Census Night - counting the unpaid hours

It is Census night in Australia. Much has changed over the years and perhaps, many things have stayed the same. Families come in all shapes and sizes in 2011. So for that reason and because of a specific experience earlier this year, I found Question 48 on the 'Household Form', to be of particular interest...

In the last week, did the person spend time doing unpaid domestic work in their household?

[ ] No, did not do any unpaid domestic work in the last week
[ ] Yes, less than five hours
[ ] Yes, 5 to 14 hours.
[ ] Yes, 15 to 29 hours
[ ] Yes, 30 hours or more

Census night gives the perfect opportunity to make good on a promise to 'Jacqui' who, earlier this year, wrote a request in the comments section of Always Check Pockets. The blog that day included an instructional video from 'The Mighty Lisa' recorded for my benefit (in fact you see that video being used in the video below). Embarrassingly, your blogger had not learnt how to use the front loader, a washing machine that had been in the household almost a year. Lisa was heading overseas with four girlfriends on the trip of a lifetime to Europe.

Well Jacqui, the systems you can see I adopted were not as smooth as those of 'The Mighty Lisa'. In all seriousness, the seven weeks Lisa was away brought home to me all of the invisible work that she does. I say invisible, because the laundry never looked like this...



If the census was happening back in that seven week period, when I was a temporary single dad, I would have comfortably ticked the '15 to 29 hours' box. Tonight, I'll have to go through the past week and calculate. The reality is that with us back as a two parent set up, 'The Mighty Lisa' has racked up more hours than me. For sure. The statistics say that this is still the norm in most 'mum-dad' households. Simply, most mums do more. What I do know is that because of that seven week experience, we are getting closer to a balance, the work is appreciated and no longer invisible. I commend an experience like this to any dad... maybe the government could arrange to give all mums a holiday to bring home this reality!

Of course, as stated, families come in all shapes and sizes and in May this year, your blogger was chatting to Penny, at a Mother and Son night. Penny is a teacher with a year level leadership role. She kindly came along to assist at this Time & Space event at her school. It was in the time that I was a temporary single dad (my own dad was looking after my kids). Penny is a permanent single mum. She explained how she had dropped off her child at her mum and dad's place, a back up she explained she couldn't do without in her busy job. It was humbling as we swapped notes... a temporary single dad chatting with a full-time single mum.

Penny remarked, "When you're a single parent, there's no role-reversal... you have to do it all. It's me who goes out to the back yard to shovel up the dog poo!"

So as you are filling out your form tonight, think about all the people who are bringing up kids in lots of different situations. People doing what they have to do to help the next generation.

Respect goes out to all of you who do unpaid domestic work.

Whose work do you appreciate? Do you need to lift your own work rate? Who is someone you admire who is juggling heaps of roles and getting on with it?

Feel free to write your thoughts in the space below.

Bill Jennings

http://www.time-space.com.au/
http://www.billjennings.tv/

Eighteen Quick Years

A momentous day in this household. Started this post at 5.37am and your blogger had been up for a while even then, searching through and finding some old, packed away journals.

Found what I was looking for... a record of my daughter Amber's arrival on the planet eighteen years ago today... 8.47am on 15 June 1993, the Countess Hospital, Chester, UK.

The journal entries give a minute by minute account of the details of Amber's very dramatic entry into the world. Her mum and dad, as first time parents had it all planned. Water birth. Minimal intervention. All this went out the window when the baby chose 'sideways' as her pathway into the outside world.

Looking through the journal - it has a list of times and factual records. I gave Amber her first bath sometime between 10.00am and 1.00pm. I washed her mother's hair. I remember ringing home to Australia and my Great Great Auntie Flo' was staying with my mum and dad... Amber's birth had created five living generations in our tribe.

Between then and now - time has flown. Here's some of the memories that have flashed up in my mind today (with the birthday girl's, in fact birthday woman's permission).

1995 - We had been back in Melbourne over a year. Renting in Richmond, no car. I used to ride Amber to crèche in a baby seat on the back of my bike. Down Lennox Street to Collingwood where I worked. There was a park in front of the high rise flats, always blanketed with seagulls... 'Birdy, Birdy, Birdy' was the daily shout of delight from the little girl on the back of the bike. And dad would join in.

