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 societal rants. Show all posts
Showing posts with label societal rants. 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.
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.
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.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
I feel bad about my shampoo bottle *
I have a bottle of shampoo that is giving me feminist/ethnic reconciliation problems. It's special curl-enhancing shampoo (I know, curl-enhancing shampoo?!! What the heck!!?? I bought it by accident, okay? Thinking it was my curl cream. And was too embarrassed to return it). It's by a company called Bumble & bumble, and here's what it says (besides curl-enhancing shampoo/for fine to medium hair):
DEMURE DAMSEL BABY DOLL BOTTICELLI MUSE NORDIC ANGEL ENGLISH
1) So having curly hair (or, perhaps more accurately for this product) desiring to have curly hair) makes one demure? A baby doll? A muse? A painting by Botticelli? Do no women with curly hair desire to be, say, powerful or kick-ass? Mature? Wise? None of the adjectives make me think of competence or power. All conjure images of helplessness (baby doll/ damsel), doing what they're told (demure) or only good for inspiring men to creativity (botticelli/muse).
2) What about women of color? Do they not have curly hair? Why is it that having curly hair must be associated with particular nationalities/ethnicities (nordic/english)? This I have a bit less problem with, since it's conceivable that African-American women would laugh at this product at being wholly unsuitable for their curls, and women with actually curly hair have no desire to enhance said curls. However, the english/nordic labels makes me feel like the curls are also supposed to be blonde (since botticelli's curly-headed Venus is, too), which I also have a problem with.
I have been using this product for a while (since before Lucy was born) and I've never been wild about the label, but it has been bothering me more and more. I think I've been reading a bit too much Betty Friedan. Or something.
I don't think I'm going to buy the product again (too expensive, anyway) but I am going to use up the bottles I have left. I'm too cheap not to. Maybe I'll say something to my hairstylist.
Help! I'm becoming like my old roomate's husband, unable to watch movies because of the exploitation of women! Help!
*Today's post title is a hidden reference to Nora Ephron's new book (I Feel Bad About My Neck). That I haven't read. I haven't read any of her books. Unless you count seeing Sleepless in Seattle or When Harry Met Sally. Which I guess I could, seeing as she wrote them, too.
DEMURE DAMSEL BABY DOLL BOTTICELLI MUSE NORDIC ANGEL ENGLISH
1) So having curly hair (or, perhaps more accurately for this product) desiring to have curly hair) makes one demure? A baby doll? A muse? A painting by Botticelli? Do no women with curly hair desire to be, say, powerful or kick-ass? Mature? Wise? None of the adjectives make me think of competence or power. All conjure images of helplessness (baby doll/ damsel), doing what they're told (demure) or only good for inspiring men to creativity (botticelli/muse).
2) What about women of color? Do they not have curly hair? Why is it that having curly hair must be associated with particular nationalities/ethnicities (nordic/english)? This I have a bit less problem with, since it's conceivable that African-American women would laugh at this product at being wholly unsuitable for their curls, and women with actually curly hair have no desire to enhance said curls. However, the english/nordic labels makes me feel like the curls are also supposed to be blonde (since botticelli's curly-headed Venus is, too), which I also have a problem with.
I have been using this product for a while (since before Lucy was born) and I've never been wild about the label, but it has been bothering me more and more. I think I've been reading a bit too much Betty Friedan. Or something.
I don't think I'm going to buy the product again (too expensive, anyway) but I am going to use up the bottles I have left. I'm too cheap not to. Maybe I'll say something to my hairstylist.
Help! I'm becoming like my old roomate's husband, unable to watch movies because of the exploitation of women! Help!
*Today's post title is a hidden reference to Nora Ephron's new book (I Feel Bad About My Neck). That I haven't read. I haven't read any of her books. Unless you count seeing Sleepless in Seattle or When Harry Met Sally. Which I guess I could, seeing as she wrote them, too.
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.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
vindication
So I got out a scale at my inlaws and weighed Lucy.
It's not an officially calibrated doctor scale, but my weight seemed normal on it.
