To tattoo or not to tattoo. Have you?

Extreme full-head tattoo, nicely (perhaps ironically?)
accessorised with a conservative tie.
Image source: http://www.ultimatetattooexpo.com/

There is a certain something I lack. Something that not everyone, but many others, do have. I would see these folk out and about with theirs and think "Am I a little odd, backward even, to not possess such an item". The item in question being a tattoo.
Then I moved to Coolgardie/Kalgoorlie and my nakedness really stuck out like the proverbial, ahem, canine appendages.
Here it appears so uncommon to be uninked it puts me on the verge of freak territory. I'd guess there are more tattoos here than there are people.
I did a quick yet highly scientific survey while in the main street one recent afternoon and spied six separate tattoos over a total of eight men, three over a total of six women and one dog with its ruff area shaved and 'Freo Rulz' inked there. (Yes I made that last bit up, but people do love their tats around here. As well as football and mangled English, so it's entirely possible such a dog exists).
And that was just the ones visible on a mild May day.
I don't have an aversion to tattoos - or needles - but have never felt the urge to get one. In my mother's words, "they just don't appeal to me".
Excepting tattoos that form part of the owner's ethnic culture, for instance Maori tattoos, I've always viewed them as an expression of a kind of hardcore, rocker culture. So, and maybe it's the purist streak in me, but I think a tattoo should either stick to those origins or represent some other deeply important part of the owner's identity they wish to express. I can't help thinking that anything else is just a tacky tattoo gained for the sake of getting a tattoo.
My sister-in-law, for example, has several of what I'd describe as the above-mentioned rock-chick genre. Not everyone could pull them off but they look great on her because they suit her rock music-loving, live-life-loud-and-full personality.
Whenever I had that 'I don't think I'd like to get a tattoo because what the hell would I get' conversation people said 'oh, you could get a nice flower, or a sun or dolphin or something'. Which, despite their good intentions, makes me want to gag.
I do like flowers. But not enough to stamp one on me. The fake ones I stick in vases around my house is enough flower-tackiness for one person.
The sun is lovely, I'll give you that. But I'm not exactly sunny myself.
As for dolphins, they're very nice swimming about in the sea but I don't feel a resounding connection to them.
So, I believe I'll remain ink-free for the foreseeable future.
Now, there is something about tattoos that sparks my curiosity. And that is the craze for ones declaring the name, and sometimes birthdate, of one's progeny. Given countless generations of parents experienced the wonders of parenthood without accompanying tattoos, what is so compelling about them now? Can anyone fill me in?

So, what about you? Do you have any tattoos, and if so, what is their significance to you? Do you plan to get one, or add to your collection? Or are you someone who's changed their mind and had ink removed?

I'm on the 'mothers should work' side of the fence. You?

UPDATE: I've since posted a follow-up to this one expanding on points only touched on here. You can read it here: http://adesertrambler.blogspot.com/2011/05/mothers-should-work-part-ii.html

Ok, I admit I picked this photo because mother and daughter
are both smiling, and that suits my purposes.
Image credit: http://www.sme.blog/

I read an interesting column this week. It was called 'Staying mum's a cop-out'. What was even more interesting was that it was published 10 years ago. And writing it got the author, Leslie Cannold, fired.
Her basic premise was that women, including mothers, should be expected to work in a paid job. Here is part of what she said:

