"The realities of the mothercoin inhabit these silences and seep into the words we use, 'I'm looking for someone to help me clean,' we might say, 'a girl to come in and watch the kids for me.' Rather than hiring an employee, we seek a vague 'someone,' always there to 'help.' Because in a world of discourse and meaning that ignores the reality of the servant class and understands 'women's work' as immaterial to larger economic forces, the outsourcing of such work is wrapped up in lanaguage of consumption, a guilty pleasure of the upper-class woman draped in white across the chaise lounge. As a result, families with real needs find themselves negotiating an industry with unspoken rules and vaguely defined practices, and cloaked in a hazy sense of entitlement that belies the urgency of their situation" (68).
"Yet even as we live these realities, so many of us still think of ourselves in terms of ideals-equal, empowered women, class-blind, and egalitarian. The woman wiping the spilled milk off the counter when we come home at the end of a long day, the one who smiles and collects her things and hugs our children goodnight before slipping out the door to her own foreign reality, shoulders a legacy of servitude that may be something of a thread to those ideals. With one squeeze of a sullied mop, she has subsidized our feminism and reproduced the most glaring of global inequalities right there in our home, on a living room rug still warm with an afternoon of blocks and trains and light-up toys. It's no wonder these conversations make us uncomfortable" (69).
"When we replace the housewife with a low-wage, publicly invisible muchacha, we maintain the same system of gender-based power that women have been resisting for ages. Because the feminist revolution did not dismantle patriarchy, it only allowed some women to participate in patriarchal power" (132).
"So when Rosa tried to calm her daughter's fears as the children gathered around the frying pans and soda pops in their Houston apartment in 1992, she was up against a beast that would not be quieted. And in 2010, when Sara's niece Celia cried for home amid schoolyard shouts of 'wetback' and un unchecked disease with no access to medical care, she joined Lila and a chorus of children who cried over a world in which they or their parents could be taken away. A world where only some have a right to college and jobs and driver's licenses, to medical insurance and the freedom to walk unafraid from school to park to home. They cried over a world where, for them, to be poor and foreign meant to deserve less and, always, to be afraid" (150).
"In this complicated terrain of love, labor, and the innocence of children, the specter of commodification confuses the nature of value [...] This kind of caring practice carries both an 'instrumental' and an 'intrinsic' value. It is productive labor that is quantifiable, that can and should be counted in economic models, and it is also something more- the intangible value of human relationship. There is no separating the nanny's work from her love, the mother's love from her work, and there is no imposing the logic of the market on one and the logic of emotion on the other. There is only the logic of the market on one and the logic of emotion on the other. There is only the logic of relationship. Children know this. To teach them otherwise is its own violence" (163).
"To linger for a moment at the intersection of logical choices and unexplained suffering is to drive a wedge in the gears of the story. It is a stopping place that deserves a voice" (174).
"And though my conversations with these women are bound by the same power structures that shape their work and public lives, the core of the stories yet emerges from the very impulse to fullness that the mothercoin threatens. So that the truth of the telling lies in the voice itself. [...] So that, in content and form, in all this narrative landscape of damaging choices and suffocating limitations, moments of power and agency persist" (178).