Can we discuss this woman?
In case you haven't heard her story or don't want to read it as it would take your limited leisure time away from my blog (an understandable concern), I will give you the abridged version:
A Parisian woman named Corinne Maier and partner, Yves, have two children. She describes this scene to The Globe and Mail:
Not only can I find a lot of holes in her 'good' reasons to remain childless (a list of them is provided in the article linked above), but I can also pick apart the catalyst that brought her to her parental knees and inspired her to write the book.
First of all, if you don't want to go out for dinner and your children want to, I have an often unused Ninja Parenting Trick, passed down from the masters. I found it in a secret book inside a secret hovel inside a secret tree knot in a secret forest. It sounds absurd at first, so try to keep an open mind:
Just tell them "no".
I know what you're thinking: Who says "no" to small children, thus fracturing their precious little hearts? However, my sources inform me that they will, eventually, get over it. If in doubt, take the money you would have spent on a dinner for four and put it in a savings account. Then, if they still resent you in twenty years, you can hand them the sum of a missed dinner and other outings you denied them and they can funnel it into their therapy sessions. Ta-da! It's a win/win situation.
And we can all identify the next obvious problem: Who, in their right mind, decides to take children to see an exhibition on Belgian surrealists?
People who are looking for trouble, that's who.
I'm with her daughter: The exhibition does sound a lot like bullshit. And her son started screaming? He probably was going crazy from looking at pictures of apples that look like wooden asses. I mean, is it an apple or an ass? Who can tell? Those Belgian surrealists are freaky people.
Seriously: If you're going out with your kids, take them to a movie. Take them to a park. Take them to a fair. There are also these people called "babysitters" you can hire to watch them when you want to go look at apple asses. Or - hey, wait a minute! - you can leave your children at home because they're 10 and 13. No babysitter expenses required and lots of time to look at crazy art with no distractions. What a concept!
That day was bad because the parents made it bad. They seem to have resented taking their kids somewhere kid-like, then wanted to make themselves feel better by doing something completely un-kid-like - with kids in tow. It's true that their children did not behave themselves; not only was the environment unfriendly, but there seems to be a serious lack of discipline going on, and it's probably been that way for a while. A likely reason why she was yelling at her husband about not being "more strong" with their son.
Not to mention that the environment in their house sounds about as warm as a naked stroll through Antarctica. A big house full of art and empty floors? But I digress.
I'm not an educated woman. I'm not a worldly woman. But I know how people work. I'm going to put on my fake Freudian beard for a minute and psychoanalyze this family: The problem here has nothing to do with children ruining their life. The problem, I'm afraid, is that mom and dad are giant tools with a skewed version of fun. They were tools before they ever bred, but it's become more apparent now that they've gone and made themselves responsible for the lives of others.
Children are not Prada bags. They are not a cute new pair of shoes. They are not the latest gadget. The sooner couples stop looking at children as accessories worn by celebrities on all the gossip sites, all the while thinking to themselves 'I would look so good with that diaper bag over my shoulder at the next wine and cheese,' the better. Unless your child wakes you up on Saturday morning and says 'Mommy, I would really like to see the work of Belgian surrealists today!' you might want to wait until date night.
The author makes a lot of arguments, and some of them are convincing: The world is overpopulated. You will get less time for yourself. Children are really expensive. Your career may suffer a little once you become a parent.
But, here's the thing: I worried about a lot of those issues, too. But the minute I held each of those gorgeous babies in my arms the concerns I had paled in comparison. Why? Because I love my children, little horns at all. I hate their tantrums, cringe at their messes, and am perplexed by the excitement I feel whenever my husband and I can sneak off to the grocery store together for some 'alone time'.
Has life changed? Absolutely. Is it hard sometimes? Definitely. Do I regret having children? Not for a second. Sometimes I envy the childless, but it's a fleeting moment. And then Spawnling asks for a plate of 'awfuls and syrup', or Gutsy creates a secret lab under the table with green potions made of water and dish soap, or Intrepid tells me about how he helped a little girl with her reading at the homework club he volunteers at, and that thought vanishes.
You know what frightens me? That the author can create these wonderful - albeit imperfect - little beings and yet regret having them so much that she would write a book about it and even give each of them a copy (Yes. She really did. It's in the article).
You know, just to let them know how much she regrets having them. Better to hear it from your own mother, I guess.
If there's one thing I've learned from browsing this book and reading the accompanying reviews, it's this: Do not have children if you don't want to have them. Nobody is forcing you to and you don't need to give people excuses or reasons why you don't want them. You don't need a book to justify your decisions. Go on about your life and enjoy your free time. Good on ya.
And, if you happen to be a complete narcissist who enjoys the work of Belgian surrealists, you should not have children, either. In fact, you should probably consider removing your uterus altogether just in case. I would not wish having you as a mother on anyone. Just sayin'.
