Leaning In

Last July, I wrote a lengthy response to the Anne-Marie Slaughter v. Sheryl Sandberg debate over whether women can or cannot have it all. If you recall or reread my essay, you'll note that I don't much like that query:

"Can Women Have It All? has always sort of bothered me as a question. It’s so nebulous, so one-dimensional. Truly, what does it even mean? The answer is different for each of us and it changes as do we. There are definite societal inequalities -women make just .77 per dollar that men make in the US; some societies don’t value women at all- but by and large, I think that having it all means simply that you as a woman feel fulfilled, be it in your career, your relationships, your life choices, your sense of self."

Yesterday, lazily scrolling through my Facebook feed during a spot of downtime while a babysitter was here, I came across a re-post of a plea to moms to put down their phones when with their children. The friend who re-posted this did so with the quick note "good reminder" headlining its presence on her page, and as many folks do need to put down (hide from themselves?) their gadgets, I started reading the letter.

Almost immediately, I was irritated. Written by a man who, as far as I could tell from his thumbnail pic, resembles Marcus Bachmann (egads!), this call to all the "mommas" out there reeked of condescension, chastising us for not watching closely enough every single move made by our kids. The results of this include a sad slump of your little boy's shoulders, a delighted spin from your little girl that you missed and that she knows you missed (ignored). We are admonished to "put your eyes back on your prize: your kids," to take every bit of this in and be completely present because the time is flying and soon your little boy won't ask you to watch him, your little girl ("such a little beauty queen already" - don't think I didn't go ape on that phrase; great messaging Marcus) will stop twirling. His obvious belief that our not watching every moment of their lives will be damaging to them and a serious regret to us later, when it's too late, was extremely clear. I got angrier.

For starters, Marcus, are you a stay-at-home-dad? Because if you are, you should have said that. For me at least, your message would have been taken differently. I may not have agreed but I'd have respected you for speaking from within the army of at-homers; I'd have known that you too are in the trenches and so at least understand the challenges of experiencing parenthood in that way. If you're not, if you're a working father who sees your kids one or two hours a day or if you're not a parent at all, then please shut your trap. You have NO idea how much of everything I, as an engaged stay-at-home parent, see. No idea how involved I am, how much of myself I give most every hour of every day. No sense of my belief that my kids need to learn that I'm not going to watch and acknowledge and praise and encourage every spin/jump/song/coloring page they do. What's that teaching them? That their pleasure and sense of accomplishment and self come from without rather than within? No way. I check my phone sometimes because I need and deserve a minute (or 20) for myself, whether that's spent on a round of Angry Birds or attempting to edit a cover letter for a friend I'm helping with a job application. Maybe I just want to glance over the news headlines because I feel so disengaged with the larger world. Maybe I'm double-checking my older son's school schedule so I'm not late to pick him up. What I'm not in need of is your presumptuous guilt trip from afar.

It is absolutely true that many parents need to pay more attention to their children, to be more sincerely engaged with them, to involve themselves more deeply in their children's strengths and weaknesses, their development and health. When I read articles about children who are never read to, I ache. When I read about kids who are never hugged, loved, celebrated, valued, I almost can't bear it. Those things are critically important to our children, and are some of our most basic and important responsibilities as their parents.

But I don't think those neglectful parents are who this guy is addressing in his treacly note of patronizing disdain. I think it's moms like me, and that's why it riled me up so much.

Women who want to stay home with their children and can afford to do so are a fortunate group: I feel grateful every day that something I feel so passionately about (being an at-home parent) is doable. But these women are also a diverse group; some have no help, some have full-time nannies, some are trying to keep one foot in the career world they don't want to leave, others are attempting to maintain lives that include identities as mom but also as woman, self, friend, role model, student. Which niche you inhabit can alter your experience of at-home parenthood dramatically.

I'd venture to say that most stay-at-home parents would agree that in some or many ways, their choice to stay home required sacrifice. It is hard every day, it is exhausting and not always fun or interesting. It asks that you be your best self so that you can raise and guide and keep safe and teach the little beings you brought into the  world (don't even get me started on the anti-choice movement waging war in this country right now. Yep, I'm looking at you, crazy Arkansas.). And this point is the crux of why I just can't get totally on board with Sheryl Sandberg's call to Lean In.

Her movement, which I think is sincere in its hopes of encouraging women to be proud of their accomplishments and demand equal recognition/pay for them, nonetheless leaves out a swath of women who don't have the resources to lean in as she suggests. This, I think, is what Anne-Marie Slaughter was troubled by and spoke out against.

