A bad case of the Mondays

Everybody has bad days. For example, one day I was teaching a high-impact class and forgot my running shoes. This wouldn’t have been so bad, except that I had made my situation worse. First of all, I not only forgot my shoes, but I had forgotten them at the last gym I taught at; which was across town from the gym I had to teach at that morning. Secondly, I figured that I could just throw money at my problem and buy new shoes at the running store adjacent to the gym; but alas, I am the only one who needs to buy things before 9:30am (the time my class was scheduled to start and the same time the store was to open). Finally, I taught my class barefoot. I would not recommend anyone try this because I am left to teach three other classes this week on completely beat-up feet and everything from my hips down hurts. 

To top off my ‘stellar’ day, I had a few other roadblocks I had to overcome. Other than the sore feet, I got bitch-slapped when I had to schedule a performance review with my boss and not be able to find ANY of my certification to present to her; thus rebooking courses and exams to redo my entire professional certification.  Also, while booking my certifications, I couldn’t find my wallet and I ended up tearing the house apart while freaking out at myself for being so careless. I found my wallet; I booked my courses; I found and retrieved my running shoes. All-in-all, everything turned out okay because I managed to focus and get what needed to be done, DONE. 

During my postpartum days I was really depressed and after my partner in crime, Michelle, went back to work, I sought help for my depression. This is very common for many women of this age. It was also common in the mid century. My grandmother suffered terrible mental illness, including postpartum depression. Sadly, the attitudes surrounding mental illness have changed very little since the 1950s, and it is not as widely talked about as it should be. Today, I am proud to say that I am on a journey to better mental health. I am medicated with ant-anxiety medication and I see a therapist bi-weekly for coping strategies. I feel a world better. One could figure that I feel better from looking at how I manage bad days; I get things done! 

A lot of my strength is my personality. I am the type of person who refuses to give up. This is not normal! I am exceptionally stubborn when it comes to expectations of myself and I constantly feel the need to fight my own needs. This quality, although helpful in many ways, is a hindrance in many others. One argument is that I am a fabulous friend. Need something, call me. I will drive you where you need to be; visit you with chicken soup when you’re sick; and I’ll even cook and clean if asked. On the other hand, I tend to bite off more than I can chew. I put other people’s needs ahead of my own on too many occasions. 

I’m not a martyr by any stretch of the imagination. I love helping because that’s how I was raised. My mother loves helping too. If I can’t help you, call my mom. She will not only clean, organize, and refinish your house, she will bring cocktail weenies and a chafing dish to put them in for a nice snack. My mother is a true mensch and really goes above and beyond for the people she loves. 

There is a very famous poster from the second world war of Rosie the Riveter. Basically, this poster was used as propaganda to get women to leave the home and work in place of the men while they were fighting overseas. Rosie stands bandana clad, with her denim sleeve rolled up while she models her flexed bicep. The caption reads, “We can do it!” . Whenever I ask for my mother’s help, I picture her as a modern day Rosie (Author’s note: Interesting factoid, my mother’s last name is Rose). My mother can do it; she can do anything, and will (especially if it entails cocktail weenies).  

As women, we can do it. If history and biology has showed us anything, we can do pretty much everything (even pee standing up if need be). Our current model of woman (like car), is basically the same as the mid century model, only the more recent models have been glittered up, pseudo-liberated from a boxy design, and injected with safety and technological gadgets. 

Glittered up--> I’m not one to wear a lot of makeup. In fact, I hate the feeling of lipstick and I pick at my nails whenever I have nail polish on. When I was a teenager, everyone was wearing makeup; from false eyelashes to concealer, everyone had a product they wouldn’t leave the house wearing. I didn’t leave the house without brushing my teeth. That’s as glitzy as I got. I still don’t get tarted up. Mascara and lip gloss are my go-to’s; but the occasion needs to be really special for me to not wear my hair in a pulled back ponytail. 

Makeup was not something any self respecting parent of a teenager in the 1950s would allow their daughter to wear. Pinch and lick techniques were used but never as successful as Revlon. 

Pseudo-liberated from a boxy design--> I don’t mean that women of the 1950s were boxy, nor did they look boxy. Houses are boxy (unless you live in a bubble, but those were not, and still are not fashionable places to reside). Women now are able to make choices about whether or not they want to be in their boxes or if they want to go to work in other boxes. We aren’t completely liberated from boxy designs but we can now make choices whether it’s our box or someone else’s profitable box. 

