Baby Loves Disco… But Mommy Thinks It Sucks!
If there is one major contribution that Generation X has made to the history of parenting, it has to be the way we have introduced and firmly established as gospel the idea that whatever Mom and Dad want to do, Baby can do too. Not to mention Toddler, Pre-schooler, Kindergartener and Tween. In fact, the older Junior gets, the greater the opportunities for bringing him along to some grown-up fun disguised as “family oriented activities”. I guess the idea is that by the time he is a teenager the gap will have closed and the parents, feet planted firmly in Neverland soil, will instead be able to join their children in some adolescent fun.
The trouble is, Generation X:ers are really a bunch of accidental, verging on reluctant parents. A significant proportion of us have waited until our thirties to have kids – heck, a whole load of us are still waiting! And as we weren’t exactly the most selfless, flexible generation to start with, thirty plus years of instant gratification has got to lead to some serious conflict when, as the venerable Dr Huxtable might say, these people move in. You know, these people who are responsible for the fact that you can no longer enjoy the Sunday paper over a leisurely brunch followed by some retail therapy. The ones that force you to get up at 5.30 like an old person and blow your personal spending budget to pieces. The ones that make your plans to take a sabbatical and escape to Tibet for a few months’ quiet contemplation seem, well, more like a joke than a feasible idea.
Cue a novel concept: Let’s just keep going, post-baby, doing everything we used to enjoy pre-baby. How, exactly? Well, it’s obvious! We’ll just mask everything as family friendly activities, designed to make well-rounded individuals out of our children. We’ll pretend it’s just a coincidence that these activities also happen to match our hobbies – besides, everyone knows that kids love joining in with adult pursuits. Anything we don't really enjoy doing with our children, but feel as though we ought to, can be given the opposite treatment. These things we will pass off as fulfilling, discover-the-child-inside-you style adult activities and kid ourselves that we’re enjoying them.
Thus, we kill two birds with one stone: Firstly, we meet the requirement drummed into us by the glossy parenting magazines, namely that there should be no such thing as “their stuff” and “our stuff” but just one, big, happy family enjoying life together. Secondly, we manage to allow, to the greatest extent possible, the thrill-seeking, fun-loving Generation X show to go on.
So, what to do? You name it, baby. Wanna go skiing? There’s a crèche for the infant and ski school for the three-year-old. Wanna travel the world? Pack plenty of disposable everythings and buy Claire and Lucille Tristram’s “Have Kid, Will Travel” from Amazon. Wanna enjoy a meal at a restaurant and some adult conversation? Take them to Chuck E. Cheese’s and put up with the crappy food. Want to enjoy decent grub at a good restaurant? Take them to a good restaurant, goddammit! If the restaurant objects, tell the papers and they’ll get subjected to the same treatment as Dan “indoor voices” McCauley.
But the best of all really has to be this: Wanna go clubbing? Take them to Baby Loves Disco! I’ve seen some weird things in my day, but this really takes the biscuit. For those of you who would rather not partake of the organizers' website, this is essentially what Baby Loves Disco is: A “disco” (this means a club, I suppose, in funky, retro language) currently available in NYC, Brooklyn, Philadelphia and Boulder, where “toddlers, pre-schoolers and parents looking for a break from the routine playground circuit let loose for some post naptime, pre-dinner fun”. In the organizers’ own words: “Make no mistake, this is NOT the Mickey Mouse club, and Barney is Banned. Baby loves disco is an afternoon dance party featuring real music spun and mixed by real djs blending classic disco tunes From the 70s, & 80s guaranteed to get those little booties moving and grooving.”
In short, you take your kids to this place where dreadful music mixes with “bubble machines, baskets of instruments, a chill-out room (with tents, books and puzzles), diaper changing stations, a full spread of healthy snacks (provided by Whole Foods) and dancing, LOTS of dancing”. Heather Murphy, a professional dancer (“and professional mom”!!) who started the whole thing wanted no less than “to create an alternative to the pre-packaged world of entertainment for young kids”. No kidding? And Baby Loves Disco would be what, exactly?
