Friday 24 October 2014
When I returned from UK, I thought to myself that I would get that
dream job ASAP, at the very most it would take me six months tops. I kind of
have a history of getting jobs, so I’m never really worried whenever I leave
one. I just know, given time, another one would come. It hasn’t worked out as
well as I hoped. This is the tenth month since our return. And I am still
basically not employed full-time. I am not idle, mind you. It is not in my
constitution to do nothing. I have had short term projects here and there,
while still waiting for that biggie that would pay be a great salary (the money
I spent getting a masters can’t be for nothing oh) with mouth-watering
allowance/benefit package. As it is, I mostly work from home unless when I have
to leave the house for a second. Now, I’m not the most disciplined person when
it comes to time-management. But give me a target and a deadline. While one day
I might spend a whole of five minutes on the project, come day 2, I would start
firing by 5am and won’t leave my work station till 13 hours later. I can be an
adrenaline junkie like that, thus a part of me quite enjoys working in this
way. A greater part of me, though, craves the unlimited internet access I would
get if I was working in an office. The way I’m burning through SwiftNG data
gives hubby heart palpitations. With my erratic and sometimes non-existent income,
he has had to bear the financial burden, which a major negative.
One thing though we both agree is that period has been good for is
childcare. I have a help, by the way. Someone who comes in the morning to clean
the house and run errands. Money might be tight, but the most effective and
guaranteed way to get me in a perpetual bitch mood is to make me responsible
for the tidiness of the house. With the chores outsourced, I am able to get
down to the business of raising bomboy. MM and I had decided earlier in the day
that childcare is something we would endeavour to do by ourselves. We bath
bomboy ourselves – on weekends, he is encouraged to wash himself under
supervision, preparing him to completely take over the job of bathing himself
by the time he is 6. We dress him – again, on weekend he dresses himself for
the most part. We aid him with his homework, etc. MM works as an engineer in a bank, in Lagos.
That means, he leaves pretty early and sometimes comes home late. AND HE WORKS
WEEKENDS AND MOST PUBLIC HOLIDAYS!!!! So
basically, if I too was employed outside the home, it would mean that bomboy
would for the most time be without either parent. Especially during the
long/summer holiday, which coupled with the #Ebola wahala saw him staying
nearly three months without school. The 9 hours he would have otherwise been in
school or transitioning to and fro it (thank you, Lagos traffic) would have
been spent at home, with the housekeeper. I don’t know about other mothers, but
I get jittery about leaving my child with a unsupervised staff for long stretch
of time. Save MM and I, the only adults I trust with my child is those at his
school. We took a lot of care picking his school, and paying quite a pretty sum
for that, for the relative peace of mind of knowing the establishment has a
reputation to maintain and would thus arrange themselves. A lone housekeeper
unfortunately doesn’t inspire that such confidence in me. I just don’t have
much faith in human beings, to be honest.
I may not be voluntarily working from home, but I am very conscious
of the advantage it has for my son. Even when I’m sweating it out on my
keyboard, furious to meet deadlines, my attention is on what bomboy is up to
with the housekeeper. I may ask for him to be kept from me for the time being,
but I take mini-breaks to go inspect what he and the woman are doing. I know
what he is being given to eat. What sort of conversation he is having, what
poor grammar he is picking from godknowswhere.
It is still me raising him. Over the long holiday, I decided to get much more hands-on
with his academics. I would go on the internet and print out worksheets for
higher classes for him. I taught him how to tell the time (the o’clock,
half-past, quarter-past, quarter-to, and the 5 minutes hands). We did a lot of
reading exercises and I am proud he is said to read much better than his
classmates. We did loads of writing exercises, and this has reflected in his
handwriting skills. We did addition and subtraction, focusing on the double
digits. Now he can add 18 to 20 to get 38, and take away 17 from 30 to get 13.
He was writing in 5’s long before his peers. And writing from 1 to 500.
