Murray laments the collapse of the "sturdy elite code" that (in his telling) prevailed in the America of the first half of the 20th century. Yet when it comes time to describe that code, Murray emphasizes gender relations to the exclusion of almost everything else:
'To be a man means that you are brave, loyal, and true. When you are in the wrong, you own up and take your punishment. You don't take advantage of women. As a husband, you support and protect your wife and children. You are gracious in victory and a good sport in defeat. Your word is your bond. Your handshake is as good as your word. It's not whether you win or lose, but how you play the game. When the ship goes down, you put the women and children into the lifeboats and wave good-bye with a smile.'
....
What has declined is our spirit of civic responsibility, our acceptance that privilege carries obligations, our willingness to shoulder the economic costs of social leadership.
Let me propose an alternative list of cliches that truly would command less assent today from upper-class Americans than they would have done in 1962:
To be an employer means that you pay a fair day's wage for a fair day's work. If your firm goes broke, you go broke too. You don't take advantage of clients or customers. As a voter and citizen, you try to think about what is best for everyone, not just you. You eschew ostentation when times are good, and you pay your fair share of the cost when times are bad. Your good name matters more than money. Your contributions to your community define your good name. Whenever you are inclined to criticize anyone, just remember that not everybody was born with the advantages you had.
Here is where it seems to me that Charles Murray is most deeply wrong.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Julep: Follow up on the bubble
I stumbled on a very long and impassioned critique of the book in which that bubble quiz appeared. Interesting reading. This bit came towards the end, and it really struck me.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Julep: update
In light of yesterday's impassioned post, I thought I should submit an update. Mr. J and I had a productive conversation last night - and a very nice evening together with BabyCakes. We are going to get these kinks worked out.
I was under the impression that the Julep family was moving to an inverted traditional model, in which I would be the breadwinner and Mr. J would be the child-caretaker. Although I knew Mr. J would still work a bit, I saw it as keeping his hand in occasionally and doing what he could after hours, during naps, etc. In other words, a gender-reversed version of the Twinkle family. But I have come to recognize that Mr. J is not content with that model. Even though the income his business generates is a minor part of our household funds, he needs to feel like he is still a "businessman." LoLa referred to this as Mr. J's "feminine mystique moment." God bless him.
So Mr. J was trying to implement the model of a family in which both parents are working more or less full-time. That either means (1) both parents work during approximately the same hours and hire childcare for those hours, a la the LoLa family, or (2) one parent works first shift while the other is on child care duty and then they switch to cover second shift. The second model is one that many people are forced to live with, but that life sucks and I'm certainly not opting for it voluntarily.
in a nutshell, I realized that I was going to be paying for Mr. J's childcare needs one way or the other, either with my time or my money. I care a lot more about my time than I do my money. While financially it makes little sense for us to hire childcare in order that Mr. J can work, when the work he is doing is not going to net much more than the cost of said care, I'm OK with it.
I was under the impression that the Julep family was moving to an inverted traditional model, in which I would be the breadwinner and Mr. J would be the child-caretaker. Although I knew Mr. J would still work a bit, I saw it as keeping his hand in occasionally and doing what he could after hours, during naps, etc. In other words, a gender-reversed version of the Twinkle family. But I have come to recognize that Mr. J is not content with that model. Even though the income his business generates is a minor part of our household funds, he needs to feel like he is still a "businessman." LoLa referred to this as Mr. J's "feminine mystique moment." God bless him.
So Mr. J was trying to implement the model of a family in which both parents are working more or less full-time. That either means (1) both parents work during approximately the same hours and hire childcare for those hours, a la the LoLa family, or (2) one parent works first shift while the other is on child care duty and then they switch to cover second shift. The second model is one that many people are forced to live with, but that life sucks and I'm certainly not opting for it voluntarily.
in a nutshell, I realized that I was going to be paying for Mr. J's childcare needs one way or the other, either with my time or my money. I care a lot more about my time than I do my money. While financially it makes little sense for us to hire childcare in order that Mr. J can work, when the work he is doing is not going to net much more than the cost of said care, I'm OK with it.
Monday, February 6, 2012
Julep: blowing a gasket
I've been back at work for ten days. Mr. J has realized he cannot get much done while I'm gone, what with entertaining an infant. I know, this is not news to any thinking woman. I did try to tell him lots of times that he needed to set up childcare before I went back, but he wanted to play it by ear.