Anyway, you won’t be seeing me in one of these places anytime soon. Apologies to Murphy, “whose lifestyle --- was changed when she gave birth to her 2 year old son Max”. My lifestyle has changed, too, and as a consequence of that, my kids’ first “disco” will be of the school variety - anything else they can go to when they’re old enough to drive themselves there.
Call me old fashioned, but last time I looked, clubbing involved one or more of the following: music so loud you’d struggle to hold a conversation, alcohol or some other intoxicating substance, sweaty adults letting their hair down and with it, all semblance of responsibility, and hot babes to chat up (or, should this be inappropriate given your circumstances, to ogle). A good night clubbing would generally include all of the above.
So, which of these disco-defining factors would one likely encounter at a Baby Loves Disco party? Unbearably loud music? Ha! Think of all those infants and their sensitive ears - someone could get sued. Booze? Ha! Ha! Ha! Sweaty adults? Possibly, but ones in the process of letting responsibility ride with the wind? Hardly. Hot babes? Well, yeah, but even though parenthood is now (thanks to Gen X) officially sexy, no one ever intended that to be taken literally. I don’t know about you, but while I certainly consider myself one hot mama, there’s hardly a time I feel less sexy than when in full view of my kids.
In other words, when you look at what a Baby Loves Disco party really is, what you are left with is precisely what you would normally expect when you invite parents and children for some “post nap, pre dinner fun”: a dimly lit room full of shrieking, hyperactive children bouncing around to a dreadful 70s collection picked up from the nearest gas station. I don’t need to pay ten bucks a head for that – I can do it right here, at home. (Though if I ever do attempt something so preposterous, could someone please shoot me?)
No, I’m sorry – a Generation X:er I may be, but I just don’t buy it. When it comes to parenting, I’d rather do it like my parents did. I love my kids to bits – to suggest I might not because I don’t feel like sharing every moment of my life with them would be ridiculous. I keep them warm and safe, provide them with nutritious meals and snacks six times a day, take them swimming, to ice skating classes and on holidays abroad, I read to them and help them with their homework. I think that all in all, they get a pretty good deal.
But there are some things I simply prefer to do on my own, sans kids. The list includes but is not limited to: going to the gym (no “KidZone” for me, thanks – I’ll wait ‘til they’re in bed), shaking my booty at the disc-oh (someone’s gotta keep the babysitting brigade in employment), backpacking (won’t be doing much of that for the next fifteen years), fine dining (where’s that babysitter’s number again?) and sleep (children who are sick or reeling from nightmares excepted, a “family bed” mine is not). Just about the only Generation X style thing I’ll do with my kids is take them to music festivals – though I view that as them doing something for me, as a kind of payback for all the times they’ve dragged me to Hell on Earth, a.k.a. the playground.
PS. Could someone please tell James Blunt to put his sweater back on and go inside? Why do people buy into this stuff? Please tell me that this isn’t happening.
PPS. Opening lines of Simon And Garfunkel’s Leaves That Are Green:
“I was twenty-one years when I wrote this song.
I’m twenty-two now but I won’t be for long”
Opening lines of Billy Bragg’s New England:
“I was twenty-one years when I wrote this song.
I’m twenty-two now but I won’t be for long”
Bet you didn’t know that! Two songs, born out of the same two lines, one mediocre and one a musical classic. But which is which?
PPPS. Just so you know: When moving abroad, homesickness will strike you approximately two months after arrival, or the first time you listen to Fifteen Years by The Levellers. Unless you move to Sweden, in which case homesickness will strike you on the first night. (This paragraph may well be deleted when I let the Swedish posse loose on my blog, so if you’re lucky enough to be reading it, savour the moment.)
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Monday, January 23, 2006
Biggest AHA! so far this year
(or Never too old to find out who you really are)
Something amazing happened to me today. Today, aged 34, I found out that there is actually a name for my most basic philosophy, for that thing I base everything else on and that has really been the whole foundation of my views on everything for the last… well, 15 years?
Not only am I not alone (which I never really thought I was anyway – I’m not that conceited), but the next time my husband rolls his eyes and says “oh, here we go again… stuuuuudent” I can reply that while it may all be over his head, there is actually an –ism for what I am talking about. Some of whose supporters I am almost certain are not university students with a close resemblance to Neil from The Young Ones swigging red wine one some dorm floor.
