turn around and you're a young girl going out of the door

Dear Marianne,

I just heard some obnoxious little shite on the radio discussing a bit of research from Bristol University which seemed to indicate that men still prefer not to do the childcare. Wow, really? How much did they pay three PhD students, two Fellows, a Doctor and a cuddly toy for that one. Actually, I kind of agree that men are not really the chosen ones for childcare, especially in the early years. When Archie was two, Craig dressed him and took him to nursery for the day. After work I went to pick him up, where I found him dressed in a very fleecy tracksuity looking outfit, which was however, clearly (to me and all the female staff), a set of pyjamas. To this day Craig has hardly any idea whose clothes belong to whom in the family, and on that rare occasion when he has to put the clothes away, he needs help. So he shows each piece to Anna so that she can say: “Archie’s, Becky’s, Mum’s, yours...etc.”
She performs this task with the kind of condescension which only a five year old daughter can show to her father.

Anyway back to the “expert” on the radio. His argument was that of course men don’t want to do childcare, they need to be out earning the money and since men are paid more,then blah blah blah. It was the need and the want which I wanted (or needed) some clarity about, you may need to work, but is that the same as want, you may want to do childcare, but is that the same as need. However, since neither he nor the interviewer were prepared to listen to me, even though I was shouting very loudly in to the radio, I did what I eventually do every morning now, I tuned in to Radio 2. After all these years I realise now that I may need John Humphries but I want Terry Wogan!

Craig and I are having a childcare conversation right now too, an ongoing one, one that turns up every day, one that creeps in to conversation and sometimes just jumps right up in our faces screaming for attention in the middle of a quiet cup of tea. It is tricky for us because we work from home and in schools, so that with six weeks of school holidays, we are here, our work is here, our five children are here, but our going out to work work has gone. We do have work to do, but worringly we can do it at any time between midnight and oh midnight – so we are both available and unavailable for looking after the children between those hours too. Anyway, we resolve it like a couple of nervous boxers, bobbing and weaving, pulling our punches until the bell, at which point we agree to divide the day into unworkable portions.

Craig is off to do his unworkable portion with Anna and Mike right now. His plan for park, more park and a wander to the shops has come a bit of a cropper due to the rain and the rain and oh the rain. But they are dressed in fun rain stuff so they look quite keen. Becky is down in her room, it is 11.30 am, she has been up once to take food down, I will be down later to bring the plate up and that will be that until lunch time, when she will be up to ask what she can take down for lunch. Is she grateful for lunch, does she remember the rainy days I spent taking her down the park, wiping the swings and slide with the only dry bit of my jumper, just so that she could swing and slide in comfort? Nope.
It’s not that she doesn’t want my company or conversation or endlessly inventive parenting skills, she just doesn’t need them anymore. So I’m looking forward to stashing away the work later, to do my portion and enjoy making stained glass windows with one colour of sugar paper and two shades of blue tissue paper, because I know that whilst they may want to hang out with me now, too soon they won’t need to.

Rx