Marital Status

A few week ago I received a compliment from a man while I was bagging my groceries at the store.  Being unaccustomed to such praise from strangers, I merely said "thank you," and tried to go about my business.  He, however, must have had other intentions, for he persisted with his flirtation until I mentioned I was married-- which was about the next thing I said, mind you. At that, he apologized profusely, gathered his groceries and left.  And so, after weeks of pondering how I can avoid future awkwardness, I figure one of three things needs to happen if I'm going to be solo-grocerying:

1.  My husband needs to buy me a larger diamond ring. Much, much larger.

2.  I design a new set of t-shirts to advertise my relationship status as boldly as Facebook.

3.  I adopt a new hairstyle:

Or, I rely on the universal symbol of love: dolphins, and get a tattoo*.

*NB: Ctrl + F "dolphin"

How the 60s failed us

When Karen Owen first appeared in the news, I decided not to take up the debate.  Rather, I would leave it to the people who were more gifted in wisdom and words.  My wait was worthwhile.  From Caitlin Flanagan in the most recent Atlantic:

 "As I read the woman's report, and imagined the tones of outrage and hurt and violation in which it was surely given, and as I lingered on her account of how drunk she'd been, a very old-fashioned phrase suddenly floated through my mind.  It was a phrase I hadn't thought of in years, a simple formulation that carried within it a world of assumptions and beliefs, 'She's angry,' I thought to myself, 'because he took advantage of her.'

. . . In those days, we relied on our own good judgment to keep us safe, but also--and this is the terrible, unchanging fact about being female--on the mercy of the men around us."

While I may have used a word other than "terrible" to describe the truth of women relying upon the mercy of men, I believe Flanagan has hit upon a truth we have ignored.

"We've made a culture for our college women in which they have been liberated from the curfews and parietals that were once the bane of co-eds, but one in which they have also shaken off the general suspicion of male sexuality. . . "

And not just our college women, but our young daughters as well, as evidenced by the alarming fashions available in the "girls" section of any clothing store.  We have not taught our women and girls to guard themselves, but encouraged them to be seductive in the name of beauty, and therefore have left them vulnerable to the pain only a man can bring upon a woman.

God grant us wisdom as we teach our daughters what is good: to love their husbands and children, to be self-controlled, pure, working at home, kind, and submissive to their own husbands, that the word of God may not be reviled.

Flanagan's full article here.

It's worth sharing....

Anonymous said...

"It is highly typical of the rabid plagiarism which now passes everywhere for emancipation, that a little while ago it was common for an "advanced" woman to claim the right to wear trousers; a right about as grotesque as the right to wear a false nose. Whether female liberty is much advanced by the act of wearing a skirt on each leg I do not know; perhaps Turkish women might offer some information on the point. But if the western woman walks about (as it were) trailing the curtains of the harem with her, it is quite certain that the woven mansion is meant for a perambulating palace, not for a perambulating prison. It is quite certain that the skirt means female dignity, not female submission; it can be proved by the simplest of all tests. No ruler would deliberately dress up in the recognized fetters of a slave; no judge would appear covered with broad arrows. But when men wish to be safely impressive, as judges, priests or kings, they do wear skirts, the long trailing robes of female dignity. The whole world is under petticoat government; for even men wear petticoats when they wish to govern." -G.K. Chesterton "What's Wrong with the World"

And to illustrate the point

An interesting visual interpretation of my concern with women in pants, with the added illustration of my point that dresses make one appear feminine.

In defense of differences

I realize that most of my case for women to wear dresses stems from a couple underlying premises, mainly that men and women are different, and that it is good for men and women to be different.  Any good logic student could point out that I would have to defend these premises in order for any conclusion based upon them to be sound.  So first things first, men and woman are different.

