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short and sweet

The Moreland council meeting on Wednesday night was overrun with people wearing crazy hats, zinc cream and vintage bathers. There were plastic pools, towels, toys umbrellas and kids running everywhere. I'm still feeling buzzed! Read about it here.

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Have figured out a new approach to taking indoor and outdoor night shots. Very wide aperture and high ISO. Which does kind of makes sense, der. Aperture is my current learning curve. Probably need to adjust my white balance, but now I do have an approach.

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And the other day, Saha posted a beautiful, elegant version of bluemilk's feminist motherhod meme. Go and read what she has to say. Please. 

Feminist motherhood

We didn't celebrate Mother's day here. Mostly because we're crap at most commercial type celebrations and Grace isn't old enough yet to bring home sweet gifts from school. So as kind of an internal celebration of motherhood, I re-visited the bluemilk's feminist motherhood meme I had in draft form from the draft pile. Gosh, I was pretty up about being a working mother when I first wrote this (just before going crazy), so there's been some re-wording.

1. How would you describe your feminism in one sentence? When did you become a feminist? Was it before or after you became a mother?
The personal is political. Dates me doesn't it?

So I've been a feminist for more than half my life now. Women's lib was around when I was at highschool: I remember my mother and her friends being angry, demanding their husbands do housework and nude sunbathing. There were a rash of divorces and more women started working outside the home, after the children started school. But I didn't have my own lightbulb moment until halfway through my second year at uni when my best friend dragged me along to the women's room for a feminist collective meeting. 1983. It was an exciting time, the birth of a women's magazine at Uni, various protests (including Cockburn Sound Women's peace camp), my history major had a big women's study component. But by the end of it,  I was so over the the judgements women made about other women's politics, the divisions, the pettiness. The post-modernism and post-structuralism. I still believed in the sisterhood and that personal is political, but it all seemed to get lost under layers of other meanings.

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2. What has surprised you most about motherhood?
My immediate and intense love for Grace as a baby and a young child, even when she is being bratmonster extraordinaire and I'm turning into a foulmouthed shrew on the inside while trying to be calm and reasonable on the outside. The new layers of love for my partner. How all those loves keep deepening and binding us together in evermore complex ways. Sometimes it feels like a trap, sometimes a liberation. Mostly it's just the way things are now. Oh, and the tiredness. And the responsibility.

I also remember being really surprised when Grace was a newborn that despite how important becoming a mother was supposed to be, I couldn't get a nurse to show me how to change her first nappy and there wasn't a comfortable chair by my bed to sit in while learning to breastfeed her. It became obvious even in my little bubble of baby bliss that the world around really made little space for mothers with young children.

3. How has your feminism changed over time? What is the impact of motherhood on your feminism?
I've become quieter and stronger. Feminism's more an inward assumption now, a core belief. Motherhood has connected me to other mothers, there's always children to talk about. And I think that affects my work quite profoundly. I also like other women (including those without children) more again.  I'm drawn in closer with my own mother and sister, and feel connected to a line of women before us. A rebirth of the sisterhood, if you will.

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4. What makes your mothering feminist? How does your approach differ from a non-feminist mother’s? How does feminism impact upon your parenting?
Awareness (and maybe hairy armpits?). I try to let Grace be herself. She's allowed to make messes, bang around outside and get her clothes dirty, even the pretty ones. If we read a book that has men and women doing traditional tasks, we talk and joke about who does these tasks here. She knows that daddy does dishes, vacuuming and looking after Grace. And that sometimes she stays home with daddy while mummy goes work, or vice versa. That intellect or compassion isn't gender based. And we're trying to protect her for as long as we can from the bratz dolls, barbie videos and clothes that say "I'm going to be a skanky ho when I grow up" (of course if that's what she decides, no doubt I'll still love her and have to respect her life choices, etc etc) . We won't be able to do the total prohibition thing forever, if only because at some point, she'll have to be able to come to grips with how different versions of femaleness are presented in this culture. Hopefully though, we can shelter her for long enough that these things don't take her over and she'll find things that are real and wholesome that interest her. I'd love it if there was a strong and doing-good-things female prime minster as she approaches high school. Just so she knows that women can do that. And I'd like for her to have wild places where she can run free. Basically I'm hoping that her world will be one of possibility. I'd want the same for a boy too. And I wouldn't mind being a grandmother before I'm eighty. So I'm trying not to send the message that having kids ruins your life. Even when I'm super tired and shrewish.

