Anniversary Date

Part I - Movie

Ahhhh. We sat so long at a small Starbucks table waiting for our drinks that we forgot what we were waiting for and that we had a movie to catch. The theater was two blocks away, so we made it with time to spare, but we had to conspicuously sneak our drinks in with us.

I'd been practically holding my breath to see Elizabeth: The Golden Age. The reviews weren't good, but what do they know. In fact, they did us a favor because the film was slightly better than we expected.

Yes, there were moments duller than the executioner's blade during Henry the VIII's reign, but there were an equal number of gems grander than a royal ruby.

Just when you thought you might yawn or start to daydream, someone would recite an eloquent set of phrases to grab your interest. Or Clive Owen would float into the screen and grab your, uh, attention.

The story turned out to be an old-fashioned one about unrequited love. I won't give it away, but let's just say the "love" scene (between Blanchett and Owen) was the best romantic on-screen moment I'd seen in a very long time. Yeah, I cried.

I can't say much for the battle scenes, and there was definitely something lacking in parts of the script, or the editing, or the direction, I'm not sure. But the sumptuous costumes, attractive leads and swoony, moony romance made up for it.

Part II - Dinner

We saved $4 by going to an early movie, so we took that cash to Edgefield to celebrate our ninth anniversary. This isn't the first time we've celebrated there, and it won't be the last. We got married there after all, and being there feels like being at an old friend's house.

We started in the wine cellar for some wine-tasting, as we always do. We already know (in the biblical sense) most of the wines there, so it's fun to taste the different vintages as the years go by. The cellar is cozy and there are always gregarious folks to chat with. A group of three guys guzzling wine across from us looked like they may have tried and failed to be accepted into a community college frat. I was about to make a comment to Robin when he told me he overheard that one of their parent's owned a winery. I guess that would explain their loud critiques of each wine they tasted. Every time I come to Troutdale I'm reminded of how much more in common I feel I have with its inhabitants. There's something about their easy going lack of snobishness that makes me feel so comfortable. I guess that's why Robin and I got along so well right from the start (Robin's from Troutdale). Anyway, we came home with a few bottles that are now tucked away for "special occasions."

About half the time when we visit Edgefield, we eat at the Power Station. It's cheap and yummy. But this time we received some gift anniversary money, so we splurged at The Black Rabbit, which is actually very reasonable compared to anyplace in Seattle.

We started with our favorite appy - the Poor Farm Platter, a collection of cold cuts, cheeses and pickled veggies that alone could have served as dinner for the both of us. We ordered entrees anyway and saved some of the appy for later.

I had lamb (which I only eat about twice a year, I promise) and Robin had venison. Not bad either of them, but mine could have used way more sauce, and not nearly so reduced. I offered my suggestion to the waitress of course. They packed my leftovers with gobs of sauce.

I think we just wanted to sit at the table for longer and enjoy our talk because stuffed as we were, we still ordered dessert and decaf. I had a sampler of three yummy desserts, Robin ordered a thick slice of apple pie.

It's so very nice to reconnect with no distractions. To have a conversation instead of a daily recap or agenda meeting. The family life can sometimes seem more like running a business than living a personal life. It's nice to be able to sit and appreciate the investment, uh I mean the many years you've put into a relationship. Here's to nine more happy years.

How do you raise a Queen?

Is there a way to skip from being a naive girl to being a wise woman? A sort of stepping stone that crosses over the useless flowing stream of pre-teendom that trickles obediently downward towards a lake of conformity?

After being inspired by Queen Elizabeth yet again, this time in The Golden Age, one can't help having a nagging urge to burn all things Bratz, or anything else antithetic to the advancing of the young female mind.

When I think of all the media and consumer clutter that battles for attention inside our own adult heads, I wonder how kids can learn anything useful at all these days. How can they get language, science and history organized when there are so many merchandising arrows being thrown at their undeveloped minds?

How do you raise a Queen? A fearless adventuress of spirit? An independent pioneer of truth? An enlightened leader of love?

I really don't know, but I'm guessing it involves an able mentor or two. Where to find one...

