The Feminist Revolution? Or Another Kind of Oppression?

As a mother (and, for another week, a mother who works outside the home) I always pay special attention to the "Mommy Wars" topics that come into my e-mail. Sometimes they come in via NOW (the National Organization for Women), and sometimes through the New York Times. But never do they seem to do justice to the complex stage of life that is Being A Mother.

While I agree with both sources that women who wish to work while raising a family deserve more options to make that a viable option (affordable quality childcare, flex scheduling, telecommuting, decent wages and health benefits, etc.), I disagree with both sources that women should, nay MUST work in order to maintain the strides of the feminist revolution. They seem to focus on society's need for women in the workforce and neglect to recognize children's need for their mother (or father), for a parent in the home. More importantly, they neglect what the woman actually wants for *gasp* herself.

You see, I was under the impression the feminist revolution was about not forcing a woman's hand. Granted, the trend used to be for women to be nearly forced to stay home. They weren't accepted in the work force and were expected to be "barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen," as they saying NOW loathes so much goes. But I kind of like the phrase. To me, that conjures up an image of comfort and stability. I enjoy cooking and baking, I love the feeling of pregnancy (at least until the pains and heartburn of the third trimester kick in), and I HATE wearing socks. Do I think all women should be forced to follow my lead and live their lives as I see fit to live mine? Absolutely not.

On the other hand, there are lots of career women out there. Nothing makes them happier than getting up at 5 a.m. to go for a run, shower, and dress in a crisp business suit. They'd happily spend their days on the fast track to an excellent career with great pay. In fact, some women would be happy to work even if the pay was less than ideal. Because, let's face it, 24/7 with a toddler can be maddening.

But for some reason, NOW and the New York Times won't extend the same courtesy to moms who want to stay home. They're fighting for better pay and benefits, flex schedules and options for the working mom, even to the point of saying a stay at home mom is doing a disservice to society. But they're not fighting for those things that make staying home an option to moms who want to. How many moms are forced to work (often menial, thankless jobs) because they don't have the option of staying home, because their family is critically dependent on that extra bit of income (what's left after the high cost of day care and gasoline) to pay those last few bills?

What we should be lobbying for is, yes, more options. But more options all around. Universal healthcare so a woman who doesn't work can take care of her health, even if her husband's job doesn't provide it. Stipend payments to the stay-at-home moms who are doing the most important job this country has - raising future generations. More part-time options, more flex-scheduling, and more telecommuting.

Personally, I would love to work if I could telecommute (most of my job would be easy to do from home). But my employer won't have it, so I'm returning home, despite the slight dip in income we'll suffer. Because, for ME, spending time with my son is more important than having or giving him the finer things in life. And for ME, I have no fast-track career I'm losing out on. For ME, I'll only be in my early 40s when I'm no longer mothering a child. But that's me.

No man OR woman should be telling mothers they MUST stay home or they MUST go to work. We should be fighting for options, because that's the only true freedom.

Finding the Words

When I was pregnant (and indeed, for probably the first 8 months of my son's life, despite evidence to the contrary), I suffered from 'childless' syndrome. If you're a parent, you've no doubt encountered this syndrome as childless friends, family, and complete strangers peppered you with wisdom and advice as to how to raise your children. I like to think I did not suffer to that extreme in pregnancy, but I was just certain I would be the perfect parent. I would never lose patience, I would eat and feed my child healthy food (NEVER sweets!), and I would keep him entertained with healthy activities such as reading, building with blocks, and the study of Newtonian physics. Never, NEVER would I deign to poison my child with the likes of TELEVISION. At least not until he was old enough to learn about it from his friends.

Now that my son is two, I've had a year and a half to discover the experience that is not showering for four days and finding the time to do so only by using 15 minutes of "Dora the Explorer." My toddler is addicted to the movie "Cars," and rather enjoys "Happy Feet." He usually watches some combination of the two (and his "All About Trains" mini-kidocumentary) at least 3-4 times per week. That said, I do try to limit his screen time and I've always been rather offended by built-in DVD players in minivans. Corny as it may seem, I prefer to tell stories, sing songs, and let my son observe the nuances of his dad and I ranting about religion and politics.

