Help a mother out
I know Lauren wrote this in response to a blog kerfuffle over criticism of mothers (which I don't care to rehash here because I have enough annoying behaviors to deal with irl), but it struck a long-inflamed nerve with me:
Thank you. For many months now, I simply haven't read what some of my otherwise favorite writers and commenters have to say when they write about children and mothering, because they simply don't know what they're talking about. Until you've gone to the moon in person, you really can't take John Glenn to school.
You know who I like to read on the topics of children and mothers? Mothers. Why? Because we know what we're talking about, because we share a common language despite our many differences, and because we are practical. We mothers are busy people. As much as I'd like to put in my two cents whenever a childless blogger holds forth on parentude, I often simply don't have time. And I've learned that hubris is best cured not by a lecture but by the direct experience of parenting. As my sister-in-law says, "I was a great parenting expert until I had children."
That's not to say that non-parents can't or shouldn't address family issues, but it takes some skill and some humility to do it well. Typically, such writing falls prey to some common errors:
All of these errors add up to talking instead of listening, of assuming that all mothers must fit a certain mold. As mothers, we're used to being selectively heard, being baselessly judged, and to having our words twisted to fit the agenda of small, crafty people. But there is something genuinely insulting in the assumption that just anyone can say something useful on motherhood, as if it required about as much skill and effort as watering the lawn. Motherhood is more than the state of childedness. It is a craft, a practice, an art, a major obligation and a constellation of relationships. It is, in my view, the neglected core of our social structure. Keep a society's mothers happy and a lot of other things will fall into place: health care, education, work-life balance, the environment, war or avoidance thereof.
If you want to help mothers, listen to us. Save the judgment, spare us the smart remarks -- we get enough of that already, too. If you want to help mothers, ask one what she needs. Then do it.
I admit that I find a lot of the discussions of parenting in the feminist blogosphere -- which only seem to pop up when a prominent woman has, oh, anything to say about her kids in print -- sexist and condescending.
Thank you. For many months now, I simply haven't read what some of my otherwise favorite writers and commenters have to say when they write about children and mothering, because they simply don't know what they're talking about. Until you've gone to the moon in person, you really can't take John Glenn to school.
You know who I like to read on the topics of children and mothers? Mothers. Why? Because we know what we're talking about, because we share a common language despite our many differences, and because we are practical. We mothers are busy people. As much as I'd like to put in my two cents whenever a childless blogger holds forth on parentude, I often simply don't have time. And I've learned that hubris is best cured not by a lecture but by the direct experience of parenting. As my sister-in-law says, "I was a great parenting expert until I had children."
That's not to say that non-parents can't or shouldn't address family issues, but it takes some skill and some humility to do it well. Typically, such writing falls prey to some common errors:
- Mistaking having been parented for understanding parenting. That's like a restaurant patron thinking he's the chef. Former children of the world, you are experts on what it was like to be the child of your own parents. That is all.
- Equating children and pets in terms of effort. I don't know why this one gets under my skin so damned much, but does. Maybe because I've got some of each? The kids = pets trope falls into two distinct categories: (1) I'm going to get a dog/cat/marmoset to "practice" for having kids and (2) I can train my dog to sit still and be quiet so why can't you get your kid to stop fidgeting on the plane? My mental responses are (1) good luck nursing that critter and getting it into a good college and (2) I can help my child grow up to function in the adult world so why can't your dog carry on a decent conversation?
- Assuming that mothers are deluded souls who need a wake-up call from others to throw off the shackles of their oppression. We know what we need and say so with growing frequency. I'm not sure how many non-mothers are paying attention or are willing to really help.
- Making pronouncements about what you will always or never do as a parent, or what existing parents should always or never do. Such statements will always come back to bite you in the rear and you will never live them down. I speak from experience; crow is tough and tastes gamey.
All of these errors add up to talking instead of listening, of assuming that all mothers must fit a certain mold. As mothers, we're used to being selectively heard, being baselessly judged, and to having our words twisted to fit the agenda of small, crafty people. But there is something genuinely insulting in the assumption that just anyone can say something useful on motherhood, as if it required about as much skill and effort as watering the lawn. Motherhood is more than the state of childedness. It is a craft, a practice, an art, a major obligation and a constellation of relationships. It is, in my view, the neglected core of our social structure. Keep a society's mothers happy and a lot of other things will fall into place: health care, education, work-life balance, the environment, war or avoidance thereof.
If you want to help mothers, listen to us. Save the judgment, spare us the smart remarks -- we get enough of that already, too. If you want to help mothers, ask one what she needs. Then do it.
KCB. permalink
Get Home to Mother