mah-widge
I've been thinking, and questioning, the primacy of marriage for people my age lately. Newsweek admits it's wrong, finally, on the whole "women over 40 will never get married" thing. And they've revised a bunch of their statistics about marriage rules that turned out (oops!) to be wrong. These statistics may be right or wrong, but the fact that they, and we, are still obsessed with them is the real story. I also am bemused by the way the Newsweek article speaks directly towards women at the end. Perhaps they realized that women who are romantically bitter or simply bought into goals besides marriage are no fun to date. This tea-leaf reading on divorce is similarly women-focused: don't get married too early or too late, don't skip college, don't marry a second time, or you'll get divorced. Gah. I've been thinking a lot about marriage recently. Is that common, you think, for a woman my age? Should it be? I can only speak for my own experience, but--for once--I won't go generalizing.
I'm back to reading the trashy RedEye at the gym in the mornings, and it's got a little blurb about Kevin Federline. Mr. Britney Spears has been fussing in public about "if I stay home and take care of my kids, then I'm a loafer, not a good father. If I try to have a career, nobody thinks I am caring for my family. I can't win." Also, "I wish people would ask me about my career... [my family] is my pride and joy. But it would be nice for people to look at me like an artist." Somebody call NOW and get that man on the women's issues mailing list. Welcome him to our world.
I've got a lot of fascinating things going on this week, both wonderful and terrible, but none of them are good blog topics. I'm sorry, y'all. Work on the Green Gables sweater proceeds apace, and I'm considering an attempt at short-rows on the bust. (Wish me luck.) The spinning is mostly on hold for the moment, though I've discovered I can make wee bitty skeins with just a few yards of yarn and carry them around like talismans. I'll never knit anything out of them, but dude, it's art. Maybe.
I'm back to reading the trashy RedEye at the gym in the mornings, and it's got a little blurb about Kevin Federline. Mr. Britney Spears has been fussing in public about "if I stay home and take care of my kids, then I'm a loafer, not a good father. If I try to have a career, nobody thinks I am caring for my family. I can't win." Also, "I wish people would ask me about my career... [my family] is my pride and joy. But it would be nice for people to look at me like an artist." Somebody call NOW and get that man on the women's issues mailing list. Welcome him to our world.
I've got a lot of fascinating things going on this week, both wonderful and terrible, but none of them are good blog topics. I'm sorry, y'all. Work on the Green Gables sweater proceeds apace, and I'm considering an attempt at short-rows on the bust. (Wish me luck.) The spinning is mostly on hold for the moment, though I've discovered I can make wee bitty skeins with just a few yards of yarn and carry them around like talismans. I'll never knit anything out of them, but dude, it's art. Maybe.
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