The Well-Paid Housewife

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Everyone needs a home. Every home needs homemaking.

To say that the contributions of a homemaker are a luxury represents a complete misunderstanding of what a homemaker is.

A homemaker’s job is to sustain the life and well-being of the individual, the family, and the larger community. To say that the contributions of a homemaker are a luxury represents a complete misunderstanding of what a homemaker is. A homemaker maintains the conditions of health and well-being for all the members of the household. This is not a luxury to be afforded only by a few privileged families but a necessity for everyone, rich or poor, old or young, strong or weak. A homemaker makes the difference between merely surviving, and thriving.

Parents are the most essential workers of all…

One of the silver linings of the cloud of Covid has been that we have learned to cherish our interactions with other, however brief. A smile from a stranger on a walk. A driveway conversation with a masked friend. An outside, socially distanced visit with extended family. Even the awkward, tedious online meetings. We have had to cultivate compassion and patience for ourselves and others, all doing our best in this nasty mess.

It would be a gross understatement to say that parents have been overwhelmed because of the measures taken to prevent the spread of Covid-19.

We haven’t been getting enough of almost anything we need to be resilient, patient, and happy, or to be the parents we most want to be.

Recovering from Covid-19 Lockdown

After homeschooling for a year and a half our family has returned to in-person learning, and hopefully to a time when I can regularly post to my blog.

I don’t know what the past 19 months has looked like for you, dear reader. I would even be hard pressed to describe what it looked like for me. I feel like my brain is still recovering, and much of it is a blur.

We homeschooled after May 2020 because the whole online-schooling process was still having the wrinkles ironed out and it felt like more work for me than just regular homeschooling, so I went with that. It seemed not only more productive, but also more reliable, and since I needed to stay constantly engaged, it made more sense that I was assigning the activities. Also, I wanted them to be offline more.

Mother’s Day/VE day during Covid-19

…in essence, the factory owners and ship builders and coal mine owners actually made their fortunes on the backs of those ‘unpaid domestic workers’ who contributed the fruit of their wombs, their time, their energy, and their creativity to create and serve those who were exploited in the workplace.

During the Covid-19 outbreak I have been doing research about my family history. If it is teaching me nothing else, it is that I come from generations of men who worked in dirty, dangerous, low-wage work to support their families; from generations of women who worked in low-paying wage jobs until they married and took on ‘unpaid domestic labour’ as their full-time occupations. Some of them had up to twelve children (that lived). Old widows and widowers lived with their children’s families.

How (and why) to clean your oven

Vinegar and baking soda are great fun for making fizzy reaction for the kids to play with, but I somehow doubt that the chemical reaction does much of anything to the surface on which it is occurring. Maybe I’m wrong, but that’s what my experience and basic knowledge of chemistry tells me.

Last Thursday I hit the wall. Stress and lack of time alone and overwhelm finally stopped me in my tracks. For me, what that looks like is I start binge-watching something on Netflix. I still have the impulses to create something, or clean something, or improve something but I no longer have any energy to do anything about it. So I just park in front of a screen and stay there for as long as I reasonably can. Normal people probably call this resting.

Harpooning Glaciers

I wrote this post in February 2019 but was promptly sidetracked by kitchen upgrades. Painting that window opened a can of worms. Then the faucet broke and had to be replaced; which meant it was a good time to sand down the counter-top; and then paint the ugly drop ceiling, and then replace the flooring, and the baseboards….

I wrote this post in February 2019 but was promptly sidetracked by kitchen upgrades. Painting that window trim opened a can of worms. Then the faucet broke and had to be replaced; which meant it was a good time to sand down the counter-top; and then paint the ugly drop ceiling, and then replace the flooring, and the baseboards…. Apparently the only thing I find more compelling than writing is, well, not writing. 😛

Ruminating on Happiness

Seeing other people feeling joy, forgiveness, and growing into more freedom brings me happiness. Witnessing people cooperate and help each other with compassion, kindness, and grace; and being on that team brings me joy.

I want to write an article that gets published in a magazine like The Atlantic. Soon, like this year. And I have no idea how to do this. But there it is. This is what I want. Got any suggestions?

On another note I learned something new.