So how about getting to the point? What is the name, and what is it all about? Well, here we go, it’s called… drum roll… SOLIPSISM! Who’s familiar with that? If you are, you might want to take a look in the mirror to make sure your hair didn’t suddenly grow longer. And you might be better off not admitting if you know me in real life, because if you do, you really should have told me about this a long time ago.
Anyway, congratulations if you knew about this and if you didn’t, it’s time you stopped laughing at me. I’m a solipsist and I’m proud!
So what exactly is the definition of solipsism? Well, here is Merriam Webster’s version:
“a theory holding that the self can know nothing but its own modifications and that the self is the only existent thing”
Still not sure? Have some more from Encyclopaedia Britannica:
“the extreme form of subjective idealism that denies that the human mind has any valid ground for believing in the existence of anything but itself”
Still about as clear as mud? OK, let’s see.
Those of you who know me: It’s that thing, you know, where I say that nothing really exists unless there is someone there to perceive it. Remember? The chair in the next room that you’re sure was there a minute ago but that isn’t actually there right now because we are all in this room? That’s the one. That’s solipsism.
Those of you who don’t know me: Let me tell you a story about a chair. It’s in the room next to the one I’m in now, except I can’t see it, hear it, taste it, smell it or feel it. Which essentially means that it doesn’t exist, because to whom does it exist when there’s no-one there?
Yeah, blah, blah, blah (which, coincidentally, is what my 5-year-old has taken to answering me every time I open my mouth – I am sure he is really 15 and I just didn’t notice him growing). But you get my drift – and you’ve all heard it before even if, like me, you didn’t know there was a name for it.
I will leave you now with a thought provoking question. What about my other important theory, which you have all also heard before and quite possibly sneered at as another sign that I really should go get a life?
It's the one that says that really, we have no evidence that we wake up every morning as the same people we were yesterday. What’s to say that we aren’t just a new person with what we believe to be "memories" imprinted on our brain? What’s to say, even, that there is such a thing as time and that we are not just reliving the same moment again and again a la Groundhog Day? Or that rather than actually reliving it, we have just the one moment, once?
The question is, does that theory have a name, too, that I don’t know about? Or does it fall under the solipsism umbrella? Answers on a postcard, please.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Of great literature and opulent flower arrangements
It is amazing how much one can learn about a country and its people by browsing in bookstores. On the face of it, our local Borders looks pretty much like an English bookstore. (It doesn’t look anything like a Swedish bookstore, but that’s mainly because there’s something odd about all Swedish stores that sets them apart from stores in any other country. When I figure out what that something is, I will let you know.)
Anyway, back to Borders. You will find all the usual sections – Art, Literature, History, Reference, Local Interest and so on. Just as you would expect. But look closer, and you will discover some interesting differences. For example, the section entitled Romance (as in romantic fiction, Mills and Boon, that sort of thing) takes up an entire aisle in Borders. To Mystery, they have dedicated a whopping eight shelves, or four aisles. Metaphysics of all things has almost a whole wall to itself, and as for Bible Studies – well, you can probably imagine.
Other surprisingly important subjects seem to be: Calendars (yes, I know it’s January, but I didn’t notice much difference in September), gift books (those tiny little things with only a handful of words on each page, entitled things like Ode To Girlfriends or Congratulations On Your Divorce (Why You’re Better Off Without Him), and all manner of self-help books (OK, so that one doesn’t surprise me).
Moreover, throughout all subjects, one can sense the wonderfully refreshing American attitude to money. I really do think it’s refreshing – and most of all, it’s honest. We Europeans lie constantly about money – about how much or little of it we have, about whether we want more of it, and about what we are prepared to do (or have already done) to get it. In the US, it is perfectly acceptable to discuss openly the fact that we all want money, some of us have more of it than others but we all wish we had more than we do and few people would turn down a legal opportunity to make some. (Marginally more people would turn down an illegal one.)
