Mothers vs. Outdated Mental Maps

Last week, a national talk show host threw gasoline on the flames of a debate the media likes to call “The Mommy Wars” by hosting a show titled “Stay-at-home moms vs. Working moms.”

Yet many mothers are left wondering why this conversation still keeps coming up, when the truth is that this black-and-white, win-or-lose argument doesn’t really fit our lives. Most mothers live their lives the best they can, and don’t wish to cast judgment or dispersion on other mothers. In fact, most mothers recognize that this “choice” of whether to stay home or work isn’t really the choice it seems to be at all. Each family ends up making decisions about how to support and raise children based on their own unique set of factors, with the very best interests of their children at heart.

What really happens when a couple becomes a family is often more complicated than it might seem on the surface, because their decisions about combining parenthood and employment are based on a society that is framed with a lot of hidden assumptions. Kristin Maschka calls out some of these assumptions in her new book This Is Not How I Thought It Would Be: Remodeling Motherhood to Get the Lives We Want Today. Maschka notes that mothers and fathers alike are often stuck with all-or-nothing propositions, such as employment that is either too much or none at all. Forced to choose, many mothers (and some fathers) get pushed out of a job or a career that doesn’t fit with family life, while the breadwinning parent has no choice but to give up a big piece of the family life they want in order to keep the family financially afloat. In other families the choices are starker: either mom works or there’s no health insurance, no home and no food on the table.

We need to revise the mental map that “Fathers earn the money, and mothers take care of the children.” Even in a traditional family where this might seem to be the case, we are marginalizing fathers’ roles in raising their own children. And in families with two employed parents, this assumption is especially costly to mothers, who often tend to hold on to the full responsibility for the care of children (even if fathers help with some of the tasks) while having the full responsibility of their employment as well. This mental map and others add up to a blueprint for a world that may have fit generations ago, but it doesn’t fit our lives today.

I’d like to challenge us to create a better conversation, which can help us draft a better blueprint for parenthood. We can begin by calling out our assumptions about mothers, fathers and employment – and question whether they are really helping us or hurting us. We can toss out some of the old maps and replace them with new ones that recognize the true landscape we have today. Mothers and fathers alike might both be a lot more comfortable and a lot happier in a “remodeled” world.

10,000 Purses: The Power of a Pocketbook

I was going to call this post "104 Purses." 104 is the approximate number of women whose housing is provided by my local YWCA.

Today I was granted a tour of this facility and I was both delighted and saddened by what I saw. I was delighted because inside and out, the YWCA was incredibly well-maintained, clean and nicely painted and decorated. There were sunny play spaces with plenty of toys for children, a computer lab and lounges and common areas for all to use. Even more delightful were the staff members who gave me the tour and spoke with passion as advocates for the women (some of them mothers) who live there.

I was saddened however, to think about what it takes for someone to end up there. Nowhere else to turn, no family to count on and no other support. No resources. Women often arrive with nothing but the clothes on their backs and their children in tow.

The rooms they will live in are so small that a twin bed and a pull-out trundle are literally all that fit inside. I'm sure this is by design, so as to fit as many rooms as possible into the building. The women and children will rely on donated items from toiletries to towels and bed linens. As I peered into one of these rooms, I tried to imagine life with Sophie in that little room. It was safe, clean and adequate, but without any privacy between mother and child. It would be tough.

My reason for visiting the YWCA was to talk to the staff about what kinds of needs the residents have, and what my organization, Mothers & More (www.mothersandmore.org) can do to fill some of those needs as we gear up for a Mother's Day community outreach campaign. I was given "the list" -- things that residents need every day like food, toiletries and linens. Go through your typical day, and if you use it, they probably need it.

I asked my guide though, somewhat sheepishly, if the women might like... new purses? I almost dismissed the thought as I said it, but her face just lit up, immediately understanding the significance of a good purse to a woman. For the men reading this, just so you can understand, a purse becomes symbolic of your life. It's what keeps you together and what you can't live without. It is one of the few things a woman uses every day.

