So I got this cool book from the library called "The Consumer's Guide to Effective Environmental Choices". It's written by a bunch of scientists that analyzed current research to find which actions ordinary people can take to make the biggest difference on the environment. Rather than spin our wheels composting with worms (on second thought, I decided not to go for it), they point out that driving less and using efficient heating/cooling will make the most difference individually. It also talks about policies we can all press our elected officials for.
The good news is that the book was really well researched and had very practical advice. Don't use your fireplace too much, they counseled. Watch the toxic chemicals (paints, cleaners) that you use around your house. Consider informed purchases (house, car, energy efficient appliances) that will make a big environmental impact. Buy organic produce. Eat less meat. Don't eat beef much, if you do eat meat.
The low-hanging fruit of these ideas Dyami and I already pretty much do. I love a good steak as much as the next girl, but I'm trying to cut back. Organic produce? Check.
The bad news is that the stuff that probably makes the most impact (driving the car) is hardest. Let's not point out the fact that we live in suburban hell and public transportation seems woefully cumbersome. Let's focus, instead, on the fact that I've been using the car quite a lot (gulp) to get Lucy to sleep at various times.
According to their research, that not-so-green habit probably has a lot more impact than the whole cloth diapering/recycling do-gooderness that I've been so proud of.
Sigh.
The problem is that the car use is so hard to change around here. I think I need to research if it would really be possible to use public transportation in our neighborhood. Would it be ridiculous? For example, it would be great to take the train to school come fall, if the train actually ran late enough. It doesn't.
Does anyone else use our bus system ever???? Anyone? I've taken the bus once, I think. From La Jolla to downtown. It wasn't a great experience. It's just so slooooooow.
So for now, I'll stick to my low-hanging fruit. Mmmmm. Low-hanging fruit.
Showing posts with label reading. Show all posts
Showing posts with label reading. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
garbage
So I'm reading a book called Garbage Land that's sort of a Fast Food Nation-esque review of where our garbage goes when we put it out by the curb.
Some highlights:
Some highlights:
- I'm kind of relieved that the author tried composting her kitchen scraps and didn't have much success. She went fishing for some rich loam at the bottom of her pile and found a mouse instead. Yikes! Since we have a tree rat problem around here, I will have to carefully consider whatever composting I do.
- The section on plastics makes me want to never use anything plastic again. Sigh. The more I read about our society, the more I wonder how long we're going to last. Basically, plastic can be recycled, at best, once. And even that is toxic. Once you've recycled it then, it's only good for the landfill, where it leaches lovely carcinogens and poisons into our water. Sigh.
- They're trying to put a new landfill east of here, and there's all this NIMBY activism to keep it away. I kind of thought NIMBYs weren't so civic minded, but after reading about landfills, I wouldn't want one in my backyard, either.
- One note of hope: it seems we're not the only civilization that dealt with garbage badly. Highlights from Ye Olde trash collection: feral pigs roaming the streets for scraps! Stoops that served as havens from sludge! Manure-choked streets! Burying your trash in your house's floor, until eventually, you had to raise the roof!
Monday, July 2, 2007
it's simple
I'm not quite sure how this whole kick started. (The kick being my slightly obsessive hunt for information on living more simply.)
First, I've been reading a bit too much Michael Pollan and Wendell Berry. Especially Wendell. Pollan makes you feel kind of warm and giggly; Wendell makes you look around at our society and your own sick part in it and feel like you should be selling your tract house to go work on a kibbutz-type commune in Tennessee.
Plus I think I clicked a link on some web page or another (ABORT! Do not click on random web links!). Which sent me off on articles about voluntary simplicity, and some books that Wikipedia linked to. One of which was written by Mennonites, (I think they're like Amish that party). It's called Living More with Less.
Somewhere in there I read an article called "Not Buying It" on the NY Times (I'd link, but it's in their archives now and you'd have to pay to read it). It was about "Freegans", people who get almost everything they own/eat/use out of the trash.
You know that I'm a bit of a nutcase when I was reading along, nodding, going, hmmm, dumpster diving. They've really got something there.
I swear, it's Wendell's fault.
Plus maybe the fact that we gave up our cable, then our TV. When you're not watching beer and SUV commercials anymore, anything can happen.
In all seriousness, though, we've been thinking about trying to live more simply a lot. And some of the decisions are pretty easy--ie, they don't cause too much inconvenience and don't make us out of step with our neighbors. The CSA, the TV. The using cloth napkins and avoiding paper towels. Bringing grocery bags to the store. Trying to dry clothes outside, using fluorescents.
But once you get past the easy stuff, and when you really start thinking about the difference between our SoCal coastal lifestyle and the rest of the world, it makes you uncomfortable in your comfort. And wondering what else you can do.
I really respect the Mennonites that wrote the book I'm reading. They ground all of the suggestions in five core values:
Some of the suggestions, however, I'm not planning on implementing: such as used-tire sandals. Or giving up a car in favor of a horse-and-buggy. Or (yes, they suggested it!) going through trash from grocery stores for foodstuffs.
All this reading leads me to two fears: am I turning into the crazy dumpster-diving tire-sandal wearing person?
And, perhaps more pointedly: am I too worried about turning into that crazy person? About not being stylish, or "normal?" When our normal is, well, not really sustainable environmentally, and may well be supporting injustice and poverty around the world?
Maybe I should start wearing one of those bracelets: WWWD? (What Would Wendell Do?) Knowing him, he'd have an opionion.
First, I've been reading a bit too much Michael Pollan and Wendell Berry. Especially Wendell. Pollan makes you feel kind of warm and giggly; Wendell makes you look around at our society and your own sick part in it and feel like you should be selling your tract house to go work on a kibbutz-type commune in Tennessee.
Plus I think I clicked a link on some web page or another (ABORT! Do not click on random web links!). Which sent me off on articles about voluntary simplicity, and some books that Wikipedia linked to. One of which was written by Mennonites, (I think they're like Amish that party). It's called Living More with Less.
Somewhere in there I read an article called "Not Buying It" on the NY Times (I'd link, but it's in their archives now and you'd have to pay to read it). It was about "Freegans", people who get almost everything they own/eat/use out of the trash.
You know that I'm a bit of a nutcase when I was reading along, nodding, going, hmmm, dumpster diving. They've really got something there.
I swear, it's Wendell's fault.
Plus maybe the fact that we gave up our cable, then our TV. When you're not watching beer and SUV commercials anymore, anything can happen.
In all seriousness, though, we've been thinking about trying to live more simply a lot. And some of the decisions are pretty easy--ie, they don't cause too much inconvenience and don't make us out of step with our neighbors. The CSA, the TV. The using cloth napkins and avoiding paper towels. Bringing grocery bags to the store. Trying to dry clothes outside, using fluorescents.
But once you get past the easy stuff, and when you really start thinking about the difference between our SoCal coastal lifestyle and the rest of the world, it makes you uncomfortable in your comfort. And wondering what else you can do.
I really respect the Mennonites that wrote the book I'm reading. They ground all of the suggestions in five core values:
- do justice
- learn from the world community
- nurture people
- cherish the natural order
- nonconform freely
Some of the suggestions, however, I'm not planning on implementing: such as used-tire sandals. Or giving up a car in favor of a horse-and-buggy. Or (yes, they suggested it!) going through trash from grocery stores for foodstuffs.
All this reading leads me to two fears: am I turning into the crazy dumpster-diving tire-sandal wearing person?
And, perhaps more pointedly: am I too worried about turning into that crazy person? About not being stylish, or "normal?" When our normal is, well, not really sustainable environmentally, and may well be supporting injustice and poverty around the world?
Maybe I should start wearing one of those bracelets: WWWD? (What Would Wendell Do?) Knowing him, he'd have an opionion.