Those resources could be financial: if you have a full-time nanny and/or a partner who is literally always there or able to be there, sure, you can lean in; if your kids are old enough to be in school much of each day, you can probably make something work; if you never wanted to stay home with your kids and lack monetary resources but have extended family around you who really want to pitch in, you could lean in and scrape by.

But if you choose to stay home either because you wouldn't make enough by working to offset the cost of quality childcare (I worked in education pre-kids; I know) or because you really want to but would still like to maintain some sense of the you-before-becoming-a-mom, well, good luck leaning in in any big way. The lack of resources issue. I want to, I try to, but snow days, sick days, inconsistent auxiliary childcare...I'm on deck and have to be even with little or no notice. Meanwhile, your partner -likely, the breadwinner- needs to be supported too. My husband is great and his work enables our life, but when he travels 10 days out of 14, it's all me and that's a lot.

I'm not writing from bitterness in the least, but I do think it's worthwhile to remember that many types of mom the world of parents is. More support and less judging would help us all, to both lean in and simply be able to do our best. What's less frequently granted book tours and media coverage is that the U.S. has pitiful maternity and paternity leave policies, completely inadequate childcare available to the general populace, a definite lack of extended families in the same geographic area as you would find elsewhere. The village has, by and large, dissolved, and the challenges of that are definite. So when I read things like Marcus' call to mommas to be even better, I kinda want to barf. When I feel I should be leaning in more, I think "on what? the wall?"

I welcome any change that helps to erase gender gaps in pay and expectations, I laud couples who make the best choices for who they are (both parents working, the dad stays home, they opt against having children, etc), but concurrently, let's remember that in any decision and role there is nuance, shades of gray that also need acknowledgement and understanding. Let's keep in mind that everyone starts from a different point, with different abilities and reserves and contexts. I'm starting to wander so will now say goodnight. To be continued, perhaps.

Communities of friends you may never meet in person and a "come to Jesus" morning

In the past, I've written enthusiastically about the friends I've made through my involvement in the Food 52 web site. For a while, the wise, knowledgeable, sassy voices of these women were obscured behind user IDs and perhaps a blurry thumbnail portrait. I admired them from afar and got to know them to a degree. Now, I know their names, the places they call home, a bit about their families. We trade funny tweets and tipsy emails, travel tips and words of support, a little snark here, lots of love there, and I feel lucky to call them pals. Meanwhile, today was my last official writing class. Each Sunday since January, a small group of women has called in to a joint conference, to read our own work and provide feedback on others. As with the F52 community I've established, my writing peers vary in age and are from all over the country, and I think I speak for at least a good handful of us when I say we've become friends. The women are so interesting and funny, each with such different perspectives and stories to tell. It was a true pleasure to get to know them more each week, in the way you can when people open themselves and trust.

I'm struck repeatedly by the fact that I may never meet these women though I hope that's not the case. I would love to walk Florentine (or MT) streets with Cyn, meet Suzanne's pugs (and offer her mine), visit Karen in Australia, garden and hang out with Laura in NM, stroll through old Boston haunts with Catherine, talk Louisiana with Lili. There is so much bad in the world today, so much partisanship, meanness, violence and intolerance; it's easy to understand why some become suspicious, disengage, presume. But to do so is unwise for it shuts you off to so many possibilities, including new friends, unexpected generosity, experiences that make you bigger and better and happy you stayed open.

Lili, a Louisianian who is so charming and likeable and peppy that I am reinvigorated with love for my home-state every time I speak with her, has taught cooking classes for 20 years and recently launched the Delightful Palate, a culinary product she created and now sells. She asked to send me some, and I was thrilled. Despite her admonitions to the contrary (sorry, Lil, I'm getting there), I've thus far used her goodies only as salad dressings. Oliver loves the Balsamic Garlic Honey on his lunch salads, and tonight I drizzled my composed greenery with Lili's Wild Mayhaw Berry. Isn't this pretty?! Shaved fennel and watermelon radish with candied kumquats, young chevre and toasted walnuts. Wonderful!

I really felt like cooking this evening so candied a new batch of the aforementioned kumquats, steamed some Carolina gold rice and roasted some King salmon en papillote with shaved Meyer lemon. Dinner was simple and healthy yet in no way austere, the kind of meal with which you honor and care for yourself but in a celebratory way.