A purse can also symbolize power; the power that having enough money can bring. Little girls who get their first real purse suddenly feel grown up and independent. It's not any different for women. Purses, and the money in them, still make us feel like like we can exercise some control in our lives.

So I left today, having made a promise that my group would find a new, quality purse for every woman, all 104 of them. As I drove away, I thought about all the generous people I know, and how many people they know, and how a good idea can spread like wildfire. I'll bet we can do even more. So I e-mailed some of my friends at Mothers & More and pitched the idea... nationally, we are about 125 chapters, so at 80 purses a chapter, it is well within our reach to give 10,000 purses to sheltered women across the country... a significant number, enough to spark a movement that will bring attention to a number of "pocketbook issues" that women, particularly mothers face.

So if you happen to know Kate Spade or Liz Claiborne or Ms. Coach, please send them my way. We will need all the help we can get.

The Invisible Mom: Hero or Hoax?

A friend sent me a story that has been circulating online for a while now called, "The Invisible Mom," a saccharine story of a mother's coming to terms with the invisibility she feels in caring for her children. I did a little digging and found that it's a excerpt from a book called, "The Invisible Woman: When only God sees" by Nicole Johnson.

(note: you can read the full excerpt at http://www.freshbrewedlife.com/cd_69.aspx)

This widely shared story (just google "invisible mom" and see how many hits you get) is of a mother telling her readers a deep secret, that she feels like no one can see her. "Can't you see I'm on the phone," she asks her kids rhetorically... "Obviously not. No one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner... Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more... Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being." [emphasis mine]

Whoa. Some people might suggest therapy and a strong anti-depressant for that kind of talk.

But before you feel too sorry for Nicole (or Charlotte, as she has named this "character"), she pulls her readers back from the ledge, telling us that just when she is feeling really low, her jet-setting friend, Janice gives her a book about cathedrals with an inscription that reads, "To Charlotte, with admiration for what you are building when no one sees." Charlotte devours the book, closing it with the revelation that she does not need other people to "see" her. God sees her and the work she is doing. Her children are like the great cathedrals who will stand as evidence she was really here, long after she is gone. Charlotte is deeply satisfied, and in my mind, after wrapping up her little story, finishes cutting the crusts off of peanut butter sandwiches for her kids, who will only think to ask why she bought the creamy peanut butter instead of crunchy.

We're meant to wipe a tear from our eye and forward this to all our fabulous invisi-mom friends. Charlotte is a hero; she is someone who is willing to do everything without expecting anything... anything in return. And she's happy about it. The blogging community unanimously calls this story "inspiring" and "uplifting," but frankly, it leaves me feeling puzzled and concerned for the state of motherhood.

For those who extract religious significance from this story, a little disclaimer. I am not saying that the caregiving a mother does must be compensated quid pro quo. (There isn't enough money in the world anyway to pay us for getting thrown up on, or for worrying about a barely grown son or daughter halfway around the world serving in Iraq.) In fact, I completely get that motherhood is about selflessly providing for your children. But that any mother should ever feel like she is "not a human being" in the process, I will get fired up and defend that mother's right to her full human beingness any day of the week.

Consider for a moment that the very, very first commandment that God gave humanity was, "I am the Lord your God, and you shall have no other gods before me." God obviously felt that being a mostly invisible diety, establishing and asserting His presence was something that was very important. I am not a Torah or bible scholar, but I'm pretty sure He spent the next 3,000 years or so smiting any little cretons who acted like He wasn't there at all. He also didn't wait too long in rattling off that list of commandments, to remind us to "Honor thy mother and father," which can be loosely interpreted to mean, "Hey kid, your mom is on the phone. Wait two minutes and then she'll drive you to the mall."

