Domestic Goddess or...rather a domestic god, part two.

Well, I did write already a post about the distribution of household tasks in our house. My boyfriend does the same amount of all tasks, if not more. And he is definitely better in cooking.
Actually it became embarrassing. For me.
Just yesterday one of his sisters called asking for my boyfriend rather urgently. I thought that it must be something really important, until I heard their conversation. The sister was asking for a recipe of a sausage casserole my boyfriend made for the New Year Celebration. But if I was surprised and quite ashamed when I heard it (yes, ashamed but read further) I was even more surprised by his reply. “oh, yes, I have it ready somewhere as I've already sent the recipe to Robert.” Robert is the brother of my boyfriend...asking my boyfriend for his recipes as well. Yes, my boyfriend is becoming famous in the world of cooking. The whole family is looking forward to his meals. I am looking forward to his meals: they are comforting in winter, fresh in the summer, absolutely delicious and always with a twist.
But I have to admit that I do have a certain sense of embarrassment. I used to be famous about my cooking as well...long time in the past, when I was still living in Amsterdam and being single. Making food for me was then a sort of creative art, relaxation, opportunity for gathering with my friends.
But my enthusiasm for cooking, as well as for any other household tasks went down drastically...somewhere six months after giving birth to my son. Yes, I did try to play being a domestic goddess for six months or so. I even contemplated during that time to start trying for another baby, become a housewife, spend all my time at home, not work. But these ambitions disappeared as soon as my hormones went back into balance. No, while I do envy women (in a good way) who cry on the streets even when they see puppies and just make one baby after another, it's definitely not for me. Yes, it would have been perhaps easier, - just enjoying some sort of domestic bliss, but no, I always needed an adventure, some intellectual challenge, prove myself somehow, beside being good at changing nappies. If you ask me, if I spend the whole day changing nappies and cleaning the house, - I go mad. I go actually totally insane as practice quite clearly shows. I need to get out of the house. Go to University, study, read, have a discussion which doesn't contain such words as 'cartoon', 'cbeebies', and 'eat your dinner!' Don't get me wrong, - my son and my boyfriend are the most important things in my life, but I realised that I am a better mother and a better partner when I pursue some kind of self-fulfilment, do something which doesn't necessary involve them all the time. And since I realized this fact I did become better at home, I do household tasks with greater joy, and have more energy to teach something my son. Because I know that the next day I will have a couple of hours when I can discuss the relevance of Marx in the current age.
And because of this, cooking stopped being a relaxation for me. When at home I try to spend as much time as possible playing with my son. Cooking is contemplative activity for me, but at this moment I don't have time for it. If I contemplate something, it is usually the deliberation on my part as to when can I get the next trip to Waterstone and stock myself with the latest books.
But not my boyfriend as it seems. He spends ages at looking for recipes, going to shops, trying all kinds of dishes. I really have no idea where it all came from as in his previous marriage I know for sure that he didn't lift a finger...in anything related to household tasks, less in cooking. In fact he didn't cook at all when I first met him. True, I could sense the upcoming ambition when he made his first dinner for me, something French and totally messy, but which showed the potential...the future expansion of his talent.
Could it be that he realised that if we were happy to be together it had to be a partnership? That I would never settle to be a stay at home mom with the sole ambition being, - get enough sleep? Probably, but maybe this was all dormant in him, waiting to manifest itself under right circumstances. Yes, he does everything in the house. He spends his time with the boy, cooks, cleans sometimes and also finds time to read all the books he was planning to read in the past and never had time or desire.
But his cooking does make me embarrassed. I can't compete with him anymore. And if the family asks him for recipes, gone are the days when they would actually be aware that I can cook as well.