Surprisingly, I actually have to defend this. Our society seems to be rather intent on reducing gender differences, so that mankind is made up of equally able and qualified individuals, so that all tasks can be mastered by both genders.  Magazines instruct women on how to get their men to do their traditional jobs- "Make your expectations clear, relenquish control, don't be a martyr!"  And when all else fails, hire help. Women cry out that they are fully capable of doing any task traditionally assigned to men, calling those who object neanderthals.*  A small underground movement is encouraging men to breastfeed. But the facts remain clear- at this point in history, men and women are different, as evidenced by our physicality.  Men still can't give birth.  And even though surgery can do wonders to outward appearances, our DNA will bear witness to our differences.  I'm sure someone somewhere is try to work those kinks out, but for now, the premise stands.  Men and women are different.

Now for the harder part: it's good that men and women are different.  I've been pondering this for awhile, and I can't find an obvious reason outside of Scripture and its account and defense of creation why we should encourage such differences.  On the surface, equality sounds like a good idea.  Men and women would have equal access to all jobs, because there are qualified men and women to do all jobs. It would be wonderful if I wasn't solely in charge in birthing and feeding the babies, and I would gladly turn over the laundry duties to my husband.  I appreciated having a life outside of the home, and enjoyed cashing a paycheck.  But as my husband pointed out, this is a rather Gnostic view of life-that one's self is only housed in the body, and therefore cannot be influenced by it.  Essentially, that my gender shouldn't influence the role I play in my family. The self can be breadwinner or homemaker, regardless of the body's gender.  While this sounds fine in theory, I read through Brave New World and shudder at the thought of a society ruled by gnosticism.

It is better to understand that we are whole, unified beings, and our "self" cannot be separated from the body.  Our bodies influence our selves, and our selves are reflected in the ways we present our bodies to the world.  Every piercing, tattoo, hairstyle, accessory, blouse, and shoe make a statement about who we are.  Dresses and skirts make the statement that the woman is different from man, a delicate flower to be treasured and protected.  Pants make the statement that woman is no different from man.  She can open the door herself, even while pushing a stroller and making a conference call.  No one rushes to her assistance because she doesn't want it.  She isn't treasured; she isn't protected. She is pardoned, and forgotten.


*I must say, however, that I am gladdened to hear that a mother who knew her child would have Down syndrome chose not to terminate her pregnancy. Seems a rarity these days.

It's worth considering...

Indeed, what could he find to coordinate for the holiday photos?

The Triangle, Revisited

Due to a recent inquiry regarding the warmth of skirts in winter months, I thought I would post some more of my own apprehensions with wearing skirts.

My house was 60 degrees this morning, due a gas main break late yesterday afternoon, which put our heater out of commission.  Not terribly cold, but cold enough.  Cold enough for me to pull on jeans, not the cute skirt.  Not to say that it's impossible to stay warm in a skirt.  Cold-weather options would include ankle-length skirts, though I'm not a huge fan.  Without a slit, they can indeed be as warm as a pair of pants if made from thick material. 

Tights offer some amount of warmth, but not enough to keep one warm during a snow storm.  And, the short-skirt/tight ensemble poses a unique problem to someone would might have trudge through snow in -40 degree weather on a regular basis (which I may have to do later this winter).  I just don't think snowboots look great with a skirt, and snowpants would be difficult to pull off without sufficient privacy. I personally opt for tights on Sundays, mostly because I can't stand to wear non-sandal shoes without some kind of sock.  (I refuse to throw out the legging option, because I was pretty sure they were ugly in the 80s.)

I've done enough research to realize that not only has outer wear come a long way, but so has underwear.  I suppose another option would be the lovely long-legged bloomers or full-length, panted slips worn in the 1920s.  I suppose the closest thing we would have today is the secretive Moromon temple garments, though you have prove you're a member to actually purchase them online. If you're into the ankle-length skirts, my drama days are proof that petticoats and bloomers offer quite a bit of warmth to the wearer, but few styles today are petticoat-friendly.

