to keep reminding myself that it doesn't get a lot more grown up than this.
I can't keep making excuses, its time to suck the lemon.
Suck the dream and make it real.
So we think we become.
Be careful what you wish for because you may have to make it a reality.

CEO
Me....
Whose crazy idea was that??

its pneumonia he said...

She has pneumonia, he said, she needs to be admitted to hospital.  Tears in my eyes in an instant but I blink them away and smile at her... she has a crackle in her lung, he says.  Do you want me to call the xray technician in now?  Its an extra charge on a Sunday... part of me wants to cry "yes - we need to do all we can, right now" and the rest of me stays calm.  No, we will come tomorrow for an xray, we are going home tonight.  She is lethargic, coughing constantly, but ok.  She is brave, a trooper, a star, when he sticks a penicillin needle in her bottom... "Ow mummy, that really really hurt" she says, and a piece of my heart is grated off...
We go home, she vomits all over the couch.  My head is racing with fears.  She rests ok and the penicillin seems to be helping. 
In some ways I am guiltily relieved to have something other than work to focus on, a priority that trumps all the deadlines. 
We go to have an xray the next morning and its not pneumonia, its bronchitis.
Another grey hair has however, settled into place forever.
Parenting... alone...in a foreign land...

sometimes it pays to have a good dummy spit

The stress was mounting, my head was pounding, my heart was fearing and I felt alone and not coping... So I spat the dummy... It didn't change a lot, but I gave up pretending I was coping, and that was a great relief... and I did get reassurance of help... phew.

Sometimes its ok to be real and human and admit when you are feeling out of your depth, and ask for help... and sometimes you get it - just enough to help you keep on going...