On Second Acts and Second Chances

Recently -- this past August -- I changed jobs.

God, I was so optimistic.  This was the thing that would take me to the next phase of my career.  The next level.  It was going to be great.

It was going to be My Second Act.

Except that it wasn't.  It didn't work for me or for my family.  The people at the new job were nice, but it just didn't fit for me, for my family.  Maybe I didn't fit.

I knew pretty quickly that I had made a mistake.

We all, my family, were miserable.

You might say, "Surely, you should have given it more time, Working Mom."

Some might say that, yes.

But I will tell you something about being fifty-two years old:

Somewhere around age 50, you receive the gift of clarity.  (Well, I did anyway.)  More time would have been more misery . . . and, indeed, it was more misery, months more while I figured things out and allowed processes to do their thing.

But I was literally depressed as I watched things fall apart.

My Second Act was not so much an act, but an intermission.

Still, I knew that this was a terrible mistake.

Giving it more time would not have made it better.

So I called my old boss, and I told him that I'd made a mistake.

Actually, no, first I called two of my old co-workers, friends, and I told them that I'd made a mistake.  And I sobbed and sobbed.  Real regret.  I asked them if they thought that my old boss would take me back.  They said, "Yes," and encouraged me to call.

And THEN I called . . . and I got good news.  After jumping through a lot of hoops, I could come back.

My Second Chance.

I still beat myself up about having, as I thought at the time, done this thing to my family and my co-workers at my old (soon to be new) job . . . and at the new job, soon to be old, too.

But . . . .

One of my work friends, from the job I left and have now returned to, told me that I shouldn't feel foolish because I had learned something from this and that is valuable.  She's right.

When I told my sister-in-law what my work friend had said, she added, "She's not wrong.  Even at this age, if we aren't failing at things, it means we've stopped learning."

Another of my work friends said not to feel foolish because it's not like I'd left my son and husband to join a biker gang.  I told her that, while that was true, I sometimes felt like I had done the professional equivalent of that.

Not that the firm I joined, ever so briefly, was anything like a biker gang, not even close. There were a lot of really nice people there.  But the disruption that it caused in my family and my professional life felt like a similar sort of existential violence.

I did feel foolish, despite the words of my wonderful friends and sister (in law).

But I have come to see that, they're all right.

Growing, learning, and not having done the WORST thing to my family and my career . . . it's been a valuable lesson . . . a series of valuable lessons.

As midlife crises go, this one was pretty gentle, really.  (Because I will live to be 104, obvs.)

And ultimately, I have emerged with gratitude and a better appreciation for what I need versus what I want.  And so . . . .

My Second Chance, as it turns out, is My Second Act.

The COVID-Telework Diary: Day 36, Beginning of Week 6, in which I contemplate a thing that I did.

I put a color conditioner through my hair this weekend, which dyed the lighter parts of my hair a lovely, pale blue.

I truly, honestly love it.  I may just always have blue streaks, now that I've done it.  I plan to run the rinse through my hair again tonight to try to darken up the streaks a little bit.  Because why not?

I am, of course, not the only person doing things to their hair during this COVID-19 social distancing period.  Enough people are doing it that others are writing article about it.  And this quote from an article in Allure struck me:

"Hyperfocusing on the physical can be an attempt to escape the emotional; and in the midst of a global pandemic, everyone is experiencing new, sometimes scary emotions (fear, sadness, existential dread) in new, sometimes scary ways (home, alone, with no diversions)."

Even though I do sincerely like how my hair looks with the blue streaks, I think a little bit of escape is going on here for me too.  I think that putting a blue rinse through my hair and getting instant blue highlights is also helping me work through my anxiety.

I've had anxiety all my adult life -- probably all of my life, really. I've mostly dealt with it without medications, though there was a period early-ish in my career in which I had a couple of prescriptions to help me get through the day. Changing jobs eventually made the medications unnecessary, but there were many days early in my career when I would need to place a half a Xanax under my tongue just to calm down enough to be able to work.

Anxiety steals your focus and confuses your thinking.  It makes monsters and creates invisible enemies. It turns your psychological distress into a perceived physical threat.  You really do feel fight-or-flight, but it's your own thoughts that you need to fight or flee, so you feel trapped, causing you more distress. It's an ugly condition. And it's not simply enough to tell yourself to calm down when you're in the midst of an anxiety attack. You have to figure out how to break the cycle. Xanax can do that chemically.  But when you're not taking medication, you need other ways.

For me, anxiety is a lot about control, or the lack of it. The less in control I feel, the more anxious I can become, and the faster I can slip into a cycle of anxious dread and full on anxiety attacks.

For the past more-than-a-decade, since I changed my career focus (if not subject matter), I've dealt with my anxiety with lifestyle type stuff:  exercise, rigorous scheduling and planning, lists, meditation, the dog, magnesium, Disneyland (for real), wine, chocolate, mint tea, making sure I get enough sleep, setting and enforcing clear boundaries between work and home and self . . . .

That last one, the boundaries, has really been difficult to do during this quarantine time.  It's important to do, but with work and home and recreation all being in the same place, the lines are difficult to draw and maintain.

So I think that, this weekend, I drew them in my hair.

