Of the division of labour.
Gosh. It’s Monday. Again. How did that happen, when we have most definitely not just had a weekend?
Oh. Hang on. Just a minute.
Right you are.
So. There was a weekend; it just doesn’t feel as if there was. That would be because we all got up at something starting with a six on both Saturday and Sunday, and because Quercus has been pulling twelve-hour days working on landscaping the garden, aided by his – apparently indefatigable – mother, and because having people who are Not Us staying with us for ten days takes a toll, even if they are the loveliest souls you could imagine, and because teething is just plain horrid, and because sticky hot weather which is obviously in need of a damn good thunder storm is, well, sticky and hot.
Yes.
The division of labour referred to in the title has been giving me pause for thought recently. When Quercus and I bought our first house (well, OK, technically he bought it, and I did a PhD), we divided the work on it pretty equally. We both had a go at plastering, and at stripping walls, and at painting, and putting up shelves, and building desks, and replacing woodwork, and sorting out gardens, and marvelling at the utter tripe that passes for decorating in some houses. We both got covered in dust, and lost bits of fingernail while opening tins or ferreting about under floorboards. We both replaced sections of walls while remarking the bouncy nature of surrounding structures didn’t bode well, and we both organised quotes for things that required Teeth* larger than those we possessed at the time. (Those Teeth have now been taken out, and replaced with a giant set of chomping nashers which are unafraid of, well, virtually anything, in house terms, given that we’ve lived with acros propping up the external walls of the house, with no running water, with walls turning to dust or mud depending on the nature of the neglect they’d suffered.)
But since we’ve had the small girl, that division has changed. Firstly, while I was pregnant, we were cooking up not just a small girl, but also the plans for the extension with which we would replace the single-skin-brick ‘kitchen’ and ‘bathroom’ (I use these terms very loosely in this context…) which were here when we moved to the Earthenhouse. I was also finishing my PhD, and I can honestly say that, having thought all those claims regarding ‘pregnancy brain’ were just ridiculous females making excuses for their general state of dizziness, I WAS WRONG – I have never felt fuzzier in my life than I did when pregnant, and there came a point where it was all I could do to waddle through the work I need to get done on my thesis. The very thought of discussing extensions, planning applications and whatnot brought on palpitations, or, more often, a comatose state.
The old extension. Note buggered roof and frost on inside.
Because nothing says rural living like mouldy walls and fabric-like ceilings, right?
Why yes, since you ask: a tarp is absolutely an acceptable wall material.
Beginning to move into the new extension.
Note fairy lights, for where there are little lights, all is right with the world.
Men’s and Wimmin’s Work collides: bench saw and fermentation.
Just before this push on the garden.
Of course, we did talk about these things, because they were important, and needed decisions and whatnot, but I suppose that’s when the shift started.
And now, it’s largely Quercus who bears the brunt of the vast scale of the work our house needs to make it truly the home we want. (For now.) I have helped with things like lime rendering, and with dumper truck-driving, and with limewashing, and bathroom tiling, and various odds and sods like painting and sanding, but mostly, it’s been Quercus who’s out there slogging at it for horrible lengths of time, and it’s Quercus whose hands hurt from overuse of an SDS drill, or of a mixer, or of a breaker of some sort, and it’s Quercus who dropped the mixer on his leg yesterday because he’d been working too hard for too long, and I feel incredibly shifty.
Well, that’s the short version.
I spent the weekend with the small girl, doing things like sorting out the laundry, or making food, or attempting to cheer said girl up in the face of (we assume) molar machinations which rendered her mood less than upbeat. We made some felt balls on Saturday, and a sort of Anglo-Saxon felted crown on Sunday (all thanks to the very lovely Claire at Whispering Acres, who sent us a gorgeous assortment of goodies, including Kool-Aid, roving of all colours and textures, and even a book, about a month ago, and which we’re only just getting to grips with now). We made some bread (the quick recipe involving no kneading remains a favourite – seriously, ten minutes of actual input – all told – and just some time for it to rise and cook, and you’re done). We tried out a vegan version of Macaroni Cheese (which was lovely, and will definitely be added to the repertoire). We provided ice lollies when the heat was too much for the physical work needed on levelling the garden (which, at about four feet higher than the lane it abuts, was in dire need of some shoring-up if we were to avoid a not-that-small-given-the-size-of-the-lane mud-slide, and let’s not even get started on how much earth has been moved about the place in recent weeks).