I suppose the answer to the question is this: if you wish to stay warm while keeping with modern skirt styles, there is no adequate way to keep warm, so crack up the heater.  Or wear pants.

I know I'm fakin' it

In pondering the question of motherhood loneliness, I have come to realize two things.

1.)  If I want to find other mothers with young children, I have to go to them.  They won't come to me.  Many stay-at-home-mothers are busy running their toddlers to activities such as Kindermusic, swim lessons, story hour, and tumble camp.  They have carefully arranged schedules, and plan play-dates with like-minded mothers. I do not.  I do pack the bags and head for the library each week for story time, and check out a week's supply of new books to entertain the kiddo, but my life doesn't revolve around him.  Not entirely, anyway.  Most women today stay home to take care of their kids.  I stay home to take care of my home--the bathrooms, the laundry, the dishes, the floors, the dinners, the husband, and the child.  I feel just as much obligation to scrub my toilet and wash the windows as I do the change the diapers and put my son down for a nap.  Therefore, I need to spend the majority of my time at my home.

2.)  Friendships will be difficult for me, because I'm becoming increasingly weird.  On top of my uber-conservative Lutheran values, I've been influenced by the Wendell Berry school of thought.  I dream of raising chickens and pigs, and canning the vegetables I've grown in our garden.  I intend to homeschool my children, and am skeptical of current trends in higher-education and women wearing pants.  I've planned to teach my daughters the womanly art of housekeeping, sewing, and cooking, and my sons to be wood-chopping, door-holding gentlemen. Add to that my opposition to feminism and birth control, and you've got yourself a certified weirdo.  Well, at least a certified weirdo in the works.

But for right now, and probably for the next couple years, I can fake it.  We have no chickens, pigs, or garden.  My child is too young to swing an ax or go to school, and I only have one.  I attend story hour because I have time to do that and the dishes.  The inner weirdo is covered up by what appears to be your run-of-the-mill stay-at-home-mom, gallivanting off to toddler events, chit-chatting with other moms, and desperately wishing for a play date.  But soon enough that weirdo will come shining through- either in words or actions or number of children, and I won't be able to contain her.  Perhaps by then, she'll really be stuck at home dictating sentences and boiling jars for homemade jam so that she has no time to ponder her loneliness.

The Epitome of Oppression

The May issue of Parenting: Early Years  included a rather ironic article boasting a plethora of "guilt-free indulgences."  Some were fine, including "Make an evening phone date with a long-distance friend."  But most of them included spending money on something pretty, or getting someone else to take care the children while you indulged in day spas, exercise, or the recorded shows you've missed.  A couple advised getting someone else do your husband's work for you- either hiring a handyman for the day, or having a "celeb hottie" give you a phone call.  One particularly twisted bit of guilt-ridden pleasure suggested using a child's gift card to buy yourself something fun. (Oh let me count the commandments we've broken thus far!)

By far, my favorite, was this:  "Delegate one chore permanently and irrevocably to Dad, like signing up the kids for sports teams, or emptying the lint trap in the dryer.  Know that you will never, ever do it again (and let him know it, too.)"

Perhaps I don't do enough laundry, but I never thought emptying the lint trap was so difficult or oppressive that I ought to delegate it to my husband.  I fear it would cause more confusion and delay than anything.  I picture myself sitting on the couch with baskets of wet clothes strewn about the house when he walks in the door from work.  "Honey," I would ask, "would you please go empty the dryer vent so I finally get these clothes dry?"  Or maybe the idea is that by delegating the lint trap, I've also delegated the drying of the clothes.  "Honey, while you're down there cleaning out the trap, why don't you just start the clothes in the dryer? And how about throwing those towels in the wash as well? Use a hot cycle, please!"

No, no, no.  I fear the best solution to the dilemma is to just do it myself, with the rest of the laundry.  Who better to clean the clothes and prevent house-fires than the person who is here all day, every day, and is fully capable of running her finger across the little screen to remove the loathsome lint?