The blue:  It makes me feel lighter.  It makes me happy.  I like the way I look.  Importantly:  This is a thing I can control absolutely.  And feeling that certainty, feeling the control, is calming.  In a world where there is so little I can control right now, and in which there is so much to fear, having a little bit of control, however frivolous, is important.

And so, it's not just that blue is traditionally a color associated with calm and so my blue hair calms me. This blue is part fashion and part meditation. It is my certainty and my control. And, being that, it delivers to me inner peace.

Have a good week, friends.

The COVID-Telework Diary: Day 22, Beginning of Week 4, Anonymous 49.6 Year Old Female

I've been having a hard time.

I'm scared.  I feel safe in my house and I feel like my family is safe.  We have developed systems here that I think are the best we can do to keep ourselves safe in our house.  It has been more than three weeks since we have really had to go out into public at all.  I haven't been anywhere beyond my neighborhood (other than a recreation drive in the car) since we started shelter-in-place, and the only place my husband has been is the drive-up window at the pharmacy to pick up our son's and his mom's medicine.  Anything and everything else we need we have delivered.

But we can't be here forever.  We won't be here forever.  Eventually, we will have to go back out into the world.  And there will not be a vaccine to protect us.  Our systems won't protect us out there.  We will have to develop protocols to come back into our house.  My husband can dress fairly casually to work.  I will be in a suit most days.  How does one sanitize a suit?

I made two face masks this weekend.  It was hard.  The fabric is thick, which is a good thing, and I'm terrible at pleats.  (Plus, the tension on my thread got screwed up on the second one, which slowed me down, but I fixed it.)  I need to make more, though.  I need to make at least enough to last each member of my family for a week.  That's a lot of masks -- 21 masks.  It's going to take a long time to make those masks.  And, yes, I know that two-ply cotton masks (even if they are made from high-thread-count Laura Ashley sheets) are not tremendously effective at stopping the virus, but they're better than just relying on our nose hairs to do the filtering before the air gets to our lungs.

I have a very public-facing job.  I am literally in court nearly every week, sometimes multiple times a week.  And those courtrooms are filled with people.  Sure, the Court is going to video court soon and my office is going to telephonic meetings of creditors.  But, again, that can't last forever.  Can it last until there is a vaccine?

Will there ever be a vaccine?

I input my information into the COVID-19 Survival Calculator.  Here are my results (which were somewhat amusingly entitled "anonymous 49.6 year old female"):

The 52.9% infection risk scared the shit out of me.  Basically, I, who have been sheltering in place with all the precautions I can think of -- we wash the dog's feet after every walk, FFS! -- have a 53% chance of getting this disease.  But the mortality risk and survival probability were heartening.  From what I have read of first hand accounts like this one, though, having this disease is awful, even if you're not hospitalized.

I had the flu in March of 2017 and there were a couple of days when I really could not move without great effort and I had fleeting thoughts of "so this is how this bug could kill someone." And compared to what I have read about COVID-19, that really bad case of the flu I had for merely a week was a walk in the park.  I don't want to get this disease.  I don't want my husband or my child or my parents or my in-laws or my brother's family or my friends or my work colleagues or even those other lawyers that I may not like very much to get this disease.

Nevertheless, I'm bending my mind to the idea, attempting to accept the idea, coming to terms with the idea that one of us will probably get it.  Maybe more than one of us.  And the best I can hope for is . . . we suffer a miserable two to four week illness at home, not requiring hospitalization, and that we do not spread it further?

So, I've been having a hard time.  I've been depressed.  I've felt a little hopeless . . . a lot hopeless.

I cried when I walked the dog this morning.  Not single-tear-down-the-cheek crying . . . audibly sobbing, that was me, as I walked the dog.  Not loudly, but audibly.  Like, if there'd been someone on the other side of the street walking their dog, they'd have heard me and looked in my direction.  Mournful.

I guess I am in mourning.  But for what?  For my old life, my pre-novel-coronavirus life?  The halcyon days when I could scratch my eyes, pick my nose, and do facepalms with impunity?  Maybe I'm prematurely mourning the loss of the safety I feel in my home now, the loss that will come in a month . . . or maybe two . . . when we have to go back into out there.

I even told the people at work on our MS Teams chat (which is now and, I think, shall ever be, an omnipresent distraction on my desktop) that I was not doing very well this morning.  It's not like me to own stuff like that very often.  I'm as stiff-upper-lipped as a girl from East Texas can be, I suppose.  I push a lot of stuff down.  Probably not healthy, but I do it.  But I couldn't keep it down this morning.  I couldn't keep it down as I walked the dog and tried to image going back out into the world where, to me, the novel coronavirus is everywhere.  I couldn't keep it down when I logged onto work and it was all just too much.

Almost immediately, one of my lovely colleagues sent me a private message commiserating and trying to buck me up.  Another two with whom I regularly text, took it to private texts and urged me to take care of my mental health.  All three of them were just what I needed.  I felt better.  We are all suffering.  We have our ebbs and flows.  Today, I ebbed and these three wonderful ladies flowed toward me.  One day, it will be my turn to flow toward them.  We all, every one of us, need each other now in ways we never have.  Now, is the time to lean in, but not in the way Sheryl Sandberg meant several years ago.  Now, is the time to lean into and on each other.  I think it's the only way we get through this.

