ParentsMay 8, 2020

Emily Writes: The complete Mother’s Day gift guide for every kind of mum there is

Contributing writer

Mother’s Day is just around the corner and this year it will be different – no, not because of the pandemic, but because Emily Writes has created a gift guide for you.

This Mother’s Day will be a Mother’s Day like no other. We’re in the midst of a global pandemic and if you’re a parent of kids under 18, chances are you’ll have been with them 24/7 for the last thousand years. If your child is over 18 and still at home, my condolences. If your child is over 18, not at home, and you’re complaining: why?

Before we get stuck in, a little history about Mother’s Day. It was created in 1884 by Dame Judy Mother in recognition of pinot gris and noise-cancelling headphones. Over the years it has come to be a marketing exercise where women with children are encouraged to shave their entire bodies and pluck themselves into oblivion (not in a good way). It’s important we return to the roots of Mother’s Day by focusing on what it was originally meant to achieve: a moment’s fucking peace for mothers.

For the new mum

Leave cookies by the door and a note. Tell her the baby is beautiful (because it is) and Mum is a champion (because she is). Tell her, even if you’re not sure yourself, that everything will be OK. That even in the worst of times there is joy to be found. That she has a community even if she can’t see it right now. Tell her you hope she feels it. That every time she needs someone, she knows they’re there, at the end of the phone, whatever time of day. That now is the time to cocoon and that her community will be waiting with open arms to love her and her baby and welcome them. Tell her you know this time is scary, that the future is uncertain, but one thing you know is that she is strong, that her baby is loved as much as she is loved. Tell her she’s not alone. She’s never alone. And give her a subscription to a streaming service and a snot sucker. If it’s necessary, tell her don’t worry, their heads do go back to their normal shape because not naming names but I wish someone had told me because… anyway.

For mothers who can’t work out why other mothers complain all the time when motherhood is such a GIFT and we just need to CHERISH it and BE GRATEFUL

Nothing. They’ll do their own present then claim their kids did it.

For mothers who call themselves introverts

Give them one hour where they can say how much they enjoy lockdown because they don’t have to talk to anyone even though they’ve called you at least once a day to say “what are you up to?” and followed that up with six texts that say things like, “Have you seen Tiger King? I haven’t yet.”

For mothers who call themselves extroverts

Leave a glass of wine and a cake on the doorstep. Stay for the first five minutes as they talk, then you can leave. They’ll keep talking (“as I told my therapist it just really feels like this lockdown has opened up something inside of me and…”) and they won’t notice you’re not there any more. Refill the glass of wine every 45 minutes.

For the pregnant mum who has a child or children at home

Check in. Read to her other child or children through a screen. Let her rest. Tell her that it’s going to be OK even if you don’t know if it will be. Connect with her children. Talk to them about their sibling. Help build them up so she can start to believe that it’ll all work out. Make her believe it. Tell her your stories of the joy you felt seeing your baby or babies meet your new baby. Tell the story of how you thought your heart couldn’t expand so far and how you found yourself new in the eyes of your children. Tell her that yes, your five-year-old is the fucking worst right now as well. Tell her that yes, toilet training can wait because we’re in a global pandemic and yes, Jacinda managed to toilet train Neve while being the world’s most effortlessly inspirational leader but that’s just because she’s better than us and as soon as we let that go, life will be easier.

For Instagram mothers

Easy! Sourdough starter. An F45 membership – and a tripod because you’re not really getting fit unless you’re live-streaming it. A Dyson vacuum cleaner (to use as a prop, not for actual use). A new dog that is some kind of puppy-mill breed of poodle crossed with smaller poodle that will have the worst temperament known to man but will look good in photos.

For Facebook mothers

This is a gift you can give to all of the mothers in your life who are on Facebook. Set up a cage in your backyard, roughly the size of an elevator. Depending on how much you can get from Bunnings click and collect you can add modifications like barbed wire. Place a two by four next to the entrance and one or two folding chairs. Now, in one corner put a grandmother whose children don’t speak to her any more because she said baby formula was poison. In the other corner put a mother who has five kids under five and a husband whose hobby is sitting in his car and watching porn while pretending he’s an essential worker.