So wherever you go in Borders, it’s hard to avoid the topic of money. Metaphysics: How To Get Rich Using Astral Projection (so that’s what metaphysics is for – I always wondered). Cooking: How To Bake Cookies Good Enough To Sell. History: 19th Century Millionaires Tell Their Stories. And so on.
So did I succumb? Of course I did. Along with a yummy selection of Gloria Steinem, Nancy Friday, Thomas L. Friedman and Franz Kafka, I also came away with The Millionaire Mind by Thomas J. Stanley. Well, you never know. It’s worth a try at least, before one has to resort to astral projection.
After Borders, it was time for Michaels. For the uninitiated, Michaels is a craft store, which technically means that it should stock things like polystyrene balls and cones (to make, say, a decorative ice cream), paints, embroidery supplies, unfinished wooden boxes and stuff like that. Which it does. But at least half of the store’s surface area is taken up not with craft supplies but with plastic flowers, and other related decorative items.
And what a wonderful, irresistible orgy of plastic flowers it is! Now, I have to stress that not all of them are plastic, nor are all of them flowers. To name but a few, there are silk flowers, paper flowers, dried flowers, synthetic greenery in all imaginable materials and sizes, bamboo sticks, bizarre, curly grasses, straight grasses, branches with berries, branches without berries, synthetic weeds, garlands, pine cones, seashells, pebbles… And of course an array of accessories to complete your arrangement: Vases, bowls, styrofoam, decorative sand…
I could spend hours and hours in this wonderful jungle of everlasting, pseudo-natural beauty. Come to think of it, I probably did. Since I had already spent most of my pocket money in the bookstore, I had to keep a firm hold of myself, but watch this space – there is definitely a risk that my new home in time will turn into a plastic flower showroom.
So what’s your stance on plastic flowers? (I know, they’re really silk, but plastic just sounds so delightfully kitsch.) My dear husband predictably regards them as the naffest, most impossibly tasteless objects anyone could choose to display. He would probably rather keep the house void of decorative objects than fill it with synthetic ones. (Come to think of it, he would rather keep the house void of decorative objects period, but what does he know.)
When we first arrived in America, ready to set up a new home, friends and family back home wanted to know my thoughts on American interior design. Is it over the top, imposing and ornate, they asked, because that is the stereotypical picture we Europeans have of it. Well, I had to reply, like most stereotypes it isn’t completely untrue. There is certainly a lot of wall to wall carpeting in the US, plenty of heavy, dark wood furniture and traditional, frilly window coverings.
But you know what? After 35 years of European, blonde-wooded, monochrome, glass-and-brushed-steel minimalism, I like that! I have graduated, moved on to the next level. “Plush” is no longer a profanity to me, and I find the most appealing interiors the ones that are comfortable and soothing to the eye. And if that means opulent arrangements of synthetic flowers and wooden fruit, well, then I’m OK with that.
After this mammoth shopping spree, yours truly was struck down with the mother of all headaches. No, it’s nothing to do with the heavy weight of blatant consumerism on my shoulders – it’s the weather up here, the pressure changes can be really vicious. Or maybe it’s that strep throat that’s been lurking in the family. So after feeding the animals, supervising their homework and handing them over to their other keeper, I retired to bed. From where I deliver this report, before moving on to the interestingly entitled The Mommy Myth – The Idealization of Motherhood and How It Has Undermined All Women by Susan J. Douglas and Meredith W. Michaels. More on that is sure to follow!
It is amazing how much one can learn about a country and its people by browsing in bookstores. On the face of it, our local Borders looks pretty much like an English bookstore. (It doesn’t look anything like a Swedish bookstore, but that’s mainly because there’s something odd about all Swedish stores that sets them apart from stores in any other country. When I figure out what that something is, I will let you know.)
Anyway, back to Borders. You will find all the usual sections – Art, Literature, History, Reference, Local Interest and so on. Just as you would expect. But look closer, and you will discover some interesting differences. For example, the section entitled Romance (as in romantic fiction, Mills and Boon, that sort of thing) takes up an entire aisle in Borders. To Mystery, they have dedicated a whopping eight shelves, or four aisles. Metaphysics of all things has almost a whole wall to itself, and as for Bible Studies – well, you can probably imagine.
