Alphabet Soup Read online

  How as a mother do I fight that primitive urge to keep my children close and protected at all times? When do I start to let go a little?

  Both of my kids are slowly starting to agitate for change. They are showing small signs that they want a bit more freedom and a bit less of their mum hovering in the background.

  I really don’t want to be a helicopter parent, monitoring their every move and being too afraid to let them out of my sight, or too scared to let them try new things in case they fail. But nor do I want anything to happen to them when they are out of my care.

  There was a study done in 2012 that revealed 60 per cent of parents thought it unsafe for their primary-school-age kids to go to school on their own. The two biggest fears were stranger danger and road safety. The study found that while children worried about strangers, it was not nearly as much as their parents did.

  So does perception match up to reality, or are we being so cautious that we’re hindering our kids’ independence? Are we really breeding the ‘marshmallow generation’? Kids so soft because we’re too afraid to let them get hurt or dirty?

  Maybe it’s because we’re being bombarded with stories of the worst things that can happen. During the blanket news coverage of the disappearance of Madeleine McCann or Daniel Morcombe, every newspaper, TV and radio station, website and conversation with other parents gave us more details. Maybe that’s what plants the seeds of doubt. We hear about so much crime at home and overseas, and not just once but over and over. So we simply think the world is a far more dangerous place than it may really be.

  Or it could be that the consequences are so catastrophic it’s not a risk we are willing to take, no matter how small it may be.

  How do we find the balance?

  Before we let our parents lecture us on how things were in their day, there is no doubt times have changed. But have we gone too far the other way? Is our over-protectiveness only damaging our kids in the long term?

  Play equipment in schoolyards has been modified or taken out altogether and our fear of stranger danger outweighs the actual chances of anything happening.

  The term ‘bullying’ is now used to cover a lot of what was simply ‘teasing’ in our day, which only takes the focus off the real cases that genuinely need our full attention.

  I remember walking home from primary school. I even remember forgetting to walk my younger sisters home once, and Mum racing back to find them safe but crying in the principal’s office. The consequences for me that day were pretty catastrophic!

  I also remember Mum once bringing us home from school to find the kitchen window and front door wide open. She locked us all in the car until the police arrived. Our home had been robbed in the fifteen minutes Mum was gone. Obviously, the thieves knew her routine. This was the late seventies.

  Thirty-five years later I’m a parent trying to find that balance, to work out how much leash to give and when to rein it in tight.

  I’m also aware there are simply more cars on the roads, people are busier and traffic is a nightmare. All it takes is the one that fails to stop as you step out onto the crossing to fill your heart with fear and your mind with doubt.

  So I’m hoping that when the time is right, my children will form a little posse of local kids who can all walk home together—safety in numbers. I’d meet them half way to start with and gradually increase the distance until they travel alone.

  I want them to be strong, independent and resourceful children who also get enough exercise and hang out with kids in the neighbourhood.

  I also want them to be a little street smart and learn to think for themselves. I want them to be aware of what and who is around them and when something is not right.

  But I am also their mother and it’s my job to protect them as much as it is to teach them to fly on their own. And it’s my job to know when they are ready and when they are not.

  They know I would slay dragons with my bare hands for them. Hopefully I have a few years up my armoured sleeves.

  Job Descriptions

  On their own, they are not jobs I ever thought I would be qualified for: psychologist, chef, chauffeur, cleaner, care-giver and cold war negotiator. But I find myself doing all of those things as well as teaching manners, breaking up fights, organising parties, mopping up blood, repairing fairy wings and playing wicket keeper.

  Motherhood is the hardest, most emotional, demanding and rewarding full-time job there is. And I wouldn’t swap it for the world.

  And ladies, when we kick back and relax on Mother’s Day in our new pink chenille dressing gowns and enjoy slightly cold toast, we can be comfortable in the knowledge that all our hard work is actually worth a fortune.

  A group of researchers calculated the comparative professional rates for what mothers do every single day for free. They found a stay-at-home mum is worth about $163,000 and a working mum does about $100,000 worth of tasks on top of her paying job.

  Both roles have risen in value in the last few years as more mums do less outsourcing as the global recession bites.

  But the figures are about as useful to us as a busted dishwasher. Pay or no pay, we keep doing what we do because we have to and we love to. (Ok, maybe the ironing is more need than want.) It’s multi-tasking at its best.

  And we salute our own wonderful mums who showed us the way.

  Juggling

  Some things are non-negotiable, like being present for your child’s first day of school or their annual concert. For special occasions I would ask for an early mark from work or take an annual leave day. Sometimes it’s been a pretty public departure—half way through Sunrise I once said goodbye and dashed. But I’m pretty lucky to have had a boss who appreciates there are some things a parent just has to do.

  My kids’ annual school presentation day starts at 9.10 a.m. The hall is always full of mums and dads dressed in suits who have committed to being late for work that day. Back when I hosted Sunrise I could manage to put in half a morning of work and then leave just before the 8.30 a.m. news in time to join in the national anthem.

