The July issue of O magazine included a column by Suzan Colón in which she describes her baking habit. “When in doubt, bake,” she writes. “That’s always been my answer to uncertainty, maybe ever since I slid that first tin of chocolate cake into my Easy-Bake oven as my mother wondered aloud how she was going to pay the phone bill.” In an uncertain economy, she faced dwindling employment status and a lot of unpaid time on her hands. So she baked muffins – a productive activity for her, a pleasant and portable snack for her husband to take with him to work.
Colón’s “Muffin Manifesto” describes the reactions of her friends when they learn about her baking habit. Who knew that being called a “Good Wife” was more than just two four-letter words?
I can relate to this, because when I left work after the sale of our company, the first way I was able to engage myself in this new angle of productivity was to cook – furiously and a lot. It was an element of this foreign domestic life that I truly enjoyed, and my gateway into what I’ve taken on. But I got a wide assortment of reactions when I’d talk about cooking and baking, ranging from eyebrows raised without comment to abject incredulity that my husband comes home to a home-cooked meal (almost) every night.
Well, my mind is on both sides of this matter simultaneously. I’ve certainly made no bones about the fact that being a stay-at-home-mom in the post-feminist world isn’t the easiest choice to make, nor to explain to oneself after an elite women’s liberal arts college highly academic education in how to observe inequalities and then to compete and feel equal in this world. I’ve made no bones about questioning whether I’m doing anything at all, even with all the cooking, cleaning, planning, driving, coordinating, parenting, parenting and parenting tallied up.
I’m on both sides of the matter because in my head, I have a sense that the things I’ve taken on are very important. My kid will grow up with more than a passing sense of how a kitchen works, because that is where most of our food comes from – not cardboard boxes and microwaveable wrappers. She’ll know where vegetables come from (no, not just the supermarket produce aisle, but plants that have roots in the ground, that sprout and spring forth and blossom into juicy ripe fruits of the vine practically before her eyes) because we grow some ourselves, and buy the rest from farmers. She has some sense that a home takes work, because she sees someone doing that work every day (and doing it during the day has the added, and oh so important value that there aren’t piles of chores left for all of us to do in the limited night and weekend family time.) Together we are demonstrating how teamwork and division of labor are contributing to domestic tranquility and a successful relationship. The things that I do are, underneath it all, just as critical as the paycheck when it comes to sustaining our life and lifestyle.
I’m on both sides of it because at the same time, there’s an ugly bottom line to the life I lead. I used to get that paycheck for the hard work that I did, and that was a measurable standard of household contribution. I work a lot harder now, and get paid a hundred percent less. I have to remind myself of all the benefits I listed above, because by default I don’t feel proud. By default I feel that most of what I do now is beneath me, because I was trained and educated to do much, much more than this, and to make matters (seem) worse, I actually did and achieved “more than this.”
This post isn’t to glorify my choices and methods. It isn’t to look down on stay at home moms, even ones who don’t feel the conflict about it that I do. My point is that I don’t get any medals for making daily life go. If there is a medal to be earned, it’s for being able to suck up that ugly bottom line and go on doing this amazingly challenging job – for which I was completely unprepared – because I was told from an early age that I could grow up to be anything I wanted. Anything, if I set my mind to it.
This part falls under the “No one Taught us How to be Grownups” Handbook. Chapter 2, shall we? I could grow up to be anything I wanted – but chances are still good that my then-future-husband didn’t calculate housework and child rearing into his “when I grow up” plan. While that didn’t make it entirely my problem, this speaks to a greater problem that is causing some growing pains first for women and then for people these days – if you have a household where two adults are grown up to be whatever they dreamed of, because they set their minds to it, which one of them should put aside all their self-direction to take care of whatever family plan they’ve agreed on?