A stranger from Starbucks

There is this guy who is chasing me in Starbucks. Not that he chases me directly, but his intentions are pretty much obvious. He wants to chat up me up, or flirt with me, in other words. Probably, he even has some more serious intentions: go on a date, have sex with me, marry me, have babies...who knows really, but his presence at the table right in front of the entrance to the cafe and his smile when he sees me entering reveal the potential...the possible grandiosity of his plans.
I have to admit that he is my type. I do think that he has a beautiful smile, he is well-dressed, reads a serious newspaper (I saw that it was the Financial Times, which actually almost led me to go and ask him where did he find it in Sheffield...almost) and is in fact very attractive. Under different circumstances, in a different life, I would probably be thrilled, I would probably feel fluttered.
I do feel fluttered, of course, but this fluttery is different than to that I am usually used. It is mixed with some sense of annoyance....Will this guy eventually drive me away from my favourite place for coffee? You see, I do like Starbucks, I really like their latte, which is a treat before I go to University and immerse myself into reading about Marx. Not that reading Marx is not a fun activity, but quite a few will probably agree that drinking latte is little bit easier...more relaxed somehow.
Anyway, the guy tried to chat me up already at some point when I was drinking outside of Starbucks my coffee and having a roll. He sat at the opposite table and tried to talk. I say 'tried', because I pretended that I didn't speak English. I just really don't like this experience when a guy tries to flirt with me and I, as a response, open my mouth and say the first thing which comes into my mind: “Actually I am engaged and have a baby at home, nice meeting you, good-buy.” It is the expression on their faces when it drops which sends me into a bad mood. Not that it happens that often, this chatting up experience since I've had my baby. I am either with a pram, or walking in a brusque speed with a list in my hand reminding me not to forget to buy nappies and some food for dinner in between squeezing some hours to work on my thesis, and my book if I have time. My facial expression during these walks in between my house, the shop and university clearly says: not open to flirting. But still, it does happen occasionally, that some guys try to get my attention.
As I said it before, it is, of course, flattering. If anything it just shows that I still look good for my age and wasn't too affected by sleepless nights when my baby was born as well as my quite rigorous routine: work on my PhD, go to a shop, take my little chap for a walk, as well as trying to read for pleasure, have some fun, and smoke a packet of cigarettes a day on top of it. No, I am not yet affected, it seems. And if anything else, why not to flirt occasionally, since the status 'engaged' or 'married' (confirmed by its officialness by the means of Facebook) doesn't say that you can't talk to the opposite sex for the rest of your life?
But as it happens I am a terrible flirter. I was never good at the thing. For me, it was always either 'we become friends' or 'we go to bed together', without the in-betweenness, the romantic expectation that anything else can happen.
So, I do find the smile of the guy little bit annoying. I can't flirt with him and I can't really talk with with him either. Because of his approach (waiting for my entrance to Starbucks every morning) I don't think it would work. So, it's either stopping going to Starbucks or going to his table, sitting next to him and saying 'By the way I am happily engaged and have a baby, wanna talk?' next time I am in Starbucks. Without specifying, of course, that I kind of 'engaged' myself to my boyfriend on Facebook, without realising that it will be taken so seriously by all my friends. It has been two years since I made this silly mistake (we are both, with my boyfriend, are not bothered by all this marriage thing), and have to answer strange questions from my friends, as to when and where will we marry?