5. Do you ever feel compromised as a feminist mother? Do you ever feel you’ve failed as a feminist mother?
Yes and no. Sometimes I think about whether Grace likes pink because most girl clothes are pink and that's what she thinks girls wear. I haven't fought hard against that because it's just a colour, but I worry the rot is starting early. Othertimes I worry that I'm just not there enough, but I can't be and go to work at the same time. And G is just as capable of looking after her as I am. I worry whether I'll be able to guide her through the maze that is female identity. Mostly, I worry I could fail her in the future.

6. Has identifying as a feminist mother ever been difficult? Why?
I tend not to talk about it often. It's now so ingrained in me that I assume people would know that I'm a feminist. Just like any rational woman would be. Nonetheless I enjoy meeting women, especially of about my age who "get" the sort of things I was involved with in the past. And when women say gorgeous things like,  you can't do it all, and you can't have it all, well, not all at the same time anyway.

7. Motherhood involves sacrifice, how do you reconcile that with being a feminist?
I wanted a baby for so long and went through so much before Grace was born, that I don't think of it as sacrifice. Indeed I count myself as supremely lucky. However I don't belive in mothers (or fathers) martyring themselves in the ordinary course of events. This means Grace goes to bed with lights out by eight so she has enough sleep and we have parent time. We also work pretty hard at both having some time to ourselves, some time to do things other than parent, work and keep house.

8. If you have a partner, how does your partner feel about your feminist motherhood? What is the impact of your feminism on your partner?
I'm the main income earner at the moment and although I had a bit over a year off after Grace was born, there are times I would prefer to be a full time stay at home mother. But with equality comes responsibility. And why should he be the one that has to work fulltime all the time?  In my femotopia we would both work part-time in family friendly workplaces, doing interesting useful work that paid really well. As it is, we share housework and parenting, although I do less now because I work outside the home more. G's a bit of a lefty ratbag himself and has always loved strong women, I think he assumes that any sane woman would be a feminist. He's also a dab hand with the vacuum cleaner and lawnmower. While looking after a child. Although I still do the shopping.

But it's about more than who looks after the children and who does what at home. It's about not taking in all those beliefs that one gender or gender role has a lesser or greater intrinsic value. And acting and talking that way. Which is easier said than done. We grew up in the sixties and seventies, there's been a revolution since then, but there are parts of my brain (and his) that missed being re-programmed. Like I said before, sometimes I feel as though I just don't mother enough. As an at home dad, G comes up against a whole other set of challenges.

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If you’re an attachment parenting mother, what challenges if any does this pose for your feminism and how have you resolved them?
I'm not, but I would have liked to have co-slept when Grace was little, but G was very uneasy about the idea. I remember talking to my GP about it, he was curious why we didn't as I was having issues moving Grace to her room across the hall. In the end, I thought that family harmony involved taking into account everybody's needs, so it just wasn't an option to push in this direction. In some ways, we're really scheduler or routine type parents anyway. Which seems to suit Grace. Athough we have made choices to have all Grace's care within our extended family for the first three or four years. She's been demanding lately too, especially of mummy cuddles, with blanket. These tend to come when there's stress about or when she's had a big language leap and the world is freaking her out. My inclination is to go with the mummy (and daddy) cuddles for as long as she needs them.