Other surprisingly important subjects seem to be: Calendars (yes, I know it’s January, but I didn’t notice much difference in September), gift books (those tiny little things with only a handful of words on each page, entitled things like Ode To Girlfriends or Congratulations On Your Divorce (Why You’re Better Off Without Him), and all manner of self-help books (OK, so that one doesn’t surprise me).
Moreover, throughout all subjects, one can sense the wonderfully refreshing American attitude to money. I really do think it’s refreshing – and most of all, it’s honest. We Europeans lie constantly about money – about how much or little of it we have, about whether we want more of it, and about what we are prepared to do (or have already done) to get it. In the US, it is perfectly acceptable to discuss openly the fact that we all want money, some of us have more of it than others but we all wish we had more than we do and few people would turn down a legal opportunity to make some. (Marginally more people would turn down an illegal one.)
So wherever you go in Borders, it’s hard to avoid the topic of money. Metaphysics: How To Get Rich Using Astral Projection (so that’s what metaphysics is for – I always wondered). Cooking: How To Bake Cookies Good Enough To Sell. History: 19th Century Millionaires Tell Their Stories. And so on.
So did I succumb? Of course I did. Along with a yummy selection of Gloria Steinem, Nancy Friday, Thomas L. Friedman and Franz Kafka, I also came away with The Millionaire Mind by Thomas J. Stanley. Well, you never know. It’s worth a try at least, before one has to resort to astral projection.
After Borders, it was time for Michaels. For the uninitiated, Michaels is a craft store, which technically means that it should stock things like polystyrene balls and cones (to make, say, a decorative ice cream), paints, embroidery supplies, unfinished wooden boxes and stuff like that. Which it does. But at least half of the store’s surface area is taken up not with craft supplies but with plastic flowers, and other related decorative items.
And what a wonderful, irresistible orgy of plastic flowers it is! Now, I have to stress that not all of them are plastic, nor are all of them flowers. To name but a few, there are silk flowers, paper flowers, dried flowers, synthetic greenery in all imaginable materials and sizes, bamboo sticks, bizarre, curly grasses, straight grasses, branches with berries, branches without berries, synthetic weeds, garlands, pine cones, seashells, pebbles… And of course an array of accessories to complete your arrangement: Vases, bowls, styrofoam, decorative sand…
I could spend hours and hours in this wonderful jungle of everlasting, pseudo-natural beauty. Come to think of it, I probably did. Since I had already spent most of my pocket money in the bookstore, I had to keep a firm hold of myself, but watch this space – there is definitely a risk that my new home in time will turn into a plastic flower showroom.
So what’s your stance on plastic flowers? (I know, they’re really silk, but plastic just sounds so delightfully kitsch.) My dear husband predictably regards them as the naffest, most impossibly tasteless objects anyone could choose to display. He would probably rather keep the house void of decorative objects than fill it with synthetic ones. (Come to think of it, he would rather keep the house void of decorative objects period, but what does he know.)
When we first arrived in America, ready to set up a new home, friends and family back home wanted to know my thoughts on American interior design. Is it over the top, imposing and ornate, they asked, because that is the stereotypical picture we Europeans have of it. Well, I had to reply, like most stereotypes it isn’t completely untrue. There is certainly a lot of wall to wall carpeting in the US, plenty of heavy, dark wood furniture and traditional, frilly window coverings.
But you know what? After 35 years of European, blonde-wooded, monochrome, glass-and-brushed-steel minimalism, I like that! I have graduated, moved on to the next level. “Plush” is no longer a profanity to me, and I find the most appealing interiors the ones that are comfortable and soothing to the eye. And if that means opulent arrangements of synthetic flowers and wooden fruit, well, then I’m OK with that.
After this mammoth shopping spree, yours truly was struck down with the mother of all headaches. No, it’s nothing to do with the heavy weight of blatant consumerism on my shoulders – it’s the weather up here, the pressure changes can be really vicious. Or maybe it’s that strep throat that’s been lurking in the family. So after feeding the animals, supervising their homework and handing them over to their other keeper, I retired to bed. From where I deliver this report, before moving on to the interestingly entitled The Mommy Myth – The Idealization of Motherhood and How It Has Undermined All Women by Susan J. Douglas and Meredith W. Michaels. More on that is sure to follow!
