Making men to be proud of

Violence against women. It is not a new concept brought about with the advancement of technology or time. Through out the centuries it has been there. Hidden. Eyes averted. Not our business. Whispered through gossip circles. Advised to keep your nose out of it, if you know what's good for you.

I would have thought abuse against women would lessen as the younger generations grew into the men of today. That they knew better than to rape or sexually assault a woman - unknown to them or their own partner, a person they are meant to love & respect. That they knew better than to slam a woman against the wall. To bash her self esteem into shattered pieces with their caustic words & disgustful stares. I thought our generation of twenty first century men were better than this. 

So grossly disillusioned.

Headlines, recent & past, prove that too many men today still see nothing wrong with abuse towards women. Verbal, physical, psychological. The bruises are there. I imagine they never truly heal either.

I'm not painting all men with the same misogynistic brush. Many are gentlemen, fine men who would never hurt a woman & would stand to protect them in any situation. Fine men any Mum would be proud to know they helped raise, nurturing them from little boys, through the hormone driven teenage years, to see the young man emerge they are now.

But the men with hidden monsters. The ones who have less commonsense than our early homo-sapien ancestors, the men who see it as their right to treat women as less than any person deserves...What went wrong? Are their parents proud of these young men they helped shape into the perpetrators of today? Was there a turning point during their younger years that sparked the threads of aggression & dominance over females. Nature or nurture? 

What is equally scary as their potential to ruin lives, is that these men are completely normal in appearance. They have friends, they go to work at their every day jobs, they care for their parents & treat their pets as family members. They don't go around drooling & grunting, dragging their fists along the ground. They are educated men in today's world of privilege & freedom. Would it be easier, safer, if we could see the fault lines in their personality as easy as we can see the clothes they are wearing?

Raising our own five young boys, the future male generation to come, I constantly question if I'm doing it right. What are we doing to instill the right values, morals & respect towards all women with our boys. They love their sister & their Mum. They love their Grandma, Auntie & all other female family & friends of all ages. Not once have they shown persistent signs of aggression, disrespect or arrogance towards any female. Surely so far, so good, right? 

Our boys have some amazing male role models in their lives, starting first & foremost with their Dad, who is an absolute gentleman. He shows myself & Rianan absolute love & respect, never raising a hand or his voice. Words of aggression or disgust have never been spoken & directed at us. The same can be said for the Uncles, Grandad's & close male friends in our lives, I could not ask for better men for our boys to look up to & to imitate. 

What happens to make some men turn ugly?

Did Vincent Standford, the man accused for murdering Stephanie Scott have a loving childhood? 

What male role models did Oscar Pistorius have in his life as he grew into the man he became? 

What leads a man to the justification or to their perceived right to sexually assault a woman. To physically attack her or to take her life. How have they come to the conclusion that to speak words of disgrace, of ugliness & despise to their partner is okay?

I used to think as the generations moved forward, that acts of violence against women, racism, homophobia, bigotry was a dying concept. Instead, it seems that the only change is now we cover it more freely in the news, or openly carry on like ignorant idiots instead of waiting for the door to close to keep it in the privacy of your own home. It is still commonplace to witness hateful attacks on strangers for their life choices. Instead of stepping in & standing up for the victim, people are watching the attack through the screen on a mobile phone before uploading the recording to YouTube. 

I want to think Doug & I are doing enough, over & above, to make sure our boys will grow into men we will be proud of. Who would never abuse women, in any way or form. Or any person for their lifestyle choices, their appearance or for the way they were born. I look back at our parenting over the last ten years, & I look forward to how I anticipate we will continue to raise our minions, it seems that we are on the right track. Our boys are pretty damn great now, surely if we continue in the same flexible way our boys will turn into men who love their partners with gentle affection & not harsh words or vicious actions. 

What can the parents of today do, or not do, to help the future men & women of tomorrow? Is that even a question to pose? Because at the end of the day there is no reason, no excuse or past event big enough to justify or slightly condone this behaviour or attitude. Every person is responsible & accountable for their own actions. The one true freedom we have is to make our own choices & follow through with our own actions, accepting any consequences that may follow. 

Making heroes, not monsters. Nature? Nurture? None of the above?

Who knew I had so much time on my hands to waste

It's not very often I say this, but Doug is right. I have little to no self control when it comes to technology & social media. I know I read a lot & my Facebook app is opened several times a day. Ebay is my friend & Pinterest an enabler. I don't watch tv, because I don't have time too. I'm too busy flicking through watch lists, re-pinning two-minute-hairstyles-for-long-hair & liking statuses.

On a bad day, it's really bad. A quick ten minute check of Facebook, follow a few links, catch up on a blog or two & hello it's time to pick the kids up from school. The floors still need sweeping. Dried weet-bix super glued forever more to the breakfast bowls. Washing to be pulled out the dryer {& dumped on the precariously balanced, gravity defying folding pile}. The coffee ring stains on the table next to the laptop & butt imprints left on the warm seat tell the tale of a less than arduous day.

