At the moment, I'm in a week off between the madness. (I was asked at the last minute to teach a summer session course.)
I've been reflecting a lot on all of the junk that is on my plate that never seems to get off said plate. I think it comes down to being a part-time worker, a part-time SAHM, and never feeling 100% like I'm in the right place, doing the right things.
When I'm at work, I'm checking my phone for text messages about the Bug. When I'm at home, I'm looking at the same phone for e-mails from students and/or administrators regarding work stuff. If I was a full-time SAHM, sure I'd be looking at mother's day out programs, but so I could go knit or run, or take a spin class and shower in peace. Instead, I'm looking at these programs in order to have a day or two per week to work on writing my dissertation. I haven't been to the yarn shop in ages, and the last time I was there, I basically bought 2 balls of yarn I needed desperately, then talked for about 20 minutes while knitting a total of 2 rows and keeping the Bug out of the cashmere. (They have a strict you-drool-on-it-you-buy-it policy. I have 2 balls of merino sock yarn on account of this policy. I can't afford cashmere. I do think it is a little unfair that the cashmere laceweight is almost exactly at Bug height.)
I know there are plenty of full time working moms and stay-at-home moms who are jealous. The full-time mommies are jealous because of the time I get to spend with the Bug, the SAHMs are jealous because I get to talk to grown ups and I'm mostly able to remember not to talk about poopy. (Well, except when I have a fresh, steaming pile of student research papers.)
But. There's that old saying "Jack of all trades, master of none." I feel like that's where I am. Because every time I forgo some educational game with the Bug in favour of marking papers while she plays with the army of plastic toys that have taken over our home and Sprout plays on the TV, I feel like a bad mom. Every time I don't clean my kitchen and take the Bug for a run and then some swinging at the tot lot, I feel like a bad wife. Every time I hold onto a pile of student papers for an extra couple of days because I went grocery shopping instead of mark them, I feel like a bad professor.
I feel like I'm stretched in 1000 different directions. I feel like I don't do anything as well as I could, and then (evidence of my crazy) when someone offers to help, I have trouble accepting because I feel like by accepting because I'm afraid that it might make me some sort of failure. Because I feel like I'm not living up to any of my roles 100%, I feel like I screw up a lot. Of course, I already felt like I screw up a lot. As the owner of what I will call an unreliable brain, I've spent most of my life internalizing the message that my brain fails me all the time, and from there, I often conflate events to "it is all my fault and I'm a hopeless screw-up."
Feminism sold us a bill of goods. It was quickly transformed from "women should be able to choose their role in the household" to "women should be able to do it all." Somehow, I bought it hook, line, and sinker. I learned from Martha Stewart that I should be able to manage my household perfectly, while also running my multi-million dollar empire and wearing pearls. I've gotta let that go.
Showing posts with label division of labour. Show all posts
Showing posts with label division of labour. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Honey, You Aren't A Rock Star
No, my DH isn't having a mid-life crisis. He's still his dorky, lovable self. (If you're into the dorky thing, that is. Good news is that I am.) No bimbos or sports cars in his future.
Nope. He's great, as far as it goes. He changes diapers, he plays with the Bug. He's a good dad.
But. Since I'm on a year's leave from school/work and he's the breadwinner*, I stay home all day with the Bug, and he leaves and goes to work. When he comes home, he sometimes "cooks" (in quotations, because he just buys frozen stuff at Costco, applies heat and calls that dinner. I'd complain more, but nursing has left me so hungry that I happily eat almost anything.) and changes a few diapers in between doing the raid-of-the-week in the World of Warcraft. He does the same thing on the weekend.
For this, I am fairly certain he thinks that our fair city should throw him a parade. I hate to burst his bubble, but he ain't a rock star. (Trust me, I'm a popular music scholar, I know the signs of rock starness. First hint: rock stars don't wear golf shirts to work. Ever.) When I tell people about his help, they act like they want to march in his parade.
