a practical wedding

Reclaiming Wife

by Lisa M. G. Dennis (Giggles)

I love traditions. I love the anchoring they give us. One year into our marriage I wrote a post about how we were establishing our own holiday traditions, figuring out what mattered to both of us from our families and how we were going to make it work with our new family. And I must admit that as our first anniversary approached I stressed more than one logically should about the fact that we’d get ONE shot to establish “things we do every anniversary” and spent more time than I should have trying to figure out something meaningfully significant we could do every anniversary, understanding that life would change and take us different places as the years went by. With three anniversaries under our belt, I can look back and laugh. The meaningfully significant thing we’ve done every time was something that happened without any thought at all. And I love it.

While the big traditions are fun, I like the little ones as well. I’ve been thinking about what makes something a tradition rather than a habit. While the two can be used as synonyms, they aren’t the same. One of the definitions of tradition is “a specific custom or practice of long standing.” But I don’t think my long-standing practice of flossing and then brushing my teeth before bed every night counts as a tradition. I’d never call my almost lifelong custom of eating Cheerios for breakfast a tradition. My practice of doing the dark laundry before the light laundry—not a tradition. Nor is how I fold my socks. Those are habits.

Over my many years in post-secondary school I’ve taken four classes that changed my world (surprisingly, only one had to do with my specific area of study). My last semester of my bachelor’s degree I took a folklore class. It changed how I view my community, whoever happens to be in my community at that time. One way to describe folk art is that it is taking the everyday mundane of life and making it beautiful, meaningful. It’s decorating the pot you cook in, weaving a pattern into the blanket you sleep under, pinning a flower to the hat that keeps you safe from the sun, the flourish you add when preparing the evening meal. Continue reading Reclaiming Wife: Daily Connections

by Anonymous

I lost something today. Something valuable to me.

I suppose that is not right, as I know where it went, and in fact it was I who gave it away. And willingly. But it feels like a loss. And it is my loss alone. For my friends remind me that this is what I wanted. And it was. And it is.

My husband does not see it as a loss. For him, it is gain. It is a symbol of all the gains we have made together, all the struggles we have overcome, and our brand new commitment to each other.

And I agree. For all those things are true. But when I look at that new piece of plastic, with those two words that separately are familiar and now, put together, look strange. I miss the old combination.

For in giving up my name, I did not expect to feel the girl attached to it drift away. The girl who, before him, lived and learned and loved. And with him, slowly added an “us” to a “me” when decisions had to be made.

And this was an “us” decision. Made with two loving hearts and two thoughtful heads in the joy and expectations of a burgeoning family. And that is how us decisions should be made. So I do not regret any of it. Continue reading The Joy (And Sorrow) Of The Choosing

This is our final Tradition Month post about the varieties of ways women shape their lives around children and work. We’ve discussed the Work-From-Home Mom, the Stay-At-Home Parent, and now daycare. While we’re wrapping up this discussion for the moment, we always want to hear more from you about shaping your life balance. Childless? Childfree? Daycare with a corporate job? Currently a single mom? Send it in, we want to discuss it all.

 by Meg Keene

Babies and Writing Don’t Exactly Mix

When I first announced I was pregnant, and that APW wasn’t changing or shutting down, many people commented that they were “continually amazed by my energy and my ability to do it all.” My reaction to these comments was one of confusion. I mean, I assumed we’d all watched our share of babies (this has proved to be my first incorrect assumption), and knew that while babies are great, babies and writing don’t exactly mix. And secondly, I thought we all knew the answer to the question of how you do it all, right? Also incorrect.

The short answer, which seemed obvious to me at the time: help.

The long answer, which I’ve since realized is perhaps not that obvious: help. Or more specifically in our case: daycare.

