Just a little note to anyone who reads this, being a mother is the best job in the world. I wouldn’t trade it for anything, but every once in a great while, tell your mother/wife what a great job she does at her 24-hour a day job, especially with Mother’s Day (the best holiday by FAR) coming up, and especially if she works outside the home as well!

As far as blaming the patriarchy for the bad things in my life and the assumptions that come with it, I believe we have ourselves to blame, because we have coined the phrase “just a mom”. “just a mom” describes about $86,000 worth of work in one year, according to salary.com, so how bout “wow, a mother, what an example” instead of “just a mom”???

And I love my swiffer. In fact I have a bunch of them (they turn up regularly at yard sales). What a work-saver!

Honestly, I feel like a lot less of a tool for enjoying cooking for other people because I learned it from my dad, and with the added benefit that he could also teach me things like how to use a table saw or change a tyre or double-dig a garden bed. Still hate laundry, though.

Damn, I need to do laundry; I’m out of underwear. Ugh. I blame the Second Law of Thermodynamics.

My sister’s former neighbors (a pack of 18-yr-old fellas) used to wash their clothing and dishes the same way — line ‘em up in the driveway and hose ‘em down. Quick and effortless, but not necessarily effective. Funny to watch, but I don’t recommend it.

This spinster aunt lives in blissful solitude and laundry is a task I enjoy. Like the Talking Heads said, down in the basement, we hear the sound of machines. It’s oddly comforting. I prefer line drying to using the machine, but I’m not too proud to use the dryer if I’m in a hurry. And the cats love to dive into a pile of just-warm-from-the-dryer stuff. None of my stylish ensembles are complete without cat hair.

Forget kids pajamas (those flame-retardant polyester abominations). Ditto turtlenecks and girls tights; they’re LAME and babies hate them anyway. Bunny spent her formative years in some version of a comfortable cotton jumper or tracksuit that she could sleep in. There was no distinction between daywear and nightwear.

I would dress her for daycare the night before, instead of the morning of. There was a 75% chance she wouldn’t blow out her diaper overnight, which meant her father and I needed to dress her in the morning only 25% of the time.

When she was a baby I sent her to daycare in one-piece jumpers, with a clean jumper in her bag. I put her to bed in whatever she came home in if it was still clean.

When she was a toddler it was the cotton tracksuit or, in the summer, leggings and (boys) T-shirts. For dress-up I’d throw a plain smock over the shirt/pants ensemble. (The daycare women thought we were Amish, because I would also wear my very plain, no buttons/zippers/etc. dresses over pants!)

The mother-in-law complained that Bunny’s track outfits were “inappropriate” for grade school. I told her to bite my ass. Diplomatically of course.

Bunny slept in it all. If she magically made it through the day without soiling herself she wore it the next day too. Consequently, once she was out of the cotton diapers her impact on our laundry burden was practically nil. As long as it wasn’t poopy we threw her clothes in with ours. I used (generic brand) gentle baby detergent on all of our clothes, sheets and towels because I couldn’t be bothered with two kinds of detergents.

I think I might have bathed her a few times inbetween all that. It’s all a blur though; I can’t remember.

I don’t think that list is considered the “same thing” by radfems at all. The last four items are all about socially constructed submission to male superiority, the first three are about sustaining life and should be recognised as genuine and important work.

Big, big, difference.

If a tree falls in the woods, but…?