Feminists expect fathers to do domestic work, so how can they tacitly exempt mothers from paid work?
This is how I remember a conversation last week between me and two other mothers of grade 1 children:
Mother 1: Does your child sleep at night?
Me: Yes, why? Doesn’t yours?
Mother 1: She gets up two or three times a night.
Me: I think it’s because I did some “controlled comfort” with him when he was little; it teaches them how to put themselves back to sleep when they wake up.
Mother 2: I think “controlled comfort” is barbaric.
Mother 1: Well, I’m just exhausted.
Mother 2: Me too. Actually, half the time she sleeps in my bed. That’s why I could never get a job. I’m too exhausted: motherhood is my full-time job.
Is it really barbaric to set limits for your children? To expect them to, say, put themselves to sleep and to sleep in their own bed? Or is it simply weak and self-indulgent to refuse to draw the line, and to characterise this refusal as evidence of maternal love and dedication?
This is not an idle question (although I am sure some of you are wishing I’d left it idling). Rather, it is an explosive issue that the women’s movement has long sought to stifle with the rhetoric of “choice”. So while feminists have long struggled to enshrine all women’s social freedom and legal right to work, regardless of whether they are married and/or mothers, most have argued that the decision to engage in paid work or to make motherhood a full-time job is a woman’s prerogative.

You can read the rest of it here: http://cannold.com/articles/article/staying-mums-a-cop-out/


So, is she right? Are you cheering her, even 10 years later (as I am)? Or is she totally out of line? A deluded cow who should count herself lucky that the worst she got was the sack?
I could write at length about all the variables involved in this topic but want to keep it short so will say this: I agree with her on virtually every point.
There are myriad reasons for parents not working. And I accept that not all are completely invalid. But the idea that some mothers use the demands of parenting as an excuse and an escape is also valid.
And one other aspect of this debate that bugs me (I know, I know, I said I'd keep it short! I fibbed) is the limited ways in which stay-at-home women are portrayed. According to mainstream media, they seem to be in two camps only: a) the (often self-described) mothers who are so wholly consumed by their role and responsibilities they don't have time to change their socks; or b) the carefree, swanning-about ladies of leisure whose biggest challenge of the day is deciding between Oprah and Days of Our Lives?
Surely the reality (excepting mothers of newborns) is somewhere in between?

So. Anyone like to share their thoughts?

Mothers should work. Part II

Warning: this is very long. So long it might make Blogger crash again. I wanted to keep my last post, about expecting mothers to work, short. That didn't work. So I've expanded on it here. I make no promises to keep this one short. In fact I can't promise it will still be 2011 by the time you get to the end of today's musings. 

Image source: http://www.thefrugalfind.com/

I am not a mother, no, but believe I have the right to share a piece written by a mother (Leslie Cannold's 'Staying mum's a cop out' it's here: http://cannold.com/articles/article/staying-mums-a-cop-out/ if you want the link again). And the right to stand by two basic ideas presented in that piece:

* That if we (feminists) want to share work at home, we should share in paid work.

* That work provides benefits for the worker.
Not work that doesn't fit around family needs - that's a recipe for disaster. Nor soul-destroying work - I do speak from experience when I say having a job you hate and which sucks the life from you provides very little benefit beyond the financial one. And its negative impact can outweigh even that. I looked to run away too - but didn't use motherhood as an escape path. I was far, far from ready to be a mother, yet felt I knew enough about it to know hating my job wasn't a good enough reason to bring a child into the world.

Now, to clarify some of my points and the implications that seem to have been taken from them:

* I did not say stay-at-home mum equals lazy woman. The portrayal of mums who sit around watching the soaps and going on countless coffee dates shits me because it's rubbish. Of course I don't know this first-hand, but everything I've seen during time spent with family members and friends who are mothers, and what I've read by mothers, indicates this stereotype is a load of hooey.

* I was not attacking anyone (except media outlets that persist with the above-mentioned stereotype). I was reiterating the point that working is good for people. As Cannold points out: "Without paid employment, women lack social identity, social status and social freedom. From the woman who feels ignored at the cocktail party once she reveals her long-term maternal role, to the victim of domestic violence lacking the means to take her kids and flee, paid work gives women things long-term motherhood never can or will."
Oh, and while I'm talking about the benefits of work, I imagine it would be nice, when woken by a crying child, to say to your partner from time to time "Oh darling, you go to her this time - I have to work tomorrow too". (It may not surprise you to know my husband and I have already had this argument - as a hypothetical because, as is abundantly clear, we don't currently have a child to get up to. It wasn't really resolved. I think he just let me win because it wasn't a real argument.)