Friday, June 29, 2007
theory vs. reality
Since I'm such a discipline expert now, I've decided to review a book on discipline called Unconditional Parenting.
I have to be honest--I didn't really like it. Also, I didn't exactly read it; I mostly skimmed it. Mostly because I had a sense that if I read it too closely I'd start obsessing.
Certain books have this effect on me.
The thing is, a lot of the ideas in the book I find compelling. Since I'm such a hippie, I like the touchy-feely, positive-discipline theories (we'll see what I like when Lucy actually gets old enough to need discipline). So Unconditional Parenting really stands with a lot of books I found very interesting and encouraging, like Positive Discipline and How to Talk So Your Kids Will Listen. And my favorite, Kid Cooperation.
So, you all ask, what was wrong with this one?
Well, here's the deal. I just found it too theoretical. I think I'm kind of opposed to theory in parenting books. Not that theory doesn't have it's place. I mean, I want to understand the values that cause me to make the parenting choices I'm making. I want to be grounded in what really matters, so that, at least, parenting decisions are grounded in some sort of coherence. Not for coherence's sake, but because I want my whole life to have that coherence: work, money management, eating decisions, friendships, how I spend my time.
But being just slightly prone to idealism and to idealized (and impossible-to-live-up-to) ideas, a little theory for me goes a long way. Like from here to Pakistan and back.
Unconditional Parenting is about 95% theory and 5% practical applications. When you're a first-time parent, all you really need is practical applications. Because you don't know what the hell you're doing.
Take sleep. I read some books on sleep, but really, all the reading in the world left me woefully unprepared to actually help Lucy learn how to sleep. What really would have helped was watching someone put their child to bed each nap and nighttime, but unfortunately I didn't have any friends that wanted me in their bedroom that much.
Instead, all the books did was give me a bunch of ideals to live up to ("no cry" and "co-sleep" and "nighttime parenting" and "insanity"---okay, not that last one) that mostly just made me feel bad when I was at my wit's end and was willing to let Lucy sleep at our neighbor's house if it would help things.
Once I got some practical experience, the books proved more helpful. Then I actually recognized some of their ideas and thought, Oh, THAT's what they're talking about.
I think U.P. would send me down that guilt trip road even more quickly. I couldn't get through even two chapters without feeling inadequate. The author backs up his parenting ideas with a lot of research saying how parents who didn't use U.P. ended up, in clinical studies, with unhappy, hateful children (I exaggerate--he didn't make such grand claims--but did tend to show how more traditional discipline methods fared in studies). I appreciated some actual science (many parenting books have no rigorous proof for their ideas) but the general drift was to make me feel claustrophobic. And the lack of practical tips (I would have wanted the balance of practical/theory to be more like 50/50) left me feeling not just inadequate but incompetent.
One more thing: Kohn just seemed kind of extreme to me. He's all about the kids, all about involvement and respect and compassion. Which is fine--and probably he's extreme to counter more authoritarian ideas in vogue. But still, I don't think there's anything wrong for kids to be subject to the authority of parents. I don't think there is any way to explain every decision, even to older kids. I don't think it's wrong for kids to learn to obey. Sometimes simply to obey, without understanding all the reasons. Believing in the God I do, I think that's a perfectly healthy idea.
I'm really glad that I read U.P. after reading Kid Cooperation, a book that was refreshingly practical, compassionate in it's methods, but also emphasized the authority of parents. That we're in charge! That's it's okay to say, "Because I said so" every so often! Touchy-feely is fine, and compassion and mutual respect and kids that aren't just blindly obedient is great, but life isn't always fair, and parents can't always be Ghandi.
Plus, I think a relentlessly practical book is just more realistic for parents. It causes less feelings of inadequacy when the author shares how they struggled with a situation, and then tried a new angle that worked. I need to hear the struggle to keep in mind that we're all just doing the best we can. And that books are just books--they can't get up with you in the middle of the night, or calm down your kid in the middle of the grocery store.
In the middle. Ain't that the truth of parenting: you're always smack dab in the middle of it.
I have to be honest--I didn't really like it. Also, I didn't exactly read it; I mostly skimmed it. Mostly because I had a sense that if I read it too closely I'd start obsessing.
Certain books have this effect on me.
The thing is, a lot of the ideas in the book I find compelling. Since I'm such a hippie, I like the touchy-feely, positive-discipline theories (we'll see what I like when Lucy actually gets old enough to need discipline). So Unconditional Parenting really stands with a lot of books I found very interesting and encouraging, like Positive Discipline and How to Talk So Your Kids Will Listen. And my favorite, Kid Cooperation.
So, you all ask, what was wrong with this one?
Well, here's the deal. I just found it too theoretical. I think I'm kind of opposed to theory in parenting books. Not that theory doesn't have it's place. I mean, I want to understand the values that cause me to make the parenting choices I'm making. I want to be grounded in what really matters, so that, at least, parenting decisions are grounded in some sort of coherence. Not for coherence's sake, but because I want my whole life to have that coherence: work, money management, eating decisions, friendships, how I spend my time.
But being just slightly prone to idealism and to idealized (and impossible-to-live-up-to) ideas, a little theory for me goes a long way. Like from here to Pakistan and back.
Unconditional Parenting is about 95% theory and 5% practical applications. When you're a first-time parent, all you really need is practical applications. Because you don't know what the hell you're doing.
Take sleep. I read some books on sleep, but really, all the reading in the world left me woefully unprepared to actually help Lucy learn how to sleep. What really would have helped was watching someone put their child to bed each nap and nighttime, but unfortunately I didn't have any friends that wanted me in their bedroom that much.
Instead, all the books did was give me a bunch of ideals to live up to ("no cry" and "co-sleep" and "nighttime parenting" and "insanity"---okay, not that last one) that mostly just made me feel bad when I was at my wit's end and was willing to let Lucy sleep at our neighbor's house if it would help things.
Once I got some practical experience, the books proved more helpful. Then I actually recognized some of their ideas and thought, Oh, THAT's what they're talking about.
I think U.P. would send me down that guilt trip road even more quickly. I couldn't get through even two chapters without feeling inadequate. The author backs up his parenting ideas with a lot of research saying how parents who didn't use U.P. ended up, in clinical studies, with unhappy, hateful children (I exaggerate--he didn't make such grand claims--but did tend to show how more traditional discipline methods fared in studies). I appreciated some actual science (many parenting books have no rigorous proof for their ideas) but the general drift was to make me feel claustrophobic. And the lack of practical tips (I would have wanted the balance of practical/theory to be more like 50/50) left me feeling not just inadequate but incompetent.
One more thing: Kohn just seemed kind of extreme to me. He's all about the kids, all about involvement and respect and compassion. Which is fine--and probably he's extreme to counter more authoritarian ideas in vogue. But still, I don't think there's anything wrong for kids to be subject to the authority of parents. I don't think there is any way to explain every decision, even to older kids. I don't think it's wrong for kids to learn to obey. Sometimes simply to obey, without understanding all the reasons. Believing in the God I do, I think that's a perfectly healthy idea.
I'm really glad that I read U.P. after reading Kid Cooperation, a book that was refreshingly practical, compassionate in it's methods, but also emphasized the authority of parents. That we're in charge! That's it's okay to say, "Because I said so" every so often! Touchy-feely is fine, and compassion and mutual respect and kids that aren't just blindly obedient is great, but life isn't always fair, and parents can't always be Ghandi.
Plus, I think a relentlessly practical book is just more realistic for parents. It causes less feelings of inadequacy when the author shares how they struggled with a situation, and then tried a new angle that worked. I need to hear the struggle to keep in mind that we're all just doing the best we can. And that books are just books--they can't get up with you in the middle of the night, or calm down your kid in the middle of the grocery store.