But there is a reason that people were leaping to the wrong conclusion about what we’d do after the baby came: the ball is being hidden on childcare. The puzzling thing is, I don’t know why. Families that have two parents who work full time have help of some form or another. They just do. I don’t want to be the one to burst the bubble, but it’s a fact. More than that, families with two full time, working parents, assume you know they have help, because have you ever MET a baby? But the trends of entrepreneurship and telecommuting, mixed with the current cult of motherhood, have muddied the waters. We’ve taken to pretending that if you work full time from home, you can do it while bouncing a baby on your hip. We’re being asked to suspend our disbelief and pretend that women, particularly entrepreneurial women, are able to do it all. And by do it all, I mean literally Do It All, all of it, At The Same Time.

I’m Calling Housewife

The Feminine Mystique, the feminist classic about the destructive myth of the perfect middle class housewife, celebrated its fiftieth anniversary earlier this year. I read it early in my pregnancy, expecting a fascinating feminist period piece, and was gripped (and troubled) by its immediacy. Because the new feminine mystique is of the “whole mother.” The one who keeps her kids in her own care, makes organic pureed baby food, has a small urban farm in her back yard, runs a full-time business, and keeps an impeccably decorated house. Now, all of those things are pursuits I happen to personally enjoy. I love me some business running and baby wrangling, have a recently planted garden, think my house is pretty cute, and might even (ask my husband to) puree some baby food. But I don’t do all of these things at the same time. I work on making the garden and the house awesome on weekends, I wrangle a baby morning and night, and I work during the day. While my kid is at daycare.

I can’t count the number of articles I’ve read about professional bloggers, women I’m friends with, that just flat out get the assumptive facts wrong. There is the “Better Homes & Bloggers” post, “The Feminist Housewife“ article, the recent “Mommy Business Trip“ travesty, and the Mormon Housewife piece. (Which is possibly the most offensive?) While I’m interested in questioning the feminist implications of the “new domesticity,” there is danger in confusing cultural trends with actual people. The women discussed in these articles happen to run businesses focused on motherhood or women’s lifestyle—in some cases, awesome feminists businesses focused on motherhood or women’s lifestyle. Unluckily for them, that means that while I’m a small business owner, they’re housewives—even though we do exactly the same job. The articles always start with the premise that these women are living some sort of vaunted June Cleaver existence, living and documenting their perfect domestic lives, while staying at home to raise their children. And you guys? They’re not. Many if not most are professional women whose businesses happen to focus on motherhood. They sometimes do crafts for the same reason I sometimes do crafts: it’s in the job description. They by and large have full-time childcare and run a business that supports their families (often as the primary breadwinner, at that). But here is the weird part: they’re forthright about having childcare, yet the world somehow wants to assume that they don’t have help.

Last week, at Mom 2.0, I heard Rebecca Woolf speak. Rebecca was one of the women misrepresented in “The Feminist Housewife” article, presented as a mommy to her husband’s professional. She talked about how she recently wrote a (beautiful, must-read) post about having help, because even though she’d mentioned having a full time nanny over and over again on her site, people somehow missed it (or, to personally editorialize, perhaps they didn’t want to see it). They thought she had some secret that they didn’t—and that would be a serious secret, since Rebecca has four kids and a full-time writing job.

And the way we think about mothers and work is truly fucked. We’ve constructed a no-win paradigm—a jail for mothers. Women who stay at home with their children are deemed ”privileged,” and then roundly dismissed as unimportant. (Even though caring for children is hard and important work, whether it’s done by a parent in the home, or a childcare provider.) When women work, and their partners are deemed able to support the family, their work is deemed a “luxury.” (Somehow it’s never the partner’s work that’s a luxury.) And for women who work because they have to work, to feed and house their children? Well, our worst judgment is reserved for them—the women not properly providing their children with “options.”

And while mothers are damned before they even begin, they’re doubly damned by the pervasive myth of the woman who does it all. It hurts everyone: in the public eye, out of the public eye, writing about motherhood, or working at lawyering. It puts the onus of childcare on women and their careers, while letting men totally off the hook.  Continue reading Reclaiming Wife: In Praise Of Daycare

It’s funny how we can make different choices as women—choices that we’ve been taught to think of as opposite choices—and be very much the same. When I got pregnant last year, a small group of people on Twitter became my parenting circle of trust. We had similar philosophies, similar problems, feminist outlooks, and… generally acted exactly the way we did before getting knocked up (now with babies). These women helped me out so much that when I was feeling like a failure as a New Mothers Group dropout, Maddie pointed out to me that I already had my Mothers Group, it was just on the internet. Brandi was one of those ladies. The thing is, Brandi stays home and I have a kid in childcare. Those choices may seem different, but they both come from wanting what’s best for our families, and wanting to raise feminist boys. Earlier this week Liz talked about being a work from home parent. Next week I’ll talk about daycare. But now, Brandi is talking about being a Stay-At-Home Parent (which turns out to be not so different from me after all).

