Me and My Girl

The above picture was taken on Saturday at Agility Class Two - Moll running towards her Mum. (I'm the one in the red coat. The other one is Lisa, one of the people who runs the classes.) The photographer couldn’t get too near but you get the gist.

In the papers over the weekend came the news that curvy women are more intelligent and are more likely to give birth to brighter children.

Have you noticed that these sort of pieces are always preceded by “scientists say” – though in a piece like this, it doesn’t say who these scientists are. Mind you, I’m not surprised. I wouldn’t particularly like to be renowned for discovering such a thing. Wouldn’t win you the Nobel Peace Prize, would it?

But I doubt the authenticity of this news as I can think of loads of examples to disprove it.

The first one is my mother who is tiny – she just peeks above five foot on a good day when she’s wearing heels, and no way would you say she’s curvy. But – and here I can boast – she’s a member of Mensa.

She evidently didn’t pass her brain cells on to her children, but that’s through no fault of her own I’m sure. Perhaps her Mensa cells got stuck somewhere in her womb?

As for her offspring – well, I’ve got my mother’s build though I’m six inches taller and my brothers take after their father who was a six foot plus rugger player.

When it comes to children, my nephews and nieces are far from stupid. Sadly, we don’t have any children, but as Himself keeps telling everyone, “Mollie’s very bright, you know.”

Titles

I’ve just rung my mother to tell her about The TV Appearance. She’s going into hospital later today to have her second hernia operation in 8 months and is understandably nervous about it, so I thought hearing about her daughter’s forthcoming Fame might cheer her up. It did. She laughed and said, ‘I’ve been fiddling around the house, I’ve tidied my jumpers, written letters - it’s just like waiting to have a baby.’

I thought then how much she’ll enjoy the wonders of the World Wide Web. (We’re getting her a computer, but it’s taking a while to get it and the money together.)
Mum would love some of our blogs, and having just read Mother at Large’s post about acronyms made me think further about titles, and how ridiculous it is that we define people in such a way.

Himself has, like me, had a variety of careers. He was an Oil Rag, the only time he ever worked for anyone else (Castrol Oil, back in 1956) and since then has been self employed. His jobs have included Runner of Violet Farm, Landscaper, Builder (of houses), Yachtsman (sailed to West Indies in 1976, in a working boat, without engine*), Engineer, Yacht Deliverer, Boat Designer and Builder, Health Farm worker in Germany (which he suspected was run by the Mafia**), Jeweller/Tin Caster. Now he is Property Administrator (Odd Job Man) and Jeweller of Pewter.

*this expedition has been written about by Flowerpot and has been accepted by Classic Boat – will be featured when the editor decides when to run a piece on eccentric sailors.

** I would write about this but it’s so extraordinary I don’t know that anyone would publish it. It could also get him knocked off, if the Mafia were involved.

All the years I worked in London I was, variously, Receptionist, Secretary, Account Executive, Personal Assistant, Editorial Assistant. I have also been Waitress, Bar Maid (though that would be Bar Person now) and Temp. After redundancy, when I moved back to Cornwall I was Bar Person, Shop Assistant and Unemployed. Then I was Team clerk, Youth Justice Team (Young Offenders). Then Accommodation Administrator. Now I’m Landlady, Writer, Cleaner and Port Representative, though not all at the same time. Like Cherie Blair, I’m not Superwoman (she says, modestly).

You will see from the above lists that Himself and I have one major thing in common. A low boredom threshold. Neither of us have stuck at anything for long. This is a common trait among writers, I’m pleased to notice (the exception being writing which is the one thing we do tend to stick at) though I’m not sure what that says about us.
Perhaps:
We have gained a lot of different experiences over the years.
We are unemployable.
We are mostly mad – who else would want to sit in front of a computer typing words all day?

Given all this, when my mother put us onto her car insurance last year, she put Himself down as Retired, and me down as Housewife. You can probably guess what my reaction was, and I expect my mother’s ears are still ringing from my shrieks of outrage.

Why was I so insulted? I know what we both do – why should it matter what other people think? Ah, but it does. Our lives are validated by our occupations. Why shouldn’t I be a housewife, or mother, and be happy with that? Because being labelled a Mother or Housewife insults our intelligence. It implies that we aren’t capable of doing anything else. We are simply an appendage to our spouses, or if we are single, we’re kicking around Wasting Our Lives.

I haven’t got children so I can’t be a mother, and I wouldn’t be fulfilled by being a housewife. I loathe housework (it’s different if someone’s paying you to do it), I dislike shopping and I’d be bored rigid. My brain needs a good workout which it wouldn’t get unless I had a constant challenge, which writing gives me. So I’m deeply hurt if my writing is dismissed, which doubtless makes me Shallow and Insecure.
But why should our achievements, whether they are raising children (which must be the most difficult job on earth), being a cleaner or writing an article, be knocked down? Our achievements are part of us. We should be proud of them.

Let’s hear it for the girls. Whatever we do.