In case you haven't heard her story or don't want to read it as it would take your limited leisure time away from my blog (an understandable concern), I will give you the abridged version:
A Parisian woman named Corinne Maier and partner, Yves, have two children. She describes this scene to The Globe and Mail:
"We went to a family dinner in the suburbs of Paris. It took us a lot of time to go there with the children, and we went because the children wanted to go. We didn't want to go, my partner and I, and it was a bit boring, but we took them anyway," she says with a Gallic nonchalance, strolling across an empty floor in the enormous, art-filled house in one of the better corners of Brussels where she lives in a kind of exile from France with her partner, Yves, 45, their daughter Laure, 13, and son, Cecil, 10.So, not only does she come to this epiphany, but she writes a book about it entitled NO KIDS: 40 Good Reasons Not To Have Children. Since she regrets ever birthing the little ankle biters, she decides to save those who have not yet filled their wombs by offering them many reasons not to breed."And on the way back, the two of us thought that it would be nice to see an exhibition on Belgian surrealists. Once inside the museum, the children began to be awful." Laure said that the exhibition was "bullshit." Cecil began to scream, so Yves took him outside. "And I started yelling at him for this: 'Why aren't you more strong with him?' And we began to argue. We didn't see anything. And at that point, I thought, 'I really regret it, I regret having children.' "
Not only can I find a lot of holes in her 'good' reasons to remain childless (a list of them is provided in the article linked above), but I can also pick apart the catalyst that brought her to her parental knees and inspired her to write the book.
First of all, if you don't want to go out for dinner and your children want to, I have an often unused Ninja Parenting Trick, passed down from the masters. I found it in a secret book inside a secret hovel inside a secret tree knot in a secret forest. It sounds absurd at first, so try to keep an open mind:
Just tell them "no".
I know what you're thinking: Who says "no" to small children, thus fracturing their precious little hearts? However, my sources inform me that they will, eventually, get over it. If in doubt, take the money you would have spent on a dinner for four and put it in a savings account. Then, if they still resent you in twenty years, you can hand them the sum of a missed dinner and other outings you denied them and they can funnel it into their therapy sessions. Ta-da! It's a win/win situation.
And we can all identify the next obvious problem: Who, in their right mind, decides to take children to see an exhibition on Belgian surrealists?
People who are looking for trouble, that's who.
I'm with her daughter: The exhibition does sound a lot like bullshit. And her son started screaming? He probably was going crazy from looking at pictures of apples that look like wooden asses. I mean, is it an apple or an ass? Who can tell? Those Belgian surrealists are freaky people.
Seriously: If you're going out with your kids, take them to a movie. Take them to a park. Take them to a fair. There are also these people called "babysitters" you can hire to watch them when you want to go look at apple asses. Or - hey, wait a minute! - you can leave your children at home because they're 10 and 13. No babysitter expenses required and lots of time to look at crazy art with no distractions. What a concept!
That day was bad because the parents made it bad. They seem to have resented taking their kids somewhere kid-like, then wanted to make themselves feel better by doing something completely un-kid-like - with kids in tow. It's true that their children did not behave themselves; not only was the environment unfriendly, but there seems to be a serious lack of discipline going on, and it's probably been that way for a while. A likely reason why she was yelling at her husband about not being "more strong" with their son.
Not to mention that the environment in their house sounds about as warm as a naked stroll through Antarctica. A big house full of art and empty floors? But I digress.
I'm not an educated woman. I'm not a worldly woman. But I know how people work. I'm going to put on my fake Freudian beard for a minute and psychoanalyze this family: The problem here has nothing to do with children ruining their life. The problem, I'm afraid, is that mom and dad are giant tools with a skewed version of fun. They were tools before they ever bred, but it's become more apparent now that they've gone and made themselves responsible for the lives of others.
Children are not Prada bags. They are not a cute new pair of shoes. They are not the latest gadget. The sooner couples stop looking at children as accessories worn by celebrities on all the gossip sites, all the while thinking to themselves 'I would look so good with that diaper bag over my shoulder at the next wine and cheese,' the better. Unless your child wakes you up on Saturday morning and says 'Mommy, I would really like to see the work of Belgian surrealists today!' you might want to wait until date night.
The author makes a lot of arguments, and some of them are convincing: The world is overpopulated. You will get less time for yourself. Children are really expensive. Your career may suffer a little once you become a parent.
But, here's the thing: I worried about a lot of those issues, too. But the minute I held each of those gorgeous babies in my arms the concerns I had paled in comparison. Why? Because I love my children, little horns at all. I hate their tantrums, cringe at their messes, and am perplexed by the excitement I feel whenever my husband and I can sneak off to the grocery store together for some 'alone time'.
Has life changed? Absolutely. Is it hard sometimes? Definitely. Do I regret having children? Not for a second. Sometimes I envy the childless, but it's a fleeting moment. And then Spawnling asks for a plate of 'awfuls and syrup', or Gutsy creates a secret lab under the table with green potions made of water and dish soap, or Intrepid tells me about how he helped a little girl with her reading at the homework club he volunteers at, and that thought vanishes.
You know what frightens me? That the author can create these wonderful - albeit imperfect - little beings and yet regret having them so much that she would write a book about it and even give each of them a copy (Yes. She really did. It's in the article).
You know, just to let them know how much she regrets having them. Better to hear it from your own mother, I guess.
If there's one thing I've learned from browsing this book and reading the accompanying reviews, it's this: Do not have children if you don't want to have them. Nobody is forcing you to and you don't need to give people excuses or reasons why you don't want them. You don't need a book to justify your decisions. Go on about your life and enjoy your free time. Good on ya.
And, if you happen to be a complete narcissist who enjoys the work of Belgian surrealists, you should not have children, either. In fact, you should probably consider removing your uterus altogether just in case. I would not wish having you as a mother on anyone. Just sayin'.