I've long subscribed to the notion that a dinner alone is still all the reason (perhaps more the reason) for putting your best foot forward. A bowl of cereal just doesn't cut it for me in terms of a solo meal post-breakfast. And sometimes after a long and taxing day, a great meal is the best antidote for hastening recovery.

Tom left the house at 6:20 this morning, 5:20 really you damn daylight savings. As an aside, can we just rid ourselves of daylight savings (DS) and the penny? Let's put one cent and a written memory of springing forward and jumping back into a time capsule and say sayonara. Parents everywhere will be so pleased as DS does little for anyone beyond screwing up children's sleep schedules. The penny does provide ample ammo for fountain-tossing but otherwise nada.

Anyway, the boys and I made the pancakes and then got ready for an all-community Meeting for Worship at Jack's school. If you are unfamiliar with the Quaker Meeting, it is a worship service practiced in silence. All the students, from the littlest darlings through the high school seniors, participate in a 20-30 minute Meeting every week. Though we are not Quaker, I find the appreciation for and practice of silence to be an extraordinary benefit to us all. The ability to sit comfortably in silence, alone or with others, takes practice and is a treasure flying too quickly out the window in the face of billions of iPhones and their ilk. I still remember the days before I had a cell phone, the freedom in not being reachable at every moment, the fun of checking email after half a day and seeing what had come in. Bygones. The point is, I was looking forward to this morning's Meeting even though Oliver had never attended one.

We had a casual Come to Jesus conversation before leaving for campus: "you both know how to be quiet even though you often choose not to; now is the time to show me what you know", etc. The intensity of this message heightened as we approached the meeting house: "do you remember what I've told you? J, you should be pro at this after 2.5 years; please be a fabulous role model for Ol." As they burst from the car like photons in the Hadron collider and began running towards and jumping on any multi-dimensional surface, my Come to Jesus became slightly hysterical and threatening: "If you do not lower your voices RIGHT NOW, dessert will be gone forever." I know, absolutes are a terrible parenting technique but I was already on edge and there's only so much you can do to maintain calm.

They were amazing during our 25 minutes at Meeting. I could not have been more proud.

And then, like a geyser that was finally able to breach land's surface, their mouths erupted in such an overwhelming display of concurrent-loud-babble that I started sweating. We had another CtJ about volume and the fact that I have only two ears.

Truly, anyone who could harness or replicate little-boy energy would be awarded the Nobel for something. Maybe a buffet of Nobels, say Physics and Peace. Hell, maybe Economics too if you could figure out how to feed these small, ravenous engines on any regular person's income.

Peevishness settles in

Today started at 5 am. I can't remember why, nor does it really matter. The morning was a smooth one, generally speaking, and the kids and I even fit in a game of Sleeping Queens before carpool came to fetch Jack. I brought Ol to school and then met a good friend for a long walk on the Capital Crescent Trail. She grew up in MA so was not ridiculously over-dressed for the mid-30s weather as was I with my long-underwear layer, wool socks, boots and Louisiana constitution. Hey, it felt a lot colder than it turned out to be and the sun actually transmitted warmth rather than just light. We kept up a good pace too and by the time we returned to our cars, I'd stripped off my jacket and sweater. Another reason to make sure the long underwear you purchase is cute! Then, despite the increasingly warm temps on this lovely day, I started hearing more about duh...duh... the approaching winter storm that's supposed to throw us DC-area folks into a major snowquester. This is, in my opinion, extremely unwelcome. Also, I find it weird, an eerie calm before the storm, to have such a pretty day washed dramatically away by thunder-snow (apparently we might get such a confluence of intense weather) just hours later.

Today around noon (two hours before T was to depart), all flights from CA to DC were cancelled through tomorrow night or Thursday, so Tom is now staying put in SF rather than heading home. This is also a real bust. The boys' hijinks this afternoon were funny until they weren't, turning towards the dark side just as we welcomed into our home a potential babysitter we were meeting for the first time. Mortifying. Since this kindly young gal left (she probably started running as soon as she reached the corner, poor lass), I have chosen to wear the hat of Disengaged Mommy because I was so mad at the kids that keeping some distance seemed wise. I need to keep the old reserves up as I'm quite certain school will be cancelled tomorrow. Terrif!

Nutmeg is a dream, I tell you, a glass of wine in cat-form. He just kills me. Every time I so much as step foot in my bathroom, into the sink he flies, nestling in like it's the snuggest, poshest bed ever. It just can't be thus but he's convincing. Observe.