The COVID-Telework: Day 18, I'm so tired.

By Wednesday, I am tired.  It is hard to get out of bed.  It is hard to walk the dog.  It is hard to do my job.  It is hard to be a substitute teacher for at-home school.  It is hard to stay focused on anything.  It is hard not to lose my patience with people or things or animals.  This thing we are doing is hard.

Things that make it easier:

• Hugs and cuddles.
• Coffee.
• Chocolate.
• Ice cream.
• More hugs and cuddles.
• Fun books to read.
• Star Wars, anything.
• Specifically, Star Wars: The Clone Wars, Season 7.
• Cheese.
• Tortilla chips with salsa.
• Ranch dressing.
• Dried pineapple.
• Walks with the dog.
• Watching the Boy play.
• Reading the Boy's writing, which is surprisingly good.
• Text messaging silliness with my friends at work about work and about not-work. 

And one more thing:  checking on others to make sure they are okay.  That makes it better, makes it easier.  Try reaching out to someone else and check on them.  Make sure they're okay.  It will lift your spirits.

Have a good weekend, friends.  Hang in there.  Stay safe.

The COVID-Telework Diary: Day 16, Let's Talk about Video Conference Calls

My immediate superior in my organization, it should be said at the outset, has always been a fan of Skype for Business.

I have not.

I don't like feeling like I'm in a fishbowl. I don't like that I feel rude if I have to (or want to) look at something that's not within the field of view of the other people on the call.  I don't like that if you want to roll your eyes or pull some other face, you can't because everyone will see you.

I don't like how I look on the screen.  Is that what I look like?

Last week, my immediate supervisor started trying to test out Skype for Business.  She'd place random calls through the device -- voice-only calls and video calls.  And with no or little warning.  I know that the efforts were (probably) sincere, but they felt like bed checks, especially since I was also trying to help my son with his school iPad and trying to keep him on task while I also did my non-impromptu-testing-of-Skype work.

All that testing revealed that Skype for Business took an enormous amount to bandwidth.  Our weekly attorney meeting last week was via video on Skype, but all the sound was via our office conference call line.  That's the only way we could do it which is to say it was unworkable.  And especially unworkable when we know that the courts are considering moving to video court.  We need the flexibility to be able to appear in court via video.

(Video court will also mean, of course, that we will have to get dressed in suits in our houses, at least from the waist up.  And that feels silly . . . silly, but necessary, though.)

So by the end of last week, our agency suddenly switched to MS Teams.  I say "suddenly" because nothing happens quickly in government, but in exigent circumstances, even the wheels of government can turn quickly, I suppose.

We impromptu-tested MS Teams yesterday. (I was troubleshooting my son's iPad again, naturally, when the unannounced and unanticipated call came through.)  It did actually work better.  (But my hair looked a fright.)

Today, we had our first real meeting with MS Teams.  I took the trouble to fix my hair (hair dryer and a round brush) and put on a little make up for the first time in over a week -- even lipstick.  I should note that I did this for me to make me feel better about looking at myself on the screen.  Also, I put a pair of R2-D2 earrings on and a gray cardigan over my Yoda t-shirt.  (It says, "Always in motion the future is.")

The meeting went okay, I guess.  I think that we could just as easily have done this by not-video conference call.  I don't know why we have to look at each other while we talk about stuff.  Again, my inability to pull faces during these meetings hurts me.  Actually, though,  I do pull faces, but now I know that I do it -- unlike in face-to-face meetings when I'm not looking at a tiny image of myself at the bottom of the screen making faces.  So, really, it just adds to my, "What are people thinking of me" unnecessary stress.  But anyway . . . .  They're happening.  They will continue to happen for the foreseeable future, so I and my overly expressive face had better get used to it.

Nighty-night, friends.

The COVID-Telework Diary: Day 15, Beginning of the Third Week

Well, Week 3.  How are we all doing?  What can we say?  I hope you're doing okay.

We've had technical difficulties on all three fronts:  my work, husband's work, kid's school.  Some of them are being worked out, some of them are ongoing.  We will muddle through.  We have to.

The good news for us is that, after 14+ days in isolation, none of us are displaying symptoms.  Well, not consistently, anyway.  On the weekend, for instance, I had a dry cough and I didn't feel quite right.  The pollen count was through the roof over the weekend.  Still, I checked my temperature a couple of times.  "Is 98.8 the sort of low grade fever they're talking about?"  Fortunately, I did not continue to register even a minuscule fever.  And, after taking three different types of OTC allergy medication (Allegra, Zyrtec, and Flonase), I felt much better.

We have several friends on the front line of this war against an invisible enemy:  doctors, nurses, other medical professionals.  I worry about them all, and their families.

We have a friend who works in the oil and gas industry who still has to go to work so that there's still fuel for the country.  I worry about him and his family too.

My fellow bankruptcy lawyers are bracing for the flood of both individual and business bankruptcies that will inevitably follow this crisis.  It will be sad and it will be hard . . . like after 9/11, but more cases across the country.

Also, how many desserts is it okay to have after lunch and/or dinner?  Three?  Is three the right number?  I think it is.  I think any number is the right number when you're under extreme and prolonged stressed.  Go get another cookie.

