My job / His job - Part Two of What Does A Housewife Do All Day?

I always thought it was overly simplistic to say that David's 'job' was to go and make money for the family, and my 'job' was to stay home and make a comfortable living area for us.  I really feel as though that kind of mentality lessens what each of us does on a daily basis, because, yes, David makes money outside the home and I do not, and I keep house which he doesn't do, but those roles are not as hard and fast as society would like them to be.

In other words, I'm a housewife, but that's just a very small part of what I do and who I am.

There have been periods of time when I've taken paid work, sometimes more than one job at a time, and there have been weeks when my paycheck was more than David's, or my job more challenging than his in some way.  And equally there have been days, weeks even, when Daddy has been home and doing laundry, or cooking meals, or soothing cuts and scrapes and returning library books while I've been somewhere else.

I've never really felt awkward about being the primary parent at home because I feel called to it; I've never taken on this role because society expected me to but because I'm good at it, and I like it, and it seems to work for us.

And yes, I think that each of our 'jobs' qualifies as 'work'.  Just as David's parenting is no less than mine, my work is no less than his.  Different, yes, but then that's true of each individual.

Beyond the standard stuff that I try to accomplish on a daily basis, though, there is one way in which I interact with the family finances in a more in-depth way.  Several years ago I came across a stay-at-home mom who wrote that she viewed her job as helping to squeeze the most out of her husband's paycheck.  Whatever money came into the house, she wanted to get every last useful drop out of.  I liked that idea and it's always stuck with me.

It's become a bit of a challenge for me, which plays well into my naturally competitive side!  Sure, tomatoes are $1.00 a pound at Sobeys, but they're 98 cents a pound at Superstore, so let's go there!  And I take a great deal of pride (good pride, I think!) in seeing how I can turn random ingredients into delicious food; I'm a master at 'pantry cooking' after years of practice.

This past week I needed more cloth wipes for the baby, and made 18 new ones from an old, unworn shirt.  I bought limes from the discount produce rack and juiced them, freezing the juice in ice cubes trays for days when limes would be too pricey to buy.  I made our first loaf of bread in the bread machine, visited Costco to buy sausages and cat litter in bulk, and used up the leftovers in the fridge.

These little things are important to me while I'm at home; they keep me in a headspace that constantly reminds me that the money I spend and the lifestyle we live comes from David's 40 hour weeks on his feet, doing hard work.  And, yes, they keep me accountable; I think David appreciates that if he ever were to ask me how I managed our money this week, I could give him a list just like the one I just typed.  And lest the sexism bug rear it's ugly head, David is just as accountable to me for his actions regarding work; he would no more slack off at his job than I would at mine.

Tomorrow I'll be writing my Works For Me Wednesday post, and I'll share some specific things I've done recently, since coming back to the home for my maternity leave with our second child.  And I'd love your suggestions, as well!

Why I feel better when my fridge is empty

Here's my fridge, and it clearly isn't empty.  But, here's the thing - it's a lot emptier than it used to be, and the change has been a voluntary one.

I used to hoard food, thinking that somehow it made me thriftier, when in reality it made me crazier.  I was one of those women who debated saving the water their vegetables were steamed in to use later when making their own broth.  This saving food compulsion was born of a thrifty childhood, nurtured by some long, lean college years, and finally blossomed and bore a lot of fruit after David and I got married, had a child, and firmly slipped into a pretty low economic class.

Not only that, but our discovery of healthy eating (aka - skip the Ramen noodles every night and buy something labelled 'fruit' on occasion) led me to believe that I had to scrimp and save nutrients constantly.  Don't throw out bones, because bones have calcium and, um, 'good' stuff, whatever that means, and they should be boiled to extract it and the reduced liquid should be frozen...or something.  It was becoming an obsession.

I also noticed that the more I fell into this mentality, the more two things happened.  The first was that I was actually LESS likely to make and eat food.  Food had become a huge chore, requiring lengthly prep time and exhaustive research to be delicious.  I would make it, and then be loathe to toss a Tbsp of leftovers and instead let them molder away in the back of the fridge.  Half of the produce I bought, I tossed.  Half of the healthy stuff I made, required a ridiculous amount of time.  Not to mention space.  My fridge and freezer both were crammed with food.  Little labelled bags of stuff.  Can't throw out that half a calcified lemon, since it was organic and all, and cost the earth.

