bearing blog


bear – ing n 1  the manner in which one comports oneself;  2  the act, power, or time of bringing forth offspring or fruit; 3 a machine part in which another part turns [a journal ~];  pl comprehension of one’s position, environment, or situation;   5  the act of moving while supporting the weight of something [the ~ of the cross].


  • “I cooked. You clean up.”

    One of the things I had to make peace with when I came home—that is, became what is called a "stay-at-home mother"—was housework. More accurately, it’s one of the things I am making peace with, now that I’m here.

    And I’m not doing such a great job of it. Back when I was in graduate school and Mark worked part-time, we shared it. I think Mark must have done more, because when we were home together I needed to nurse the baby and so much of the other things would have fallen to him. Even now that I’ve been home for ten months, Mark still seems to do a disproportionate amount.

    There was a time when I would clean the house more; I did it to avoid working on my thesis. Maybe I need to find something else I can avoid through housecleaning. Why don’t I find it more satisfying?

    Because the social expectation is that housework is drudgery? Is it because of generations of articles in women’s magazines bemoaning that men don’t keep up their share of the work (not in my house; see above)? Is it because the people paid to do it by the wealthy aren’t really paid that much? (This link recommends that a self-employed housecleaner charge $25 to $50 per hour, with a quarter to half of that paying the business’s expenses.) Is it because it doesn’t require a lot of thought? Is it because it’s uncreative? Is it because you essentially do the same thing, every day, and each day the previous day’s work is unmade and has to be made again?

    I don’t think the answer is in the nature of the work itself, because a tiny subset of housework is something I love doing, enjoy doing, do enthusiastically every day with great satisfaction: making dinner. I really, really, really love to cook. I love sitting down to plan the meals; I love paging through cookbooks and selecting new recipes to try; I love fine-tuning recipes to fit my family’s tastes and lifestyle; I love chopping, sauteing, deglazing, simmering, checking the seasonings, garnishing, saucing, and plunking the whole thing down on the table.

    I tried just now to think of something I don’t like about cooking, and the only things I could think of were "stirring risotto" (because it hurts my arm, after a while) and "burning my mouth" (I am forever forgetting to blow on the spoon). Come to think of it, I don’t like assembling enchiladas either.

    I do have evenings when I just can’t face making dinner, and we go out or I get carryout.  But those are pretty rare, and to be honest they have more to do with not wanting to make the kitchen any messier than it already is.

    So what’s the difference between cooking and cleaning? More on this later, I hope.


  • “So that’s what they’re for”

    Editing note years later.  This is one of my earliest posts on the subject.  If I were to write it today, I’d want to make it more clear that the problem, or fault, with just baring one’s breast to nurse a baby doesn’t belong to either mother or baby.  It’s not surprising that we usually don’t feel comfortable doing it here in the States, because people are weird about it, and that makes it potentially not safe for us.  But it’s not the breast or the baby that’s weird.

     

    Interesting discussion over at Amy Welborn’s blog about this photograph showing President Chavez of Venezuela talking with a woman affected by flooding near Caracas.  The woman in the photograph is breastfeeding a young toddler in such a way that her left breast is entirely exposed, except for the nipple.

    Should we nurse this way in the United States?  Should she nurse the way women in the U.S. do, behind closed doors/under a blanket/from under the shirt without exposing cleavage?  I think the answer is no to both.  I don’t think anyone here should nurse under a blanket, either, frankly.  I wish we could, modestly, flop a breast out to feed a hungry baby, but we can’t.  Nor do I agree that we should, in a effort to change attitudes and make people see breastfeeding like this as the normal, healthy, God-created action that it (in fact) is.  Why not?

    The fundamental concept to understand here is that modesty is a type of the virtue of temperance.  Temperance is the virtue of avoiding extremes of behavior.   Eating with temperance avoids the extremes of malnutrition and gluttony; arguing with temperance avoids the extremes of timid deference nor belligerence.  Modesty, specifically, is temperance in the presentation of the self to others.  Modesty calls me to dress, act, and speak in a way that authentically expresses my true self and allows me to perform the duties proper to my state in life without drawing undue attention to myself.  If I am modest, I avoid both shamelessness (in which I draw undue attention to myself) and prudishness (in which I suppress myself or fail in my duties in an effort to avoid being seen at all).  Ironically, prudishness can also draw undue attention; think of appearing at the beach in a burqa.