This afternoon, I had a telephonic hearing and, despite there being a sign on the door not to enter,

The Boy came running in with a Lego problem.  Thank goodness that the phone was on mute.  Signs, apparently, are ineffective in the face of an issue with your Lego man's arm.

Hang in there, friends, I think we've got several more weeks of this ride to go.

The COVID-Telework Diary: Day 8, A Shelter in Place Order and School is in Session

Day 8, March 23, 2020

Dallas County is under a shelter-in-place order that takes effect today at 11:59 p.m. and extends through, at least, April 3rd.  Don't count on it lifting on April 3rd, folks.  I think we are in for AT LEAST a month (more like six weeks).  County Commission Clay Jenkins (who, let's face it, is a badass making unpopular decisions in the face of a genuine public health crisis) shared a graphic when giving his announcement of the stay-at-home order that shows our hospitals being overwhelmed by approximately April 12th if there were no order to stay home.  Here it is.

Pretty terrifying, huh?  So, stay home, Dallas County Friends.  (Really, the rest of you should do that too. A regional shelter-in-place will be more effective than a patchwork county-by-county process.)

And in the face of this, The Boy started his distance learning today, or what I've been calling School at Home.  Because this really isn't homeschooling . . . homeschooling does not really have an independent school district pushing curriculum to the students and a teacher supervising remotely while the parents supervise at home.

Anyway, School at Home started and it was cute at first, him sitting next to me working on his iPad doing his daily check in with his teacher.

We were off to a good start, but . . . 

. . . soon there were technical difficulties.

Videos wouldn't load.  Documents wouldn't download.  It wasn't clear to us how assignments were to be turned in.  I emailed the teacher more times that I wish I needed to.  I wondered whether other parents were also having these issues, but I didn't actually text anyone to ask because I was doing my day job at the same time.  Holy crap, this was HARD.  He needs my help.  My work needs my attention.  Too much all at once.

My usual day-to-day is me focused on work followed by me focused on parenting.  Seriatim, a we lawyers like to say.  Now, I must do both at the same time.  Eodem tempore.

And lots of you must be doing both as well.  And, even if you're not, will you join me in a cleansing virtual yell?

YAAAAARRRRR!

Sigh.  That's better.  But, you know, you roll with it.  Technical difficulties happen.  They are stressful.  They are (usually) temporary.  I was locked out of my work computer for no discernible reason this morning.  We resolved it.  And we also resolved the boy's technical issues too, thanks to suggestions from his very helpful teacher.  Imagine her job today, fielding emails like mine from who knows how many parents.

Hang in there, folks.  We are going to make it while we flatten this curve.

The COVID-Telework Diary: Day 5

The Working Mom's Guide to

Pandemic Teleworking

1.  Be patient with technology.

Say that your work cell phone keeps sending you to look at text messages when what you're trying to check is your voice mail.  Resist the urge to throw that piece of crap against the wall.  Do what any good 80s teen would do with technology:  Turn it off and turn it back on again.  Also, you may experience latency in your broadband.  With multiple people using it all the time, you are bound to have connectivity issues.  It's okay.  Everyone else is in this boat with you.  Well, metaphorically, in this boat with you . . . we're all socially distancing, so we are all in our separate little boats.

2.  Be gentle with your family.

I know your kid is driving you nuts -- asking you to play when you're trying to work on a document, watching cartoons when you're trying to do a conference call, refusing to do the homeschool work you've given him (even though, let's face it, it's not required of him . . . you just want him to do it).  I know your spouse might be doing some things you think are a little much -- bleaching the countertops A LOT, bringing home all the canned black beans, using lots of hand sanitizer even though you're just in your house.  But you are also doing things that are driving them nuts and that seem a little much.  Be gentle.

3.  Exercise at least once a day.  

Your brain and your body need the exercise.  You need the break.  I have been trying to walk my dog two to three times a day, weather permitting.  If you decide to go for a walk for exercise, here is my social distancing tip:  Sharing the sidewalk means more than just stepping aside and letting someone go past, now.  To properly maintain social distance, you need to cross the street and not be within 6 feet of that other person.  You're not being an a-hole; you're being prudent. Wave at your neighbor from that distance and call out a friendly "hello" to them.

4.  Don't "diet."

I'm actually not a big fan of "diets" anymore.  Unless you are going to be on that "diet" forever (and you might be, but most of us don't do that), every "diet" is virtually guaranteed to work only temporarily until you eventually give it up and go back to your old eating patterns.  (To me, "dieting" and the diet industry is designed to set you up for failure and all the negative feelings that such "failure" brings to the dieter who has "messed up." I could write a whole blog post about this -- and maybe I will one day -- but my point now is that the last thing you need right now is the additional pressure of a restrictive eating plan.)  Instead of "dieting," nurture yourself with the food you have.  And, honestly . . . bake the cookies, eat the ice cream, enjoy the chocolate. munch the chips, savor the cheese. Do not beat yourself up.  Do not uses negative words to describe these actions . . . you have not "failed," you have not "screwed up," you have not "been bad."  You have eaten something that you enjoy at time when you are under immense stress.  This is not failure, or screwing up, or being bad.  This is living.

