On the eve of my brother's wedding

Tomorrow my only brother is getting married! Here's the little toast I wrote for tonight's rehearsal dinner.

Ishmael, Esau, and me. What do all these have in common? Well, they are all firstborns, who believed they deserved a birthright, but for whom God had different plans. I was 10 when Nathaniel was born (so, like Ishmael, I had enjoyed a long period as the presumed firstborn). I was my daddy's handy girl, I had been his special buddy for doing finances at church, and in general enjoyed a "favored status" as firstborn - just ask my sisters to list a way things felt unfair to them. And then, suddenly, it was different. My grandfather & father were both so pleased that a son had been born, a son who could carry on the family name. And my status as "the most special" felt like it was shaken. Like Esau, I felt cheated - I was the firstborn by birth order, why did it matter that I was a girl? So at first, I didn't particularly enjoy having a brother.

That is, until I realized that I had an ally, instead of a replacement. Why was Nathaniel my ally? Well, here's an example: when my parents got cute Madeline dolls for the whole family, I got Miss. Clavel, the teacher, and Nathaniel got Pepito, the little boy next door. The other four had cute matching dolls, and we were the misfits. We stuck out together, as for a while, I was "the only teenager" and he was "the only boy". Later, after three more little girls came along, one holiday season, I came down to the basement to discover my sisters happily engaged in a giant game of hair and dress up. As a freshman in college, I wasn't sure if I could contribute - but eventually I did makeup, and Nathaniel put on a suit to be the “Ken doll” with the Barbies; so after all, despite occasionally feeling left out, we’d figured out ways to fit in together.

Fitting into our large family isn't an easy task - ask my husband and my two brother-in-laws what that's like - but in my interactions with Angela, I've seen how easily she fits in. Probably the best story to highlight this is from my son Max's third birthday this year. Angela and Nathaniel had been engaged for just one week, and she came along to celebrate Max's birthday with us. We were playing with his new toys, and my niece Brielle walked over to Angela to play, and Max burst into tears. When I asked what was wrong, he wailed "I just...want...Aunt Angela...to play with ME". Tomorrow may be when she legally joins our family, and takes the next step towards carrying on that family name, but in Max’s eyes, and in ours, she already fits in perfectly. Much love and Congratulations to y’all.

On the pressure of representing "all women"

Whoa, two blog posts in one day! I guess I have *big thoughts* today!

This morning at work I made a mistake, an embarassing mistake that caused me to need to submit a request for my developer VM to be rebuilt. And I spiralled into some panicky feelings. It was an honest mistake, but the public nature of it really stressed me out. Why?

Well, earlier this week I was in a supervisors meeting where we were talking about the diversity statistics for where I work (this is what the breakdown of % women and % minorities there are in the organization, they report out on it annually, if you've not worked in corporate culture before).

And being a "woman in STEM" comes with a certain amount of pressure, because of these numbers. Most organizations have DE&I (diversity, equity & inclusion) goals to increase those numbers. Plenty of colleges (my own alma mater ncluded!) have programs that seek to change the balance of these numbers. And it's because of this that I know there are some people who will never, ever change their minds about me. In their minds, women can't write code, and any woman with my job doesn't know what she's doing.

It's that weight that I'm carrying around with this mistake. Yes, there's also the natural work stress that a mistake puts me behind, and I have to reset some work I'd already done because of needing the VM to be rebuilt, but really, those things are recoverable. But the weight of having proven someone "right" in thinking that women shouldn't work with computers? That's what's nagging at me. That's why this mistake isn't something I can just brush past and get over. Those same people would probably say "you can't get over it because you know we're right, and you're not meant to do this" and I *hate* that I can even imagine this conversation. 

Anyways, it was making me angry and getting under my skin so here I am writing it down and publically saying no to that conversation. I'm allowed to make mistakes, and it doesn't mean I shouldn't be doing this. Because I am doing it. In fact, I've been doing it at this employer for TEN YEARS (I hit my ten year anniversary a few weeks ago). One of the executives at my job frequently says "we need everyone in this fight" as a reason to value DE&I initiatives. 

So here I am. I'm in the fight. Let my god-given talent for this go to waste? I don't think so.

                                    

(thanks, Elastigirl. For this, but also because of how you mother your three super kids. And for how you co-parent while working in the sequel. Truly the hero women in STEM didn't know we needed.)

On My Kid Growing Up

Earlier this week, my son and I went to the summer reading party at Central Library. We were waiting in line for one of the activities and he said "look, Casey's here!"

I didn't know Casey. I didn't recognize this kid at all. But since he also recognized my son, I deduced that they are in the same class at preschool (as right now, that is the only place that my son interacts regularly with children that I don't know). I suggested they play rock-paper-scissors together in line, which they did, and then they sat on a bench next to each other and whispered and giggled and played.

Objectively I know my kid is his own person, with his own life, but I didn't really experience it before meeting Casey. I snuck a picture of the two of them playing together to remember the moment - the moment that I had to face the fact that my son's life is his own, and not mine. It was a reminder that I have a preschooler, and not the baby who only goes where I go, who needs only me for his everything.

And I was reminded of another blog post that I'd seen on Facebook (thanks, algorithm). I'm sharing a link to below, along with a quote from the middle of the post that most reflects my current state.

"My baby was gone. I didn’t even get to say goodbye. But this new toddler was the love of my life. He was into EVERYTHING. He bothered the cat and pulled pans from the cupboards and spent very little time on my lap. I chased him around the yard and watched him splash in the bath and rocked him as I sang every night. Then one day when I hoisted him out of the tub, he landed on two thin little legs. Then he ran down the hall with the towel flying out behind and hollered, “Momma, chase me!!!” My toddler was gone. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.

But this new preschooler was the love of my life. He had SO MANY stories and the world’s most adorable laugh. He loved matchbox cars and Spiderman and constantly shouted “Watch this!!!” as he did ‘tricks’ off the couch. I watched and cheered and carried him piggyback and read him stories and tickled his back at bedtime. Then..."

https://herviewfromhome.com/motherhood-i-didnt-even-get-to-say-goodbye/

It goes on in this way, and because I'm a very emotional mother, it makes me a little teary eyed, because it resonates so much. This preschooler really *is* the love of my life. Singing in the car with him this morning filled me with so much joy, because it brought him joy. And part of me gets very excited about imagining the future versions of him that I will get to love as completely as I love him now. 

On the other hand, "someone" (scare quotes because actually, it was an Instagram reel) once told me that being the mom of a little boy is like going through the longest break-up of your life. I hate saying it that way - the weird sexualization of a mother/son relationship, no thank you! - but I think the sentiment rings true. Parenting is the longest, most agonizing process of letting go. Setting up my child with the things I think he needs to make it through the world, and hoping that what I'm sending him out with is enough, but letting him go find out on his own. Watching him play with a friend I didn't know, I feel that I'm sending an open hearted little extrovert out into the world. And that, I can be happy with.