The second thing that happened is that we all lost out on the joy of eating, as well as the supposed financial benefits of doing so in a healthy way.  Who wanted to eat Mama's lentil casserole three days in a row?  No one, that's who, including Mama.  So the casserole sat there and Mama, exhausted from the two days of prep work it took to produce a healthy, entirely homemade lentil casserole, ordered a pizza.  A delicious melon, or some perfectly ripe apples, supposing I hadn't forgotten them and left them buried under mounds of food in the back of the fridge somewhere, got pushed aside again and again in favour of convenience and 'food planning'.  I couldn't give Sam an apple because those were the 'special' apples I was saving for a pie, which I couldn't make because we weren't buying piecrust anymore, just making it, and I was too tired to make piecrust.  So let the apples sit.

So what changed this?  To be honest, it's still changing, and the change is slow.  I still hoard food.  I still buy a bunch of 'excellent deals' at the grocery store and then throw them away.  I still save bits and pieces.  I have a peeled ginger root in my freezer as we speak.  Yesterday my husband threw out a pumpkin that I had been holding onto in cold storage since before Hallowe'en, and to be honest, if he hadn't thrown it out I wouldn't have.  I would have kept it.

But, I'm a lot better.  To start with, we've all noticed that if there is one food option, then when you're hungry that's what you'll eat.  If you look at that picture above, that big bowl on the second shelf is the roasted pepper soup I made yesterday - and we'll have it for lunch today.  Because that's what there is for lunch.  The top shelf holds some stuffed pasta shells, and David will take those to work for his supper today.  Because that's what there is for supper.  When I went to the store yesterday, I bought exactly what I needed for ONE intensive recipe - in my case, a roasted portabella mushroom soup.  I bought three onions and whipping cream - you can see my onions in one of the crisper drawers.  You know what else you can see in that drawer?  Nada.  There's nothing else there.  On purpose.

There's enough food in that fridge (and my freezer, and the fruit bowl on the counter, etc.) to feed us for a few days only.  Then I will have to go shopping again.  I have a loaf of bread on the counter, but only one, and then I will have to make more bread.  I have some homemade energy bars wrapped up, but only half a dozen, and then I will have to make more.  I have three apples, a kiwi, a banana and a cantaloup in my fruit bowl - this means that in about two days, I will need to buy more fruit.  These small, manageable amounts of food tend not to go to waste anymore.  If you only have three apples, and they're all visible, then you'll eat your three apples.  When they're done, you'll buy more apples.  Simple.

I've found myself not only saving on tossed food, and therefore money, but also on stress.  It's stressful to look in a fridge and have no idea what to prepare for a meal, and it's equally stressful, for me at least, to prepare this elaborate meal plan every week that I cannot hope to achieve.  I don't want to spend two hours every day in the kitchen, making food.  I like food, I want to eat food, I want to serve healthy and delicious food, but I don't want to use up my life preparing food.  I can tell you right now what we'll have in the next couple of days without a meal plan.  We'll have apple pancakes for a meal.  We'll have portabella mushroom soup.  We'll have a cheese souffle.  And then at some point in the next few days as I run low on fruit I will also pick up some vegetables and we'll do a stirfry, and then an omelette.  Then we'll be down on eggs and so...you get the idea.  I don't need a meal plan, I can look at the dozen items in my kitchen and tell you right now what you can expect to eat if you arrived for supper.

Thoughts on Domestic Vocation

There is a lot wrong with articles like this one, demeaning the work of stay-at-home parents everywhere, in my opinion.  Not the least of these problems is the generally negative attitude towards housekeeping.  It's a term bandied about quite a lot these days, a label with lots and lots of hidden layers of meaning, but when I use it I mean the routine, often repetitive work of maintaining a home and a family.  Vacuuming and dusting and laundry, yes, but also applying for passports and taking a cooking class and planting a garden, those are housekeeping, too.

When intellectually cutting down those who choose to stay at home, one woman says:

"One of the things I've done working on my book is to read a lot of the diaries online, and (stay-at-home mothers') description of their lives does not sound particularly interesting or fulfilling for a complicated person, for a complicated, educated person."

For a complicated, educated person.  That says something about how society sees and values a person who keeps house.

The truth of the matter is that all jobs have an element of the menial to them, and many jobs are ones that fulfill a basic need for society.  Clean water, adequate schooling, health care and food production are great examples of this - would this woman claim that a doctor was 'wasting her time' working at a clinic, or a schoolteacher 'squandering her abilities' teaching children?  I doubt it, this is just an assumption, because I don't know the writer, but I imagine her definition of appropriate work is based less on the tasks and more on the location.  If you teach your own children, you're letting down the team, but if you're teaching other people's children, then you're doing your part.

What categorizing jobs ends up doing is categorizing people.  When you say, with words or simply attitude "your job is less than my job", then you end up saying "you are less than me".  Any jobs that fall within the realm of critical for a functioning society, jobs like keeping house, must be done by someone.  And if those jobs are also seen as beneath some members of society, then the underlying premise becomes that there is a stratified society, with some people being on top and having other, less worthy people, taking care of the cooking and the cleaning.