  As luck would have it, one year I encountered an accident and I got caught in the ensuing traffic jam. What should have been a twenty-minute trip took me an hour. I was frantic, looking at my watch every two minutes, so I took every back street I could remember to try to get to the school on time—hey, at least I was moving.

  I arrived before it finished, just as the headmaster was handing out the last awards, but I had missed the ‘big moment’. Nick had been practising ‘Tie Me Kangaroo Down, Sport’ for weeks and I had missed it. He saw me arrive and looked so proud and happy I was there, but I was gutted. John had the video camera but it’s just not the same. I felt awful. I felt guilty. I fought back tears as I waved to him up on stage.

  When the assembly wrapped and the other kids had returned to their classrooms, Nick’s lovely teacher saw me standing at the back and knew I had missed the performance. So to the delight of the class I got an encore. The kids got to sing again, the other parents brought their cameras right to the front for close-ups and I got to see ‘Tie Me Kangaroo Down, Sport’.

  We hear endless discussions about finding a work/life balance; I like to think of it as finding my work/life priorities. Many things at home and work are important, just at different times.

  While my kids are young, they are my priority. John and I simply put our family and their needs first. I also have a busy work life with a job that often requires long hours and quite a bit of schedule shuffling. Life is pretty busy right now, but I figure it won’t be like this forever. I always feel stretched, as though I’m not doing everything properly. Occasionally I have a meltdown about it all, feeling simply overwhelmed by the sheer volume in front of me. But after a bit of sleep and a pep talk I’m back on track and able to cope. Sometimes I have to simply work through my list: some things need to be done, while others can be put on ice for a later time. Luckily I have friends who understand and bear with me.

  I also remind myself
that this was a choice I made and what I wanted. I made the decision to have a career and I’ve worked hard at it. John and I also made the decision to have a family and we wouldn’t change a thing.

  That’s why it always meant so much to me to be there at the school gate each afternoon when I used to work mornings, particularly since I hadn’t seen my kids since putting them to bed the night before. And they were always as happy to see me as I was to see them. I felt selfish when they wanted to go to a friend’s house for an afternoon play when I would rather have had them home with me. There are enough afternoons with activities—ballet, footy training or band practice—that I treasured the ones left free.

  I figured they needed a quiet afternoon at home as much as I did. And I know the time will come soon enough when my vote counts less than their friend’s. A social life will very soon take priority over time spent with their mum. As a teenager, so it should.

  In the meantime, we keep searching for the right balance. I now read a news bulletin in the afternoon and again in early evening. So I am there when they wake up and make it home before they go to bed. Weekends are sacrosanct. I still have a great boss who shows his commitment to me by giving me the flexibility to be committed to my family. I have balance and he has a happy and loyal employee who returns the favour with hard work and dedication.

  And it’s not just my boss who has to be flexible. I’ve had the odd last-minute trip away that has seen John just about drop everything to care for the kids. A few years ago I headed to Beaconsfield, Tasmania, with one change of clothes and high hopes those poor miners would be out by dawn. Nearly two weeks later when Todd Russell and Brant Webb made it above ground and I made it back home, John’s boss was one of the first people I rang to thank. He had let John arrive late and leave early, or work from home when he needed to, during that two-week stretch. He didn’t have to be so accommodating, but he did it anyway.

  A little give and take on everyone’s part can make it all work.

  Kids’ Fashion

  I have to admit that I’m a bit of a dag. When it comes to clothing, I’m just as happy in my comfy jeans and a T-shirt as I am all dressed up for work. I’m lucky that not only do I get access to lovely ball gowns and exquisite work clothes, we have stylists and hair and make-up people to make sure the whole thing comes together.

  There’s many a day when I wish Nat and Sonya—two of Channel Seven’s fabulous stylist and make-up staff who work a lot with me—actually lived in my house and were on call. Especially when it comes to my kids.

  Nick is pretty easy these days, but oh-so-woefully unfashionable—and he couldn’t care less. He’s happy wearing the same grubby Dick Johnson Junior Mechanic T-shirt and his footy shorts all weekend long. In fact, he’d wear them every day if he could. And it’s not like he doesn’t have nicer clothes to choose from, it’s just that he loves his sports gear and doesn’t like collars! Go figure.

  Talia on the other hand is already acutely aware of the niceties of dressing up. She will change clothes five times a day to suit her mood and forever wants to make sure her hair is perfect. She even has a Pinterest page where she saves her favourite plaits!

  No nature versus nurture here—Talia loves to watch me being made up or getting ready for a big charity ball. She already has picked out which pieces of my wardrobe she’ll inherit one day (as if Nick is going to fight her for them!) and which ones she thinks will still be fashionable enough for her to wear. Or maybe she’s already planning on cutting them up for restyling.

  She loves to design her own outfits and, with the help of technology, has apps that help her do just that. She has a small mannequin and fabric offcuts and she will play happily with them for hours.