Injected with safety technological gadgets--> Everyone is so wired in. Our phones are extensions of our bodies. This is a good thing because we can always have access to help if we find ourselves in trouble (that, and we can always find the loo). Technology is wonderful for both bringing people together and alienating them at the same time. My grandparents sure enjoyed TV as much as the next guy but valued the presence of company (without a distracting screen). 

One of the major changes women have undergone in the last sixty years, is the expectations of women’s roles. There have been many wonderful advances for women today including free love, ability to choose our destinies, and our relationships with men.  This sounds all fine and dandy but there is still a long way to go for the women’s lib movement. I’m not going to preach feminist ethics; not now at least, but we need to know that women are still far from being appreciated and accepted as men are. (Author’s note: I am also aware that this subject touches on race and socioeconomic status’ too. Although I read bell hooks, I’m not going to go there in this piece). 

Today, women have many more social advances than they did mid century, but in a household like mine, there are still certain roles that I play that are similar to a roles of woman in the mid century. Funny enough, I manage my role in a very similar fashion to the women of the mid century; I’m medicated, I see a psychotherapist, I write a journal (ahem...), and I drink (not heavily but I do like a good mint julep or manhattan around cocktail hour, once every couple of days). 

I do pretty much all the laundry, shopping, mending, cooking, and cleaning. I am also the primary care for my daughter; which includes most diapering, discipline, and daycare drop and pick up. My husband works long hours but does a LOT of extra stuff when he can. One major difference is that we work as a team to maximize our free time together, rather than he relax while I run around working the house. If he sees something that I haven’t taken care of, (like changing the laundry or cleaning the dishes), without question, he will do it so we can relax together. 

We do what we have to do in the life we chose. This is something relatively revolutionary. My grandparents’ generation chose their spouses but my grandmothers’ were expected to fall into their socially expected roles. Luckily, I know that this is not the case if EVERY mid century family. Many women did work and wanted to work, however, the norm was that most women stayed home; in the confines of their boxes; getting shit done: no matter how bad a case of the Mondays they had. 

We are what we eat. Therefor, I am a cupcake

The days of a meal being simply meat and potatoes are long behind us. People are now eating more varieties due to intercontinental trade agreements, allergies, and epicurious.com. Food is no longer simply sustenance; it has become identity, culture, and a symbol for socioeconomic status. 

In the 1950s and 60s, tropical fruit was something people only ate on vacation. Importing bananas, coconuts, pineapples, or cumquats were not only ostentatious but acquired tastes. I’m, personally, not a huge fan of cumquats, but raising a child without a steady supply of bananas would seem almost barbaric!  

The local food movement is not a new fad, it has been around since the dawn of time. It was only recently that people started eating exotic foods from far away lands, and being able to afford it. This is fabulous on many levels but also disappointing on many others. 

I live in a very diverse area of Toronto. Everyone in the neighbourhood has a different cultural and religious background. Most families are inter-racial/inter-married. We all live harmoniously in our multicultural bubble. Because everyone here has literally come from a different background, the neighbourhood shops have supplied lots of imported delights to make everyone feel welcome and comfortable to dine according to respective cultures and customs. (Note: Funny enough, the only food I can’t find in abundance in my neighbourhood is Kosher food. This doesn’t bother me personally but I know that there is a growing representation in my ‘chood and perhaps we will see Kosher food soon. Maybe.) 

A mid century Toronto neighbourhood would not have looked like mine. Don’t get me wrong, there was diversity but there were also racial riots (ahem, the battle of Christie Pits anyone?). That being said, the availability of cultural foods were less dispersed around the city because the clientele was living in concentrated pockets. If you wanted Kosher food, Kensington Market was your place. People supported their local neighbourhood businesses and these businesses thrived. My grandparents’ generation made lots of money by simply starting up little shops and catering to the neighbourhood. 

I strongly believe in shopping local and buying foods and products manufactured within a 100 mile radius of my home. Sadly the invention of stores like Wal-Mart, Costco, Target, and even major grocery chains have made shopping entirely local only attainably for those in a higher socioeconomic status. This is because the big stores can mass produce everything in China for pennies on the dollar and sell it to us dirt cheap. The local businesses can’t compete with that because they have to pay fair wages to their manufacturers and employers to keep their businesses afloat. I’m not going to go any further into the politics of manufacturing and trade deals but I do want to say that I find this system unsustainable. 