In the middle. Ain't that the truth of parenting: you're always smack dab in the middle of it.
Monday, June 4, 2007
bitter pill
I read The Mask of Motherhood this weekend. Basically, it's an extended meditation on motherhood, with six basic focuses (or is that foci?): pregnancy, labor and delivery, new mommyhood, breastfeeeding, work, and marriage.
It's kind of in the vein of the "Dark Side of Breastfeeding" post I linked to a while ago, except a bit more bitter. The author keeps saying stuff, like "We all feel these things, even though we really do love our kids, and they give us ineffable joy," except she doesn't really go into details about any of the ineffable joys/love. Which is mostly fine, because her argument is that we sentimentalize motherhood past the point of nausea. Except if motherhood really did drive you insane (one of her points) not so many would do it.
Knowing what I know now (that mommyhood, even just with one, is hard) I've been a little surprised, the last few weeks, to look at Lucy and think, "I really like this." Not "I'm managing" or "I can see how this will get more fun later," but "This is fun, NOW".
(Are you surprised/shocked/appalled I was surprised? Perhaps The Mask of Motherhood is for you! You need some good bitter flavor! Like coffee, or beer.)
I was surprised by contentment, because now that I am a mom, I can see that this stage of momdom isn't going to be my favorite. Today, watching other peoples kids, I got to read them a book. And they understood what I was talking about (and not in the way that a comatose patient understands when you talk to them, okay? That doesn't count in terms of making me feel good, which is what I'm looking for, really, when I read to a child).
Sure, I can read to Lucy, but the age where that will be intrinsically rewarding is in the future. Along with all other kids of language-related fun.
Anyway (long digression), I decided not to give the book to a friend of mine that's expecting (happy pregnancy! Read this book, so you can decide you don't want to try parenthood! Hahahahah). The book is finally just too negative. Perhaps I'll give it to her after the initial shock of having a newborn wears off, because I think it's positive not feeling bad about not having the time of your life. I know I spent about two months getting over a comment someone made to me that a 3-to 4-month-old was great to travel with. I thought God, if this is what a great travel companion is, I'm staying home till she's thirty. Turns out her kids were good travelers, but mine was not.
Plus, I didn't really like the author's descriptions of labor and nursing. Sure, labor can be painful, but it isn't always excruciating. And her labor, which sounded positive, but painful, might have been helped if there weren't medical professionals in her face all the time, trying to check her cervix needlessly. (Perhaps "in her face" isn't the right phrase). Ditto with nursing: if your nipples are cracked and bleeding, there's something wrong. Go to a lactation consultant! Don't soldier through!
All this bitterness, is, well, bittersweet. It's good to read many sentiments I have been through in the last nine months. It's good to affirm, once again, that I don't need to feel guilty if sometimes I dream about throwing babies out the window, like the author. But it's also hard to read a book that's so down on motherhood and then look around and think, I enjoy my daughter. I like my life.
The good news: even being hard, I can still do it.
It's kind of in the vein of the "Dark Side of Breastfeeding" post I linked to a while ago, except a bit more bitter. The author keeps saying stuff, like "We all feel these things, even though we really do love our kids, and they give us ineffable joy," except she doesn't really go into details about any of the ineffable joys/love. Which is mostly fine, because her argument is that we sentimentalize motherhood past the point of nausea. Except if motherhood really did drive you insane (one of her points) not so many would do it.
Knowing what I know now (that mommyhood, even just with one, is hard) I've been a little surprised, the last few weeks, to look at Lucy and think, "I really like this." Not "I'm managing" or "I can see how this will get more fun later," but "This is fun, NOW".
(Are you surprised/shocked/appalled I was surprised? Perhaps The Mask of Motherhood is for you! You need some good bitter flavor! Like coffee, or beer.)
I was surprised by contentment, because now that I am a mom, I can see that this stage of momdom isn't going to be my favorite. Today, watching other peoples kids, I got to read them a book. And they understood what I was talking about (and not in the way that a comatose patient understands when you talk to them, okay? That doesn't count in terms of making me feel good, which is what I'm looking for, really, when I read to a child).
Sure, I can read to Lucy, but the age where that will be intrinsically rewarding is in the future. Along with all other kids of language-related fun.
Anyway (long digression), I decided not to give the book to a friend of mine that's expecting (happy pregnancy! Read this book, so you can decide you don't want to try parenthood! Hahahahah). The book is finally just too negative. Perhaps I'll give it to her after the initial shock of having a newborn wears off, because I think it's positive not feeling bad about not having the time of your life. I know I spent about two months getting over a comment someone made to me that a 3-to 4-month-old was great to travel with. I thought God, if this is what a great travel companion is, I'm staying home till she's thirty. Turns out her kids were good travelers, but mine was not.
Plus, I didn't really like the author's descriptions of labor and nursing. Sure, labor can be painful, but it isn't always excruciating. And her labor, which sounded positive, but painful, might have been helped if there weren't medical professionals in her face all the time, trying to check her cervix needlessly. (Perhaps "in her face" isn't the right phrase). Ditto with nursing: if your nipples are cracked and bleeding, there's something wrong. Go to a lactation consultant! Don't soldier through!
All this bitterness, is, well, bittersweet. It's good to read many sentiments I have been through in the last nine months. It's good to affirm, once again, that I don't need to feel guilty if sometimes I dream about throwing babies out the window, like the author. But it's also hard to read a book that's so down on motherhood and then look around and think, I enjoy my daughter. I like my life.
The good news: even being hard, I can still do it.
real pretend mommy
So today my friend Martha had an emergency and needed to leave her two kids with me for a few hours, along with my friend Brenda's little girl. So I was a real pretend mommy to four kids today.
I did really good! No injuries, only some hair pulling! And I wasn't even the one pulling hair!
For those of you that didn't know me, pre-kid, I am not actually that naturally great with kids.
To be honest, I don't think most people are naturally great with kids, some of us have more practice than others.
I had no practice (yes, I was a youngest child), and no real interest in practicing (I babysat about five times...hated it).
I've done okay with Lucy--no major injuries, just some hair pulling--but I can see now how having a wee bit of practice might be a good thing. Though my friend Abi was a nanny for a while and she asks me for advice some times, which really makes me feel good. Not that I have advice to give, but it's nice to be asked, you know, so you can shake your head, sadly, and say, "Ah, I wish I knew", when really you do know, and you're just not telling.
Hack Mommy gave me a discipline book recommendation, called Kid Cooperation, so I tried out some of the techniques today. Q: "Do we throw toys inside?" (A: "No, (but I did it anyway)). They worked pretty well, which was heartening. However, doing real discipline, one realizes how lightening quick most situations that require discipline arise. One can not run to one's library, thumb through the discipline manual, and dispense advice while the two kids fight over a potholder. One must know what one is doing. Or pretend really well.
But I did a real good job pretending!
So you can grow up, Lucy! I'm ready for you!
I did really good! No injuries, only some hair pulling! And I wasn't even the one pulling hair!
For those of you that didn't know me, pre-kid, I am not actually that naturally great with kids.
To be honest, I don't think most people are naturally great with kids, some of us have more practice than others.
I had no practice (yes, I was a youngest child), and no real interest in practicing (I babysat about five times...hated it).
I've done okay with Lucy--no major injuries, just some hair pulling--but I can see now how having a wee bit of practice might be a good thing. Though my friend Abi was a nanny for a while and she asks me for advice some times, which really makes me feel good. Not that I have advice to give, but it's nice to be asked, you know, so you can shake your head, sadly, and say, "Ah, I wish I knew", when really you do know, and you're just not telling.
