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| The view from my last room of my own. (Edinburgh 2004) |
Last night I was playing hide and seek with my children, and
for a few glorious minutes I shut myself in my wardrobe and was alone in the
dark. Until they found me. The blighters.
I had forgotten how wonderful it is to be alone in the dark.
From the numerous nights we fall asleep while putting the kids to bed and wake
up at 2am realising that practically every light in the house is still on (not
to mention the TV and a couple of computers), to even the “proper” evenings when
we’re all asleep at a socially acceptable hour but the landing light has been
left on to facilitate safe midnight ablutions, I don’t think I’ve experienced
proper darkness in years.
More to the point, I’m very rarely on my own anymore. So
much so, that when my friend posted this amusing link on Facebook last night,
my first thought was “screw the kids, think of the parents!” We are never
allowed to ignore our children. We have to be with them all the time, and we're all utterly sick of each other.
Now, I am by no means the first person to make this
observation (and if you know me or have read this blog, this is by no means the first time I've discussed it) and there is even a significant study showing that mothers today
spend more one-on-one time with their children than mothers did in the late
1960s – pretty much the height of stay-at-home motherness. The author of this
study is the late Suzanne Bianchi from the University of Maryland, but it’s
detailed in this Washington Post article: "Despite 'Mommy Guilt,' Time with Kids Increasing."
Mommy guilt aside, the biggest social change is how children
are no longer allowed to be left unattended. This is for very good reason, of
course, but frustrating when social norms dictate that you can’t just send your
children outside to play while you have a quiet cup of tea. Furthermore,
everything from school to children’s activities is a series of mandated parent
drop-offs or outright compulsory parent attendance. If, like us, you don’t have
extended family on hand, sometimes the only way you can get a moment to
yourself is to pay for it. And if you’re a stay-at-home mother, that’s not
always financially viable.
One of the things you’ll find mothers going back to work
delight in is the time alone, whether it be on the commute or during lunch
break. This is short-lived, however, because work mostly involves dealing with
other people. For me, I go from dealing with the needs and demands of my own small
children to the needs and demands of college students. Sometimes they don’t
seem too dissimilar.
Like anything, it is money and privilege that buys you time
alone. As Virginia Woolf wrote, £500 per annum and A Room of One’s Own. For me as a scholar and a writer, this has been
the biggest blow of motherhood, and I probably should have listened to Woolf, but, you know, I had this CRAZY idea that things might be different in the 21st century. As it turned out, I was not fortunate enough to be in a proper
job when I had my children, so there was no paid maternity leave or a position
to go back to that allowed for research and writing time. I get the contract
teaching I can, I grab the childcare I can afford, and I snatch the time to plan
lessons and mark papers, often in the middle of the night when the children are
asleep. I don’t know about other children, but mine do not leave me alone to work. It is a miracle I've published anything in the last six years, but I have.
And here’s the rub. I am a daydreamer. I can be annoyingly
extroverted and organised, but mostly I’m the type of person who needs space to
work into an idea. A walk through a city, a mental warm up in the library, a room of my own in which to ruminate. I need the time to sing. I get emotionally bogged
down by domestic toing and froing, driving hither and thither, and mundane paperwork. I will not accept the requirements
of my quotidian existence, so ruminate on them instead. You could say, I’m more
than capable when I put my mind to it, but prone to distraction.
There are brilliant scholars out there who can compartmentalise
their time: get the kids to school, teach a class, go to a meeting, library in
the afternoon, be at home for dinner, get the children to bed, and then write
for 2 hours in the evening.
I am not one of those people and I suspect they have staff anyway. Or a wife. I certainly don’t have an
answer for all this, but it seems that modern life, be it parental or professorial, no longer allows for eccentricity. Everything is bound by efficiency
and regulation. I can no longer be the mother who sits in organised chaos,
benignly neglecting her children while still providing them with love and art
and music and ideas. Sometimes food. Similarly,
I may no longer be the scholar with an eclectic take on the world who is given
the space to sit in the darkness or light or whatever, and come up with proper
ideas. And by proper ideas, I do not mean the relentless publication schedule required
to achieve tenure. But that’s a subject for another post.
Discuss.
