Posted on 03/05/2005 1:28:34 PM PST by pabianice
In an old "ThirtySomething" show, one mother observes to another, "we obsess about our kids -- our husbands obsess about their jobs."
Bang on right.
Only we women not only obsess about our kids -- we obsess about ourselves too. Are we fulfilled? Are we happy? Do we like ourselves? Our bodies? Our relationships?
So it is with Judith Warner's hot new book, "Perfect Madness: Mothering in the Age of Anxiety" (Riverhead Books), which has the tone of, "I am woman why isn't my world all about me?"
Warner tries to tap into the "boiling resentment" of at-home moms who are overstressed and angry and unfulfilled. She bases her conclusions almost entirely on interviews with 150 affluent educated moms in the Washington, D.C. area. (She says she's realizes the group isn't representative, but it's what we see echoed in the popular culture.)
Bottom line: Warner comes across as something of a whiner -- but whiners can make great points.
One of Warner's best is that we moms let our kids run our lives. We cater to them, we idolize them, we wrongly protect them from every conceivable disappointment and adversity, we over schedule them, we make ourselves miserable obsessing about them. Our lives become theirs until there is nothing left of us.
Warner says there is a lack of societal support for moms, but in the end she largely puts the fault with today's woman. She convincingly argues that we are "control freaks" and that in our search for fulfillment we too often decide our kids are "it."
But Warner's best observation is that there is an unnecessary dichotomy between women who "work" and women who "stay at home." Instead, she writes and I agree, work has always been part of who we women are. Only, in the age of ease-of-life inventions, we seem to have developed the notion that "real moms" have always had four hours of intense "floor time" with their children every day, when just the opposite is true. Most mothers have always worked and worked hard, meaning doing real labor or necessary tasks, (though typically in or around the home), and only in recent decades have we had any free time to focus on their kids -- and now we do it to excess.
I would argue that "work," wherever it takes place, can be a good and wholesome thing. Labor was, after all, present in the Garden of Eden BEFORE the fall. And so, I think it's good for my children to sometimes hear, "I can't now, kids, I have to do my writing." They see me deriving pleasure and meaning from labor that does not involve them -- and I think that's great. I also know I am incredibly fortunate to have a work life I can integrate into family life.
Warner rightly notes that few women want to be a CEO -- because they want a great family life. She wants to make it easier for average women to work outside the home and vaguely suggests that this is what most women want. She argues for an array of huge government programs to make it feasible, like a government-funded daycare system even though "daycare" of any stripe is the last resort childcare option for most families. She also sings the praises of France, and her experience there when she was well taken care of as a mother of very young children.
But I think the more likely answer to the "angst" is that we women just have to lighten up in general, and stop asking ourselves every 10 minutes "am I fulfilled now?" Our world doesn't have to be "all about us." In fact, we'll be happier if it isn't.
I used to live in the Washington, D.C., area. I knew wonderful women there, but I also knew many of the kinds of women Warner interviewed. That's a pretty self-obsessed lot. Now I live in a suburb of Chicago where, I have to say, the moms -- whether they've chosen a path of work outside the home, or they stay at home, or do a combination like me, seem less self-obsessed and, well, a lot happier.
Actually, I think that's true for many people here.
I'm not arguing that women shouldn't be encouraged to be human actors who forge a path that seems right and satisfying to them, that they shouldn't make positive changes where they can, nor am I suggesting that there aren't often real obstacles to do doing so.
I'm just saying that in general, we women would be more satisfied -- and our kids would be better off -- if we stopped obsessing so much about them, about the imperfections of our lives, about ourselves.
There is joy to be found in living. But not if we are so obsessed with ourselves or others that we can't see it.
( Betsy Hart can be reached by e-mail at letterstohart@comcast.net. )
LOL, cute crying baby picture!
I don't recall being asked if this is what I want.
* Good thing I'm not a President of a University.
Are you dead?
LOL.
One guys says to the other, "Have you lived here all your life?" Other guy says, "I sure hope not."
Are you dead?Not yet, but sometimes I think I'd be better off... ;-)
typical rich snobby big city know-nothing
these are the types of women that think their main purpose in life is to look good and be entertained by others.
My mother rarely wore jewelry or makup and actually never even had her ears pierced ever in her whole life. Neither did her mother. For church she wore simple dresses and plain black low heeled shoes...same as her mother did. Later in life she switched to pant suits.
