Damn it, I like pie.

"A mother is a person who seeing there are only four pieces of pie for five people, promptly announces she never did care for pie." -- Tenneva Jordan

I saw this quote on a mother message board one day, and I still fume when I think of it. Nothing against Tenneva Jordan, but this particular brand of motherhood rhetoric really angers, frightens, saddens, and worries me for the future possibility of gender equality. Lest you think I’m attempting to part the Red Sea when I really just need to step over a puddle (a writing professor made this comment on my freshman comp essay once, and I’ve never forgotten it), just hear me out.

Certainly, being a mother is about sacrifice. (Clarification: Being a parent is about sacrifice.) But this quote is not about self-sacrifice; it is about self-denial. Why can’t this mother gracefully and lovingly offer her slice of pie to another person without denying that she, too, likes pie? Why must she lie about her taste for pie? Why can she not say, “I love pie, but I would like for you to have it”? Wouldn’t that set a better (i.e. more gracious, honest, and altogether healthier) example of love and self-sacrifice and generosity? And does this quote not imply that if she did say she liked pie, that she would then not offer it to someone else? That stating your preference is somehow selfish?

And if this same woman who denies herself the right to have a preference complains that no one recognizes all of the sacrifices she makes for them, I would have trouble being sympathetic. Of course they don’t recognize that you are making a sacrifice! You’re telling them that you’re not! It’s no sacrifice to give someone something you don’t like anyway—to keep it would be selfish. But it is not selfish to let someone know that while you do enjoy something, you are choosing to give them the enjoyment instead. Self-denial just sets up unhealthy patterns, particularly for young girls who may imitate them, but also for young boys who are learning how to treat women. If children don’t understand that a woman has as much of a right to her opinions, preferences, and choices as a man does, or that she should not voice them if it might infringe on someone else’s opinion, perhaps we are simply perpetuating gender stereotypes that lead to professional inequality and put stress on our personal relationships.

I’m absolutely not saying that you should make your children feel guilty that you are sacrificing your time or tastes for theirs. Just don’t lose yourself in the life-changing process of having a child. It is too easy to tell ourselves that we’re not buying new clothes because we never really liked shopping, or that we didn’t really want to have coffee with our friends anyway, or that the Girls’ Night Out to the bar didn’t sound like that much fun. We tell ourselves these lies in order to rationalize away our sadness or frustration at feeling out of control of the lives that were once ours alone. We’ve been told about the glow of motherhood, taught that if you don’t enjoy every minute of your time with your children that you’re doing something wrong, or worse, that something is inherently wrong with you. Women (and some men) say horribly detrimental things like, “My life meant nothing before I had children.” Yes, my child changed my life, but my life has always had meaning and purpose. So did yours. And yours. Your priorities have changed. Your value as a human being has not.

So would I like to sleep in on Saturday mornings, or go out after 7pm without having to hire a babysitter? Sure! And there’s nothing wrong with that. But these are sacrifices my husband and I make for the health and wellbeing of this tiny person whom we love more than anything in the world. And if a day comes when there’s only one slice of pie between the two of us, I will gladly offer it to my son so that he’s secure in the knowledge that I will always be there to take care of him. And I hope I will have raised him in such a way that he’ll look up at me and say, “You know what, Momma? Let’s share.”

The Spoils of a Graduate Degree

I just threw away my first papaya. I was so proud of myself for buying it and I felt so exotic even thinking about making a Papaya and Avocado salad (Giada's Papaya and Avocado Salad) to accompany some basic grilled chicken. The bagger at HEB certainly seemed impressed when I told her about it in line Saturday morning (she did ask). But when I cut into that papaya, the aroma was nauseating. Since it was my first papaya, I figured I’d go ahead and taste it, since, you know, sometimes smells can be misleading (I’m thinking Roquefort here). Of course, in the back of my head, I’m hearing the narrator of some long-ago National Geographic special advising me that “bad smells are nature’s way of telling animals not to eat poisonous foods.” Too highly evolved for all that, I cut off a sliver of papaya, tasted it, and immediately spit it out. Here’s where the Ph.D. comes in—I tried another bite. Really, did I think it would taste better if I finished peeling it, scooped out the seeds, then tried again? I guess this is what 10 years of higher education gets you: the incredible ability to ignore instincts and common sense and taste that foul-smelling fruit, not once, but twice.

