Thinking – Not needed

Are you one of those who give titles to your postings before you write them, or you give a title after it has been written? Well, I give them a title first because it summarizes my thoughts which are currently in my cluttered brain. However, there will be some instances where you find it hard to start of the first paragraph because you don’t know how to start penning them down.

Anyhow, I’m beginning to feel frustrated about being a home maker. No, not because it’s a boring mundane job, on the other hand, it is challenging and hard, making me think a lot harder lately on how unequipped I am at it. Time in my hands? How is that possible when I constantly feel that I’m walking on an area of landmines? One pin drop or loud typing on this keypad and I could be waking up one or both of my tired children – and there goes the precious private moments like this. Wait. Ahh, what was I saying? Ibni just woke up and I have to put him on my lap while typing this. Binti was cranky the past few days because of a high fever and she has been driving us up to the walls with her whines and cries.

In my late 20’s now (will be on the edge of my 20’s life soon), and trying very hard retain sanity amidst all the expectations of the modern world on bringing up ‘Smart Kids’. Very excited in the beginning, tried to do everything like how ‘the book says’. Got lots of ideas. Loads of practical exercises. Took awhile to realize that, I need them, because I don’t know how to. It’s as simple as that.

Have a peek into the life of a kid born in the 1970s. Women’s Liberation. Feminism. What men can do we can too, was the motto of that century. Women leave their natural job as a mother to go to work in factories. Men and Women are equal they say. And today, that brought the word feminism to a different level altogether too – ‘Gay’. Whilst women are busy competing with men instead of focusing on their own specialty and unique roles, they eventually forget the ‘how-to’s’ about doing the most fundamental thing in life after procreation – to be a mother. The irony is though; nothing can be done about women having to give birth!

So here I am, born to the parents of the 70’s – the years also related to pop stars, hippies, drugs, freedom. 30 years later, I am manufactured into believing that I must compete too. Aggressively. Which I did. But then now, I am here, what then? This is neither the 70s nor the new millennium, I am at least in the 50s (minus the horrid war and occupation). Back to scratch, trying to figure out what motherhood actually is. So help me God.

The society I was brought up in was fooled into believing that to be somebody, you have to have this or that. Now I find myself looking for ‘this’ and ‘thats’ on ebay to occupy my children’s time wisely. She is bored, bring in the Leap Pads. I need to work in the kitchen, oh, Where’s her favourite tv-show? The truth is, I don’t know where to begin. I get fidgety sitting around too long around my children because with the same amount of time in a conference room, I would have organized World Cup! I constantly feel by doing those things, I would have fulfilled my time well. Not sitting around with kids! I cannot do what used to be done so effortlessly by women of the 50s, and even those women today who do not have a case of dysfunctional childhood. What is it that they have that I don’t? Passion? Patience? The know-how?

While as a homemaker I cannot be more equipped with gadgets that help me with household chores - washing machine, dryer, a dishwasher, vacuum cleaner, etc etc, I am still looking for time. Amazing.

I try to analyze my children’s behavior, especially Binti, whom I’m having a little difficulty managing right now. She is bored because she does not get the attention that she needs. Even being around 24-7 does not mean that she has every second of it. I logically discuss her actions and effects with Habibi, hoping that he’d see my point. But he is already too busy and stressed about too many things, although he didn’t fail to be the doting father to her when he has the time, which means, sacrificing his few hours of sleep.

I secretly envy mothers who seem to do the job effortlessly, without putting too much stress on their children, who seems to be so natural at it, and you’d think she never had to yell at her child ever because they are ever so gentle and polite. The truth is, our children, reflects us. That truth hurts. It means that my history has an effect on them. It means that even though I swore not to treat them like how I’ve been treated, I have no control over it. (Oh, you don’t have to call the Police, I don’t abuse my children ;), on the contrary, I feel abused!) With a lot of effort; I only manage to not do what I dislike to do, but try as I might, I cannot do what I’m supposed to. It’s just unnatural. Or is it because I’m doing too much thinking?

While money can buy rewards or gifts as a temporary solution to temporary whining, it cannot buy what I never had before – the understanding of a relationship between a mother and child. The mother that people write about in books or poems, that people paint with lots of love. The one that makes your eyes wet when you speak about them in their absence. The one you want to talk and share your problems with whenever you feel like. The one who would hurry to you when you fall. One who never tires to advise, to listen. The one who prays for you when you’re in trouble.

The one whom I never had a picture taken with.