Meg

I am a stay-at-home parent.

There, I said it.

That feels a bit like a dirty little secret. At times I would almost rather lead with, “I like vampire romance novels,” than tell people I am a parent who stays home. Why? Like everything else about parenthood, it’s complicated and weird. I don’t plan to be a parent who stays home forever, for one thing, and I don’t think I’m the only parent in our house who is capable of being the one who stays home. In fact, at some point in the future, we’d like to switch places.

How did I become a parent who stays home? I was in school, pursuing a degree in nursing, when I began to feel like I was ready to have a baby. Not the best timing, admittedly. We talked it over for a while. I had this notion that we’d get pregnant in this tiny eight-week window, I’d have the baby over the summer, he’d be old enough for day care by the fall, and I wouldn’t miss a beat. I laugh at how cute I was. Getting pregnant took five months, putting my due date in the middle of the fall semester, so I now knew I would be taking at least one semester off. Then I started looking into the cost of childcare, and promptly fell out of my seat. At minimum, we were looking at $760 per month, but on average somewhere in the neighborhood of $1000 to $1200 per month. We are comfortable on one income, but we like to do things. Like eat. So a more indefinite break was in the cards.

Another interesting development occurred along with my pregnancy: the more we talked, the more apparent it became to both of us that we both wanted one of us to be able to be around for the baby for the first little while. “The first little while” being a very flexible term. He had a job that paid all the bills, and I did not and do not want to go back to the job I had before going to school. I hated it, hence the return to school at twenty-eight. So, mom stays home!

I like being a parent who stays home. Most days. There is magic to be found in between the feedings, diapers, tantrums, and naps. Some days, the magic is the nap, or when dad gets home and I can hide for a minute. Other days, its first steps, the first (or any) time he says, “Love you,” or when he leans over with pursed lips and “mwah” asking for a kiss. Which he thanks me for. To miss any of this would be hard. Continue reading Reclaiming Wife: The Stay-At-Home Parent

Yesterday, Morgan answered a reader question about wedding planning in the face of illness, and it made me think of nothing so much as human resilience. (Having a baby proved this resilience to me right quick—a body can grow to twice its size, produce a new human, and then heal itself? That’s nothing short of miraculous.) Sometimes, we need to clear a bit of space in our day-to-day life for resilience, to allow space for faith in the miraculous powers of healing. And if there is any area of our lives that needs this faith, this hope, and this ability to give things space, it’s our marriages. Today’s anonymous post illustrates that more beautifully than I ever could.

Meg

Six years ago, I bought a small tea rose plant from the clearance rack. It didn’t look like much—branches, some leaves, a mostly dead flower or two—but I picked it up with optimism, hoping that it would start to recover once it had a drink and got in the ground.

It didn’t do well with the shock of transplant, though. Some leaves fell off; the rest were more than a bit… sad. I realized that recovery was going to take a while, if it ever even happened. Months later, I was excited, and also surprised, to see some new leaves come out. Then more leaves, until it looked like a respectable (albeit extra-diminutive) tea rose plant. Maybe soon, flowers?

Then it got run over by the undiscriminating weedwacker of our rented apartment’s landscaping company, along with our tulips, hostas, and lilies. (“Why did you mow down our flower garden?” “Weed, weed.” “Those were not weeds!” Not a good day for either communication or plants.)

