Kids or career? The Herald Sun Opinion

I'm a little late in posting this given this piece by Susie O'Brien was actually published Monday, but when given the choice between career or blog, wine or blog and sleep or blog this week, the blog lost.

First up, I actually would like to eat any angry words that I may have spoken out against the Herald Sun recently. Oh OK, perhaps not all of them, any words written by Andrew Bolt are likely to leave a sour taste in your mouth and should therefore not be consumed, even after being processed into a contradictory argument by myself.

Why? Because the Herald Sun employs Susie O'Brien. And lets her write opinions. I may not always agree with her stance on things, but then again I'm equally as likely to argue with people I actually know. Head over to her blog for some really interesting discussions of topical issues (and some random comments by psychopaths, just to remind you that you're still reading the Herald Sun). Did I mention she has a PhD? Not that that fits with my views that I shouldn't be putting labels on people, but hey, contradicting my own arguments is also a specialty.

This week the issue was about how parents define and prioritise their roles while trying to obtain that elusive balance. This seems to be hardest to do while simultaneously being bombarded with messages from all around about how to do x best.

Living in the country, I recently thanked my lucky stars that I live where I do and am removed from the world of high pressure child classes purely designed to make parents even more guilty that they can't afford the time or money to get them there. 

Sometimes just being outside is enough

As it is, I feel guilty at work, that I have left a little part of me crying at the door of childcare (even when I know that it stops the moment I am gone). I feel guilty at home that I haven't done whatever task I was meant to and I feel really guilty about having fun without my little fish in tow.

This isn't helped by the external pressure from people like the one who complained when a colleague was away with a sick child, saying that she needed to decide what she wanted to be - a mum or a doctor. The lack of insight from someone who was obviously sick themselves was disturbing.

On the contrary, it has been really inspiring to enter the world of blogs and have the opportunity to read the stories of some amazing women out there in an encouraging and supportive community rather than the generally negative mainstream media. It really does give you hope that things aren't as bad as they seem!

So is all our guilt self driven or external? Do we really need to define ourselves in neat little boxes such as a "full-time" versus "part-time" parent as if the role itself stops when we walk out the door in to another barricaded section of life?

I have an aim each day to walk out the door and try and enjoy at least some of what I have to do - whether that is work, play or the stolen joy of a few moments of 'me' time - a necessity in order to remember that it is the sum of the parts that makes up the whole. 

As long as I am happy, and the rest of the family is happy, how I introduce myself to you is irrelevant as it is the package rather than the label that is important don't you think?

Yep, the press is against me. No Age delivery today at all. Which is a pity as I really have nothing to rant about apart from that. At least not until Gina Rinehart gets a seat on the Fairfax board. That might change things. At least I'm still in the running for mother of the year given that my child isn't actually taking me to court for cash....

Some might claim that the lack of newspaper delivery is possibly related to the fact we failed to change the credit card details over after the little fish stole the card, (I'm waiting for the bill to check for spending sprees at Toyworld), but I choose to believe that the lack of delivery is the result of a personal vendetta. Apart from trying to hold on to its shares, I'm sure that our paper delivery is next on the Fairfax to-do list.

Waiting for Daddy at the gate - Feb 3 - Hands

Daddy's home!

You'll have to forgive me if I'm a little fuzzy this morning. I appear to have been kicked in the head. Possibly by a margarita, or maybe it was the appletini. I'm claiming last night as me doing my bit for the little people. Like the alcohol retailers. I was getting concerned that their Febfast profit margins may be a little lower, so I thought I'd help them out. Selfless of me really, but I couldn't just stand back and drink nothing. Have to love a mothers group catch up that involves just mothers. And food without interruption. Apart from feeling a little (ok a lot) older than the majority of the crowd by the time we left, it was a fantastic night.  I did spend a bit of time alternating between jealousy of the stick-thin girls and wanting to give them some clothes to put on, but in general I was content with my world. I had the perfect day really, with a small sleep in (it's all relative) and time to myself to get the house / my work in order. Just having that time to myself, to let my hair down a little and remember to breathe made me feel a little bit more like me again.

Feb 2 - Words (a wine bottle)

It's not that I'm not me when I'm being a mother, but when my mind is full of work tasks, home tasks and "mum! mum! up! up! up!", you can tend to forget what actually makes you happy in the world. I don't miss the late nights out (only a little) or the music festivals (way too hot to contemplate this summer!), but I miss spontaneity and the option to look at something you want to do and then be able to do it without a military effort of organisation.

It's such a conflict though, cause I miss my little shadow when he isn't there and I'm really not looking forward to leaving him for the night next week. I think until there are more hours in the day or I'm cloned, I'm probably not going to feel balanced, but sometimes all the little pieces of life fit together for a moment or two and they are the ones that you need to seize and remember to enjoy for what they are rather than getting caught up in what they could be.

The last of the summer roses

So I'm a little angry today. Only a little, and only due to reading the Herald Sun, which is kind of like looking at a car crash - you know you shouldn't look, but find yourself unable to stay away.
I wasn't even reading Bolt's column, or Miranda Devine.

I was reading the sport section, which I get to claim for my own, given that my husband is away for the week. Sport should be pretty safe and innocuous, or so I thought as I sipped my latte at a local cafe with the little fish by my side offering up his own opinions on the world.

This does give a fake view of what my day-to-day home life is like - usually lots more opinions - accompanied by the word no, and lots less latte sipping, however the fish and I were all worn out after the photo shoot for the local paper - also not an every day event - more on that later!

So on to the article.....

Not all things can be equal - Scott Gullan, Herald Sun

I have no issue with the argument that the men's final was longer, more draining and more entertaining. Do I think they should be paid more? Maybe not more than they are at the moment - hey $6515.60 per minute isn't bad, but it would be hard to argue that Djokovic and Rafa were equal to Azarenka and Sharapova. None of that made me angry. Not close.

What infuriated me was the dismissal of any inequality of women in the workplace - just cause there is a female PM and a few scattered female CEO's of large companies. Board representation is still overall low and there are nowhere near as many female politicians, not to mention the overall salary discrepancies and lower super levels due to time out from the workforce (which although "voluntary", is under-compensated and under-recognised). Further dismissing women's tennis as a chance to discuss fashion and image over the water cooler, the author thus fails to acknowledge the skill and talent of the women in getting to their elite level. Hitting a low of referring to a supermarket worker in rural Victoria as a "girl" just consolidates the overall discriminatory tone of the piece.

Maybe that was what all the screaming on the court was about.