Monday, January 16, 2006
Blogsistential questions
OK, so today might be the day to give some actual thought to this newborn blog. Who is it for? Who is it by? What is its purpose?
I have to admit, I am a bit of a blog sceptic. I mean, people - especially Americans - have always journaled. (On my recent arrival in the US, I was amazed to find that “journal” is actually a verb.) But in the past, there was a distinction between mad ramblings for one’s own pleasure and literary works fit for consumption by the general public.
There used to be a person with some knowledge of what works in literature - an editor - who could make the literary equivalent of NME’s garage-band-that-should-have-stayed-in-the-garage-with-the-engine-running comment about early performances by The Clash.
But wait a minute, I hear you say. Editors make mistakes, right? Reviewers make mistakes. NME’s reviewer made a HUGE mistake about The Clash. So? I say. The Clash kept going, didn’t they? And before long, the laugh was on the NME, wasn’t it? (Isn’t it always?)
And this is exactly my point. Good art is unstoppable – sooner or later, it will find its way into our consciousness. The same goes for literature. If someone is a good enough writer, and writes about things that interest people, their material will eventually get past the editors and into the public arena.
The trouble is, with self-publishing at an all-time high through e-books, blogging, online print services and what have you, so much junk is filling the information space that I wonder whether we are becoming immune and suddenly unable to distinguish the good from the bad. A bit like the more-fonts-than-sense evolution in desktop publishing. Or the Eccentric capitalization Trend on everything From street signs to Restaurant menus. We become so used to it we begin to think it must be OK.
With this in mind, does the world really need another blog? Who is interested in listening to my rants about this, that and the other? And what could I rant about and have a hope of at least making the tiniest positive impact on the information flow? (Not about The Clash, my children or Linda Hirshman, judging from the contents of the blog of every Tom, Dick and Harr(iet), anyway.)
Well, it looks like I didn’t answer the questions I set out to, but I haven’t given up. Watch this space!
OK, so today might be the day to give some actual thought to this newborn blog. Who is it for? Who is it by? What is its purpose?
I have to admit, I am a bit of a blog sceptic. I mean, people - especially Americans - have always journaled. (On my recent arrival in the US, I was amazed to find that “journal” is actually a verb.) But in the past, there was a distinction between mad ramblings for one’s own pleasure and literary works fit for consumption by the general public.
There used to be a person with some knowledge of what works in literature - an editor - who could make the literary equivalent of NME’s garage-band-that-should-have-stayed-in-the-garage-with-the-engine-running comment about early performances by The Clash.
But wait a minute, I hear you say. Editors make mistakes, right? Reviewers make mistakes. NME’s reviewer made a HUGE mistake about The Clash. So? I say. The Clash kept going, didn’t they? And before long, the laugh was on the NME, wasn’t it? (Isn’t it always?)
And this is exactly my point. Good art is unstoppable – sooner or later, it will find its way into our consciousness. The same goes for literature. If someone is a good enough writer, and writes about things that interest people, their material will eventually get past the editors and into the public arena.
The trouble is, with self-publishing at an all-time high through e-books, blogging, online print services and what have you, so much junk is filling the information space that I wonder whether we are becoming immune and suddenly unable to distinguish the good from the bad. A bit like the more-fonts-than-sense evolution in desktop publishing. Or the Eccentric capitalization Trend on everything From street signs to Restaurant menus. We become so used to it we begin to think it must be OK.
With this in mind, does the world really need another blog? Who is interested in listening to my rants about this, that and the other? And what could I rant about and have a hope of at least making the tiniest positive impact on the information flow? (Not about The Clash, my children or Linda Hirshman, judging from the contents of the blog of every Tom, Dick and Harr(iet), anyway.)
Well, it looks like I didn’t answer the questions I set out to, but I haven’t given up. Watch this space!
I spoke too soon!