* I'm not claiming motherhood is easy. Nor am I suggesting combining it with work or study would be a breeze. Again, I'm going to speak as a non-mother, but I believe mothers do a great job. They themselves, and many others across the world, are often too hard on them. Mums, give yourselves a pat on the back! And eat some chocolate. You deserve it.

* I don't claim to know the emotional impact of motherhood. Though presumably Leslie Cannold did and still felt it could be combined with work.

* I do expect capable people to pull their weight. Which is not to say that having children doesn't count as a major contribution. The 'dole bludger' style of person is irritating and I do judge them. But I don't find them interesting and wasn't really addressing them here.
Those I'm more interested in are mothers who continue to use motherhood as a public shield against work when this shield is long past its use-by date. I don't know why these mothers don't want to work. Maybe some are actually lazy. Maybe some lack the confidence to do so. Maybe others have selfish husbands who put up such a song and dance at the prospect of her working she caves and decides it's just not worth it. So while they frustrate and disappoint me, and I think they should do something to overcome those barriers, I don't necessarily hold them entirely responsible.
As a feminist, I'd argue that avoiding work when you actually are capable of it demonstrates a rude and ungrateful attitude towards the women who fought to have our right to work recognised (along with all the other benefits arising from feminism).
On a side note, if you're loath, or even hesitant, to call yourself a feminist and don't in fact believe you have a right to a job, or expect your partner to help with housework, you're of course free to do so. But I'd suggest considering that stand next time you, say, go to the pub, vote, or use a bank account that includes your name.

Image source: www.cheezburger.com


My aim in writing the post was precisely to help counter at least some of this "judging" - how can society tell you you're a bad mother for going to work if it's actually telling you to go to work? Mothers who have to work financially are in a particularly bad place for this (again, this is something Cannold also points out).

I regard the expectations placed on mothers, and everything 'mothering' is apparently supposed to achieve, as too severe. They're terrifying! If, as Cannold suggests, mothering was viewed as part of the female experience and not used to assess a woman's entire worth (for example I'm judged for being a non-mother and therefore deficient more often than my husband is as a non-father), some of the stress and weight heaped on mothers could be alleviated.
My (perhaps unrealistic) logic is that if work was something everyone was expected to participate in, we might have more success in bringing about changes that would make everyone's working life easier. In relation to this particular issue, that would mean family-friendly workplaces and jobs, and better access to child care.
As long as work is seen as a "choice" for parents/mothers, the powers that be at too many workplaces can 'choose' to refuse to make them friendlier to families. If workplaces were more respectful of parents, I'd hope parents wouldn't feel the desire to "escape" and they could more easily combine work and parenting.
And while it remains a choice, women will be criticised for their choices. If you're expected to work, and do so, you can't be labelled as irresponsible, selfish, cruel and all the other ridiculous ways working mothers are described (and I note how rarely working dads are similarly labelled).

Or as it is here, Mums!
Image source: http://www.divinesecretsofadomesticdiva.com/

As a feminist I believe in the sisterhood (corny as it may sound. May I assure you however no bras of mine have been so much as singed during the raising of my conscious). So I am disappointed an unintended result of my post was creating a woman vs woman scenario.
On that note, I'd be surprised - but delighted! - if men did enter the discussion. Because typically this is an issue discussed almost solely by women. Which is exasperating; I think men - as fathers, employers and colleagues - should have opinions on the mixing of work and family, and the rights and roles of the mothers in their lives. And should voice them, provided this is done in good faith.

I admit to judging. I look at situations, find out as much as I can, and make a personal judgement (not always the same as being judgemental). If someone is not needed at home for several hours each day and is capable of some kind of work yet does not pursue it I will not be impressed.