Hack Mommy gave me a discipline book recommendation, called Kid Cooperation, so I tried out some of the techniques today. Q: "Do we throw toys inside?" (A: "No, (but I did it anyway)). They worked pretty well, which was heartening. However, doing real discipline, one realizes how lightening quick most situations that require discipline arise. One can not run to one's library, thumb through the discipline manual, and dispense advice while the two kids fight over a potholder. One must know what one is doing. Or pretend really well.
But I did a real good job pretending!
So you can grow up, Lucy! I'm ready for you!
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
nervousness
So I read The Price of Motherhood. Besides making me even more of a crazed, liberal, tree-hugging activist, the book also made me a touch nervous.
I'm really glad that I have confidence that my marriage is going to last past whatever troubles we run into, because I am a sitting duck if anything were to happen.
I've been skulking around the house lately, making sure Dyami doesn't start oppressing me. (He managed to diffuse my tension by cleaning the oven and kitchen counters on Monday, unprompted. I love this man!)
Things didn't go so well when he offered his usual incisive/devil's advocate critiques of the book when I read him quotes. Sometimes I don't think guys realize that for them it's a fun parlor game, offering critique, while for us (well, me) we're inserting our own last name for Mr. and Mrs. X, so it's a tad more personal. For example: when I mentioned some ideas regarding equitable divorce, which involved taking much of the guy's salary and giving it to his wife and kids, so that they all would be at the same crappy standard of living, here was his (joking) comment: "If that's the case, it would have been cheaper for the guy to make his wife go back to work, and pay someone else to watch the kids."
For the record, I know he was just playing devil's advocate, and he told me straight out that he agreed that the kids shouldn't be in poverty because Daddy decided he wanted a new girlfriend, but still! I resolved the argument by getting surly and weepy for a while, and then we made up.
But, nervousness. The book is supportive of the choices women make--but is very clear about the long-term consequences if you guess wrong about your marriage. Motherhood is a big factor in poverty, as is divorce; alimony is increasingly less common, and all the stay-home care you provide (or want to provide) your kids doesn't count in its calculation. People tell you you're doing "the most important job" but they don't want to pay you for it, and if you're poor, to get public assistance, you can't stay home with your kids, but must put them in daycare and take a job that pays less than the daycare costs. Social Security ignores your (very real) provision of productive, tax-paying members of society, jobs don't allow flexible time, and the women who have power (and seem to prove that feminism has changed our system) generally don't have kids. Not only that, but traditional family advocates (read: conservatives), feminists, and even regular moms often ignore or criticize or worse, fight against policies that might actually help the grand majority of us. And all these lousy policies are unlikely to change until moms get in power. Which is a bit hard to do when we're locked out by lousy policies.
All of this makes me need a large dose of wheat-free, gluten-free beer. Or a Moms Rising party. (It's happening! Whoop!)
I'm praying that my nervousness would not translate to anxiety, but to action. That Christ would help me not worry about what I can't control (the future, for example) and instead speak up for those that don't have the time or freedom to read hair-raising books.
I'm really glad that I have confidence that my marriage is going to last past whatever troubles we run into, because I am a sitting duck if anything were to happen.
I've been skulking around the house lately, making sure Dyami doesn't start oppressing me. (He managed to diffuse my tension by cleaning the oven and kitchen counters on Monday, unprompted. I love this man!)
Things didn't go so well when he offered his usual incisive/devil's advocate critiques of the book when I read him quotes. Sometimes I don't think guys realize that for them it's a fun parlor game, offering critique, while for us (well, me) we're inserting our own last name for Mr. and Mrs. X, so it's a tad more personal. For example: when I mentioned some ideas regarding equitable divorce, which involved taking much of the guy's salary and giving it to his wife and kids, so that they all would be at the same crappy standard of living, here was his (joking) comment: "If that's the case, it would have been cheaper for the guy to make his wife go back to work, and pay someone else to watch the kids."
For the record, I know he was just playing devil's advocate, and he told me straight out that he agreed that the kids shouldn't be in poverty because Daddy decided he wanted a new girlfriend, but still! I resolved the argument by getting surly and weepy for a while, and then we made up.
But, nervousness. The book is supportive of the choices women make--but is very clear about the long-term consequences if you guess wrong about your marriage. Motherhood is a big factor in poverty, as is divorce; alimony is increasingly less common, and all the stay-home care you provide (or want to provide) your kids doesn't count in its calculation. People tell you you're doing "the most important job" but they don't want to pay you for it, and if you're poor, to get public assistance, you can't stay home with your kids, but must put them in daycare and take a job that pays less than the daycare costs. Social Security ignores your (very real) provision of productive, tax-paying members of society, jobs don't allow flexible time, and the women who have power (and seem to prove that feminism has changed our system) generally don't have kids. Not only that, but traditional family advocates (read: conservatives), feminists, and even regular moms often ignore or criticize or worse, fight against policies that might actually help the grand majority of us. And all these lousy policies are unlikely to change until moms get in power. Which is a bit hard to do when we're locked out by lousy policies.
All of this makes me need a large dose of wheat-free, gluten-free beer. Or a Moms Rising party. (It's happening! Whoop!)
I'm praying that my nervousness would not translate to anxiety, but to action. That Christ would help me not worry about what I can't control (the future, for example) and instead speak up for those that don't have the time or freedom to read hair-raising books.
Monday, May 28, 2007
homeschool
Since Lucy is approaching school age, I've started looking at curriculum books, and trying to make the decision about whether I want to go full-bore and homeschool her.
I know, I know, this is a bit premature, given that she isn't walking or talking yet. But no one ever accused me of not planning ahead.
Part of me is very seduced by the idea of learning with my kids, reading great books to them, and helping instill a love of learning, rather than sending them to public school and watching it be drilled out of them.
Both Dyami and I went to public school, and both of us got a good education. With a few exceptions:
And (perhaps naively) I think Dyami and I could do a good job of educating. I am pretty qualified and excited about language, history, and social sciences. If I had a good math curriculum, I'm sure I could do fine (I always did fine with decent books). And Dyami is great backup if I hit roadblocks. Both of us love learning, love good literature, and are constantly seeking out new forms of knowledge.
When I think about actually learning things with my kids--going to the library and seeking out info on the Renaissance, or photosynthesis, or being able to fill in the gaps in my own education while helping my kids to learn, that sounds pretty cool. I mean, I did Spanish and English grammar study for fun one summer. I know, I'm a nerd.
And reading a bunch of great books together (though I don't plan on making my kids read Jerome and Hercletes in translation, sorry).
And trying to tech them spanish--maybe going to Mexico for a month as a family for language immersion together? Or to Argentina? pretty cool.
As for "socialization", I know a family that homeschooled all three kids (well, they're still in the process) through high school, and their kids are completely sane, well-adjusted, and socially adept. In fact, they're pretty awesome kids. So there's no reason it can't work.
FInally, I really, really, really dislike the consumer focus of our society. With the branding, and the emphasis on labels, and who has the best toys, and kids with cell phones, and high school kids with new cars. And the marketing is reaching earlier and earlier and earlier. This really bothers me. I know that a lot of this is guided by peers, in school, because it sure was for me, in the days of less-intense advertising. Guess, Keds, Espirit, Trapper Keeper, etc. You know what I'm saying.
Here's my hesitation.
1) I'm worried I'm thinking about this just to prove something. Like with EC, I tend to seek out the most difficult, high-effort way of doing something and then bang my head against the wall in an effort to show how superior I am to everyone else.
I do not think this is a biblical model for homeschooling. I am trying to pray that God would show me if homeschooling would be good for my mental health.
2) I have a friend that homeschools that really, truly, loves being around her kids all day.
I'm not sure I will be in that camp. I love Lucy, don't get me wrong, but I really covet the baby-free moments I get.