The food industry has exploded since the mid century. Yes, we are eating cheap bananas and pineapples, but more importantly we are eating food that is processed in a completely different fashion than it used to be. Remember the ‘pink slime’ controversy with McDonalds hamburgers? Ick! Why are we eating so many preservatives? Why is food packaged in giant, non reusable/recyclable packages? 

Food safety has also changed with the gargantuan manufacturing processes. There is a lot of protocol that goes into safely manufacturing even the simplest of products. With a boom in trade, and technological advances in shipment practices, even local food producers can ship their goods all over the world. Remember China and those bananas? We, too, can manufacture food like maple syrup, and ship our home grown ‘unicorn tears’ to Australia. In return, Australia can send us Vegemite (which, if anyone has ever tasted it, its kind of like exchanging Manna from Heaven for dog food). Not fair trade! To be fair to the Aussies, I’m a huge fan of Koalas, Kangaroos, Wombats, and Bilbies. I don’t want to eat those animals, but I wouldn’t mind a Wombat as a witty adversary for my ferocious cat. That or an Ocelot. 

With the introduction of new manufacturing processes, and the ever-evolving human body, North America has seen a huge influx of food allergies. I admit that I can’t speak to why exactly there are so many allergies now but you can speculate the causes for yourself. I have my own theories but none of them have been scientifically proven yet. I’m guilty of being allergic to gluten. Yes, I’m allergic to it; if I eat it, my body will attack itself and I will be very sad. The person who lies to me and tells me that the food they prepared for me is safe from gluten, will also be very sad because I will pollute their bathroom to the point that even the world’s Febreeze supply will not save them. Ha!

My parents’ generation saw a few allergies here and there. My Uncle had a few allergies  when he was a baby and ended up drinking soy milk and having terrible eczema; in the 1950s it was way more uncommon for that to occur than now. Now, my daughter’s daycare is a Nut-Free Zone. The threat of the ‘deadly burp’ can kill someone with a nut allergy. Because many people are now allergic to all these products, manufacturers have been introducing products that are now: Nut Free, Gluten Free, Dairy Free, Egg Free, Soy Free, Shell Fish Free, Non-GMO (Genetically Modified Organisms), and Latex Free. If I were to ask my grandparents about any of these restrictions, they would probably look at me like I was crazy. I wouldn’t even be able to get started about the concepts of cross-contamination. My particular grandparents would understand the ideas of cross-contamination on a Kosher level (not to mix milk with meat) but the idea of using a different toaster for Gluten Free bread would be alien. 

Gluten Free Bread? What the hell is that?

Well, someone, with a Gluten allergy, decided that they missed delicious bread and figured that they could make a facsimile using flour mixes that do not contain gluten. It worked in theory but the end results generally taste like cardboard The person who decided to under go this epicurean invention must be plugging away in their kitchen with reckless abandon. This approach to cooking is relatively new. Julia Child was a pioneer in bringing ‘exotic’ French cuisine into the homes of millions. She began a revolution of people trying new things and suggesting different techniques and the multi-million dollar industry of cookware and kitchen gadgets. My parents love kitchen gadgets. I recently went to visit them and they had a rolling garlic chopper. A knife does the same job and is way easier to clean but this gizmo looked cool and was way more fun to play with. I like kitchen gadgets too but I’m old school (I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again). I like to invest in pieces that will last and have a healthy patina on them by the time my grandchildren inherit them. Needless to say, I don’t own any of this newfangled non-stick coated nonsense. I admit, too, that I love a good meal of meat and potatoes as much as the next guy but I’m also a major fan of chickpea casserole (yup, casserole!), gluten free pizza, vegan cuisine, osso bucco, and sushi. Most of these things were unheard of by the common middle-class white family of the 50s and 60s. Meat and potatoes. Meat and potatoes. Meat and potatoes. Not even salad. Salad came in the form of an orange jello mold with shredded carrots suspended in the wobbly goo. That was also just for special occasions. The Kraft family cookbook was full of yummy ideas for the discerning palette of the nuclear family. Luckily, Irma Rombauer had published the Joy of Cooking in 1931, so every home would know how to clean and dress roadkill. Clearly Ms. Rombauer was avant garde in some of her dishes, however the recipes and tips that the Joy of Cooking has enlightened us with for the last eighty years has inspired generations of cooks. The internet has helped spawn a new generation of kitchen adventurers. Epicurious.com is a website full of recipes for every taste, season, diet, culture, and pocketbook. 

