Sound Advice for the Dental Hygenist, the Community College Teacher, the Receptionist, the Middle-Manager, the Director of a Not For Profit?

The Matron thinketh this the height of blindness to the reality of most women, who don't have the luxury to 'just say no' to work.    The Salon interview hints at such blinders,  but treads softly where the Matron would stomp and scream:  OMIGOD you are so lucky you have no idea what it means to worry about the mortgage!

Please, don't misunderstand her.  The Matron longs for and heartily approves of a culture in which nobody is required to work 60 hours a week -- she's of the more leisurely European bent of substantial summer vacation or the reduced work week, for all.  But in the current system and climate, the idea that the afore-linked book will actually help the majority of working women in this country?  Puh-leeze.

But she understands the anxieties pulling the authors to their conclusions:  women not only want more time with their children and extended families, they need more time because -- progress marches on but  is not winning any races, folks -- most women still do more work on the homefront than men.

The Matron thinks that Historiann offers a better, more realistic solution -- the whole get a wife thing.  And the nice part of this piece is that after the pithy punch line, hooking up wifely and all that, comes a real description of what sharing the Mother Lode (traditional female work) might look like.

The Matron, typing this post at a coffee shop while Scarlett is at yet another Theatrical Endeavor, was pleased to see that some - not allr -- that some elements of her marriage strongly resemble Historiann's vision.    At this very moment, John will be returning home from the elementary school with Merrick where he will  check in with Stryker about homework, and facilitate dinner.  

But guess who still sends out all the birthday cards, knows where the dog leash is at all times, and thought to bring Scarlett jewelry-making wire just before she ran out?   You know what she means here.    

Here's where the Matron will go out on a limb.  She thinks women who are wives/partners and mothers in heterosexual relationships downplay or diminish how much more domestic work they do than their partners  precisely because men now do so much more than they ever have historically.  And that's terrific.   Everyone's relationship is all groundbreaking and celebratory in that regard, looking back.  But looking forward?  The Matron isn't satisfied, at least in her sample cohort of --- oh, all current sociological studies and her own critical mass of women folk.  Most women shoulder the heavier domestic burden, even if their work/professional situation would warrant a lighter load and more equitable distribution.

Marching forward, friends.  Marching forward.  

Lessons for Girls: Don't Peak Early

The Matron is going to hoist herself on the meme bandwagon--only because this is a meme of merit, which started with Historiann's first lesson for girls. She was followed with pith and wisdom from Dr. Crazy, Professor Zero, Sutton, Undine, Exile in Academia, Geeky Mom (oh how the Matron agrees with this!), and Squadratomagico.

Lesson for Girls #10: Don't peak early.

Let's start with a story. When the Matron was but a Young Miss, oh, in the 14 or 15-year-old ballpark, she wanted to be Deirdre Garner---the super star of 10th grade. You knew the girl. Your school had one. This one was beautiful. Blond. Her father owned a successful local business which meant that Deirdre had too many pair of Levis to count and the best of everything else. Cheerleader, student council, choir, band, track and swim team. There was nothing that Deirdre could not do and nobody who wouldn't pay to walk in her wake.

Young Miss remembers sitting in a desk a few rows behind Deirde, pining. There was something so deft about her movements, so winning, so sure. And she was pretty! The dimple, the quick smile! Whereas Young Miss felt herself a bumbling mass of uncertainty, Deirde flourished, firmly rooted and secure as the center of senior high.

Young Miss wanted some of that confidence for herself.

Until the day that Herr Ewing asked Deirdre to conjugate a verb in German class: wollen. Young Miss was admiring the way Deirdre screwed up her face to concentrate. How she wiggled her pen and squinted. Adorable. The way Deirdre so cutely shrugged her shoulders and said: "I don't know."

Over the next few minutes, an increasingly alarmed Young Miss tried to send Deirdre the answer via ESP. She tried to radiate across the aisles: ich will, ich wollte, ich habe gewollt, du willst, du wolltest, du hast gewollt. . and so on.

But nothing happened. Deirdre exited a puddled mess, after an agonizing effort in which she demonstrated not even the most rudimentary understanding of concepts she'd been supposedly studying for two years. The teacher simply did a mercy killing and moved on.

Young Miss's entire world spun on its axis and did a Major Planetary Reaslignment: Deirdre was not smart. Young Miss was! And being smart was much, much better.

Young Miss's desire to trade assets with Deirdre were forever lifted that fateful day. Deirdre did indeed peak early. She got pregnant her junior year in high school, took a job at Wal-Mart and that was sort of that.

Unfortunately, women in this culture are primed to peak early because we're most valuable when we're sexual players. Hot. The object of the Male Gaze, all that. We're supposed to develop and work our assets, and in most cases that does not mean the brain.

The Matron can think of many examples of the female body as the path to success, but the one sitting on her desk will suffice. Every month, Vanity Fair opens its "Vanities" section with a portrait of a ripe young actress, about to take off.