Then there was the day, as a toddler on my hip in the supermarket queue, when Amber showed her zest for learning. The Mighty Lisa and me had thought it important to teach Amber the proper names for the human reproductive parts. The queue was long. Amber looked down the line and saw a man, a woman, a man, two women and a man, in front of us. Leaning out from your blogger's hip and pointing in a confident fashion she tested her biological knowledge... in Safeway... in full voice.

"PENIS, VAGINA, PENIS, VAGINA, VAGINA, PENIS and daddy then there's you and you have a PENIS!" Triumphantly she smiled and stretched out her arms, having proudly declared her knowledge to the world.

Great parenting idea we had there. There was simply nowhere to hide. Thankfully the people of the queue found it hilarious.

Saturday 18 September, 1999 - MCG. Preliminary Final Day. A bloke named Anthony Koutoufides put in an individual performance that was to steal our beloved team's destiny. Amber, six years old, was asleep on my lap from late in the third quarter... hard to argue against Amber being the most relaxed bomber fan out of the 80,519 people there that day. She woke up just in time to learn that Essendon went down to Carlton by a point. The following year, we shared premiership joy trouncing the Demons.

One time, she had to deal with some stuff with one of her friends. Amber was the shortest in this group of girls - five friends (still all mates today) who've been affectionately dubbed the 'rat pack'. I remember telling her that it is better to take things head on - talk direct to the person you have a problem with, not about them, behind their back. Let them know how you feel (an important technique for anyone). She did it. Spoke her mind with her friend and sorted out the problem. I haven't forgotten it, nor how proud I was of her.

This morning her brother presented a funny and touching note in the birthday card he gave her... he noted that in his life, he had 'learnt a few things' about his sister. Three actually.

#1 Don't bother you in the mornings'; #2 Don't go into your room; #3 You are a very lovely, beautiful, loyal, fun, caring and passionate person and that I am lucky to be your brother.

That's a pretty cool affirmation from a nearly 15 year old boy.

It is past 9am now as I write. Therefore, right now, that one time 8 Pound 6 Ounce baby (like the old measurements) is sitting her VCE Year 12 Psychology mid-year exam, here in Melbourne, some 10,542 miles from where she took her first breath.

A call came in from her Nana in Chester - her grand-daughter had already headed off to get ready for the exam. She'll ring again later today.

Tonight, we will share a meal at Amber's favourite Indian restaurant - family tradition. First birthday dinner with her boyfriend along (yep, nothing prepares you for that moment either dads... there is no handbook). The time simply has flown. Our daughter is officially an adult. The Mighty Lisa commissioned me with the card writing duties for today...


Dearest Amber.

Officially an adult. We are so proud of the young woman you have become. You are blessed with so much. May you have an adult life that is stunning... that makes a difference.

We love you. Mum & Dad.

We don't take this occasion for granted. We know we are fortunate. It is not a given that every kid makes it to 18. I hope you have some memories of your own to savour as you read this... the funny ones, the moments that make you proud - enjoy them (and feel free to share them in the space below).

The time goes quick.

Bill Jennings
http://www.time-space.com.au

Managing Alien Abductions

My grandparents’ house is still on the farm. Grandpa worked his orchard for decades. After he retired, my uncle took over, building his own place there. We’re lucky, our tribe has got an actual place – ‘Gruyere’, in Victoria’s Yarra Valley. As kids, each of my brothers, sister and cousins used to get their turn in the school holidays up at Grandma and Grandpa’s.

Both lived into their nineties. So my kids (daughter, 17 and son, 14) have their own special memories of their great grandparents. When my kids were little, we used to drive up from the city, buy a big family pie on the way and take it up for lunch with Grandma - a little tradition we’d forged.

As a dad, a treasured Gruyere memory happened not long after Grandma died. My then, 11 year-old son and I embarked on an overnight bike journey from the farm to a town called Warburton. We stayed first night at my uncle’s place. We didn’t visit the old house. We were still both a bit sad.

On the bike trail, my son talked happily as we rode 40km to our destination. We stayed in the caravan park, had a counter meal in the pub. He felt so grown up, soaking up some dad time.

