Part I - My Take on Part I

The article in American Prospect is entitled “Homeward Bound” which unfortunately evokes that quiet Simon and Garfunkel song, which is a bit at odds with the content of the article (and lyrics like “I wish I was, homeward bound” seem to be the opposite of what we’re supposed to feel). The article is divided into four parts, and Part I is The Truth About Elite Women. Apparently Ms. Hirshman was researching a book on marriage after feminism and was inspired by an episode of Sex and the City to interview the brides listed in the New York Times wedding announcements, announcements full of “brilliantly educated and accomplished brides.” Ms. Hirshman was surprised to find that after ten years, of the thirty brides with babies, only 10 were working full-time, 5 were working part-time, and the rest were not working at all. I was surprised by this because unlike me, most of the women I know went back to work after having children. None of them went to Ivy League schools, and none of them had their wedding announcements printed in the New York Times, but each was well-respected in a professional career.

Ms. Hirshman’s explanation for this situation states that “while the public world has changed, albeit imperfectly, to accommodate women among the elite, private lives have hardly budged. The real glass ceiling is at home,” and that “the belief that women are responsible for child-rearing and homemaking was largely untouched by decades of workplace feminism.” I agree. Does that mean I think child-rearing and homemaking is unimportant or that people who do them (like me) are losers? No, I do think these jobs are important and I do think there is honor in doing them, but I also think that although the modern husband changes diapers and cooks dinner, he has never been challenged to change what he thinks about the division of labor once the kiddies arrive.

I think that the average man (not every man) expects that even if his wife is working, when the kiddies are sick or the plumbing is broken, the wife will be the one to stay home. This is not because the average man is a jackass, but because that’s what happened when the average man was little, his mom took care of him and his mom took care of the house. In addition, the average man has probably experienced a feverish whiny toddler pushing him away and moaning for mama. Given those experiences and the fact that the average man wants his kiddies to be happy, it probably seems logical to leave the kiddies with the parent they are asking for. Ideally, the parent who stays home should be the one with the more flexible workplace, but usually it’s the mom. (Let me state here that the phrase “average man” does not include the HP. Whether or not the HP can stay home or come home early is usually dependent upon how well his boss gets along with his own wife. If there is trouble, the colonel keeps him in the office till all hours. If things are happy, the colonel is flexible about when he comes and goes. Also, the HP does not have any sick leave).

I don’t think the root of the controversy over the “Homeward Bound” article came from this section describing the lackadaisical brides from the New York Times. Some people may consider these women the best and the brightest, but how much can you really learn about a person from their wedding announcement? Are wedding announcements normally considered to be entirely truthful and without embellisment? It is unlikely that women who quit work before they had children or who “never want to work again” were ever seriously considering a groundbreaking career. Chances are many of these women are from a privileged level of society where power and money are already held by the family or the husband’s family, so any additional contribution by any of the younger generation is unnecessary. This is a hard obstacle to overcome. A harsh article on feminism is not going to shock them back into the office. You cannot shame a woman into ambition; you can only hope to find ways to aid the women who have it.

Sorry to Disappoint, But This Post Does Not Involve Dead Squirrels

I missed the Part I of the Linda Hirshman (December 2005) controversy completely, probably because the HP had just deployed and I was avoiding the news, which rarely mentions anything positive about Afghanistan. The first inkling I had of Part II of the Linda Hirshman controversy was a little bit that I saw of a morning show where she was recently promoting her new book, based on the article that inspired Part I of the controversy. I quickly flipped away, figuring she was someone like Joel Stein who said he didn’t support the troops in order to bring attention to himself or someone like Ann Coulter who said… or shall I say, will say anything to bring attention to herself. However, this past weekend, I was reading The Washington Post at my parent’s house, and I came across the article entitled “Everyone Hates Linda.” I didn’t notice until I began reading, that it was written by Ms. Hirshman, as a sort of answer to the fallout from part I of the controversy.

As a stay-at-home mom, I can tell you that given all the controversy, I was surprised to find that not much of what she had to say in the article was especially offensive to me. It seemed a little catty and a little snide, but she was obviously wounded or at least wearied by the reaction to her first article. However, what I read made me curious enough to print out the original article to see if I could figure out why everyone was so angry. When I read things that I do not agree with, I generally mutter to myself (in an entirely mentally healthy way) “What a crock,” and continue on. Taking this approach, I was able to find some points in the original article that I agree with, and some things in the article that I take strong issue with, but nothing that would make me screech.