You know when sometimes you’re just washing the dishes or something and all of a sudden you feel deep sadness, like someone you love just died? (Okay, maybe it’s just me?) It’s awful. I used to get all worked up about it and try to figure out WHY? WHY AM I FEELING THIS WAY? And then I would have to try to figure out what or who was to blame.

The dog ate my homework.

So here is my post, four days late and almost completely unedited…. I hope you like it.

I didn’t meet my deadline last week. I had promised myself that I would publish every Friday. And I didn’t do it. And that sucks.

To be fair, my fertility cycle started on Monday, and it left me completely drained, as usual. Also, Monday is supposed to be my resting day, so I rested.

Fear less.

I believe what makes me so extraordinarily careful (fearful) is that I am gifted with an imagination which can generate the most vivid and gory outcomes for almost any given situation in less than one second. And instead of visualizing the positive, hoped-for outcome, I focus on the one which my mind serves up to me on a silver platter.

As a naturally adept social creature, I am possessed by a pretty strong sense of safety in the world. Speaking or singing on a stage in front of more than a hundred people; travelling solo to distant lands and engaging total strangers in conversations at bus stops (that’s how I met my husband actually!) have contributed even more to this sense of safety when I have benefited from the kindness and generosity of strangers and friends.

Physically, my timidity is another matter.

The Second Birth

…. as much as your husband or partner loves you, it’s really not possible for them to understand this part… and you need at least one person who ‘gets you’ to keep you sane. That, and probably coffee.

My husband wanted to have a second child a year later because he wanted our child to have a close sibling, and I agreed, although I wasn’t sure I was ready. Because of my advanced maternal age we thought we shouldn’t wait. I got pregnant again right away.

My First Birth Story

As I held onto the top of the door and the roof and swung my huge body into the rental car, I felt something inside me shift, and the waters that my midwives had broken hours before finally released onto the back seat.

This past weekend my ten-year-old son and I were putting together some patio furniture in preparation for his birthday party. As I handed him the parts, and he capably affixed them to the table, his blond hair glowed in the afternoon sunlight. Ten summers ago, I was building patio furniture for my husband’s parents, while the boy now in front of me was still resident in my womb.

A Normal Schedule

Someone will wake me when I am needed, and until then, I can sleep. Anyway, if I was already up I would miss my morning snuggles with my kids.

I often encounter the idea in the coaching world that in order to be successful, one must get up at the same time every day and have a daily discipline about exercise, and eating right, and thinking positively, and working. I have experimented with this idea for many years and the conclusion I have come to is that this advice is a little bit of bullshit, especially as it applies to mothers of young children.

The Peanut Gallery and The Gladiator Ring

You’re not serving anyone up there in the Peanut Gallery, not even yourself… step down into the Gladiator’s Ring.

This past winter I served as a volunteer member of our local school board’s accommodation review committee. Through my work there I learned a great deal about how schools are funded in the province of Ontario, and how school boards work.

Returning Something Lost

the world can be a safe place, sometimes strangers are people who will help if they can, and I don’t need to be afraid every time someone knocks on my door.

Walking to school one morning last week, my kids and I found a health card and bus pass.

I figured that the woman (in her sixties by her card) must live in my neighbourhood and she would be pretty eager to her cards back. An internet search revealed only a few old leads. Two were from newletters for a nearby church so I called there and left a message. The other lead was from a name mentioned as the bereaved spouse of a death listing in the local paper from years ago. The Ministry of Health office couldn’t help other than telling me to just send the health card to them; but they couldn’t do anything about the bus pass.

So I called a friend who lives on my street to find out if we have anyone in the neighbourhood whose name matched the identification. She confirmed that we do. Jackpot!

Baseball Bats and Persian Glass Ceilings

What do Baseball Champions and the Chihuly exhibit at the ROM have in common? Teamwork and practice.

What do Baseball Batting Averages and Glass Art have in common? As it turns out, quite a bit. Some of the secrets to being a winner that I learned this week. Continue reading “Baseball Bats and Persian Glass Ceilings”

Longboob

Maybe graying hair and sagging skin indicate a life transition to becoming a guide to the youth instead of competition to it.

I feel my own mortality, often. I notice my eyes struggling to focus. I notice the cellulite on my legs in the mirror, the greying of my hair, the sagging of my cheeks (on my face ;)). The things in themselves are not scary. It is what I take them to mean.