The Speech and the Australian MSM

For quite a while now I’ve been trying not to get too swept up in the growing wave of people who are completely dismissing the relevance and quality of Australia’s political media. Of course I’ve been critical, but I’ve tried not to let cynicism take over. I’ve tried to give them the benefit of the doubt.

The nearly universal reaction of the political MSM in Australia to Gillard’s speech has been a turning point for me. I really don’t have any time for those jokers anymore.

To say that she was playing the victim or ‘the gender card’ is so completely incorrect and inherently sexist that it blows my mind.

To echo the LNP’s talking points that because Abbott has female relatives, even loves his female relatives, he cannot be a mysogynist is so wilfully ignorant and illogical that it makes me see red. Why don’t you just look up the bloody definition in the OED? Misogyny includes being prejudiced against women. How on earth can loving individual women inoculate someone against prejudice? (If only!) How can you possibly interpret his past statements on women (such as his musings that they are psychologically less suited to leadership) as anything other than prejudice?

And, finally, to pretend that the only relevant context to Gillard’s speech was the fact that the government was trying to protect the Speaker is either dishonest or frighteningly myopic.

The context also included Alan Jones’ speech at a Liberal function and the hateful comments he made about Julia Gillard’s father.

The context included Abbott’s deliberate echoing of those very same insulting words in the chamber just before Gillard’s speech, ostensibly in challenging the govt for misogyny, but really displaying his own well-documented pattern of sexist attacks on the PM and on the rights of Australian women generally.

The context included the ground-swell of public reaction to Alan Jones’ history of misogynist comments. A reaction that similarly had to be understood in a broader context of a growing public disgust with the misogyny of Alan Jones and the way that it is poisoning our public debate. His most recent attack, on air, of a UN initiative to support women’s leadership in the Pacific as being problematic because women in leadership are ‘Destroying the Joint’ had already become a tipping point.

This broader context - the one in which our national debate was finally beginning to seriously tackle the misogyny and sexism that permeates our culture, and to highlight the ways in which they poison our culture and prevent women from participating in politics and in speaking out on more substantive concerns - this broader context was far more significant that the Speaker’s job (which has been so clearly tenuous for ages that its loss was already a foregone conclusion).

So my question is:
1. Were the majority of our political journalists actually completely ignorant of this broader context;
2. Did they just not care (because it concerned ‘women’s issues’ or didn’t resonate with the mythical swing voter in marginal seats); or
3. Are they actively threatened by this new focus on misogyny and sexism?

Whatever it is, I’ve had a gut full of their myopic, ignorant and largely sexist reporting this week and I’d like to see some changes.

(Note: there have been a few notable exceptions such as the ever-excellent Julia Baird. I'll link when I'm not on my mobile breastfeeding a sleeping toddler.)

A short tour of the neighbourhood

We are not living in the centre of Hanoi, but rather in a area a little north of the Old Quarter called Tay Ho or Westlake. As the name suggests it is the area that surrounds a rather large lake called Tay Ho or West lake. Unlike the centre of town, which is extremely busy with traffic and people, Tay Ho can feel quite sleepy in parts and has a lot more greenery than I had really associated with Hanoi. While this is less exciting than the Old Quarter, it also makes it a lot more friendly for the kids.

Lily's school is also in Tay Ho, but it's in a particular area of Tay Ho called Ciputra. Ciputra is basically a large gated community for expats. It's clean and tree-lined, but a little lacking in services or character. We toyed with living there so that Lil could walk to school and to the houses of her school friends, but just couldn't bring ourselves to do it in the end. It just felt too weird - like we were avoiding living in Vietnam or something, which wasn't what we wanted. Lily isn't very impressed with our decision...

Here are some photos of our neighbourhood (and a couple of Lil's school from Saturday soccer).

View of the lake from a nearby lane way.

Lily playing soccer at school. (You can see Ciputra in the background)

More soccer. She wasn't so keen on the running part...

Tay Ho flower market.

Kinderpark. Small person heaven. Parental hell.

Fine, I did smile once.

Our local park - a very unusual expanse of grass.

An entrance to the maze of alleyways that lead to our house.

Unusually for Hanoi there is almost no traffic in our area, except twice a month when everyone visits the pagoda.

Our neighbours are currently hosting a funeral party. Apparently it will go for several days.
The music is very loud and Charlie is fascinated by it.

A short tour of the house

We moved into our new house in Hanoi a month ago today and we are just starting to really settle in and feel at home here.