If you’re looking for others to fill your title card, try the mum who isn’t anti vaxx, she’s “just asking questions” because her highest level of education is fourth form versus a GP who just had to explain that cucumber doesn’t cure Covid-19 for the 19th time today. Fill the audience with mothers who “hate drama” but are somehow fighting for front-row seats. Keep them two metres apart.

For the mother who has lost a mother

Tell her what you see: tell her you see someone whose mother would be so proud of her. Ask her about her mother. Share stories. Watch as her face lights up with these precious memories and remember with her. Love her as her mother would.

For the mother who has lost a child

Talk about her baby. Be there in whatever way you can. Ensure she’s not alone. Don’t just say it, make it true. Wrap her in love like you would swaddle a baby. Hold her in your heart on this day and every day.

For the mothers who didn’t have a mother

Tell her this day sucks. That it’s stupid. That you get it. Send clips of influencers being hit by waves as they pose on the beach, of ducks wearing hats, of Chris Evans ripping apart firewood. Raise a toast or break bread. Tell her you’re family and you’re so grateful for her. Tell her at least the pandemic put a pause on Mother’s Day catalogues that say things like, “When I became a mum I realised how much my mum did for me!”

For the mother with kids at home who is trying to work and home school

Give her a fucking break. Honestly, it’s so hard. Tell her that all those mums making sourdough are probably constipated now. Tell her that it’s OK to hate her kids sometimes, that it’s normal. Tell her that her kids won’t fall behind and if they do it’s OK because these days even someone like Simon Bridges can get a stable job and earn a shit tonne. Tell her that when this is over you’re going to dance all night. Together, you’re going to scream with joy and freedom into a bright and blessed future, rather than the void because it’s already full.

For the thirsty mother

Something that vibrates (but is not something you use in the kitchen), an hour-long clip from Normal People that cuts out all the pointless dialogue and is just the rooting, that novel that keeps popping up on Facebook, The Woman Who Got Double Banged by A Guy Who Looks Like Jason Momoa And A Guy Who Looks Like Chris Hemsworth In A Cave or something. I think it’s by Nalini Singh?

For mothers with kids over 18 who don’t live at home

Nothing. Their gift is that they have no children with them.

For all mothers

Love. Because at this time that’s the thing we all need most. No matter who or where we are.

Oh, and an extension of paid parental leave, an overhaul of the midwifery system so that all midwives in New Zealand are paid properly for their work and post-natal wards are fully staffed with midwives who have been able to properly rest between shifts, proper funding for mental health care and support for mothers of children of all ages, properly funded Early Childhood Education with 100% qualified teachers, smaller class sizes and teacher/child ratios, affordable housing, a rent strike and a promise that all families will have homes that are dry and warm and safe, proper funding for Rape Crisis and Women’s Refuge, better, wraparound support for families with children with high health needs, including properly resourced and funded early intervention for children, and a living wage or universal benefit for all.

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Truly, happy Mother’s Day. To all the mothers and would-be mothers and hope-to-be mothers. To all the mothers who have ever hoped to be arrested just because a night in the cell would be easier than putting your kids to bed or if you’ve looked at a shipping container and thought “I could live there” – I see you and you’re not alone. I hope you can rest today, surrounded by all you hold dear, whether that’s face-to-face or by screen. I salute you.

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Lockdown lessons (Illustration: Toby Morris)

ParentsMay 7, 2020

Children don’t need to be in a classroom to learn

Jessie Moss

Guest writer

Lockdown lessons (Illustration: Toby Morris)

In the third part of a new series sharing the stories of families learning from home during lockdown, Jessie Moss observes her daughters learning at each step of their lockdown journey.

As Covid-19 began to sweep the world, our family started looking for a new house. We finally moved on March 20 and a few days later, we decided to bubble-down with my parents for support and company during level four. These were two big moves in one week for my two young daughters.

Being five and 10, they understand Covid-19 and its implications. They feel and see the effects in their day-to day experiences. However, moving house and then going to live with their grandparents days later was far more significant.

These weeks of rāhui have thrown the world into one big social, medical and scientific experiment. For those of us with children, we’ve suddenly been tasked with taking on the role of teacher with little warning or time to prepare. Very few of us were already home-schooling or teachers ourselves. Many of us are also attempting to work at the same time and do everything else that a household with children demands.