So those are my hesitations. If I'm a worse mommy because of homeschooling, it's not worth it. I don't want to be a witch or a martyr. I would like to have time to do my own writing and thinking again someday.
I know, I know, this is a bit premature, given that she isn't walking or talking yet. But no one ever accused me of not planning ahead.
Part of me is very seduced by the idea of learning with my kids, reading great books to them, and helping instill a love of learning, rather than sending them to public school and watching it be drilled out of them.
Both Dyami and I went to public school, and both of us got a good education. With a few exceptions:
- I remember dreading the first two months of school in elementry grades, because it was all review. I made paper clip chains and tried to get through it.
- I would read ahead in my textbooks and then be lost when I got called on.
- Worksheets where we had to write "complete sentance" answers, even when the repetition was numbing. Example: Why did the chicken cross the road? Ans: The chicken crossed the road to get to the other side.
- Dyami was in Montessori for his first grade year, and then in public school after that. He said he didn't learn anything new in math until sixth grade. Man, he could have been a Nobel Laureate in Math by 6th grade if he hadn't been held back by the public school system.
- The whole 'being smart is dumb' culture really sucked. I put up with it until high school, where in our school, being 'average' was dumb. Also not cool, but it was nice to have a break.
- A mediocre teacher and a lousy book in PreCalculus in high school. God, I hated that class. I could never figure otu the homework, and neither teacher or book helped. I scraped by, but learned almost no math. In college, I got an A in Calculus with a good teacher and good book. (I still don't remember any of it, but I did master the material at the time).
- Dyami opted out of Honors English because the teacher was obnoxious. (Being Dyami, he told the teacher so, in class). It didn't harm him long-term, but he probably missed out on some cool books.
- I was a little worried about getting beat up in Science C in Jr. High.
- Junior high in general, actually.
- Health class. Ugh.
- Just a lot of wasted time. A lot, a lot of wasted time. And we were in good schools.
And (perhaps naively) I think Dyami and I could do a good job of educating. I am pretty qualified and excited about language, history, and social sciences. If I had a good math curriculum, I'm sure I could do fine (I always did fine with decent books). And Dyami is great backup if I hit roadblocks. Both of us love learning, love good literature, and are constantly seeking out new forms of knowledge.
When I think about actually learning things with my kids--going to the library and seeking out info on the Renaissance, or photosynthesis, or being able to fill in the gaps in my own education while helping my kids to learn, that sounds pretty cool. I mean, I did Spanish and English grammar study for fun one summer. I know, I'm a nerd.
And reading a bunch of great books together (though I don't plan on making my kids read Jerome and Hercletes in translation, sorry).
And trying to tech them spanish--maybe going to Mexico for a month as a family for language immersion together? Or to Argentina? pretty cool.
As for "socialization", I know a family that homeschooled all three kids (well, they're still in the process) through high school, and their kids are completely sane, well-adjusted, and socially adept. In fact, they're pretty awesome kids. So there's no reason it can't work.
FInally, I really, really, really dislike the consumer focus of our society. With the branding, and the emphasis on labels, and who has the best toys, and kids with cell phones, and high school kids with new cars. And the marketing is reaching earlier and earlier and earlier. This really bothers me. I know that a lot of this is guided by peers, in school, because it sure was for me, in the days of less-intense advertising. Guess, Keds, Espirit, Trapper Keeper, etc. You know what I'm saying.
Here's my hesitation.
1) I'm worried I'm thinking about this just to prove something. Like with EC, I tend to seek out the most difficult, high-effort way of doing something and then bang my head against the wall in an effort to show how superior I am to everyone else.
I do not think this is a biblical model for homeschooling. I am trying to pray that God would show me if homeschooling would be good for my mental health.
2) I have a friend that homeschools that really, truly, loves being around her kids all day.
I'm not sure I will be in that camp. I love Lucy, don't get me wrong, but I really covet the baby-free moments I get.
So those are my hesitations. If I'm a worse mommy because of homeschooling, it's not worth it. I don't want to be a witch or a martyr. I would like to have time to do my own writing and thinking again someday.
Friday, May 18, 2007
how I spend my time
I spent a lovely midmorning with my friend Abi and her daughter Ginger (five days Lucy's junior). We walked along the beach for nearly an hour and chatted.
One thing we chatted about was how both of us are a little nervous claiming housewifedom as our identity. I've been thinking about homeschooling, and am still really not sure if I can/will do it, and part of the reason is I get nervous about thinking of making raising kids my full-time job for the next ten, eighteen, twenty years. Not that I have to commit that full time now, but the idea of it scares me.
I realized recently, too, that I have the best time parenting Lucy if I try to hang out with at least one person a day, and try to get out of the house once a day. At the very least, this provides distraction; at best, I actually enjoy myself a lot.
Sometimes I feel irrationally guilty, though, getting to hang out with friends every day. Shouldn't I be doing something productive? I hang out with people rather than, say, dusting. Or getting other things done around the house.
This guilt ignores the fact that it is often difficult and frustrating to try to be productive with a baby. So one might as well be out with friends as sitting home, not being productive, whilst frustrated.
Why do I feel guilty, then? I think it's because hanging with friends (new ones, of course, not my old ones, many of whom I miss, but don't get to see very much) sounds relaxing and easy and decadent. I have this sense that if I'm a stay-at-home mom, I should have my nose to the grindstone as much as someone at a job.
This also ignores the fact that I used to like my job, generally. That I really enjoyed being in school.
So why the guilt? Why shouldn't I be able to make my life as a mom fun and varied?
Perhaps it's partially that I would also like to be useful.
This ignores the fact that I am extremely useful to my daughter, given that I'm her only food source. It's a very short food chain.
Okay, now we're getting closer to the truth. I want to be useful to other people, in that larger world out there. I want to be important, to feel important. And wiping baby's bums, important as it is in real terms (no wipe=skin problems, infections, etc), doesn't count in our world.
I'm reading The Truth Behind the Mommy Wars right now. The author points out how little mothering is valued, in real terms, by our society. For example, welfare makes moms of infants work at minimum wage jobs while they are given daycare vouchers. If you think about this, it makes absolutely no sense. Daycare is expensive. For what purpose, then are these women working? Is caring for a child worth no credit? (From a purely pragmatic view, wouldn't it be a good idea to support the moms as mothers, so that their kids don't cost the system money when they become delinquents?)
My friend Abi told me she has never really cared about what people thought about her before. But she cares when she tells them she's staying at home with her kid.
I've not had the experience, yet, of not caring what other people think. But I, at least, am mostly in social circles (conservative Christian) where my choice is valued (some might argue a little too much). And even I'm sometimes embarrassed to say, "No, I don't earn a wage right now". Or maybe more: "I don't plan on earning a wage anytime soon."
My problem is compounded by the fact that the work I want to do (write poetry, say*) also doesn't earn a wage. So I feel like a diletante or hobbyist if I say I'm a writer. And a nobody if I'm a mother.
I've also had an idea for a business (helping people write memoirs) that I would like to do at some point, if I ever have an hour of time on a regular basis to actually accomplish things. And yet: part of me knows I want to start this business to justify myself, somehow. Like the work I'm doing isn't enough in itself.
What's ridiculous about my embarrassment is that I'm working harder now than I ever have in my life, in many ways. And this is only my first child. Perhaps the mantle of motherhood gets more comfortable or commodious or normal as time goes on.
I would like to be proud of what I do. I would like to be proud to tell people I stay home, and know that they respect me for it.
Today I looked at my prayer site and this phrase from Ezekiel leapt out at me: "O mortal, eat what is offered to you." It's spoken to a prophet, and God is telling him to be a prophet in the way God wants him to be, even if it's hard. And Ezekiel eats, and it is like honey in his stomach.
I would like to eat what God offers to me, and speak what he speaks to me, and have it be sweet in my stomach.