If we are any sort of feminists at all, which I for one am, we have to stop rewarding men for doing minimal housework and childcare. We have to recognize that while outside jobs have a defined start and end time, parenting is 24-7. If one chooses to stay at home with a child, that is awesome, but they deserve some R&R, and their partner who is employed outside the home should be responsible for some household stuff. Not as a favour, or a way he is awesome, but just as a mater of course. After all, we talk all the time about "working mothers**" but one almost never hears the expression "working father," because it is just assumed that Dad is in the workforce. I've slowed down my career path for a year for this, sweetie. You can deal with a bit of poop and give up raid tanking.
So don't tell me how great you are for walking the dog or screwing up a load of laundry. (Hint: the expensive running clothes never go in the dryer. Ever. They haven't at any point in the 8 years we've been married.) You're a big help. But since you're an adult, you don't get a gold star. You don't get a parade. You just get a quiet thanks and the satisfaction of a job well done.
*I actually hate the expression "breadwinner." It sounds like rather than sitting in a cubicle making RSS feeds and databases work while also drinking coffee and going out to lunch, he is in some sort of gladiatorial contest for marble rye.
**I also hate the expression "working mother," as though stay at home moms don't work. The SAHM game is hard, and not just because of the hours. Parenting, cooking, cleaning, it is all a lot of work. It also seems like a lot of pressure, as the primary responsibility for my child's wellbeing and happiness is on my shoulders. This is why, frankly, I don't aspire to being a SAHM permanently. Too much pressure. I want to work (and use day care and/or a nanny) to help enlist the whole village, as it were, to help the Bug grow into a well rounded adult.
Nope. He's great, as far as it goes. He changes diapers, he plays with the Bug. He's a good dad.
But. Since I'm on a year's leave from school/work and he's the breadwinner*, I stay home all day with the Bug, and he leaves and goes to work. When he comes home, he sometimes "cooks" (in quotations, because he just buys frozen stuff at Costco, applies heat and calls that dinner. I'd complain more, but nursing has left me so hungry that I happily eat almost anything.) and changes a few diapers in between doing the raid-of-the-week in the World of Warcraft. He does the same thing on the weekend.
For this, I am fairly certain he thinks that our fair city should throw him a parade. I hate to burst his bubble, but he ain't a rock star. (Trust me, I'm a popular music scholar, I know the signs of rock starness. First hint: rock stars don't wear golf shirts to work. Ever.) When I tell people about his help, they act like they want to march in his parade.
If we are any sort of feminists at all, which I for one am, we have to stop rewarding men for doing minimal housework and childcare. We have to recognize that while outside jobs have a defined start and end time, parenting is 24-7. If one chooses to stay at home with a child, that is awesome, but they deserve some R&R, and their partner who is employed outside the home should be responsible for some household stuff. Not as a favour, or a way he is awesome, but just as a mater of course. After all, we talk all the time about "working mothers**" but one almost never hears the expression "working father," because it is just assumed that Dad is in the workforce. I've slowed down my career path for a year for this, sweetie. You can deal with a bit of poop and give up raid tanking.
So don't tell me how great you are for walking the dog or screwing up a load of laundry. (Hint: the expensive running clothes never go in the dryer. Ever. They haven't at any point in the 8 years we've been married.) You're a big help. But since you're an adult, you don't get a gold star. You don't get a parade. You just get a quiet thanks and the satisfaction of a job well done.
*I actually hate the expression "breadwinner." It sounds like rather than sitting in a cubicle making RSS feeds and databases work while also drinking coffee and going out to lunch, he is in some sort of gladiatorial contest for marble rye.
**I also hate the expression "working mother," as though stay at home moms don't work. The SAHM game is hard, and not just because of the hours. Parenting, cooking, cleaning, it is all a lot of work. It also seems like a lot of pressure, as the primary responsibility for my child's wellbeing and happiness is on my shoulders. This is why, frankly, I don't aspire to being a SAHM permanently. Too much pressure. I want to work (and use day care and/or a nanny) to help enlist the whole village, as it were, to help the Bug grow into a well rounded adult.
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