    What is the true self, the image that accurately projects us to the world?  It is to be seen as an image of God.  We are created in God’s own image, and to be appropriately modest is to present ourselves so that the image is as clear as possible.  This means we mustn’t hide aspects that are easily seen by all as aspects of God himself.  But it does mean we should downplay aspects that many people will only see as distortions.

    Because the behaviors classified as “modest” depend on the disposition of other people towards them, and because modesty (being a kind of temperance) always modulates a tension between two extremes, those behaviors are culturally and situationally variable.  If it’s typical in that part of Venezuela to expose the breast while breastfeeding—if people view the exposed breast feeding a child, without distortion, as normal and part of God’s plan for feeding babies— the mother in the photograph isn’t being immodest.   Good for her, and good for that culture, because it’s sure more supportive of breastfeeding when the umbrella of “modestly” stretches over a wider spectrum of nursing styles.

    Here, though, it’s immodest, because the female breast is overwhelmingly perceived with a great deal of distortion, as an object of sexual titillation rather than as an organ for nourishing babies.  The two perceptions don’t go hand in hand here; it’s titillation-for-males first, food-for-babies far behind.   American men and women do not typically look at that woman with her wonderful, life-giving breast and think, “God is good and nourishes us like that mother nourishes her child.”  They do not really see her at all, nor can they see God in her, distracted as they are by the distortion in their hearts.

    Jesus said, “Blessed are the pure of heart, for they shall see God.”  One who cannot see God where God is lacks purity.

    This whole culture sorely lacks purity of heart in its perception of the female breast.  And the umbrella of modesty, it is sad to say, depends heavily on the umbrella of purity.  Where the culture’s heart is pure, the culture’s behavior can be modest.  Modesty is a virtue precisely because it protects us from being damaged by others’ impurity, and helps keep others from temptation.

    Like many, many breastfeeding mothers, I wish the culture would change so that breastfeeding openly would not shock or titillate people, so that I could expose my breast to feed my child without being objectifid.  I wish that the umbrella of modesty would widen.  But I know that brazenly exposing skin while nursing—deliberate immodesty—will not change the culture.  We cannot create purity by discarding the virtue of modesty.  The purity of heart has to come first.  If we discard modesty and expose our breasts more often, people will be less shocked but no less titillated.  What will happen instead is that it will become more acceptable for women (particularly mothers) to be sexually  objectified.  We might, for instance, see a mainstreaming of pornography depicting distortions of breastfeeding.

    We can’t create purity by being prudish, either, hiding nursing away from everyone so that no one ever sees a child nurse.  That kind of immodesty prevents the culture from changing, because it suppresses the image of breasts as an organ of nourishment.

    If we breastfeed not prudishly but openly and modestly—if we are matter-of-fact
    about our breastfeeding, don’t hide, make it obvious that we breastfeed (as mothers should) but also make it obvious that we can do so without titillating people—then more people, men in particular, will recognize that the purpose of breasts is primarily to feed babies.  The sexualization of the breast, divorced from their function, is what got us into this situation.  By being clear about the function of the breast while denying satisfaction to those who would objectify us, we CAN change the culture.  When people once again can look at the female breast and see God—when they can look at it in all purity—then we can nurse, exposed, in all modesty.


  • Poison Control: Cough syrup

    We called Poison Control last night after Milo (16 months) opened a bottle of children’s cold medicine, the kind with pseudephedrine and dextromethorphan. He had spilled some of it, so we weren’t sure how much he’d swallowed, even though it was a new bottle. Mark poured the remains into a measuring cup marked in ounces (note to self: obtain 150-ml graduated cylinder for household use) and estimated he’d had somewhere between three and eight doses. The operator asked me a few questions, put me on hold briefly to get the information, and returned: feed him a snack, give him four to six ounces of milk to dilute, expect jitteriness and dizziness, call back if we have questions.