*In other news: I got another poem published! And yes, I'm getting paid. In contributors copies, of course.
One thing we chatted about was how both of us are a little nervous claiming housewifedom as our identity. I've been thinking about homeschooling, and am still really not sure if I can/will do it, and part of the reason is I get nervous about thinking of making raising kids my full-time job for the next ten, eighteen, twenty years. Not that I have to commit that full time now, but the idea of it scares me.
I realized recently, too, that I have the best time parenting Lucy if I try to hang out with at least one person a day, and try to get out of the house once a day. At the very least, this provides distraction; at best, I actually enjoy myself a lot.
Sometimes I feel irrationally guilty, though, getting to hang out with friends every day. Shouldn't I be doing something productive? I hang out with people rather than, say, dusting. Or getting other things done around the house.
This guilt ignores the fact that it is often difficult and frustrating to try to be productive with a baby. So one might as well be out with friends as sitting home, not being productive, whilst frustrated.
Why do I feel guilty, then? I think it's because hanging with friends (new ones, of course, not my old ones, many of whom I miss, but don't get to see very much) sounds relaxing and easy and decadent. I have this sense that if I'm a stay-at-home mom, I should have my nose to the grindstone as much as someone at a job.
This also ignores the fact that I used to like my job, generally. That I really enjoyed being in school.
So why the guilt? Why shouldn't I be able to make my life as a mom fun and varied?
Perhaps it's partially that I would also like to be useful.
This ignores the fact that I am extremely useful to my daughter, given that I'm her only food source. It's a very short food chain.
Okay, now we're getting closer to the truth. I want to be useful to other people, in that larger world out there. I want to be important, to feel important. And wiping baby's bums, important as it is in real terms (no wipe=skin problems, infections, etc), doesn't count in our world.
I'm reading The Truth Behind the Mommy Wars right now. The author points out how little mothering is valued, in real terms, by our society. For example, welfare makes moms of infants work at minimum wage jobs while they are given daycare vouchers. If you think about this, it makes absolutely no sense. Daycare is expensive. For what purpose, then are these women working? Is caring for a child worth no credit? (From a purely pragmatic view, wouldn't it be a good idea to support the moms as mothers, so that their kids don't cost the system money when they become delinquents?)
My friend Abi told me she has never really cared about what people thought about her before. But she cares when she tells them she's staying at home with her kid.
I've not had the experience, yet, of not caring what other people think. But I, at least, am mostly in social circles (conservative Christian) where my choice is valued (some might argue a little too much). And even I'm sometimes embarrassed to say, "No, I don't earn a wage right now". Or maybe more: "I don't plan on earning a wage anytime soon."
My problem is compounded by the fact that the work I want to do (write poetry, say*) also doesn't earn a wage. So I feel like a diletante or hobbyist if I say I'm a writer. And a nobody if I'm a mother.
I've also had an idea for a business (helping people write memoirs) that I would like to do at some point, if I ever have an hour of time on a regular basis to actually accomplish things. And yet: part of me knows I want to start this business to justify myself, somehow. Like the work I'm doing isn't enough in itself.
What's ridiculous about my embarrassment is that I'm working harder now than I ever have in my life, in many ways. And this is only my first child. Perhaps the mantle of motherhood gets more comfortable or commodious or normal as time goes on.
I would like to be proud of what I do. I would like to be proud to tell people I stay home, and know that they respect me for it.
Today I looked at my prayer site and this phrase from Ezekiel leapt out at me: "O mortal, eat what is offered to you." It's spoken to a prophet, and God is telling him to be a prophet in the way God wants him to be, even if it's hard. And Ezekiel eats, and it is like honey in his stomach.
I would like to eat what God offers to me, and speak what he speaks to me, and have it be sweet in my stomach.
*In other news: I got another poem published! And yes, I'm getting paid. In contributors copies, of course.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
equal vs. difference
I just finished reading a not-so-great autobiography, called Not One of the Boys by Brenda Feigen. It was made more entertaining by the notes my friend Michelle wrote in the margins in red. At one point, Feigan meets Madeleine Albright and says, "I was impressed by [Albright's] command of foreign policy." Michelle observed, "I'll bet Madeleine was gratified."
Anyway, as many books do, it started out fine, chronicling Feigan's time in law school, suffering under blatant sexism. Then it sort of got less interesting as the book went on (lots of name-dropping, less personal connection, I think). What made me think, though, was one of the final chapters, where she discusses two types of feminism: difference and equality feminism.
Feigan is definitely an equality feminist. I think I'm a difference feminist.
She discusses pregnancy leave and various Supreme Court cases and their effects on women. Apparently, some people (difference feminists) advocate for specific pregnancy leave, while others (equality feminists) want pregnancy to be covered by disability leave (those of you who know more about this than me, forgive me if I'm getting it wrong). By making a special case of women and pregnancy, equality feminists argue, you make it easier to discriminate against women. Better to treat women absolutely equal--no special priviledges or categories--and avoid that.
While to some extent I understand the rationale behind this argument, it is one of the reasons I've decided not to be a feminist all of these years. And after actually being pregnant and nursing, I have even more of a problem with it. Here's why.
1) Why categorize pregnancy as sickness or disability? This is a perfectly normal state of humanity. Perhaps it's just semantic; pregnancy certainly disables women in that while pregnancy we aren't able to do certain things, like drink, or lift heavy objects, or ride mechanical bulls. But on the other hand, it kind of rubs me the wrong way, like having to be a "patient" at a doctor's office for prenatal visits (when you're not sick at all). Our whole society--doctors, employers--feminists--seem to view pregnancy as a problem, a disease, something out of the ordinary. But what could be more normal than procreation?
2) Don't a lot of European countries (which are arguably more progressive on womens rights issues than ours) offer specifically maternity leave? I could be wrong, but it doesn't seem that offering this keeps women down.
3) It seems fictitious to say that women aren't different. Faigen argues that expecting women to do the nurturing of the child (by offering maternity leave) keeps men from having to commit to their share of the parenting. I'm all for men doing their part (in fact, some paternity leave would be nice) but in reality, women's burden of childcare is biologically heavier. We're the ones who are pregnant, we're the ones that nurse. Faigan's answer to this is that "nursing mothers might be an exception: perhaps the breast pump is the answer". Again, nothing against pumping (for other people, anyway), but pumping is sort of a fiction, too. Does that mean that we need technology to make our society equal? That unless women use some sort of technological intervention, there's no way to make their burden less onerous? The reality is that women have a 10-12 hour a day burden after their child is born for the first few months. A pump helps, but only somewhat: it means you don't have to be physically there for all the feedings, but you still have to 'nurse' the machine. So is that really the answer? And what about those women (myself included) that don't want to leave their children?
4) This is kind of related. It strikes me that the 'equality' answer is to neuter everyone and treat everyone as kind of replacable cogs. Or, really, to neuter women and make them into pretend men. We aren't pretend men. Our reproductive systems are far more complicated, and the full range of our bodies' possibility far wider. Not that you must be a mom to be a 'real' woman (no sirree!) but the possibility of it is only ours. So to say that you have to treat everyone the same: as if there was no pregnancy, no breastfeeding, is to strip us of part of our humanity. Why must we pretend that part of ourselves doesn't exist in order to get equal treatment?
Okay, that's enough ranting for the day. Dyami wants to go to bed, and I should probably talk to him some before we close our eyes.
Anyway, as many books do, it started out fine, chronicling Feigan's time in law school, suffering under blatant sexism. Then it sort of got less interesting as the book went on (lots of name-dropping, less personal connection, I think). What made me think, though, was one of the final chapters, where she discusses two types of feminism: difference and equality feminism.
Feigan is definitely an equality feminist. I think I'm a difference feminist.