  But when it came to choosing a new summer dress recently, she opted to have her dad take her shopping. John is stylish enough, although he would be the first to admit that clothes and grooming don’t occupy a lot of space in his mind!

  Dutifully, John took Talia shopping for her new dress. They spent hours trying on various ones and wandering the shops together. I saw it as a nice chance for father and daughter to bond. John and Nick have so much in common that it’s nice when we can swap roles and I get to take Nick out and John has time with ‘Noodles’, as he still calls her.

  Then they came home with two new dresses and a pair of sandals. Hmm. I guess that maybe it wasn’t just the chance to spend time with Dad but that she probably figured she could push the boundaries of spoiling more with him than me. Not that I think she planned it that way but I’m sure she knew dads don’t like saying no to their daughters!

  And the dresses? Both lovely and age-appropriate—until the next growth spurt.

  Kochie

  We all have different people who come into our lives at different times and for different reasons. Some pass through, some stay. Some we learn from without even intending to – both professionally and personally.

  I’ve always said that if you can work with people who you genuinely call friends, no matter what your job is, you’re very lucky indeed. And I’ve been very lucky.

  I sat alongside David Koch (or ‘Kochie’ as he’s affectionately known) for most of my professional career and as high profile as he is, as many people recognise the ‘bald head and big nose’ (his words not mine!), it seems he can be an enigma to many.

  The one thing I’ve been asked over the years as much as ‘What time do you get up?’ and ‘What time do you go to bed?’ is ‘What’s Kochie really like?’ Maybe I’m not the most qualified person to answer this, but I have a pretty good insight.

  He works hard. He’s passionate (just ask him about Port Adelaide or the Sydney Kings and you’ll know that!). He’s loyal and decent. And we stood by each other—literally and figuratively—for nearly fourteen years. You cannot do that if there is not mutual respect, support and, most importantly, genuine friendship.

  We’ve worked together on exciting stories, such as the Beijing, Athens and London Olympics. We’ve cried together covering such tragedies as the Victorian bushfires and Queensland floods. We’ve walked into court together as defendants and sat next to each other on planes and talked the whole way. He showed my ultrasound scans to our audience to share the news of my pregnancy, and carried my bags for the next six months. He would check my teeth for remnants of breakfast during the commercial breaks and always make sure I got home safely if we were out.

  In fact, once when we were interstate, the hotel gave us one room at check-in. We had to politely explain we weren’t actually married.

  Don’t get me wrong—we’ve had the odd day when we just got sick of the sight of each other! But that was usually the result of fatigue, a by-product of being shift workers. We’ve never lost respect for, or trust in, each other, or the ability to have a good laugh together.

  I’ve been pretty lucky to have some strong male figures in my life, and Kochie has become one of them. We first started working together when I was 27 years old. Since then, we’ve developed a unique and close relationship borne from a shared passion for what we do. Trust me, there’s no alarm clock in the world that will get you out of bed at 3 a.m. on a cold winter morning if you don’t like your job. We both believed passionately in using the forum of breakfast television to improve things and make a difference. As much as just telling the stories, we always knew we could also be an agent for change. We’ve each championed charities and causes and both supported the other’s.

  I can’t tell you how many times I would be out on a Saturday night and someone would yell ‘Where’s Kochie?’, as though to see us apart was unusual. People often ask if we socialised together much and the answer is no. Quite apart from the fact that we would spend six to seven hours a day together, five days a week, for 48 weeks a year over forteen years, we’re at very different stages in life. David’s children are grown. Mine are still at school.

  Mind you, the moment we would take Sunrise on the road for an outside broadcast we’d always have a team dinner—and still manage to fi
nd plenty to talk about. Sometimes we’d share a little too much, which became embarrassing fodder for the next morning’s show!

  David has a wonderful, devoted wife in Libby who works hard alongside him in their business and raising four intelligent, hard-working, high-achieving children. They are a tight family unit.

  Aside from the odd bit of financial advice, David has taught me a lot about family. He showed me how to prioritise. He has always put his family needs first. He told me to give them my time, outsource if I had to in order to have more hours with my kids. He said having them in the car and driving them to sport was a great place to talk, and he said to keep them busy – they have less chance to get into trouble that way.

  We all gather advice from everywhere around us. Sometimes we take it in without even realising. It’s reassuring to have other families in your life whose standards you admire.

  So if a measure of any man is the family around him, then David is a success. I miss working with him each day.

  Labels

  I don’t know if being categorised or labelled is meant to make you feel better or worse about yourself. I guess it depends which category you’re in, and whether you’re a yuppie, a dink (‘dual income, no kids’), generation X or Y.

  Is the tag ‘Aspiring but Struggling’ something you really want on your name badge when you’re a mum?

  A national conference on motherhood in 2008 tabled a report that lumped mums into six main categories.

  Most of us are ‘Treading Water’, meaning there’s a bit of tension between work and home but we are coping.

  The next group carry the lofty title of ‘Highly Functioning and Fulfilled’. This sounds the healthiest, and most women in this group work slightly fewer hours than their sisters in the pool above.