This woman wears clean clothes and eats healthy food and, assumedly, lives in a tidy house with lightbulbs in all of the sockets and sheets on all of the beds.  Her houseplants are watered, her vacations are planned and her magazine subscriptions are renewed.  If you were to open her fridge, there would be food in it, and if you were to go into her front hall closet, you would find an umbrella.

I wonder what she thinks of the person or people who keep this status quo in her own life?  Does she believe, as she does of the work they do, that they are beneath her as well?  Does she think they're boring, dull, uninteresting?  Is it in fact she herself who does these things for the home, feeling unworthy and ungrateful to her own hands for such "menial, base work"?  Or does she hire it out, perhaps, to an "unworthy and base" person?  Someone from another country, someone with different coloured skin, or someone who lives in a mobile home, in an unfashionable zip code, with "too many kids". 

I can't help but wonder, as well, how her home reflects her.  When she has friends and family in for a meal, is she proud of and happy with her house?  Does she show off the brilliant yellow tulips that just this morning started to open in the garden?  Does she invite her guests to try the tomatoes from the farmer's market?  Or is home, and everything lovely and wonderful and hard and fulfilling about keeping it, is it all "beneath" her?  Perhaps her food is all pre-made and take-out, her child's education purchased at a steep price and then unmonitored ever after, her clothes laundered outside the home and picked up only as an errand, her floors washed by unseen hands, paid weekly in an unmarked envelope on the kitchen counter.

The challenge in housekeeping isn't obvious to her, though.  As a law professor, I imagine she would be surprised by how empty I think her world must be, how sad that she can derive no joy, no sense of accomplishment, from doing the most important work there is: creating order and safety and health and happiness and a future, every day, for those you love best, and for the stranger at your door.

Thoughts?

Why I married my husband

Simcha Fisher, that opinionated and crazy (in all the right ways) Catholic lass over at I Have To Sit Down, recently asked a question in an article she wrote for the National Catholic Register.

"So how about you? If you have a good marriage, what made you decide to take the plunge?"

 

That's a really good question!  Actually, it's such a good question that I'm not even certain I have an answer to it, but I have an idea.

 

The first thing that attracted me to David was his looks.  I was 23, atheist, home 'for a year' (that turned into four! ha!) from college and just starting a brand new job.  That first day I walked in, there he was, and I thought "that man is cute!"  The next thing, which happened almost immediately after the first thing, was that I noticed how nice he was.  Not boring nice, but nice nice.  Genuinely kind and sweet, and that was very different from the boys I had known in the past.  Those two traits were pretty much all I knew about him for almost five months, because the third, most noticeable, personality trait of David was that he was shy.  So, so shy.  It didn't help that my boss at the time confused "Methodist" with "Mormon" and told me he was the latter, thus starting my first (and only) soul-searching on my personal stance on Mormonism!  Because, oh, I liked this guy so much.  So much.  SO MUCH.

 

And what was even more amazing to me was that he liked me so much, too.  He was cute, and nice, and quiet and sweet...and he liked me?  Me?  I am not quiet, and I was not very sweet at that point, and although I could probably have passed for cute I think a more likely description would have been 'rumpled'.  I wore a lot of jeans, if I remember correctly.  It was strange, though, how quickly we started talking about children and families and marriage after just a few dates.  It was easy, not embarassing or nerve-wracking as it had been in the past.  It was like we already knew that everything was going that way, and so we were just sort of 'checking in' with each other on technicalities.

 

So I knew he was the one because of how I felt around him, as though I had always been with him.  And I liked how he liked me so much, as much as I liked him, so there wasn't some sort of 'I love you more than you love me' sort of oddness to the relationship.  I also knew because we had the same goals.  And when, several years into our relationship, I became a Christian, I knew because the thought of anyone but David being the head of our household left me cold.  He was the priest of this family before the family even came into being.

 

But ultimately there were two major things that made me 'know'.  The first was, it was easy to love him.  Not to say that we didn't argue or anything, but the relationship wasn't a hard, upward slog all of the time.  He didn't drain the energy out of me.  Being with him felt right, and simple, and straightforward, and easy to do.  The second thing was that when I looked into my future, I couldn't see it without him.  I know that sounds cliched, but it's true.  I couldn't imagine sleeping beside someone else, I couldn't imagine eating across from someone else, I couldn't imagine getting up in front of God and saying 'I do' with anyone but David.  My mind went blank when I searched it for any images of another man.  David was it.  This was it.