Despite my distaste for that particular parenting tool, I've always managed to do little but roll my eyes when commercials appeared touting the device as one of many special features in a family vehicle. Chrysler's latest Town & Country commercial, however, is rather infuriating and - dare I say it? - even a bit offensive.

Though Youtube has failed me this time in providing the commercial for your own viewing pleasure, allow me to recap:

INT. HIGH SCHOOL CAFETERIA
Mayhem. Students are shrieking, hollering, and causing a general ruckus. Paper airplanes litter the air and an apple flies past the camera screen.

CUT TO - A MIDDLE AGED MAN, POSSIBLY A TEACHER OR PRINCIPAL, IN THE BACK OF THE ROOM
HE reaches up and flips a mini dvd sreen down from the ceiling.

CUT TO - THE STUDENTS IN THE CAFETERIA
as they fall silent and stare, slack-jawed at the screen.

NARRATOR
(some bull about how important it is to always have a dvd player at hand to keep children in check)

CUT TO - INT. MINIVAN
you can see a family of four as we look in through the winshield. Father and mother in the front, a boy and a girl in the back, mesmerized by the built-in dvd player.NARRATOR
(the usual blah blah about the Chrysler Town & Country and how wonderful a built-in dvd player is)

A bit later, a similar commercial aired, touting the tagline, "When kids get what they want, you'll get what you want."

Now, my husband's and my families live a good 3 hours away. I will not deny that there have been trips in which I wished desperately for a portable dvd player to give us a moment's peace. But I've submitted only once that I can recall, pulling out my laptop to play "Cars" for my distressed toddler.

I am offended, however, by the idea that marketing personnel would seemingly glorify the dazed and glazed look that often comes over a child entranced with the television. I also find it rather painful that a commercial would encourage parents to effectively drug their children into calm and complacency. Truth be told, I am so disturbed by these commercials that I am finding it rather difficult to speak intelligently on the matter.

I'd like to write to Chrysler and express my displeasure. However, firstly I'm not sure I could speak with intelligent conviction to them either, and secondly I doubt it would matter to them. Because let's face it, advertisers try to make their product into what their potential consumers desire. The fact is, many mainstream parents would rather pull down a DVD player and have the instant gratification of quiet children than make the effort to interact with their kids, or provide more than a digital disk for entertainment. After all, a DVD creates far less mess than a stack of books, or crayons ground into the carpet, less noise than children's music or noisy toys, and requires far less effort than "I Spy" or "What Color Is That."

The whole situation just makes me incredibly sad.

Growing Up Is Hard to Do

At the Museum
Two weeks ago, Quentin and I journeyed to the Detroit Science Center. He had a great time building with blocks, splashing in the water, and watching "The Sky Above Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood" in the planetarium.

Me? I was glad to see he's capable of playing well with others even in my company, and was thrilled to learn he can sit still for a 20-minute show if it's engaging enough. I'm also excited to know I have at least one free (we bought a family membership) indoor outing I can count on in the event of pent-up energy and inclement weather.

Of Penis and Mom
Mothers always muse about how fast their children grow, and I am no different. Just last week I was fawning over a well-represented drawing of a mountainscape and train tracks.

What we fail to realize, however, in our enamoured haze, is that our children's advancement in fine motor skills and physical presence (his 18-month pants no longer fit, lengthwise, but I still put them on him!) also means an advancement in the logical thinking process. What I mean is, I recently had to answer the question (posed to my husband), "Where'd mommy's penis go?"

After a stunned silence and a giggle, I managed to answer, "Well, dear, Mommy never had a penis. Boys are born with penises. Girls are born with vaginas. Everybody's different." Whew. Nice recovery, Mom.

Don't Make Me Count
Another joyous part of toddler parenting is, of course, discipline. I've never been a spanker, and prefer "Positive" discipline. However, having been brought up in an environment where spanking was accepted and threatened (though rarely used), I sometimes find myself reverting to similar antics.