She discusses pregnancy leave and various Supreme Court cases and their effects on women. Apparently, some people (difference feminists) advocate for specific pregnancy leave, while others (equality feminists) want pregnancy to be covered by disability leave (those of you who know more about this than me, forgive me if I'm getting it wrong). By making a special case of women and pregnancy, equality feminists argue, you make it easier to discriminate against women. Better to treat women absolutely equal--no special priviledges or categories--and avoid that.
While to some extent I understand the rationale behind this argument, it is one of the reasons I've decided not to be a feminist all of these years. And after actually being pregnant and nursing, I have even more of a problem with it. Here's why.
1) Why categorize pregnancy as sickness or disability? This is a perfectly normal state of humanity. Perhaps it's just semantic; pregnancy certainly disables women in that while pregnancy we aren't able to do certain things, like drink, or lift heavy objects, or ride mechanical bulls. But on the other hand, it kind of rubs me the wrong way, like having to be a "patient" at a doctor's office for prenatal visits (when you're not sick at all). Our whole society--doctors, employers--feminists--seem to view pregnancy as a problem, a disease, something out of the ordinary. But what could be more normal than procreation?
2) Don't a lot of European countries (which are arguably more progressive on womens rights issues than ours) offer specifically maternity leave? I could be wrong, but it doesn't seem that offering this keeps women down.
3) It seems fictitious to say that women aren't different. Faigen argues that expecting women to do the nurturing of the child (by offering maternity leave) keeps men from having to commit to their share of the parenting. I'm all for men doing their part (in fact, some paternity leave would be nice) but in reality, women's burden of childcare is biologically heavier. We're the ones who are pregnant, we're the ones that nurse. Faigan's answer to this is that "nursing mothers might be an exception: perhaps the breast pump is the answer". Again, nothing against pumping (for other people, anyway), but pumping is sort of a fiction, too. Does that mean that we need technology to make our society equal? That unless women use some sort of technological intervention, there's no way to make their burden less onerous? The reality is that women have a 10-12 hour a day burden after their child is born for the first few months. A pump helps, but only somewhat: it means you don't have to be physically there for all the feedings, but you still have to 'nurse' the machine. So is that really the answer? And what about those women (myself included) that don't want to leave their children?
4) This is kind of related. It strikes me that the 'equality' answer is to neuter everyone and treat everyone as kind of replacable cogs. Or, really, to neuter women and make them into pretend men. We aren't pretend men. Our reproductive systems are far more complicated, and the full range of our bodies' possibility far wider. Not that you must be a mom to be a 'real' woman (no sirree!) but the possibility of it is only ours. So to say that you have to treat everyone the same: as if there was no pregnancy, no breastfeeding, is to strip us of part of our humanity. Why must we pretend that part of ourselves doesn't exist in order to get equal treatment?
Okay, that's enough ranting for the day. Dyami wants to go to bed, and I should probably talk to him some before we close our eyes.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
thinking
My friend Hack Mommy was kind enough to name me a Thinking Blogger. Her blog is literate and funny and a little sassy, so I was Quite Pleased by the accolade.
Except Melissa wants me to tag other people. But I only know two bloggers personally. I will admit that I've started following some links to blogs and being entertained by them (Dear Lord! More reading to distract me, along with Dear Abby?) but I feel embarrassed tagging people I've not been formally introduced to, and who have been blogging for years, and have actual readers and such.
But I like The Lactivist. She's thoughtful, and sassy about being a brave breastfeeder, and she doesn't take any crap! If you're reading this, Lactivist, you are nominated! Congratulations! Think!
Melissa threatened to post a book review for her 'thinking nomination' post, but didn't actually do it, so I will do it for her.
I read The Feminine Mystique last week, and was quite influenced. A few notes:
Okay, hope I've made you all think today. Now I've got to go read Dear Abby. And some blogs.
Except Melissa wants me to tag other people. But I only know two bloggers personally. I will admit that I've started following some links to blogs and being entertained by them (Dear Lord! More reading to distract me, along with Dear Abby?) but I feel embarrassed tagging people I've not been formally introduced to, and who have been blogging for years, and have actual readers and such.
But I like The Lactivist. She's thoughtful, and sassy about being a brave breastfeeder, and she doesn't take any crap! If you're reading this, Lactivist, you are nominated! Congratulations! Think!
Melissa threatened to post a book review for her 'thinking nomination' post, but didn't actually do it, so I will do it for her.
I read The Feminine Mystique last week, and was quite influenced. A few notes:
- My mom was a home economics major when the book came out, and it was required for a class. She said she and her classmates thought the book was radical. (When I read it, most of it seemed pretty straight-forward to me, like "well, of course."). This is one generation, people.
- Though I found most of the book compelling some of it seemed like overkill. Friedan goes into a lot of (fairly ridiculous) examples of how women are exploited or pandered to by magazines, "experts", advertising, etc. When I say ridiculous, I mean it's incredible that they're real. However, the amount of change in our culture means that they seemed kind of removed from reality for me, (for example: it's no longer okay to assert that women can get over their husband's affairs by dying their hair blonde). After the shock wore off, I couldn't identify with most of the examples. Happily, this means things have gotten better.
- Friedan asserts that children of working women do better (less neuroses, for example) than kids of traditional, mystique-style homemakers. While I don't completely disagree with her, (fulfilled moms are certainly better than bitter, bored ones), I think kids can lose out big-time if parents are more invested in careers than home. (This is equally true for men and women). I think my generation has gone more 'traditional' in their parenting choices because we lived through the surge of moms working, and realized that sometimes, it can really suck to have both parents plugged in to American corporate culture.
- To go along with that observation, I don't want to live a frantic, scheduled-to-the-max life. Two parents working forty hours a week seems too frantic to me. (Of course, I'm blessed to have the luxury of choosing). Not that that is what Friedan calls us to do, but I think it's what a lot of professional women live with.
- I read another book a while ago called The Two Income Trap. The authors point out that when families depend on two incomes to make car and mortgage payments, there's no way out of the hole if one spouse loses a job or becomes ill. And with so many families now having two incomes, our suburbs with good schools have experienced bidding wars on houses. So now even if you only wanted to live on one salary, it is increasingly hard to do so if you want your kids in a decent school.
Okay, hope I've made you all think today. Now I've got to go read Dear Abby. And some blogs.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
a study: homebirth
Just found a study published in the British Medical Journal regarding the safety of home birth here in the US. It was on The Lactivist a while ago.
Main points:
1) Women with low-risk pregnancies choosing to birth at home had "was 1.7 (child) deaths per 1000 planned home births, similar to risks in other studies of low risk home and hospital births in North America. No mothers died."
2) These women had much lower interventions. For example, instead of an estimated 30% rate of caesarian with most hospitals, home births that ended up transferring to the hospital had a 3.7% caesarian rate.
Home Birth: Just as safe, without the surgery!
Main points:
1) Women with low-risk pregnancies choosing to birth at home had "was 1.7 (child) deaths per 1000 planned home births, similar to risks in other studies of low risk home and hospital births in North America. No mothers died."
2) These women had much lower interventions. For example, instead of an estimated 30% rate of caesarian with most hospitals, home births that ended up transferring to the hospital had a 3.7% caesarian rate.
Home Birth: Just as safe, without the surgery!
Sunday, January 7, 2007
Lucy is a mushroom.
More on The Omnivore's Dilemma: in the last chapter, the author prepares a meal he gathers and hunts himself, the big two items being wild pig and mushrooms. He talks quite a bit about mushrooms and how mysterious they are. Here's a quote:
"When I went to visit...the renowned mycologist (mushroom expert)...I asked him what he considered the big open questions in his field. Without a moment's hesitation he named two: "Why here and not there? Why now and not then?""