A very serious danger of holding mothers' invisibility up as a virtue, without further examination is that mothers are already at greater social and economic risk than non-mothers. Mothers are the ones who more often change or interrupt their work patterns to accomodate their children's need for constant care. Elizabeth Warren, a Harvard professor, bankruptcy expert and author of "The Two-Income Trap" has said that "having a child is the single best predictor that a person will go bankrupt. " Mothers are collectively losing out on good pay, adequate social security benefits, pensions and even healthcare. Working mothers often have three jobs; their paid jobs, their family caregiving jobs and making the family caregiving job look like it is not there at all.

Another 5.6 million stay-at-home American mothers* are relying on the sufficiency of their husbands' incomes to provide everything for their children and themselves. Others are out in the paid work force, but are doing the same jobs for less pay because as a society, we've decided that womens' experience, particularly a mother's experience is less valuable than someone else's. So when husbands lose their jobs, become disabled or die... or when couples divorce, mothers and their children are at risk because of her invisibility in the world. Unfortunately, if invisi-mom needs to be the one to secure her family's material needs, her family caregiving experience is as if she had done nothing at all. Few hiring managers consider caregiving work as real work. Society's message to mothers is, "You are invisible because your work is too important to properly acknowledge. We hope you made good choices so that you'll never need that good-paying job with benefits."

I call "bullshit."

Caregiving is real, incredibly high-stakes, important work, and it ought not be invisible in the first place.


Author's note: For great information on mother's social issues, check out "The Price of Motherhood" by Ann Crittenden.


*Source: U.S. Census Bureau, "Facts for Figures: Women's History Month March 2009"

Drawing the line: Why mothers need to have boundaries

Until recently, I considered it light-hearted, comical and inevitable that the life of a mother should be completely overrun with pieces of her child's life. From morning 'til night, like many mothers, the evidence of my daughter was everywhere; from stuffed animals in my bed to toys, books and empty juice cups scattered throughout our house and cars. Even the guest bedroom, my daughter decided, was the "time-out room" for her stuffed Cookie Monster because "he bites." Where her presence in my world wasn't physical, it was mental. Like many mothers, I sometimes have found it hard to hold a thought that was my own... that wasn't about her or how I relate to her.

Then I read something that resonated with me, from a wonderful book called "The Blessing of a Skinned Knee: Using Jewish Teachings to Raise Self-Reliant Children" by Wendy Mogel. Mogel is a California family therapist who knows a lot about the malaise of modern parenting.

Mogel writes about parents who would go to her for family counseling, often with a "problem" of the child's behavior. But upon examining the family's situation, Mogel would usually take a greater interest in the parents' behavior than the kids'. Mogel writes, "They tell me their bedrooms are littered with toys, shin guards and dirty socks. And children march into their parents' rooms at all times of day and night."

Looking back at my reaction reading that is humorous... and a little sad. Whoa, what kind of parent puts up with their kids' dirty s...? Pause. Dear God, at this moment, my daughter's dirty socks are lying next to my side of the bed. Curious George is buried under my comforter somewhere and there is a "Little Tykes" toy vanity along my bedroom wall... where my own vanity should be. My own bedroom is not my own.

Where are the boundaries?

Mogel assures her readers, backed by the full authority of God's commandment, "Honor thy mother and father" that demanding space for yourself as a parent is the right thing to do. Mogel believes that God understood that kids do not automatically respect their parents, so that is why He commanded it. And honoring your parents she believes, begins with establishing boundaries between parent and child and enforcing it with an expectation of privacy. Children can keep their toys in their own rooms. They can learn to knock before entering your bedroom. And we certainly can find a better place for those dirty socks.

So if the need for boundaries between parent and child are as old as the ten commandments, then how did we end up here, in a world where children rule over their households as little "princes" and "princesses," and mothers subordinate their own needs to those of their children?

That question is tackled in another fabulous book I'm reading, "Perfect Madness: Motherhood in the Age of Anxiety" by Judith Warner. In it, Warner describes how popular media from Parents magazine to The New Yorker continually give us a vision of the "ideal mom" -- one who is Zen and can lose her self in the small acts of mothering. The ideal mother would accept that her body was her child's -- to nurse from, to use as a jungle gym and to schlep the kids around as their needs required. Her possessions were theirs, too. "Pillows, pots, plates, jewelry and clothes -- all got thrown on the floor, dribbled with juice, coated in scum. So did she."

