Mrs Metaphor

One day while perusing the internet I was struck by a blog called Mary Kay Sucks. As I have stated in my previous posts on this blog I had never sold or even purchased Mary Kay products and yet I was drawn to the site.

So I’ve been spending some time on this blog which is now called Pink Truth, a name which I find now suits the mission much more aptly.

When I began this series and began to spend the time on Pink Truth I really felt as though I had a neutral stance. After all, I had nothing to gain nor lose in this argument. I was Switzerland. It was fun to watch and fun to comment on what I saw.

The truth is, however that I am not sure how one can truly stay neutral in this case. Neutral implies coasting, cruising through without propelling oneself, moving without noise or effort. As I read the stories of these women and those of the women who still engage in Mary Kay Cosmetics I was moved by the tender and fragile synchonicity of the pieces as they moved together. So much depends upon the other.

At the risk of sounding provacative there has existed a symbiotic relationship between MK as a community and MKsucks. When something happens in one universe it directly applies to the other. Sometimes this would be clothing worn by upper ranking consultants, sometimes it would revolve around emails or notices that had gone out but it was a ripple effect. I often wonder, if the ProMk people and MK corporate had just ignored PT would it just have fizzled to a close at some point? If this was merely a small group of “disgruntled” former and current consultants who “didn’t work hard enough” then certainly, the blog itself would have floundered when the participants felt finished with lamenting, yes? We really can only run on the fuel of negativity for so long and then, I believe most of us will meander toward a different avenue.

It’s the television mentality. We can only watch the same show for a length of time and then we get bored, get a life, get interested in something else, get rid of cable…we are a fickle but drama-loving lot and there is much drama to be found if only we look.

But where I feel PinkTruth is headed is much deeper than that. This is not a television show, a fictional program which ends when the film stops or we stop watching, whichever comes first. This is a chronical of the lives of real people; good and bad and in between. It began as a place to gather and has now progressed into a place to greet. The oldtimers in PT wait at the door, no longer terribly concerned with who is wearing what to Seminar, no longer grousing about which products are being discontinued. They wait at the door to greet newcomers. They answer questions patiently if not pointedly. They sit as the wisewoman in their tent, listening to people as they enter and offer their experience as testimony. Make no mistake, they are driven and have purpose but it it not quite as one might think. It is not a drive to destroy but rather rebuild that which they and others have lost. It is not a purpose of revenge but rather of restoration.

As with most things and people, they fail at times. They fall into old trends of catty commentary and joke-making but it becomes more and more incidental as time progresses. It becomes footnote instead of fodder.

I have heard it said that the word “Protestant” as it refers to the Church is no longer relevant. The Protestant Church is truly no longer protesting, they are creating something of their own. In a sense, Pink Truth is doing this as well. They are no longer merely an extension of the community of Mary Kay Constultants, albeit the unhappy arm of the community.

In the face of injustice how do we respond? Can we truly be neutral in this?

When I want to know how much I weigh I use the high tech fat analyzer scale in the closet of my bathroom. Not only do I want to know my weight but I want to know more than that; of what does that weight consist? I want data, raw numbers to interpret and apply to what I know of my body already.

When I worked in the outside world and wanted to gauge my progress I would lookward my peers, co-workers and collegues. I would see what they did, how they acted, how clean or messy their desk appeared and glean from it what I might to become more successful.

In my current profession, that of mother and domestic goddess I often employ the same means of evaluation although it has morphed into a self depreciating and defeating practice.

I visit houses of my friends and always find myself lacking. Jenny’s home is always spotless and her children well groomed. While Pat’s home is not spotless her children are extremely well behaved and she is incredibly creative with them. Tracy’s home is spotless, her children well behaved, she homeschools, grows and cans her own vegetables and is an unbelievably sweet person. It’s no wonder that I am friends with each of these women. They all possess qualities that I admire.

Aside from being my friends these women are in effect my collegues in this business of parenting and house-tending. It is understandable, I suppose, that I would look to them and their ways when I measure myself in this vocation. The struggle for me is to really see their lives without drawing the negative connotations implied in the different ways we run our proverbial ship.

My home is far from spotless. There is a half hearted but well meaning structure for where things belong. There are days when the floors are clean and the bathrooms smell fine, the laundry put away, the dishes done and all is well with the world. Then there are days when the floor is so sticky it’s embarrassing, the dishes piled high in the sink, the children wearing yesterday’s underwear because the laundry is awaiting my attention. And then we find our moments of what I call “Ordinary Time”. Clean clothes that are not yet put away, clean dishes, still in the dishwasher, sweepable floor and merely a thin layer of dust on the bookshelf.

It seems that I keep house the way I homeschool; a somewhat disorganized but well meaning and “organic” manner. There are days when we stay in our pajamas all day and sit around reading and playing with art stuff. There are days when we hit our “schedule” like clockwork and get all of our subjects finished. There are mainly days, though, that fall in between. Ordinary Time. Half the kids are dressed, half in pajamas. Some have brushed their teeth, others staunchly refuse. The dog’s been fed at least once. We finished our math work and part of the required reading for History. The television has been on for far longer than I even care to admit. These are the nights I quiz my husband and require him to tell me that our children will not be permanently damaged by my lack of follow through. His standard response, “They’re great…they really are” is all I need to hear.

Ordinary time, is where we live. These in between days make up the bulk of the year and yet I find that I still feel as though I’m playing catch up. If given the choice between Slouch Time, Ordinary Time and High Time I guess in the end I’d like to be a slouch with a spotless house on a regular basis. I want it all but I don’t REALLY know anyone who can do this and keep her sanity.

I think back upon my three friends to whom I compare myself.

I can look at each of their lives and see how they differ from mine, I could draw unfavorable comparisons to how well I do things, how they lack just to make myself feel better I suppose. But in the long run, when day is over what really strikes me is that I AM friends with each of them because of the qualities they possess; kindness, faithfulness, joyfulness, creativity just to name a few. I admire these qualities because I have them too whether or not I realize this on a regular basis. What brings us together really is seeing those things in each other that we find to be valuable.

My hope is that I begin to use sentances such as, “what I love about Pat is….” rather than “what makes me jealous of Pat is…”

My hope is that I will begin to live in and through this Ordinary Time… and see how it lives in me.