Do you feel feminism has failed mothers and if so how? Personally, what do you think feminism has given mothers?
No, but sometimes I feel very torn by the domestic world and all the other worlds in my life. That work life balance is a cackling joke I share with other mothers in the hallway between the tearoom and the photocopier. Sometimes I feel absent from my work life or that I am trying to run my home life by remote. It feels like women are expected to do more and more in less and less time. And look fabulous while doing it.

As a young feminist, I remember reading books exploring how to have children in other ways, test tubes, utopian childcare, equal parenting; because I knew I wanted kids but I really couldn't see how it would work. Not if I was going to do domething great. As it turned out, I did a lot of things that were fun, but less than great in a career, or any other sense. Not family friendly either. But in twenty years things have already changed. I remember when the idea of a stay at home dad was laughable (now I know of a few), when women had to wear stockings and skirts to work, in work places where sexual harrasssment was just part of the culture, when gay was barely tolerated at all, when it was expected and rarely challenged that women would leave work after having children, not to return until the kids went to school. When we never even had the conversation about a workplace being family friendly. I'm not saying that the revolution is over, far from it. Just that things have changed.

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The pictures are of my mother and grandmother, probably taken about 16 years ago, my mother would have been in her late 40s, my nan in her 70s before she started to get really sick. These are the last nice photos I have of them together.

Mothers of the blogosphere, happy belated Mother's day,

Vote 1 Pool

The Moreland Council meeting where preliminary discussions regarding the budget for the coming financial year is being held this Wednesday night. This is when decisions about the future of Coburg Olympic Pool will be made. We can make a difference by attending.

Date: Wednesday 14 May
Time: 7.00pm
Venue: Coburg Council Chambers, Moreland Civic Centre, 90 Bell St Coburg.

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The new flyer by Ben and Cate says it all really but you might want to also check out this piece by Dr Clare Wright if you missed it in the Age weekend before last.

Anyway tomorrow nights plan is to get to the Council chambers at about 6.30pm and to congregate in the front of the council offices and in the foyer. Bring as many people as you can; including children (if that works for you) props like goggles, towels, bathers (over clothes unles you can brave the cold), floaties, banners.

I feel a bit clever

Just learnt how to make pdf files and insert them into Save Coburg Olympic Pool page. I thought it would be good to be able to down load flyers and other printed material. Kind of like an internet help yourself pile. The flyers themselves are still a bit rough around the edges, but it works! (unlike the feedburner email subsciption form on the same page,which has never worked. Grrrr. Depsite all my best efforts so far) You know, learning yet another aspect of this technology challenges my 44 year old brain somewhat. Even a relatively simple new thing. I remember banks before ATMS, local swimming pools before management was outsourced to private business and thinking, hey wouldn't it be great if people could make their own movies and had a way to write something like a newspaper column, or homeshow (long ago I dreamt for a while of having a scruffy lifestyle show on telly). And now we can. It's just kind of snuck up on me. And I like it.

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There's a council meeting on at Brunswick Town Hall tommorrow night, 8th of April 2008, at 7.00pm, . We're going to be asking lots of questions about re-opening the pool. Come along if you can.

more than sorry

This morning, I lay in bed, off work because of a chest infection that has knocked me for six, and listened to the radio. I wanted to be at work today because we would have had a special morning tea in honor of the occcasion and I would have been sitting at a desk with the Australian flag, the Aboriginal flag and the Torres Strait Islander flag right behind me. But today I lay under the doona and listened as others about the house drifted in and out, ssh, we said to Grace, inside voice only, ssh, this is important. You could hear the wheels of history turn as our Prime Minister, Kevin Rudd said sorry.

He started by honouring the Indigenous peoples of this land, the oldest continuing cultures in human history and then reflected in particular on the mistreatment of those who were Stolen Generations.... It seemed like a long time and then he came to these words...

We apologise for the laws and policies of successive Parliaments and governments that have inflicted profound grief, suffering and loss on these our fellow Australians.

We apologise especially for the removal of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children from their families, their communities and their country.

For the pain, suffering and hurt of these Stolen Generations, their descendants and for their families left behind, we say sorry.

