Reading The Women's Room, fiction from 1977 that paints a really ugly picture of women's lives in the 50s and 60s, I am struck with what a very easy and pleasant life I have. My mom suggested we read the book; one of her friends is reading it as part of a reading group. So far, so good, if not a little much. Nobody's happy. I suppose there are moments of happiness, or at least of relief, but overall, the women seem so unfulfilled, oppressed, and, well, sad. In addition to this novel feeding my obsession for mid-century American socio-realist entertainment, I have become a big fan of the popular Mad Men series, watching every new episode and catching up on the old ones on DVD. The women of Mad Men do a litttle better than those in The Women's Room, but there's still much to bristle at.
I want to know, was it really like this? My mom was a hippie artist type in the 70s, married to my dad, a long-haired pot-smoking guitar god who worshipped her as his "primordial woman," and this stuff was actually before her time. She told me she didn't think it was quite like this for all women, reminiscing about her own mother, who would've been living this life during the period covered in the book, and thinking of her own mother-in-law. Both worked outside the home (one in a canning factory, sad, the other as a milliner and in retail, something she liked) neither were sexually repressed, and both had nice husbands—my grandpas. My mom said she thought maybe it was a New England upper middle class thing, these tortured women. She said our Eastern European people in the working classes in the city were different. I don't know, but, boy is life different for me now than what's described in The Women's Room and what I see on Mad Men.
I live like a queen.
I don't have to keep a particularly sparkling clean home. Although I keep it orderly, basically clean, and bug-free, my husband doesn't really have any expectations of me in this area. Or, maybe I just haven't tested him, but why would I want to? I have a certain standard for my own surroundings, of course. I get to go to the gym, go shopping (I'm not a big shopper, so by this, I mainly mean grocery or house supply shopping or toys), hang out with my adorable one girl child. It's a dream! I also get to work a little bit, earn some money, stimulate my brain and interact with serious adults just enough to keep myself "sharp" with a foot into the door of the "real world." We're not wealthy, but I don't worry about money when I go on my daily stops to Whole Foods for a snack, Starbucks for a smoothie for A and a coffee for me, Walgreens for some fresh playdough or new markers, or Macys for an occasional Clinique treat for myself, or books, books, books from Amazon. Oh, and my husband is not selfish or brutish in the bedroom, either! We have so much and we are so very happy.
Women back then were expected to keep a spotless home (or so it seems) and had fewer modern technologies to help them do so. The "exotic" foods that light up my days (sushi, kombucha tea, chips and salsa, dark chocolates, microbrews...) weren't readily available. I mean, in Mad Men, even cosmopolitan Don Draper admits he's never had Mexican food! Most women had more than one child, increasing the work load and decreasing the magic significantly, in my opinion (but that's fodder for a whole other post, and purely a matter of individual choice). Women didn't get to choose whether to get pregnant, at least not as easily as we do today, with so many birth control options available to us on one hand, and fertility help on the other. Women didn't get to choose whether they were going to work or not, what they would do for work, or when, either.
I realize that even today many women don't have that choice about work. Some need to and don't want to. Others want to and can't get it. And then there are the very lucky, very blessed women like me, who have the rarefied experience of doing just enough satisfying work, on their own terms, and I get to do this while enjoying the cool experience of raising a "perfect" daughter in her early pre-school years from the comfort of home.
I gush about my girl because she is so gorgeous, so smart and so good. She is a genuine pleasure to be around. I actually enjoy hanging out with her, going to the coffee shop, doing art at home, going on outings to farms, playgrounds, museums and such. Sometimes I think a mom who really likes her child is rare, too, and I don't know whether that's just them or their lousy circumstances that detract from the pleasures of parenting.
Anyway, so often I find myself thinking how good I have it and that maybe its not so common to have it so good. Other times, I get into slumps, feeling a little bit of that spoiled, suburban ennui that seems so shameful. I get testy with my husband, thinking he doesn't help enough around here, etc. etc. etc. But, when I look at the whole picture of the world around me, and history falling off behind me, I am struck by what a glorious time in my life these years are, spent basically just chilling out and enjoying life with my small child at home.
Someday, I will have to either go back to work for someone else or build my business. My girl will get older and will want friends other than me. Maybe the fact that these golden years of my daughter's babyhood are but a short stage of my whole life adds to their fun and beauty, and tolerability—knowing I don't have to stay home, forever, with a gaggle of children and do housework, the lifestyle that seemed to ruin so many women back in the day. (But, maybe I would even have liked that, who knows?)