Lucy weighs seventeen pounds.
That is four more pounds than she did at 6 months (a little less than three months ago), when the doctor got all concerned about how small she was.
And according to the WHO breastfeeding charts, she's now firmly average.
Whoo hoo! My child is mediocre!
So it's official: I didn't need to worry about Lucy wasting away from not being fed enough. I also didn't need to feed her three times a day or wake up in the middle of the night to pump. I didn't need to worry about the fact that her growth had slowed and was falling off of the curve on my ped's laptop screen.
Imagine! My child might not match the curve on a laptop screen! She might grow in spurts!
Wait. Don't they call them "growth spurts" for a reason?
And just a note: I would still be okay if Lucy weighed less; I was pretty firmly convinced she was fine all this time. But I will admit it's nice to have the little number that sort of backs me up. Just in case other people don't trust my motherly intuition.
It's not an officially calibrated doctor scale, but my weight seemed normal on it.
Lucy weighs seventeen pounds.
That is four more pounds than she did at 6 months (a little less than three months ago), when the doctor got all concerned about how small she was.
And according to the WHO breastfeeding charts, she's now firmly average.
Whoo hoo! My child is mediocre!
So it's official: I didn't need to worry about Lucy wasting away from not being fed enough. I also didn't need to feed her three times a day or wake up in the middle of the night to pump. I didn't need to worry about the fact that her growth had slowed and was falling off of the curve on my ped's laptop screen.
Imagine! My child might not match the curve on a laptop screen! She might grow in spurts!
Wait. Don't they call them "growth spurts" for a reason?
And just a note: I would still be okay if Lucy weighed less; I was pretty firmly convinced she was fine all this time. But I will admit it's nice to have the little number that sort of backs me up. Just in case other people don't trust my motherly intuition.
Monday, May 14, 2007
recovered goods
On our last trip to Ojai, our camera got stolen. Here's what happened.
Dyami packed a red suitcase and I a blue backpack. On the way home on the train, he was in charge of most of the packing. In the blur of last minutes, neither of us remembers exactly who packed the (fairly new) digital camera, but it seemed logical that he did it, in his red bag. Possibly on the outside pocket.
On the train, the bag was stowed behind us on the luggage racks. And Dyami noticed some hoodlum types skulking around that area.
When we get home, no camera.
I checked every pocket on his bag and mine. He checked every pocket in his baag and mine.
Still no camera.
That's when we realized it was gone, stolen by those aforementioned delinquents.
We were upset. We put away the red and blue bags in the garage.
Then we bought a new camera. For the second time in six months.
On this trip, we get home, and I am unpacking my blue backpack. I felt a lump.
You guessed it! Old camera, stuck at the bottom of the main compartment. Not even in a forgotten side pocket. Just in the main compartment.
There's only one explanation.
The delinquents had a change of heart (perhaps a conversion: maybe now they know Jesus!). They somehow located us in Encinitas, found our house, broke into our garage, and put back the camera they stole in the bottom of my luggage.
I'm not sure whether I should feel grateful for the recovered goods, or a little creeped out that these former delinquents broke into our house.
Well, now we have two cameras. One of which is dead (and we threw away the battery charger, because the camera it belonged to had been stolen).
Hmmm.
Dyami packed a red suitcase and I a blue backpack. On the way home on the train, he was in charge of most of the packing. In the blur of last minutes, neither of us remembers exactly who packed the (fairly new) digital camera, but it seemed logical that he did it, in his red bag. Possibly on the outside pocket.
On the train, the bag was stowed behind us on the luggage racks. And Dyami noticed some hoodlum types skulking around that area.
When we get home, no camera.
I checked every pocket on his bag and mine. He checked every pocket in his baag and mine.
Still no camera.
That's when we realized it was gone, stolen by those aforementioned delinquents.
We were upset. We put away the red and blue bags in the garage.
Then we bought a new camera. For the second time in six months.
On this trip, we get home, and I am unpacking my blue backpack. I felt a lump.
