The Martyr Mother in KidLit and Why I’m NOT Here For It.

Staying home with kids is a gift, but it’s also really hard. Going to work when you have kids at home is extremely fulfilling, but also really hard. I know this because I have the privilege of straddling the line between the stay at home mom (SAHM) world, and the working mom world. And I say privilege because I know that I am so lucky to get to do both (even though I sometimes have to remind myself of that). 

When @readwithriver started the #librarianfightclub movement (or at least I hope it becomes a movement), I immediately thought about children’s books that perpetuate some kind of expected “norm” for moms. The first one that came to mind for me was Jesse Bear What Will You Wear by Nancy White Carlstrom. 

This is a book that I read many times as a child, and there are parts of it that I still really love; the relationship between Jesse and his mother, and the simple way they spend their day preparing food and playing outside to name a few. 

There is really only one part of this book that bugs me. And it bugs me a LOT. Throughout the book, Jesse’s mom does everything for him. She gets him dressed in the morning, prepares all his meals, and cleans up all of his messes. Then, around dinner time, dad comes home from work. He hugs Jesse, is involved in about a minute of playtime, and goes inside to read the paper in silence. During dad’s “quiet time” Jesse’s mom somehow manages to prepare tea and snacks for dad, make dinner for the family, and wrangle Jesse into his high chair. 

When I work, it is as a middle school teacher. It is wonderful, creative, exciting, and definitely fills my bucket, but it is also exhausting, and overwhelming, and the workload often feels never-ending. Most middle school teachers (and teachers in general) would probably tell you that the job is harder than it looks. I have also stayed home with my kids, both during quarantine, and in normal times. THIS IS ALSO A HARD JOB. 

When I came back to work from maternity leave the second time, I remember a co-worker asking me how my break was. At six months old, my son still barely slept, so I have few memories of this phase of life, but I think I probably just stared at him in response. Sometimes there is no point in explaining to someone that caring for a colicky, constantly-sick, never-sleeping infant (who is also super cute) is not exactly a “break.” 

What bugs me more than this single comment, however, is the fact that our society oftentimes still views the work of mothers (or stay at home fathers) as “easier” than “real” jobs. 

In Jesse Bear, that mom works ALL DAY. And, like a good martyr mother, she smiles through most of it. (Except for the page where Jesse throws rice everywhere and she gives him a hilariously relatable scowl.) Then dad comes home, and somehow he deserves a break, while mom gets to keep right on working. After Jesse goes to bed at night, do you think that lady bear gets a break? NO! I’m sure she goes on to do all the laundry, dishes, housekeeping, etc. while dad sits on his butt watching football. (Neither my husband or father spend much time watching sports these days, so I promise I’m not projecting here.) 

I know that for many mothers, and fathers, acts of service are important. A lot of women I know find fulfillment by caring for others and their home. I have absolutely nothing against this, and actually find it quite inspiring. As long as it is a choice. 

I know that I am not the only one of my friends who has, at times, found motherhood dehumanizing. Not because I don’t love my kids, but because I am expected to love them more than myself. Moms are expected to do everything, and be everything for everyone around us. Since our work isn’t viewed as “work,” we’re often not given the breaks or support we deserve. When I go to my teaching job, I have a literal team of people supporting me, including my husband, babysitters, preschool teachers, colleagues, boss, union, etc. The list goes on and on. 

When I’m in my stay-at-home role, however, it’s just me. No prep period, no lunch break, no final bell. Sometimes, on the hard days, I’ll call my husband (or, now, since we’re in quarantine and working from home, yell into the office) that I’m ready for my “union break.” Because we have worked and worked and worked on making sure that we support eachother and share the load at home, he will laugh, and then come take over for me. 

While I love the sweetness of Jesse Bear, I am in a place in my life where I just can’t get past the unfairness of it all. And one day, perhaps soon, I’ll find the time to rewrite the story. In my version, Jesse’s mom will still love and care for him with all of her heart, but she will also get to sit and read in the evening while dad does the dishes. Without her asking him to.