These young women are invariably presented as about to burst on the scene, about to arrive---indeed, the first page of the Vanities assumes a star to soar, a career to start peaking. The Matron wonders why she cannot think of a single man who's been on that page! Maybe because there hasn't been one? Or so few because it is a woman who is going to peak when she's sexually ripe and the man who peaks on the rim of life accomplishments?

Just ask Susan Sarandon or Jessica Lange -- or the Matron. The power and appeal of the female body diminishes with age, and so do the social (problematic but real) rewards for having the type of body the culture values. Rely on your physical appearrance for life's goodies---recognition, success, confidence, achievement --- and you will find yourself washed up against that shore of age, without recourse. A well-fueled brain and sense of justice constitute a much stronger lifeboat: they can carry you for decades.

Drop Everything and Read

Lessons for Girls!  Sheer brilliance. . . the Matron is an instant regular reader.  She'll do a real post later but had to share the find.  She knows you'll love it!  Here's the site's home page.

The Mommy Wars?

Monday, Suburban Correspondent weighed in with her very smart response to the Matron's post about housecleaning. And who does more. Which would be the Matron.

One of the best things Suburban said was this: "most of us do not believe that women who take care of their homes and their children full-time already have a job."

Hot dang, clanged the Matron! This is righteous feminism, the good stuff rolling in 'round the middle of the last century when women pointed out the fact that raising children, cooking, cleaning, managing the extended family, shopping, and tending to all the tender psyches within a ten mile radius actually constituted legitimate labor.

Motherhood and household management create a full-time job --one we all share.

Now, Suburban also used the phrase "the Mommy wars," noting that she this was one flame she did not intend to fuel. The Matron understands that dear Suburban did not invent this term, simply deployed it, as many of us do.

But who is waging this battle? The Mommy wars?

First, let us cringe at the phrase itself. The use of the phrase "the Mommy wars" immediately diminishes any legitimate issue at hand. The Matron does not allow pediatricians or nurses to refer to her as "mom" and she does not think that the larger social issues wrapped up in a woman's choices (or lack thereof) regarding work and child-rearing should be linked to the word "mommy." We are women. Women. But that's a harder, scarier word with different, less necessarily nurturing, connotations.

The Mommy wars also has a back-fence feel, a cat fight around the corner, the plight of the individual woman at hand as opposed to a complex set of social, economic and political forces that engage us all.

In her book, Perfect Madness, (okay, the Matron linked that book to her own review rather than the book itself!) Judith Warner tracked how the American impulse toward, and reverence for, individualism affects mothers. We feel all alone out here, and we are. There's no universal daycare, no social security or salary for full-time mothers, no certainty that public education is adequate and safe.

In sum, to the Matronly mind, "The Mommy wars" diminishes and individualizes complex social issues regarding work and child-rearing. But let's step away from the phrase itself and explore the content: the 'war' women are waging as mothers.

Sniff, sniff? The Matron smells no gun powder.

While The New York Time Magazine discusses Emily Gould and the snarky world of Gawker, the little world of women blogging about motherhood, work, and life is an entirely different, completely pleasant planet.

Comments are all: "you are so wonderful" and "I'm sorry you had a bad day: if I was there I'd make you a cup of tea" or "Let me tell you what I did when my three year old punched his preschool teacher, maybe that will help?"

Indeed, so strong is this culture, so powerful, that the Matron hesitated over Suburban, was sure to remove this woman from any critique of the phrase itself, to not in any way wag her finger at her bloggy friend for using the phrase. Because the Matron? She did not want to hurt anyone's feelings.

Cheri at Blog this Mom is a good example of this culture. In two years, her blog has gotten ONE mean-spirited comment! Even the edgier, institutionalized and commercially-inclined Dooce and Her Bad Mother brim with girlfriend, Mama-Love! We women online mail free gifts to strangers, routinely, with various blog give-aways; we heart blogs and women we love. Nobody is fighting. In fact, we are all running over to Mrs. G's Women's Colony.

Indeed, at first this puzzled the Matron! Trained as a literary critic, she wanted to seize and pounce, to deconstruct one post and laud another. But she soon saw that the glue that bound the blogosphere was not one of witty word or being more clever than someone else, but of real women (mostly) and feeling-- of support and sharing, not ripping apart like an academic article or book review. (even though she still sometimes gets competitive and grumpy when she compares her prose to some of the very famous and thinks that her words have verve, snap and sparkle and shine just as much and maybe sometimes little bit more but she's not supposed to notice and point this out, which she just did anyway, rebel!)

Mommy wars? Not in this blogosphere.

Feminist Studies

The Matron's higher degrees include minors in Feminist Studies. One of her favorite articles construed marriage as nothing more or less than the economic exchange of women between men, just like property or gold.

How much did the then Youngish Miss adore said theory and articles supporting? She felt compelled to reference that theory in her own wedding -- and not casually, on the side, during a conversation. Oh noo, she worked that whole 'historic economic exchange of women' (those words precisely) into the actual goddamn ceremony. Now that's writing talent. And nerve. And. . . you fill in the blank(s)!