That’s only three years ago but it does feel like a much longer time. Why? Because I reckon that little bike rider was recently abducted by aliens. They left a replacement… similar but slightly hairier, sleepier and mono-syllabic in his utterances. This new version of my son (scientific name - ‘adolescent’) believes that those same aliens, stole his dad’s sense of humour.

We have stepped quickly into role. His peer group’s influence has increased exponentially. Concerts, parties, girls… everything’s happened quickly. I’m the boundary setter: phone calls to other kids’ parents, the checking of plans, the curfews have turned me into possibly the most embarrassing dad ever known. We can get very grumpy with each other.

So where’s the hope? Is it just a slog until a healthy adult emerges from his teenage cocoon?

The hope lies in a recent visit back to the farm. Life’s busy… hadn’t been up for a while. Neither of us had actually been back in the old house. We went inside – together - sat at the kitchen table where we’d shared those pies with Grandma. We found some old newspapers and just sat and quietly read through them - together. We were visited by a feeling of calm and appreciation of a time past, when things were a little simpler.

Then from that ‘calm’, my son expressed a wish…

“Hey Dad, I reckon it’d be good if we went on another bike ride.”

Here’s three tips to help you help your adolescent.

1. Keep them connected in your family tribe - it has a story that’s older than their peer group.

2. Return to their happy childhood memory places. Revisiting helps them revisit what really matters.

3. If they invite you to spend time with them. Accept. Make the time.

Bill Jennings
http://www.time-space.com.au

You can also see this article feature as the closing story of the newly launched Parentingideas Magazine

Celebrating the Champions in Our Schools

Say the name of your favorite teacher.

There is simple beauty in this exercise because it does not matter how old you are. If you’re in Year Six, you probably know the name of the teacher who has been the greatest influence on you to this point. You could be 90 years old and still gifted with a memory like a steel trap (I’m 44 and my wife says if get Alzheimer’s she won’t notice). Does the good teacher of your day… their name, their face come flooding back to you? Mum, Dad or Carer? I hope somebody comes to mind, that someone who has seen a spark and made a difference in your child’s journey. Does your own memory produce the picture of that great person for whom teaching was so much more than a job?

Sal Valentino is one of these people. He has been at Simonds College, in inner city Melbourne for over twenty years. He champions the cause for each student at his school to find and know their great possibility. How does he do this? In so many ways… but as Paul Kelly (a contemporary Australian bard) once wrote – let the part tell the whole.

The Simonds boys have just this week, come off some ‘My PB days’ (personal best). The program culminates with a testosterone fuelled moment - the boys get to seal a ‘Good Man Goal’, identify an action, a change they want to make and they write it on to a piece of wood. Then they are trained to muster their energy and with a ‘Mr. Miagi style karate chop’, they set their goal by smashing the piece of wood in two. Ask most teenage boys in school… “And now we want you to break something”, and it is OK… they will think it is Christmas!

But what about the young bloke who is a little tentative?

Here’s the Sal Valentino gold… one such young fella had missed breaking the wood on his first couple of goes… other boys are starting to watch and this is not helping. Intuitively Sal whisks the student to a spot where he can try away from the gaze of his peers. With Sal’s encouragement and imagination, the boy manages to break that piece of wood… he returns to the group with it now in two pieces. Another boy, who also had missed the first couple of times, comes straight up and congratulates his classmate. Sal notices and celebrates publically the compassion and empathy shown in this other boy’s expression of support.

This was a replete piece of education… it took five minutes. There must literally be tens of thousands of these stories over Sal’s career. But this was all in a day’s work for Sal Valentino.

He is a true champion.

So here’s an idea. Write a note of thanks to your champion teacher. Tell them why you think they are a champion… give them back a moment where they taught you something. If they are long gone thank them in your heart.

A letter headed out from this desk on the weekend to the great Chuck Thompson – my Year 7 homeroom teacher. He’s still plying his craft – I reckon an ‘out of the blue’ thank-you will give these champions a spur.

Who was or is your favourite teacher? Feel free to write your story in the space below.

Always Check Pockets

It's been almost two years in the planning now... (the mighty) Lisa, Robyn, Clare, Moy and Mahony are heading off to the UK, France and Italy this Friday night. Half the fun has been the planning and dreaming about the trip.