The rational part of me knows that all these things need to happen, and that it makes sense that I am the person who makes them happen, because, well, first, Quercus is stronger than me, and fitter than me, and second, his mum actually chooses to do these things rather than looking after the small girl; I think that, while she loves her very clearly, she does find it tiring looking after her for five mornings a week, which is what she has been doing while we’re in this push of work on the house. So, when it gets to the weekend, she is quite glad to hand her back to me, and just help Quercus with things which most grandparents wouldn’t touch with a barge-pole – last night, for example, they were mixing up concrete at half-past eight, while I finished cooking dinner and sorting out the chaotic kitchen). At least some of my shiftiness is prompted by the sight of a sixty-something woman digging giant heaps of rubble out. It makes me feel like the very laziest of women to be floating about the place with the small girl, while everyone else seems to be doing Proper Work. It’s stupid, really, because, again, the rational part of me recognises and affirms the fact that looking after small people is a tremendous job, with huge responsibility and the potential to create either vast spaces of joy and fulfilledness or overwhelming depths of misery and discord, yet still there is this not-so-little voice telling me that I’m a shirker.
It doesn’t help, of course, that poor Quercus was up this morning at five, and was working with the digger by a quarter-past. Nor does it help that his hands are very achey at the moment, and he’s quite battered with various things which he’s hit or whacked or scratched or burnt in the couple of years, while I sit here proffering lotions and potions which only serve to make me more aware of the stark divide in our general daily tasks. I suppose it comes back to the familiar story: things traditionally viewed as Wimmin’s Work are not, by and large, valued as Work which will bear close comparison with Men’s Work. I am woman: hear me iron. Er…
I find that split deeply toe-curling, though. Quercus and I have always tended towards a reasonably ‘traditional’ (for want of a less loaded term) division, large-scale house renovation aside, in that I have always loved cooking, baking and generally attempting to create a feeling of home, while he genuinely enjoys such delights as chopping wood and digging potatoes. And I very much dislike the idea of a feminism which views these traditionally gendered activies – baking, making – as unworthy of card-holding feminists; rather, I embrace the recent trend in trying to change the way such activities are viewed, to reincorporate them into the overall picture of What It Is To Be Human, Never Mind Female, to show that such work is just as important as any other. I’m just having a hard time remembering to believe what I claim to know. Ya boo sucks to Traditional Gender Identities. Or something.
*Anyone who reads Blue Witch may be familiar with her Big Teeth; let’s hope that familiarity remains at a ‘by reputation only’ level – !
You are doing a tremendous job in giving Quercus the opportunity to provide for his family, and supporting him whilst he does it. No emasculation fears in your household then!
how does quercus feel about this? given the choice, would he rather ‘play’in the dirt or chase after a toddling? & yes, i well know that it is so much easier to know something than it is to believe same…. the bread sounds good, btw.
I know the gender split feeling… there are things that I would like to be able to do by myself, that I absolutely can’t, and I have to ask Mr OWG to do. Putting in new fence posts, tensioning stock fence wire on aforementioned posts, building a gate, or a chicken house etc. However, working full time, doing actually ‘house-wife’ things, looking after 2 dogs, 20 chickens and 9 ducks means that I haven’t got the time to learn how to do stuff (even if I had the physical strength to do it).
However, I do think that often, Mr OWG does enjoy doing the ‘manly’ stuff, so he can go to work and say he has done ‘manly’ stuff!
I’ve felt this more and more over the years, and, like you, I’ve wrestled with it, for pretty much the same reasons.
I *used* to be able to do everything that needed to be done. I had a full tool kit when I met Mr BW nearly 18 years ago, and I knew how to use it. And I did, when we started redoing this house 15 years ago when we first moved here.
Now, because of (a) my health/energy issues, and (b) his need to be *doing* physical things all the time when he’s not at his (mostly) desk job, I find myself more and more on the sidelines, doing things that are important, but non-physical (shopping,finances, keeping all the plates spinning, arranging things).