I often find myself wondering if graduate school is compatible with parenting. Not in the “Can women break through the glass ceiling of tenure?” way that many valuable books and articles discuss today, but in the “Do I seriously need to search for peer-reviewed articles to find out which solid foods to serve my baby first, or what color his poo should be?” kind of way. In other words, do I overthink everything? People tell you to follow your gut as a parent, but is my maternal instinct being buried by the voices of “experts”? Start with grains, start with vegetables, avoid fruits, eat fruits, puree, don’t puree, feed him, let him feed himself … the list goes on and on. I teach my students to begin each writing assignment with a clear understanding of the significance of their argument, the “So what?” question. The thing is, all of this advice doesn’t state the “So what?” but the implication seems to be that if you serve your child pureed apples instead of smashed green beans that he or she will be malnourished at best, certainly a lifetime picky eater, and at worst, will harbor feelings of neglect until his adult years when a therapist will help him trace his trust issues back to the parental choice not to let him hold his own spoon.

Here’s what I know. My child loves sweet potatoes. He’ll happily eat them every night and search for more when the bowl is scraped clean. He still loves breastmilk and, though he’s reached an age at which he’s easily distracted, seems to prefer to nurse over any solid food, a fact which relieves me to no end. I’m going to mash some avocado for him tonight (once I figure out what will replace the spoiled papaya on tonight’s menu) and we’ll see how that goes. I’m not going to google anything, nor will I search on amazon for baby food recipe books, all of which say the same thing: “Mash or puree cooked food with breastmilk or water until it reaches desired consistency.” If I take a step back from the expert voices all competing for my attention and reverence, I think I can hear my instincts telling me what to do. And if my little guy makes the same face at the avocado that I should have made when I smelled that rotten fruit, I won’t push the issue. At least not until tomorrow. 

Welcome

This parenting thing is exhausting. Add the academic thing to it, and I feel like an intruder in most areas of my life: Not maternal enough to be a mommy, not cerebral enough to be an academic. My first semester on the job(s), I was a working and a stay at home mom, and if I'm going to be honest, I don't believe I truly succeeded at either.

Though I love to cook, I rarely cooked a full meal, and I threw away plenty of groceries-gone-bad after planned meals turned in to frozen pizzas or runs to Panda Express. I drove past a Mexican restaurant yesterday, and I was overwhelmed by--I don't know, amusement? Naïveté?--when I remembered that we used to make our own tortillas on a typical weeknight if we'd planned to have tacos. Let me repeat that--we made the flour tortillas from scratch. Now I balk if the crockpot recipe asks me to precook the ground beef.

I had grand plans to crochet my son some baby caps and booties. I pinned and pinned sewing patterns for cute DIY onesies and Halloween costumes. Have I made a one? Ha. I haven't even bought the yarn.

And then there's work. I love to shop for clothes. I love to creatively mix patterns and styles, to try to express something of myself in everything I wear while still remaining completely appropriate for the classroom and faculty meetings. My students told me I was a role model. And yet I'm afraid that all I demonstrated last spring was that everything goes with jeans. While I do love the blazer and cowboy boots style tips I inherited from my advisor, I know it's time to branch out again. But it's so inconvenient to pump in a dress, and its so hard to match separates when your son is having his usual mid-morning meltdown and you can't remember what goes with a black pencil skirt. (Answer: Everything.)

So that's where this blog comes in. In an effort to reclaim the parts of my life I feel I've lost in the last few months, I want to write about all it means to be a mother and an academic. I’m not worried about “having it all” and I know I won’t be perfect. Instead, I want to write about my daily realities, in the hopes that many of you, whether you share my particular profession or not, can share in these struggles that individually seem so insignificant but that, together, often dominate our daily allotment of mental energy. Which, let’s face it, is pretty small to begin with.