To the mothers and the fathers, the brothers and the sisters, for the breaking up of families and communities, we say sorry.

And for the indignity and degradation thus inflicted on a proud people and a proud culture, we say sorry.

Full text here.

Sorry1 Candles form the words "Sorry, The First Step" on the lawn outside Parliament House in Canberra on Monday, February 11, 2008, to commemorate the apology to the stolen generation that will be made on February 13.

The motion was tabled on the first day on parliament yesterday and passed today. Crowds packed the Gallery, the Great Hall and the lawns outside. People also gathered in capital cities and smaller towns. You could sense the momentousness of the occasion from the spoken words alone.

I was overwhelmed by tears myself several times.There's been a lot of tears today, I imagine. Like always, there were times I thought Kevin Rudd was long winded and pompous and yet he really connected; he asked us to walk in the shoes of those children who were stolen from their families, their mothers, their families. I loved how at one point he spoke directly of and to mothers, speaking of the brutality of separating a mother from her children. As a mother myself, the very thought of my child being taken by strangers chills me to the core. He asked us to walk in the shoes of another, to feel compassion and humanity. He spoke of the Indigenious Australians who came first, of the first European settlers and all those who have come since. He said sorry, As Prime Minister of Australia, I am sorry. On behalf of the Government of Australia, I am sorry. On behalf of the Parliament of Australia, I am sorry. And I offer you this apology without qualification.

Then Kevin Rudd talked about what to do next, of early childhood education and health care in even the most remote indigenous communities, of halving the gap in life expectancy between black and white austalians within a generation. Big goals, but as he said, not impossible. I'm not going to talk about the Leader of the Opposition, Brendan Nelson's speech because he although he apologised, he included points he shouldn't have and his speech missed the point. I'm not surprised at the response he recieved.

Anyway amongst the tears this morning, to hear the standing ovation Kevin Rudd received, to hear reports from people who were there; the sense of celebration was paplpable. Can we hope that this is part of a new begining as nation? That doing the right thing and apologising for these past wrongs is setting us on a path towards being a better, more equitable, more caring and compassionate society? I'm going to hold onto those thoughts for a while because today, I feel prouder of being an Australian than I have for a long time. 

I am sorry.

Save Coburg Olympic pool

Twice in the last two weeks, I've walked around Coburg Olympic Pool with my camera. After the first time, I sat in my car close to tears, almost insensible with rage. The second time Grace pressed up against the fence, demanding to go to the pool. How come something this good, so close to home hasn't been better known to me? The Coburg Olympic pool has been closed since 1st of December 2006 but I only realised the danger of this closure being long term when I read an article in the local paper earlier this month. I always meant to go swimming here with Grace, because as you can see, it would be a beautiful place for a toddler.

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A friend of mine is campaigning to have the pool re-opened and it's more than likely that once we move, this would be our local pool. So, I offered to make a site to document the process. Like everything new, there's been a learning curve and it's still a bit (quite) rough around the edges.... but here 'tis

Save Coburg Olympic Pool

This will be a group blog, so if there are any local bloggers interested, please let me know. There's a flickr site to match, which hopefully will be used to collect images for the group and from non-flickrite sources. I'll also set up a pool (ha, ha) for people with flickr accounts. We'd love some flickr mates too.

There's a Moreland City Council meeting tomorrow night. On the agenda is Coburg Olympic Pool. I'm intending to go and lend my support. Maybe even ask a question or two.

last night I nearly cried (in a good way)

We voted early, at the local primary school. Grace found the whole process fascinating; waited patiently in line with us and then sat up on the cardboard booth as I filled out my Senate ticket, the long way. Then she helped me put my ballot papers in the box. Election, in box, she told me later. The day went on and I was busy and didn't give it much thought until about six thirty, as I started making dinner. We started listening to the election early. And come to think of it, I had been a bit tense about it. The thought of another Howard term being far too much to bear. I think it would have me loose faith in this country completely. Anyway, the first news was tentatively positive and I cracked open a cruiser from the other night. As the news from the tally room got better and better, you could hear mini celebrations across the suburb.

