The Lockdown Ramble.
A waffly newsletter, filled with random thoughts and some recommendations for your lockdown content consumption.
My previous Lockdown Ramble was so well received that I thought I’d follow it up with a second edition. I initially wrote the Lockdown Ramble as a way to break the spell of a couple of weeks of no writing - something that happens all too often, if I’m honest - and to get back into the swing of writing longer-form newsletters, like this one here, and here. I’ve been busy working on a magazine deadline for the past few weeks and, as a sub-editor, that means I’ve had little energy for my own writing. But, that’s gone to print now and I’m sitting here with the lounge doors open and a warm breeze blowing through the house, so it’s high time I banged out a couple of words.
Thanks so much for your support thus far, I hope you enjoy this week’s edition of The Lockdown Ramble by the Stay At Home Journalist.
Just like last time, here’s a round up of thoughts, feelings and recommendations from the past few weeks:
I’ve been thinking about….
The pressure mums feel to be a certain ‘type’ of mother. I had a conversation with a friend the other day (over Whatsapp because, lockdown) who lamented the fact that, now she’s a mum, she feels this immense pressure to be a certain way - in her words, ‘a kindergarten earth mother’. She doesn’t really want to go to ‘mums and bubs’ coffee groups or join a playcentre, she actually really wants to return to her career quickly and continue with the work she is very passionate about, and not let that side of herself slip away like it so easily can in motherhood. Yet she feels there is an unseen, unspoken pressure demanding that she be exceedingly happy with the former, and just forget about the latter.
Her baby is still very little, and I remember feeling exactly the same way when Teddy was tiny. I just couldn’t see myself setting up sensory activities around our home or attending any sort of class where we had to stand in a circle and sing and clap like born again lunatics, yet I felt this weird pressure to do those things and enjoy them. What I really wanted was to continue with my life - writing, creative projects, dreaming, thrift shopping, spending time with friends and trying new hobbies - but with my baby by my side (or hanging out with my husband). I couldn’t even tell you where this pressure I felt was coming from. It certainly wasn’t from my close friends or family. Every now and then someone who perhaps didn’t know me very well might say, “Have you thought about doing a SPACE class?” or “Are you doing baby sensory?” But no one ever tried to force me into those things or make me feel bad for not wanting to do them. The pressure - and consequent dread - I felt could have only been coming from myself. But why? Is it a hangover from our parent’s - or even grandparent’s - era of child-raising, when it was assumed a woman would reach peak life-enriching fulfillment by dint of becoming a mother and doing motherly things?
I dreaded being defined as ‘just a mum’ because I thought I knew what that meant - and I didn’t like the sound of it. Now I know, there is no such thing as being ‘just’ a mum - or ‘just’ anything, for that matter. Mothers, like all women, are so complex and multi-faceted, we would be remiss to think we can put them all in one box and slap a label on it (as much as that’s what the patriarchy wants us to do). Not to mention, many of us have the immense privilege of being able to choose exactly which style of mum we’d like to be - and we don’t necessarily need to stick to one style either. Chopping and changing as we learn and grow is what evolution is all about, whether that’s evolution as a mother or something else.
My advice - if that’s what you could call it - to my friend was to just continue doing what she feels is best for her and her baby because, at the end of the day, that’s all that matters. It’s sounds so simple but that’s the thing - all the cliches are true when it comes to parenthood! It can be so hard to feel confident in your own thoughts and decisions in those early, hazy days of new parenthood but, as time goes on, that really does all change - to the point where you start to wonder why you ever second guessed yourself in the first place.
Kim Kardashian’s Met Gala…. outfit. I’m confused. Not by the outfit so much as the adoration. The first thing I thought when I saw what Kim K was wearing was, ‘well, that’s inappropriate’. I thought I would go on Instagram and see a similar reaction to my own but, to my pure surprise, I didn’t. Not at all. People were applauding her look and excitedly sharing their theories about why she chose to wear it. The one I kept seeing was that, because the theme of the Met Gala was ‘In America: A Lexicon of Fashion’, and Kim is seen as such an American icon, she didn’t need to show her face (or indeed an inch of skin) because everyone would automatically know who it was under there anyway and would be talking about her look for days to come.