The Feminine Mystique

Betty Friedan's 1963 The Feminine Mystique is said to have launched the modern feminist movement. It's easy to see why. When Friedan likens being a housewife/mother to living in a concentration camp, it no doubt lit a fire under the feet of many a housewife as she scrubbed her floors or changed the tenth diaper of the day. This is an extreme and repulsive analogy, and starkly unfair to those who lived and died in that hell, but the mothers who stayed home with their small children day after day, month after month, could make the connection.

I'd seen references to the book a few times over the years and decided there was no more pertinent a time than now to read it. If I could ever internalize Friedan's ideas, it would be by reading her book in the brief breaks from cleaning, cooking, laundry, diapering, consoling, feeding and picking up.

Friedan starts her book by describing the "problem that has no name." Through research and interviews she uncovers that most upper middle class housewife/mothers (what we call "Stay at Home Moms" today) suffer from a neurosis involving anxiety, depression, boredom and desperation, among other things.

These housewives had been raised, trained and educated to believe they'd find ultimate happiness and fulfillment in the housewife role. They were told it was a role of equal importance in society to that of their working husbands. It was respectable, it was feminine, and it was their destiny.

So from early on, women made it their only goal to get married and garner that beautiful suburban home, overflowing with children and things. They married right out of high school or in college, and attempted to live the dream that we've seen depicted in glossy 1950's advertising spreads. Only once they lived this life did they realize it wasn't the dream they expected.

The next chapters provide historical perspective. At the turn of he 20th century during the women's suffrage movement, pioneering housewives fought hard for equal treatment and their right to vote. When they won, there was a period of liberation and women became more involved in the world outside their home than ever before. This was helped by the need for women laborers during WWII.

We generally think of "Women's Lib" as taking place in the 70's, but as modern women I think we forget how much effort and courage was put forth to gain the emancipation we enjoy today. I'd never paid attention to any feminist movement, I just took them for granted, as most women my age do. Now I feel the gratitude.

The chapters on Sigmund Freud and Margaret Mead conveyed their influence on the Feminine Mystique. I rolled my eyes through the Freud part because it's too much to take him seriously, seeing how far the study of psychology has come. But he apparently made a big impact by heralding the importance of sex in psychology (to an absurd extent, if you ask me). Anyway, their sexualization of psychology and sociology didn't help women de-sexify themselves in the least.

Then came the influence of the educators and universities who guided women further into the Feminine Mystique by pushing marriage and relationship classes on girls while neglecting to encourage curriculum that would lead to careers outside the home. Girls were not taken seriously. Why make the effort to study for a career if you'll never pursue it?

After World War II there was the big surge in housewifery that led to the baby boom. "After the loneliness of war and the unspeakableness of the bomb, against the frightening uncertainty, the cold immensity of the changing world, women as well as men sought the comforting reality of home and children." (p.174) Men wanted it, and women were happy to comply.

This mass movement back into the home was further helped by the advertising industry. "Properly manipulated, American housewives can be given the sense of identity, purpose, creativity, the self-realization, even the sexual joy they lack - by the buying of things." (p.199)

We've all seen the shiny images of the smiling, happy housewife in her gingham apron, fully made-up, taking a caramelized roast out of her oven. She was beautiful and sexy and if she was in a magazine, it must be true in real life.

We started watching Madmen recently and it's become my favorite show. It's well-made and exposes truths about that era, some of which still apply today. The timing of our introduction to the show coincided perfectly with my reading this book. It put some of the words into pictures, which benefited my visual learning preference. (Read How to be A Good Wife for some tips from that era.)

Friedan goes on to explain the way "housewifery expands to fill the time available." Essentially, how women forced themselves to have more babies and do unnecessary housework so they could feel and show their worth. Ironing sheets or cleaning an already clean house are two examples I can think of.

Before the final chapter, Friedan warns of how detrimental this life is for women. A woman who is not allowed to continue her personal growth ends up neurotic. Remaining a housewife/mother stunts the innate human nature to grow, resulting in frustration and resentment. This, compounded by the stress of child-rearing, creates an environment that affects the rest of the family.