You guessed it! Old camera, stuck at the bottom of the main compartment. Not even in a forgotten side pocket. Just in the main compartment.
There's only one explanation.
The delinquents had a change of heart (perhaps a conversion: maybe now they know Jesus!). They somehow located us in Encinitas, found our house, broke into our garage, and put back the camera they stole in the bottom of my luggage.
I'm not sure whether I should feel grateful for the recovered goods, or a little creeped out that these former delinquents broke into our house.
Well, now we have two cameras. One of which is dead (and we threw away the battery charger, because the camera it belonged to had been stolen).
Hmmm.
Monday, May 7, 2007
active
I've had an idea for a while of hosting a party.
I was inspired by this website, momsrising.org, an advocacy group for family-friendly policies. They produced a documentary about the issues, and I got a DVD. They recommend that people hold house parties and show the movie, then have conversations about the issues/ideas it raises, to try to raise awareness about the current state of affairs, and some ideas for how to change things.
All good, right? Fun party, being active and helping other moms, helping other people to find a better life, and making our society more livable for everyone. And with a movie, we could even make popcorn!
So I haven't actually planned anything yet. Part of it is that it's hard to have projects when your day is divided up into 10 minute chunks.
But that's not the only reason.
I have never really been an activist. I've always thought I should be spending time doing dogooderness of some kind. But I've never really done anything. Sure, I serve in my church, and give money, and be kind to people, but it's not the same thing. I've never really had a cause (except for my faith, which calls me to do dogooderness as part of showing God's work in my life).
I've always been a bit uncomfortable with causes. I think to be active in stuff, you really have to be sold on something, and willing to put yourself on the line to make something happen. You have to be full-bore about something and identify yourself with it.
I'm always so wishy-washy I am never sure about really committing to causes.
Actually, I think a lot of it is fear of looking stupid.
I kind of have a pathological fear of looking stupid. So much so that if I play games with Dyami and lose frequently, I get bent out of shape, because I am so afraid of being "bad" at, say, Duck Duck Goose.
So to invite a bunch of people to my house and show a video, I have to say, This is my cause! Join me! Aren't you excited about this too? Isn't this important?
What if everyone yawned? Or said, hmmm, I don't find this very compelling? Or, why are you sending me an invite for a cause? I need to go do something better with my time.
Okay, this is all sounding like a really bad case of "everyone like me" syndrome.
Sigh. Will I never get out of junior high?
The thing is, I am tired of being so wishy washy. I am tired of being cynical about causes. I am tired of not being willing to put myself on the line. I don't think being cowardly about letting people know I care about things is a good way to spend my thirties. (I'm almost thirty, by the way. At the end of the month. !)
Today Dyami and I were talking about feminism, and some of the issues the movie raises (he hasn't seen it), and in typical Dyami fashion, he raised some good points of critique with the way I described things. And then I got all bent out of shape because he was critiquing me.
I realized, after I calmed down, that it's that same fear of looking stupid. Because I am a baby, learning about all of these issues, and I don't really understand them all that well. And I don't know that much about them yet. So who am I to "raise awareness"? Who am I to invite people to a party about them? Doesn't that just smack of the novice, getting super excited about something she doesn't even understand all that well?
Anne Lamott descirbes the voices in her head as a radio station, called KFKD. (FKD stands for a bad word, okay?). The station plays all negative commentary, all the time. Shooting down any idea she has as stupid, irrelevant, hopelessly naive, etc.
I have no idea what the woman is talking about. Really, I don't.
I'm turning off the radio! I am taking a stand!
I am making an evite! I am inviting people! Whether or not they will judge me! I am joining a cause!
Just as soon as I get back from vacation.
Note: If you would be interested in coming to said party (or parties--I might hold more than one, since our house is small), you should comment, saying so. It will motivate me to get off my keister and actually follow through. And no, I have no idea what I will be doing about childcare (have kids there? Take kids to park? Who knows?). But I know we can figure something out.