Everything changes. And, I do worry, just for a minute here and there, about what if this all got taken away from me. What if I lost my contract or my husband lost his job? Things would be harder. We'd be OK, but the ease of it all would vanish and I'd have to readjust a few things, for sure. I don't even venture into the territory of worrying about if something happened to my child. That's too scary.
I'm sure I will find plenty of happiness in my future, but damn, are things great for me now, and I just want to look back and remember it in this post.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Friday, October 16, 2009
You don't have to have an opinion about everything
Preamble: I took a long break from this blog because it was making me tired. I was caught in a weird cycle of looking for things that pissed me off online, mostly surrounding children, parenting and "womens" issues, and coming up with some kind of retort. It may not have been reflected in my posts, which, at the end, sort of moved away from that, on purpose, as I tried to have a more gentle outlook.
While I stopped blogging, for a little while, my opinion-spewing continued in the form of comments on other sites, and, in some ways, that was even more exhausting. But, I'm happy to say, I've wound that down alot, too, and have been reaping the benefits of not being so caught up in all this—more time for more productive pursuits and a calmer mind. There were plenty of opportunities to get worked up, on a couple of my favorite online places—Babble and The New Yorks Times' Motherlode had posts on disciplining children, breastfeeding, and the ever-popular "to work or stay-at-home" question, with its many hooks...but I remained on the sidelines for the most part, just taking in all the comments and sighing a breath of relief that I was not compelled to enter the fray. In reading all the comments, it really hit me that most of this stuff is really just a matter of opinion—to which everyone is entitled.
Premise: I've never liked the old saying "Opinions are like assholes—everybody's got one." It's kind of disgusting in what it brings to mind, first of all. Second of all, it's kind of obvious. Yes, we all have opinions. And that is fine. Good, even. It keeps us thinking, it keeps us from being stupid, boring people. But, do we all have to have an opinion about everything?
Case in point: Bill Maher. Much has been made lately about his comments concerning the swine flu vaccine. He basically poo-pooed the need for the vaccine and said that people who get it are idiots, blurting out a bunch on unscientific nonsense along the way. In following the trail of Mr. Maher's latest opining about something he seems to know little about, I came across his previous comments on public breastfeeding.
OK, so why would a guy with no wife or kids who apparently loves titties and thinks America is too puritanical (he's dated a string of models and hangs out at the Playboy mansion, bully for him, I've got no problem with that, it's none of my business) even have an opinion on public breastfeeding, much less take the time on his show to rail against it? Maybe it offends his sensibilities that breasts are for showy sexual pleasure...only? My only other guess is he thinks that "lactivists" somehow downgrade activism overall (for more....important things). In the segment, he says that the lactivist cause shows how "activism has become narcissism" and is "why Al Gore can't get people to focus on global warming unless there's a rock concert." He goes on to say "its why there'll be no end to this dumb war until there's a draft, because at the end of the day Iraq is someone else's problem." So, women who want to be able to feed their infants when the babies are hungry are responsible for the war not ending. Mmmmkay, Bill. He shouldn't even have treaded in this territory. I mean, really, why?
Digression: I'm not big on "lactivism," personally. I mean, I definitely think that women should breastfeed wherever and whenever they want. For me, it was never a problem, except one time in Nice a security guard at the Chagall museum told me to take it outside. Another guard later defended me and said the other fellow was "a very sick man." Go figure. Anyway, I never needed to be a "lactivist", it was just something I did. Breastfeed my baby. Now that she's nearly two-and-a-half, and we are still at it a few times a day, I won't do it in public because she is so big and it is a little strange for people to see this, and because I'm gradually weaning her anway. But, I think its cool if other women want to be "lactivists." What's wrong with tooting about something you believe in that's important to you? Why not? Why should I care if they do this?
Back to the point: I was never a big fan Mr. Maher, nothing is ever progressive enough for him, right? And he's ugly, too. He makes this big deal about "reason" in his movie, "Religiosity." But, his stance on swine flu and breastfeeding pretty much display an utter lack of reason, in my opinion. Sometimes you need to just shut up and focus on your own area of interest or expertise, or you risk looking like a big, inconsistent fool. So, I may be back on the blog, but I am going to try and be mindful of this whole "opinion on everything" trend that blogging seems to beget, and stick to what I know, or what I can offer a truly valuable perspective on.