"It is urgent to understand how the very condition of being a housewife can create a sense of emptiness, non-existence, nothingness, in women. There are aspects of the housewife role that make it almost impossible for a women of adult intelligence to retain a sense of human identity, the firm core of self or "I" without which a human being, man or woman, is not truly alive." (p.293)

Yikes. If you thought you were happy, think again!

The last chapter offers "A New Life Plan for Women." She suggests women find a career at any cost and no matter how long it takes. Not just a job, but a calling that gives their life purpose beyond the confines of their home. If they need to hire help, they should. If they can only take classes in the evening, they should. If their entire paycheck goes toward childcare, so be it. Friedan claims that in the end it will be healthier for her, as well as for her husband and children.

Friedan's ideas and sense of urgency in her message "ignited women's liberation," leading to the move back into the workforce in the late sixties and seventies. The Feminine Mystique was one of the most important cultural books of the last century. Does it still apply today? I think parts of it do, and it certainly made me think of the modern Stay at Home movement. I'd recently read a few blogs from SAHMs who seemed perfectly fulfilled staying home, and in fact were opposed to mothers working outside the home.

My immediate feeling when I started reading The Feminine Mystique was validation. So I wasn't crazy to feel restless and anxious picking up toys and crumbs all day. Duh, I was educated to use my brain behind a desk and in meetings, sipping coffee and sharing jokes with my officemates. Not that it relieved much guilt or made me jump into a job interview, but at least I knew someone understood.

In some ways much of The Feminine Mystique is irrelevant. If they can afford it, all girls go to college with the expectation of having a career. It's only after they have kids that they realize they can't "have it all," or at least not the way they expected. Quite possibly more women have a hard time with staying home today because more women are educated not to. But those same women have also started careers they could return to if they wanted. And many do, though not at pre-kid levels, and for less money.

I think the difference is the type of career that Friedan encourages, which is a career that has the possibility to make a difference in the big wide world, like politics, law, science, medicine, education. For that, I give Friedan props. She takes women seriously and wants them to realize their potential as much as she realizes their potential.

Lastly, throughout the book I couldn't help hearing the little nagging woman in my head saying to the desperate housewife of the 50's, "Shut your whiny trap, you spoiled brat. I've got three kids and I have to work two jobs to support them. I clean houses for people like you. Don't you think I deserve to 'grow' too?" And she's right. This book is about upper middle class housewife/mothers. What about all the women who need to hang on to any job just to feed their families? I thought about them quite a bit. They like cleaning toilets as much as I do, and they deserve a break, don't they?

I think women over 35 should be able to pursue different things in their lives, no matter what their socioeconomic level. The world needs a variety of women to manage it. Maybe every person (boys, too) between the ages of about 15 and 25 should be partially responsible for keeping house and caring for children, in addition to keeping at their education. (I believe this is an old tradition -for girls at least- in most cultures anyway.)

This solution accomplishes a few things:

1. It frees up mothers (outside school hours) to continue their growth and contribute to society in ways that fulfill them.
2. These young adults would learn firsthand how much work raising babies is, which is far more effective at curbing teen pregnancy than abstinence education.
3. Cleaning house and changing diapers all afternoon would motivate them to study extra hard so they could move on when they reached the right age.
4. They'd be too busy to cause any mischief.

I haven't thought it all out, but it's what I have right now.

If reading this book didn't change my outlook on staying home, it certainly gave me perspective and motivation, as well as a primer in women's lib. I'm no Gloria Steinem, that's for sure, but that doesn't mean I can't do a little bit more than I think I can, whatever that may be, and whenever that may be. For now I'm just grateful for the brave women who know their potential and actively realize it. The choices they make mean mine are still open.

On the Farm

Harrison's preschool had their annual field trip to the pumpkin patch on Friday. I looked forward to being there with both kids without an ounce of trepidation because I knew Robin was taking the morning off so I wouldn't be outnumbered. Thank you Robin.

This year we visited Fairbanks Farm, which is a smaller farm than the one the school chose last year. They chose a smaller farm partly to contain the children more successfully, and the plan worked. Our large group followed one of the farm's owners on a long tour in an organized, educational manner. Pumpkin Hill was our final destination.