I was inspired by this website, momsrising.org, an advocacy group for family-friendly policies. They produced a documentary about the issues, and I got a DVD. They recommend that people hold house parties and show the movie, then have conversations about the issues/ideas it raises, to try to raise awareness about the current state of affairs, and some ideas for how to change things.
All good, right? Fun party, being active and helping other moms, helping other people to find a better life, and making our society more livable for everyone. And with a movie, we could even make popcorn!
So I haven't actually planned anything yet. Part of it is that it's hard to have projects when your day is divided up into 10 minute chunks.
But that's not the only reason.
I have never really been an activist. I've always thought I should be spending time doing dogooderness of some kind. But I've never really done anything. Sure, I serve in my church, and give money, and be kind to people, but it's not the same thing. I've never really had a cause (except for my faith, which calls me to do dogooderness as part of showing God's work in my life).
I've always been a bit uncomfortable with causes. I think to be active in stuff, you really have to be sold on something, and willing to put yourself on the line to make something happen. You have to be full-bore about something and identify yourself with it.
I'm always so wishy-washy I am never sure about really committing to causes.
Actually, I think a lot of it is fear of looking stupid.
I kind of have a pathological fear of looking stupid. So much so that if I play games with Dyami and lose frequently, I get bent out of shape, because I am so afraid of being "bad" at, say, Duck Duck Goose.
So to invite a bunch of people to my house and show a video, I have to say, This is my cause! Join me! Aren't you excited about this too? Isn't this important?
What if everyone yawned? Or said, hmmm, I don't find this very compelling? Or, why are you sending me an invite for a cause? I need to go do something better with my time.
Okay, this is all sounding like a really bad case of "everyone like me" syndrome.
Sigh. Will I never get out of junior high?
The thing is, I am tired of being so wishy washy. I am tired of being cynical about causes. I am tired of not being willing to put myself on the line. I don't think being cowardly about letting people know I care about things is a good way to spend my thirties. (I'm almost thirty, by the way. At the end of the month. !)
Today Dyami and I were talking about feminism, and some of the issues the movie raises (he hasn't seen it), and in typical Dyami fashion, he raised some good points of critique with the way I described things. And then I got all bent out of shape because he was critiquing me.
I realized, after I calmed down, that it's that same fear of looking stupid. Because I am a baby, learning about all of these issues, and I don't really understand them all that well. And I don't know that much about them yet. So who am I to "raise awareness"? Who am I to invite people to a party about them? Doesn't that just smack of the novice, getting super excited about something she doesn't even understand all that well?
Anne Lamott descirbes the voices in her head as a radio station, called KFKD. (FKD stands for a bad word, okay?). The station plays all negative commentary, all the time. Shooting down any idea she has as stupid, irrelevant, hopelessly naive, etc.
I have no idea what the woman is talking about. Really, I don't.
I'm turning off the radio! I am taking a stand!
I am making an evite! I am inviting people! Whether or not they will judge me! I am joining a cause!
Just as soon as I get back from vacation.
Note: If you would be interested in coming to said party (or parties--I might hold more than one, since our house is small), you should comment, saying so. It will motivate me to get off my keister and actually follow through. And no, I have no idea what I will be doing about childcare (have kids there? Take kids to park? Who knows?). But I know we can figure something out.
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.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
heresy
So last night I prayed to Mother God in my head.
Actually, I called Her (gulp) Mommy.
To be honest, it felt awfully, awfully good. Like, suddenly, this light turned on in my head. I could look to God to tell me how to be a mother.
Not that a masculine pronoun should have stood in the way of God teaching me to parent. But to be honest, it kind of did, conceptually. And not that I wasn't asking God for help. But He didn't seem--available, somehow. Or (this is going to sound really bad) qualified.
So, I've been thinking a lot about heresy. I mean, if you're edging on the border of it, you think about it some.
Mostly, for me, heresy means What People Will Think. I have lots of little conversations in my head about WPWT. Especially when I'm putting my private thoughts out on a publicblog. (What a great idea, Heather!)
Ms. A stands in for all my non-Christian friends. She's wondering: what's the big deal, anyway? Why shouldn't you call God Mom? And why the heck would you stay in a faith that has problems with it?