While I stopped blogging, for a little while, my opinion-spewing continued in the form of comments on other sites, and, in some ways, that was even more exhausting. But, I'm happy to say, I've wound that down alot, too, and have been reaping the benefits of not being so caught up in all this—more time for more productive pursuits and a calmer mind. There were plenty of opportunities to get worked up, on a couple of my favorite online places—Babble and The New Yorks Times' Motherlode had posts on disciplining children, breastfeeding, and the ever-popular "to work or stay-at-home" question, with its many hooks...but I remained on the sidelines for the most part, just taking in all the comments and sighing a breath of relief that I was not compelled to enter the fray. In reading all the comments, it really hit me that most of this stuff is really just a matter of opinion—to which everyone is entitled.
Premise: I've never liked the old saying "Opinions are like assholes—everybody's got one." It's kind of disgusting in what it brings to mind, first of all. Second of all, it's kind of obvious. Yes, we all have opinions. And that is fine. Good, even. It keeps us thinking, it keeps us from being stupid, boring people. But, do we all have to have an opinion about everything?
Case in point: Bill Maher. Much has been made lately about his comments concerning the swine flu vaccine. He basically poo-pooed the need for the vaccine and said that people who get it are idiots, blurting out a bunch on unscientific nonsense along the way. In following the trail of Mr. Maher's latest opining about something he seems to know little about, I came across his previous comments on public breastfeeding.
OK, so why would a guy with no wife or kids who apparently loves titties and thinks America is too puritanical (he's dated a string of models and hangs out at the Playboy mansion, bully for him, I've got no problem with that, it's none of my business) even have an opinion on public breastfeeding, much less take the time on his show to rail against it? Maybe it offends his sensibilities that breasts are for showy sexual pleasure...only? My only other guess is he thinks that "lactivists" somehow downgrade activism overall (for more....important things). In the segment, he says that the lactivist cause shows how "activism has become narcissism" and is "why Al Gore can't get people to focus on global warming unless there's a rock concert." He goes on to say "its why there'll be no end to this dumb war until there's a draft, because at the end of the day Iraq is someone else's problem." So, women who want to be able to feed their infants when the babies are hungry are responsible for the war not ending. Mmmmkay, Bill. He shouldn't even have treaded in this territory. I mean, really, why?
Digression: I'm not big on "lactivism," personally. I mean, I definitely think that women should breastfeed wherever and whenever they want. For me, it was never a problem, except one time in Nice a security guard at the Chagall museum told me to take it outside. Another guard later defended me and said the other fellow was "a very sick man." Go figure. Anyway, I never needed to be a "lactivist", it was just something I did. Breastfeed my baby. Now that she's nearly two-and-a-half, and we are still at it a few times a day, I won't do it in public because she is so big and it is a little strange for people to see this, and because I'm gradually weaning her anway. But, I think its cool if other women want to be "lactivists." What's wrong with tooting about something you believe in that's important to you? Why not? Why should I care if they do this?
Back to the point: I was never a big fan Mr. Maher, nothing is ever progressive enough for him, right? And he's ugly, too. He makes this big deal about "reason" in his movie, "Religiosity." But, his stance on swine flu and breastfeeding pretty much display an utter lack of reason, in my opinion. Sometimes you need to just shut up and focus on your own area of interest or expertise, or you risk looking like a big, inconsistent fool. So, I may be back on the blog, but I am going to try and be mindful of this whole "opinion on everything" trend that blogging seems to beget, and stick to what I know, or what I can offer a truly valuable perspective on.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Finding things in common
My daughter loves to do the Yoga Kids DVD and especially perks up when they sing the Namaste song.
It's very sweet and touching to see her spring into action and doing the bows and saying "Namaste" and so I am forced to think about what this means, again.
And what I think of is how I constantly fall short of recognizing the truth of the word in my life. I often recognize ways I am so different from everybody else. (How teenage of me!) But, isn't the idea of Namaste to recognize ways we are similar to other people? We are all part of the universe and the universe is all of us, right?
Instead of always gravitating to thoughts of how my way is better than someone else's way, but, bless their hearts, they are doing the best they can, I should see ways that we are the same. We both love our kids. We both feel awkward sometimes. We both like a fresh breeze in the summer at a playground. We both like to relax with a cold drink at the end of the day. We both like ice cream. We both hope our husbands love us. We both worry about what our lives will be like when our kids grow up. And on and on. Does it matter who works outside the home, who doesn't, how many kids someone has, whether they let their toddler watch Hannah Montana, whether they breastfeed. All the kiddoes need love. All the people need love. We all make mistakes. We all have victories...and defeats.