I have just been greeted over my morning coffee by a little voice declaring: "It's sowie, it's sowie!", and sure enough, it is. Thanks for that, weather gods. The weather people really don't have a clue—the weather forecast had just been changed to show no snow for the rest of the week.
The little voice has gone to watch Dora the Explorer. She has almost no knowledge of Swedish—the second language actually spoken in this family—but she will soon be fluent in Spanish. It's time to get going, though I would give a lot to crawl back under the covers on this sowie day... More later.
I have just been greeted over my morning coffee by a little voice declaring: "It's sowie, it's sowie!", and sure enough, it is. Thanks for that, weather gods. The weather people really don't have a clue—the weather forecast had just been changed to show no snow for the rest of the week.
The little voice has gone to watch Dora the Explorer. She has almost no knowledge of Swedish—the second language actually spoken in this family—but she will soon be fluent in Spanish. It's time to get going, though I would give a lot to crawl back under the covers on this sowie day... More later.
Sunday, January 15, 2006
Linda Hirshman, I love you!
Q: Who is Hirshman, and what did she do to make me love her?
A: She stood up and spoke the truth – finally – about families, careers and the so called “work-life balance”.
Read the truth here
Clearly, crisply and eloquently, she told the world what it already ought to know but is doing it’s best to forget: The glass ceiling is still firmly in place, but it isn’t located in the workplace. It is located right here, at home.
The “work-life balance” (How I hate that term! As if work was not a part of life–the purpose of life, even!), Hirshman says, is just another term for keeping women out of positions of power. “I wonder what their concept of balance would be if they weren’t dragging around the full weight of the household. This isn’t about balance. It’s because they need more time to do tasks that are unjustly handed to them, or that they hand themselves because they believe in the gender ideology as much as their husbands do”
(Source: The Guardian, Saturday January 14, 2006)
Precisely! Isn’t this just what I have said all along? How infuriating it is to read endless accounts of the new “yummy mummy” trend, which apparently inspires young, educated mothers to ditch their careers (or, as they like to kid themselves, put them on the “back burner”). This new trend is put forward as evidence that a leopard never changes its spots, feminism was just a fad—when the pressure’s on, all women really want to do is make jam and take toddlers to Gymboree™ classes. Men can draw a sigh of relief–the free housekeeper is back and believe it or not, she is grateful for the opportunity to finally take off that power suit and go back to doing the school run in jam stained yoga pants.
No bloody wonder women can’t hack it! They may have been put on an equal footing with men in the workplace, but no-one ever did anything to remove their responsibilities in the home! Now, they are expected to hold down two jobs, and for years, they were supposed to be proud to be doing it, too! (Remember Superwoman?)
Anyway, Linda Hirshman is here and this time the world will listen. Not because there is anything magical about Hirshman–how many people had even heard her name before this highly publicised u-turn? No, the world will listen because the snowball is rolling, and it’s rolling fast. The word is out there, and in today’s world, when something is out there, it really is out there. No-one can get away, whether you agree or not. But can anyone disagree? Let me know if you do!
Thank you, Linda. Mwoa! Mwoa!
PS. It didn't snow! The weather is as unpredictable as ever, and I wish I could feel as upset about global warming as I should do.
Q: Who is Hirshman, and what did she do to make me love her?
A: She stood up and spoke the truth – finally – about families, careers and the so called “work-life balance”.
Read the truth here
Clearly, crisply and eloquently, she told the world what it already ought to know but is doing it’s best to forget: The glass ceiling is still firmly in place, but it isn’t located in the workplace. It is located right here, at home.
The “work-life balance” (How I hate that term! As if work was not a part of life–the purpose of life, even!), Hirshman says, is just another term for keeping women out of positions of power. “I wonder what their concept of balance would be if they weren’t dragging around the full weight of the household. This isn’t about balance. It’s because they need more time to do tasks that are unjustly handed to them, or that they hand themselves because they believe in the gender ideology as much as their husbands do”
(Source: The Guardian, Saturday January 14, 2006)
Precisely! Isn’t this just what I have said all along? How infuriating it is to read endless accounts of the new “yummy mummy” trend, which apparently inspires young, educated mothers to ditch their careers (or, as they like to kid themselves, put them on the “back burner”). This new trend is put forward as evidence that a leopard never changes its spots, feminism was just a fad—when the pressure’s on, all women really want to do is make jam and take toddlers to Gymboree™ classes. Men can draw a sigh of relief–the free housekeeper is back and believe it or not, she is grateful for the opportunity to finally take off that power suit and go back to doing the school run in jam stained yoga pants.