The start of the journey to Pumpkin Hill began in the African Pygmy goat petting area. Gigi felt it her duty to get the most out of the opportunity by touching every single goat within the fence. Harrison made sure all fifty of us kids and parents knew where the goats' anuses were and that we should avoid what comes out of them. Thank you Harrison.

Then on through a sample garden that showed how about a dozen vegetables grew - beans, squash, zucchini, etc. I was impressed by the enormous zucchini, but not so impressed by the wafting, rotting smell that I couldn't quite place.

Next we visited the chickens, geese, peacocks, turkeys, ponies and GIGANTIC pigs in about that order. My, those were some pigs, with their many, many piglets and many, many nipples. One of the mothers next to me counted the nipples on one of the pigs for her son: sixteen. I didn't know that was possible! Is that normal? They looked red and swollen and gave me uncomfortable flashbacks of those first weeks nursing my own babies.

On Pumpkin Hill, Gigi and Harrison picked their pumpkins within seconds, then Gigi walked around looking appropriately cute in her hand-me-down wool jacket, and Harrison raced around looking inappropriately like someone else's child.

Then we walked back toward the muddy gravel parking lot, passing some more stinky pigs (Gigi, please take your lips off the pig fence, Gigi, Gigi, GIGI!), and passing the farm's caretaker, a caricature of a man, perhaps in his 60's, wearing a conical wool hat and black eye patch, pushing a wheelbarrow full of manure. He appeared now and then like a ghost, never smiling or acknowledging the children passing by. Perhaps this was not his lifelong dream.

One has to be thankful for the innocence and excitement that children bring to every situation. The grown-up in me could think of more than one better place to spend the morning than a cold, muddy, germy farm, but with the curious little ones, it practically glowed as a sunny spot at the end of the rainbow. Thank you kids.

Eve's Quote

The other day when I read this quote by Eve Ensler (of Vagina Monologues) from her TED speech, it made me wonder what I do want the most and how I could give that to others:

"When we give in the world what we want the most," Ensler says, "we heal the broken part inside each of us."

I don't think you need to be "broken" to want to give to the world what you want most. Maybe it helps, I don't know. Anyway, a few days later I had a nice conversation with the older mother (that's how she described herself) of a little girl Harrison befriended at the park. I saw that she was reading Nickel and Dimed: On (Not) Getting By in America, which I had read, so I jumped at the chance to have a bookish conversation.

The book is about a journalist who goes undercover to work as a waitress, a maid and an employee at Wal-Mart. She set out to see if she could survive on the wages she earned. It turned out she could barely sustain a livable life. The book was extremely interesting to read and changed my perception of not only the people who work in those industries, but the industries themselves.

The mother said she could relate to working in a job that doesn't go anywhere; she drove a metro bus. But she didn't always do that. She took that job for the benefits and the higher pay that allow her to care for her daughter mostly on her own. Before being a driver she was a baker at a bakery in our neighborhood for fifteen years. I felt sad that she had to give up a creative job for one that didn't fulfill her in the least.

So of course I immediately prodded her about whether she'd open her own bakery and she said if she was going to do it, it would have been years ago. She thought she was past that point since she was nearing fifty. I wanted to tell her she was way too young to give up a dream, but I had been nosey enough already, so I made some dumb comment like, "Well everyone eats bread everyday."

Is it ever too late to follow your dreams? I don't think so.

My conversation with this mother made me realize how often I'm butting into other women's lives, telling them they should follow their passions if they have the slightest inkling to do so. Is that what I want the most right now? Is that why I keep pushing it on others? I'm not sure, but I certainly understand the feeling that it's too overwhelming to do a single thing more than you're doing right now, and of course there's the old fallback: I already have the best that life can offer - a healthy family - so I should just be grateful for what I have and shut the hell up.

Eve's quote was thought-provoking in any case, and I hope that someday I can follow its lead. I'll try to lay off of others in the meantime.

