The October Vumman

Thank you, thank you! to Charlene Haddock Seigfried and Patrick McCormack for their responses to my first "Vummanhood"column (Vol.III, No. 4). I started "Vummanhood" for the purpose of stewing and processing my identity as a postmodern mother and housewife. My "vummanhood" concept grew out of an image of a 1940s hausfrau: a strong, apron-ed woman who was the wageless commander of her home front. Why this particular image tickled me so was that I could idealize this woman as someone having shameless, self-respect for her position as housewife. She didn’t apologize for her figure or fashion, or have to justify the use of her time and energy. Her role had silent, unquestionable significance and purpose.

I hold onto this image of Vumman because I yearn for her shameless self-respect. It’s essential for getting me through the rigors of my daily routine managing a household and the lives of three small boys. I yearn to identify with that idealized image of a woman from 60 years ago, but I never put on an apron or wear support hose with jeans. However, like the 1940s Vumman, I am the operating system, the Outlook, the Quicken, the mitten and permission slip finder, the nurse, the cook, the conversationalist and athletic director, and so on and so on. But what do I look like? Is there a contemporary vision of me? June Cleaver? Carol Brady? On a good day I might feel like Mary Poppins and Mary Tyler Moore all rolled up into one. Sometimes I feel a bit Emeril-ish and even a bit of Martha-ish once in a blue moon. But most of the time I feel exactly like an "indefatigable old beaver" (see Charlene Haddock Seigfried’s letter of William James, POH Vol.IV, no.1). Vummanhood is one tough job.

We expect 21st century women to define themselves by what they do professionally. And before we get around to listening to their answers, we’ve judged them by their degree of physical youth and beauty. And then whether or not they’re married, etc. The challenge of being a vumman is that: 1) you may or may not be married; 2) you are beholden to your genetics as to whether or not your body youthfully endured the rigors of child bearing; and 3) you may or may not have a job outside of vummanhood. A vumman might very well look like an "indefatigable old beaver," but she could very well look like Farah Fawcett too. Even if a woman is a vumman with all the desirables going for her, we’re not so sure we want to visualize her as an unpaid worker wiping snot and clearing dishes. We need to understand the role of vummanhood exactly in those terms, however, terms, which include the gamut of messy tasks. The complex, essential role of a vumman is assumed by an incredible variety of women, not just June Cleavers or wrinkled faces in print dresses. Vummanhood didn’t just disappear when the women’s movement and automatic washers and dryers came along. Yet I think we’re all more comfortable imagining vimmen (pl.) looking like "indefatigable old beavers" wiping snot and clearing dishes, not in the images of executives and super models. Perhaps the 21st century is ready and much in need of a non-corporal image to describe and embody the complex, essential role of a vumman. I offer the following….

A month ago I was taking a walk in my neighborhood and passed a house put into a rather precarious state. It was a charming, old bungalow that had been jacked up off its foundation and was now resting five feet above the ground on a ridiculous looking system of zig-zag supports and metal beams. At the time I was preparing to depart on a long-awaited "trip with the gals" to wine country. In order to leave town I had to write what might be called an "operations manual" for my husband who would be taking over my tasks of vummanhood for four consecutive days. Even though I stuck to what I thought were essential details—things likemedications, school schedules, etc.­-and had no intentions of micro-managing, the length and detail of my lists seemed daunting once all the essentials were spelled out.

In fact the lists seemed practically unreal, as unreal as the temporary support system holding that bungalow five feet off the ground. Then it struck me that one way to describe vummanhood is that it’s like the foundation of a house, the underlying structural support of home life that often goes unnoticed, the unglamorous basement if you will. The arrangements I had to make in order to step out of my role as a vumman for a few days were akin to the zig-zag jacks and I-beams holding up that bungalow, and I was the basement who got up and left town.

It’s midnight and the POH deadline police are at my door, so time to sign off.... Reporting from the trenches, looking forward to your comments,

The Vumman