It was really bothering me. He kept reassuring me that he didn’t mind, even enjoyed things as they were. I didn’t believe him. I felt I was being a burden. Then, one day, I realised that he actually did mean what he said, and that by not believing him, I was, in effect, calling him a liar.
People tend to settle into doing things that suit them, and their circumstances at the time. Things change over time. What I learnt was not to over-analyse and imagine I was the other person (and how I’d feel as him), but to accept that he was happy, so I didn’t have to be unhappy because I felt it should be different.
If that makes sense…
Oh – and – the house is really coming together, isn’t it? It’s good to post the old photos, just to remind us (and you) how far you’ve come.
I agree with the Blue Witch – the progress you two have made on the house is really amazing. Division of labour stuff? If it weren’t for our gender-sensitivity maybe it wouldn’t rankle so much? Maybe it would be easier to just say there are things I’m good at and things you’re good at and things we’re BOTH good at, and things no-one is good at at all and somewhere in all of that it must all be done.
I also agree with Blue Witch that things change, circumstances and abilities, and it’s the flexibility to do the job that’s right at the moment regardless of its perceived gender role or ‘value’ or whatever that really matters. And to be bloody appreciative of ALL the jobs that are being done on all sides!
Oh dear. You have hit the nail on the head with this post. How many times have I come home in the past 3 weeks to a clean house, hot supper, laundry hanging on the line? How much work have I put in, in the meantime? Well… not much. I’ve planned out several projects and figured out the materials list for a washroom renovation. I have done some gardening and some party hosting and some sewing for Mr.Atmymothersknee. Other than that, not much. He has taken over all the chores, has ripped apart a washroom to prepare for the reno, has walked the dogs everyday, has chopped wood, has made arrangements to get some things fixed ’round the place…
Granted, he has summers off (those darned teachers have all the best holidays). But still. The guilt! Oh the unstoppable guilt! And I don’t even have any children I can claim to be looking after! I’m just the cheerleading squad. Lame. Very lame.
I’m afraid I get very jealous of my beloved because he is the one who gets to do the DIY stuff – thus he gets to swan around with his special drill clasped in his hand,doing the exciting things that really make a difference all the while having his every physical need fulfilled…Hungry? Eat this delicious repast I have prepared for you…Thirsty? Have your 10th cup of tea so far this morning….Sore shoulder? Let me massage it until my hands cramp… bitter, moi? Thing is I know I am more than capable of doing some of what he does (and perhaps doing it better – and cleaner and with a much better finish) but if I did, I know perfectly well that he would only be able to manage to prevent the Bink from actually swinging from the light fittings, no tea/food/massage/sympathy etc. I really do suffer from that stay at home housewife syndrome and am perpetually pointing out to myself that my beloved could not do the work he does to the standard he does were I not behind him cossetting him like a 50′s throwback…Ooh I do go on..
Allotmentqueen: I suppose not, but also, not much time off, either… It’s a tricky balance – sometimes it feels just right, but sometimes I do get the shirking sensation. Quercus does like doing a lot of the things we do, but no-one, absolutely no-one could enjoy the sheer number of days he’s spent either applying or removing a sticky, heinous substance, probably acidic in nature, to the walls of the house.
petoskystone: I think for the most part he enjoys it, and knows that it wouldn’t work so well if reversed – as Hels says further down the comments, there’s a difference between looking after children while providing catering and facilities for the builder-type people, and just about managing to prevent the child melting down while the builders fend for themselves! The bread, by the way, is a variation on spelt loaf I posted a while back; I just changed the spelt to straight strong bread flour, and am playing around with variations involving wholemeal or brown flour, and nuts/seeds/sultanas etc. It’s quite a good recipe, on the quiet, though the spelt version is SUPER-crumpetty.
OverWyreGrower:
I think Quercus enjoys physical work because he needs to be active in order to feel happy and contented, as Blue Witch says of Mr. BW, because of his (sometime) desk-job. I shall try to remind myself of this more frequently.
