Best Thing Ever
Getting to see the world through his eyes. Naming it. “Catty!” “Rock.” “Big tree!” “Birdie?” “House.” “Hand, hand.” Watching a small purple pinwheel, planted in someone’s front yard, spin in the wind. Standing still. Waiting. Being licked on the hand by a dog. Following a cat. “Flower. Leaf. See.” Taking an hour to walk around the block.
There’s no life like this.
Purple Duck Soup
What a mess this house is. What a crumb-cluttered, toy-tossed, almost indescribable state of yuck. Here’s a stuffed duck I found inside a pot inside a drawer. Duck soup. We suffered complete pandemonium after tonight’s supper, for which there was no explanation. Both parents were too tired to rise from the table to staunch the inevitable tragedy-in-waiting. (Nothing too terrible happened). But, crikey, it was loud. You could have called it downright chaos. Anarchy.
After dish-washing, and lunch-packing, I corralled the older two children into helping me plan out new morning and evening responsibilities. Actually, there’s nothing new about any of these, it’s just new that we’re writing it up and posting it on the wall under the saleable titles of: Happy Day AM!, and Happy Day PM! (Chores, duties, and other words of that ilk did not feel quite so inspiring. Hopefully this is not a case of Orwellian double-speak). Thanks to both Janis and Marnie for their helpful suggestions on organizing and motivating feet-dragging children. We’ll see how this works, and for how long …
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In other news, I’m discovering mixed emotions about my women’s studies zine/blog project (read the previous post if this is the first you’re hearing about it), though perhaps should not be taking its temperature minute-by-minute (curse you, internet, curse you!). Talk about a consciousness-raising project (sadly, it may only be raising my own …). But I spent part of last night surfing for blogs by feminist mothers, and found … so much anger and bitterness. Destruction rather than construction. I wonder whether this is the feminist that other women don’t want to define themselves as, and whether the word now means something other than what it once did. And maybe I’m a complete naif for never noticing that. I’ve always rather blithely defined myself as a feminist, without bothering to explain: oh, but not that kind of feminist. But I guess I’m not that kind of feminist, really. I’m not a natural activist, that’s for certain. I have an abhorrence toward violence of any kind, and rage causes me deep discomfort. I do recognize there are situations in which rage might be the only response. But I still don’t like it. I don’t like feeling angry myself or assigning blame. I’m wondering … can change happen … gracefully, gently, slowly? Can it be brought about by people asking: how can I make this better? What does better look like? How can I help?
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Please go and read the responses to the questionnaire that are coming in. I’ve posted them here. They’re lovely and thought-provoking, and I thank everyone who’s taken time to reply. You’ve got me thinking, too.
Moms Are Feminists Too
Hi readers. Could I ask a favour, please? I’m working on a zine project for my women’s studies class, and have launched a blog to complement it. Both relate to a recent post on how the personal feels political. The blog is called Moms Are Feminists Too. If you are a feminist and a mother, or even a mother who’s thought a bit about feminism, would you consider visiting and responding to my opening questionnaire? It focuses on motherhood, identity, work, and feminism.
I haven’t got any brilliant ideas, yet, for change, but basically want to create a forum to discuss how we can make this job of mothering more valued in our culture. Think of these two extreme characterizations of stay-home mothers: yummy mummies and welfare moms. Think of the negative baggage both of those images carry: on the one hand, we have the self-indugent hyper-privileged moms, and on the other, the lazy, uneducated moms. It’s mean. And it’s prevalent. (Can you think of a different prevailing characterization for motherhood today? If so, I want to know! My fuzzy-mummy brain can’t conjure any up …). (And, yes, I wrote that last sentence on purpose). Stay-at-home dads face similar problems, which makes me think the underlying issue is a general cultural disdain for childcare and children.
Because this is a school-related project, I can’t promise it will have legs past the assignment’s due date. But then again, maybe it will. Thanks in advance for your help and input!
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Note: you don’t have agree with everything / anything I’m saying to add your voice to the mix.
Social Event of the Season
This makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside … to come across, in dear old Blogland, a post about a story I wrote. The blogger is Rebecca Rosenblum, who read at the New Quarterly launch several weeks ago, and whom I’d heard last year, too. She’s a young writer with a unique voice and vision. You won’t feel like you’re reading something ordinary or done-before when you read her. Her first collection of stories is called Once, and I’ve got a link to her blog Rose-coloured among the CanLit blogs listed on the right. (The book itself is still on my to-read list …).
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In other news, have you been to the social event of the season yet? You know, the swarms of people lining up outside in the cold for hours on end to get … tickets to a U2 concert? … into the newest hot hot hot dance club? … the best ice cream ever invented? Would that it were so. Because at the end of this line-up is a brightly lit room packed with screaming babies and toddlers who had no idea that the climax of all this patient waiting would be a smiling nurse jabbing them with a needle. Whoo-hoo! Let me tell you, the fun never ends at the H1N1 clinics. I was reflecting on how waiting in a long line has a couple of effects, not necessarily good ones. Firstly, it makes you really want whatever you’re lined up for. It feels like there’s a shortage, and dammit, you’re going to get this THING that everyone else wants too–or else! Which, secondly, makes you really resent those queue jumpers slipping semi-apologetically (or not) into the lineup ahead of you. Thankfully, I was able to pull myself back and analyze these negative impulses, and go, hey, I’m not going to do this. I’m not going to coddle my mean-spirit, instead I’m going to be grateful, because the sun is shining, it’s quite mild, the kids are behaving, no one’s pushing or yelling, and the women working the clinic are super-friendly. Life’s too short to wallow. And as we were walking back to our car (hours later, car parked miles away, CJ screaming apoplectically because he wanted to stand on the stroller WHEEL and Could Not Understand Why mean mommy wouldn’t let him), along romped the cutest wee puppy, off her leash and squirmy and delightful, and we all got down and petted her and let her lick us and leap all over us, and everything felt much much better. Maybe Apple-Apple will get her wish after all. Maybe a dog is in our family’s future. Okay, distant future. But maybe.
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Oh, and in case you’re wondering, the above photo is a random shot of our kitchen floor. CJ’s fave new play area. He drags out every pot and pan in the house, grunting “heaby, heaby” (heavy). I just opened a drawer to discover a flattened purple stuffed duck in a frying pan, underneath a glass lid. Must get a photo of that.
Exhibit Number One
Yesterday evening, I went to class and participated in a faux consciousness raising group, while Kevin fed the kids the shepherd’s pie I’d made for supper (a big bust; never add leftover squash assuming it will blend in with the gravy under the mashed potatoes), and took them to a photography exhibit at Kitchener’s Rotunda Gallery. He promised them ice cream, and ice cream was found. Albus went with a cut on his eye due to post-supper horsing about. The exhibit is by a friend, Karl Kessler, and the photos are of people who work in vanishing trades, and are accompanied by short interviews.:::
Spent this morning working. I’m in the early stages of a new project, and the whole search at present is for tone. What baffles me is that the tone for this blog comes so naturally … why can’t that translate to absolutely everything I write? For the current project, I’m seeking a casual and entertaining tone, like a chat with a good girl friend. Not sure whether or not that summarizes this blog’s tone. No, I think this is more stream-of-consciousness. Whether or not it’s consciousness-raising is up for debate, or more likely beside the point.
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PD day … upcoming afternoon projects include: naptime; walking around the neighbourhood to hand out birthday invitations; and a trip uptown to buy a few essentials. I’ve heard that there’s an Uptown Treasure Hunt or somesuch on right now. Anyone know anything about that?