"Do you want us to give up our homes?" cries the Average Mind. "Must we live in hotels, eat in restaurants?"
No, dear Average Mind.
Every family should have its own home; and it ought to be a real home, with a real garden. Among the homes and gardens should stand the baby-house with its baby-gardens; and quite apart from these fair homes should stand the Workshops. The Cleaning Establishment, the Laundry—the Cookshop; the Service Bureau; each and all in charge of its Genius—its special person who likes that kind of work and does it well.
The home, quiet, sweet and kitchenless, will be visited by swift skilled cleaners to keep it up to the highest sanitary standards; the dishes will come in filled with fresh, hot food, and go out in the same receptacle, for proper cleansing; the whole labor of "housekeeping" will be removed from the home, and the woman will begin to enjoy it as a man does. The man also will enjoy it more. It will be cleaner, quieter, more sanitary, more beautiful and comfortable, and far less expensive.
And what of the average woman?
She will cease to exist. She will become specialized as every civilized person must be. She will not be a woman less, but a human being more. And in these special lines of genius, domestic and maternal, she will lift the whole world forward with amazing speed. The health, the brain-power, the peace of mind, of all our citizens will be increased by the work of the Mother-Genius and maintained by the Domestic Genius.
Have you never known one of those born mothers, with perhaps some training as a kindergartner added; who loves to be with children and whom children love to be with? She is healthy and happy in her work, and the children she cares for grow up with fewer tears, with better constitutions, with strong young hearts and clear brains to meet life's problems.
Have you never compared such a mother and such children with those we see commonly about us? The mother, nervous, irritable, unfit for her work and not happy in it; a discontented person, her energies both exhausted and unused. What she wastes in uncongenial effort she might spend joyfully in work she was fit for.
Have you never seen the sullen misery, the horrible impotent rage, the fretful unhappiness of mishandled children? Not orphans; and not "neglected"; not physically starved or beaten; but treated with such brutal clumsiness that their childhood is clouded and their whole lives embittered and weakened by the experience?
Are we so blinded by the beautiful ideal of motherhood as it should be, that we continually overlook the limitations of motherhood as it is?