Miss B. stands in for all of my more conservative Christian friends. She thinks it's a little suspect that I go to a church that not only ordains women, but used to have a woman as a head pastor. She has been worried about me, but never so much until now. The Bible never uses a feminine pronoun for God. Jesus doesn't call God Mother. So how can I? The Bible is the basis for our faith. If we don't take it seriously, we'll all end up shaving our heads and wearing purple robes. Or worse, spandex!
And sometimes I myself am Ms. A or Miss B. And to be honest, Dyami falls more in the Miss B category. (Though he's fine with ordained women).
When I was little, taking dance, I took both jazz and ballet. For years, I liked jazz best, but at about 12, I started taking ballet more seriously, and got really into it. So much so that in later years, when I tried taking jazz classes, I no longer could get the hang of the steps.
Bear with me: this actually relates.
See, ballet is codified. It's a dance that relies heavily on tradition. So the steps in ballet aren't really much different then the ones performed in the 18th century, in Russia. They even have the same names.
Whereas jazz kind of morphs. It owes a lot to ballet, but more to musical theater and Bob Fosse. And nowadays, probably even more to hip-hop. So the jazz I danced to Paula Abdul (so nasty) in the eighties would look kind of ridiculous now. (So would some of my costumes: bright orange taffeta with polka dots!)
Christianity is like ballet. It relies on authority. The Bible, of course. But also tradition, to help us interpret documents that stand at a cultural, temporal, and lingual remove of thousands of years. And the authority of our church leaders. And also social authority--the authority and opinions of our friends and families (and the inner voices that stand in for them).
In American culture, authority is made to be questioned (or sued). Not so much in Christianity. See, none of us wants to question so much that the dance we're doing bears no relation to the one danced by Jesus. Or Paul. (Or Aquinas or Luther or Wesley)
It's a fine line.
Now, the next issue all this raises (I'm already far out on a limb here, so I might as well inch further over and really risk pissing everyone off) is homosexuality. What gives with Christians getting so worked up about it? And if you start questioning the treatment or place of women, questioning the place of gays follows not too long after.
'Cause a lot of me really agrees with current popular opionion: it really sucks that gays seen as sinful for something that they don't choose (I don't think they do) and is such an integral part of their identity. And to not be accepted in church? To be told you are sinful just for being something?
See, this is where the Bible really gets us into trouble, because unlike with women, there isn't a lot of wiggle room. No depictions of gays that are positive. No gray areas, or problems with translations. No interpretive loopholes.
I heard a pastor of a Presbyterian church in San Francisco speak about this topic. His church has a lot of gay members (big surprise), and he embraces them, and respects them, and I believe they serve in leadership, but he tells them that, much as he'd like to think differently, he does not think it's a lifestyle condoned by God. Because it just ain't in the Bible.
This pains me, too. Because if this whole femininity problem bothers me, being gay and trying to find your place in the church must just be unbearable.
But what are the alternatives? Chuck the Bible and not be Christians anymore? Chuck our (admittedly nuanced) dependence on its authority?
Oh, dear Lord. Help us to understand.
Actually, I called Her (gulp) Mommy.
To be honest, it felt awfully, awfully good. Like, suddenly, this light turned on in my head. I could look to God to tell me how to be a mother.
Not that a masculine pronoun should have stood in the way of God teaching me to parent. But to be honest, it kind of did, conceptually. And not that I wasn't asking God for help. But He didn't seem--available, somehow. Or (this is going to sound really bad) qualified.
So, I've been thinking a lot about heresy. I mean, if you're edging on the border of it, you think about it some.
Mostly, for me, heresy means What People Will Think. I have lots of little conversations in my head about WPWT. Especially when I'm putting my private thoughts out on a publicblog. (What a great idea, Heather!)
Ms. A stands in for all my non-Christian friends. She's wondering: what's the big deal, anyway? Why shouldn't you call God Mom? And why the heck would you stay in a faith that has problems with it?