 

We were both so nervous on our wedding day!  But it wasn't the nervousness of someone uncertain about their choice, I was nervous because I wanted it done.  I wanted the paper signed and the vows spoken and the going away outfit donned so that I could get away from all of these people and spend time with David.  My best friend.  The other night he called me that: "Amy, you're my best friend" and I thought 'yes, this is how you know.  Not once, but a million little times.  Every time you wake up, all over again.'

 

 

 

How about you?

My fridge

I have a theory and it goes a little something like this:

Look at someone's fridge and you can tell what's important to them and once you know what's important to a person, who can tell who they are.

 I'm thinking of this because where I blog is in the kitchen.  The computer used to be in the livingroom, but the baby was listening to the siren call of wires sticking out of the wall and we had to move it.  Now it resides on an antique table my husband bought me two years ago for my birthday.  It shares the table with a box of cornflakes and the light fixture from the bathroom which I can't figure out how to replace.  Also an Eragon mouse pad and a milk pitcher full of pens.  To the left are my pantry shelves and to the right, my fridge. 

And on my fridge there is a picture, black and white, a copy of a copy, held up with a magnet we bought at a souveneir shop on our honeymoon because everything else was too expensive.  It's a picture of my mother at my age and she's lying down on her back, fast asleep, her arms wrapped protectively around a baby asleep on her chest, a handknitted afghan over them both.  The baby is me, and I'm about Samuel's age by the look of it.  My mother looks tired.  Her hair isn't neat and she's wearing a blouse and an old cardigan.  It's obvious that she is on her bed, but the blankets and sheets, so perfectly selected and neat every time I visit them these days, are in a tangled heap.  I remember that afghan from my childhood;  it sat on the sofa, folded neatly at the end and there are other pictures in albums that I've seen where the afghan is draped over a sick child, usually me, or a sleeping father.  Later, there are pictures of my sister curled up with the afghan, and it's possible to trace our family history of cats based on which one is asleep in the photos.

My mother and I look almost nothing alike, that's an honour reserved for my sister, who is the spitting image of her.  I look like my father and his family; the long bloodline of Scottish clans coming out in my face and body where my mother shows her more willowy and ethereal Celtic roots.  She and my sister, with their childhood pictures of palest blonde hair and creamy skin, could pass as relatives any day.  She and I, not so much.  But in this picture, I look just like her.  Her thin, frail-looking body is nothing like mine, but the expression on her face and the way she holds her baby...I could be looking in the mirror.

You can't tell, or maybe you can, that she's not wealthy.  That blouse is a print from the seventies and I was born in '81.  Her hair hasn't been cut in a while.  The afghan is handmade.  And maybe most telling, she's asleep, in the daytime, with a ten-month old.  She tired because she's a new mother and she doesn't have help.  When the dishes need to be done, she does them.  She feeds her family.  She rises early.  If you could look beyond the picture and see outside the bedroom you'd discover that she's on a farm.  The farmhouse only has one bedroom and a large closet where my crib sits.  Her days start when my father, who works in the city, leaves at dawn to drive for almost an hour.

I keep the picture on my fridge to remind me that my mother was where I am today.  That the hard days I have and the tight times I live through are not exclusive to me, and that where my parents are today is so much better in so many ways than where they were then, and that maybe my future holds those same successes.  I like this feeling of intimacy I share with her when I look at that photo, and I realize how much she understands where I'm coming from when I call to complain that my washer broke, again, and I have to hang my laundry in the cold.  Or that we're having beans for supper, again.  She knows what I'm talking about.  She's looked at an empty fridge and made supper anyway.  She's done her laundry by hand.  She's fallen asleep in the middle of the day with her baby on her chest, probably after a long night of crying and nursing, waking up to watch as her husband leaves for work.  She knows she can't ask him to stay home, they can't afford that, but the nine hours alone ahead of her stretch and she panics a bit.  She hugs him twice as hard.

I hope I'm not alone in this, and that when my mother hangs up the phone after speaking with me she feels a kinship, too.  I think she does.  I feel sorry for those women going through difficult circumstances who don't have that anchor to hold on to, knowing that your mother did it before you, and your daughter might after you makes it easier, somehow, to get up from your bed, and do what you have to do.

Wendy Wright

Is parenting a spiritual practice?  Is it a Christian work of mercy?  After all, I feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, clothe the naked and comfort the afflicted daily in my role as keeper of this home.  I ask because tonight I got a chance to pick up Wendy Wright's Seasons of a Family's Life:  Cultivating the Contemplative Spirit at Home and amidst the talk of  family alters and seeing your children off to college there was this:

"A well-meaning speaker had been waxing rhapsodic on the way in which people might become true disciples of Jesus in their roles as parents.  My acquaintance was taken aback when the speaker claimed that whenever parents diapered and dressed their baby, they were performing one of the traditional Christian works of mercy - clothing the naked.  My friend was right to be jarred- not because tending one's own child cannot be a spiritual practice but because the traditional Christian works of mercy...generally refer to acts of mercy performed on behalf of the poor and marginalized, not for the benefit of one's relatives.  These are acts of love - almsgiving in fact - that go well beyond what would be normally assumed as family responsibility.  This caveat is well taken.  Genuine spirituality is not sentimentality."