This is only the beginning. A browse through Ebay, looking at furniture on the cheap I could revamp or fitbits to get me motivated on the whole 10,000 steps a day thing. Which isn't happening as I check out the local real estate to see what's happening on the market in the general area we live, before jumping onto a parenting forum & stalking the TTC* & HPT, OPK & BFP's** forums. We aren't ttc ourselves, putting a definite stop to my own POAS*** addiction, it's been years since I've stood next to a window, turning a pregnancy test this way & that looking for the faintest sighting of a second line. But I can & will stalk every other woman who is desperately hoping to see the feintest of feint second pink line that speaks to the whispers of life. Praying faceless strangers who understand their tight grip on hope can also see that miraculous second line, affirming it's positive status. There's nothing like seeing a photo of multiple positive pregnancy tests that go from 'just maybe' to 'you are thoroughly up the duff'. Gives me goosebumps & a fair case of envy every time.

At the end of the day, I like to finish up with a quick flick through Pinterest at 11pm, before turning out the lights...At 1am. After the muted glare from my phone has woken Doug. I'm thirty two years old & still shouldn't be allowed to control my own bedtime. Then of course, I can't sleep with my thinker set to 'redesign-the-whole-fricken-house' mode.  

I'm not starved for social interaction, I get my grown up conversation every morning & afternoon at the kids school & when Doug gets home from work in the evening. There's no coherent conversations in the morning between us. Given I go to bed at stupid o'clock & Doug gets up for work at ridiculous o'clock, our morning interactions are usually limited to Doug kissing me goodbye with sweet whispers of love & have a good day. In response I smear the dribble from the pillow all over my cheek, mumble something about putting the shoes in the shower before stumbling my way up from slumber to coherently forming sentences that bumble along the lines of "love you too, have a good day. See you tonight." By the time the kids are ready for school I am more than ready to start talking to people over the age of ten & stop saying things like "have you brushed your teeth yet?"

"Socks & shoes, guys, let's go, come on!"

"Ben, stop talking to Jack about your clash of clans base."

"Jack! get dressed!"

"Is your bag packed? Diary, lunch box, drink bottle, homework."

Once Ben, Rianan, Jack & Blake are at school, I return home with just two of our little minions & flick the kettle on, ready for some more social interaction. Because that ten minutes outside the classroom was only a warm up.

All is not lost, some days I don't even turn the computer on, & the days that I do, my hours are interrupted. I get up to do the basic daily essentials our big household & little people require. But many minutes, many times a day are sucked into that blue void. Because people.

We all have our vices. Since the age of sixteen months mine has always been that I talk too much. Now I get to natter away even when there's no one at the table with me.





The lingo
*TTC {trying to conceive}
**HPT, OPK &BFP {home pregnancy test, ovulation predictor kit & big fat positive's}
***POAS {Pee on a stick} a ovulation predictor or pregnancy test, either either

Half a dozen facts from a Mum of half a dozen

You know how sometimes you imagine how something will be, but then it is completely different to what you expected or thought.

Like the other day when I was eyeing off the corner of Blake's banana toast. It was all thick & perfectly toasted with a melting glob of butter right on the edge. I imagined how nice that little piece would taste, how the butter would melt in my mouth as my teeth sank into the crunchy edge. I gave in & put that tempting little morsel in my mouth. Then remembered I don't like banana bread. It tasted nothing like I imagined.

Raising a large family is a little like this. Sometimes it is absolutely nothing like you thought it would be. So I thought I'd compile six fast facts.

{Image source}

1. Richie Rich

Minions are money sponges but they don't soak up every last cent. The perception that because there is an astronomical number of kids, the bank account must be astronomically low as well is not how it really is. We watch our pennies (dollars?), but with a budget in place everyone gets everything they need {& then some}.

Alternatively, the presumption that we must have a lot of money to be able to have a large family is about as accurate as the articles in an OK! magazine. Once someone said to me "Oh your husband must earn a lot of money, to have so many children & be able to stay home with them." Again, to afford big ticket items we plan ahead. Or use the credit card & pay it off. 
Though a spare money tree growing in the backyard wouldn't go amiss. 

{Image source}

2. Resentment, Schentment

The kids don't resent having a big family. They love having many brothers & sister(s) - even when it doesn't sound like it some days. 
When they play stuck in the mud & more than two get stuck there is still another sibling or two to un-stick them. Twister gets really twisty. Friday nights are like a bonafide slumber party with five kids in the same room all whispering & giggling. Backyard cricket means having a full team, with a bowler, batter, wickie plus fielders.
They don't know it to be any different, sharing a room with another sibling is normal, moving over to make room on the couch for another body is habitual. Sharing is just a given with most things. 
The sibling bonds between them are distinct & far stronger than any sibling rivalry.
I hope when they are adults & look back on these days of their childhood, they are still grateful for one another.

