I once stood by while a bubbly new acquaintance asked a friend of mine what she does with her days, and what her passion might be (emphasis not mine). My friend, seeming to sense the inadequacy of the reply, said a little helplessly that she was a stay-at-home mom. And then we all stood there. I hastily rummaged through the classier side of my brain, piecing together something to say in case I should be posed the same unfortunate question. I wasn’t--the Effervescent One clearly felt that one conversational brick was enough in an evening; but the sense of inadequacy lingers. What is my passion? Well, yes, of course, this husband, these kids, and all the both rewarding and ignominious aspects of keeping this circa 1930’s house, with its charming (though somewhat eroded) personality and its dearth of storage. But can I really say that? In twenty words or less? More to the point, can I make it sound good?
Opinions have long been divided over the question of what title best suits my job description. Stay-at-home mom? Oh, but that sounds so belittling, not to mention a little resentful--as if there were only two varieties of mom: the around-town one (you) and the stay-at-home one (me). How about homemaker? Accurate enough, if in my opinion a little self-absorbed and pretentious. The word domestic, being multi-syllabled and also an adjective, poses as a brainy fix. Domestic engineer? domestic goddess...just ignore the tenuous basis in reality...domestic CEO? Well, what about a healthy dose of cliche, with chief cook and bottle washer? The Italians have the right idea: if you live in Venice, say, and you have to list your occupation on your marriage certificate, you may write d.d.c, for donna di casa, or--a little splendidly--woman of the house.
As far as English goes, I'll take the good old word housewife any day, with its pleasant Germanic connotations of ruddy cheeks and voluminous aprons, freshly scrubbed children, planken tables, beer and porridge. This thing we do is as old as the world and as rich. If we can’t have an adequate title, I feel we should at least have a happy one; and if it comes with a sense of history and connotations of bountiful provisioning and contentment, so much the better.
But a name won’t cut it, and the quandary is still there. How do I outline to someone who hasn’t done it for herself the recklessly careening character of the thing that is my “passion”--this impossible and unwieldy series of interruptions and perplexities, of inspiration, of desperation? Is it even possible to explain the constant juggling of mutually exclusive and interdependent plans and commitments, the big ideas, the small tragedies, the constant hilarity, and the fact that at the worst possible moment someone is always missing a shoe? How can I communicate in twenty minutes or less that it’s tremendous, it’s gorgeous, it’s gosh-awful, it’s unlike anything else, and I wouldn’t trade it for the wide world?
This blog is my attempt. In a sense it’s not about me, or even about my kids, as singular and amusing as they are. In a sense, it really aspires to be about you. This blog is my effort to give a voice by means of stories, to the complex and somewhat paradoxical experience of being a wife and a woman and a mom. And a blog really is the perfect outlet, because it aims to express in a matter of months and years what I could never condense into one or two pages--that daily impression we have (we all do feel it, I suspect): that we can’t wait to get started, can’t wait to be done, and we wish it would never end.
With love,
Opinions have long been divided over the question of what title best suits my job description. Stay-at-home mom? Oh, but that sounds so belittling, not to mention a little resentful--as if there were only two varieties of mom: the around-town one (you) and the stay-at-home one (me). How about homemaker? Accurate enough, if in my opinion a little self-absorbed and pretentious. The word domestic, being multi-syllabled and also an adjective, poses as a brainy fix. Domestic engineer? domestic goddess...just ignore the tenuous basis in reality...domestic CEO? Well, what about a healthy dose of cliche, with chief cook and bottle washer? The Italians have the right idea: if you live in Venice, say, and you have to list your occupation on your marriage certificate, you may write d.d.c, for donna di casa, or--a little splendidly--woman of the house.
As far as English goes, I'll take the good old word housewife any day, with its pleasant Germanic connotations of ruddy cheeks and voluminous aprons, freshly scrubbed children, planken tables, beer and porridge. This thing we do is as old as the world and as rich. If we can’t have an adequate title, I feel we should at least have a happy one; and if it comes with a sense of history and connotations of bountiful provisioning and contentment, so much the better.
But a name won’t cut it, and the quandary is still there. How do I outline to someone who hasn’t done it for herself the recklessly careening character of the thing that is my “passion”--this impossible and unwieldy series of interruptions and perplexities, of inspiration, of desperation? Is it even possible to explain the constant juggling of mutually exclusive and interdependent plans and commitments, the big ideas, the small tragedies, the constant hilarity, and the fact that at the worst possible moment someone is always missing a shoe? How can I communicate in twenty minutes or less that it’s tremendous, it’s gorgeous, it’s gosh-awful, it’s unlike anything else, and I wouldn’t trade it for the wide world?
This blog is my attempt. In a sense it’s not about me, or even about my kids, as singular and amusing as they are. In a sense, it really aspires to be about you. This blog is my effort to give a voice by means of stories, to the complex and somewhat paradoxical experience of being a wife and a woman and a mom. And a blog really is the perfect outlet, because it aims to express in a matter of months and years what I could never condense into one or two pages--that daily impression we have (we all do feel it, I suspect): that we can’t wait to get started, can’t wait to be done, and we wish it would never end.
With love,
Claire