A close reading of this passage brings up several questions, two of them I think I can attempt tonight.

a) Is it possible for people to become true disciples of Jesus through their roles as parents?
b) When parents perform acts of parenting are they performing acts of mercy?

A)  Is it possible for people to become true disciples of Jesus through their roles as parents?

 - The initial answer to this is 'No', because of course the way to become a true disciple of Jesus is not to be a good parent.  But in all of my talks with people, Christian or not, one question gets asked over and over again - what about works?  As in, things you do or are expected to do, as a Christian.  Of course, you're expected to do one thing as a Christian - confess that Jesus is Lord, that He died for your sins, and accept Him into your life, and if you've got 30 second to live and you do this with an honest heart God will hear and accept you.  BUT, if you do this at, say, the ripe old age of 13 and live another eighty years, well you'll notice something starts to happen.  You start to live differently because you are being changed from the inside by the Holy Spirit.  When someone says to me "If I become a Christian do I have to stop swearing?" I usually say, "Well, if you swear that doesn't negate your salvation, if that's what you're asking, but you'll notice, if you let God into your life, that eventually swearing isn't enjoyable anymore, that it starts to bother you, and eventually it will phase itself out because He will begin to remake you."  What does this have to do with parenting, you ask.  Good question.  As you are living the life of a parent you will notice that God will begin to work though you, as He works through us all, smoothing out our wrinkles and easing the knots in our souls.  If you let Him work He will show you the cracks in your heart, your tendency to lash out, perhaps, or your snide remarks, and slowly, slowly, you'll move away from those things that have darkened you and into His light.  So, can you come to be a true disciple of Jesus through parenting?  If you mean does having a baby make you a disciple, then no, but if you mean through the journey of parenting can God draw you closer to Him and closer to His ideal for you, then absolutely.

B)  When parents perform acts of parenting are they performing acts of mercy?


Acts of Mercy is the name given to the works that many Churches feel embody the responsibilities of the Christian.  The corporal works (there is also a list of spiritual works) are to feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, clothe the naked, to visit and ransom the captive, to shelter the homeless, to visit the sick, and to bury the dead.  As these acts tend to be focused on more in churches with a Catholic or Eastern Orthodox history or ties to one of those denominations, some of them will be a bit foreign to Protestants.  Bury the dead, for example.  However, several of these are acts that parents perform daily for their children, so what's the difference?  I did my best to research this one, because I'm a little lost in the midst of Catholic theology, and came across the Catholic Encyclopedia if you feel like reading what I slogged through, but it seemed to me to boil down to this:  Christ asks us to be like Him.  And what did He do?  He was a friend, He was a leader and a follower, He was a mighty fortress against evil, and a kind and gentle shepherd.  He was all things and we, as His followers, are not asked to stand up in His place now that He is gone, but to be windows through which He, the light of the world, can shine.  When you meet an especially wonderful Christian, like Mother Theresa wonderful, you are actually meeting someone who is the least like themselves.  So, in my simple and hole-filled theology the Acts of Mercy are those things which we do to be more Christ-like.  You can do those things anywhere, and I personally think it is unlikely that Christ would differentiate between responding to the hungry cries of your infant and the hungry cries of a homeless man.

Of course, seeing as this space is devoted to my journey and understanding of my own call to a domestic vocation, I would think this way.  I can't imagine that God would give me a calling and then cheapen or lessen it in any way.  As we all follow His purpose for our lives we grow in our understanding of Him and ourselves, and maybe I'll agree with Wright one day, that parenting, while a spiritual practice, cannot compare to a true act of mercy and compassion.  But as it stands right now, diapering my son humbles me, feeding him humbles me, loving him humbles me, and a humbled me draws closer to my Lord.

Domestic Vocation pt. 3

Good news over here - the antibiotics for little Samuel seem to finally be working, or perhaps they didn't work and he just got better on his own? Whatever, he feels better and so do I.

I'm in the research phase of my exploration of motherhood and house-keeping as my personal vocation and thought I'd share the books that I'm reading right now on the subject and some that I'm thinking about picking up in the future. (Note: Can you believe that I still have things to talk about re: domestic vocation? I know, I can't either.)

We all have a vocation because our vocation is to live the life that God calls us to. Simple, and yet oh so very hard. I should be a mother and a housewife as thoroughly and seriously as Bill Gates is the CEO of Microsoft. As seriously as the Pope takes his role. As seriously as anyone who is specifically following God's call. That pretty much sums it up.