Miss B. stands in for all of my more conservative Christian friends. She thinks it's a little suspect that I go to a church that not only ordains women, but used to have a woman as a head pastor. She has been worried about me, but never so much until now. The Bible never uses a feminine pronoun for God. Jesus doesn't call God Mother. So how can I? The Bible is the basis for our faith. If we don't take it seriously, we'll all end up shaving our heads and wearing purple robes. Or worse, spandex!
And sometimes I myself am Ms. A or Miss B. And to be honest, Dyami falls more in the Miss B category. (Though he's fine with ordained women).
When I was little, taking dance, I took both jazz and ballet. For years, I liked jazz best, but at about 12, I started taking ballet more seriously, and got really into it. So much so that in later years, when I tried taking jazz classes, I no longer could get the hang of the steps.
Bear with me: this actually relates.
See, ballet is codified. It's a dance that relies heavily on tradition. So the steps in ballet aren't really much different then the ones performed in the 18th century, in Russia. They even have the same names.
Whereas jazz kind of morphs. It owes a lot to ballet, but more to musical theater and Bob Fosse. And nowadays, probably even more to hip-hop. So the jazz I danced to Paula Abdul (so nasty) in the eighties would look kind of ridiculous now. (So would some of my costumes: bright orange taffeta with polka dots!)
Christianity is like ballet. It relies on authority. The Bible, of course. But also tradition, to help us interpret documents that stand at a cultural, temporal, and lingual remove of thousands of years. And the authority of our church leaders. And also social authority--the authority and opinions of our friends and families (and the inner voices that stand in for them).
In American culture, authority is made to be questioned (or sued). Not so much in Christianity. See, none of us wants to question so much that the dance we're doing bears no relation to the one danced by Jesus. Or Paul. (Or Aquinas or Luther or Wesley)
It's a fine line.
Now, the next issue all this raises (I'm already far out on a limb here, so I might as well inch further over and really risk pissing everyone off) is homosexuality. What gives with Christians getting so worked up about it? And if you start questioning the treatment or place of women, questioning the place of gays follows not too long after.
'Cause a lot of me really agrees with current popular opionion: it really sucks that gays seen as sinful for something that they don't choose (I don't think they do) and is such an integral part of their identity. And to not be accepted in church? To be told you are sinful just for being something?
See, this is where the Bible really gets us into trouble, because unlike with women, there isn't a lot of wiggle room. No depictions of gays that are positive. No gray areas, or problems with translations. No interpretive loopholes.
I heard a pastor of a Presbyterian church in San Francisco speak about this topic. His church has a lot of gay members (big surprise), and he embraces them, and respects them, and I believe they serve in leadership, but he tells them that, much as he'd like to think differently, he does not think it's a lifestyle condoned by God. Because it just ain't in the Bible.
This pains me, too. Because if this whole femininity problem bothers me, being gay and trying to find your place in the church must just be unbearable.
But what are the alternatives? Chuck the Bible and not be Christians anymore? Chuck our (admittedly nuanced) dependence on its authority?
Oh, dear Lord. Help us to understand.
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!
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
lettuce
So my friend Melissa (aka Hack Mommy) tagged me for the Real Moms meme. (I know, I know, I don't really know what that means, either, but it's all technofancy and such and I'm honored and etcetera). I gather that this means I post something witty/profound about what real moms do. I link to the Real Moms site (not once, but twice! what can I say? I'm an overachiever) Then I get (hopefully) included in a cool list of other things moms do.
So. Real moms wash lettuce.
In my case it was two large heads of green leaf, and one head of romaine. This is the second week in a row I have washed lettuce. Growing up, washing lettuce was one of my least favorite chores, along with cleaning the cat litter, so now I'm more of the 'buy it pre-washed and bagged at Trader Joe's' type of girl.
So why am I washing it now? I've joined a CSA.
A CSA is a Community Supported Agriculture group, which means I get a box full of produce from Be Wise Ranch farm in San Diego. They include what is in season, and what they are picking that week. They apparently have several acres of lettuce, because we have a lot of lettuce. Last week I gave away half of our lettuce to my salad-friendly parents, and we still had a half a head of green leaf and half a head of romaine left to finish when I went to pick up our box this week.