An unusual crew, we are, underneath the West Preston skies... the five women, off on this global adventure, are all still with the original person they married. We certainly don't take that for granted. I am in awe of those of you who are doing the job of being mum, dad or mentor on your own.

That said, there have been some moments of pure gold in this final week lead up. Robyn was doing her packing in what could best be described as a 'first draft'. Her un-better half 'Big Ray' noticed she was struggling with how to lighten her luggage. It was seriously overweight. Big Ray is your classic unrevised Aussie bloke. Big fella, big beard, chippie, bikie. He offered some abrupt advice to his wife in the form of a question.

"Do you need all of your cosmetics?"

Robyn had conveniently packed her toiletries into one smaller bag inside the case. On removal, the case was 4kg lighter.

Moy rang this morning... she is trying to find an easy way to teach her husband, Ken, how to do internet banking.

And then there is this blogger's household. Lisa is the star of this post and I am under strict instructions to emphasise this but... I do want to get in, in my defence, that I do, do the ironing (sporadically) and the bathrooms every Friday. However, I must confess that our one-year-old front loader is still something of a mystery to me. Therefore, Lisa has this morning, given some final instructions on how to operate our washing machine. I'm reminded of that old toothbrush ad... 'Rob is a dentist, so we can't show you his face on TV.' The Mighty Lisa is not a dentist... she simply has an aversion to her face being on camera but as you can see in this video, she was happy for her hands to be seen in this instructional piece. Granted, I am biased but I think she could be hand model - she would put George Costanza to shame. This video may also be of use to any bloke who is unfamiliar with the working of his laundry and is about to enter any period of temporary (even permanent) bachelor-hood ... enjoy too the unintentional bloopers at the end as I try to turn the phone camera off.



Just because it's called a 'smart phone', it doesn't necessarily follow that it has a smart owner.

So can we extract any deeper meaning out of this story? Let's have crack at it.

The next seven weeks are going to bring home a deep appreciation of all the wonderful things Lisa does that keep our busy household ticking over. I get it and see it now but suspect that we are going to see things so much more deeply.

The next seven weeks also provide an opportunity to have a go, on my own at a couple of things, parenting-wise with my own kids. Case in point, already this week, the young bloke has started making his own sandwiches. This could be a welcome, embedded routine by the end of May. I'll keep you posted and if my kids aren't happy, they know this blog has an open feedback space below. So if I am not up to scratch, I will probably cop it.

Feel free to leave your comments and stories below as well. What do you appreciate about your significant other? How is running the household if you are on your own? And by the way, if you are interested in following the journey of The Mighty Lisa and her four travelling companions... here is their travel blog.

Bill Jennings
http://www.time-space.com.au

Japan... as seen by a 14 year old boy

Talked with a friend on the phone yesterday. A mentor really. He asked what I was thinking and feeling about the multiple disasters in Japan. My answer was immediate.

"I'm watching it through the eyes of my son."

Teenage boys are prone to absent mindedness. Sometimes they will even leave their Facebook page open on your laptop. We've got a 'we can ask to look at your Facebook page anytime' policy in our place anyway (it kind of works). I saw something he had written on his 'chat'... 'the world is ending'. The mighty Lisa (aka 'better half') is an astute observer and mentioned that we should keep an eye on the young bloke.

"He's frightened". Lisa spots things as they are.

When I was my son's age, I recall that period of time between, first becoming aware of the exponential number of times Earth could destroy itself with its own nuclear weapons and later, managing to rationalise that such an event is unlikely and that if it did happen, we wouldn't know about it for too long. In that gap of time (which was a few of my early teenage years) I thought every time a plane went overhead that that was the bomb on its way to hit the GPO. Did you ever wonder why those graphs showed nuclear fallout extending from the General Post Office? That only fuelled my fear further... 'how can they be so accurate?'

During that gap in time, quite simply, I was frightened. I felt silly about that because after all, I was growing up. I had too much and not enough information all at the same time.

A few years later, as an older teenager, I told someone I had held these fears. She explained that when she was a girl, every time a plane went over her house, she thought it was the communists. So, back in the 1950’s, in orchard country outside Melbourne, the 'reds under the bed' were scaring a teenage girl who later on, became my mum.