Now, it appears that his solution is for me to work 10 hour days at the office, then come home and immediately take over sole responsibility for our child - meaning I play with him for 2.5 hours (if I'm lucky this includes scarfing down a few bites of dinner), then spend an hour on bath/bottle/bed, then have about 20minutes to stagger around setting out clothes and lunch for tomorrow before I fall into bed. On weekends, my shift starts at 8 am and ends at bedtime since, you know, Mr. J "has him all week."
Mr. J also thinks I should quit all my community involvement and volunteer obligations, because if I don't come home immediately after work he "doesn't have any time to work" and I'm "basically putting volunteer work over his paid work." He assures me that nobody else with small children does volunteer work with evening meetings, or participates in evening book clubs, or what-have-you.
Not to mention that he is making me feel like the worst mom in the world because I don't want to spend Every. Waking. Minute. with my child when I am not at the office. I'm not saying that I don't want to see BabyCakes at all! But once a month I want to meet you girls for cocktails, and once a month there's the library board meeting, and for a run of five weeks Charities Committee meets once a week, and hey, every once in a while I may participate in some other after-school activity. Does that make me an unfit parent?
I said, how about we keep the 6-10 pm window as family time, in which we both take turns on childcare (one more than the other when someone has had a particularly hard day and needs to decompress), we both participate in bedtime, and when BabyCakes falls asleep, we can actually have a short bit of time together to watch a TV show or, you know, some other adult activity. Some evenings one of us may have something to do in that time block, and sometimes the other will, but by and large we will all three be together, and he and I can share the evening responsibilities. Same goes for the weekends. Is that really too much to ask?
He got very snippy about how much THAT would cost, to hire occasional help so he can do more work during the day and not in the evening. I had the gall to suggest that if we hire childcare, some portion of the cost should come from his business account - you know, rather than being exclusively funded by my paycheck. He says he "can't afford that." Sure,it's a much better option to make me provide all the childcare he needs to get his work done. Better for him, anyway. What cost my sanity?
Now, it appears that his solution is for me to work 10 hour days at the office, then come home and immediately take over sole responsibility for our child - meaning I play with him for 2.5 hours (if I'm lucky this includes scarfing down a few bites of dinner), then spend an hour on bath/bottle/bed, then have about 20minutes to stagger around setting out clothes and lunch for tomorrow before I fall into bed. On weekends, my shift starts at 8 am and ends at bedtime since, you know, Mr. J "has him all week."
Mr. J also thinks I should quit all my community involvement and volunteer obligations, because if I don't come home immediately after work he "doesn't have any time to work" and I'm "basically putting volunteer work over his paid work." He assures me that nobody else with small children does volunteer work with evening meetings, or participates in evening book clubs, or what-have-you.
Not to mention that he is making me feel like the worst mom in the world because I don't want to spend Every. Waking. Minute. with my child when I am not at the office. I'm not saying that I don't want to see BabyCakes at all! But once a month I want to meet you girls for cocktails, and once a month there's the library board meeting, and for a run of five weeks Charities Committee meets once a week, and hey, every once in a while I may participate in some other after-school activity. Does that make me an unfit parent?
I said, how about we keep the 6-10 pm window as family time, in which we both take turns on childcare (one more than the other when someone has had a particularly hard day and needs to decompress), we both participate in bedtime, and when BabyCakes falls asleep, we can actually have a short bit of time together to watch a TV show or, you know, some other adult activity. Some evenings one of us may have something to do in that time block, and sometimes the other will, but by and large we will all three be together, and he and I can share the evening responsibilities. Same goes for the weekends. Is that really too much to ask?
He got very snippy about how much THAT would cost, to hire occasional help so he can do more work during the day and not in the evening. I had the gall to suggest that if we hire childcare, some portion of the cost should come from his business account - you know, rather than being exclusively funded by my paycheck. He says he "can't afford that." Sure,it's a much better option to make me provide all the childcare he needs to get his work done. Better for him, anyway. What cost my sanity?
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Julep: For the love
I'm blogging via PDA from my caucus meeting. Sweet Jeebus.
This was supposed to start at 1:30 pm. After an explicit plea for everyone to arrive early so we can start on time, the last participant rolled in at 1:55. At 2:10, we had not even voted on the first position. It's 2:20 and we are still voting for the first job to be filled.
WHY must everything involved with this club be so colossally inefficient? I swear, I can't deal.
