Life’s Little Boxes

Where do people buy the little boxes in which to store and separate their love for kids and lovers?

Are they nesting boxes, fitting into each other from small to large?  Are they interlocking?  Made pretty for display?  Do you have to update them to keep up with decorating trends?  Do all the kids go into one box, and hubby in another, or does each kid get his own box?  Ooooh!  Do they come in red?




I think of myself as an organized person, but sorting and separating love is not something I’ve mastered.

Oh, dear.  I’m going down that road.  Getting snarky when, really, I just want all these haters to go away.  I guess if you choose a life of celebrity, you expose yourself to haters, no matter what, but I am sorry that Giuliana Rancic has had to face such a rabid response to her rather innocuous statement.  I’m pretty sure she did not intend to set off a firestorm with her comment.  I’m glad she had the grace to respond by saying that dialogue is a good thing.

Aylet Waldman got into similar trouble a few years back when she said, unequivocally and very intentionally, that she loved her husband more than her kids.  I remember thinking at the time that she was a spotlight hound, desperate for attention.  (Her husband is Michael Chabon, darling of the American lit. scene.)  Who writes that kind of thing for the record?  On purpose?  She thrived on the backlash, and turned it into a book called Bad Mother.  I filed her away in my “annoying people who exploit motherhood” category, and I very earnestly resolved never to read the book.  Not because I disagree with what she says, but because the call for attention in saying it seemed so craven.  In an interview about the book with Time, she is refreshingly honest.  And she made me laugh out loud.  I may even go read the book now; I may take myself a bit less seriously.

In your book you attribute your healthy sex life as a mother of four to the fact that your husband helps a lot around the home. Can you elaborate? I think it’s astonishing to women how little housework the men who were at the Take Back the Night marches are doing, you know? There they were, in their pro-choice t-shirts, and now they’re behaving just like their fathers. Taking care of a home is tedious, wearing, and it never ends, and when you are solely responsible for that, it can piss you off. So any husband, who legitimately feels like he’s toiling away all day, comes home and says, “I just need an hour to decompress,” — well, welcome to never getting laid again.

That just made me laugh out loud.  Could we perhaps see the humour in the whole balancing life thing?  I’m fairly sure our kids and our life partners will survive their time out of the spotlight while we all have a laugh.

And did you see what she did there, by the way?  It’s not about women fighting each other about their life choices and priorities.  It’s about a healthy sex life depending on a mutual escape from the tedious and wearing work of domestic life.  It’s about getting a little bit of respect.  Who can argue with that?


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