I'm working through Keeping House: The Litany Of Everyday Life by Margaret
Kim Peterson and without launching into a book review (hmmm, maybe I should do book reviews about my reading in this area?) Peterson essentially discusses what a Christian home is for; her goal wasn't to tell you how to make your laundry whiter or tips on getting your kids to wash the bathroom but it's an in-depth analysis on the purpose of our homes, which is to be as little churches, as resting places, as quiet in the busy world. They should be 'miniature cities' that can house, clean, feed and refresh the weary travellers that live within them. This is so contrary to the idea that home is a place to fill with new stuff and activities and a place that is never enough. Not enough space, not enough light, the carpet isn't good enough, the blinds are too old, etc. Actually I'm part-way into Peterson's chapter on 'stuff' and where that fits into our home mentality.
I imagine my next book on the 'research list', Wendy Wright's Seasons Of A Family's Life: Cultivating the Contemplative Spirit At Home will carry on from the overview given by Peterson's book with more specifics. I'm trying to answer the questions of how, exactly, am I going to fulfill this calling. What sort of home do I want to have, how am I planning on caring for my family in specific, God-filled ways, and so forth? I'm already finding some of the answers to those questions. The Christian calendar, and the natural seasons are going to be focal points, I'm fairly certain. Traditions, customs, "we always bake pumpkin muffins at Thanksgiving" sort of rituals that, for me, will solidify the family within the house, build positive home-based memories and give me, the Mama at the helm of it all, a clear schedule so I don't go adrift.
To look into the idea of living within the Christian year I've ordered these two books: Living In God's Time: A Parent's Guide To Nurturing Children Through The Christian Year by Margaret Persky and Sarah Ban Breathnach's classic Mrs. Sharp's Traditions: Reviving Victorian Family Celebrations of Comfort and Joy.
I'm also debating a few titles that seem to be just up my alley in terms of seasonal Christian focus, but are written very much in a Catholic vein. I have nothing against this, I'm just uncertain HOW Catholic they're going to be and how much I can use them. There are a few saints, for example, whose 'days' I anticipate us celebrating (Like St. Nicholas, for example) but a lot of it might be not for us. Should I buy them for the good there might be, anyway? They are: A Yearbook of Seasons and Celebrations and A Book of Feasts and Seasons, both by Joanna Bogle.
So that's where I am right now.

Domestic Vocation pt. 2

A million apologies for such a long and un-called for break from this space. If it helps, I have thought of a whole lot of posts that I should be writing, including that one on cleaners which I WILL get to, because it needs to be written. But we have been busy busy around here.

Our weekend was lovely. Just lovely. The cabin was a little rustic for me, a city girl residing in the country, but it was just nice to get away and walk the beaches and such before the cool weather really hit with a vengeance. It has been chilly the last week or so, enough to make me start musing on Christmas presents, and to take advantage of the cool weather to get some chores done that would have been icky in the heat.

Then we all got sick, Samuel with strep throat and me with my traditional chest infection, which I like to dust off and bring out for kicks around this time every year, because I'm festive like that. We cloistered ourselves for several days and have recently reappeared, pale and awkwardly clothed, to resume some semblance of normalcy.

And I have not forgotten part 2 - which I think is very much needed. There may have to be a domestic vocation pt. 3 at this rate, but I really need to discuss the practical concerns that I've had about this idea. May I confess something? I have difficulty taking myself seriously sometimes, and that carries over into having a bit of trouble taking my tasks in life seriously, which is a slippery slope. I tend to ask myself 'is this really worth the trouble?' a lot during the course of the day. Or I make committments and then have problems keeping them for, what seem at the time, perfectly acceptable reasons. But as I explore the idea of domesticity as vocation I've been brought up short with the idea that not only are my tasks going to have to change, and my feelings about those tasks, but my attitude towards life and how I present myself will have to undergo some transformation as well. Let me explain, if I can.