5.  Each day, have a clear and definite stop time for work.

With your office and your home one-and-the-same now, it would be very easy to let work consume you and your day.  You need the break.  Have a hard stop.  Turn off the laptop.  Turn off the phone.  Don't pick it up again until the next day.  Give yourself downtime.  Sure, sure, there might be emergencies that force an exception to this rule.  But those emergencies don't happen every day.  Most of what we are working on can wait until tomorrow.  You need this time away from work for the same reason you need the exercise.

6.  Be kind to and patient with yourself.

Working from home with a kid (or kids) and a spouse (if you have one) there too is HARD.  There are distractions.  There is noise.  You will get frustrated.  You will fly off the handle.  Give yourself a break.  (And, apologize for losing your cool if you do.)  If you feel like you might erupt, see #3 above.  Exercise will help break that tension.  And when your work day is done -- because you will be done each day, right? -- do something fun for yourself, whatever that may be.  Give yourself the right to enjoy something during this rather unenjoyable time.  And have that cookie while you're doing it.

Have a good weekend, friends.

The COVID-Telework Diary: Days 3 and 4

Day 3 -- Wednesday, March 19, 2020

Every day, for the past several days, it's been rainy, overcast, damp, and dark.  And this morning when I walked the dog was no exception.  There were massive puddles from last night's rainstorm.  The clouds still hung low in the sky dusting me with droplets of mist.

The weather cast a mood for a pandemic.  Isolation weather.  In your imagination, you picture people suffering from the plague or the Spanish flu or small pox or cholera in darkened rooms under overcast skies.  It's dark, the world is dark, and people are sick and dying.

When I called into my telephonic hearing this morning at 9:30 a.m., the world outside was still dark, unwelcoming, brooding, even threatening.  It's dangerous out here -- dark weather, a mysterious virus, dark times.

But sometime during the 2+ hours that I sat on the phone listening to other people talking, and talking a little bit, the clouds parted.

When I took the dog for a walk at noon, the sun was dazzlingly bright, almost obnoxious in its brilliance after so many overcast days.  The heat felt good on my skin and the top of my head.  I could almost feel summer streaks starting to form in my honey-colored hair.  I vaguely worried that the small strip of scalp at my part might get burned.  The sky was robin's egg blue with cottony clouds, no more storm clouds for the moment.  A slight breeze blew my hair into my face and I left it there because it felt nice.  My dog veritably pranced down the sidewalk with a trot that seemed to smile at everything he passed.

This is not pandemic weather.  And yet it is.  Dallas County reported 11 new COVID-19 cases today, bringing the total number of cases in Dallas County to 39.  The stricken range in age from teens to 70s, and one person is critical.

So, until the next rain storm, we live in this incongruity, with spring emerging, while we all hide from each other and a threat we can't see or know whether we've encountered.  Sunny, happy skies and social distance.  It wasn't always rainy and dark in the times of the plague or cholera.  They also suffered the brutal reality of an infectious disease in the light of a pleasant, sunny day.

And later in the afternoon, as if the world knew that we were still under a metaphorical cloud, real clouds started rolling in again, and by evening, another storm was brewing.

Day 4 -- Thursday, March 19, 2020

Today, I fixed my hair for the first time since I've been teleworking.  I put powder on my face, tinted lip balm on my lips, and mascara on my eyelashes.  I put on R2-D2 earrings, a Cub Scout bracelet that says "helpful," my watch, and my wedding band.  I have tired of seeing my disheveled self in the mirror.  And to get just a little cleaned up, makes me feel better.  I don't really do much to fix my hair on a daily basis, nor do I wear a lot of make-up -- not much more than I have on now -- day to day.  But to do it was a small exercise in self-care.  And we need to be doing that to preserve our sanity while we hunker down.  Do something for yourself too.

The COVID-Telework Diary: Days 1 and 2

I know, I know.  I only ever write blog posts anymore when there's some major upheaval at work.

"What about parenting in these our modern times?," you ask.

"What about your diatribes on feminisms and leaning in?," you query.

"What," you interpose, "about Mom Jeans?"

Those are good questions.  (For answers to the first two, please see my prior years' posts.  My positions have not changed.  For the Mom Jeans, check out the high waisted, curvy, straight leg or barely boot jeans at Talbots. Yes, you may have to size down a size, which will make you feel super skinny.  Also good are their "skinny" jeans, but you'll need to buy those true to size.)

But back to work upheaval posts:

In years past, you've watched me write my way through various government shutdowns . . . or near shutdowns.  And we've had a good time with that, right?  I mean, maybe?

But this is something different:  Something, entirely, completely, and profoundly different.

This time, my dear reader, you are here with me.  This time, you also are experiencing a major office upheaval.  We all are.

More and more offices are closing their physical doors and opening wide their virtual doors.  Each day, more and more of us who can are working from home.

Our kids are home too.  So soon, in addition to our working from home, we will also be educating at home. We may not have written the curriculum and the lessons, but we will be the people responsible for making sure that the kid does his school work and doesn't, for instance, binge-watch Ninjago or play Super Smash Bros on his Nintendo Switch all afternoon.

Working parenting is always hard. We clock off one job and, clock into the second one, the one we like better (usually -- even when our co-worker is petulant and yells at us when their shower water is a nano-degree too hot), but it's still work after the work-a-day job is done.

