Last Friday, my five year old got an elephant stamp for finishing her lunch. I was about to burst with pride, ‘AN ELEPHANT STAMP! WELL DONE YOU!’
But I caught myself. Are the lunches I pack so dire my kid deserves a prize for eating them?
‘What else do you get elephant stamps for?’ I asked.
‘Oh, you know, keeping our feet on the floor, listening to show and tell even if it’s boring, putting rubbish in the bin. Normal stuff.’
Normal stuff. Exactly. I’m all for positive re-enforcement, but where are my elephant stamps?
Sometimes, when I accomplish something that may be quite mundane to someone else, I want to stand on the roof with my arms outstretched. I would shout, ‘LOOK! SEE WHAT I HAVE DONE! THREE CHILDREN WITH NEAT HAIR, READY TO LEAVE THE HOUSE, AND IT’S NOT EVEN EIGHT O’CLOCK!’
But imagine what would happen if I did that. Once the neighbours had alerted the police to the madwoman on the roof, they’d say, ‘Yes, well, you’re a mother. It’s your job to get your kids groomed and to school on time. That’s the minimum requirement. What do you want, a medal?’
Thank you, that would be nice. I see other people receiving gongs all the time. I see rugby league players and chefs getting standing ovations for learning to tango on Dancing With The Stars. A lawyer makes a nice soufflé and is showered with glitter and a book deal. On Survivor, you get a hot bath if you eat pelican guts.
The common denominator here, of course, is those winners are out of their comfort zone – they are trying something new. They are on a journey. Wait. No, they’re not, they’re on television.
There are some occupations that reward excellence and achievement with medals, trophies and titles yes, they absolutely deserve them. Soldiers on the front line, scientists at the pointy end of medical research. But there are also awards galore in advertising, acting, and real estate. I visited an estate agent’s office recently and the walls were hung with so many plaques I hope they were re-enforced with steel girders.
But what about regular people? The foot soldiers of life, who drive buses, make sandwiches, order stationery, stack the shelves, sort out new software. No gongs there, just the opposite. If an office manager gets a teensy bit boasty, the feedback (silent or spoken) would probably be, ‘So you upgraded Microsoft Office without crashing the entire network? Whoop doop. It’s your job.’
Of course high profile people (not entertainers) cop it too. If you’re a politician and you get a gnarly bit of legislation though, it’s nothing special, just doing your job.
You’re a journalist who spent three weeks isolated by floodwaters. Good on you, but hell, it’s your job.
Being a mother is my responsibility, if not my job. I chose it, I love it (well, I love the kids), but like the dancing league player, I’m not a natural. Home organisation is challenge for me. My mother didn’t teach me about menu planning.
My home economics teacher taught me to make a brown sauce and a white sauce but not how to pack five lunches in twenty minutes.
I suck at writing things down, preferring to keep it all in my head. That was fine when I only had to remember my stuff, but now there’s ‘us’ I can see that couples who synchronise online diaries are not to be scoffed at.
But I try and yes, I would like a metaphorical medal on occasion. Specifically, on these occasions:
– I complete and return permission slip for a school excursion more than 24 hours before said excursion, remembering to keep the top bit so I know whether uniform or plain clothes are to be worn.
– I write a shopping list.
– I remember to take shopping list to shop.
– I buy a gift before (but not on the way to) a party.
– Beds are made even if it’s not clean-sheet day or we’re expecting visitors.
– Son packs his own swimming kit, library book and music folder (you might say he deserves the medal but clearly it was my tutelage that got him to this point.)
I don’t deserve or expect a medal for say, cooking a roast dinner. Nor do I paste a picture of the finished dish on Facebook. Because I like cooking and I’m quite good at it.
But someone who finds a leg of lamb boring or scary but gives it a go anyway? I say that person is a champion. I ‘like’ their Facebook pic.
If I could, I’d give them an elephant stamp.
What do you deserve a prize for doing?
Top Comments
For doing the bedtime thing with the kids every. single. night. (husband works nights). With toddler who is currently resisting bed with all his tiny frame. For being calm when he does tier 2 nappy every night after he's put to bed. For being calmer when he disturbs baby's bedtime feed. For not shrieking when toddler wakes baby again during his 55th trip out of bed. For not drinking (due to said provocation) because I'm feeding bubs. :) For doing every single morning, even though I might have been up 3-4, 5 times during the night. For a long time. For wondering how I'm going to manage to do all this when I go back to work part-time. For doing the weekends solo. For doing all the housework. For getting through it all and keeping some positive energy up. I don't know how single parents do it. All the medals to them!!!!.
I hate the kids' bedtime routine with all my heart. I would love nothing more than to skip the whole teeth brushing, story reading, toileting, whingeing drama and just chuck them both into bed and walk out of the room! So I think I deserve an elephant stamp for enduring bedtimes every single night for the past 5 years!
You do!!!. Tell me it doesn't go on for 5 years!!!!!!!!!!!! I'll be in a mental asylum!
Well my oldest boy is 5 which is how long I've been doing some sort of bedtime routine with him. I am hoping to be able to say "go get ready for bed and call me when you're ready for a bedtime kiss" in a year or two! My youngest is 2.5 so I'm guessing there's still a few years of this torture left yet. Some nights I say to myself "please somebody just kill me now"! The excuses for why the 5 year old can't get to sleep are becoming more creative too, my current favourite being "I can't remember how to go to sleep"!
So creative! That's funny. Well, not for you. We say 'kill me now too...why drag it out??!' Bedtime routine for eldest was fine til sibling arrived and he became a free-roaming chicken with his own toddler bed. I just try and keep repeating that this is just a phase. A long, long torturous one.