Just a warning. The google calendar, on which I’ve lavished much praise for its organizational assistance, is only as good as the person inputting the data.
Kindergarten called. Apparently 6 is sitting in the office, because there was no school today. The woman in the office was unmoved by my excuse. (”Google told me it was tomorrow.”) At least it wasn’t his sister.
I’m not afraid of bugs. I’m not a bug-lover by any means, but I can deal with the occasional creepy-crawly. This has proven useful in my life. If you need someone to step up to the plate and take out the nasty spider, or steer the buzzing bee out of the house, I’m your woman.
Unfortunately, if a trait such as this is genetic, this gift did not pass down to my increasingly girly four-year-old daughter. She hates bugs. And she’s not afraid to show it. If, for example, she sees a fly or gnat in the bathroom, she will shriek, sob and run from the room in the kind of panic most of the rest of the world saves for something a bit more serious - like nuclear war or armageddon. She will then boycott that particular bathroom for several days until I can persuade her that the nasty beast has departed. (more…)
In my work life I have always been easily describable as a “yes man.” From what I have read in my glossy-covered magazines, women on the whole suffer in great number from this syndrome. It seems we have a desire to answer all requests positively, to meet everyone’s demands, and to be all things to all people. I suppose I’m no exception.
As a young associate I’d rarely turn down a request for my time or work. Should a partner wander into my office, all matters were moved to the side, the legal pad was out, and I was tuned in. It was a rare a request for immediate work or emergency assistance would be met with anything other than “Absolutely. No Problem. I am happy to help.”
It went without saying … Of course I can cancel all my personal plans - my plans to shop, date, bake, sleep, read, bathe and paint my toes. Back then, usually flipping through those magazines, I would think I really need to learn to set boundaries. I really need to learn to say “no.” I just wasn’t sure how.
Turned out the answer was simple: Have children.
Fast forward three children later …and if I had a nickel for every “NO” or incarnation of “NO” I say during a day … well needless to say I wouldn’t need to contemplate whether to stick some Google Advertising on this blog for extra cash.
“No you may not have [insert totally inappropriate sugar coated or filled item] before breakfast.”
“No, NO, NOO, [Kong], you may not [insert random, dangerous, life-threatening activity here].”
Of course, some “nos” are unavoidable and necessary in the job of protecting my children. Certain requests (e.g. jawbreakers at 6 am or games that include sticking silverware in electrical outlets), simply cannot be accommodated. But lately I’ve realized that my chorus of ‘nos’ seems to have grown to full harmonic proportions. A woman who’s had past trouble drawing the line, I have now apparently grown more comfortable with setting the boundaries, and I wonder – at what cost?
“Mom, can we get out the paint stuff?”
“Oooh, Maybe tomorrow… that’s so messy.”
“Mom, You want to play Barbies?”
“Sure, guys, but can you wait just ten minutes until I finish this [insert any task on the Google Lists.]
Or consider my reaction to my children entering the room while I’m chatting on an important personal call. Imagine if a partner had come into my office and I had said “Oh, Hold on one sec, sis,” and then moved the phone away while snapping something like … “You can see I am on the phone right now, what do you need?”
There’s no doubt my obligations have grown and the time for myself for the shopping, dating, baking, sleeping, reading, bathing and painting my toes seems to continually shrink. But, still, I can’t help but wonder why it’s sometimes much easier to draw the boundaries at home than at work. I never would have guessed I’d someday aspire to be more of a “Yes Man.”
A good calendaring system is imperative to working as a lawyer. If you miss a filing deadline, there are consequences. If you’re late to a hearing - consequences. And the consequences can be brutal: Default judgments. Angry judges. Upset clients. Malpractice. Suspension. Termination. Luckily, thanks to good calendaring systems, good assistants, and my own highly-developed internal sense of organization, I have never blown a deadline. At least, not in my work as a lawyer.
This morning I picked up my daughter from pre-school, as I do every Tuesday and Thursday morning. Normally, when she’s dismissed, she runs toward me, arms out, poised for the hug, “MOMMMEEEE!!!” she squeals with glee.
Normally.
Today as the teacher dismissed her, she walked slowly toward me, shoulders hunched, eyes down, arms limply at her sides. Instead of the usual enthusiastic hug, she brushed by me, hefting her shoulder toward me and nearly knocking me backward with the size of the chip upon it. In my mind’s eye, I caught a quick glimpse of the teenage years. I swiftly pushed the vision from my mind.
“What’s the matter, Crabby Patty?” I asked her.
“DON’T call me Crabby Patty.”
Clearly her sense of humor was gone. ”That’s okay,” I thought, giving her a moment.
As we packed up her school papers, I tried again. “Did you have a good day today? Who was the VIK?” (At my children’s pre-school they have a V.I.K every day: a Very Important Kid. The V.I.K. gets to do things like be the line leader, work on the computer and, most importantly, bring the treat for the day.)
At this question the anger began to bubble furiously out of her. “I was the VIK,” she spit at me venomously, ”and YOU forgot to send the treat!” The word ‘you’ hung in the air dripping with disgust.
I laughed inwardly. (As I noted above, I have a tremendous internal sense of organization. I don’t miss important dates and deadlines.) “No, honey,” I replied lightly. ”You weren’t the VIK today.”
She looked at me crossly and heaved her backpack over her shoulder. “Yes. I. Was.” she said confidently. ”I was the line-leader, and I played on the computer, and I got to do the weather calendar.”
In my family, coming to grips with our own errors takes us some time. We started walking toward the car, and I plodded on in ignorant denial. “The VIK must have been gone today, honey, they must have just let you stand in,” I said with diminishing assurance. “NO!!” she shrieked, now very near tears ”It was MEEE!”
Nothing to do at this point but admit it regardless, I thought, as I helped her into her seat. But, still in denial, I needed proof. I buckled her in and ran back into school to check the calendar. There it was in black and white. She was the VIK. I grabbed the teacher and started mumbling my apologies. She reassured me, but also shared that my daughter raised her hand during class and asked “What happens if you’re the VIK and you didn’t bring a snack?”
Back in the minivan, humbled, I apologized repeatedly, and then we drove for awhile in silence. After a few moments, I tried again. “Did you get to play outside today?” I asked sweetly.
Bad Move.
“I had to wear the snowpants out of the cupboard. These aren’t my snow pants. YOU FORGOT MY SNOWPANTS, TOO.”
Apparently I am going to need an assistant or a better calendaring system. Turns out the consequences are pretty brutal on this track, too.