Image source: http://www.rappleeyefam.blogspot.com/


So, in summary, what I do advocate:
* Dads sharing in child care and housework and mums sharing in paid work.
* Quality child care
* Family-friendly workplaces that offer flexible and part-time work and which don't penalise anyone - parents or not - for having valid commitments outside work.
* If you've read this far without succumbing to sleep or getting up and moving around, to do so. I don't want anyone risking deep-vein thrombosis.
* The notion that having a job provides benefits beyond financial reward

What I don't advocate:
* Any set period of time between having a child and returning to work (other than saying 'before the youngest child leaves home or you hit retirement'. It's kind of moot after that).
* That there is a right or wrong amount of hours a parent should work.
* Parents beating themselves up. Privately or publicly. I repeat: Parents, you're doing a good job.
* Leaving a screaming baby in a cot or not doing so. I don't advocate any specific parenting methods.
* Staying in a job if it's destroying you. Quit and look for another one; do some study and training in the meantime if you have the desire and means to.
* Women being defined solely as mothers or non-mothers.
* Verbally or physically assaulting your computer because you don't like what I've written. Its hardly the computer's fault. Instead, punch out (gently) a comment below or email me.

Image source: http://www.favim.com/

PS If anyone is interested in posts related to feminism, I have one coming up on Slutwalk - what aspects of it resonate with me and what don't.

Birthday fun. And birthday fail

Image credit:
http://www.hellyesoftheweek.blogspot.com/

I had a birthday the other day. How excitement. Happy birthday me. It fell during my break from work and so was lovely. That is, except for the bits that weren't.
Let's start with the highlights:
* Sensational breakfast of banana bread, banana, mascarpone cheese, maple syrup and bacon, whipped up by Paul. There was enough on my plate alone to feed a Logies audience. "Don't you think I eat between birthdays?" I queried. To which he replied: "Well there was all that stuff there in the fridge so I thought I might as well cook it." He's not always one for food storage logic, my Paul.
* Many, many birthday wishes via facebook, SMS and phone calls. It is nice to pop up on people's radar. Even the radar of those who appear to spend 80 per cent of their waking hours on facebook and would likely even chat to Muammar Gaddafi for the interaction. It's also a bit awkward getting a message from someone who's birthday you haven't noted in years, possibly ever. Heartfelt apologies to anyone in this category.
* A sense of being entitled to laze about all day.
* Lazing about all day.
* Sleep, wine, more 'special occasion' food .
* Birthday present money.
* Imagining spending birthday money. I live in Coolgardie - I can't nip off and buy something nice right away, unless you count a chiko roll from Caltex 'nice'.

And for the low-lights:
* No present (besides breakfast) from my husband. Admittedly this is in part because I hadn't really come up with anything I wanted. We did see something that would have sufficed - a K-mart outdoor setting - when in town last week, but they didn't have any for-sale stock. So nada for me on the day from him. Not even a box of chocolates or cheap but cute scented candle. Which are apparently lame these days, but I, in my dagginess, am partial to.
* No one coming to my party. Not that a party, as such, was really ever on the cards. We didn't have anything planned until Paul suggested the in-laws drop in for a few drinks on the Saturday night. On an impulse I also sent out a last-minute invite to some work mates. But none made it. (Not a surprise, of course. I myself almost never attend spontaneous events because I too usually have plans and am loath to have them interfered with). But in the end not even the even in-laws showed. So it was just me, Paul, the fire flickering in our make-shift firepit, and the starry sky. And the plate of cheeses and bowl of chips - nothing could spoil my enjoyment of the nosh.
* While sitting like nigel-no-friends by the fire I started reminiscing about my birthday last year. And how much better different it was. Remarkably different, what with the award-winning, beachside restaurant we ate at (Nu Nu's at Palm Cove; go there if you ever get the chance), the balmy tropical evening and the group of very dear friends in attendance. I miss you, people!
* As well as the husband's failure to produce a gift was his failure to deliver treats he had promised. Apparently he got "sidetracked" (by the couch and a stack of DVDs, for the record). This wasn't a major lowlight, merely a bit of a disappointment, because these treats (of the massage variety - see why I'm not really complaining?) were provided on the following days.