So. . . in the wedding ceremony there were first the 60 seconds of silence for the gay and lesbian friends who were not allowed to marry, followed by the proclamation that historically, marriage may have been one raw deal for women, shuttled from father to husband. But the union ahead? The nuptials of Youngish Feminist Miss and her chosen?

R.E.V.O.L.U.T.I.O.N

Today, she sometimes stands stock still (with three backpacks over one shoulder, purse slung on the other, green basket from van full of bowls, grapes, half-eaten bagels, library books, homework assignments requiring parental signature and bag of groceries in another while Merrick inquires about the status of his after school snack?) in her own life and wonders: "How did this happen?"

Digression!

That ceremony with the nod to gay/lesbian rights and the short but very sharply-done treatise on the history and significance of marriage with a Marxist-Feminist slant? Normally, one just hires a judge, any old judge. But the first THREE judges who read the Young Miss's Left Wing Love Song, turned down the job!

So she shopped that thing, just like a novel, and some lovely lefty judge said this: "That is the best ceremony I have ever read!"

On Wednesday, the Matron and her beloved celebrate 13 years of marriage, preceded by four years of living in sin (according to her mother-in-law and probably her own mother whose opinion on this matter she has yet to seek).

That would be 13 years of observing the strange and, yes, sometimes discouraging, divergence between philosophical/political conviction and actual life. As one of her dear friends reminded her just last week, throughout history, women do more domestic work than men. Give it up, girlfriend.

(and because she is lazy this way, the links above were just the first two google finds! There were many many more)

Yesterday's graduation party offered the Matron a cleaning, cooking, serving, socializing, cleaning marathon. She whipped on her best apron and damn near flew out of the gate!

This is the house in which the Matron entertains -- and cleans!



The back view allows for a fuller understanding that there are 2800 square feet and four floors -- to clean!


Yes, she knows she is lucky. She once lived in a low-income housing unit about half the size of her current first floor. THAT is not what she's complaining about.

Today, she tackled a thorough dusting of bookshelves (this family has hundreds - hundreds -- of books), mopping and dusting three children's bedrooms, cleaning the crud in the silverware drawer, sweeping and mopping the wrecked main areas from yesterday, vacuuming dog hair from appropriate places, sorting through summer clothes.

Five hours in, hobbling on bruised knees (from the mopping), she carried the mop, broom and bucket through the kitchen and past her husband and said this: "When I'm working full-time this fall, I think we should hire a housecleaner."

John was staring into his cell phone (it's sort of hypnotic that way): "Hmmm. Well, maybe that's something to think about, maybe."

Do you hear the sound of a woman snapping?

So when John turned and looked at his wife of 13 years and instantly absorbed the imminent combustion and potential certification and divorce, he said this, quickly: "YES! We will hire a cleaning service!"

Year 14, coming right up!

Girls! Who Raised You?

I think I would use the word 'heartbreaking' to describe Meagan Daum's article, "Raunch is Rebranded as Confidence."

There are other adjectives. Disgusting, discouraging, or even perhaps, unsurprising or no big deal.

Read the article.

And as I read it, I wondered about the mothers of those daughters who train for Spring Break, who work out, wax up, and even save up for pre-break surgery: breast implants.

What were their parents telling them before they went?

"Focus on raising your alcohol tolerance, Sydney!"

"Isn't this about time for the nose job?"

"Sweetie, you'll do better during break about ten pounds slimmer. Forget studying. You should really go to the gym."

Spring break isn't something that just happens, that pops out of nowhere. These young women live in a culture (micro of family and friends and macro where we can snicker at Hilary's thighs and pass by porn dozens of times, daily) where hyper-sexualization can be a real achievement.

Me? Dr. Feminist Studies will be discussing this ritual and all others like it with all of her children, male and female.

Even at 9, Scarlett doesn't understand peers who "dress too teenager, with their tummy showing." She is not allowed to wear things that say "princess" or "hottie" on the bottom (or anywhere else). Better yet? She hasn't shown the slightest interest. In fact, I wish she would wash that sweatshirt she's worn for a week now.

And if 12% of these partying teenage girls felt pressured or coerced into having sex, as God-Buddha-Allah and Cher are my witnesses, my sons will be the young men stopping their peers if they see trouble. It's okay, Stryker. You can hit him.

Just a tiny bit worked up.

Marion Jones

Cheating is bad.

The Matron wags her finger at Roger Clemens, Barry Bonds, Floyd Landis, Ben Johnson and Joe Q. Jock -- doping isn't so much a problem, as it is the status quo. Wikipedia requires a catalog to document, rather than one quick list.

This article, discussing the thorough demonization of the lone African-American female who admitted what the boys deny, gave the Matron pause. The woman who did what the public has demanded of the accused: stand up and tell the truth.

One of these things is not like the other.
Thanks, Jen, for pointing out the faulty link. Fixed, it requires you to register with the Star Tribune. Interested despite the hurdles? Google: Todd Balf Marion Jones Star Tribune February 26 2008. That's what I did!

Whew. Too much trouble for a blog post.