At one point after dinner I was on the internet and listening to the radio, ready to dash into the loungroom should anything good happen... Oooh the excitement, especially when it started to look as though Bennelong might fall (and now it looks like it has, go Maxine McKew! even the postal votes aren't going to change anything now). How good is that? Not only have the liberals lost government, but the toxic dwarf has been toppled from his seat. Heh, heh. I must admit I felt grimly satisfied as I watched John Howard concede defeat. Listening to Kevin Rudd's victory speech I felt optimistic yet a tad bored. He does go on a bit. Still. It's not everyday you become Prime Minister. Let's hope he doesn't stuff it up. That they don't stuff it up, that we don't stuff it up.

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But for me, I think the really big joy of the night, apart from the ALP victory, was listening to Julia Gillard. She's smart, she's articulate, she doesn't um and err. She comes across as tough, and as G says she plays the ball and not the man. She'll be able to run with the bully boys in the party room. As a woman, I find her enormously appealing; a woman's woman. And she's now up there at the top, maybe with a shot at being Prime Minister one day. Hopefully she'll be able to unleash the pinko within. It also occurs to me that there may be lots of new women entering parliament. Some I may not have heard about yet. Oh gosh I hope there are some more good, smart ones.

So here's to a new chapter in our country's history, hopefully one characterised by more care and kindness. A moment of optimism, if you will.  It has to be better than the last decade. Doesn't it?

my feminist pits

Grainypi2t_2  Logo_2

So. I wasn't going to post anymore body shots because I'm finding the whole body challenge deeply weird. Not that weird normally puts me off, but all these itsy bits of bodies feel a bit disembodied and sort of creepy. Maybe it's me, or I'm being a bit prudish. But then last night, I was looking through my outtakes from the lemon tree, flash at night session, and I thought, I could do something with this. I know, they're my feminist pits (bits) and I lay in bed thinking about the title to this post and giggling under the doona. My inner seven year old thought it would be very funny to post a picture of underam hair on the internet. A little bit rude, even. Hee, hee.

This picture reminds me a little of the underarm shot in the liner notes to Sense and Sensuality (1982) by the Au Pairs.  This and Live in Berlin (1983) were my favourite records during my hardcore feminist years. I wish I hadn't gotten rid of all those records, I'm feeling a bit punk today and think I could listen to Headache for Michelle right now. They were heady days, those days from second year uni on. The feminist collective battle between the radical and liberal feminists where I got to be the vibes watcher, charged with pulling women apart if the struggle became too heated. A women's peace camp at Cockburn Sound. Actions, protests, a women's magazine. Lots of dancing and parties too. We were on fire and ready to change the world. And in the main, we were hairy. Shaving was definitely not hip, although lipstick worn in an ironic way was. Along with dresses from the fifties and sixties, worn with stomping boots. As the years have passed, I vacillate between shaving and not shaving various bits of me. It's really not at all important, but I would hate to feel that I had to. Especially my underarms. And hair or not, I still call myself a feminist. A bit soft around the edges at times but growing stronger again. Especially since becoming a mother, but that's a whole other story.

May's challenge is street photography, which I am hugely excited about. No doubt it will push my comfort zone in new ways and be a huge technical challenge with a slow point and shoot camera. But I am really looking forward to the openess and outsideness this challenge. Anyway, it's still April, so you can see more bodily parts here. Really, it's not creepy at all. Just a little strange. In a good way.

Really, it's like the difference between Ford and Holden

I would complain about the heat once again, but what would the point of that be? We have interstate guests in transit, returning from the mook homeland. They're electing to sleep outside or in the shed. Despite the fact that I'm mortified that the couch of shame in the loungeroom is not good enough, and that the foldout in the study would be unbearably hot and stuffy (and noisy with the calls of neighbourhood hoons and heat amplified traffic sounds), I can't say I blame them. We've offered every sleeping possibility inside but no takers. I've been thinking of sleeping in the backyard too, but it's getting crowded out there and I need to be close enough to hear Grace. We ate inside, but sat out under the vine as darkness fell. Drinking beer and explaining the difference between left and right to a bemused nineteen year old.