In retrospect it's clear the highlights outweigh the low-lights. It's also clear I've become rather whiny of late, haven't I?

Have you ever had a birthday that didn't quite meet expectations? Or had either a spectacularly bad or spectacularly good one?

Hello, I'm baa-ack!

Hiatus [hahy-ey-tuhs] noun: A break or interruption in the continuity of a work, series, action, etc.

Or, in simple terms and specifically in relation to this blog: being slack. And a bit busy. But mostly slack.

Apologies to anyone who's missed my posts in recent weeks (I like to think there are some of you out there). I've missed it too. I've also missed the time and energy it takes to maintain it.

I know I've no right to the time-poor complaint when there are people with children, and especially people with paid jobs and children, coping with being far busier and much more harried than me. But that doesn't negate the fact that I have been busy, and, more to the point, feeling busy.

I'm someone who, when faced with the promise of ample free time, likes to make the most of it and attempt to use it constructively (provided this constructive activity is also enjoyable. Like blogging. Not like ironing). I also like routine (to a point - day after day of doing the 9ish-5ish thing became as much fun as going to a Justin Bieber concert every night of your life. Or even for one night of your life, for that matter).

I like to know where I'll be and what I'll be doing at what time, and when I will have the opportunity to do my own thing. That way I can organise myself. Up to a month or two ago I had free time and routine aplenty: go to work from 6am to 2pm, Monday to Friday. An hour or two for houseworky stuff at home. And the rest of the day was mine.

This system functioned quite well for a while. Then work went haywire. Regular hours and weeks were out. In were sporadic days off and shifts that lurched from 9 hours to 11 to 7 to 12. (Don't worry about getting out the violins - I've had my sook, followed it up with a tablespoon of cement powder and am over it now, thank you.)

Anyway, the lack of routine left me feeling all at sea, and the lack of free time left me, well, not-free. Obviously. In the midst of this I moved to a different department (from gold room to the lab) and was therefore learning a whole new job. Which meant for the first time in several months I actually had to concentrate. My brain, while loving being engaged again, didn't know what hit it and went a bit fuggy for the first few days.

Ultimately, I simply didn't have the willpower to also blog at the end of the day (ie was slack). Not that I even had anything to blog about. My weeks were consumed with work and, fascinating as that work is, the thrills of hitting the on/off button of a pump 20,000 times a day, or squirting solution into test tubes 5000 times, are hardly blog-worthy topics*.

Now, however, I'm pleased to report I've got a handle on the new job. And am extremely pleased to report am on a regular and generous roster that should allow me to heartily indulge my blogging habit.

So this is my longwinded way of saying sorry for going AWOL, but I'm back now and would love for you to stay tuned. Pretty please!


* Figures are estimates only and may be slightly exaggerated.

Image source: Flickr.com

Your wedding dress: trash or treasure?

This post was originally written in July 2009 and is another I've bought back for the Weekend Rewind at Life in a Pink Fibro.