Watching my daughter's purity and simplicity and pure joy teaches me every day.
Namaste.
I am you and you are me
I am part of all I see
Namaste, namaste, namaste, namaste
I am the light and the light is me
Namaste, namaste, namaste, namaste
I am part of all I see...
It's very sweet and touching to see her spring into action and doing the bows and saying "Namaste" and so I am forced to think about what this means, again.
And what I think of is how I constantly fall short of recognizing the truth of the word in my life. I often recognize ways I am so different from everybody else. (How teenage of me!) But, isn't the idea of Namaste to recognize ways we are similar to other people? We are all part of the universe and the universe is all of us, right?
Instead of always gravitating to thoughts of how my way is better than someone else's way, but, bless their hearts, they are doing the best they can, I should see ways that we are the same. We both love our kids. We both feel awkward sometimes. We both like a fresh breeze in the summer at a playground. We both like to relax with a cold drink at the end of the day. We both like ice cream. We both hope our husbands love us. We both worry about what our lives will be like when our kids grow up. And on and on. Does it matter who works outside the home, who doesn't, how many kids someone has, whether they let their toddler watch Hannah Montana, whether they breastfeed. All the kiddoes need love. All the people need love. We all make mistakes. We all have victories...and defeats.
Watching my daughter's purity and simplicity and pure joy teaches me every day.
Namaste.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
On mothering and blogging
Well, I've been off and on with this blog about since the time I had my daughter and my opinions and ideas about things have kind of ebbed and flowed in different directions over this time. When I first started I was unaware of all the mommy blogging going on out there because, of course, I didn't follow such things before having a kid. How boring!
Over the past couple of years, I've learned all about mommy culture, mommy wars, mommy this, mommy that, and tried to put my voice out into the ether on this blog and various comment sections of other (far more widely read) blogs in some meaningful way. But, I have pretty much come to the conclusion now that I am bored and/or frustrated with the exercise. I have come across few posters or bloggers who share my ideas/values/style and I go from feeling disdain to pity to indifference to most of them.
I don't care to complain about my child or my husband, because when I sit back and think about my life, it is pretty damn good and I don't care that I have to do a little more housework than my husband or that I work harder in general. That's who I am an I am happy that way. I mean, there is actually a blog out there called "Angry Mamas". Now, I may have expressed passing irritation from time to time in my posts, but I would never want to characterize myself as, in general, angry. My child is healthy, I am well-fed, I have a roof over my head. I vacation—in Europe. I am middle class (not rich). What the hell have I got to be angry about? I suspect that many of these "angry mamas" are probably also doing pretty well for themselves. Those that aren't, who are struggling to make ends meet, have sick kids or jerky husbands, etc. I feel for them. Seriously. This is why I am cutting the blogging about working vs. staying at home and all the other "who's better" kind of stuff (breastfeeding vs formula, etc.).
I am speed-reading Ayelet Waldman's Bad Mother (because it is so good, she is such a good writer and so easy to ready) where she shares her experiences, springboarding off the notion that women are so judged (by other women) and feel so much pressure to be perfect (from society?) that it's just too much and we need to let go of all that. I try to search myself and honestly, I would say that I don't really feel this pressure. I tend to insulate myself a bit and I always sort of do things my own way. I think because I am staying home with my kid and breastfeeding and co-sleep, etc. that I banked alot of personal good will that makes me feel like I am such a good mother. But, if Waldman's memoir is the barometer, then I am a "Bad Mother" too. And she never even mentioned hitting her kids. (I have, I regret it and vow to not do it again. It's wrong.) I bet alot of moms who put their kids in daycare never hit them. So now, who's the better mom?
We all have our shortcomings and our failures and I have many. I guess I just don't think of mothers as good or bad unless they are seriously really bad. Most of us are just trying to get by and my best is different from your best or someone else's best. And our bests differ on different days. So...if this blog is to continue, I think I will shift the focus of the posts to other things. I don't want to be one of the judgers for those women who are a little weaker and feel judged or insecure. (Not that I have hordes of readers, anyway.)
Over the past couple of years, I've learned all about mommy culture, mommy wars, mommy this, mommy that, and tried to put my voice out into the ether on this blog and various comment sections of other (far more widely read) blogs in some meaningful way. But, I have pretty much come to the conclusion now that I am bored and/or frustrated with the exercise. I have come across few posters or bloggers who share my ideas/values/style and I go from feeling disdain to pity to indifference to most of them.