Our house is located in a maze of alleyways near the main pagoda or temple in the Tay ho (or Westlake) district of Hanoi. It was new when we moved in and totally empty. We also moved in about two weeks before our stuff was delivered, so at first it felt a bit like camping.

Now we are mostly unpacked and the place is transforming from an empty shell into our home. It's a lovely place, with big windows and lots of space and light. This makes me feel simultaneously lucky and sickeningly overprivileged - a state of mind that describes many of my feelings about living here.

Anyway, here are some photos:

View from the rooftop

We thought this was a durian tree, but apparently its a jackfruit.

View from the front door.

I love the big windows in the loungeroom.

Hanging out.

Living areas.

Home office - bit more space than my little cupboard in Melbourne.
(Paul's desk is on the other side of the room, just out of shot)

So I've been wanting to post

There have been so many posts whirling around in my head lately: so many words and so little time to write them down.

I want to write about settling into Hanoi. How surreally lovely our new house is. How weird/nice it is to have a nanny for Charlie and how excellent it is that he loves her. How much better it has suited Lily to start school this time around, now that she's older. How cool it is that her class is full of kids from all corners of the globe and my thoughts on how this my affect her.

I want to write about living in a maze of alleyways that are too narrow for cars and the way that they are alive with neighborhood sounds and salespeople on bicycle who sing about their wares. I want to write about the dominance of the car in our built environment and ask what we lose through this and how it could be different.

But I also want to write about other issues. I want to write about feminism and motherhood, and the insidious role that neoliberal logic is playing in some of the debates that are currently going on. I wanted to write specifically about the intersection between AP and feminism and the willful ignorance of those who claim they're incompatible. I wanted to write about the way that breastfeeding and baby sleep are commonly written about, and the excessively individualistic framework of these debates.

I wanted to write about my experience of the gift of motherhood - about the way that amidst the mundane and repetitive work of it I found a new space to reexamine my identity and my passions and to give myself permission to discard pressures that I've unthinkingly carried since childhood. I wanted to examine the way it's allowed me to redefine success on my own terms - even as it has restricted some of my freedom to realise these new ambitions.

I wanted to write about my PhD. About why doing it was a really bad idea and how hard it's been to combine with motherhood. I also wanted to write about my more recent realisation of what I've gained from doing my PhD, and how it wasn't what I expected, but may mean that ultimately it was a good decision...

But instead I just had to get all those beginnings down and out into the world. I hope I get the chance one day to flesh them out...

Dear Charlie - 22 months

Dear Charlie

You turned 22 months old on the 2nd of August. It's been six months since I've written you a letter. Sorry little one.


We've had some huge changes over the last six months Charlie. Lily started school and you desperately wanted to join her. Then we tried a childcare for you - just three hours in the morning - and you really hated it and we bailed. But I still had to finish writing my PhD and so you spent more time with Papa and your Grandparents while I hid away in my funny cupboard study and eventually took myself off to the State library for a full week of full-time writing. Unlike childcare, you handled that really well. Although you did make up for the lost breastfeeeding time at night and I'm still suffering for that.

Finally, we packed up and moved from Melbourne (where we'd been for less than 9 months) to Hanoi. You've handled this transition well too. Although you have asked to go home on the plane a number of times. I'm hoping that when we move into our new house and get all our stuff it will be even easier.


In the last six months you've grown up so much. Your language is incredible. There is little that you cannot say now. You express yourself clearly and recite your favourite books from start to finish. You still mispronounce a few words, but I have to admit that these are my favourites. You say 'entient' for elephant, 'boon' for spoon, and 'gayfu' for thank you. You say 'gayfu' a lot too, as you have learned the value of being charming.

You remain a friendly, gregarious little soul. This is lucky because people treat you a bit like a rock star here in Hanoi. Your little head of blonde curls is a bit of a novelty, I guess. People gather around to touch your head and to seek cuddles from you. Sometimes you do give them a cuddle, but mostly you just smile and say "xin chao." I am looking forward to the day when you can speak more Vietnamese. I'm guessing you'll be better than me shortly.

You are quite a kooky, strong-minded person. You like to dress yourself and have very particular ideas about what you want to wear. You love to wear your backpack and pack it with things for "work." You also love beads (necklaces & bracelets), hair clips and head bands - much to the distress of people with very fixed idea of appropriate gender roles.