Holiday from Hell

My boyfriend, me and our fifteen months old decided to go on holiday to the Canaries, Fuerteventura for one week. We were looking forward to a nice relaxing holiday, taking turns to look after our boy and enjoying nice cocktails in the evenings, as well as nice meals.
The fact that with a fifteen months old you can’t have a relaxing holiday struck as already at Novotel hotel in Birmingham the night before our flight was due. He was so excited by the change of surroundings and some kind of adventure that he kept us half a night awake. He refused to go to sleep, repeating for hours the words he can speak: ‘come, come, gone, gone, mama, papa and Russian ‘poka’ (bye). Normally I am experiencing enormous joy when I hear the little voice of my angel, but not when it’s three o’clock in the morning and you have a plane to catch at seven am.
Anyway, you probably got the picture that travelling with a small baby is hard work. Add to this four hours on the plane, and you probably can imagine that by the end of our flight and the end of our drive to the hotel we were exhausted (all three of us, I might add).
So, we were looking towards having some rest at the hotel before going to the beach. We were also prepared to the fact that the hotel wasn’t that you might call luxurious. We were on the budget, - all our money is tied towards buying a house and all the things which come with the move (such as furniture and the like). So, we booked Las Olas Club I and II, a three star hotel, apparently at a good location but with some bad reviews. We read the reviews before the holiday but decided to go there nevertheless, as common logic told us that you can’t go really that wrong with a three star hotel.
And well, welcome to Las Asshole-Las Club I and II. Hotel from hell.
The fact that our holiday was turning into something else entirely came down to us already at the reception of the so called three star hotel.
“Your room is not ready,” told us (not so kindly) the receptionist.
Right, the boy needed changing and we wanted showers but without any alternative we went down for lunch. We booked all inclusive holiday. Bad mistake as we discovered later.
The selection of food looked all right until we tasted the food. All meat was undercooked and when we saw that it was a barbecue night in the making (proudly announced at the entrance of the canteen, - can’t call it a restaurant, as it looked more like a school canteen), we decided to go out for our evening meal. So, you see, our budget holiday was already becoming not so budget at all.
Anyway, we got finally our room two hours later (which looked all right at a first glance) and went to the beach, which turned out to be a bad idea as our boy hated the wind. So far for the beach holiday.
Okay, skip the beach, let’s have baths instead, - we decided with my boyfriend, as taking baths and reading is our favourite pass-time.
No such luck, as the bath in our room didn’t have the plug.
Right, we take showers instead, - we were not complaining at this point. We just wanted to wash ourselves and wash our baby boy.
The shower didn’t have any hot water.
We went down to the reception, complaining this time. I can have a cold shower, my fifteen months old can’t.
The maintenance man came with a drill to the room, did something to the boiler and finally we could take showers.
We had a meal out and then returned to the hotel to have a nice relaxing drink at the terrace. While I put our son to bed my boyfriend went to the bar to get us drinks.
He came back five minutes later with just one drink.
“They serve only one drink per person”, he explained on his return.
Anyway, once I got my drink we passed a pleasant evening before going to bed.
Surprise, surprise, there was someone else already there. An enormous cockroach greeted us from the middle of the bed.
We managed to chase him out, but the night was obviously spoiled. Half of it I spent on fearing that another cockroach would sneak into our bed, while the other half we spent listening to very loud music coming from the bar (thanks god, the rest of the nights it was more or less quiet).
Anyway, I won’t elaborate further on the hotel, apart from adding that the hot water broke down again on the next day, and the next day and every single day till the rest of our staying, we ate out every single evening (despite paying all inclusive) and had to go in turns to the bar to get our drinks.
But despite being quite a holiday from hell, we did enjoy it. Relaxing it was not (that, with a fifteen months old), but funny (because of the hotel) and sunny.
Only, if you want to book a budget holiday in Fuerteventura, avoid Club Las Olas. Or if you go there, go self-catering, as the location is indeed excellent, - the only positive thing about the hotel.

What happened to my brain?

Almost every evening my boyfriend and I watch a movie to relax with our dinner. We put our boy to bed and then have ‘our’ time, usually two, max three hours, before we both retire to bed.
The other evening when selecting the movie my boyfriend asked me, in rather subdued and slightly irritated tone, ‘romantic comedy, I suppose?’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked.
“Well, you prefer a romantic comedy, right? He answered.
“Not necessary,” I replied while realising that lately, like for a year or so, I have been suffering from what I call a ‘maternity’ brain.
Let me explain. There is such a fact as pregnancy brain, apparently not proven scientifically, but which inflicts, nevertheless, the majority of pregnant women. On my seventh month of pregnancy I realised to my horror that I didn’t care anymore about my PhD.
Now, more than fifteen months after giving birth you would think that the amnesia associated with pregnancy brain would disappear.
And well, the amnesia perhaps does disappear but in return, you get something else. In fact, I often wonder recently, what happened to my brain! The joke my boyfriend makes about my attempts to reread ‘Anna Karenina’ for the last sixth months only testifies about my predicament.
“Are you still planning to read it?” he asks me every time he comes to the living room pointing to the thick book on the display at our coffee table while I am engrossed in the latest chick-lit.
The thing is, yes, I really do plan to reread ‘Anna Karenina’, especially that half way through the book it does become a very interesting read (it’s what at least I remember from my classes at school), but then you have a toddler at home, your intellectual ambitions usually go into the bin.
That’s not true actually, as after giving birth, my capacity to do my PhD as well as desire to do it, returned and quite in force, thank you very much. It’s my capacity to do anything intellectual besides my PhD which has been stuck in the recovery centre.
Let me give you an example. In the past ten months I read almost all magazines for women (such as She, Marie Claire, Cosmopolitan and Prima) and read all books of Sophie Kinsella. She is an amazing writer, but hardly that you can call ‘intellectual’.
I told myself that I haven’t yet gone as low as start watching every episode of Eastenders or reading the celebrities’ magazines, until one evening I found myself watching the last episode of ‘Keeping up with the Kardashians.’
Yuk.
The thing is, once you have a baby and also a job you want to unwind every moment you can. Also when your baby watches a cartoon or is busy with his toys, you can’t start reading something like ‘Anna Karenina’, because your brain is programmed to watch for what your baby is doing and be alert. So, an easy read or watching a soap opera while you are with your toddler (when he is busy, of course, with something else) or when he is napping, is the only thing one part of your brain can manage.
I guess, I have to wait for quite a long time before I reread ‘Anna Karenina’.
Meanwhile, I can't wait for my latest romantic comedy!