I don't care to complain about my child or my husband, because when I sit back and think about my life, it is pretty damn good and I don't care that I have to do a little more housework than my husband or that I work harder in general. That's who I am an I am happy that way. I mean, there is actually a blog out there called "Angry Mamas". Now, I may have expressed passing irritation from time to time in my posts, but I would never want to characterize myself as, in general, angry. My child is healthy, I am well-fed, I have a roof over my head. I vacation—in Europe. I am middle class (not rich). What the hell have I got to be angry about? I suspect that many of these "angry mamas" are probably also doing pretty well for themselves. Those that aren't, who are struggling to make ends meet, have sick kids or jerky husbands, etc. I feel for them. Seriously. This is why I am cutting the blogging about working vs. staying at home and all the other "who's better" kind of stuff (breastfeeding vs formula, etc.).
I am speed-reading Ayelet Waldman's Bad Mother (because it is so good, she is such a good writer and so easy to ready) where she shares her experiences, springboarding off the notion that women are so judged (by other women) and feel so much pressure to be perfect (from society?) that it's just too much and we need to let go of all that. I try to search myself and honestly, I would say that I don't really feel this pressure. I tend to insulate myself a bit and I always sort of do things my own way. I think because I am staying home with my kid and breastfeeding and co-sleep, etc. that I banked alot of personal good will that makes me feel like I am such a good mother. But, if Waldman's memoir is the barometer, then I am a "Bad Mother" too. And she never even mentioned hitting her kids. (I have, I regret it and vow to not do it again. It's wrong.) I bet alot of moms who put their kids in daycare never hit them. So now, who's the better mom?
We all have our shortcomings and our failures and I have many. I guess I just don't think of mothers as good or bad unless they are seriously really bad. Most of us are just trying to get by and my best is different from your best or someone else's best. And our bests differ on different days. So...if this blog is to continue, I think I will shift the focus of the posts to other things. I don't want to be one of the judgers for those women who are a little weaker and feel judged or insecure. (Not that I have hordes of readers, anyway.)
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
The past is gone...literally.
On my 37th birthday, two days ago, I did something I'd been thinking of on and off for a while. I threw out my old journals. That's probably nearly 20 years of my life's ramblings now in a dump somewhere. Good. Whenever I went back and re-read them, I never thought how cool or creative or interesting I was...I just ended up thinking how pitiful I was. Maybe I was not that pitiful. Who knows? But, I didn't see any value in keeping those reminders of angst-ridden, sad years of trying to figure out life through a boy, art or drugs around anymore.
My life is pretty "settled" now, and I actually haven't written regularly in journals like I used to for...hmm...longer than I have been married, which is six years. I have still felt angst, recently, actually, but am ready to be rid of it. I know what I need to do so now I am just going to do it. The angst may still be there, the uncertainty will be, too, but I can find some peace by embracing spirituality in the universe and my place in that, rather than the self, self, self that I was so absorbed in for so many years.
***
I look at my daughter's face and into her eyes. She is so beautiful. There is such a cleanness and purity to her and I am struck with the notion that she is very special. She will be something important. She will do great things. And I wonder if my mother thought this of me and whether all parents think this of their young ones...and I think of how much of a "nothing" I actually am now as an adult. And it gives me pause. I am not pure. I am not clean. My skin in blemished, burnt, wrinkled. My body has fat and sags in places. My teeth are yellow. My hair is dry. I have done bad things. I have hurt people. My brain is scrambled. I strive. I fail. I grasp. I lose. How far have I fallen from the perfection of my babyhood when my mother must have gazed at me in wonder? Yet, she is not disappointed. I know this because I know my mother and because she tells me she is not disappointed. In fact, she tells me how wonderful I am, and special. Still. Amazing. Of course, we are all our own worst critics. Perhaps that's how it should be. So, I know, that in order to "save myself" in order for me to go forth in my life, getting older, getting further from the purity and perfection, in order for me to maybe, maybe have a chance at something good, something important, I have to give up my notion of what is good and what is important. I have to give up my ideas about gain and the self. Because that stuff does not matter. I have to savor the here and now.
***
Breathing in, I calm my body.
Breathing out, I smile.
Dwelling in the present moment,
I know this is a wonderful moment.
***
Breathing out, I smile.
Dwelling in the present moment,
I know this is a wonderful moment.
***
And life is just a string of moments, no?
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Of babies and bathwater
OK, so this is one example of the kind of annoying voices of feminism out there that I reference in my last post. It seems so petty and so desperately clawing to "save one's identity".
