my mom always had enough bowls. that’s what gets me most, you know? i have struggled my entire adult life to find the right balance of bowls for this house.
when i was growing up there were always enough bowls of just the right size for whatever it was we needed. popcorn. cereal. ice cream. soup. just the perfect size for that exact amount. today? i scrounge through the cupboards for fifteen minutes before giving up in frustration and eating cereal from a measuring cup. seriously. it happened.
i have plenty of saucers. and coffee cups. all the forks you’ll ever need. only just — not at the same time. when i’ve got all the forks i need i find i’m suddenly short on saucers. when i have plenty of cups i discover there’s a shortage of spoons. i don’t know what happens to them, but if i weren’t dead inside i would wager a guess that there might be gnomes or little pixies under the floorboards, stealing them away.
the other thing she did was, she never made us feel like it was our fault if we weren’t good at something. i feel like the biggest horse’s ass if i have to look at a drawing or a k’nex creation of the boys’. not because they’re not good. most often they are. but i feel like i’m stumblng and bumbling my way through the praise. in my desire to do it right, it seems to require an effort almost greater than i can muster. but not her. i remember how she just flowed through it like a warm knife through butter. it seemed to come so naturally to her, so easily. so genuinely. and we basked in the glow of her approval.
she made it look so easy.
when i thought about growing up and being a mom and having a house all my own, i thought about being able to stay up as late as i wanted, drinking wine and engaging my peers in intellectual debates. i thought about letting my kids have green hair if they wanted. i thought i would be a hip, cool mom and there would be nothing my own mom could pass along to me that would be of any value.
the thing i didn’t realize is that one day i would struggle with bowl sizes and the paralyzing fear that i might be fucking my kids up for eternity. who knew?
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2 Responses to it’s supposed to look like that. eat it.
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A Woman's Manifesto
Because a woman’s work is never done.
and is underpaid, or unpaid, or boring, or repetitious,
and we’re the first to get fired,
and what we look like is more important than what we do.
And if we get raped its our fault
and if we get beaten we must have provoked it
and if we raise our voices we’re nagging bitches
and if we enjoy sex we’re nymphos
and if we don’t we’re frigid
and if we love women it’s because we can’t get a real man
and if we ask our doctor too many questions we’re neurotic or pushy
and if we expect childcare we’re selfish
and if we stand up for our rights we’re aggressive and un-feminine
and if we don’t we’re typical weak females
and if we want to get married we’re out to trap a man
and if we don’t we’re unnatural
and because we still can’t get an adequate, safe contraceptive, but men can walk on the moon
and if we can’t cope or don’t want a pregnancy we’re made to feel guilty about abortion
and for lots and lots of other reasons
we are part of the women’s liberation movement.- Joyce Stevens, International Woman’s Day, 1975.
Man Vs. Heart Attack
I am somewhat worried about the dude on Man v Food. He isn’t looking so good these days and putting that food away like that can’t be good for him.
Is this post connected to the last one?
I always got, “you’re only saying it’s good” from my three when I tried to praise them. I can’t win. My bowls are always one short, whatever the size, however many bowls I need…
there might be a connection. perhaps it’s all interwoven in my brain and i just don’t know it yet! it’s because of the bowls. i know it.