You just have to ask

My daughter sees and, so far, experiences, a world where women and men are equal. Her mother runs a business. Her doctor is a girl. When she was little she said, "you know mama, even boys can be doctors". Things are changing, but in my experience, and virtually every woman I know, there is one area that has not changed even a little bit, in our homes. She, miraculously, hasn't had to deal with the stress/threat of street harassment or subtle demotions due to gender. However, she has a mother who is still labouring under sexist expectations of her role in her own home, I've tried hard to shield her from it. But she will learn. I really wish she didn't have to. I kind of treasure this time before SHE KNOWS. I am protective of her naivety.

We have lacked the language to put our frustration into words. How can sexism in the home exist? It is 2019. It is not MY job to clean the toilet. it is our job. It must be my personal problem. A flaw in my upbringing, in my character, a lack of organisation. Why am I cleaning the toilet 100% of the time? That is probably because I love clean toilets more than he does. That is probably because of my OCD. That is probably because I have PMS and need an outlet. Stay out of mom's way, she is in one of her "toilet cleaning" moods.

"If you wanted help with the toilets, you should have just asked."

It is 2019. Cleaning the toilets is my job. Making sure they are cleaned by others is also mine.

My darling daughter, may you be free of having to ask. May you be free to choose openly and freely what needs to be done and how.

Comments

Keep telling yourself that.

We talk to ourselves everyday, all day (and night) for the whole of our lives. We started talking to ourselves before we knew we were a self, we forget what we said because we forget everything from before...when we were too young and busy developing our brain to remember those early years. There is still lingering residue of long forgotten conversations I have had with myself as a toddler sitting around in the crevices...sloughing off occasionally into words I tell myself still. We talk non-stop, and not just with dialogue. Our goosebumps communicate to us, our tingly feelings, our neurons, our peripheal vision. They are all submitting data into our self and expecting us to react, respond or all to often, expecting what they are sending us will be ignored. After all that talking, you'd think we'd know what we think about most things, but occasionally we are stumped. Unless we stop what we are doing and really concentrate sometimes that voice(s) ...

the words fell out

Despite being an introvert, I do often process big life events (and many many small ones) out loud by verbally hashing out my thoughts with whoever will put up with me. But this morning when I woke up to the big red blotch on the U.S. map...all my /the words fell out. They fell out unsaid, unformed. Got to work and probably , in another time, would have annoyed my co-workers, dominating the conversation with my verbal extrusions, but not today. I just mutely stared across at them and nodded. My dad came for lunch. Normally, we relish a good political diatribe, especially when we feel sure of our perspective, but this time, all I could do was munch on fries and marvel at all the unarticulated thoughts that I was not even bothering to retrieve. The silence inside me was noticeable. Social media was awash with reactions and I just looked away. I couldn't bear to read one word about it. I was not receptive to any reactions, accusations, reflections, words...

I entered August without you.

I won't visit you this month. You won't call. I will raid your garden and you won't get any of the vegetables. I will make plans without telling you about them. We'll go to the store and not buy you one single thing. Whole books will be read and I will not tell you which ones. I will watch movies and not inform you. The nasturiums will ripen. Last month was different. I changed my schedule and took time off work to be with you. I dropped all kinds of plans for us to be together. You sent me messages, I received them. I picked up food that I thought you would like at the store and sent you pictures of every beautiful thing I saw. I sang with you. We watched the Great Canadian Baking Show. You chose the recipe for the garlic scape pesto and gave me instructions for making the gooseberry jam. I am in August without you. You are in July.

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