Gwyneth Paltrow sat on the veranda sipping cool, tiger tear tea from a Mesopotamian clay pitcher while watching the ants on the street scurry about their empty peasant lives devoid of macrobiotic yoga mats (tasty and utilitarian) and hand-painted starfruit sniffing bowls. Everything was right with the world. Or was it? For soon her mind turned to that fateful moment when she spoke words that were not embraced by the hoi polloi for the knowledgeable colonic they were. Words that simply reinforced the fact that her thespiatic schedule of working one-to-two weeks a year in Wisconsin was a damnable prison compared to the plight of the common mother who knew nothing of better living through $1,800 Chino pants fashioned in Bruges. And so had begun the Mommy Wars. With Tyrion Lannister defending her flanks, she had no reason to appease this riff-raff, but logic prevailed and instructed her that some of them might be wealthy and/or become so soon. And so Gwyneth wrote. She wrote like a woman on fire with passion and peace at her back. Soon, every childbearing woman would rise up and embrace her call to end this war, and then perhaps even sooner after that, purchase a $300 scone holster from her website. Her genius was at full capacity:
[Ed. Note: These are actual words written by Gwyneth Paltrow and not me being a dickhead. I couldn't make this up with all the Martha Stewart Living and pseudotherapy catalogs in the world. I've tried.]
A few weeks ago during an interview, I was asked why I have only worked on one film a year since having children. My answer was this: Film work takes one away from home and requires 12-14 hours a day, making it difficult to be the one to make the kids their lunch, drive them to school, and put them to bed. So I have found it easier on my family life to make a film the exception, and my 9-5 job the rule. This somehow was taken to mean I had said a 9-5 job is easier, and a lot of heat was thrown my way, especially by other working mothers who somehow used my out-of-context quote as an opportunity to express feelings (perhaps projected) on the subject. As the mommy wars rage on, I am constantly perplexed and amazed by how little slack we cut each other as women. We see disapproval in the eyes of other mothers when we say how long we breastfed (Too long? Not long enough?), or whether we have decided to go back to work versus stay home. Is it not hard enough to attempt to raise children thoughtfully, while contributing something, or bringing home some (or more) of the bacon? Why do we feel so entitled to opine, often so negatively, on the choices of other women? Perhaps because there is so much pressure to do it all, and do it all well all at the same time (impossible). Below is a somewhat radical piece by Brigid Schulte, which has provoked many a discussion here in our HQ, and even a tear or two.
To every single mother out there, have a wonderful Mother’s Day.
I’d love to say I read the “radical piece,” but I made it about two paragraphs in before I tried to beat myself to death with a Venetian smelt humidor which was not easy to find. Apparently they only made 200 of them, but you know what they say? If you’re going to store smelt, make sure you store it in a Venetia- holy shit her devil magic is working. Canned cheese! I NEED CANNED CHEESE.