Everyday during the holiday he had homework he cried, groaned, grumbled,
sulked, and threw tantrums over, but did nonetheless. I was far from being the
favourite parent. That is some hard shit, let me tell you now. The feeling that
your child doesn’t like you. MM would come home and get shrieks of “Daddy!!!”
and hugs. My departures were welcomed and even sent forth with wails if I left
instructions that TV was banned in my absence till homework was done. My
returns were barely noticed, except for the occasional, “Mummy, I finished my
homework. Can I watch now?” I was the wicked denier of all things fun.
It appears to have paid off. Last year, bomboy was the second best
student in his class although he was had just returned from UK and trying to
acclimatize with the Nigerian system (his school isn’t running a strict British
curriculum, which I quite welcome tbh). He has a competition going with the
girl who took the top position, another UK returnee. Now, all his teachers
enthuse how brilliant he is. How ahead of his peers he has come. I hear these
things and I am filled with pride. I went out and bought more worksheets.
Printing off the internet is a harder work than you know, looking for the right
materials. It can take half the day seeking to gather a good mix of exercises,
so he can fully engage his brain. I got some really good books, including one
on non-verbal reasoning which is basically junior aptitude test if you ask me.
Every day, bomboy and I sit down with the books. I make him read the
instructions out loud, teach him unfamiliar words, and have him talk me through
his understanding of what is expected of him. it’s been less dramatic than it
used to be. He is less reactive to my rule that homework must be completed
before any TV watching or going outside to ride his bicycle/scooter. Since his
teacher suggested I step up on our spelling exercise, he’s been asking me to
teach him how to spell just about everything. We have made it fun. I got this app
where I can record myself spelling words and making sentences with the word.
Bomboy loves it! And once he gets a spelling – and gets high-fived for it (he
absolutely loves getting those) – he doesn’t forget it.
I’m still not his favourite parent. It is his daddy he plays video
games with when the poor tired man returns from work. It is still daddy he
prefers reading him to sleep – although now, he is using more of the story book
apps in his tablet, you know the kind that reads to you. We still fight when I
say he’s watched far too much TV than is good for him. But, I am raising my
child. I am educating him. I am seeing him blossoming. Watching his abilities
increase and seeing the intelligent person he is growing up to be. I am not out
to make him into some kind of first-class material or anything like that.
Academic brilliance would be nice, but it is not my main motivation. I just
want a child his innate abilities I am able to harness. Who I’m not limiting
his skills just because I am not paying some things in his upbringing the
little bit of attention it requires. I am extremely proud of myself for the
time I have put into him these past ten months. His successes I consider my
successes, evidence of my superior mothering abilities J. MM said the
other day that I was doing splendid work with our son, and that’s high praise.
Cause him and I clash all the time due to the difference in our parenting
styles. I feel, finally I’m doing something right. Sometimes lasting. I am
setting this little boy on his way to a good future. It is a fantastic feeling.
That does not, however, mean that this period of working from home
has not been hard for me. It isn’t something I want. If I get a good job offer
this very minute, I would snap it right up. I need it for my own mental health
being. I can’t bear the insecurity of knowing I don’t have much money of my own
making. That if I need to splurge on a little more than for making my hair or
buying myself a few things (am quite low maintenance, so I don’t spend a lot on
myself – except for that iPhone 6 Plus I totally intend to buy!), I would need
to ask hubby for it. It is immaterial that he would give me the money. It is
the asking part I abhor. There is a confidence in feeling, “I fucking earned
this money; I can fucking spend it the way I fucking want!” I don’t have that
now. I desperately need it. Yet I want to be the sort of mother who spend
quality time with her son. I wonder, is it possible to have both? Oh well …
Ciao!
its hard
ReplyDeletebut most parents find a way
for their sanity.........
I thoroughly enjoyed this! I am working from home now and I appreciate the opportunity to raise my son by myself- he just turned two, so he's really little and I'm glad to be able to drop him off, pick him up, bathe him myself, do his homework, etc. Right now I have no help, still working on getting one, so hubby pitches in a whole lot with the chores. I look forward to going back to work someday, but I'm loving this season- probably because I still make good money. But even if I didn't, it would still be worth it. I'm not missing out on his life and I'm glad.
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