Censorship

I don’t listen to ABC radio when Mo’s in the car anymore; he started asking too many questions about what they were talking about, which made me realise how violent the news and the surrounding coverage is, and how desperately I want to avoid having to explain the meaning of “sexual abuse” or “torture” to my little boy. So we’re back to listening to kids’ music. I can’t tell you what’s going on in the world right now but I can give you a Play School song for pretty much any situation life throws at you (particularly those that involve getting dressed or leaving the house).

The Old Testament’s another thing I’ve been censoring lately, thanks to the meanness and murder in it – there’s a lot of death in the Old Testament! I hadn’t really noticed that before. In the same way that I want to protect Moses from non-G-rated films and books and TV and radio, I’m going to protect him from non-G-rated Bible; a lot of the Old Testament is not G-rated.

I also worry that the kids’ Bible versions of the yukky stories makes heroes out of characters who are actually supposed to come across as flawed, and I’m uncomfortable with the fact that the deaths of those who are against God’s people are often euphemised as if they don’t really matter (I love that when we read about David killing Goliath, Moses says, “That’s not very nice, is it?”). I’m still trying to figure out how to reconcile the violent and ugly Old Testament with the pacifist New, and understand that Old Testament God in light of who He reveals Himself to be in Jesus; I’m not entirely sure how to explain that to myself yet, let alone to a three-year-old.

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We recently started reading a new kids’ Bible to Moses, one that focuses on some overarching themes rather than retelling individual stories. I think it’s aimed at kids who are older than Moses, but he liked the newness and insisted we stick with it even though he didn’t completely follow what it was talking about. My concerns that it was portraying God as being particularly cranky and hard to please were confirmed when Moses pointed to this picture and asked, “Is that God?”

We won’t be reading that Bible again. I grew up with that angry god, and a Jesus whose reason for coming was to protect me from him; I don’t believe in him anymore. I don’t want Moses to have to wait until he’s 30 to fully realise who God is; I want to learn with him now what “God is love” feels like when it seeps aaaaaaall the way in, when there’s absolutely nothing left in you protesting, “But…!”.

Philomena | Bridesmaids

After my Quickflix trial ended, I searched my library for all of the movies remaining on my queue, and found that they were all in its collection. I then looked for all of the movies from last year that I wanted to see, and found that the library had those too. So I’ve placed holds on all of them, and have been watching them as they trickle in when my turn comes around (Stories We Tell and Quartet were VERY GOOD. Anchorman 2 was NOT VERY GOOD [there were moments on par with the original, but mostly it was disappointing]).

In my online library account it tells me how many people have placed holds ahead of me so that I have a vague idea of when it’ll be my turn. When I checked last week I was 17th in line to borrow the DVD of Philomena, which I worked out (given that everyone is allowed to borrow their items for a month), meant I might finally get to see it around the end of next year. But then, two days later, I received an email to say that it was waiting for me to collect it, so I ran to the library, watched it that night, and returned it the next day before anyone had the chance to realise there must have been a terrible mix up and I was actually last in the line rather than first.

Philomena is brilliant, heartbreaking, funny, awful and sweet. Of all of these, it’s the heartbreak that lingers when I think of it, though. Heartbreak and anger. Perhaps I would have found it less distressing if I’d had to wait until late next year to see it, when Hazel was older (I can’t remember if it says his age in the film, but the child appears to be under 18 months old when he’s taken); I won’t know. I’d watch it again if I could go back in time and knew what to expect of the opening scenes, though, so I don’t even know if I’d add a warning to my recommendation for parents/grandparents/anyone else particularly attached to a baby (there: you’ve been non-warned). Coogan and Dench are wonderful, there were more laughs than I’d expected, and it’s had me thinking a lot about faith and forgiveness since. It was brilliant (and heartbreaking). I’d give this film 5 out of 5 potatoes.

I remember seeing the poster for Bridesmaids when it was plastered on bus stops and billboards and thinking it looked like the kind of movie I may have enjoyed back in the days when I was Young and Uncultured, but that I’d do well to avoid now that I was Mature and Classy. It probably has fart jokes in it, I thought, scornfully. FART JOKES. 

Then recently I borrowed Friends With Kids from the library and rather liked it, and in the special features I learned that some of the actors had worked together before in Bridesmaids (four of them were in both movies). And then everything I read/heard/saw kept mentioning Bridesmaids, and eventually I decided just to watch the movie so I’d finally know what all the fuss was about.

IT IS THE FUNNIEST MOVIE I’VE SEEN, POSSIBLY EVER. (I say “possibly” because I can’t remember any other movies that could challenge it, but then I also can’t remember what I did last Saturday, so…) It’s also so much better than any other romantic comedy/besties movie I can think of. ANY. I loved it. And Alan sat down with me as it was starting (making no commitments about sticking around until the end), and he stuck around until the end, which is quite a compliment to the movie from him. It’s sweary and sometimes gross, but also hilarious (I had to pause it twice to recover because I was crying from laughing and couldn’t see the screen) and touching and real, and I’d give it 5 out of 5 potatoes too.