I figured it was dead. After all, the plant had only just recently put the effort into re-establishing itself, and it had now been entirely chopped off; nothing visible was left but a splintered greenish toothpick of a stem sticking an inch out of the ground. But against all expectations, it came back—tentative branches, tiny baby leaves, growing into a beautiful, lush, green little plant. Only to be weedwackered down again. (Note: The landscaping company has either improved in their botanical identification, or possibly has just gotten a bit less weedwacker-happy in general, and has not leveled even part of our flower garden for two whole years!)

Then, it came back, and with it, after its first few tentative leaves, one bud, which eventually unfurled into a flower. A flower! After the entire plant had been chopped literally to the ground, twice, it didn’t just settle down to grow leaves for a year and attempt to recuperate, but it actually flowered. I was stunned. Another year, and it flowered over and over and over and over again, all summer long. Bare survival had seemed entirely impossible when I had first looked at the razed ground post weedwacker, but now this little plant was flourishing.

Then some sort of mold took hold; the plant shed all its leaves down to bare twigs in late summer. I thought it was probably dead this time. Although I now knew this plant could survive pruning to a remarkably drastic degree, disease can be a different story. I left it in the ground anyway over the winter, looking kind of naked, just in case it could, once again, come back. It did. Leaves; flowers; more flowers. Continue reading Life Through Rose-Colored Glasses

A while back, Meg wrote a post about wedding planning, and why the lessons she learned during the process have ended up coming in handy outside the context of wedding planning (in that instance it was navigating pregnancy). I’m finding this to be true for me as well, but less in the logistical way that Meg talked about, and more in the emotional work of coming to terms with how I transition from one stage of my life to the next (read: often with much kicking of the feet). For us, the next transition will probably include kids. Part of the reason I’ve been pressing to include more parenting conversations on APW is because I think the way we talk about parenthood in our culture right now is really troubling. There are so many labels and acronyms and so very few real conversations about how people are approaching the decision to have and raise a child in this day and age. And frankly, I just want to know what my options are. Or really, that I even have options. So this week, in addition to your regularly scheduled wedding content, we’ve asked a few familiar faces to join in a conversations about parenthood as it pertains to home and work. Today we start with our own Liz, as she navigates working from home while also taking care of a kiddo during the day. This week we’ll also hear from Meg on the wonders of daycare, as well as longtime reader Brandi on her experiences as a stay at home parent. While these perspectives certainly don’t even graze the complete possibilities of parenthood, my hope is that through them we can begin to expand our conversations on Parenthood out from June Cleaver and into something a bit more like real life.

Maddie

It was just about two years ago that I left my job to be home with my son. But, it was just about a year ago that the internet informed me of its disapproval of that decision.

It’s funny how something like, “to stay home or not to stay home,” feels a very black-and-white sort of choice when you’re talking about it on the internet, where everything is in single dimension. In reality, the decision was all sorts of blurry shades of gray. Rather than a choice of this-or-that, it was a matter of weighing a load of different factors together. My husband and I thought about who was having an easier time finding lucrative work, who had aspirations outside of a just-bill-paying job, and who wanted to be home. We weighed issues of finance, emotion, time, career path, family, and on and on against one another. It was complicated.

But it wasn’t something entirely unfamiliar. That’s what we’d been doing for all the Big Stuff up until that point. Where to live? Take this job or that? Go back to school? Each decision rolled out pretty much the same litany of factors, just with different importance each time. Having a baby was no different, just, yet again, made the factors shift a bit in weight. Complicated, tricky, but old hat.

In fact, just about a year before baby, we’d done that same shuffling of priorities. In the end of that round, I took on a bleak desk job in a cramped gray cubicle. It was a boring job, a smidge degrading, and it wasn’t in my field, but it paid the bills. Because it paid the bills, my husband was able to stay home and work toward his Master’s. We wrung our hands, we discussed, and we analyzed all of the different factors to consider. In the end, I bit the bullet so he could do what he wanted.

When baby came around, I was the one who wanted to stay home, and he faced slaving away at a thankless job. Other than those specifics of who was stuck with the shitty end of the stick (and the presence of one additional pudgy, dimpled factor to consider), it was essentially the same decision.

So why the public outrage? Continue reading Reclaiming Wife: The Work-From-Home Mom