This was supposed to start at 1:30 pm. After an explicit plea for everyone to arrive early so we can start on time, the last participant rolled in at 1:55. At 2:10, we had not even voted on the first position. It's 2:20 and we are still voting for the first job to be filled.
WHY must everything involved with this club be so colossally inefficient? I swear, I can't deal.
Friday, January 27, 2012
Julep: On that note...
When you have a minute, check out this little snippet I just read called "How Thick Is Your Bubble?" I got 53 and I am interested to hear how y'all score.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Twinkle: Elitist B*tch
So I had an epiphany tonight in the Rainforest Cafe at Downtown Disney.
You know how all our friends are when choosing restaurants: it has to be fresh; it has to be local. All the better if it involves Capriole goat cheese and kale from the Grasshopper CSA. We all like to rave about Kathy Cary and Jim Gerhardt and Edward Lee; our bourbon cocktails must be handmade creations by the incomparable Joy Perrine.
So I haven't been a fan of the Rainforest Cafe ever since we were forced into going with my inlaws and extended family during our Chicago days. But when my cousin, who lives down here (and is very normal and fun) suggested it as a family-friendly choice near Disneyworld, I agreed. Even though I b*tchily thought I'd like to try somewhere local and farm fresh (not on the grounds of Disney, clearly). At the same time, I do know that I'm in the wrong place on earth to be railing against marketing, commercialism, and chain restaurants, so the Rainforest Cafe really wasn't that big a deal. But I have to admit, I did think, "Ugh...can't we try someplace local?"
Anyway, my epiphany came when one of the Rainforest Cafe's trademark simulated thunderstorms broke out, and a family of elephants emerged from the walls to sound their trumpets. My children's faces showed a mixture of shock, awe, and joy, and that's when I was shocked and awed (although not overjoyed) to realize that I am an elitist b*tch. They were having fun, everyone there was having fun, and I should have just gone with it to begin with. Everything doesn't always have to involve farm-fresh Kentucky bison in a red wine demi-glace. I have always been a "when in Rome" kind of a girl, which is why I will not balk tomorrow when my daughters explore Walt Disney World--the most magical and corporately-manufactured place on earth--in their politically incorrect princess gowns. Because I'm in a simulated version of Rome, and by golly there's something fun about that.
Later I almost took off a toenail after hitting my foot against the bathroom door in the hotel.
You know who's an even bigger elitist b*tch? Karma.
You know how all our friends are when choosing restaurants: it has to be fresh; it has to be local. All the better if it involves Capriole goat cheese and kale from the Grasshopper CSA. We all like to rave about Kathy Cary and Jim Gerhardt and Edward Lee; our bourbon cocktails must be handmade creations by the incomparable Joy Perrine.
So I haven't been a fan of the Rainforest Cafe ever since we were forced into going with my inlaws and extended family during our Chicago days. But when my cousin, who lives down here (and is very normal and fun) suggested it as a family-friendly choice near Disneyworld, I agreed. Even though I b*tchily thought I'd like to try somewhere local and farm fresh (not on the grounds of Disney, clearly). At the same time, I do know that I'm in the wrong place on earth to be railing against marketing, commercialism, and chain restaurants, so the Rainforest Cafe really wasn't that big a deal. But I have to admit, I did think, "Ugh...can't we try someplace local?"
Anyway, my epiphany came when one of the Rainforest Cafe's trademark simulated thunderstorms broke out, and a family of elephants emerged from the walls to sound their trumpets. My children's faces showed a mixture of shock, awe, and joy, and that's when I was shocked and awed (although not overjoyed) to realize that I am an elitist b*tch. They were having fun, everyone there was having fun, and I should have just gone with it to begin with. Everything doesn't always have to involve farm-fresh Kentucky bison in a red wine demi-glace. I have always been a "when in Rome" kind of a girl, which is why I will not balk tomorrow when my daughters explore Walt Disney World--the most magical and corporately-manufactured place on earth--in their politically incorrect princess gowns. Because I'm in a simulated version of Rome, and by golly there's something fun about that.
Later I almost took off a toenail after hitting my foot against the bathroom door in the hotel.
You know who's an even bigger elitist b*tch? Karma.