Another non-comformist preference of yours has been an enthusiastic interest in meat (we are a vegetarian family). Lately you have taken to crying at night, "I want meat!" (And I mean crying, with tears and all.) You have also insisted on trying a few different types of meat at the hotel breakfast buffet. You rejected ham as "yucky," but enjoyed both bacon and a chicken nugget. Earlier I would have found this really challenging, but for some reason I just find it amusing. I guess I'm mellowing... The real test will come when I have to decide whether to cook it for you. At least I know where to buy organic meat here, if it does come to that.

I'm looking forward to the next six months, little one. I hope to write you a few more letters between now and then.

love
mama
xox

Early days in Hanoi

We've been in Hanoi for three and a half weeks and it's starting to feel like we are finding our feet in this city. We've found a house, although we are still in a hotel for another week as we wait for our things to arrive by boat. Lily is enrolled in school and starts this Wednesday. She's made several friends, all of whom will be at the same school with her. We've also found a nanny for Charlie and she's great. So all up things are going well.

Living in a hotel for so long has been odd. There are upsides to it. Many of the guests here are longterm residents and there is a real sense of community. It is also well set-up for families with kids. There are two playrooms, a large outdoor playground, a kid-friendly pool, and more high chairs than tables at breakfast. The kids have been enjoying the ready-access to playmates, the playroom, the pool and the seriously-friendly staff. Nonetheless it has been a bit crazy-making being coped up in a tiny one-bedroom apartment. The heat and the regular downpours have made getting out and about less than appealing at times.

Jetlag has exacerbated Charlie's tendency to wake up at the crack of dawn, but at least this is totally normal over here. The footpath outside by the lake is packed with people exercising - walking, running, riding, or doing callisthenics and tai chi. They also swim or row in the lake. Peak hour at breakfast is from 6-7:00am and the shuttles to work leave before 7:30am. As a morning person, this all appeals to me. It's nice to have company when I'm at my best. It must be tough for night owls.

We've ventured into town a few times - down in the main tourist area and into parts of the old quarter. But the bustle and the heat make it hard for the kids and so real exploration hasn't been possible. I'm looking forward to having the chance to get stuck into that on my own. In the meantime we have explored more of our immediate surroundings in the relatively suburban Tay Ho (Westlake). This is an area just north of the centre of town where many expats live (amongst many Vietnamese too). There are more trees and less traffic, and more shops geared towards our indulgences (mini-marts with treasures like tahini and Vegemite, pricier furniture shops, boutiques with 'Western-sized' clothing and the like). On Saturday mornings there is even a Farmers' Market stocking organic veggies and ethically-raised meat. Sometimes I feel bad for living in such a strange bubble, but then I register the culture-shock that Lily is already experiencing with the lack of footpaths, the language-barrier and the dust, and I think that we have made the right choice.

Birth plan - a response to Mia Freedman

When I was pregnant with my first child I tried to do all the right things. I got a spot in the public Birth Centre and discussed my preference for a water birth with my midwife. I also attended the birth preparation classe (although I did leave one class before the subject of medical pain relief was discussed, because I'm scared of needles and figured that wouldn't change anytime soon). Besides, I told myself, labour only goes for a few hours, how bad could it be?

My midwife gave me a video of a water birth to watch to prepare for my own, but I felt uncomfortable with the intimacy of it all and never watched it. Instead I guzzled parenting books and focused on the long term - the task of parenting the baby I would be birthing.

It was early in the morning and 11 days past my due date when labour finally started. I was so over being pregnant and so ready to hold my baby that I greeted the pain warmly. I told my partner that my contractions had begun and we started to record them so we'd know when they were regular enough to justify going into the Birth Centre. Hours passed.

It was another 12 before we went into the Centre (arriving at 8pm) and 14 more before my beautiful baby girl was born. The pain and utter exhaustion shocked me. By 2am I'd been moved 'upstairs' (into the hospital) to have an epidural and collapsed into a grateful sleep. (My fear of needles quickly became irrelevant. I would have let them chop off my leg if they'd promised it would help).

When it was time for me to push they dialed back the epidural enough so that I could squat on the bed, but I couldn't feel my contractions and so timing the pushes was tricky. After two hours an obstetrician came in to check and told me that the baby's head was starting to swell. She was posterior and firmly wedged in my narrow pelvis. He recommended an emergency c-section or high forceps delivery. I chose the latter.

It took an hour for him to stitch my third degree tear, but I honestly didn't care as I was holding the most beautiful being in the world and high on the adrenaline of meeting her.