Now, though, we will work both jobs at the same time.  We will parent; we will educate; we will continue to do the work we are paid to do.  All at once.  All jumbled and piled on top of each other.

Tomorrow morning, I have a telephonic hearing at 9:30 a.m.  I have already told my sweet little co-worker that the house needs to be very quiet tomorrow morning while mommy is on the phone with the court.  I've actually already handled several calls with him playing nearby with no disturbances or trouble, but a hearing is different.  It's formal.  You can't have extraneous noises.  Noises can turn into fines and sanctions when you're participating in a telephonic hearing.  So I'm a bit concerned about that, but I expect he'll be the good boy he has been being the last two days.  Today, he said, when I was answering my phone, "I'm going to go into the other room for Mommy."  He's a sweetie-man.

I should mention that my office is not officially 100% telework yet.  It will be by the end of the day tomorrow.  I have, however, been teleworking since Monday because my son's school was closed starting March 16th.  My co-workers (the law office ones, not the little one at my house) join me in the perpetual virtual office bright and early Thursday morning.

Non sequitur:  I had to practice Skype this afternoon with my immediate supervisor and one of the other attorneys.  I shared my home screen with the other two.  I don't like Skype.  I look weird.  (Maybe I just look weird?)

The tension with this not-shut-down, this shift to the completely virtual office is different.  Actually, I don't feel particularly tense at all about working from home . . . except for background noise in telephonic hearings and that godforsaken Skype.  I think that my son will be the good kid that he is and I think that we will be able to balance lawyer work and school work fairly easily.

I do feel tension about this disease, COVID-19.  I don't want to get it.  I don't want my husband to get it.  I don't want my mother in law or my parents to get it. I don't want my son to get it (even though he's just a kid and would likely fare the best of all of us).  I don't want my brother's family or any of my in-laws or other extended family to get it.  I don't want my friends or their families to get it.

And yet, I expect to hear about someone I know . . . or one of their relatives . . . contracting this disease.  I fear that it's already in the community.  I worry that we don't know the extent of the "community spread."  I honestly don't want to be around anyone, now.

When I walk the dog, I cross the street constantly to avoid coming within six feet of another person.  And I think that this is how I will walk the dog for weeks.  Months?

I keep wondering whether we will be more like Italy or more like South Korea.  I think we will know which way we are headed by this time next week.

So, with this somewhat lack-luster first post of the COVID-Telework Diary . . . and with that somewhat despondent note . . . I leave you with a hopefully lighter-in-spirit injunction:

Be gentle, friends, with yourself, with your family, and with others. 

We are in for a long ride.

Try to make it easy.

MEternity Leave

Seriously, are we really going to have to have this conversation?  I guess we really are. 

Meghann Foye has written a novel in which the main character fakes a pregnancy in order to get paid maternity leave. She calls it "MEternity" leave. http://www.people.com/article/meternity-meghann-foye-maternity-leave-without-kids

Foye says that she came up with the concept when she became envious of her co-workers who were parents who had this ready-made reason to leave work early: the kids. And, she said, the childfree folks were expected to pick up the slack. 

The fact is, before I had kids, I had similar thoughts and similar feelings. In a sense, I know where she's coming from. 

But the solution isn't coming up with this kind of offensive concept of "MEternity" leave, which implies, at least, that Foye thinks maternity leave is some sort of mommy vacation.

Maternity leave, lest there be any doubt, is a 24/7 job that you are thrown into after a major medical procedure, with only a vague notion of how to do it, and with the expectation that you perform at peak levels at all times with little or no sleep.  So maternity leave is the opposite of the relaxing, reflective break that Foye seems to imagine that it is.

And it's also not alway free, not alway a paid three months away from the office.  My maternity leave was only (partially) paid because I used every single hour of vacation and sick leave I had built up in order to draw a salary while I took it. And even then I took leave without pay in order to stay home for 11 weeks after the birth of my son.  So, sure, I got 12 weeks guaranteed, but that was unpaid unless I had the vacation/sick leave built up to turn it into paid leave.

AND THEN, I came back from maternity leave with no vacation and sick leave at all. You end up having to take a lot of time off with a new baby -- they get sick, they get YOU sick, you have to take them for regular well-child visits, etc. It literally took five years for me to build up enough vacation hours so that my family could take a one week vacation to Disneyland.

So yeah, parents are absent from work a lot more than nonparents, and we leave early, but it's not all light and roses and relaxation. Sometimes, most of the time, it's because, e.g., your kid is sick and has been sick for weeks and every drug they use to try to cure him works kinda, but not really, or he has an allergic reaction to them, and you find it is four months later and you are still dealing with this shit. (To give a fairly specific example....)

Parenthood is stressful.

And missing all the work is stressful because we don't like falling behind. And we don't like leaving stuff to our coworkers to cover. We care about you.  You are our friends. My two best co-worker buddies are both childfree. I don't like things falling on them because of my status as a parent. They have important things going on in their lives too.  We parents, if we are at all decent humans, feel guilty that sometimes our crappy assignments fall on our childfree peers because we are out with the kid. And we try very hard to make sure that doesn't happen. 