BW: yes – it is indeed coming together. More pictures coming soon, as we’ve finished the levelling work needed to fix one side of the garden, so it’s looking a lot more together now. And yes, I need to start looking on the split in the way that you do, I think – as you say, if he’s happy that way, then I have to just get on with it. The bit that gives me trouble is when he’s obviously finding it a bit of an uphill struggle, and when his hands are playing up; the last thing I want is for him to develop arthritis because of all the physical labour, but there’s not a lot I can do to change it. Frustrating, it is.
Megan: your zen approach deserves at least five brownie points.
DW: I s’pose the thing to bear in mind is that it’s not a competition as to who puts in more work/has the harder time/contributes more, even though it sometimes feels as if one is the losing party in said competition.
Hels: yes – I think the support team part is very important; the problem I have is that while I can see this academically, when it comes to actually doing it, I still feel as if I get very much the lighter end of the bargain (except on those teething days, when, frankly, levelling a garden seems like child’s play).
Teams aren’t about everyone doing the same thing, it’s about everyone taking on different roles. Women only assume that being the main carer is a “lesser” role because that’s what society has been telling us for centuries.
In ten years time, when you look at your lives, your family, your home, what will you remember from this period? That is was hard, yes, but that you did it together, as a family.
Oh, and feel free to tell me to b***er off, but I can’t help but wonder if, now that the small girl is getting older and becoming more independent, you are looking for a new challenge in life? Everyone that I know with a PhD is unsuited to being / perceiving themselves to being stationary while the world moves / seems to be moving on around them.
Just a thought.
Jo
Lovely post. And I apologize that this comment is basically completely off topic, but I saw your fermenting liquids and got so excited! What are you brewing?
Jo: hello! Being stationary isn’t something at which I excel, it is true, though during the time I’m moving, I’ll be all ‘oh, if only I could be still’, of course… And I have been casting an eye about with a view to Doing Something Else, whether that’s academic, writing the book I’ve been harping on about for years, or something entirely new to me… You might be on to something there, in short.
A Green Spell: It’s elderflower wine in that shot, I think – that was taken last year, when we were still in the throes of serious kitchen construction, but hey, you’ve got to have your priorities straight, right?
It’s funny that you posted this because I’ve often read your blog and envied your mutual skills in things builderly. And I’m interested to read your post and your readers’ comments because the general themes are much more similar to my story than I had expected; although the emotions about all of it vary.
I was never extremely handy, but I was unafraid to try and had been comfortable learning and taking on new projects; I had fantasies of learning to do more significant home reno (like yours … the progress on your house really is spectacular! I thought that was a different home altogether!). Then we got married. My husband’s really handy but doesn’t know how to cook or fold laundry. And so a hundred times over again it just made more sense, given that there is never enough time in this life to do as much as you want, for him to do what he was more skilled at/had more strength to do than for me to spend all the extra time and energy learning and doing them. Then we had a first child, then a second, and the split became even more dramatic because while a baby is nursing it is so much dramatically simpler for the mother to be the primary caregiver.
To be honest, it’s never occurred to me to feel guilty or as if I am shirking. I think child care is very hard, in part because there’s no visible sign of “being done” or finished product; it’s a lot of repetitive and unrewarding tasks (feeding, cleaning up, changing diapers); it’s not mentally challenging in the same way as writing or figuring out a puzzle. Don’t get me wrong, I love my children, but child care can be boring. I itch to be the person ripping out walls and sawing things, buying supplies and installing them, and it’s terribly frustrating to watch and not be able to participate.
(These days I could say “Here, you take the children and I’ll do that,” but then we come up on my atrophied DIY skills vs. his continually improved ones.)
I don’t resent my husband or this state of things (unless I’m having a grumpy day), but I am ready to start doing other things again. I agree with the commenter above who thought you might be, too. Perhaps you should start trading off again? But then again if you’re feeling happy except for that sensation of shirking, then I will just tell you what you already know, that you’re not shirking and you’re doing what needs to be done!
L: perhaps ‘starting to do other things’ is an amibition vague enough to become this year’s overarching project? I don’t like nail-it-down detailed resolutions, but a sort of trend towards improving something or other I could probably get behind.