In the weeks that followed the pain did start to matter. It made it impossible for me to lift my newborn baby. Walking was also a challenge. Even sitting hurt. Worse still Lily had awful reflux and would bring up most of her feed in great gushes of breast milk, or scream in pain for hours when silent reflux came instead.

We were finally referred to a cranio-osteopath who found a deep indentation on her skull where the forceps had squashed her little head. It was pressing on the area of the brain responsible for assisting the body to digest fat and partly responsible for her reflux. After two treatments the projectile vomiting stopped.

My memories of the labour were raw for a long time, but I told myself there wasn't a lot I could have done differently. I told myself that posterior back pain and the length of the labour were not something I could have prepared for and I felt better.

That all changed when I fell pregnant again. Suddenly thinking that there was nothing I could have done made me feel powerless and worried. I didn't want to go through that again - particularly not the aftermath. Labour may only last a day, but the first few weeks of a baby's life are too precious to be dedicated to surgical recovery and pain.

The first thing that I did was to admit that actually I had totally failed to prepare for my first labour. I'd read almost nothing about it. I'd decided again medical pain relief (despite constant well-meaning advice from others to order it immediately) but had failed to inform myself about alternative coping methods. I'd basically stuck my head in the sand and hoped that it would just go away.

Then I started reading. The best resource that I found were Ina May Gaskin's books on birthing. The stories of other women's labours gave me inspiration for how I wanted mine to go. They also made me realise that I wanted more support. My partner had been amazing the first time around, but there were things that I didn't want to ask of him and others that he didn't know how to do. So we hired a doula who knew how to guide me through the birth process and could show me a whole range a ways to cope with my contractions and fear.

My experience of birthing Charlie was completely different to my experience of birthing Lily. Sure, some of that was due to the fact that he was my second, but far more significant was the fact that I had a plan. It wasn't a rigid script that had to be followed. It was a story that played out in my mind and carried me through the process.

With Lily's birth I was a passive agent in the process. I didn't prepare and came out the other end sore and bruised. It was like joining a marathon and forgetting to do any training beforehand. You can imagine how hard that marathon would be to run and how much you'd hurt the next day.

With Charlie's birth I decided to train first. I attended prenatal yoga and I trained my brain to relax into my contractions. I also gathered a support team around me. As a result the experience of the birth was genuinely exhilarating and, yes, empowering, and I carried that feeling of strength and joy into mothering my children.

I'm dismayed that anyone would describe me as a Birthzilla for planning to have a positive birth experience. I'm also flabbergasted that they could imply that it would have been better for my children if I had kept my head in the sand and handed over all agency to the hospital system. This kind of rhetoric is unhelpful at best and dangerous at worst.

Why do so many people think that women lose the right to control their bodies when they fall pregnant? Anti-choice activists are the worst offenders to my mind, but those who seek to control what pregnant women do with their bodies or how they birth their babies are buying into the same dangerous logic.

Making a plan for how you would like to birth your baby should not be controversial. To say that exercising choice over your body is a first world indulgence is highly problematic. It's even more galling when it's written by a highly privileged woman who is well-placed to expect the system to treat her with dignity and respect. That is not the luxury of all women in our country.

Letter to Lily - 60 months (5!)

Dear Lily

On the 14th of March you turned five.

FIVE!

Morning of 5th birthday

I can't quite believe how big you are.

I also can't believe that I haven't written you a letter for 2 and a half years. I couldn't possibly hope to capture everything that has happened in that time. You have grown up so much.

Let me try to capture some of the detail.

Toadstool cake

When you were around 2 & 3/4 I introduced you to the Magic Faraway Tree books and you have been hooked every since. You know them back-the-front and can recite large swaths of it from memory. We even celebrated your 4th birthday with an Enchanted Wood party. You dressed up as Silky.

'Riding' to preschool - day 3

Just before your third birthday you started preschool at Blue Gum Community School in Canberra. You really thrived. It was an excellent place - inspired by Reggio and Nature Education philosophies - and you really loved it. While you were there you learned to swing yourself on the swing (after spending the first few months monopolising one of the teachers to continuously push you). You discovered a deep love of art and learned some amazing techniques like felting and mosaic and clay sculpture. You also made some gorgeous friends.

Snuggles with Charlie

When you were 3 & 1/2 your little brother Charlie arrived into our lives. You adored him from the start, but I have to admit that the transition from being our only child to being one of two was far from an easy one. We clashed a lot and I handled many parts of this transition particularly badly. We are really only just finding our feet again on this front.