In our house, that would be me. And in my case, that’s kind of OK because as I referred to in a recent post, I’m still trying to figure what I should make out of this shapeless lump I like to call my life. Ben had a more specific, longer-term idea, and his came along with expertise, willpower and a business plan. I could have held on to the piecemeal series of jobs I sometimes call a “career,” but in the interest of economies of scale, and in the face of no particularly focused aspirations, it made sense to let him be the breadwinner, a role that he plays well, and for me to be the “homemaker,” a term that I sort of loathe but which suits my job description well.
Being a good wife (as opposed to a “Good Wife”) entails being honest about what parts of the work of household providers one is able to undertake. Same with being a good husband. Being a good spouse means examining the relationship to a certain extent as a business partnership. No one will necessarily end up “perfectly happy,” but all needs are met, and there is always room to improve.
This doesn’t but scratch the surface of the personal negotiations that allow me to function in my current role. To then receive thinly masked derision from women who still work is… okay, not entirely unexpected, since before I was hired for this role I didn’t understand what a “homemaker”’s life would be like either… but it is frustrating. Yes, my husband and child eat home cooked food more often than not. Why shouldn’t they? She’s two, and fulfills age appropriate responsibilities in the home; he works hard and does a great job a) supporting us and b) getting his job done.
This IS my job. I have to take pride in the things I do well. Not just because it’s my half of the duties that keep a family afloat, but because it’s important to enjoy one’s time. Even if the reward is the knowledge that I’ve tipped the balance from put-upon, frustrated post-feminist MOM person, to objective and fulfilled team player person; if at the end of the day I’ve spent my time in ways that are not on some level rewarding to me, it becomes a lot harder to enjoy life.
Cooking and baking are not some kind or retro “women’s art,” and they don’t compromise power any more than stamp collecting, playing poker or reading books do. They are interests and hobbies, however, that fall into a sloppy category called domestic responsibilities, and as such they do have the potential to present threatening feelings and choices.
The larger issue, and the reason that despite having established a pattern of normalcy in this new job title I am unsettled by the compromise I’ve made, is that we ARE all told, for the most part, that we can be whatever we want when we grow up. Some conscientious parents of people in my generation added a footnote to the effect of, “If you’ve got boobs, remember to factor in the dishes,” but while it was admirable that they created an awareness of how a woman’s life would unfold differently from men’s lives, it isn’t a particularly fair one.
A frank discussion with one’s kid, like the one I’m already constructing to one day have with Sami, would outline that yes, the world is attainable to you with hard work, perseverence and some brains. But nothing comes without a price. If you live alone, the sky is the limit. You have to compromise almost nothing – apply yourself, carve out a career, set goals and achieve, achieve, achieve. If you make the money, you don’t have to cook or clean, or necessarily be primary caretaker to the children you might be able to afford to have alone or adopt.
If you enter into a life partnership of any kind, you need to be prepared to make concessions. Housework will need to be done. Food will need to find its way from the wide world into your mouths. Clothing will need to be cleaned. It may not be a gender divide – maybe you will split the chores evenly. Maybe you will hire someone else for all of them. Maybe you will each do what is most important to you, and you’ll agree on the resulting state of the home. Maybe one of you will make far more money, maybe only one of you will work, maybe one of you will need to or choose to stay home.
There no longer need to be predefined gender roles taught by rote to children. But they do need to grow up prepared for the possibility of compromise – whether they compromise personal relationships to achieve career success, or compromise careers to make their home lives work. It doesn’t matter whether male or female, even little boys need to learn that they could grow up and make less money than their wives, or might find more fulfillment in being the stay at home parent.
When it becomes not any different sort of predefined role, but truly a choice children, are raised to be prepared to make within the contexts of their own lives, THAT is when we can measure some real progress.
Until that day, in my house we examined our options and I agreed to take on this role. I don’t think it’s because of gender, and it could be different if I or we wanted it so. I don’t resent it, but it is something that weighs on my mind from time to time; as it should because I’ve made an enormous cultural adjustment.
