Confessions of a I-don’t-give-a-shit mom

tiger momSo the other day, Re came back from school, sulking. I asked him what the matter was. He said he was the only child in school that day to come dressed in a uniform when the whole school was dressed in traditional clothes. I had no idea what he was talking about. “But why didn’t anyone tell me?,” I asked, pained that he felt left out, but annoyed that the Whatsapp psychos hadn’t told me.

“You are supposed to check e-campus everyday mamma! It seems it was written on it!’. He was referring to the school website of course, which totally intimidates me. Now, given the time I waste on the internet every day, you might say what’s the harm checking a school website to find out what’s going on? But I find it painfully boring, I really do.

That’s when I realized that I don’t really care; I am just happy that he goes to school every day. When people are holding forth about tiger moms and camel moms and lamb moms, I smile beatifically. Because no one is talking about the I-don’t-give-a-shit moms. So I thought I will share a list things that I don’t give a shit about:

I don’t care what he learns in school. I chose the school only because it has a good arts program and they teach the kids how to swim and songs about science. It was one thing I wouldn’t have to do. Also I look at school as an extended form of daycare, so I am happy with the basics. The more I expect from it, the more I have to do. And I won’t do THAT.

I don’t know the difference between ICSE, CBSE, IG, IB, IGCSE any new boards that may have been invented without my knowledge and frankly,  I don’t care. I don’t think learning comes prefixed with labels. I am still learning although I may have some labels.

I hate homework. Okay let me correct it. I hate that I may have to help with homework. So I pretend it doesn’t exist. My time with my kid is my time with my kid. It cannot be an extension of school time. I have enough trouble being a mother. I don’t want to be a tutor. Besides I would suck at it. Having been a teacher doesn’t help.

I hate it when other moms on Whatsapp discuss homework. I think they are all losers. I really do. I mean what kind of person would triple check what a child says is homework just in order to ascertain that it indeed is? Your kid knows what to do. It’s just that you don’t trust him/her. Losers.

I am constantly nervous that the child will come with a note in his almanac or some circular will be issued from the school that parents have to do a project/make some costume/ prop. I don’t want to be a part of it.

I am really bored of listening to people talking about their kids’ achievements. Like really really bored. Do something yourself and tell me, for Christ’s sake.

I love it when my kid plays with dolls, puts on makeup for them, paints shoes on them, does their hair, adds sequins to their clothes. If you have a problem with it, it’s your problem.

Sometimes I forget the difference between my outside voice and my inside voice. My kid calls me shouty. But then it’s okay, because he forgets it too. So we are even.

I sometimes make feeble attempts to ask him whether he would like to learn ballet, the piano, or tennis maybe, knowing fully well that I will have to sacrifice more hours of writing or doing what I want for it, but then he says no; he already knows ballet. And the piano. I don’t argue. I am relieved and let him be.

I try and redeem myself from time to time by posing as a tree for a play that the child is a part of and wants to practice at home. But that is the exception more than the rule. So don’t typecast me. It may look like I am winging motherhood, but six years down, and I still don’t know what I am doing.


( A version of this post appeared as my column in Pune Mirror on 19th October, 2015)



I’m a hands-on mamma but I keep my hands off homework

Re is learning how to count. And add. And write. From a parent’s point of view, these are too many milestones too soon. I knew it would happen one day or another, but I wasn’t really prepared or ready for it. There are all these schools of thought of when a child should write, and frankly I have no opinion on them. I think there’s a time and place for everything, and I’m in no hurry to find answers.

This might seem like a dichotomy, but I think I am a hands-on parent with very little interest on academic milestones. When the teacher tells me that Re has a great vocabulary and loves working with his hands, creating and telling stories and sharing knowledge, I go oh! And then she quickly goes on to add that he has little interest in written work. I continue gazing at her, unflustered.

People often asked me why I don’t home-school, since I am “doing such a good job” of him otherwise and I feel like saying, yes I am a good mother, but I’m certainly not suicidal. Given that I’m a teacher, that seems to be a very inappropriate thing to say, but that’s how it is. I don’t like mixing mommyhood with teacherhood.

Re has been given 10-12 worksheets which I am supposed to help him “solve” and after putting it off for days, I finally got down to it and shuddered. Wait a minute, I don’t remember my parents ever sitting with me and ‘helping me study’. What just happened here?

I tried. I did egg him on and facilitated a few worksheets (on a train trip, no less) and I lost interest faster than him. There’s a reason we are a team.

We think we are ready to grow down with our children but it’s harder than we think. A part of us is so adult and programmed that we cannot imagine taking ten minutes for what should have taken one. It’s easy to know a seven times table, but much hard explaining it to a child. I know parents who “take their kids’ lessons”, who practically study with their kids, take days off when they have exams and whatnot. I have no such intentions. When it comes to it, I will run. In that regard, I am quite like my parents. I can be your leisure, but I can’t be your school or your work, I will tell Re when the time comes. There’s only so much of me and I’d rather give you the good parts.

When did school become an insufficient place for education and things had to be carried forward to the home front? When did parents start doing holiday homework, projects and whatnot for their kids? Thank god it was different in our times. Knowing my mother, she would have probably said something like I wasn’t paying attention and knowing my father, he would have said don’t you have better things to do in holidays than studies?

This whole thing of parents meeting teachers was also quite alien to my childhood.  My father could barely keep track of which class we were in, and mom’s PTAs always clashed with our PTAs, so in the end, I went for my own PTA and also those of my siblings. When parents meet me now and want to know how their child is doing, I often wonder what they are going to do with the information.

People found my mother’s hands-offness from our studies hard to believe, because she was a teacher; it was assumed that she would replicate at home what she did at school. She did no such thing, because she was busy nurturing herself. She was learning to sew, emboss, paint on fabric, bake and sing in her leisure time. And I’m glad she did. We had so many textures of mom to choose from. Dad was the same. He would potter endlessly in the garden, planting, replanting, collecting seeds, reading up on new species, making files of his numerous paper-cuttings. He was always happy to have conversations about words, places and people, but often, these couldn’t be contained in lessons. He had far too much gravitas to fit into a book.When it came to studies or schoolwork, we were on our own. Guess that’s why we could do life on our own quite early.

So teachers, if you are sending homework my way, I ain’t doing it. I have better things to do.

(This post first appeared as my column in Pune Mirror on 10th November, 2014)