Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle's cure for retro gender roles

For those of you that knew me when, you may remember many a conversation - either in the "ding king" '94 Altima, or over red plastic plates long scraped clean of chick peas in a cramped apartment - in which I muddled through problems of gender and power with persistence and perhaps way too much emotion. You know how girls can be.
Ha.
Before we had children, we talked a lot about gender roles and balance and communication. Mike was reading continental philosophy in grad school. I was reading Jane Austen novels over and over and thinking about social work. There was so much to talk about! When I was in grad school, I thought about how policy can address the vulnerability of girls and women. I thought about how men could and should change, and how that change might be facilitated through policy and social programs.
I still think about these things (albeit distractedly). But recently I realized that Mike and I left the more elusive, philosophical conversation about the nature of gender and how it shapes our lives behind; it must have been sometime during Frances' babyhood. Life took over and filled up all the old spaces, leaving much less time and energy for those demanding talks. But I miss them! I miss talking about those things that are deeper and un-legislatable. A mysterious force that leads me to say "sure, of course I can help" or even, "please, what can I do to help?" when I simply have nothing left to give. The inevitable private resentment that follows, the difficulty I have with asking for help and expressing anger.
Perhaps you are wondering what any of this has to do with mothering or my children. Two things happened recently that made me realize I am in dire need of examining gender anew: Edith told me to read Freaky Fortnight, and Frances and I have read a couple of Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle books. I haven't read all of Freaky Fortnight but what I did knocked something loose for me. Becoming a stay at home mother has showed me that the door leading back to the fifties is definitely still open (I even just painted my kitchen pink!!) and if I slept less and drank more, I can easily imagine heading into an outrageous vision of family life straight out of Madmen. If I didn't pay attention, I'd clean all day and feel low-level unexpressed anger and start squeezing my kids' arms a little too tight on the way out of the grocery store.
Oh, it gives me the shivers! Not just for myself, but for my growing kiddos.
When I worked and Mike stayed home, we glowed with self-congratulation thinking about how Frances had a Papa who fed her lunch and took her to the playground, and how she would be so much more flexible in her own ideas about what men and women do. It was part of what sustained me during that time - I believed what we were doing would be of great benefit both to Mike and Frances. Then Mike got a fabulous demanding job in a weird town, and I happily agreed it was my turn to stay home. But it is different.
In Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle, Frances pointed out to me that "it seems like all the mamas in this book stay home and all the papas go to offices!" and also that "the papas are always reading the paper and not helping the kids while the mamas give everyone breakfast!" and suddenly I wanted to shut the book and throw it into the scary buggy part of the basement where no one ever goes. The worst part is that breakfast at our house is not so different. Okay, Mike is MUCH better about not reading the paper during breakfast these days. I made a request. That worked out pretty well.
But what to do about the gender roles in all our favorite books? I have been so looking forward to sharing Louisa May Alcott and Laura Ingalls Wilder ... but now I feel a bit ambivalent. I loved Beth so much in Little Women. It seemed perfect that she died. She gave so much that she DIED. Do I really want to shove this at my own children? Has anyone struggled with this? Beautiful books full of sacrificing women and heroic absent men? Perhaps when I return to work and have something else to model for my kids it won't bother me quite so much.


On another note, here is some Frances-style Halloween. "It's a tiny newborn ghost and a bat who just ate a mosquito, because the mosquito bit the ghost and sucked the ghost's blood. That's why the mosquito is red. And the ghost has a bandaid for the bite. And I don't know who the person is."

And on another, totally unrelated note, here are some little things that I love right now, that perhaps you might love too:
1. My stick blender that we make frozen raspberry-banana-milk smoothies with every day, and also now that it is autumn, soups like this one. So good with a big dollop of yogurt swirled in.
2. Dr. Seuss books. I'm falling in love all over again, except this round is even sweeter because Frances sometimes reads and Gabriel repeats every fifth word she says and he gets very, very excited whenever anyone suggests it might be story time.
3. Getting ready for Halloween with Frances and Gabriel. We make a little bit of their froggy costumes every day out of felt bits. Frances put all the (mostly green) felt scraps into the salad spinner this morning and told us she making some salad. Sabrosa! (Thank you again Dan Zanes for all the new Spanish words in our house).
4. Storynory. Frances had a low fever yesterday and contentedly listened to Natasha read chapters 4 - 7 of Through the Looking Glass. I haven't explored the site much but there are many appealing stories for children, and that Natasha is some reader. Thank you Milena!