I think these are my big open nap/sleep questions. Today was a day of frustrating naps. (Luckily, bedtime was a breeze.)
Since I'm getting over a cold, I actually wouldn't mind spending much of the day snoozing in bed with Lucy.
Of course, she has chosen this week to not like sleeping in bed. She likes sleeping in the sling only during the day, thank you very much.
Sling sleeping is not so restful for me.
Today I needed a nap. (Warning. Do not need anything with a baby around. It is a sure way of not getting it). Sleep last night wasn't so hot, and she wouldn't nap in bed in the morning. When the afternoon nap time rolled around, I was determined to have her nap in bed with me next to her. (Warning. Warning. Do not be determined with a small baby. Eject! Eject!)
She cried for a half hour. (No, I wasn't torturing her. I was very nice to her.) First, she needed to pee. Then--well, I don't know what her deal was. I sang (I don't have much of a voice left). I cradled her in my arm (she tends to like this). I rocked her (rocking while laying down isn't the easiest thing). I offered Brand Y boob. I offered brand X boob. I stood on my frickin' head.
For those of you in the peanut gallery, she was tired the whole time. That was not the problem. She was rubbing her eyes, yawning. She may have been overtired, but since naps are so difficult for us right now, there wasn't much I could do about that, now, could I?
I gave up. "Take her," I said to Dyami. He wore her around in the Baby Bjorn for about ten minutes.
I rubbed my eyes, sleepily and in frustration. "I'm going to try again."
Dyami looked at me in disbelief. "You sure, honey?"
I nodded. He handed her to me.
Laid down. Boob in mouth. Fell asleep in ten minutes. (To clarify: Lucy and me fell asleep).
Again, I ask you: "Why here and not there? Why now and not then?"
Apparently, my daughter is a fungus.
"When I went to visit...the renowned mycologist (mushroom expert)...I asked him what he considered the big open questions in his field. Without a moment's hesitation he named two: "Why here and not there? Why now and not then?""
I think these are my big open nap/sleep questions. Today was a day of frustrating naps. (Luckily, bedtime was a breeze.)
Since I'm getting over a cold, I actually wouldn't mind spending much of the day snoozing in bed with Lucy.
Of course, she has chosen this week to not like sleeping in bed. She likes sleeping in the sling only during the day, thank you very much.
Sling sleeping is not so restful for me.
Today I needed a nap. (Warning. Do not need anything with a baby around. It is a sure way of not getting it). Sleep last night wasn't so hot, and she wouldn't nap in bed in the morning. When the afternoon nap time rolled around, I was determined to have her nap in bed with me next to her. (Warning. Warning. Do not be determined with a small baby. Eject! Eject!)
She cried for a half hour. (No, I wasn't torturing her. I was very nice to her.) First, she needed to pee. Then--well, I don't know what her deal was. I sang (I don't have much of a voice left). I cradled her in my arm (she tends to like this). I rocked her (rocking while laying down isn't the easiest thing). I offered Brand Y boob. I offered brand X boob. I stood on my frickin' head.
For those of you in the peanut gallery, she was tired the whole time. That was not the problem. She was rubbing her eyes, yawning. She may have been overtired, but since naps are so difficult for us right now, there wasn't much I could do about that, now, could I?
I gave up. "Take her," I said to Dyami. He wore her around in the Baby Bjorn for about ten minutes.
I rubbed my eyes, sleepily and in frustration. "I'm going to try again."
Dyami looked at me in disbelief. "You sure, honey?"
I nodded. He handed her to me.
Laid down. Boob in mouth. Fell asleep in ten minutes. (To clarify: Lucy and me fell asleep).
Again, I ask you: "Why here and not there? Why now and not then?"
Apparently, my daughter is a fungus.
Thursday, January 4, 2007
whole food
I really shouldn't read anymore. I'm too suceptible to books' suggestions.
I'm reading The Omnivore's Dilemma. It's really good, but like reading "Fast Food Nation", you can't really read it without feeling guilty and/or disgusted by pretty much everything in your refrigerator.
We eat pretty whole foods (most processed food we eat is either cereal or canned goods, ie, beans or tomatoes). Oh, and some prepped meats from Trader Joe's. But I don't buy organic because I'm a cheapskate.
I might decide to start buying organic. Or even more crazily, local. When you hear about monoculture cornfields that bankrupt our farmers and fatten and sicken our nation, one feels led to do something about it.
Evidence of my suceptibility to books: halfway through the book, I decided we needed to join a Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) club to get our produce direct from a farm around here. Some friends of ours did it a while ago, and I thought, "How quaint of them.". Now I'm convinced it's the only way to go.
(After reading Fast Food Nation (on a long plane ride--bad call. One already feels queasy after 10 hours in the air) I decided to not eat fast food anymroe, unless it was In N Out. Which promise I promptly broke, only to feel sick from the McDonalds. Now, I pretty much stick to it. Fresher food, decent wages= In N Out for me.)
Or maybe I'll just go shop at Jimbo's and try not to buy the five dollar asparagus from Argentina (much as I love Argentina).
Or maybe I'll keep buying 19 cent bananas at Trader Joe's and just feel virtously guilty? Or buy the 25 cent organic ones?
One is just so wedded to the Way One Has Always Done Things. Like, I'm not sure I can get apples locally. Should we stop eating apples? Or what if I want to make soup from scratch in a month where celery isn't harvested from my CSA? And how exactly do you prepare turnips (which would be included in produce I got from one CSA).
Hmmmm. No more fancy-pants reading for me! Too much of a hassle.
Oh, in good news, the farm used as a model in the book (which operates with very very little waste--no trucked in compost--animals and plants nourishing eachother) is operated in Virginia by a conservative Christian who says farming is his ministry. How cool! Would that mothering and whatever else I do with my life could be a model, as well.
I'm reading The Omnivore's Dilemma. It's really good, but like reading "Fast Food Nation", you can't really read it without feeling guilty and/or disgusted by pretty much everything in your refrigerator.
We eat pretty whole foods (most processed food we eat is either cereal or canned goods, ie, beans or tomatoes). Oh, and some prepped meats from Trader Joe's. But I don't buy organic because I'm a cheapskate.
I might decide to start buying organic. Or even more crazily, local. When you hear about monoculture cornfields that bankrupt our farmers and fatten and sicken our nation, one feels led to do something about it.
Evidence of my suceptibility to books: halfway through the book, I decided we needed to join a Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) club to get our produce direct from a farm around here. Some friends of ours did it a while ago, and I thought, "How quaint of them.". Now I'm convinced it's the only way to go.
(After reading Fast Food Nation (on a long plane ride--bad call. One already feels queasy after 10 hours in the air) I decided to not eat fast food anymroe, unless it was In N Out. Which promise I promptly broke, only to feel sick from the McDonalds. Now, I pretty much stick to it. Fresher food, decent wages= In N Out for me.)
Or maybe I'll just go shop at Jimbo's and try not to buy the five dollar asparagus from Argentina (much as I love Argentina).
Or maybe I'll keep buying 19 cent bananas at Trader Joe's and just feel virtously guilty? Or buy the 25 cent organic ones?
One is just so wedded to the Way One Has Always Done Things. Like, I'm not sure I can get apples locally. Should we stop eating apples? Or what if I want to make soup from scratch in a month where celery isn't harvested from my CSA? And how exactly do you prepare turnips (which would be included in produce I got from one CSA).
Hmmmm. No more fancy-pants reading for me! Too much of a hassle.
Oh, in good news, the farm used as a model in the book (which operates with very very little waste--no trucked in compost--animals and plants nourishing eachother) is operated in Virginia by a conservative Christian who says farming is his ministry. How cool! Would that mothering and whatever else I do with my life could be a model, as well.
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