I told that story to my good friend and mentor yesterday. He had the same fears growing up that the commies were going to get him.

Maybe every generation of teenagers experience large world moments in ways that render feelings of powerlessness. If you are twenty-something, how does September 11 house itself in your memory?

What do we do?

If you are a parent of a teenager - tell your kids if and when you were frightened of stuff when you were growing up. What made you get over that? Tell them.

If you are a teenager reading this, ask your mum or dad if they were frightened by stuff when they were younger. And don't in any way feel silly about feeling scared - even show them this post if it can help get the conversation going. You know how I just said I had too much information when I was a kid... well, now you're a kid and you've got access to that thing they call the internet.

We are all watching it together. Sometimes we don't check with each other how it’s being taken in. Those little acts of concern, of love really, are the ways that we can deal with the terrible tragedy that is beaming into our homes. There are people doing amazing things to help each other in Japan... we can help further away by just checking in with each other - face to face.

Step away from the screens for a few moments everyone.

Talk. Listen.

In checking this out with the young bloke, it was evident he had consumed a fair number of media stories and angles on the topic. I explained that his mum thought he might be frightened, he said he was mostly just ‘sad’. He then went into a whole bunch of things he had been learning from reading about the Japan crisis. He had taken a lot in.

“I’m okay dad, I just hope that they get serious about different ways to make energy after this. But I don't think they will... that's why I said 'the world is ending'.”

The young bloke's assessment is direct - there is no way to pretty that up. However, I do appreciate he told me a bit of what was going on in his head and heart.

Feel free to write add your thoughts below.


Bill Jennings
http://www.time-space.com.au

The Grandparent Factor

The 14 year old addresses the ball... first tee at Yarra Bend.

Just as he starts his swing, his dad stops him and says,

"Before you tee off, did you know that your feet are pointing out towards the ninth fairway?"

"I know what I'm doing dad!" The young man's reply has more than a hint of an agitated tone.

"OK, do what you like" says his dad and the young bloke hits off...

... at a 45 degree angle into the rough on the side of the ninth fairway.

Despite his dad's prediction being correct, this fails to instill awe and respect within the son for his father's knowledge of the game, ability to forecast the future or his life-lived acquired wisdom. In fact for the next nine holes or so, every bad shot is his dad's fault for putting him off on the first tee.

If you are raising a teenager as you read this, or recall doing so, you may well resonate with the experience of not having to do much to be 'booked' by your kids. He morphed into a less grumpy version of himself by the back nine and much of the credit for that goes to his Grandad, the other golfer in this three generation grouping.

Grandad Viv sidled up for a couple of little 'alongside' chats up and down those fairways... arm on his shoulder, some well chosen moments to get a point across more sternly, all of these were well received by the same 14 year old who was so unhappy with his dad. Grandad provided the circuit breaker... he could get away with a few more things than his son-in-law who got 'booked' way back on the first tee.

It is important to say here, not every kid has a grandparent... some are not as lucky as the young subject of this story - he has all four still alive and well. If the latter is your situation, consider the elders you trust who could play a role in your teenager's world. They are so important.

So what was happening here? Firstly there's an old classic in there - can you see it? How hard is it to hold back when you can see that the direction your kid might be going in, might be the wrong one? Isn't it difficult to bite your tongue when you have made the same mistake yourself? The father here didn't even wait for his son to play his first shot before he was giving him advice. There's a fairly obvious metaphor in there that, if it is safe, isn't it a good thing to be near by as they make the odd mistake?

It's far better to wait to respond gently to the question, "what am I doing wrong", than to go head long into a lecture about what will go wrong.

And the other great aspect is that Grandad was there. In the cut and thrust of everyday life, having back up... someone who can offer their advice and play a role in a young person's world does them and their parents, so much good.

Of course you have probably worked out that the dad in this story is your blogger. Good thing that when he started this parent-child program work full time, he had two things he was sure he wanted to say to the world.

1. No parent is perfect (even though the media subtly pressures parents to be super-people).
2. Half the battle is being there... being there alongside your kids even when you are not getting it right and...

... being there with people like my father-in-law, my son's Grandad, who is such a great help to me and the mighty Lisa as we raise our two teenage kids.

Feel free to write your thoughts below and consider... who are the elders that help you along the way?