I will provide my opinion of the original article over the next few days for what it’s worth, but this analysis will be about me (me me me me me) and based upon my experience and what I think. I am not claiming that everything here applies to every one who reads it. But first a little bit more about me. I am not what Ms. Hirshman identifies as the “elite” because although I have a college degree and a graduate degree, they are not in law or business but in science, so I never did stand much of a chance at becoming a CEO or partner or university president. I suppose technically, I have given up my career to support my husband’s, but the end of his career is a definite point on the calendar. Also, while he is always willing to be supportive of me, in the end the decisions about how much he travels (and let me tell you, this past business trip has been an enormous pain in the behind), what hours he works and where or when we move is out of his hands. It is hard to negotiate alternative working conditions with the Army.

I went back to work part time after our first daughter was born, because I liked working, not because we needed the money or because I felt I had something to prove. When the Army moved us to Kentucky, I was pregnant with our second daughter and we were under the impression that we would only be there for two years. Seeking out new employment under those circumstances seemed rather silly, so I took some time off to spend with the kiddies. We ended up staying in Kentucky for four years, and from time to time I wished I could go back to work, but the job opportunities in that part of Kentucky were pretty much limited to exotic dancing or check cashing, so I never did rejoin the ranks of the employed. Now with the HP deployed, I have sole responsibility for the kiddies, a situation with the potential to make me a crappy employee, one that would probably add to the stereotype of unreliable mommy workers. In addition, I am not the type who can do a half-assed job. I’d rather delay my return to work until I have the support in place to be a focused successful employee.

I have been out of the workforce for five years, but my return to work is on the horizon - the buddy boy is two years from kindergarten and the HP is less than four years from military retirement. Theoretically, in four years we will have settled into our own house where we want to live, and then we can decide how we can both work and take care of the kiddies. Since the HP has expressed his desire to drive a potato chip truck, I think his hours will be rather flexible and everything will work out. In reality, he may become a teacher (in which case he will fit the crazy marriage material rules that are included in the American Prospect article, but more about that later) which would greatly increase my options in building a career, because his hours would match the kids’ hours (and because he's willing to take care of the kids).

I think that what Ms. Hirshman failed to realize when she wrote her article was not that it would be controversial, but that reasoned discussion, listening, and thoughtful consideration of other people’s opinions are no longer considered virtues in this society. If someone is going to take a sound bite from you, it is going to be out of context and the most inflammatory thing he/she can find. In a few of the comments and quotes I have seen from her, she seems to have taken a stab at following the new American rule of discourse: “I’m louder and ruder than you so I’m right.” She isn’t very good at it, so I will surmise that maybe she isn’t usually like that, maybe she’s just a regular human who is smarting from personal attacks that are unrelated to her article and/or based upon an incomplete review of it. I could be wrong, she could be a stone-cold bitch who will someday stumble across this post and scream "I don't need any sympathy or understanding from you, you pathetic stay-at-home loser!!" But for now I will grant her the benefit of the doubt and attempt to discuss her points without attacking her personally. I can’t promise that this enterprise will be interesting to anyone, but somehow I think it may be therapeutic for me.

(Okay, one squirrel update: two squirrels were running around the yard today knocking the flowers from one of my day lilies and digging in my petunia pots which have been planted for so long, that only a mentally deficient squirrel (and really aren’t they all) would bother thinking something was buried in there. In a barely contained seething rage I grabbed the Tabasco and sprinkled it all over the pots and the day lilies. Tomorrow all of the plants may be dead, but so far the squirrel activity in the yard has disappeared.)

Two Dead Squirrels Is Not Enough

On Friday morning I had a little less than 3 hours to get ready for our trip to the beach before it was time to pick up the kiddies. In addition to finishing the laundry, cleaning up, vacuuming and packing, I decided that since the lawn was rather shaggy and the next opportunity to mow it (now at 5 days and counting) was unclear, I’d better at least mow the front so that the average passerby wouldn’t note our name on the door and equate it with “white trash.” I have previously described (at ridiculous length) my tolerance/hate relationship with the mower. However, when I approached it on Friday morning, I noticed that something was amiss. The disgusting, revolting, annoying, creepy, bizarro, scraggily squirrels had chewed through the gas cap on the mower. Just as I feel perfectly justified making fun of my siblings but am instantly filled with rage when anyone else does it, I feel perfectly justified in hating the mower, until some filthy rodent comes near it.

I decided I’d better check around the car port (that’s right, I said car port) to determine if anything else had been chewed. And that is when I found the cement floor littered with the tiny black chewed up remnants of what had once been the seat to my bicycle. The immediate result of this discovery was blinding rage, quickly followed by the realization that I was now going to have to carve enough time from my three free hours to find a place in the shed for all of the bicycles and toys that I didn’t want the squirrels to eat.

To me the shed has always been the no-man’s-land of our marriage, because the shed is where we keep things that are either 1) big and heavy or 2) related to landscaping chores, neither of which is my area of responsibility. We lived for two years in a house with a shed that I visited exactly twice (in the same day when the HP was away), once to get the snow shovel and once to put it back. While I was willing to take on the HP’s closet while he was gone, I really hoped the shed would not need my attention because it is a bit of a disaster area.