Because she’s that famous.
Kim Kardashian is known for making a statement and dividing her audience. She is a woman who people worldwide love to hate. I don’t hate Kim Kardashian, but I completely disagree with anyone being made that rich or famous - be it her or Jeff Bezos or the royal family - when there is so much poverty, famine and homelessness the world over. Kim is also, unfortunately, well known for her cultural appropriation. From Blackfishing (altering her appearance in order to look ethnically Black - including, but not limited to, wearing face-darkening makeup) to attempting to call her line of body-slimming underwear ‘Kimono’, she’s a repeat offender when it comes to cultural appropriation. She just doesn’t quite seem to ‘get it’.
So, when I saw Kim covered from head to toe in heavy black material, I immediately wondered if this was offensive to Muslim women and, in particular, Afghan women who - under the rule of the Taliban - are being forced to wear full burqa against their will. My second thought was that, even if this ensemble is not deemed offensive by Muslim women, surely anyone can see how messed up it is that the Western world has, time and time again, looked down on women who are covered for religious or cultural reasons, oftentimes made them the target of racial hatred, and at times considered them a threat to public safety, yet Kim K can waltz into the Met Gala completely clad, head to toe, in black fabric and suddenly the comments are: “What an absolute genius!” and “Kim is a true American icon!”. She has been praised for doing something so “unique” and “challenging” to the status quo, meanwhile it is illegal for women to wear a face covering in France; the UK’s own Prime Minister has openly targeted burqa-wearing women with his vile racial slurs; former POTUS Donald Trump once admitted he was “looking into” replacing all Hijab-wearing TSA agents because some Republican Karens were upset about them; and, in 2017, mega-racist Australian senator, Pauline Hanson, proposed a ‘burqa ban’ which would see wearing a full-face covering punishable by a fine of A$4200.
To me, Kim’s look smacks of “it’s not OK for others to do this, but for me - a mega-rich white woman who meets all of society’s beauty standards (and then some) - it’s absolutely fine, genius even”. I’m all for women wearing whatever they want, cultural appropriation aside obviously, but if we’re going to accept a head-to-toe covered Kim Kardashian, we absolutely must accept those who choose to cover themselves for religious, cultural or personal reasons too.
How motherhood is mostly just about wiping. Wiping bottoms, wiping noses, wiping faces, wiping benches, wiping floors, wiping hands… the list goes on. If I could go back and give my pregnant self one piece of advice, it would be this: invest in as many different types of cloth as you can think of, and start practicing your wiping technique. Forget about the fancy breastfeeding bra - spend that money on a decent heavy duty cloth for the kitchen bench! Don’t stress about nap times and sleeping through - have you ever tried wiping bolognaise off a white wall?! Good luck!
If I added up the hours I spend just wiping the surfaces of this house each day, I think I’d soon figure out why I don’t seem to have enough time to write my novel. I don’t understand how this one tiny human can be in a room for 15 minutes and suddenly there’s an hour’s worth of tidying up and wiping down that needs doing? It’s honestly mind blowing and something I was in no way prepared for. The addition of Teddy has pushed our water bill up to ‘family of four’ level - even though we’re quite obviously a family of 2.5 - and I honestly think that’s because I am constantly running the tap to wet a cloth or old rag so I can wipe the hell out of the nearest surface.
But it’s not just that. Wiping things down has become like a competitive sport for me - I want the best equipment, the fastest technique, the shiniest surfaces. A number of conversations with my sister and mum have even started to turn to wiping and wiping devices - Pledge static dust wipes (me), heavy duty granite wipes (Emma).
It’s not even like I copped the raw end of the deal and have been relegated to what is traditionally known as gender-specific ‘women’s work’ around the home - because if it’s not me wiping down every surface in the place, it’s my husband. There’s only one person not contributing to the wiping-down efforts in our household and that’s the tiny dictator with sticky mitts who wanders from room to room spreading potting mix, lunch remnants, mushed banana, moisturiser and toothpaste across any clean surface he can find….
