One Tired Mama

I was treated to pineapple-upside-down-pancakes this morning. Quentin’s idea. We have had meal delivery kits for years and one year for Mother’s Day, the service sent the ingredients for pineapple-upside-down-pancakes. Quentin remembered and thought we should have the same this year. We looked up a recipe online and I made sure we had all ingredients on hand. I assumed Ger would use buttermilk pancake mix, but he went a step further and made the pancakes from scratch. They were very good – and very filling.

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Being a Whole Human

Earlier this week, project management software company Basecamp caused quite a stir when it publicly announced policy changes, one of which was “No more societal and political discussions at work.” One of the co-founders later followed up with more detail, writing that it was “a return to whole minds that can focus fully on the work we choose to do.”

I already wrote a reaction, taking an exception to the idea that work and societal issues (“politics”) can be separated. But I want to further expand on the message that “We come to work only to do work and need to focus on that.”

What struck me about Basecamp’s policy changes is the message that work and personal lives should remain separate. Of course, it was couched in only being about politics, but the reality is that work and life are intertwined. Any number of things could be a “distraction at work.” Parents who are juggling their children. People who have cancer. People grieving the loss of a loved one.

Back in 2016 after Iris died, I was a mess. Nelle’s death less than 6 months earlier had already left me in shambles so having a second baby die in such a short time flattened me. I took several weeks off of work and when I returned, I felt like a shell of the person I once was.

I was collaborating with a colleague on my company’s large annual conference. I wasn’t anywhere near my best work, and in truth what I was contributing was barely passable. After a lapse in communication on my part led to a misunderstanding, I asked for some compassion since I was not 100%. The response I received was that my grief was “irrelevant” to work.

In case I wasn’t already suffering, this callous comment devastated me further. I realized that I could not make people care about my grief. I had opened up and made myself vulnerable… and in return was trampled.

My grief support group often talked about when and how we share the stories of our babies. The group leader often reminded us: “It is about what makes you comfortable not the other person.” We are the ones who have to live with our losses every day. It’s not our jobs to make other people comfortable if it forces us to sit with discomfort.

While Basecamp may think that they have drawn a line in the sand by banning “politics” at work, the truth is that the line is very gray. For example, on January 6th this year, as I watched the insurrection unfold at the Capitol, I abandoned all work for the day. I was horrified. I thought that I was watching the death of democracy. Is that a political issue? Or is that a historic moment, like 09/11 or the shooting at Columbine (both of which I also watched unfold live). These events can be emotionally distressing. Some current events, political issues, and social issues are so profound that they invoke a strong emotional response, one that cannot possibly be compartmentalized as “not for work.”

Even setting current events aside… Should employees not correct colleagues that use the wrong gender pronouns? Can employees not advocate for paid parental leave because that is a “political” issue? If a mass shooting occurs in the city where an employee lives, does that have to be ignored since it brings up gun violence? And do employees have to remain silent on support for paid bereavement leave because it is part of a policy that Joe Biden has introduced?

To say “we come to work only to do work” ignores that life impacts work. They’re intertwined. It is impossible to separate and say “these life topics are ok to discuss at work, but others aren’t.”

I shared how this line is blurry on LinkedIn, sharing the story of the unfeeling response from my colleague. When I shared the story, I only said “I had a stillborn baby girl.” I didn’t get into the details of losing two baby girls. I have learned over the years to accept that sometimes the story is more powerful in fewer words. I know that the comment came after losing Iris, not Nelle. But I also recognized that giving more detail would not help me talk about how work and personal lives are intertwined. I can read the words “my stillborn baby girl” and know in my head that I mean “my two girls.”

It was yet another vulnerable moment, this time sharing my story with a much larger audience, and one that tends to be focused on “work” achievements and issues. But it was important to me to bring to light how interconnected work and personal lives are. We can’t just leave “personal” at home, and we can’t say that political and social issues aren’t personal.

One comment I received as a response was very on-point. The statement was that it’s important to be a “whole human” at work. Asking people to put personal issues aside because it makes other people uncomfortable is asking them to be less than they are.

A Day With Lots of Feelings

Yesterday morning, my 11-year-old woke up with a cough. He had coughed a few times the day before, but nothing regular. I chalked it up to “reactions to springtime weather” and gave him some Benadryl. But yesterday, it crossed the line into “persistent cough.”

Every morning, my kids have to be screened for Covid symptoms. This is done through a self-certification process on the school’s app. When I got to the question “Does your child have a new (list of symptoms, including cough)” I replied “Yes.” Immediately, a pop-up appeared that I would need to keep him home, which I expected. Nothing happened when I checked in my 9-year-old, so I assumed he could still go to school.

I then left with the 3-year-old to drive her to preschool. While waiting in the car in the drive-thru lane at Starbucks, I received a phone call from the school. The 9-year-old would need to stay home also, and the school nurse would call me later. After briefly pausing, I decided to drive the 3-year-old back home. If the elementary school wanted siblings to stay home, I was certain the preschool would want the same.

Both the school and the preschool required proof of a negative Covid test for the kids to return. I found a clinic that claimed to have quick turnaround on test results. I called to make sure that it was the right type of test (PCR) and took my son to the clinic.

We had to wait a very long time in the car – the clinic would not allow us to wait inside. But once called in, it was a quick check of his blood pressure and then the nasal swab for the Covid test. Then more waiting. The doctor came in about 30 minutes later and informed us that the test was negative.

It wasn’t until later that day that I realized how much stress I had been holding around getting that Covid test. Even while knowing that kids often have mild symptoms, and while my husband and I have been vaccinated, I still did not want Covid in our house. No one knows the long-term effects for kids that get it, and having to quarantine with the kids for so long – when they have only recently turned to school – would be devastating.

Later that afternoon, I learned on Twitter that the jury had reached a verdict in the Derek Chauvin trial. I opened my CNN app just as the headline was changing: guilty on all three counts in the murder of George Floyd. I immediately said “Oh thank god” and started crying. It isn’t justice for George Floyd losing his life at the hands of a police officer, but it is accountability. It is one step in the right direction.

Because I had spent the day wrangling three kids at home, I told my husband that I needed the evening to myself. I ordered UberEats and sat on my bed, eating my sandwich. I cried some more. For George Floyd, for Covid-related stress, for snow that had appeared that morning even though it is the second half of April. I’d had a headache for the better half of twelve hours. For an all-around long day.

Beginning to See the Light

Beginning to See the Light

All of my “memories” popping up from this time last year reflect our first few days of Shelter in Place in Illinois. Schools were closed and remote learning was mostly independent work (which was a disaster). I made a schedule for my kids and tried to keep them entertained through the volume of free content made available by different companies and individuals as they tried to help parents that were adjusting. There were YouTube art classes, virtual museum tours, and sing-a-longs. Our energy to engage in these activities waned quickly as the weeks of isolation dragged on.

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