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.
Thursday, March 19, 2020
Tuesday, March 17, 2020
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:
"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.
Saturday, May 11, 2019
I Don’t Like Mother’s Day
Facebook is awash in platitudes about mothers: honoring mothers, admiring mothers, extolling motherhood, suggesting what to give or do for the mothers in your life on this their special day.
Mother’s Day is exhausting. Running this Hallmark holiday gauntlet as the subject of it kills my joy.
Because, you know what? Mothers on Mother’s Day are expected to be beatific. We are expected to act like motherhood is all joy unconfined while we are feted as saintly goddesses of domestic and reproductive bliss.
And it’s not, and we’re not.
Don’t get me wrong: I love my kid and I love being his mom. But it’s HARD to be his mom sometimes.
Right now, he’s getting in trouble in school about twice a week. Every day I pick him up from school I brace myself for what may have happened that day.
And he won’t listen to his dad at this stage, for some reason, so most of the discipline falls to me.
He didn’t go to sleep last night until almost midnight, so that meant I didn’t get to sleep when I wanted to either. And don’t you believe for a second that he will sleep in today. It’s Saturday. He never sleeps late on Saturday.
Of course, I’m awake at 6:44 am with barely 5 hours of sleep, so whatever, right? Whatever is a tired kid and a tired mom and a tired dad is a volatile combination.
He’s stirring. I hear him playing with a car. See? 6:46 am.
Motherhood is a lot feeling like a failure and being overwhelmed.
Motherhood is a daily grind of frustration and fear.
Motherhood is never feeling rested.
And mixed with all that is also the love and the joy and the laughter.
My point is that flowery platitudes about mothers on one day a year just fall flat. And the expectation that I smile a graceful, saintly smile at them makes me roll my eyes. I don’t want beatification one day a year. I don’t have the energy to meet that expectation. You can keep your veneration of an ideal of motherhood that doesn’t exist. I want some rest, some "me time," and an easy, quiet day.
Friday, January 25, 2019
The Shutdown Diary: The-Historically-Long-Isn’t-It-Silly-To-Still-Be-Calling-It-The-Yuletide-Edition Edition, Day 35
Disclaimer: The thoughts and feelings expressed in this post are solely the author's and do not represent the official position of any government agency.
Ah, here we go. The dam broke.
Today, when I woke up to be "essential" (I was called into work today), here were the headlines in the Washington Post:
In short, when I left for the office this morning, there was no telling what would go down. The news was full of all kinds of stuff that makes you say, "Wonder what the history books will say about this in 50 years? And will I be around to read them?" (I'll only be 98 years old, after all.) And, to my eye, the shutdown was just as likely to continue on another week (or five) as not.
But now . . . . Now, at 4:28 p.m. Central time, there's a temporary compromise. Both sides agree to a plan to reopen government without the border wall funding the current administration wants. But for only three week -- until February 15th. In that three weeks they will negotiate further on the border security piece of the Federal budget. So, you know, we may be back here for a Washington's Birthday edition. But for now, it appears that this temporary funding plan will pass and that the President will sign it.
Accordingly, unless something crazy happens between now and Monday (and, Katie bar the door, that might happen -- it's 2019, after all), I'm shutting this diary down for, at least, the next three weeks. Let's hope it's a lot more.
Ah, here we go. The dam broke.
Today, when I woke up to be "essential" (I was called into work today), here were the headlines in the Washington Post:
- At least 14,000 unpaid IRS workers did not show up for work this week, House aide says
- Public disapproval of Trump swelled over shutdown
- Longtime Trump adviser Roger Stone indicted by special counsel in Russia investigation
- FAA delays flights at New York's LaGuardia airport, citing staffing shortages amid government shutdown
- 'This is your fault': GOP senators clash over shutdown inside private luncheon
- Senators negotiate in hopes of ending shutdown as dueling plans fail
In short, when I left for the office this morning, there was no telling what would go down. The news was full of all kinds of stuff that makes you say, "Wonder what the history books will say about this in 50 years? And will I be around to read them?" (I'll only be 98 years old, after all.) And, to my eye, the shutdown was just as likely to continue on another week (or five) as not.
But now . . . . Now, at 4:28 p.m. Central time, there's a temporary compromise. Both sides agree to a plan to reopen government without the border wall funding the current administration wants. But for only three week -- until February 15th. In that three weeks they will negotiate further on the border security piece of the Federal budget. So, you know, we may be back here for a Washington's Birthday edition. But for now, it appears that this temporary funding plan will pass and that the President will sign it.