Yesterday I spoke to a friend, C, and we agreed that today we would meet and knit for a while, around 2 o'clock, I said. I said this on the spur of the moment, without really thinking of what I had to do today or what my husband's schedule was or how the babe and I might be feeling. I went into the arrangement already assuming I could cancel if things changed on my end. I had an attitude of resignation before the opportunity even came around since my immediate response to any nagging doubt as to whether I could keep my word was "Oh well, if it turns out I can't make it I'll just call and cancel". Sure enough I found myself scrambling today at around 1:30, unable to get the baby out the door, find the knitting I wanted to work on, get dressed for the chill and find my keys to get where I needed to go. I was late, of course. And in rushing I thought what I always think at these times "Why didn't I PLAN for this better?" Why didn't I? I didn't because, although I know how hectic it is to get a sick child out the door, and I know how picky I am about what I knit in public (because I don't want to give away gifts or anything) and I know how long it takes me to get my wallet and keys and check that the stove is off and so forth, making certain that I plan my time is not a priority. It isn't, and it should be. I cannot expect to be able to feed and clothe a family of three, keep a house clean, care for two cats, shop for food, run errands, pay bills, etc. etc. and NOT make scheduling a serious priority. And for that, I need to understand my limitations and plan for them. Let's say I was a doctor, and I worked from 9 until 5, with a one hour lunch break. That gives me seven working hours a day. That means I can see 7 patients for one hour each, or 14 patients for 30 minutes each or 28 patients for 15 minutes each. I cannot, no matter how I juggle, see 38 patients for 15 minutes each. If I book 38 patients I either have to come early, stay late, or skip some of my patients. Or I have to give each patient less time. Now maybe not every patient needs 15 minutes, but maybe some of the one I thought I could see in 15 minutes actually need 20 minutes to really help. Do I do a half-done job? Do I skip some people who really need to be seen, because I've over-booked myself? Well, if I'm a good doctor, I only book 28 patients if I only have time for 28 patients. Why, then, as a housewife, do I expect that I can clean the kitchen, the bathroom, do the laundry, finish the dishes, meet my friend at 2 to knit, play with my son, etc. etc., if, in fact, I only have time to do one of those things, or sometimes none at all.

It's an attitude adjustment, this sort of scheduling. And I think it is also a habit that will get easier as I attempt to cultivate it. I'm not certain exactly how to do this, but I think I may try and take a business perspective on the whole thing, since running a home is as important as any outside work, and use a desk calendar or some sort of time management program on my computer. We'll have to see what seems best. What is obvious is that I need to take myself seriously in this way. I need to look with honest eyes and say "Okay, I have seven hours until I will stop working, now what can I do in seven hours." That brings me to another point:

Starting and Stopping. When to start, when to stop. My day, to be a bit more regulated, needs to have a clear starting point, and an equally clear ending point. I shouldn't be sleeping till different times every day any more than I should be washing dishes at midnight. This isn't to say that this is going to be an easy task! The baby wakes up when he wakes up and there is very little I can do about it. He could wake at 6:30, or he could wake at 8:00, and that's that. I do have some say as to when I get out of bed, though. I could say, for example, that if the baby wakes up and won't go back to sleep then I get up, which I do anyway, but that if he does goes back to sleep, I will still get out of bed at, say, 7:30, even if he's still sleeping. My day might start earlier than 7:30, but it will certainly start BY 7:30, and that will make planning a little easier. Bedtime is a little easier to plan. The baby is in bed and asleep, with the exception of the last week because of illness, by 8:30 at the very latest. I could, if I planned it, set myself a bedtime of, say, 10:00. That gives me an hour and a half to get relax without children around.

This sort of planning, giving a very linear aspect to my day, is a great starting ground in being not only more productive, but adding an element of certainty during a period of life that is inherantly uncertain. I sometimes think that young mothers feel adrift, especially if we are at home with our children, because they are often too young to be helpful around the house or to entertain themselves for any length of time, and yet we know we should be doing things with them, but we can't think what, exactly, and we spend our days floundering from one half-finished chore to the next, constantly interrupted by the needs of others, feeling frustrated and knowing that that frustration is wrong. Stability and scheduling can help that by offering a framework to move within. Yes, things might not be 'done' when my alloted time for them is, but when the clock strikes a certain time, that's that. Pencils down, as a proctor says.

I tried this today for the first time. I've finally begun the work of painting Samuel's room (pictures to come, aren't you excited!) and I told myself 'I will paint one wall." I taped it off, moved the furniture, lay the drop cloths and started. I was interrupted to nurse once, but then he was off to sleep again and I went back. I really got into it and after maybe an hour the one wall was nicely done and I really wanted to keep going, but I forced myself to stop. I had said one wall, and I meant one wall. I packed up the paintbrushes and cleaned up, closing the door behind me until tomorrow. Once I thought about it I realized how hungry I was and that it was really time to start supper. If I had kept going, working through the hunger or perhaps stopping for some crackers or something, I would have tired myself out, started making mistakes, stopped enjoying the process of making my son a lovely room and eventually quit. It would have been too much on my plate. Once I started making supper I felt great and wasn't too tired for the rest of the night.

It all comes down to taking yourself seriously. Your time is a precious commodity and worth handing out in measured doses. Yes, projects around the house are important, but they need to be kept in their place and by examining each of them in terms of time and effort you can keep things streamlined and avoid the frantic rush. I treasure my family and want to learn to treasure my home more, so surely cramming things helter skelter into whatever minutes I can doesn't help?