My grandmother used to say that jewelry was invented for ugly women so you'd have something to look at besides their face.
She also used to say the only reason why a married woman would want to take a job for pay is because she hates her husband and wants to try to make him look bad.
Gee, my mom has just called me an idiot for 37 years....
Women should take a clue from dads ...... drink heavily.
Bah. The whole problem can be distilled down to the simple fact that there is an apparently successful magazine titled, simply, "Self," and at Barnes&Noble a whole shelf full of Dr Phil variations, each with the word "Self" in the title.
this is a really good article and Ms Hart makes several excellent points. Interesting that she says that women in the Chicago burbs are less self-obsessed than the East coast moms. I grew up in the Chicago suburbs yet witnessed many women in my neighborhood in the grips of "mommy madness" - obsessed with their children to the point of smothering, in petty competition with other moms, full of anxiety, etc. Not a pretty sight. All of these women were SAHM's, but as the article pointed out, this also happens to working moms.
I think alot of the problem has to do with how society views the "ideal childhood" Kids are expected to do and be so much these days, it's ridiculous. They are overscheduled, and pushed so hard to succeed in everything, that one wonders when they have time to be kids anymore. And this attitude towards children leads to competition among parents as well as the "mommy madness" Warner describes.
The answer is not to involve the govt, of course, but for individual mothers and fathers to get a grip and reject the madness society would impose on them and their children. I don't have any children yet, but when I do, I hope I can manage to avoid going down the obsessive anxious path I've seen so many other mothers go down.
They want somebody else's money.
Repeal the 19th.
Just pretend to listen what they say, validate whatever the hell they are telling you, try and remember their names all evening (while being careful not to give your real name), and just let nature take its course
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hahaha
So you've done this before too eh? I remember one time I pretended to listen a real long time to some girl tell me all about her cats. Afterwards she asked me if I'd like to come over for breakfast. The artsy ones are the easiest. THey beleive they have all the most important ideas and love anyone that agrees with them.
Stupid post of the day.
Thanks.
By the way, I love your FR homepage where you whine about "Bush-bots" and how they are "more deceptive" than liberal Democrats. Yeah, you can select the "stupid post of the day" - - be my guest.
Crabby Old Woman
When an old lady died in the geriatric ward of a small hospital near Dundee, Scotland, it was believed that she had nothing left of any value. Later, when the nurses were going through her meager possessions, they found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital.
One nurse took her copy to Ireland. The old lady's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas edition of the News Magazine of the North Ireland Association for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on her simple, but eloquent, poem.
And this little old Scottish lady, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this "anonymous" poem winging across the Internet:
Crabby Old Woman
What do you see, nurses?
What do you see?
What are you thinking
When you're looking at me?
A crabby old woman,
Not very wise,
Uncertain of habit,
With faraway eyes?
Who dribbles her food
And makes no reply
When you say in a loud voice,
"I do wish you'd try!"
Who seems not to notice
The things that you do,
And forever is losing
A stocking or shoe?
Who, resisting or not,
Lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding,
The long day to fill?
Is that what you're thinking?
Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse,
You're not looking at me.
I'll tell you who I am
As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding,
As I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of ten
With a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters,
Who love one another.
A young girl of sixteen
With wings on her feet
Dreaming that soon now
A lover she'll meet.
A bride soon at twenty,
My heart gives a leap,
Remembering the vows
That I promised to keep.
At twenty-five now,
I have young of my own,
Who need me to guide
And a secure happy home.
A woman of thirty,
My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other
With ties that should last.
At forty, my young sons
Have grown and are gone,
But my man's beside me
To see I don't mourn.
At fifty once more,
Babies play round my knee,
Again we know children,
My loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me,
My husband is dead,
I look at the future,
I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing
Young of their own,
And I think of the years
And the love that I've known.
I'm now an old woman
And nature is cruel;
'Tis jest to make old age
Look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles,
Grace and vigor depart,
There is now a stone
Where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass
A young girl still dwells,
And now and again,
My battered heart swells.
I remember the joys,
I remember the pain,
And I'm loving and living
Life over again.
I think of the years
All too few, gone too fast,
And accept the stark fact
That nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people,
Open and see,
Not a crabby old woman;
Look closer. See ME!!
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