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Emboldened by the beer, I ranted about the new momentum of conservative family values and a perceived push to have women at home looking after the kids in a "traditional" setup. But only if the family is well off and middle class. And only while the kids are little. After that there's all sorts of pressures on women to rejoin the workforce. Because we need more workers (outside the home) so as to keep on top of ecconomic growth. Not that we don't have more than enough of everything in our world as it is. Too much even. It's sharing it around that's the problem. Don't get me wrong here, I love the home life and part of me would love to stay at home full time. And I'm fully aware that it's still work, hard work even. I'm not even bitter that others can and I can't. Indeed I feel extremely lucky that our circumstances are such that I can still work (outside the home) part time. Like everyone else we make certain financial choices to do this. It's just that on a bigger picture kind of level, it irks me that this is choice is seen as viable for only some families. Mind you I think that for most women, no matter what our class or financial position, we are damned whatever our choices. You know, have children, don't have children, stay at home, work part time, work full time, childcare, not childcare etc and etc. Am I right, or is it the beer and lack of sleep speaking?

In my lefty utopia, it's all family friendly workplaces, a 36 hour week, part time hours for those who need them, shared parenting, excellent affordable childcare for those that choose it, good conditions and balancing work and home.  All very well on paper. What I really need is more hours in the day.  La la land. My part time contract is up for discussion again. I'm torn between wanting to work more hours and being paid more in a job I consider useful but infuriating at best, and wanting to be a home with Grace more. I'll probably feel better once the discussion has been had.

It was a long day today. The heat is not making it better. Sleep might.

Take what you need, you think will last

Watching the news has become an issue again in our household. I don't like Grace being exposed to images of war and violence, but don't feel justified in asking G to turn it onto something else. I too, am horrified as we watch events in Lebanon unfold. We were talking at breakfast yesterday morning about what we'd seen on the 7.30 report the night before. In particular, the self righteous Israeli spokesman, so sure they were standing on the moral highground. G said that it reminded him a little of when a kid is picked on at school and then attacks. And everyone says well, he started it. No allowance being made for the goading that may have prompted the attack. Not that I want to get into right or wrong here...Obviously, it's so much more complicated than that but well, it's sad and depressing.

I've been watching images of mothers, babies and children being loaded onto ships and other transport. These images seem archetypal, depsite the modern clothes and strollers and I feel I've seen these pictures many times before. Just imaging leaving my home and maybe other loved ones in a hurry brings a tear to my eye. As does the fear, sadness and sorrow that seems plain to see. Not to mention the physical discomfort of being a refugee. Part of me feels I should watch the news and be informed, the other part of me wants to avoid all media.

Shadowfig

I'm also getting this sort of George Orwell, nineteen eighty-four feeling, that it's all the same war, distant with just the names and details changed by some mad bureaucracy. But I do know it's real. Just like I know that during my lifetime there's always been a war going on somewhere or other. I grew up with the Vietnam war, constant Middle Eastern conflict and Northern Ireland on the news in the background. My internal soundtrack features Joan Baez singing Bob Dylan songs. My parents used to play Farewell Angelina on long car trips and I know the lyrics to most of the songs by heart. Although some contain very violent imagery, they used to bring me strange comfort. For example, the second last verse of Farewell Angelina

King Kong, little elves
On the rooftoops they dance
Valentino-type tangos
While the make-up man's hands
Shut the eyes of the dead
Not to embarrass anyone
Farewell Angelina
The sky is embarrassed
And I must be gone.

The title to this post is from the opening line of another Dylan song, It's All Over Now, Baby Blue, also very apt for these times.