Batboy and Catgirl Find True Love

Me, Myself and I

I have mixed feelings when Robin goes out of town. 90% of me thinks, "Please sweet Jesus, no!" The other 10% schemingly taps her fingers together ala Burns from the Simpsons and thinks, "An evening to myself - Exxcellent!"

Last weekend pretty much followed that ratio. 90% of the time I was in semi-panic mode, afraid I'd either crumble to the floor or self-combust and evaporate, leaving my poor, helpless children to fend for themselves. I'm happy to report I held it together the entire weekend, entirely alone.

I can't quite remember everything we did (my calm, motherly, alter-personality took over at crucial times), but we spent as much of the weekend out of the house as possible: park, Science Center, Children's Museum, grocery store. I played games! I read stories! I baked cookies! I was ON!

So by Sunday night I was ready for a giant pat on the back, in the form of a date with Me, Myself and I. I love these dates. The three of us always get along, we always want the same thing to eat, and we always agree on just the right movie to watch. Trying to clink three glasses of wine simultaneously is a bit of a challenge though.

Since I didn't have a fluff movie at home via Netflix, I braved Blockbuster with the two squirmies and rented Factory Girl.

Back at home I calmly fed the kids dinner, gave them a bath and we all got jammies on. Smooth sailing except...

"Harrison."
"What?"
"What's this in your pocket?"
"Nothing."
"Candy. You stole candy from Blockbuster."
Silence.
Big, deep breath.

I got dressed, put shoes and jackets on the kids over their jammies, and back we went to return the candy and apologize to one of the male employees who, judging by the smile on his face, I'm sure was brought nostalgically back to his own childhood.

Harrison was sent to bed with no stories and Gigi finally crashed after the long day.

Big exhale.
Hello Me, how are you?
Hello Myself, how've you been?
Hello I, buy you a drink?

I made my favorite dinner - an extra large salad with all the fixings: romaine lettuce mixed with some baby greens, cucumber slices, diced red pepper, plump cherry tomatoes, shredded mozerella cheese, bite-size turkey slices, toasted pine nuts, avocado slices, homemade vinagrette, and cheese and garlic croutons.

The movie was swell and taught more about Warhol than Edie Sedgwick, I thought. I was hoping for a sort of biography of an interesting woman, but Warhol came across as far more interesting, of course (Dear God, please make more interesting women). Plus, he was played by Guy Pearce, an actor I've been sorely missing over the past few years. A fun movie in any case, and just what I needed.

Me, Myself and I sweetly kissed ourselves goodnight. Then we kissed Robin when he got home late. He wasn't jealous of our date.

Strategy

I'm getting the feeling that my favorite polyblog site does not support Hillary. Either they aren't condemning enough, or I've already made up my mind, because my opinion, however muddled, does not seem affected by their jabs.

For instance, this post claims that it doesn't make sense that Hillary ever supported the war (or voted for it) when she full well knew there was no reason to invade Iraq. He says the reason she voted for it was a 2008 campaign tactic.
(Note: her website says if she is president, she will end the war. Like many who supported the war before, she has wisely changed her stance, though I haven't watched enough debates to know how strongly she opposes the war now.)

Supporting the war at any level is a risky campaign tactic, seeing as thousands of American lives are at stake. Since for a time she supported the war, she potentially alienated the millions of voters who opposed the war, and those numbers haven't been on the decline in some time.

BUT, she also potentially gained the approval of the millions who did (and still do) support the war. And, something tells me that the gains through this group outweigh the losses from the other group. She's playing a smart game because she wants to be President of the United States, not just a democratic nominee who lost. Again.

Didn't Rove play a similar game in the last election when he put the constitutional amendment banning gay marriage in the spotlight and dug up the evangelicals who took the bait at the polls, leading to the election of a man they thought represented them?

From the looks of the polls now, her strategy is working. I'm not yet saying she's guaranteed my vote, but unlike in 2000, when I naively voted for Nader because "I wanted my vote to count for the truth" (whatever that meant), I'll be more careful. I now know what immoral consequences await when a winning strategy is not used, even when the tactics are not entirely moral.

P.S. I wish I had a fact-checker, but I don't, so if my memory on any of this is off, please correct me.