Accordingly, unless something crazy happens between now and Monday (and, Katie bar the door, that might happen -- it's 2019, after all), I'm shutting this diary down for, at least, the next three weeks. Let's hope it's a lot more.
Thursday, January 24, 2019
The Shutdown Diary: The-Historically-Long-Isn’t-It-Silly-To-Still-Be-Calling-It-The-Yuletide-Edition Edition, Days 33 and 34
Disclaimer: The thoughts and feelings expressed in this post are solely the author's and do not represent the official position of any government agency.
Today the Senate plans to vote on two measures, both of which they expect to fail. They must do this, apparently, to prove that both entrenched position that the two sides of this damaging, hurtful, ridiculous budget debate will not work so that a compromise position can be negotiate. Once again, this could have and should have been done literally weeks ago (I’m looking at you Mitch McConnell), but I am gratified that, at last, movement is being made.
However, it is somewhat disheartening -- no, a lot disheartening -- that we somehow have to have two symbolic vote-fails before the people on either end of the extreme decide that their favorite idea won’t work. How old are these people? Every functioning adult person is capable of reasoning out the likely consequences and results of planned actions. We don’t actually have to apply the scientific method to every idea we have. SOMETIMES we are able to use spooky, magical powers such as reasoning, logic, and experience to predict the future and understand when something will probably not work out as we would like it to before we even try it. We don’t need to touch the hot pan to know it will burn us . . . .
But, hey, maybe Congress does. Maybe the entrenched Right and Left do. So touch those hot pans, guys. Lose those votes. Then figure out what kind of budget oven mitt will give us all the most coverage and least amount of pain when you go to grab that hot pan a second time.
Well . . . .
Having strained that metaphor to the breaking point, I guess I’ll end here. Happy Thursday, folks.
Today the Senate plans to vote on two measures, both of which they expect to fail. They must do this, apparently, to prove that both entrenched position that the two sides of this damaging, hurtful, ridiculous budget debate will not work so that a compromise position can be negotiate. Once again, this could have and should have been done literally weeks ago (I’m looking at you Mitch McConnell), but I am gratified that, at last, movement is being made.
However, it is somewhat disheartening -- no, a lot disheartening -- that we somehow have to have two symbolic vote-fails before the people on either end of the extreme decide that their favorite idea won’t work. How old are these people? Every functioning adult person is capable of reasoning out the likely consequences and results of planned actions. We don’t actually have to apply the scientific method to every idea we have. SOMETIMES we are able to use spooky, magical powers such as reasoning, logic, and experience to predict the future and understand when something will probably not work out as we would like it to before we even try it. We don’t need to touch the hot pan to know it will burn us . . . .
But, hey, maybe Congress does. Maybe the entrenched Right and Left do. So touch those hot pans, guys. Lose those votes. Then figure out what kind of budget oven mitt will give us all the most coverage and least amount of pain when you go to grab that hot pan a second time.
Well . . . .
Having strained that metaphor to the breaking point, I guess I’ll end here. Happy Thursday, folks.
Tuesday, January 22, 2019
The Shutdown Diary: The-Historically-Long-Isn’t-It-Silly-To-Still-Be-Calling-It-The-Yuletide-Edition Edition, Days 28 through 32
Disclaimer: The thoughts and feelings expressed in this post are solely the author's and do not represent the official position of any government agency.
A month and a day.
After a month and a day, there appears to be a compromise position in the Senate.
So that’s today, Tuesday.
And although they’ve announced their deal today (Day 32), they won’t actually vote on it until Thursday (Day 34). And then, assuming it passes the Senate (not a cert), and unless the House votes immediately (and what are the odds?), and it passes the House with no changes (again, odds, please?) and the President signs it immediately, we will still be closed.
But at least there’s movement. But let me be clear: allowing a month to go by before you actually propose a compromise is unacceptable. This literally should have happened weeks ago. Do better. Please continue to negotiate in good faith. We are about to miss a second paycheck. Mortgages are coming due. Do better.
A month and a day.
After a month and a day, there appears to be a compromise position in the Senate.
So that’s today, Tuesday.
And although they’ve announced their deal today (Day 32), they won’t actually vote on it until Thursday (Day 34). And then, assuming it passes the Senate (not a cert), and unless the House votes immediately (and what are the odds?), and it passes the House with no changes (again, odds, please?) and the President signs it immediately, we will still be closed.
But at least there’s movement. But let me be clear: allowing a month to go by before you actually propose a compromise is unacceptable. This literally should have happened weeks ago. Do better. Please continue to negotiate in good faith. We are about to miss a second paycheck. Mortgages are coming due. Do better.