Singing at the farmers market, Collingwood Children's Farm

When you were 4 & 1/2 we moved to Melbourne. It was a huge thing for us to do and again the transition was pretty unsettling for you, but I think we have all dealt with it a lot better this time. You were very reluctant to leave Canberra, but really gave Melbourne a chance and found that you really enjoyed exploring a new city. You particularly love the Collingwood Children's Farm, the new cafes and restaurants, the trains and trams, and our new neighbourhood. You also started a new preschool 3/4 of the way into the school year and still managed to enjoy it and socialise. I think that is pretty impressive.

First day of school

Walking home from the train

Then in February this year you started primary school. Again you have really thrived, despite being almost the youngest in the class. You truly love school and the rhythm and predictability of the Steiner curriculum really suits you. You have even brought many aspects of it home. We now say a 'blessing' before our meal, have a 'nature table' in our loungeroom, and you have firmly requested that I sing to you when I want your attention (which feels odd, but actually works).

with Tinky (the guinea pig)

For your birthday this year we welcomed Tinky and Winky (the guinea pigs) into our home. They (and their paraphernalia) were your main birthday present from family and it has been lots of fun watching them grow and settle in to our house.

Jungle Cake

We kept your birthday party small this year, but went all out with decorations. It was quite fun changing the dining room into a jungle, and I also enjoyed making your wacky cake. You dressed up as a tiger (with mama-made ears & tail and plain black clothing for the rest), Charlie was a monkey (though arguably the costume was superfluous). It was lovely to see you having so much fun with your new school friends. 

As part of your birthday celebrations at school they went around the class and everyone said something that they like about you. Your teacher, Alison, told us that many children commented that you were a good friend. This rings true to me Lily and makes me very proud of the person you have grown up to be.

Along with being a good friend, you are also great company, generous, witty, articulate, curious, compassionate, loud, analytical, sensitive, highly energetic, kooky, artistic and possess an incredible memory. Oh, and I love you so very very much.

love mama

xox

Letter to Charlie - 16 months

Dear Charlie

On Thursday you turned 16 months old.

The last two months have been all about language for you. You have been learning at least one new word a day and have been very focused on communication. At times this has led to frustration, when you haven't had the words to express what you want, but generally it has been a great thing.

Your new appreciation for words has extended your love of books and you now have the patience to sit through longer storybooks. Your current favourites are 'Kisses for Daddy,' 'Meg and Mog,' 'I Spy in the Juggle,' 'Ten Little Fingers and Ten Little Toes,' and 'Bumping and Bouncing.'

On the second-last page of Bumping and Bouncing two little people go for a pony ride. This is your favourite page and you have made it very clear to Papa, Lily and I that you are quite determined that you too will go for a pony ride AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. In the meantime you have had to be content with riding the rocking horse, which can you now do all by yourself. How did you get so big?

Other favourite activities of yours include 'jumping' on the trampoline (you can't quite jump yet, so instead you run around in crazy circles crashing into the barrier); being pushed on your swing; digging in the sandpit; water the plants; dressing up (particularly in necklaces, rainbow scarfs and Lily's clothes); drawing (mostly on paper); playdough (including the odd sneaky sample); turning anything and everything into cars that room around the floor; dancing; and going for a walk in the neighbourhood.

While strolling along our street you particularly like to push a toy along in the stroller; to stop and chat to the terracotta warrior in a neighbour's garden a few door's down; to pick the flowers that escape out from under people's fences; and to collect as many sticks as your little hands can carry home.

Last week was a bit dramatic. Papa and I had planned to nightwean you, because none of us were getting much sleep due to your habit of feeding all night. But when the time arrived I just couldn't face it and so I waved Papa away and fed you all night once again. The next day all that sleep deprivation finally caught up with me and I got quite sick. I struggled to feed you the following two nights and by Sunday morning Papa had to take me to hospital. And so you had your first night away from me after all and we nightweaned you by default. It's been an exhausting week for your poor Papa, but you have coped very well. There have been some tears at night, but you've shown no trace of distress during the day at all.

This morning Papa has taken you and Lily to the family day at Collingwood Children's Farm. They do pony rides and we are hoping they'll let you have a turn. I can't wait to see a photo.

love
mama
xo

Paddle pool

It was 35 degrees (Celsius) today. Fortunately I finally bought a paddle pool last week.

I think it would be stating the obvious to say that the kids like it.