So, what does this food have to do with raising children? I’m glad you asked!

My parents were raised on the local, fresh, meat and potatoes. That’s what you get here in Southern Ontario. During the summer months and the autumn, you get fruit and occasionally some greens. Most of the year, it’s meat and potatoes though. Even fish isn’t local for us here in Toronto, mostly because between the 1970s and the last five years, Lake Ontario was a biohazard. 

Buying and eating local is important for the next generation. It supports local businesses and farmers. It is also easier on the environment because the food doesn’t have to travel as far. This is all fine and good for those of you who are okay eating squash and potatoes everyday during the dark, cold, winter months. This is not really something I feel like doing. Canning is a great way to preserve fruit and veggies over the winter months; as it batch freezing. Done. 

We need to lobby our government to support local producers and farmers, and scrap trade agreements that will inevitably harm the sustainability of our food sources. This doesn’t mean that we should give up our bananas (How dare I even go there?!?!?!?!). Teaching our children about where food comes from and how it is grown, made, and manufactured is a key element to ensuring a healthy future. My grandparents did it. As the story goes, my grandmother would go to Kensington Market with my Dad, and they would pick up a ‘nice piece fish’ for dinner. The fish was always so fresh, it was actually alive. Before dinner, the fish would swim around in the bathtub until it was time to make the ‘nice piece fish’. It doesn’t get fresher or more real than watching a fish swim in your bathtub one minute, then cooked gutted and presented on your plate with a side of beets and kasha the next. 

It takes a Village

When I told my Mother that it takes a Village to raise a child, she scoffed. I can only assume that she took it personally, because she neither had the time to help me nor did she have her mother to help her raise my sister and I. The idea of the ‘Village’ does not mean that it is the responsibility of the women in the family to raise the child, it literally means, “It takes a Village to raise a child”. That includes people outside the family to help raise children; people of the community. I was very fortunate when my daughter was born to have such a community. 

When my husband and I bought our urban Toronto home, we picked a neighbourhood where there were lots of families and LOTS of babies. We found our Village! Sadly no one had told us that the water in East Toronto was spiked with fertility enhancers and as a result, everyone was pregnant. The homosexual families in the neighbourhood had children; the teenagers had children; even the un-neutered/spayed cats were multiplying at a rapid rate. *Note: I will touch on the cat mafia later on. This neighbourhood was perfect for us, but it got even better after our daughter was born. 

Five weeks after I had my daughter, I was antsy to get back to working out at the gym. I went to a class and met an acquaintance of mine, Michelle, who in previous months, had a baby girl of her own. We exchanged numbers and became fast friends. Michelle lives, literally, around the corner. We spent everyday of her maternity leave together; commiserating about our gassy babies, how much we hated being so tired, and how lovely but utterly and inconceivably useless our partners were (by no fault of their own). Michelle and I did everything together. Our daughters even attend the same daycare now. 

I used and still use my neighbours and friends for advice for child-rearing. The local toy store is a great place to meet other moms for opinions and advice. In this day and age, the internet has really helped gather people together for pooling advice and asking questions. Because this piece is about kicking it old-school (literally, how to raise children using techniques of the mid century so they come out as perfectly as our parents claim they turned out to be), I’m going to forgo the discussion about the mommy  forums and social sites that have fostered parenting styles. I prefer to kick it old school. 

I talk to moms and dads in the park, at the local cafes, toy stores, grocery stores, and of course, on my street. The people that I can connect with, and relate to most are those of the people of my neighbourhood (thanks Mr. Rogers). 

Because not every neighbourhood is as tightly knit as East Toronto, parenting groups (founded online or by neighbourhood flyers) are great places to meet with other parents. Everyone’s Village is out there. Raising children is isolating but it doesn’t have to be. 