Friday, January 6, 2012
Twinkle: B*tchalicious
Put my children in a room full of college professors and child psychologists and their whelps, and I think mine stack up pretty well. They don't watch a lot of tv (Twinklette is old enough to enjoy an episode of the Berenstain Bears here and there on a snowy day), aren't obsessed with characters or princesses, and couldn't sing the theme song to Dora the Explorer if they tried. I carried them in a sling and breastfed them. They play outside. They play freely and creatively. They eat organic and own an arsenal of wooden Melissa and Doug puzzles. This is all just how we roll; it's not about proving anything. It's not actually based on any philosophy; it's kind of just how we've evolved, and I don't think I'm better or worse than people who do things differently. But I do think I can hang in a room full of professors.
And this afternoon, I clearly wasn't. Thinking, that is. Or maybe I just didn't expect to encounter such an intolerant b*tch.
Rewind to this afternoon. My girls and I participated in a video produced by the local university about the dos and don'ts of good sleep habits. (My cousin is a child sleep psychologist there--and let me just say that she is an awesome resource for any parent who has questions about infant or child sleep). She called yesterday and asked Twinklette to act out some different good and bad scenarios with other children. Little did we know when we showed up to a quaint center hall colonial on Strathmoor Blvd. that we were actually walking into a liberal intellectual bloodbath.
The bitch was wearing mom jeans. Her name was Katie, and she had the slightly outdated hairstyle and and smug, self-satisfied look of a private therapist. (Why can't real-life therapists ever look like they're from the current decade?) She introduced herself and proceeded to let me know through the course of the conversation that she was intellectual and enlightened, a conscious citizen and socially-aware mother.
Filming began. Her daughter was supposed to be playing on a computer in her pajamas (screen time is a no-no before bed, according to the experts in the house on Strathmoor Blvd). Now, this girl was probably in fifth grade, but she didn't know what to do on a computer because she had never been on one before. Apparently she is a student at the hippy-dippy Waldorf School, which subscribes to a completely screen-free philosophy. (I actually like the Waldorf School, but if I end up sending my children there, I don't plan on being a jerk about it).
So, her kid, Holly, is sitting in front of a computer screen, unaware of what to do and completely uninterested. Whatever. I didn't think twice about Holly's computer habits or lack thereof; I'm not one to judge and I didn't really care one way or the other. But the fact remained that the cameraman needed his shot.
Cameraman: Uh...maybe there's a fun kids' Web site or something she can visit.
Me (ill-advisedly trying to be helpful): Oh, Pinkalicious has a cute Web site.
Katie (with a horrified look like I'd asked Holly to visit a porn site for Bratz dolls): Um..........yeah. Let's do pbs.org.
Bitch!
First of all, Pinkalicious is a book. I mean, yes, it is a book about the color pink, but it is a book nonetheless. It's not like I was suggesting she put on a tiara and full whore makeup and twirl around in a Disney princess gown. It's a book. Not a tv show. A book. It's actually a really cute book--a little girl eats too many pink cupcakes and turns pink. The other books in the series are slightly less well-written but have good messages nonetheless (Purplelicious is about being yourself no matter what other people think, and Goldilicious is a strange stream-of-consciousness tome on imagination that might have been inspired by a very girlie acid trip). My point: Pinkalicious is respectable children's literature. For that matter, so is Fancy Nancy. Best of all is Madeline.
Second of all, am I the only one who notices the irony of her letting the totally screen-free Holly appear in a video? The hypocrisy.
Like I said, it never occurred to me that I was going to have to impress Katie or anyone else at the house on Strathmoor Blvd. I was just generously letting them film my child (watching a cartoon, no less). I wonder if Katie judged the fact that, unlike her kid, Twinklette seemed to know exactly what to do when placed in front of a television.
Will it be hard for Holly to write a paper on a computer once she leaves the Waldorf School and ends up at a school that's less screen-free? Maybe, but it's not my problem. If I do end up sending my children to the Waldorf School, will they still watch The Berenstain Bears occasionally? Probably, but if it's going to have to be a big secret I probably don't want to send them there in the first place. I live my life and try not to get all judgy about what other people are doing. People get so myopic about their child-rearing philosophies, and it's all just a bunch of BS anyway. You do what works and try to survive; I'm not ashamed that my daughter loves Pinkalicious and I'll even admit letting her play on the Pinkalicious Web site every now and then.
Here's a dirty little secret: next to all those Melissa and Doug puzzles is this scary-looking Barbie styling head who looks like a complete whore and reinforces negative stereotypes and body images for young girls. And yes I hated myself when I bought it, and yes it cheapens the whole playroom, and yes Twinklette loves it. From now on it will stand as a meaningful reminder that I may aspire to the greatness of all-wooden, eco-friendly, gender-neutral toys for my children, but we must also be firmly grounded in reality. Because we do live in the real world, Pinkalicious and all.