So imagine my delight when I opened up our box and found three more heads of lettuce!
I'm a reasonably inventive cook, and I like vegetables, and I am willing to make a variety of dishes from one vegetable (mashed, roasted, scalloped turnips! Roasted, sauteed, chopped chard!), but see, there isn't much to do with lettuce except make salads. A lot of salads. Salads when we already have a lot of other vegetables to eat!
Now don't get me wrong, I think the CSA is the way to go for us right now. I like that we're supporting local farmers, and not buying packaging-heavy, pesticide-laden produce that has been picked six months ago and shipped from China. I hope my daughter inherits a world where you might actually meet the farmer that grew your lettuce, rather than finding out on the news that the arugula you just ate might be infected with e coli because all greens move through a central plant in Nitpick, Idaho for washing in central, bacteria-friendly tubs.
But this idealism means a lot of lettuce leaves. I filled one side of our sink with cold water, and floated each head of lettuce inside. Cut the cores and watched the milky juice ooze out. Observed the lovely roseate pattern of the core. Swished off the bugs (one of which was still alive--a good sign, I think), threw the wet leaves into my salad spinner, and spun off the excess water. Placed the leaves onto paper towels, wrapped up the bundle, and put it lovingly into a plastic bag.
Well, that was for the first head of lettuce. I got a lot less loving on heads 2 and 3.
Ah, good intentions. Sometimes the attractiveness of idealism goes down the drain with the lettuce bugs and the sandy soil from my local farmer.
So real moms wash that damned lettuce. Even if real moms resent the lettuce while they're doing it.
So. Real moms wash lettuce.
In my case it was two large heads of green leaf, and one head of romaine. This is the second week in a row I have washed lettuce. Growing up, washing lettuce was one of my least favorite chores, along with cleaning the cat litter, so now I'm more of the 'buy it pre-washed and bagged at Trader Joe's' type of girl.
So why am I washing it now? I've joined a CSA.
A CSA is a Community Supported Agriculture group, which means I get a box full of produce from Be Wise Ranch farm in San Diego. They include what is in season, and what they are picking that week. They apparently have several acres of lettuce, because we have a lot of lettuce. Last week I gave away half of our lettuce to my salad-friendly parents, and we still had a half a head of green leaf and half a head of romaine left to finish when I went to pick up our box this week.
So imagine my delight when I opened up our box and found three more heads of lettuce!
I'm a reasonably inventive cook, and I like vegetables, and I am willing to make a variety of dishes from one vegetable (mashed, roasted, scalloped turnips! Roasted, sauteed, chopped chard!), but see, there isn't much to do with lettuce except make salads. A lot of salads. Salads when we already have a lot of other vegetables to eat!
Now don't get me wrong, I think the CSA is the way to go for us right now. I like that we're supporting local farmers, and not buying packaging-heavy, pesticide-laden produce that has been picked six months ago and shipped from China. I hope my daughter inherits a world where you might actually meet the farmer that grew your lettuce, rather than finding out on the news that the arugula you just ate might be infected with e coli because all greens move through a central plant in Nitpick, Idaho for washing in central, bacteria-friendly tubs.
But this idealism means a lot of lettuce leaves. I filled one side of our sink with cold water, and floated each head of lettuce inside. Cut the cores and watched the milky juice ooze out. Observed the lovely roseate pattern of the core. Swished off the bugs (one of which was still alive--a good sign, I think), threw the wet leaves into my salad spinner, and spun off the excess water. Placed the leaves onto paper towels, wrapped up the bundle, and put it lovingly into a plastic bag.
Well, that was for the first head of lettuce. I got a lot less loving on heads 2 and 3.
Ah, good intentions. Sometimes the attractiveness of idealism goes down the drain with the lettuce bugs and the sandy soil from my local farmer.
So real moms wash that damned lettuce. Even if real moms resent the lettuce while they're doing it.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)