I’ve been reading…. Animal Farm by George Orwell. It’s short enough that I finished it in a few nights. It was a surreal trip into the very dustiest corners of my memory because I have always remembered watching a movie with animals that talked and a horse that was taken away to the knacker’s yard (particularly harrowing as a young horse girl). I could never remember the name or premise of the movie, only that one traumatising scene. As I made my way further into Animal Farm, I realised - the 1954 movie version of the book is exactly what I must have watched as a young child. I was hooked from the first few sentences - anything with animals that talk and get up to mischief when mankind’s back is turned, is a big yes from me. It’s a confronting, tragic tale, though, because the whole way through it you know Orwell is really giving a history lesson about the 1917 Russian Revolution and the immense terror, pain and depression ultimately felt by those suffering at the hands of Stalin and other Bolshevik leaders. I felt like it could also be an allegory for any number of dictatorial regimes, though - historical and current.
This article on Refinery29 about what 30 actually looks like now we are so out of touch with the aging process. Thanks to ‘tweakments’ and huge advances in the beauty industry, women in their thirties are being mistaken for much younger than they actually are. But that begs the question: what does 30 look like? Apparently, looking ‘29 and under’ is the goal for women these days. Well, shit - I’ve totally missed the boat there. I only discovered good skincare recently (as in, within the last six months) and at this stage I refuse to inject my face with anything, just for the sake of aesthetics. But girls in their 20s are jumping on the anti-aging bandwagon earlier and earlier in order to avoid looking 30 or older. Each to their own, but I’m personally looking forward to being a ‘cool mom’ 40-year-old with glowing skin and an edgy French bob and no hang-ups about my face or body…. because lawd knows it’s taken long enough to get to that point without now having to worry about looking like I’m still in my 20s!
Two articles from Mama Mia. Firstly, this one about the problem with the constant stream of “but they had underlying health conditions” and/or “they were really old” rhetoric we have heard, and continue to hear, regarding Covid-related deaths. As if those people’s lives don’t matter. As if they were not someone’s mother, brother, lover, child. I’m not down for it, and this article explains why. Secondly, this one about ‘matrescence’ (if you don’t recognise the phrase, may I recommend this wonderful explainer). The New York Times also has a really great article titled ‘Birth of a Mother’ which I recommend reading, but it is behind the paywall for me now as I have exceeded my monthly free articles on the NYT site!
I’ve been listening to…. Sounds Like a Cult with Amanda Montell (author of Cultish) and Isa Medina - specifically ‘The Cult of SoulCycle’ episode, which is the first of the series. I was particularly interested in this one as - although I have never attended SoulCycle - I have always felt some gyms and workout classes have not only a cult following but a cult-y-ness about them. By all accounts, SoulCycle is a leader in that field and this was a fascinating episode. I’m looking forward to the rest of the series, in particular ‘The Cult of Fraternities and Sororities’ and ‘The Cult of Multi-Level Marketing’ episodes.
I’ve been watching…. We are at peak Sopranos-watching at the moment and last week watched what might just be the top three Sopranos episodes of all-time. We are generally pretty selective and purposeful with what we watch - we’re not a TV-on-in-the-background kind of household - and as a result, I tend to get quite addicted to certain shows and characters. Take Game of Thrones, for example. I am an absolute die hard fan of that show. I don’t even like calling it a ‘show’ because I feel that undermines the epic storytelling masterpiece that it is. After the final GOT episode ever, I truly pined for the series and its characters. I read about it, watched old excerpts and then, last year, watched the entire series for a third time. I feel like I am getting to that level of fandom with The Sopranos. I’m really invested in the characters now but, unlike GOT, I find it hard to love any of them, instead I find all of them quite confronting and uncomfortable to watch. Which probably adds to the addictiveness of the show. The parallels that the show draws, and the way it sucks you in so that you could almost love Tony, Carmela, Christopher, or even - for me the other night, anyway - Ralph Cifaretto, is what makes it so undeniably brilliant, and deliciously addictive.
That’s all for this week, but I’ll be back in you inbox soon with some think pieces and another ramble. If you’re in Auckland - Happy Level 3 Day! We’re already lining up takeaways for Friday…..
Love it once again Kerrie, keep going. Happy Level 3 day to you too x