Wow, I only managed to deal with one of the practical issues I'd hoped to cover. There will, indeed, have to be a part 3.

Domestic Vocation pt. 1

As I mentioned in an earlier post, our little family has been thinking quite a bit about vocation, or living intentionally towards a goal and ideal, for my non-Christian friends. Yesterday, for a variety of reasons, we had some good news here that lifted our hearts a bit and let me look out from the grey area I've been sitting in for a few months towards the possibilities ahead. You know how it is, life gets in the way of life and those of us who worry (my hand is WAY up on this front) have a tendency to get a little, um, bogged down about stuff. Now that I am only partially bogged down and not fully submerged anymore I'm all excited to research the idea of living a vocation.

I have to stop you right here and practically insist that although I am not Catholic, am in fact quite far from being Catholic, the Catholic mamas have it down pat on this one. Catholic blogs about domestic vocation abound, and like any blogs some are quite good and make you stay up too late reading them and some, well, let's be kind. I believe I must have heard about the idea of motherhood and keeping house as a vocation before, because it makes sense that I would have, but the first time I can point my finger and say "That's what I mean by domestic vocation" was with a post by Jennifer Fulwiler at Conversion Diary. Amazing woman. I wish she lived in the boonies with me rather than in Texas with those scorpions she rants about. Mind you we have slugs around here that are the size of erasers.



Jen talked about serving others in a way that was so eloquent and well thought out, but also resonated with me as being true and accurate. In true Protestant fashion I'm a little hazy about the idea of non-secular religious life and, if pressed to define it and why someone would choose it I would have said "Well, God asks you to live a life devoted to Him, but also to sacrifice a 'normal' life with a spouse and children, but it wouldn't be a sacrifice because He would be sort of your spouse, and sometimes you are cloistered but sometimes not." Very intelligent, eh? All I can say is go read Jen, she's miles from that definition. I knew God had called me to be a mother, but I never really thought about it in terms of the same level of 'calling' that, say, a missionary would have, or a nun. I figured God wanted me to be a mother but maybe also to have a job outside the home, and be a student, and so forth. Which, I don't know, He may very well want from me in the future, but after thinking about it for a while I feel a great sense of calm about the whole idea of being a mother FIRST. Of looking at the world through the lense of my 'vocation'. I don't for a minute think that that is the only way God can call a woman to serve her family, and I have the utmost respect for any mother who can work and raise her babies and do other things as well, but for me, I think that this is how I'm being called.



I'm still working with this idea a bit, so bear with me. If I am called, with the same authority and certainty that a nun is called, to be a mother and keeper of my home, then I should, logically, attempt to undertake MY appointed task with the same fervour and diligence that that nun would. Right? I mean, that makes sense to me, and I think it fits with the idea of a vocation, a calling that God has put on your life. What HE wants you to do. And I'm certain He wants me to be a mother to my son, and maybe in the future to other children, and a wife to my husband and...well here is where it gets a bit fuzzy because is keeping a home tidy a vocation, really? I mean, dishes? I can't stand dishes. Does that help me to fulfill God's plan for my life? Looking back to the example of a nun, however, helps a bit. Yes, she prays and attends church and probably does things in the world like nurse or teach (see, getting a bit fuzzy on the specifics again) but I bet she also mops the floor and serves dinner and weeds the garden. And when she does is she saying "Boy I can't wait to finish mopping so I can get back to my real work!" or is she thinking "This is also part of it." Playing with Samuel and going to playdates and such is part of it, and cleaning the bathroom is part of it. Part of the overall vocation that God has called a home keeper and mother to.



Back to the blogs, though. I really got interested in this idea and started reading and reading. After Conversion Diary I found Abigail's Alcove, and I Have To Sit Down, and It's Almost Naptime, and on and on. All women, all mothers, all Christians and all living their lives, to varying degrees, within the concept of domestic vocation. They blogged about their children (some of them have more than others, up to eight in one case!) and their husbands and the silly things they do and say and experience daily, but more than that they blogged quite a bit about where God stood in their lives. Perhaps this isn't quite as big a revelation for Christian mothers who live within a community of like-minded individuals, but I was not raised a Christian and I don't have shared memories of bible camps and youth groups and saving my first kiss till marriage and these sorts of things. I don't, for the most part, have Christian girlfriends and those that I do have either live far far away from me, or live Christian lives that are removed from mine. Reading these women's stories gave me a glimpse into the lives of people like me, but the next step (or the next eight steps) up.

In part two of this post I'm going to talk about my thoughts on transitioning from a nice concept and relevant theory to a practical lifestyle.