Anyway, you can imagine my good humor as I attempted to load three bikes, a stroller, and all of the toys that were scattered around into the already full and disorganized shed. Once I’d finally locked up everything that a stupid squirrel would want to chew on, I went out to mow, where I realized that one end of the yard was littered with small leafy branches. The branches obviously were ripped from the tree and dropped to the ground while the same weirdo squirrels that ate my bike seat were attempting to build themselves a little love nest. As you can imagine, I could really see the humor in the situation when, pressed for time as I was, the rodents who delayed my start then made it impossible for me to accomplish anything without first cleaning up the yard.

When I finally managed to bag up all of the branches and sticks, I had about 45 minutes left to mow the lawn, shower, load the car, and pick up the kids. And right about then was when my rage turned homicidal (I was even willing to put up with additional visits from the redneck squirrel remover if it meant a reduction in the pest population). Unfortunately, I am rather nonviolent. Even though I would love to run down some of the young idiotic squirrels that are always dashing out in front of my car, I’m just not that kind of girl. Instead, bad ass that I am, I left the mower and the gas can out in the car port, in hopes that the moronic pest would come back to chew some more and keel over in the process. None did.

I Can Pick My Friends, and I Can Pick My Nose...Must I Pick My Trash?

I have a roof over my head, money in the bank, and a car to drive around, so why do I find myself repeatedly picking through the trash? At a certain point, it seems like a grown person should only be looking in the trash if expensive jewelry or orthodontia is missing and cannot be located in any logical or illogical place within the house or car or yard. And yet, on Friday morning, before I had even gotten dressed, I found three different reasons to pick through the trash.

For her birthday Aislinn received a charm bracelet set that came with two bracelets and about 40 little charms that you can change out depending on your mood or outfit (or for no apparent reason if you are a seven-year-old). In a move of great diplomacy, Aislinn offered up the second bracelet to Lauren who quickly picked out five charms that she wanted me to attach. Although we were seated next to each other, Lauren did not want to turn the hardware over to me until she had deposited her used tissue into the trash. I will never discourage a child who 1) is using a tissue rather than me to wipe her nose and 2) is willing to make the trek all the way to the trashcan to throw it away. Approximately 10 seconds after she disappeared into the kitchen, Lauren let up a wail and informed all of us that she had dropped one of the charms in the trash. Unfortunately, these were not enormous toddler-safe charms, but dainty little charms, the size of a small dangling earring.

Since there were 30 other charms in the big charm bracelet set, I didn’t think I needed to be particularly thorough in my search of the trash, but Aislinn and Lauren were both convinced that the one that was missing was most likely their favorite one of all. So I pulled the trash bag out of the can and began looking through it for the teeny little charm. Of course the bag was full, and about halfway down were the contents of the vacuum cleaner. I informed them that it couldn’t be found, and as they set upon their individually designed expressions of woe, I realized that the bag would not fit back into the can, so I spun it around to tie it up, and I actually caught sight of the charm and managed to retrieve it, resulting in a much deserved hero’s reception for me from the weeping girls in the living room. (Approximately 10 seconds after that, Lauren dropped another charm behind the couch, but that one can live there until we move out as far as I’m concerned.)

A few minutes later as I was taking the aforementioned trash bag and some cardboard recycling outside, I noticed that inside the pizza box from Wednesday night was our pizza cutter. It is not an expensive or particularly impressive pizza cutter, but I have been using it quite a bit lately since it is plastic and will not scratch Teflon and hasten our deaths. I don’t normally throw things out, so I was puzzled to find it there, but then I realized, maybe I do normally throw things out, and that is why I can never find anything. I would have spent the rest of our time in this house wondering what happened to that pizza cutter, but I never would have concluded that it had ended up in the trash.

Since I was well into trash duty for the morning (and since we were going away for the weekend) right before I left to take Aislinn to the bus stop, I made a sweep through the house and emptied all of the little trash cans. As I was dumping out one from the kid’s bathroom, I watched a brand new, bright white sock head toward the bottom of the trash bag. Of course I pulled that out too, and now I must ask myself, what exactly is going on here?

Anyone who reads this blog will know the answer. Trash work is for boys. The girls and I just don’t have the necessary genes for managing the household refuse. And Marty? Approximately 30 seconds after we arrived home this evening, Marty had loaded my sneakers, a recently delivered box, and a toy from the busy box into the kitchen trashcan and was pushing it around the room. Clearly he wants to manage the trash, but he’s only two, so it is going to take him a while to catch on. So apparently while the HP is deployed, I must consider taking on a new career as trash picker/dumpster diver/recycling rooter. Ew.