Thursday, January 17, 2019
The Shutdown Diary: The-Historically-Long-Isn’t-It-Silly-To-Still-Be-Calling-It-The-Yuletide-Edition Edition, Day 27
Disclaimer: The thoughts and feelings expressed in this post are solely the author's and do not represent the official position of any government agency.
For the first time in weeks, I was not nervous when I woke up today. Yesterday, we got some welcome news. The President signed the legislation guaranteeing back pay to federal workers once the government reopens. So, now, it’s just a question of when?
Of course, we only get back pay when the government reopens, and bills are coming due now. So we’ll get the money eventually, but maybe not in time to pay some bills. If an employ is living paycheck to paycheck, the promise of a catch up payment, eventually, doesn’t actually pay the light bill. But it’s some comfort. Also, government contractors are not covered by that legislation, so they are still suffering significant loss of income with no guarantee that they will ever recover it. So the legislation that guarantees back pay is a small step in the right direction.
Mind if I wax philosophical? Difficult times like these can be clarifying events. You re-examine your approach to life:
I should spend my money more wisely.
I should care for my mental and physical health better than I have been doing.
What’s my life coming to, anyway?
Stuff worth thinking about from time to time, but something people rarely do. If there is any sliver lining to the shutdown, personally anyway, perhaps it is that it has caused me to re-examine my life and how I’ve been approaching certain aspects of it so far.
Here’s an important to my kiddo, but not life altering example:
His 8th birthday is coming up in a few weeks. He’s the kind of guy who announces the theme of his birthday party somewhere between a day and a week after he has had the prior birthday party.
So we have known that we would have a Pokémon themed party for many moons.
Initially, I had planned to have special Pokéball cookies and cupcakes made. And I was going to cater the rest of the food in.
But with the shutdown, I’ve thought a lot about the cost/benefit of that kind of set up. Specifically, how much will the kids really care about that stuff. Does it need to be that fancy and expensive for the kids to have a good time? Who am I doing this for anyway? So I’ve rethought the food. The kids don’t care. They just want sugar. The form of it and dollar sign on it matters little.
It’s not just birthday parties I’ve been rethinking, but a lot of things. The birthday party is just the easiest example, and the one I’m willing to share publicly.
Anyway, moments of extremis can be clarifying. I am glad of the clarity, if not the stress, that has come from this moment.
Now, off to learn more about therapods and birds. Happy Thursday, folks.
For the first time in weeks, I was not nervous when I woke up today. Yesterday, we got some welcome news. The President signed the legislation guaranteeing back pay to federal workers once the government reopens. So, now, it’s just a question of when?
Of course, we only get back pay when the government reopens, and bills are coming due now. So we’ll get the money eventually, but maybe not in time to pay some bills. If an employ is living paycheck to paycheck, the promise of a catch up payment, eventually, doesn’t actually pay the light bill. But it’s some comfort. Also, government contractors are not covered by that legislation, so they are still suffering significant loss of income with no guarantee that they will ever recover it. So the legislation that guarantees back pay is a small step in the right direction.
Mind if I wax philosophical? Difficult times like these can be clarifying events. You re-examine your approach to life:
I should spend my money more wisely.
I should care for my mental and physical health better than I have been doing.
What’s my life coming to, anyway?
Stuff worth thinking about from time to time, but something people rarely do. If there is any sliver lining to the shutdown, personally anyway, perhaps it is that it has caused me to re-examine my life and how I’ve been approaching certain aspects of it so far.
Here’s an important to my kiddo, but not life altering example:
His 8th birthday is coming up in a few weeks. He’s the kind of guy who announces the theme of his birthday party somewhere between a day and a week after he has had the prior birthday party.
So we have known that we would have a Pokémon themed party for many moons.
Initially, I had planned to have special Pokéball cookies and cupcakes made. And I was going to cater the rest of the food in.
But with the shutdown, I’ve thought a lot about the cost/benefit of that kind of set up. Specifically, how much will the kids really care about that stuff. Does it need to be that fancy and expensive for the kids to have a good time? Who am I doing this for anyway? So I’ve rethought the food. The kids don’t care. They just want sugar. The form of it and dollar sign on it matters little.
It’s not just birthday parties I’ve been rethinking, but a lot of things. The birthday party is just the easiest example, and the one I’m willing to share publicly.
Anyway, moments of extremis can be clarifying. I am glad of the clarity, if not the stress, that has come from this moment.
Now, off to learn more about therapods and birds. Happy Thursday, folks.
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