Playgroup

from here

When I first talked to my doctor about how I was feeling, the first questions she asked were about how much support I had from friends and family. Half of one of my appointments was spent with her googling various playgroups in the area and making phone calls on my behalf; along with the referral for the psychologist, she handed me a highlighted printout of nearby groups and ordered me to try one out so I could get out and meet people. At each visit, my psychologist spends some time going on about the benefits of community for parents (“It takes a village,” etc., etc.), and in the book I’m currently reading, Heart to Heart Parenting, Robin Grille writes, “Isolation and social disconnection are possibly the greatest risk factors for PND.” 

So sharing the parenting load is a good thing. I hear ya. It makes sense to me – this four-walls-two-kids-and-me thing feels incredibly unnatural, even for my introverted self. My question is how do you share the load, especially if you don’t have available grandparents/aunts/uncles/siblings around? “If your extended family is not available” Grille says, “gather other parents to yourself so together you can share the nurturing and entertaining of the children.” Right. Well now my question is, how is one supposed to go about “gathering” other parents to oneself for help and empathy? Is there a special trumpet that causes similarly community-starved parents to come running? Where do you get them from? How much do they cost?! The tips Grille gives are not super helpful. Yes, you can advertise or go along to an existing group, but what are the chances you’ll find someone you want to massage there (one of his suggestions for things to do with your new buddy is “Share baby massage sessions on the floor. Massage each other, too.”)?

Finding a new friend is hard, and finding a new parent friend is even harder, since you’re not only looking out for someone you like, but someone whose kid/s you like too. You may be having a lovely chat at a playgroup with a mum named Jenny only to discover that the screechy child who punched Moses earlier (TWICE) is her son. Or you love the mum AND her children, but they’re never free in the morning and your kids sleep late into the afternoon, so there’s no convenient time for you to actually hang out together. The playgroups I’ve been to have been in halls, and halls are echoey and loud, and trying to have a conversation with potential besties over the top of amplified kid noise is the worst. And advertising on a community noticeboard (another of Grille’s suggestions) for the type of person you can imagine being great friends with requires that person to actually look at a community noticeboard, and if you’re not the type of person who looks at a community noticeboard, what are the chances that they would be? SO MANY ISSUES.

What I need is an RSVP-type site for matchmaking parents and kids with other parents and kids; instead of finding people to date, you would find people to playdate, and there would be an assumption that things could turn out awkwardly and you’d never have to see each other again, or that things could go splendidly and you’d start hanging out all the time. Or a Tinder-type site except instead of meeting up with strangers for sex, you’d meet up with strangers for playdates. And massages. It could be called Kinder. You could tick boxes to let others know your parenting style (“I breastfeed my six-year-old!” or “We love smacking! Smackity smack smack!”), and others could find out more/avoid you depending on their own philosophies. I LIKE THIS IDEA MORE AS I KEEP WRITING. If I knew more about how to use the internet, I would totally make it happen. If you make it happen, can you please let me know? And also give me some credit/money? Kthanx.

No phone

from here

I’ve lost my mobile phone. I had it with me in the car on Saturday, and then I got Hazel out of her seat and came upstairs, and I haven’t seen it again since. It was on silent (my phone’s always on silent), so we’ve listened out for its vibrating in every room of our place as well as in the car. And we’ve looked out for its flashing screen while calling it at night time, in the apartment and down along the street. I wondered aloud whether someone had taken it, and Alan replied, “Why would anyone want your phone? It’s an old Nokia!” He didn’t even say “No offense.” I didn’t used to be the type of person who lost things, but since Hazel’s birth I’ve lost my wallet and now my phone. I was calling this “baby brain” but now I worry that it’s just “brain.” 

Finding myself phone-less has left me feeling less bereft than I’d imagined it would. The recluse in me likes the idea of being somewhat cut off from the rest of the world, no longer at the beck and call of whoever’s on the other end of my phone’s buzzes. And I like not knowing the time when I’m out. I also like not having something else I could be doing on top of the thing I’m currently doing. If I was walking to the doctor with my phone, for example, I could read my emails, or call someone, or send that text I’d been meaning to send all week; without it, I just walk. It’s quite peaceful. 

It’s also really annoying. I have no idea how people ever met up with other people before mobile phones were a thing. And I broke my tooth on the weekend and still haven’t called a dentist because I only have access to a phone when Alan’s home, and Alan’s not home during business hours (it’s possible I could have found a way around this if I really wanted to go to the dentist, but who really wants to go to the dentist? I can wait. I’m in no pain. Yet).

If my phone doesn’t show up over the next few days, I’ll have to start thinking about replacing it. I’m pretty sure I’ll get another old Nokia; I can’t think of any features I’d need that a trusty old Nokia doesn’t have. Plus, it will take very little getting used to, whereas trying to send a message on Alan’s phone still makes me want to throw it. Also, every time I go to buy a non-smart phone there are far fewer options than the last time I checked; next time I may not have a choice.