Russian Mother Heroes (a disconnected ramble)

I've been learning to speak Russian since last October.  One reason for this is having spent some time in St. Petersburg last year, which is without a doubt the most architecturally beautiful and historically interesting city I have ever seen (if you ever get the chance - go, and sit in Palace Square for a few hours after you've visited the Hermitage).  It was disconcerting, though, to wander around the city and not be able to understand anything I was seeing; to not even understand what letters were being used.  I felt like an outsider, and though that's exactly what I was, I wanted to be able to look at something written in Russian and be able to understand it.  Just that; in much the same way as I can look at something written in French or German and have a basic idea of what it means.

I wasn't expecting perfection, which is a good thing as it turns out, because my spoken Russian is atrocious even after over a year of learning.  I'm fascinated by the language, though; listening to it and learning it is never a chore.  Once you know the alphabet and how to pronounce the individual letters (supremely hard in my case as to speak Russian properly you need to be able to roll your Rs.  I can't, and several frustrating and stupid-sounding attempts later seem to point pathetically to the fact that I never will) a lot of Russian words are surprisingly similar to the English.  It's a bit like unlocking a secret code; in one of my early lessons my teacher gave me a list of Russian words to translate.  They looked incomprehensible at first glance but going down the list I realised they were American brand names... "Pi-zz-a...Hut", "Mc-Don-alds" formed themselves as I read.  Great fun (really!)

But anyway.  Another reason I enjoy learning Russian is the little snippets of culture I get when I go to my lessons every week; traditional foods and songs and habits; jokes that don't quite make sense when they've been translated into English and vice versa.  Today we were talking about 'large families' and my teacher mentioned the fact that mothers raising five or more children received a 'Mother Hero' medal from the Soviet Government (pictured below).  The medals ranked from bronze, silver and gold

(gold being for mothers with nine children or more), and you could wear them as proof that you are a 'Mother Hero'.

I found this fascinating, not only as another cultural nugget, but as added proof of the way motherhood is continually rewarded.  I found it odd that women should be expected to aspire to having nine or more children (my best friend has three and that seems like more than enough!) and that these medals seemed to be awarded regardless of how good a mother you actually were.

Not much to note I suppose; not really, except I couldn't help wondering about those women who couldn't have children, or those who chose not to have them.  Being a mother is still seen by so many people as the ultimate goal for a woman; as something my sex was "put on this Earth for".  So much so that you can sometimes feel like you've failed as a woman, or that you aren't living your life to its full potential until you've given birth and "not known such love could exist".

It just seemed to me to be strange to hand out medals (and benefits for that matter) in reward for performing a biological function.  My own mother could qualify for a Soviet bronze medal, but she was not a good mother in the traditional, and the practical senses of the word.  I suspect there are many like her around; perfectly good people but ill-equipped for motherhood.

So perhaps mothers should get medals for the truly good things they do as parents; all the demands on their time; all the mopping up spilt drinks; all the tears they wipe away; all those hours of helping with homework and watching mindless kids' TV.  For the truly good ones I'd pay for them myself.