From the beginning, Luke was against the idea of "counting." You know, "One! .... Two! ... Two and a half!!... DON'T MAKE ME SAY THREE! YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS WHEN I GET TO THREE, MISTER!!!" with the threat of a good "whuppin" on the other end. For me, though, it was hard to break away from the trend, which seemed simply normal and second-nature to me. In my devouring of parenting books, however, I've come across another way to approach counting.

The scenario is, you're child's being uncooperative ("MY child?" I hear you gasp, "never!" But trust me, it happens.). You give your child simple options and a short time frame in which to make a decision. "You can climb into the car or I can put you into the car. I'm going to count to three and then I'll put you in the car." Then you count. Not threateningly, but simply and matter-of-factly. And none of that two-and-a-half crap!

Usually, Quentin starts to cooperate as soon as I say "One," sometimes even as I'm explaining his choices to him. Sometimes, it takes until two. But every so often, I get to three and he hasn't moved. Then comes the struggle. I know that I must be consistent and follow-through. But he, of course, wants to test me. So as soon as I move to put him in the car (or sit him down or take away his plate), he shrieks in protest, insisting that HE wants to do it. I know in my heart that if I give in, it will always be a battle, so I shake my head firmly, tell him he had his chance, and that we'll try again next time. But there's screaming. Oh, yes, there's always screaming.

In order to avoid this final result, I often find myself resorting to the threatening tone of voice and the wishy-washy sloooow counting. Usually I catch myself as soon as I've done it, but by then it's too late. I've had my chance.

It's ok, Mama. You can try again next time.

171 Dead - Millions Won't Care

Tuesday morning, the New York Times posted no less than five "headliner" articles related to the shootings at Virginia Tech which took the lives of 33 people Monday afternoon. My heart truly goes out to all of the families affected by this tragedy.

However, I must raise my voice in protest against the apathy of this nation when it comes to anyone but our own.

Image Copyright The New York Times

Yesterday, 171 people were killed in 5 explosions and a sniper shooting in Baghdad. I know this because there was one, one tiny headline in the New York Times this morning. According to the New York Times, most of the victims were civilians. But there is no outcry by the citizens of the United States. There are no memorial icons, no bloggers distraught by the very idea of it, and only one headline in the New York Times on "the morning after."

WHY AREN'T YOU DISTRAUGHT?

Is it because these 171 people are in a country across the ocean? Is it because the victims had the audacity to live (or be born) in a country that would be invaded by another power-hungry, deceitful government? Is it because the perpetrators, rather than untreated mental patients, were "insurgents" making an attempt to protect the country they love, to expel those treacherous invaders?

Or is it because we are a sad country of gluttonous, apathetic fools whose hearts can reach no further than our borders?

Moving On

After months of debating and guilt and a solid weekend of discussion, I've decided to quit my "day job" and return home with Quentin full-time. The money I make and my enjoyment of my part-time job just doesn't balance out the cost of daycare and what I feel like I am missing at home.

My last day will be May 3 and in the meantime, I'm trying to tie up loose ends and decide how I'm going to prepare Quentin (and myself!) for the change. You see, until August, I already was a stay-at-home mom. And I lived up to the name. We didn't do much (though I belonged to a local moms' club), and were usually bored out of our skulls. At "school," on the other hand, Quentin gets to play with kids his age, do crafts, sing songs, play outside, nap, and, oh yes, watch ungodly amounts of tv shows that make me cringe.

So I'm determined to do it right this time. I have visions of the perfect mother-child relationship, lush with music classes, playdates, homemade lunches, and frolicking in the yard. In reality, I'll probably spend a good amount of time taming tantrums, begging him to stop shrieking in the grocery store, memorizing every word of Cars and each song in Happy Feet, and moaning about the dishes, laundry, and vacuuming to be done. But I'll be with my son and right now, that's what I want more than anything.

Quentin really amazes me, and I miss enjoying that every day. Right now my weekdays with him are spent rushing him around, barking orders, and weathering power-struggles. But as I write this, on a day off for both of us, he is sitting on the floor playing with a strip of cardboard packaging. He's bending it into shapes and announcing happily to me what they are. "It's a diamond, mama!" "Look, mama, a square!" "I'm hungry, please, Mama." I guess that's my cue.