But, I get it, Meghann Foye. I really do. Because before I had a child...I had those thoughts too. I did.  But I was wrong. And so are you. 

The solution you seek is not MEternity leave. It is a universal paid sabbatical, one that even parents could take to explore other interests or just binge read every book we've wanted to read but haven't gotten around to for the last six years.

And the companion to that solution is a shift in attitude in both the worker and in management regarding expectations at the office. Management should not expect childfree employees to "pick up the slack" every time.  Childfree coworkers should not expect that of themselves.  People should be expected to have personal lives. 

What you want is a fundamental shift in attitude toward work. You want your personal life, not your job, to be the most important thing. And that requires a psychic shift on the part of the individual. That happened for me when I realized how miserable and resentful I was at my law firm job. I resolved to fix that.

And as regards management, if they won't shift their expectations, maybe a job change is in order. I did that too, left the law firm and went to a more flexible, less demanding job.

And finally, Foye wants all women to support each other, to understand each other, be they parents or child free.  But the means of her expression of her hopes for all women -- this MEternity leave concept -- has done exactly the opposite.

It has driven a resentful, and indeed, ignorant, wedge between the workers with children and without, one that need not be there. We can all try to understand each other better. This is as ridiculous and petty as The Mommy Wars. It's hard for all of us, Meghann, and, P.S., virtually every one of us with kids has been a childfree coworker of a parent in the past. We do understand your plight. Please try to understand us too.

Procrastination Tips From A Professional

Have a big project?  Are you working under a deadline?  Clearly, you need to procrastinate. Here, I present to you in real time (sort of) procrastination tips from a master:

1. Organize the papers you're going to be reading today for your project. Organized papers are much easier to read. 

2.  Aren't your nails a little too long?  You should trim them now.

3.  And file them.

4.  Arrange the first paper you need to read in the manner in which you plan to read and take notes on it. Something like this:

5.  Good. You need coffee. 

6.  For Heaven's sake, check your email. This is a law office!  (Or wherever you work....)

7. Obviously, you need to respond to at least one of these emails, probably lots of them. 

8.  Oh, look!, an interesting news article related to your field of employ (or not). You should email your two good work buddies about that article. It's important to be engaged in the discourse of the profession. 

9.  Once you have read about half of that first paper you arranged earlier, you should probably start a blog post, if you haven't done so already. 

10.  And it's probably time for a potty break too.  (You should get more coffee on your way back.)

11.  Are you a trial lawyer?  Have you checked the docket today to make sure you haven't accidentally forgotten about a hearing you need to handle?  Don't you think you'd better had?

(Approximately one and a half hours of productive reading and thinking later.....)

12.  Hey, lunch!

13.  Back at the desk after a refreshing lunch break, it's time to stare at the computer screen until it tells you what to write. 

14.  Hey what's up on your Facebook feed?

15.  And Instagram....

16.  You need to play a word in all seven of your Words With Friends games. You can't let your friends down. They might be procrastinating too. Don't be selfish.

17.  You should probably add something to that blog post, now.

18. Um, potty?

19.  If you haven't done so already, text your spouse/friend/significant other/child about dinner.  Or at least plan it out in your head.

20.  Better write it down. 

Okay, time to get serious:

21.  How about a snack?

22.  You should stretch your legs.

23.  And get some water. 

24.  Do you need to go visit your friend up on the 14th floor?

25.  Gawd!  Look at the size of your in-box. You'd better archive and delete some of those emails before you run out of space and all of your emails bounce back to their senders.

And, now, with nearly two-thirds of the work day gone, your mind should be well aimed on the task at hand. Now, you can think like you've never thought before; you can think like it is impossible to think when you have hours and hours of time on your hands (like this morning). Now, your brain is so keenly and sharply focused by adrenaline that, were you not working furiously on your project until the end of the day, you could surely shoot laser beams from your eyes.  And, hooray for you!, you've managed to write about five good pages of your (let's be honest) pretty dry work product that will nevertheless (we hope) please and impress your boss (once the entire thing is completed...because you still have loads to do). 

You're Welcome. (But, let's do a little bit less of this tomorrow, okay?)

I'm on my way, I'm on my way, Home Sweet Home....

That's right. I quoted a Motley Crüe power ballad.

I'm not much of a heavy metal/hard rock/hair band girl, but who doesn't love Motley Crüe?  (Favorite song:  Dr. Feelgood.)

But this isn't about hair metal bands;  I'm coming home!  Hooray!

It's been a hard week for The Working Family.  The Boy's been sick. Dad's not feeling well. Dad was over-stressed with the solo duty with a sick kiddo, and handled it all like a champ. (Love that guy.)  And I, I worried and worried about them both, feeling (and mostly being) helpless, from afar.

But The Boy's doing better, now, and Dad's doing what he needs to do to feel better too.  And Mom's ever so glad. 

The last couple of days' work was pretty productive, but I'm happy to be coming home to continue the job.  This hotel living is for the birds.  Or maybe it's for the birds and the young and childless....  It's not for the 43 years and 11 months old mother of a three year old.  I feel for the frequent business traveler. 

I nearly had a heart attack just now because I thought I may have lost my "Mom" bracelet going through security. Fortunately, it was in the last place I looked ( ;-) ), and I have this beverage to bring my heart rate back down.  (Why does every glass of wine in this town cost at least $12?)