Katie Roiphe writes on the new Double X website from Slate about why women shouldn't use their kid(s)' image as their Facebook avatars. She writes:
Sigh.
I know these writers have to come up with new ideas for articles all the time, but this is why I have to STOP reading these things. They are just so ridiculous.
Maybe the women are just proud of their kids. Maybe they are fat and ugly and not comfortable with their own picture. Or maybe they are beautiful and still not comfortable with their own picture. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.
One of my Facebook friends actually had a picture of her nieces and nephews instead of herself. So? Maybe she thinks they are cute.
What about people like me who have a picture of me with my kid? Where's my husband? Uhm, he was the man behind the camera.
What about those people who don't bother to upload a picture at all, but keep the Facebook blue and white head silhouette? Do they have no identity?
Who cares!
Like so many of the commenters said, it's just Facebook. Some of my favorite other comments:
But, alongside all her petty annoying bullshit, Roiphe made some interesting points about how parents may have become a little too doting or child-centric:
Katie Roiphe writes on the new Double X website from Slate about why women shouldn't use their kid(s)' image as their Facebook avatars. She writes:
What, some future historian may very well ask, do all of these babies on our Facebook pages say about the construction of women’s identity at this particular moment in time?
Sigh.
I know these writers have to come up with new ideas for articles all the time, but this is why I have to STOP reading these things. They are just so ridiculous.
Maybe the women are just proud of their kids. Maybe they are fat and ugly and not comfortable with their own picture. Or maybe they are beautiful and still not comfortable with their own picture. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.
One of my Facebook friends actually had a picture of her nieces and nephews instead of herself. So? Maybe she thinks they are cute.
What about people like me who have a picture of me with my kid? Where's my husband? Uhm, he was the man behind the camera.
What about those people who don't bother to upload a picture at all, but keep the Facebook blue and white head silhouette? Do they have no identity?
Who cares!
Like so many of the commenters said, it's just Facebook. Some of my favorite other comments:
To me it sounds like someone is trying to invent ways to be even more superior to her equally-educated female peers....
I don't know who this writer is but I have to say that I take offence at the idea that wearing sneakers every day and forgetting to get your hair cut makes a woman dowdy and invisible. To be honest I would feel at lot more dowdy and invisible having to stick to the ancient "etiqutte" rules that say a woman has to wear neat court shoes, have a neat manageable haircut and a pretty frock to be someone. I thought feminism was all about having freedom to express yourself even in the way you look or don't look. It strikes me that this writer has a very narrow view of what women should and should not do. It's like going back to the 1950s for god's sake...
...my problem isn't with people who do or do not use whatever picture they choose, or how they express their identity. It's that the article reinforces the notion that they 1)pick the kid's picture because they value being a parent above something else and 2) that this is wrong. If (the hypothetical) she had posted a picture of her dissertation would we be having this discussion? No. WHY? That's what you keep jumping away from. The why of how we view certain accomplishments as more valid, specifically because they are traditionally male accomplishments.
But, alongside all her petty annoying bullshit, Roiphe made some interesting points about how parents may have become a little too doting or child-centric:
Our parents, I can’t help thinking, would never have tolerated the squeaky sneakers, or conversations revolving entirely around children. They loved us as much as we love our children, but they had their own lives, as I remember it, and we played around the margins. They did not plan weekend days solely around children’s concerts and art lessons and piano lessons and birthday parties. Why, many of us wonder, don’t our children play on their own? Why do they lack the inner resources that we seem to remember, dimly, from our own childhoods? The answer seems clear: because with all good intentions we have over-devoted ourselves to our children’s education and entertainment and general formation. Because we have chipped away at the idea of independent adult life, of letting children dream up a place for themselves, in their rooms, on the carpets, in our gardens, on their own.I would argue with her last sentence a bit, though, and wonder if people weren't trying to overcompensate for a day-to-day lack of involvement in their kids' lives. If they choose to, or are forced to, leave them with caregivers all day, or for more hours than they are comfortable with, perhaps they are compelled to "make it up to them" in other ways. (I am not judging whether they should feel this way or not, just making an observation that they might.) As a work-at-home mom who is basically on 24-7, I don't have so much guilt and so much drive to do so much for my toddler. I feel like I deserve the break and the treat. Because I do! From my perspective, kids do need to be allowed—trained even— to play on their own and spend time cultivating independence. Sadly, this more interesting discussion gets lost in Roiphe's petty Facebook/identity blurb.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
If a problem has no name, is it really a problem?