Image source: www.trashthedress.com

Has anyone taken part in a ‘Trash the Dress’ event? If so, please tell me why otherwise sensible people partake in such a procedure.
Wondering what is a Trash the Dress, exactly? I did. A quick search on the net reveals it’s when a recently married bride puts the wedding dress back on, gets glammed up again, and proceeds to ‘trash’ the dress. As in, roll about in mud and surf, tip paint on it, massacre it with scissors and such like. While being photographed.
Also wondering why the hell any (presumably happily married) person would do that?
Apparently it serves several purposes: provides a chance to wear the dress one more time and do something else productive in it, rather than leave it hanging in the wardrobe for all eternity. The bride also gets some unique and stunning photographs (which don’t come cheap, what with the professional photographer following up the wedding with a handy little Trash the Dress package).
And – my personal favourite – it makes a statement that she is committed to her husband. That in destroying the wedding dress she’s saying she’ll never have need of one again. I’m sorry, but isn’t that message covered by vowing “to love and cherish, etc etc, til death to us part” and exchanging rings?
Call me old fashioned, but I simply do not understand how someone recently married can destroy the dress. If, some time down the track, the marriage has gone pear-shaped and it signifies nothing but painful memories, by all means take to it with shears and a soft-focus lens. But while it’s still a thing of beauty? Insanity.
Because, allowing for those few truly heinous creations that should never have left the designer’s imagination, most wedding gowns are beautiful. The heavy, forgiving fabric. The tiny buttons, delicate ribbons and ties. The bits of antique lace.
Sitting in a dark cupboard forever may seem like a waste. But at least it’s there and can be revisited and admired from time to time, much like a piece of art.
If I ever got such a notion in my head, the shooting would be done by my mother. And she’d use equipment much deadlier than a camera. She made my dress and I assume is just as satisfied to have it left in the wardrobe in peace. Her own dress, (which being from the ’70s leans dangerously towards the heinous category but is saved by its simple design and gorgeous fabric), also remains tucked up among tissue paper in her wardrobe.
Granted, scissors can be the best thing for the situation when a wedding gown has outlived the marriage. Take the dresses of three women in my family. These sisters each married and lived happily for a while. But the happiness didn’t last. Each split no doubt brought much heartache to their mother, but it did mean their dresses were up for grabs. Being a doll collector, she merrily cut and restitched the pieces into miniature gowns. And has since won several awards in the local show’s doll competition.
Of course, each woman is entitled to do as she pleases with her dress. And brides and the photographers do get some beautiful, striking photos from the trashing process. But honestly? It’s just indulgent.
I can understand the narcissistic attraction of starring in your own photo shoot and getting yet another set of beautiful portraits (because all the dosh you spent on the actual wedding photos just wasn’t enough). But justifying it as something more symbolic is simply a con. The same thing could just as easily be achieved by getting a gown from Lifeline and shredding it in front of the camera.

This week I'm grateful for... my age

Image source: http://www.intoxicatedabroad.com/

They say getting old is no picnic, but at the moment I'm glad I've left some aspects of youth behind.
A younger cousin of mine (she's 18) has recently started university. While she sounds to be having the time of her life, her facebook updates have reminded me of the less noteworthy experiences of being a full-time student:
* Drinking 'goon'. The lovely bottles of sav blanc I indulge in these days may come from the cheaper end of the Woolies Liquor shelf, but thankfully bear next to no resemblance to goon. I think I'd blocked the word 'goon' and it's associated memories from my mind, until this week that is, the moment I signed my first job contract.
* Having to do assignments on non-class days. I'm fortunate to have the kind of job where work is only done at work. Of course days off do involve housework, but you can get away with giving it some cursory attention and put off doing it properly almost indefinitely. Or at least until you have a rental inspection or the parents come to visit.
* Having to share with dorm or flat mates. Think kitchen pigs. Waiting for the bathroom (only to find the sink clogged with someone else's hair). Chocolate nicked from the fridge. Goon nicked from the fridge. Loud noises at all hours of the day and night. Noises you'd rather not identify coming from your housemate's room at all hours of the day and night. It's a list with no end, really.
My place is no luxurious haven, but I can keep it pretty much the way I like. The husband's attempts to get away with leaving everything from shifters to socks on the kitchen table notwithstanding.
* Not having a licence and/or not having a car. Many uni students do have both these days, of course, and this bit of gratitude is prompted by the experience of my sister-in-law who, for various bureaucratic reasons, has just got her Learners at age 21. I've always lived in regional areas where the public transport system, if it exists at all, involves a bus coming by about once every 10 days. I'm not a big fan of driving (I prefer to be chauffeured, darling) but I am a fan of being able to take off somewhere whenever I feel like it.

This post is part of the lovely 'I'm Grateful For' link-up by hosted by Maxabella Loves.



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