I'm bringing home with me a sore throat and a cough (always happens when I travel), presents for The Boy and The Working Dad, a new understanding of how my department works at the national level, and, mainly, joy that I'll be with my boys again.

Also, random:  apparently my plane will be filled with a bunch of Brazilian teenagers on their way home, and me. Hmm. 

I do like my job. And I think the new assignment that brought me here is going to be really interesting. But I'm ever so grateful that the job can be mostly done from my desk at home.  Ever so grateful....

I'm on my way, so set me free...Home Sweet Home. 

(After a glass of wine, those lyrics actually make me tear up a little.) 

P.S.  Aisle seat!

Getting Lost on Your Business Trip.

Washington, D.C. is a nice city. A neat city. A great city to visit. 

But, alas, it is not user-friendly.  This whole wagon-wheel thing is for the birds. 

So I got lost walking fom the hotel, where I'd dropped my bag off, to the office that was theoretically easy an 11 minute walk away.

Thankfully, it was in a nice part of town...because there can be some scary parts to this city too, for the uninitiated, like myself. 

One hour later, totally stressed, with a lump in my throat (and, not to mention, a bit of a sweaty glow), I hailed a cab. 

Funny how a cab is not to be found when you desperately need it. But, eventually one drove past and I threw up my arm.  And the driver was very nice and gentle with confused, frustrated, embarrassed and frazzled me.

I finally arrived in the office. The people were lovely and sympathetic. 

I did some work. I participated in meetings. 

And then I walked back to the hotel the right way, and it took about 11 minutes. 

Now, I'm about to settle into the most expensive hamburger and glass of wine I've ever had (did I mention that getting lost meant I missed lunch).

Ah well, tomorrow is a new day. (And one day closer to me being home with my guys.)

P.S.  The book I chose to start on the plane was Oscar and Lucinda by Peter Carey. 

Business Trip

As I write this, I'm on an airplane somewhere between Dallas and DC at, according to the captain, about 33,000 feet above the ground.  (As you read this, if you read it the date of its posting, I am likely in my hotel room ordering room service, missing my boys, awaiting a call from them for FaceTime, and possibly writing another blog post...or reading.)

I don't travel for work that often, other than driving to the courthouse (which doesn't really count), both because my work doesn't require it and because I hate it.  So I try to avoid it as much as possible. 

I hate it because being away fom my family...well, to be inartful in my expression...sucks. 

And I hate it because I'm a terrible flyer. I'm a bit phobic, in fact.

Here's how a trip begins for me:  I wait at the terminal trying to distract myself from the scenes of downed and hijacked airliners that play round my subconscious from decades of news-watching. If it's not too early in the morning (like today -- 7:40 a.m. flight -- too early), I'll probably get a drink to take the edge off.

Eventually, we'll board and I will inevitably have the middle seat because (a) I don't fly that much and (b) government contract travel is not known for its posh accommodations. Today, my middle seat isn't so bad because the people on either side are quite good at staying in their allotted square footage.  Small mercies.

Once seated and buckled in, I'll develop a lump in my throat and my eyes will get hot like I'm about to cry. Except, I won't cry, by dint of will, because that would be uncomfortable for everybody. But I do want to cry. I'll stow my purse beneath the seat in front of me, glance through the Sky Mall magazine, look at the emergency card to find my emergency exit, and finally fold my hands and try to breath normally. 

As we taxi to the runway, I squeeze my hands tightly and clench my teeth. As the plane leaves the ground, I gasp slightly and tears well up to rim my eyes, but don't escape. Once we're actually flying, I calm down, the horrible images mostly receding. I'm able to function relatively normally, reading a book or magazine, or writing a blog post or whatever.

I rarely sleep on airplanes. I can never relax that much, and this despite getting up at 4:30 Central time this morning and waking up every hour on the hour last night because of nerves. 

If I'm lucky, the person in front of me will not lean his seat back. I am not lucky this morning.  And I find myself wishing I'd brought earplugs with me. I'd forgotten how loud airplanes are, and the fellow to my right has been snoring since before we left the gate. He smells as if he does not have the same personal prohibition against the early a.m. tipple that I have. Good for him, I suppose, but not good for me, my ears or my nose.

As soon as the drinks cart passes, I'm going to annoy my seatmate on the aisle and make my way to the flying loo. This always happens too. About 30 minutes into a flight, I feel like I need to pee like I've never needed to pee before.  And this is so, even though I went 15 minutes before boarding.

I do try not to converse with people.  Best for everybody.  I'm just generally bad at small talk, for one, and, for two, who knows whether a Malaysian Airlines or World Trade Center or Lockerbie comment might accidentally escape my lips.  Best to stay mum.

So, presently, I've set my watch to Eastern time, and it looks like I've got about an hour and 45 minutes until we land. Landings are a little less horrible for me, but I still tense up, tear up, grasp my hands, and hold my breath on the approach until we're on the ground.

But for now, I'm going to fire up the Kindle app on this iPad to read a book. Will it be Oscar and Lucinda or Lucky Jim?  Perhaps I'll let you know in my next post.

Another One With Pictures