Lately, I've been mentally bogged down by a morbid interest in feminism—what it is, what it isn't, what it means to me. I've come to the conclusion that I can't care anymore. I often feel angry and bored, but it's not because of any patriarchal agenda or oppressive system. It's because it is a real challenge to deal all day long with a little person who is learning what free will and independence is (while at the same time being clingy). It's damn hard. My husband says he understands, but he doesn't have to live it. It's not his fault that he doesn't have to do it and I do. I chose to stay home with my kid during her early years. I could have put her in daycare after my 16 weeks of leave (DC FMLA is relatively long). But, I didn't. We didn't need the money and it seemed like the right thing to do. More than seemed like it. I have, still, strong convictions that it is the right thing to do. But, it is damn hard.
I think this thing of staying at home with a kid drew me into reading about feminist issues because of all the "mommy war" debates about working vs. staying home, how long to breastfeed, etc. etc. etc. Somehow feminism creeps into all these things. I think maybe those women who can't take it, can't take the staying home with the young kids might sometimes use the high-minded concepts of feminism to justify their working. They are doing what's important for womankind, for their identities and all that. They are not throwing away all the years of hard work of the women who have gone before, like Betty Friedan who famously examined the housewife's ennui and yearning for something more—a "problem that has no name." Of course, many other women have to work for financial reasons (or believe they do).
But, back to this problem that has no name. I got to thinking, if you can't name the problem, is it really a problem? Is the boredom or sense of being adrift just a symptom of being "spoiled" or part of the disease of our contemporary consumer culture? It sounds like alot of what Betty Friedan describes in her first chapter of The Feminine Mystique is related to having things too easy and too tied into material goods and status. She writes about a change that occured in the mid-20th century, from a time in the earlier part of the century, the 20s, where more women actually went to college and a century earlier had fought for the right to higher education. So what happened? A war. Commercialism. Why did women let it happen? Why did they let things be taken away from them? Everyday men were just pawns in the game like women. All this seems so far removed from my reality now. I sit and wonder whether there was really a single problem that united women, or rather just a bunch of individual problems.
When can we ever rest? When will it be enough? I read so much online that claims to be "feminist" which says nothing to me about my life. And I am a woman. The voices that call for this policy or that policy, that complain about not enough of this or that, always uttering some kind of discontent, some slight, they sound so...tired. And they make me tired trying to keep up with them all and formulate my opinion. Meanwhile, my child is growing up and I'm missing it. My husband is living a parallel life alongside me and I've drifted from engagement with him because my mind has been embroiled in all...this.
It was made worse when I watched Revolutionary Road on the plane from Barcelona and was so moved and impressed by it. I was ashamed to identify ways in which I saw I was similar to the crazy lead woman, April Wheeler. Til she got progressively more crazed, then I breathed a sigh of relief. I found myself feeling sorry for her husband, who did cheat on her, but who seemed desperately to just want their little life to be OK. She wanted more. But, couldn't she find happiness in her children or her husband, or reading books, or making gourmet meals, or painting, or masturbating, or martinis? I mean, what you don't allow yourself to enjoy in your own private life has little to do with cultural mores and more to do with your own hangups or pathological discontent, doesn't it? Now I am reading the book. It doesn't have to be about just feminism, although that aspect of it can't be denied. A Huffington Post blogger says, "Revolutionary Road shows what life was like for women before feminism. It's an important history lesson from the not too distant past. Watch it and read The Feminine Mystique and be thankful that there was a feminist movement or who knows what life would be like now." Still, I have my doubts about the degree to which feminism was part of Richard Yates' intended message. There's the whole ball of wax about what matters in life and what doesn't, transcending suburbia, holding on to the idea that you're meant for something more—and all of these things can be felt by both men and women.
My answer is a spiritual one. The only way I can survive is to break into meditation in the things I do. Of course, on the surface it may be mind-numbing to do housework or play with a toddler. (I do have my consulting work to "escape" to, and countless books and websites, too...but still...) When you can see beyond the surface of a "task" or activity—the pattern of the rug you're cleaning, the beauty of the wood grain you're polishing, the leaves dancing on the trees outside, the blue, blue sky, the sparkle in the toddler's eyes as she proudly identifies orange, red, blue, green, her voice as it now forms sentences, the sweet creaminess of homemade salt caramels, the bold zestiness of homemade salsa—you can groove on these "mundane"' things and they can make a life. The longing for your husband's scruffy kiss after his day away...I could go on and on. It doesn't have to be all bad. It doesn't have to be a problem.