While schools have said to parents “we do not expect you to be a teacher”, this might feel easier said than done. We all carry unconscious images of what teaching and learning should be from our own experiences and backgrounds. We worry that our children are somehow missing out right now, or wonder what real learning even is. We may feel uncertain or untrusting of ourselves to do right by our children.

But we can trust in this: learning happens everywhere. It happens in connection to people and the environment. Children do it all the time. There is no perfect place or time for learning to happen. They don’t need to be at school to learn and they won’t suffer academically as a result of being at home. In fact, they can thrive.

As a primary school teacher, I know I’m in a fortunate position. I get to wear both teaching and parenting hats. But first and foremost I’m a mum, and it’s from this primary role that I’ve been able to watch and guide my daughters’ learning during this rāhui.

We don’t need particular materials or resources. We don’t need to be trained. How we connect and relate to our children is what counts. Once this is understood, it will become second nature and will happen any time, anywhere.

We’d barely unpacked our bags at their grandparents’ house when my youngest, five-year-old Irihāpeti, began moving and setting up a house for herself. She moved into the living room. It was elaborate and no one else stood a chance of using that space. She was resourceful, creative and technical in her approach. And through the whole process she was learning.

I was working away nearby at the kitchen table preparing reading and maths resources for the days of homeschooling ahead. I was also quietly observing her. I watched intently over the course of the morning as her house and its garden slowly grew.

It was one of those rare times when children do not bother us for several hours, content in what they’re doing and at peace with their siblings and surroundings. These are all good signs that deep learning is taking place.

She came to me a few times to request an item or demand assistance to fetch tape or prop something up. To be clear, she was the manager and engineer. I was the occasionally hired labourer.

Her house had rooms, a dog kennel and a backyard complete with a washing line. In the bedroom, the clothes were folded. No kitchen would be complete without a compost, some snacks and a container full of soapy water (the sink). I intervened once when she began talking to herself about “getting real grass from outside to cover all the carpet”. She settled on bringing in some small rocks, drawing grass, flowers and trees. She even included a feature pond with frogs.

I was amazed at what she achieved. Her ideas, her planning and her accomplishments. It was easy enough to notice what she was doing, acting out what she was seeing and experiencing moving and setting up a house.

The next step – recognising what that deep learning is – can sometimes be elusive and harder to grasp. It’s important to remember that this practice is a cycle. We notice something, a theme of play that we see in different settings or certain toys and materials being used over and over again.

We left Irihāpeti’s house intact for as long as we could. We explored it and asked her to tell us about it. I recognised many strands of learning in her play which were interconnected. Each needed the other to be meaningful and helped her understand her world as well as participate in it.

She wrote a sign, showing her understanding of the power of text. She compromised by drawing vegetation rather than damaging real plants. She experimented with physics and materials to create a washing line.

The deeper learning I saw across her construction of a house was that people create homes. In an ideal world, we can have some say over what our homes look like. We choose them, collect contents for them, and arrange them. There are particular things all houses need to function and become homes.

For Irihāpeti, the very personal learning was that things change, even our homes. Perhaps she was exploring whether or not she herself had any say over aspects of her life that may have felt completely out of her control.

My simple response has been to engage with her, at her invitation. To offer ideas and materials. To be on hand if she needed me. And to talk. It turned out the most important response for her was our subsequent discussions about moving houses. That was where I was able to contribute to her learning.

Being at home together for long periods of time has in many ways allowed me to notice and recognise even more about my children’s learning. Of course, I can’t always be this present.

Usually, we’re busy. We’re distracted. But I do know that if we can recognise and respond to those moments throughout our weeks, we’ll see that our children are always learning, everywhere. And time is important. The themes and trends we notice in play often happen over days and weeks, and not always in 30-minute linear lessons.

They might be setting the table, making a picnic for their toys, or getting knee-deep in mud out the back. These are lessons as valuable as any classroom.

The best we can do right now for our children is to recognise where they’re at, not where they sit against other children or on any arbitrary standard. We understand them best by observing them quietly. Their reactions to our responses are the only cues we need to take the next steps in their development. In doing so, we take their lead and trust that learning happens everywhere.