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.

Herky Jerky Turkey Lurkey

There's something to be said for the inane, humdrum tasks of housewifery when done in solitude.  Think sweeping, washing dishes, or in tonight's case, de-boning a turkey (Betty Crocker herself claims "Turkey  isn't just for Thanksgiving.  It's an any-meal, any-day, any-time-of-the-year kind of bird!"  And for 88 cents a pound, I'll take her up on the offer!).  Boring and annoying as these tasks may be, when done in solitude, they offer the woman a chance to ruminate.  A chance she doesn't get much any other time of the day, as she's constantly plagued by the desire (or demand) to meet the needs of those around her.  Mindless tasks give her the opportunity to fulfill both the needs of others--we all need clean floors and dishes, and someone's got to pick those little savory pieces of meat off the bones--and her need for peace.  Perhaps this opinion stems from my own introversion, but I do believe that everyone at sometime needs a chance to chew the cud.  So women, put the children to bed, let your husband watch the game, and get to picking.  After all, those morsels of meat are highly versatile and nutritious.

My, my, won't you be tasty in a sandwich!

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!