Of course, I am living in the 21st century and I have the world handed to me on a platter, practically. It must have been different for women before. I have to live my life in the here and now, though. We don't have tons of money. We probably aren't rich by American standards at all, and yet I want for nothing material. My life is pretty good, actually, and feminism is, frankly, a buzzkill.
I think this thing of staying at home with a kid drew me into reading about feminist issues because of all the "mommy war" debates about working vs. staying home, how long to breastfeed, etc. etc. etc. Somehow feminism creeps into all these things. I think maybe those women who can't take it, can't take the staying home with the young kids might sometimes use the high-minded concepts of feminism to justify their working. They are doing what's important for womankind, for their identities and all that. They are not throwing away all the years of hard work of the women who have gone before, like Betty Friedan who famously examined the housewife's ennui and yearning for something more—a "problem that has no name." Of course, many other women have to work for financial reasons (or believe they do).
But, back to this problem that has no name. I got to thinking, if you can't name the problem, is it really a problem? Is the boredom or sense of being adrift just a symptom of being "spoiled" or part of the disease of our contemporary consumer culture? It sounds like alot of what Betty Friedan describes in her first chapter of The Feminine Mystique is related to having things too easy and too tied into material goods and status. She writes about a change that occured in the mid-20th century, from a time in the earlier part of the century, the 20s, where more women actually went to college and a century earlier had fought for the right to higher education. So what happened? A war. Commercialism. Why did women let it happen? Why did they let things be taken away from them? Everyday men were just pawns in the game like women. All this seems so far removed from my reality now. I sit and wonder whether there was really a single problem that united women, or rather just a bunch of individual problems.
When can we ever rest? When will it be enough? I read so much online that claims to be "feminist" which says nothing to me about my life. And I am a woman. The voices that call for this policy or that policy, that complain about not enough of this or that, always uttering some kind of discontent, some slight, they sound so...tired. And they make me tired trying to keep up with them all and formulate my opinion. Meanwhile, my child is growing up and I'm missing it. My husband is living a parallel life alongside me and I've drifted from engagement with him because my mind has been embroiled in all...this.
It was made worse when I watched Revolutionary Road on the plane from Barcelona and was so moved and impressed by it. I was ashamed to identify ways in which I saw I was similar to the crazy lead woman, April Wheeler. Til she got progressively more crazed, then I breathed a sigh of relief. I found myself feeling sorry for her husband, who did cheat on her, but who seemed desperately to just want their little life to be OK. She wanted more. But, couldn't she find happiness in her children or her husband, or reading books, or making gourmet meals, or painting, or masturbating, or martinis? I mean, what you don't allow yourself to enjoy in your own private life has little to do with cultural mores and more to do with your own hangups or pathological discontent, doesn't it? Now I am reading the book. It doesn't have to be about just feminism, although that aspect of it can't be denied. A Huffington Post blogger says, "Revolutionary Road shows what life was like for women before feminism. It's an important history lesson from the not too distant past. Watch it and read The Feminine Mystique and be thankful that there was a feminist movement or who knows what life would be like now." Still, I have my doubts about the degree to which feminism was part of Richard Yates' intended message. There's the whole ball of wax about what matters in life and what doesn't, transcending suburbia, holding on to the idea that you're meant for something more—and all of these things can be felt by both men and women.
My answer is a spiritual one. The only way I can survive is to break into meditation in the things I do. Of course, on the surface it may be mind-numbing to do housework or play with a toddler. (I do have my consulting work to "escape" to, and countless books and websites, too...but still...) When you can see beyond the surface of a "task" or activity—the pattern of the rug you're cleaning, the beauty of the wood grain you're polishing, the leaves dancing on the trees outside, the blue, blue sky, the sparkle in the toddler's eyes as she proudly identifies orange, red, blue, green, her voice as it now forms sentences, the sweet creaminess of homemade salt caramels, the bold zestiness of homemade salsa—you can groove on these "mundane"' things and they can make a life. The longing for your husband's scruffy kiss after his day away...I could go on and on. It doesn't have to be all bad. It doesn't have to be a problem.
Of course, I am living in the 21st century and I have the world handed to me on a platter, practically. It must have been different for women before. I have to live my life in the here and now, though. We don't have tons of money. We probably aren't rich by American standards at all, and yet I want for nothing material. My life is pretty good, actually, and feminism is, frankly, a buzzkill.
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