    This is the third time we’ve called the poison control number. The first time, Milo had eaten maybe an ounce of bar soap; I hadn’t ever considered soap as a hazardous substance, but he refused to nurse and cried and cried in pain from it while I searched for the phone number. (Give him milk, the operator said. He won’t breastfeed, and he won’t drink either! Give him ice cream, then. He slurped it right down and was instantly better.) The second time, the two-year-old daughter of a friend had bitten into a tube of rubber cement and it squirted into her mouth. I wasn’t in the room for all of this story, so I don’t remember what else the operators told our friend to do, but I remember they said it would make her sleepy, and to let her sleep but keep an eye on her. It did, and she did. After that, I wrote the number down inside a family health reference book. The national toll-free number is 1-800-222-1222.

    Helpful folks, the poison control staffers. Nobody should ever hesitate to call them; if it’s nothing to be worried about, they’ll tell you so and you’ll feel better, and they can also help you help your child feel better. I know that giving milk or water helps in some poisonings or irritations, but I would never have thought of ice cream as the ideal substance to keep around just in case a child refuses milk or water. It makes perfect sense, but I never thought of it.

    The webpage of the American Association of Poison Control Centers has some interesting and useful information. Top of the list: Find Your Poison Control Center by zipcode. There’s also data on the training of the staff (they are mostly nurses and pharmacists) and many informational links.

    I scanned through tables of pediatric (children under six) exposures to pharmaceutical and non-pharmaceutical substances. The data appears to have been compiled from calls to poison control centers. Among pharmaceutical products, the most frequently reported exposures (more than 10,000 in that year) include children’s acetominophen, children’s ibuprofen, antihistamines, antibiotics, antacids, "topical diaper products," and kids’ multivitamins. To me this suggests the following general rule: If you keep stuff in your house and use it often, your small children will try to eat it.

    Among the non-pharmaceutical substances, "pens and ink" stood out to me, because (a) a large number of people called Poison Control when their kids apparently bit into a pen and (b) my kids have bitten into countless pens, but I never once thought about "ink poisoning." I also noticed that, while cleaning supplies in general accounted for a very large number of calls, common bleach seemed to be the most frequently called-about cleaner. That seemed a bit odd—why would children tend to drink bleach more than, say, window cleaner or dish soap? Then it occurred to me that bleach is one of those substances that Everyone Knows Is Poisonous. Perhaps more people call Poison Control when their child seems to have swallowed bleach than they would if it were window cleaner. Or perhaps the warnings on the side of the bottle are more vigorous. My suspicions were strengthened when I saw the very large number of calls about "desiccants"—I can only assume we are talking about those little packets, found inside new shoes and purses, that are marked in bold capital letters "DO NOT EAT."


  • Ash Wednesday: Hummus and vegetables

    Today is Ash Wednesday, so Catholics throughout the world are fasting and abstaining from meat.  I just made a batch of hummus, which we’ll have with pita bread and raw vegetables:  carrots, red cabbage, celery, green pepper. 

    When I make hummus, I usually refer back to one or two cookbooks (such as The New Moosewood Cookbook by Mollie Katzen) but I vary the ingredients considerably.  It’s basically garlic, chickpeas, lemon juice, and parsley, plus whatever else I want to throw in or have around.

    I started on Monday night by soaking a bag of chickpeas in warm water to cover with a few tablespoons of whey added.  The whey is optional, but speeds the soak and helps break down the chickpeas a bit.   Tuesday night, I drained them and rinsed them and put them in the Crockpot on low heat, overnight, with water and salt.  By this morning they were cooked, and I transferred them and their liquid to the refrigerator. 

    A little while ago I put five peeled cloves of garlic, five trimmed green onions, and about one and a half bunches of parsley (I love parsley; it’s nutritious and turns the hummus a lovely pale green) into my Cuisinart food processor and chopped it very fine.  That went into the big mixing bowl.  Then in two batches I pureed the drained chickpeas with about three-quarters of a cup, total, of tahini, three-quarters of a cup, total, of lemon juice, a handful of the parsley mixture, and some salt.  I poured a few glugs of olive oil into the feed tube while it was going each time.   Then I folded it all together into the bowl.   I added some black pepper, cumin, and cayenne as well.

    Now I have to ask:  does tasting a dish for purposes of correcting the seasoning count as impermissible between-meal snacking on a fast day?  How about licking the spoon?