it’s only monday
but our third-wheel insisted
on bottle service.
Two years ago today, I started working from home. Well, more precisely: two years ago today, I went back into the office after we had gotten an email the night prior suggesting we all stay home. I thought, “oh wow, if I’m going to be at my home office for the next couple of weeks, I don’t want to be stuck without a proper keyboard.”
After what was anticipated to be a short period of collective sacrifice to “flatten the curve,” we all have 2+ years’ worth of reflections on this life-changing chapter. I’ll document some in the coming days, mostly for my own sake remembering how bizarre much of this was.
For me personally, the first few weeks of “shut down” were spent vacillating between private existential fear (in the most literal sense) and – eventually – clear-headed resolve.
My dad worked in an Emergency Department amid PPE shortages, and then went home to my mom. The cases were ticking up in our area, but I waited a few days before calling to ask him how the hospital looked. Prior to that, I knew I wouldn’t have been able to get through the conversation without crying. Reports from Italian doctors kept me up at night.
My children were 4, 2, and 8 months. Their young immune systems felt impossibly fragile compared to this invisible threat – novel to our entire species. I took every step I could to mitigate risks based on the daily, shifting understanding of the virus: I wore gloves pumping gas, I scrubbed our groceries, I left packages in the garage for days to reduce surface contamination. We sent our nanny home with pay and somehow (actual definition: “in one way or another not known or designated” — because I truly could not tell you how we managed this) kept working our full-time jobs while taking care of our children who were too young to consider YouTube a babysitter.
It was during one particularly overwhelming, private moment that I had a revelation: preemptive worry is pointless. There could indeed come a time when worry would be warranted, but that time was not here yet. Preemptive sadness and anxiety would not help me now, and would also not reduce any sadness and anxiety later. Realizing that, I turned a mental corner of resolve and, perhaps, a generous dose of repression.
With my newfound philosophy, I turned my attention to the base of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs & optimizing my grocery runs like the highest-stakes military mission. This, as you will soon come to appreciate, warrants its own post entirely.
(AS OBSERVED FROM A HOUSE FULL OF TINY MEN)
When I was younger, I imagined the type of girl I might raise. She would be confident; emboldened by her own abilities. She would be strong; assured of her intrinsic and extrinsic power. She would play sports, program computers, and demand excellence and equal treatment from the company she kept. I was certain I could contribute this gift – a capable daughter – to the world’s next generation.
I then went on to marry a man who does not contribute X chromosomes.
It was sometime between my second and third son that the gravity of raising boys really dawned on me:
I am the female archetype for them that will showcase women’s capabilities.
I am a primary player in their model of marriage and partnership.
I am responsible for demonstrating to them what womanhood entails and how it is sometimes distinct — and sometimes indistinguishable — from manhood.
Multiplied by 4 boys. No pressure.
3 things I have tried to emphasize thus far:
- Body differences – with no shame attached.
At this stage especially, there is no delusion of modesty in our home. Partially because I’m (often: see here) a nursing mother, and partially because not all of our bathroom door locks work properly. Regardless, I try to use medical terms to refer to body parts, with no judgment or shame. They are aware that I don’t have the option to stand and pee without making a mess, though I’ll be frank that the anatomical argument falls apart when we discuss the messes they nevertheless handily make while standing themselves. - Female friendships.
I have encouraged and nurtured the boys’ friendships with girl classmates. Around the age of 3, they seem to gravitate towards hanging around in daycare with kids of their own sex, but at least as far as 6+, it seems more incidental because any time I suggest inviting a girl friend to play, they’re equally as excited and have a fantastic time together. - Value beyond aesthetics.
When the boys were younger, I asked Dave to switch the adjectives he used to describe me in front of them. Instead of his standard “you look great” comment, he started saying things like “you are so ambitious.” “Did you guys see that? Mama is so strong.” “Lookin’ real accomplished there, Babe!” I want them to be thinking differently about the ways to evaluate the people around them — and women should not be primarily evaluated based on looks. (Side note: I made a soft commitment to myself to never speak badly of my appearance in front of them. If I have it my way, they will always believe their mother recognizes and internalizes the strength and beauty of her body — regardless of how it looks to others or ages over time.)
Time will tell how I execute on this mission. My hope is that one day I will contribute this — my gift to the world’s next generation: men who see women far beyond their physical appearances, who count on the insight and world-view of their female friends, who are allies, and equal partners… and who treat a request to pick up tampons at the store as no more contentious than picking up shampoo or deodorant.
- Iced coffee year-round. I get it.
- “Being rich doesn’t mean her horse can’t die/ her husband can’t die/ she can’t die/ she can wear a hat well.”
- “My willingness to judge something should be proportional to how much I know about it” or “Nine-year-old me was not in fact smarter than Toyota engineers.” — a great philosophy either way.
- Happy Friday!