Despotic lint trap, you shall be defeated!

The triangle makes all the difference

I can remember playing on the playground on my 3rd grade picture day, thinking I would like to grow up to be a woman who wore dresses and skirts instead of pants.  I recall thinking a dress was the ultimate sign of femininity, and therefore the best choice for any woman who wanted to be thought of as a woman.  I had dreamy visions of the pioneer women marching across the prairies in their long skirts, and housewives tying aprons around their beautiful dresses and doing the dishes.

Now, I've been trained to think that dresses and skirts aren't always practical.  And by today's standards for dress, I would have to agree. Hemlines have risen considerably in the last thirty years, and I can't even begin to imagine how a woman could get down on the floor in her power pencil skirt and clean up the blocks her child flung across the room.  Perhaps it would be the getting up that would prove to be more tricky.  Having sat with a child on my lap in church in a  modest-length dress, I marvel at a woman's ability to keep that hemline from creeping too far up when a fidgety child looses patience with sitting and wants to stand on her lap.

And yet, I think my 3rd grade self was on to something. Dresses and skirts have been the symbol of womanhood for, well, ever.   In fact, it's such a mark of our gender, that we put a cute little triangle on our bathroom sign's stick person to designate the female from the male.  Women in pants has only crept into the standards in the last 50 years of our history.  I'm beginning to wonder if we've lost something when we threw out the dress and pulled on the pants.  I'm beginning to wonder if we've lost our sense of femininity and have forgotten what it means to be a woman.

A woman in a dress must be alert and careful with herself.  Knees must be touching, and ankles crossed, tucked in ever so neatly under her chair.  She must be aware of her hemline when she bends over, and she must wear shoes that accent the prettiness of her dress (even if it is a full-length, everyday, "working" dress).  But isn't that was being a woman is all about?  Isn't part of the calling to be alert and aware- not just with her attire, but her house, her children, her marriage? And she does it with grace and dignity, though she may be gritting her teeth because it's uncomfortable.

A woman dusting the baseboards, cooking dinner, or rinsing a soiled diaper while wearing a dress seems quaint.  But put that same woman in pants, and suddenly, she seems mundane.  There is nothing about her to set apart from the humdrum and dirt involved in her work.  Even in her raggedy dress, Cinderella was charming.  The dress serves as the reminder that it is a woman doing the tasks in her careful, loving manner, not a machine or robot doing what it has been trained to do.  The focus shifts from the work to the person.

I'm not saying that wearing pants is ungodly, or that no women should pants, ever.  I much prefer to rinse the soiled diapers while wearing my comfortable jeans than a dress.  But I do wonder how much we'd gain if we'd chuck the pants and opt for a sensible skirt or washable dress more often. Perhaps dusting could be womanly again.

She radiates tenderness!Mary Cassatt, The Child's Bath

I don't feel so bad for wearing sweats.

There's a reason I don't watch the Emmy Awards.  Or the Acadamy Awards. Or any other awards.  I find the hubbub slightly ridiculous.  I like good acting as much as the next guy; I have a Netflix account.  But when it comes down the glitz and glamor, it has no place in my life.  Those women were professionally dressed and styled- and gorgeous.  They are, after all, the Ideal American Woman. So I found it rather appalling when I overheard (I do mean overheard.  My son can turn the TV on by biting the remote) the criticism concerning their dresses, makeup, and hair.  The following comments from the Today Show seemed more appropriate directed at me on any given day, not them.  So I laughed.  I don't feel so bad for wearing sweats and t-shirts anymore.  Have a laugh with me.

"Her hair was just kind of down and blah."

"Her hair looked not as polished as it could- or the makeup either."

"She needs a product for frizzies.  There was some serious static- electrostatic something or other going on in that head.  Not a fan of it."

"She was so busy getting her dress on, she didn't have time for her hair!"

"This is a really great testament to why some dresses work in magazines, but not in person."

My Sunday morning glitz and glamor