What Facebook is for?

Anya is having a fantastic holiday in Spain, Peter is getting married, Samanta is having a cup of tea.
These, as you've probably guessed, are the status updates from my friends on Facebook. As millions of other people I check Facebook every day to see what my friends are up to, I also update my Facebook profile every two moths by usually uploading a flattering picture of myself.
I am not alone, as many people exaggerate their lives on Facebook or portray themselves in the best possible light.
Facebook as never before provides a perfect stage for dramatic performance for its participants, and relates perfectly well to the observation of Goffman that "the world, in truth, is a wedding".
People mainly 'front on Facebook', - they intentionally try to create a certain impression through their pictures, statuses updates, comments, etc. Facebook provides a perfect stage for instant validation, where members have an immediate access to audience for their performance.
It is not unusual for participants on Facebook to exaggerate their lives, make it more sensational and more interesting. Many put only their best pictures on Facebook, put statuses updates about beach holidays, parties and other events that could make one's life more appealing.
Thus, Rob Long in an article in The National (2011) describes his conversation with a Hollywood writer who put in his statuses updates that he was having a sensational and interesting life. One moment he was in a chic restaurant, another moment he was drinking champagne and the next moment he was enjoying his life in LA. When confronted by the author of the article about the fact that many of his statuses updates were an exaggeration, he admitted that he was just performing for an audience, providing content for his friends.
This sensationalization on Facebook reflects in general the culture which "privileges the momentary, the visual and the sensational over the enduring, the written, and the rational." (Turner G., 2004, p. 4). In my thesis about Facebook I draw a parallel between the reality tv and Facebook. Facebook, in my opinion, reflects the tendency in our society to be obsessed with the celebrity culture.
Facebook provides both social contact and relaxation and corresponds to our desire for the sensational. Here, our own lives can become sensational and we become the image makers of our own life. Not only we watch the lives of our friends, which relates to our innate desire for gossip, but we can also present our lives as we see it fit.
Here we can remember what Debord said about our society, it a society where "life is presented as an immense accumulation of spectacles. Everything that was directly lived has receded into a representation." (Debord G., 1967, p. 7) The spectacle for Debord "is a social relation between people that is mediated by images." (p. 7)
For Debord the authentic life has been replaced by representation. "Everything that was directly lived has receded into a representation." (p. 7)
For Debord the importance of life has been reduced into having, - we are driven by consumption and accumulation, and having has receded into merely appearing. Happiness can be achieved through a new car, a new house or fashion, but this is not true happiness, it is just an illusion of happiness. The current life has become the pursuit of commodities where "people's activity becomes less and less active and more and more contemplative." (p. 34)
For Debord people became passive viewers of life instead of its active makers and mass media is to blame for it. We are dominated by contemplation of useless programs about celebrities, where fame or pursuit of fame or having a new gadget has become the main goal of lives for many people. Genuine relationships have been replaced by consumption of friendship where meeting with friends is accompanied by shopping or consumption. Instead of doing sport we watch sport on the TV, where sport itself became the commodity, with sport stars becoming celebrities and new idols. Instead of singing for pleasure, singing has become the pursuit of fame and fortune as demonstrated by popularity of such programs as X-Factor and American Idol. Instead of living actively our lives and allowing for critical thought, we simply spectate.
In this respect Facebook can be seen as another spectacle. On Facebook we 'spectate' our friends instead of meeting them in real life. We are bombarded with advertisements linked to our profiles and posts, and here our life is becoming a mere commodity, where even in profiles we are driven to fill them in according to capitalist logic. Our profiles are dominated by the things we consume, watch and buy.
Is Facebook a new spectacle, a new commodity in the capitalistic society and what will it do to genuine friendship formation?

