My Grandmother, here in Australia, raised her children in Adelaide during the war in the 1940's - and she lived the equivalent of a village life.
She too shared with all the women in her area. The streets around her home in a small inner suburb - all of the families knew one another. Skills and children were shared. Until the day she died, my grandmothers' closest friends were those that she had shared her mothering with, indeed, shared life her whole adult life with.
My Mother lived in villages across the south coast of England, with five children, in the 1970's. Village life, where women shared, all the time. Shared recipes, shared meals, shared children, and the care of the children. Shared the work, shared the support. Shared the frustrations and resentments, as well as their pride and joy.
These days, I am lucky to live in a part of Adelaide that closely resembles a village. At our local shops, the children and I are all known by name.
This year, I am committed to making the habit of ensuring that my strengths get shared with other friends with the same frustrations and difficulties and time restraints.
Car pooling for school runs? Yes
Come for a play date and make playdough with your children and mine, whilst I get on and iron? Yes
It also takes a village, I believe, to keep a mother sane.