3. It's as easy as it looks...kinda

Raising six children is not as hard as it seems. The bigger minions can dress themselves, put on their own shoes, get their own drinks, brush their own teeth. The smaller ones all want to do this for themselves too, which if you play your cards right can work for you without tantrums. Encouraging the little ones to find their own shoes, put on their own pants (after laying them out straight) they brush their own teeth, though I do a quick all over brush either to begin or finish up. 

Our family size did not morph into epic proportions overnight, we've had several years to adjust & refine our routines. There is a lot of organization behind the scenes to make sure everything run smoother though & gets us out the door without running ridiculously late.
If I can do it, you could do it.

{Image source}

4. Supermum is about as real as Superman. She only exists in the movies.

By no definition are Mum's of large families Supermum's. We are no better than any other Mum, just as no Mum is any better than the next. We're all just doing what we must to get through each day, with the house still standing & every one alive, healthy & hopefully happy. There is nothing special about Mums to many. Our patience is not infinite. We are not saints. We lose our cool & get our shriek on. We are not immune to Mummy guilt either - but I'll cover that another day.

5. It is as noisy as you imagine

I'm not about to tell you otherwise, there is no argument here. Lots of people equal lots noise. When Doug gets home from work, when we're just about to sit down for dinner, or when someone comes over, it gets loud. Really loud.
Our meal times can look a little something like this.

Five kids all talking at once, plus a couple of adults (potentially with one trying to get the minions to quite down - without adding to the ear bleeding decibel levels by yelling to garner their attention & be heard). I've mentioned once or twice before that living large also means living loud. 

6. Loving them is as amazing as you think

Life with so many kids is as magical, chaotic, entertaining, constant & unending, crazy & eventful, amazing & awe inspiring as you believe.

Loving them is the easy bit. It's the dirty clothes & dirty dishes that's hard.

I don't want your Buns, or your Anaconda

At the risk of sounding old, or if not old then like an over concerned parent, what is with the excessive sexualizing of (most, not all) music today? Seriously, it is everywhere. I can't listen to mainstream radio without having to change between stations at least once while driving with the kids in the car.

Case in point - Anaconda. Unless you've been hibernating then you'll probably know the song I'm talking about. I can't decide what is worse, the video clip or the lyrics - D*ck bigger than a tower, I ain't talking about Eiffel's - yep, this is what's reaching the top 20 charts. The video clip is like a train wreck you can't look away from. Unless you're in our house. Then it would be a moot point as it wouldn't even be on at all. 

There's a love hate relationship building between 'New Thang' & I. It's catchy, I like it, but I hate the lyrics too & the message it's portraying, even if our kids may not understand what it means at their ages. Insinuating sex on the first date 'cos he's a player; bounce that ass so fast to make it clap (inspired from the Anaconda video clip perhaps?). 

My name ain't Santa, but she sittin' on my lap, yo........No.

No where is safe these days, despite our intentions at home the older kids still know the lyrics to songs that we don't give any attention to. I'm under no illusions that as our kids get older we can't continue to monitor the overtly sexual film clips with the barely there skimpy outfits & women fawning all over men, who ignore everything about them except their ass or breasts. Video clip shows would be more aptly named 'GaGa goes bondage' or 'Minaj-a-trios'. The greater majority of the content is soft porn any way so why not have the title match the content. 

What message is this sending to boys? That a woman (or, I hate to say it, a girl) is only worth your time of day if she has a DD cup, or a tight perky ass that can jiggle better than Homer Simpson's belly? What thoughts are young girls taking away - that they should dress in a provocative, flirty way to be noticed? Because a personality doesn't rate above a bra size. This isn't helped any with clothing stores pretty much reinforcing that message with the range of girls summer clothes available. Ass cheek skimming shorts, midriff baring tops, skirts barely long enough to cover their underwear.

What happened? When I was younger it was all about East 17, Take That & Girlfriend. Baggy pants, hats with over sized flowers & wearing overalls with one side un-hooked. No ass cheeks bouncing higher than a kid in a bouncy castle. When a midriff meant an inch of exposed skin, not breasts all but bare save a scrap of faux leather to cover the nipple.

Is it just me being to prudish? Should I have more faith in Ben & Rianan to know that what they {would be} watching or listening to is an excessive & purely hyped up manufactured image, based around unrealistic appearances, depicted to be lacking in morals & propped up with sex appeal. 

Because I'm watching these video clips & seeing all to clearly how it would be easy for unhealthy & distorted body image issues to develop, unrealistic expectations surrounding relationships & sexual behaviour begin to form. To feed their self worth from their appearance, rather than 'who' they are. 

Will the values & morals of our parenting withstand & override the manufactured glitz & glamour, the grinding dance moves & lusty looks the media keeps churning out?     

What do you think, are we being to protective by not allowing them to watch the overtly sexual video clips or listen to them either? What do you allow when it comes to mainstream music that potentially crosses the line from entertainment to inappropriate for children of a certain age? What is that age to you?