Tag Archives: working parents

Skiing backwards

Years and years ago, I read about a term applied to (or chosen by?) wealthy retired North Americans who ploughed their cash into giant mobile homes in order to overwinter in milder climes. There was  even a bumper sticker for them and their deluxe Winnebagos: “We’re SKIing”, they’d announce. “Spending the Kids’ Inheritance”.

I have no idea whether this is still A Thing, but it was a phrase that kept occurring to me during the years I was a stay at home mother. I felt, a lot of the time, like I was somehow frittering away something due to my children in the future. Saving was way down the list. Investing for their education, likewise. Hell, I was even depriving them of the example of an industrious working mother, with all the benefits I kept hearing came with that.

It was an insistent little niggle, not particularly assuaged by the knowledge that it was a luxurious niggle to have. I knew – I know  – that working far too often confers no such opportunity to build a buttress, however small, against fortune. In our case, though, provided I found a job which paid sufficiently to cover childcare, working would bring financial advantage…or, that whispering little voice kept suggesting, just put the children on a more level footing with their immediate peers.

I’ve written plentifully on here about the fact that having a parent at home full stop is perceived to be of little value. The papers seem to be full of the advantages of maternal employment on children, and study after study proving that they come to no harm through being cared for in a setting other than home. I have no doubt that either is true, provided that material circumstances are such to ensure quality of provision and a levelling of other factors domestically. I just wonder if, perhaps, in the perpetual race to demonstrate no ill-effects, there is a lost nuance of a benefit less tangible, yet no less real? There doesn’t after all, have to be one right answer.

When, half pushed, half jumping, I stepped into what I now know was a career break, it was as if blindfold, with no particular plan and little hope that I could go back to the profession I’d studied and trained for. Almost a year after returning to work, I still can’t believe my luck that it is, for now, working out. It is still faintly incredible that someone took a chance on me, and that I’ve ended up doing something interesting and rewarding, with the luxury and luck of supportive colleagues and near-perfect childcare. Along with the ever-present prompting from my resident Imposter Syndrome, who likes to remind me daily that I’m bound to cock it up soon, is a sense that is all too good to be true.

So far, so me. But what about the reasons for that career break in the first place? Are they thriving, now that I’m gainfully employed? Have I realised that I was, after all, squandering their dues by spending time at home with them? If I am being brutally honest, I think that this was one of my biggest fears when I went back. Fear that they would struggle with the transition, obviously; guilt that I was changing their lives so dramatically. Alongside that, though, a nasty little fear that I might have to admit that I had been wrong.

They are, of course, fine. There has been no sudden dramatic decline in their schoolwork; no outbreak of delinquency (or no more than they displayed previously). We don’t seem to have forgotten each others’ names, and they tolerate or seek out my company in roughly the same proportions as they always did. They are, in some ways, undoubtedly better off: I am better tempered, and marginally (though gratifyingly) more solvent.

Perhaps it’s a bad case of self-delusion, however, but I can’t honestly say that they, or I, were nett losers during the six years I was out of the labour market (excluding the birth of Number 3). There’s a relief, actually, in feeling largely the same. I still have the knee-jerk “It’s a job, love, not a fucking halo” reaction when I hear a particularly egregious example of Busy Working Mum-hood.

Yet how to quantify, how to value, how even to class as “gain” what they now no longer have? There are tiny details of their day-to-day lives I don’t share anymore. There are unscheduled, unlabelled hugs that don’t happen; walks and chats and games  that are replaced now with a briskly efficient-, timed-to-the-millisecond drop off and pick up. There is, on balance, less time – and how do you account for that?

It’s hard to write about this stuff without self-editing. So here come the caveats: of course I don’t think that every mother wants, or should want to, or should take any time out of her career other than that which biology mandates. Of course I appreciate that this whole vexed question is the domain of a relatively tiny privileged minority. But still, I see so many women who, after children, end up in jobs for which they are woefully overqualified, or scrabbling around to make a pittance peddling someone else’s dreams. I hear others who are working because, not to, would close a door forever on something they hold dear. Sometimes it’s a choice. Sometimes, a compromise. Sometimes, it really was the only thing going.

As much as it may sound it, this isn’t an exercise in smuggery. It’s just that, according to every available calculator, I am less than half way through my working life, and those few years out, in the overall scheme of things, don’t seem so much. And I can’t help wonder if my case (thank you, Imposter Syndrome, for as long as it lasts) really shouldn’t be such an exception. This isn’t about the choices people make; it’s about the circumstances in which they make them – and what could make it easier for time out with young children not to be an irreparable blot on a woman’s CV.