Even though it takes a Village to raise a child, every Village has an idiot. Finding the idiot isn’t very difficult. I was pretty sleep deprived (like all parents in the first year) so I have made a handy-dandy checklist to help find the Village idiot:

1. This person knows everything and has an opinion on everything. Remember that every child is different. Yes, the sun shines out of your child’s ass too even if they aren’t potty trained by eighteen months or if they can’t form full sentences by two.
2.  This person is overly vocal about the beauty of becoming a parent. Anyone who admits to enjoying cleaning up poop that much is full of shit- literally.
3. This uses the phrase, “Well I never do [insert thing that you do for your child here] with my child because [insert arrogant and judgmental reason here]”. This person is clearly insecure and they want to project their insecurity onto you like a parenting succubis (Suck-u-bis). Don’t get brought down! A dignified 1950s parent would politely nod (think of nasty thoughts about throwing this person off a cliff), and make up an amazing excuse like, “I have to go. The lead paint I used to refinish my little one’s crib is now dry enough for me to put her/him down for a nap”. That will shut them up. 

Like the crazy person on the Subway, if you can’t find them after a quick glance, you’re it. Don’t be the Village idiot. You are going to need as much support as possible because being a parent isn’t easy. 

Having a Village is really useful for improving your day-to-day life as well. 

Michelle and I are both fitness instructors and we can EAT! Our partners are both large men who's heads grace the ceilings in our basements and can also EAT! Everyone needs to eat and most of us don’t have the time to prepare wholesome, home cooked meals. After the second World War, the convenience age was upon us. Microwaves, blenders, toasters, electric mixers were all nifty inventions that came become common household products well into the nineteen eighties. These inventions were supposed to make our lives easier and other than the occasional electric shock, fire, burns, and splattery mess, they did. 

It’s easy to say that planning and cooking meals over the weekend is the easiest way to make the week run smoother. It’s true, but it takes away from your weekend downtime. Here’s what a modern midcentury household would do: 

Everyone likes a good casserole. When people are sick or celebrating, you can bet that there will be a casserole. Casseroles are easy; buy ingredients, chop and cook, throw into a dish and bake at 350 for half an hour until warm; eat; Ta da!

Because you already have a Village, consider a meal share. Everyone in your tight-knit group makes one GIANT dish (enough to feed everyone in the group). For example, if you have five families of three, you need to make enough food for fifteen people; remember you are only making one dish. Cook your dish up on a Sunday and do your exchange with your four other families that evening. Now you have five different dinners, all homemade and ready for the week! Also, if you have made an exorbitant amount (like my Jewish heritage has always taught me to do), there will always be leftovers for lunches. You and your four other families have chopped your grocery bills, time, and aggravation into a short afternoon of cooking.  Even if you do an exchange with one other family, you have still saved time, money, and aggravation for two nights of the week. The Village prevails! Now there is more time for you to smoke menthol cigarettes and play mahjong while your children stick their fingers in electric sockets. (Just kidding). 

Here I go again on my own...

I'm back!

Your friendly neighbourhood blogista is medicated, rested, and ready to write her first book. Help me by reading this blog please!
I've set this goal for myself and I would really appreciate it if I could get my ducks in a row and actually publish.
To all publishers out there: PLEASE SIGN ME!!!!! I'M READY!!!!!

There are a bazillion parenting books out there and most people take them very seriously. This one is satirical but there is an ounce of truth in there that will be helpful for people with or without children.
I've decided to write about raising children in a similar fashion to how our parents were raised. My parents are Baby Boomers and I am a Millennial. I've spoken to many people about the problems with 'kids these days' (i.e. Millennials), and I've come to the conclusion that if the Boomers think their so perfect, that our smoking, drinking, neglectful, lead paint using, grandparents must have done something right.
Our parents are responsible for how we turned out and we seem to be the subject of many editorials about how coddled, disrespectful, and entitled we are. I think my parents did a bang-up job. Really, I was raised in the eighties and nineties and they did the best they could given their resources.
Now that I have a child of my own, and I have evidence of different styles of child-rearing to work with, I am going to write a book about my experiments with being a mid century stay-at-home Mom with a modern edge.

I have lots of research to do so if you know anyone who wants to talk to me about raising children in the 1950s, please get me in contact with them. I pass no judgement. I just want to hear about what it was like so I can experiment.

See ya next post!