Creams!

Ah, I love creams! I love in general all kind of pampering products. I constantly buy candles, soaps and the like. And the amount of face and body creams in my bathroom is one of unpleasant topics of discussion with my boyfriend. Actually, it's one of the reasons we still can't buy a house, - I need a big bathroom as well as an additional bedroom to serve as my wardrobe. Yes, not only do I collect creams I also collect clothes, as well as books. Only last month I spent around two hundred pounds mostly on creams.

Two hundred pounds! I mean, how stupid one has to be in order to spend such an amount on face-creams? Let's say that I can afford it, but even in this case, I consider it to be outrageous. Send me to a shop to buy bread and I will come back with a new body cream and ten different candles.

Anyway, even if I've always spent a lot of money on pampering products, I decided to end it. I reckon that I don't need that many face and body creams and I reckon that with a small baby at home, I could spend my money much wiser, like putting these two hundred pounds into his fund.

I've also read somewhere that more expensive face creams don't guarantee a better result. I learned only last month that mascaras are definitely not worse if they cost less. I bought a new l'Oreal mascara to try instead of my usual Dior one and it is the same if not better.

So, I also decided to try L'Oreal creams. I used to buy Dior and Origins creams which cost around forty pounds a bottle. L'Oreal ones cost only around fifteen pounds.
But I still have to try them. Meanwhile, anyone can recommend good inexpensive creams?

Domestic Goddess? Rather not

I am totally not a domestic goddess.
Actually I tried. For the first months after the birth of my son I even considered stopping working and become a full-time mom. I could clearly imagine myself cleaning during the day and baking cakes in the evening.
However, this blissful thinking stayed in the domain of my imagination only. Five months into my maternity leave I could not wait to go back to work. And once I came back to work it became a place of rest. True, for my work I have to read Marx and Weber (which can become sometimes a rather painful process), but then I do like reading Marx and I do prefer it to cleaning the house.

And then I have a serious competition. At home I have a domestic god.
My partner when I first met him didn't know how to make an omelette. However, already on our second date he attempted a seriously complicated dinner which he cooked himself. And this was the beginning of uncovering the talents of which none of us would have a slightest guess.

My partner does everything better than I do. He is a better cook, a better cleaner and a better shopper. Usually all my girlfriends complain about the fact that they can't send their boyfriends for groceries because they always end up with totally different items than what is on the list.

When I hear these stories, I catch myself blushing. In our family, it's the other way around. Send me to the shop and I will return with a bill fifty pounds higher and dozens of pampering products (I am an addict to creams and the like). My boyfriend stopped taking me to the shop with him. Which I don't mind as I hate shopping when I can't buy creams.

Then, he also became a better cook. On Sundays he labours for hours in the kitchen to make a perfect roast, and then I say perfect, I mean it. Take me to the kitchen, and you will be lucky to have burgers and fried potatoes and that, when I am in a good mood.

The same with budgeting. I can't budget and don't do it, but with my boyfriend I could finally start saving and also realized that I probably don't need ten kinds of face creams.

Anyway, my boyfriend is also a better worker. When he does something, he really does it and does it well. Watch me at work and you will see me procrastinating for a couple of hours during coffee breaks before I finally write a page for my thesis.

And this leads me to the following. It is often assumed that women are better at household tasks and should stay at home with children rather than men.
I claim the opposite. Some men are better at being domestic gods and clearly enjoy it more (like is the case with my partner).
But the real conclusion of the story is that I am so lucky to have met my boyfriend.