We have such a linear view of life, still; such a binary either/or approach to progress and achievement and worth. We’re programmed to stockpile for the future; armour our offspring as much as we can against their own forays into the world. But, perhaps, there’s not one single best way of investing; as we live longer and work longer and move around more, maybe a portfolio approach to building an “inheritance” makes just as much sense as anything else. Much more sense, in a lot of ways, than deeming anything which deviates from school-work-family-retirement as somehow doing things in the wrong order.

It’s an awkward exercise, I imagine, to shuffle a pair of skis in reverse. It’s hard to see what’s coming, and it’s fraught with the risk of capsizing. But perhaps, when you think about it, balancing on planks on snow doesn’t come that naturally either.



Left luggage

The whole issue of childcare has been on my mind again recently.

I’m one of the lucky ones, in that – for now, at least – it isn’t an issue for me. I am the childcare. I’m here to take the children to school each morning and collect them at lunchtime/3.20 respectively. I’m here whenever we get the dreaded call that one of them is unwell. My husband and I no longer have that ill-tempered hissing standoff when it becomes apparent that one or more of the children will have to stay at home; that fraught under-the-desk text exchange as 5.30 approaches and neither of us is really in a position to leave the office in time to get to the nursery before it shuts.

There were other factors at play when I gave up work, but beyond the cost and the quality, the logistical considerations of childcare played a big role in our eventual decision. I may be a stay-at-home mum now, but I have the badges (and the scars) of being in a two-earner household with two children in nursery and no family on hand. I know the desperate tug of being unable to take time off while being unable to send a child in for the day; of unpredictable long days, travel and a partner who is often literally unreachable during office hours and childcare which, though adequate in quality and extensive in hours, just didn’t really meet our (and our children’s) needs.

It’s tempting always to brandish the badges and the scars when talking about work and childcare, but it’s counterproductive. I know well that we were lucky not to have to factor in zero-hours contracts, night shifts, health considerations, public transport or minimum wage pay-packets. That we were lucky to be “we”, and always to have had another parent on hand, no matter how inflexible their work requirements. That we were lucky, above all, to be able to opt out of the whole thing altogether for a few years.

The discussion shouldn’t hinge around the personal, but about the culture of work and childcare which is tending, increasingly, to insist that the latter is there purely to serve the former. Superficially, increasing the hours of school nurseries, for example, from 8am to 6pm to give parents more flexibility, as Liz Truss (among others) has called for is a step in the right direction in facilitating the two (although when we had those hours at our private day nursery, magically, they were never long enough). So is addressing the cost, which for many parents makes working unaffordable. My fear is, though, that the current debate does little to address the fundamental imbalance, the fundamental disconnect that working parents face: having to leave the “parent” side of themselves to one side when working.

Treating childcare like some kind of left luggage facility, where encumbrances can be safely stored out of sight and out of mind while the owner gets on with other things, causes as many problems as it solves. What about the circumstances when a child can’t go to nursery or childminder or school, or where a parent is put under pressure at work to do additional hours? What about the transport crises or other emergencies where no-one gets there to pick up until long after the setting has closed? What about the effect on children of consistently spending almost all of their waking hours away from home, only seeing their parents in small, stressed  segments at the start and end of the day?

The push to get mothers back into work at pretty much any cost seems to be a unified one across all political parties, and I agree that no-one should be disbarred from employment purely because they cannot afford or access decent childcare. Nor do I think that childcare away from the home is inherently bad. All three of my children have benefitted hugely from time spent in dedicated settings, doing things I have neither the experience nor patience to do at home. Childcare alone can only be one part of the solution, though; one part of a balanced approach to childhood and family life.

At present, as a nation, we rely hugely on informal help from those around us to make childcare and work…work. Grandparents prop up many working families, unpaid and largely unsung. Parents who don’t work, or work part-time, provide slack in the system for friends, neighbours and relatives. If we force through expansion and take-up of childcare at the same time as using policy to increase employment among older people and mothers, we must pay  more attention to the gaps around the edges of even the best childcare. We must ensure that employment rights are enhanced to allow parents to leave work or take time off at short notice, to leave bang on time, to be able to prioritise children over deadlines when necessary, to be, in short, a parent, without the taint of being a skiver and without fear of consequence. The trend in employment rights is, of course, in completely the opposite direction, with many mothers in particular finding that having a child pushes them, without remedy, out of the workplace altogether.

Children deserve more than to be treated as a nuisance; as baggage. We can find a way to demand that employers accommodate army service and time as a magistrate. Isn’t it a shame that we seem unable to approach reconciling employment and childcare with the same maturity and determination?