And this afternoon, I clearly wasn't. Thinking, that is. Or maybe I just didn't expect to encounter such an intolerant b*tch.
Rewind to this afternoon. My girls and I participated in a video produced by the local university about the dos and don'ts of good sleep habits. (My cousin is a child sleep psychologist there--and let me just say that she is an awesome resource for any parent who has questions about infant or child sleep). She called yesterday and asked Twinklette to act out some different good and bad scenarios with other children. Little did we know when we showed up to a quaint center hall colonial on Strathmoor Blvd. that we were actually walking into a liberal intellectual bloodbath.
The bitch was wearing mom jeans. Her name was Katie, and she had the slightly outdated hairstyle and and smug, self-satisfied look of a private therapist. (Why can't real-life therapists ever look like they're from the current decade?) She introduced herself and proceeded to let me know through the course of the conversation that she was intellectual and enlightened, a conscious citizen and socially-aware mother.
Filming began. Her daughter was supposed to be playing on a computer in her pajamas (screen time is a no-no before bed, according to the experts in the house on Strathmoor Blvd). Now, this girl was probably in fifth grade, but she didn't know what to do on a computer because she had never been on one before. Apparently she is a student at the hippy-dippy Waldorf School, which subscribes to a completely screen-free philosophy. (I actually like the Waldorf School, but if I end up sending my children there, I don't plan on being a jerk about it).
So, her kid, Holly, is sitting in front of a computer screen, unaware of what to do and completely uninterested. Whatever. I didn't think twice about Holly's computer habits or lack thereof; I'm not one to judge and I didn't really care one way or the other. But the fact remained that the cameraman needed his shot.
Cameraman: Uh...maybe there's a fun kids' Web site or something she can visit.
Me (ill-advisedly trying to be helpful): Oh, Pinkalicious has a cute Web site.
Katie (with a horrified look like I'd asked Holly to visit a porn site for Bratz dolls): Um..........yeah. Let's do pbs.org.
Bitch!
First of all, Pinkalicious is a book. I mean, yes, it is a book about the color pink, but it is a book nonetheless. It's not like I was suggesting she put on a tiara and full whore makeup and twirl around in a Disney princess gown. It's a book. Not a tv show. A book. It's actually a really cute book--a little girl eats too many pink cupcakes and turns pink. The other books in the series are slightly less well-written but have good messages nonetheless (Purplelicious is about being yourself no matter what other people think, and Goldilicious is a strange stream-of-consciousness tome on imagination that might have been inspired by a very girlie acid trip). My point: Pinkalicious is respectable children's literature. For that matter, so is Fancy Nancy. Best of all is Madeline.
Second of all, am I the only one who notices the irony of her letting the totally screen-free Holly appear in a video? The hypocrisy.
Like I said, it never occurred to me that I was going to have to impress Katie or anyone else at the house on Strathmoor Blvd. I was just generously letting them film my child (watching a cartoon, no less). I wonder if Katie judged the fact that, unlike her kid, Twinklette seemed to know exactly what to do when placed in front of a television.
Will it be hard for Holly to write a paper on a computer once she leaves the Waldorf School and ends up at a school that's less screen-free? Maybe, but it's not my problem. If I do end up sending my children to the Waldorf School, will they still watch The Berenstain Bears occasionally? Probably, but if it's going to have to be a big secret I probably don't want to send them there in the first place. I live my life and try not to get all judgy about what other people are doing. People get so myopic about their child-rearing philosophies, and it's all just a bunch of BS anyway. You do what works and try to survive; I'm not ashamed that my daughter loves Pinkalicious and I'll even admit letting her play on the Pinkalicious Web site every now and then.
Here's a dirty little secret: next to all those Melissa and Doug puzzles is this scary-looking Barbie styling head who looks like a complete whore and reinforces negative stereotypes and body images for young girls. And yes I hated myself when I bought it, and yes it cheapens the whole playroom, and yes Twinklette loves it. From now on it will stand as a meaningful reminder that I may aspire to the greatness of all-wooden, eco-friendly, gender-neutral toys for my children, but we must also be firmly grounded in reality. Because we do live in the real world, Pinkalicious and all.
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