The ideal mom could also be counted on to never let her child out of her sight, to put her marriage and friends on the back burner, and to provide countless acts of engagement with her child; from "co-watching" Baby Einstein DVDs to teaching her baby sign language to enrolling in enrichment "classes" no sooner than her baby can hold his head up. Mothers of older kids warn me that it gets even harder. Coordinating ballet, hockey, Cub Scouts, and countless other schedules requires enormous organizing efforts.

But if the "ideal mom" strives for perfection in this realm, the "real mom" knows that so much of this is ridiculous. It is an exhausting, no-win situation to try to subscribe to the "ideal mom" philosophy. It requires total subordination of the self that you were before you had kids and it puts you in constant competition with other moms who are able to eek out just a little more devotion to their kids than you can muster.

I firmly believe that every mother is fully entitled to draw her line in the sand, and make space for just herself for whatever purpose makes her uniquely her. And if that isn't enough to convince you, understand that your kids, even little ones need their space too. Families were designed, not for total and constant togetherness, but to be the commons where we can bring our unique selves to one another, to celebrate, encourage, enjoy and protect one another.

On one last thought, while I was writing this, Sophie pulled out her Duplo blocks and built me a beautiful tower that I never would have enjoyed, had I spent this last hour tending to what I might think her "needs" to be.

I'm going to go check that out.

My White Crayon Moment

A few months ago, my 2 year old daughter said something that stirred my inner maternal activist and I haven't been the same since then.

In her box of crayons there is a white one that she will try to use on her white paper from time to time, but of course, the markings are invisible to her. She usually says something like, "Mommy, that one has no power" and hands it off to me... I'm not sure if she wants me to fix it or just complain about this injustice of having a crayon that she believes doesn't work.

So one morning I dug through my closet until I found some dark green paper. I handed her the white crayon and said, "Here, try this." She scribbled for a while on the dark green paper and then she said, "Oh, this one has power!"

It struck me that this was an interesting choice of words for such a little girl... that she chose the word "power" to describe being visible and making a mark within her own tiny world. It was a great reminder for me that being invisible does not mean we do not have power. So much of the caregiving and domestic work that mothers do is, indeed, invisible, but it is not powerless.

To show other moms the power of a white crayon, and that invisible work is still real work, I created a workshop for members of Mothers & More, a national organization dedicated to mothers as individuals. It will also be presented at the 2009 Mothers & Madness / Mamapalooza Conference in New York City in May. In this workshop, I ask participants to write down one important caregiving task they've recently performed; but they have to write it with a white crayon on a white piece of paper. They can then show their neighbors what they wrote, but of course, the writing is invisible to all. It's a frustrating experience, if only briefly, to be unable to show what you've done. I then ask the participants to write the same task on a colored piece of construction paper where everyone can now see what they wrote. Participants feel relieved and more relaxed after their work can be seen and we discuss the real life "white crayon moments," such as:

• your husband comes home and asks what you've done all day
• you find yourself justifying an absence from the workforce to a stranger at a cocktail party
• you struggle to explain in a job interview how you've used your skills while raising children
• you find yourself covering up your mother-work while at your paid job because you intuitively understand that it is not taken seriously in the workplace
• your friends tell you that it must be nice not to have to "work" as they imagine you watching the View, Dr. Phil and Oprah all day -- do they think the kids care for themselves?

Doing the work of motherhood is like writing with a white crayon. However, as I see it, there are two ways to deal with the frustration and sense of powerlessness this can create. One way is to shift your perspective (i.e., look at the white writing against a different background). When you talk with other mothers who understand just how real the work of caregiving is, it's like having that colored piece of paper there, suddenly showing you that the work you did was real. The other solution is to use all your crayons... in other words, use all your skills, discover all your interests and live out all your passions to the extent you can.

Just because you are a mother does not confine you to only coloring in white crayon.