No bloody wonder women can’t hack it! They may have been put on an equal footing with men in the workplace, but no-one ever did anything to remove their responsibilities in the home! Now, they are expected to hold down two jobs, and for years, they were supposed to be proud to be doing it, too! (Remember Superwoman?)
Anyway, Linda Hirshman is here and this time the world will listen. Not because there is anything magical about Hirshman–how many people had even heard her name before this highly publicised u-turn? No, the world will listen because the snowball is rolling, and it’s rolling fast. The word is out there, and in today’s world, when something is out there, it really is out there. No-one can get away, whether you agree or not. But can anyone disagree? Let me know if you do!
Thank you, Linda. Mwoa! Mwoa!
PS. It didn't snow! The weather is as unpredictable as ever, and I wish I could feel as upset about global warming as I should do.
Saturday, January 14, 2006
Well, what to talk about in this very first of my blog posts..?
Maybe I should start with what I have learnt today, which is the following:
1. Napa Valley Chenin Blanc is not the same dry, crisp wine as Chenin Blanc in the rest of the world. It is more like a sickly sweet dessert wine. Don’t buy it.
2. You can go ice skating after 20 years of absence from the ice and still know (kind of) how to do it. I guess it’s like riding a bike, driving a car, and… well – what else?
3. Children want to believe in magic. At what precise point in development does the shift occur whereby we become people who desperately do NOT want to believe, even in the face of evidence?
4. It is still winter, and we will be getting some snow tomorrow evening.
5. Two people can look back at something that happened to both of them and remember it as if it were two different events. When it’s someone you still talk to and can compare notes with, that’s one thing. But how many people I don’t know anymore appear in my memories as doing and saying things that as far as they are concerned have nothing to do with reality?
6. Yul Brunner was born in Vladivostok in 1915 and died in New York in 1985. Ordinarily, no disrespect to Brunner, I would forget this fact as quickly as I learnt it, but now it’s in my blog I will never forget.
7. Someone in Slovenia has the only currently available pirate/bootleg copy of the Joe Strummer documentary Let’s Rock Again on ebay, but does not accept PayPal and prefers “well concelled cash”.
I think that’s enough knowledge accumulated for one day – I will return to the treacle posing as wine and wait for some more insights before posting again.
(c) Jan Stenmark 2005
Maybe I should start with what I have learnt today, which is the following:
1. Napa Valley Chenin Blanc is not the same dry, crisp wine as Chenin Blanc in the rest of the world. It is more like a sickly sweet dessert wine. Don’t buy it.
2. You can go ice skating after 20 years of absence from the ice and still know (kind of) how to do it. I guess it’s like riding a bike, driving a car, and… well – what else?
3. Children want to believe in magic. At what precise point in development does the shift occur whereby we become people who desperately do NOT want to believe, even in the face of evidence?
4. It is still winter, and we will be getting some snow tomorrow evening.
5. Two people can look back at something that happened to both of them and remember it as if it were two different events. When it’s someone you still talk to and can compare notes with, that’s one thing. But how many people I don’t know anymore appear in my memories as doing and saying things that as far as they are concerned have nothing to do with reality?
6. Yul Brunner was born in Vladivostok in 1915 and died in New York in 1985. Ordinarily, no disrespect to Brunner, I would forget this fact as quickly as I learnt it, but now it’s in my blog I will never forget.
7. Someone in Slovenia has the only currently available pirate/bootleg copy of the Joe Strummer documentary Let’s Rock Again on ebay, but does not accept PayPal and prefers “well concelled cash”.
I think that’s enough knowledge accumulated for one day – I will return to the treacle posing as wine and wait for some more insights before posting again.
(c) Jan Stenmark 2005
Friday, January 13, 2006
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