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.

On Mothers & Memories

One of my most reoccuring thoughts now that I have a toddler & two nieces - "was it like this when I was the baby? Did my mom love knowing about my cousin celebrating milestones the same way I love it for my nieces? (hearing my older niece talk is so fun, and watching my younger niece crawl just had me audibly cheering). Did my aunt enjoy handing her baby off to my mom and playing with me as a toddler, the way my sisters and I swap kids now?" I believe yes.

Part of the reason I have to think yes is because I have the photographic evidence of it, as seen below.

Me & Popo (grandma), Abigail (sister) & Mom, Megan (cousin) & Aunt Julie

Me & Aunt Julie at dim sum (I just took my younger niece to her first dimsum last weekend)

Aunt Kimberly valiantly trying to read two different books to two nieces at once.

(Also, my older niece's resembleance to my sister is uncanny looking at these old photos)

Scheerer/Winston cousins after a Christmas celebration/service

Me & my cousin Ben at that same gathering with Christmas gifts

(I included this one because if you've seen photos of my son, you've seen this smile I handed down)

My Aunt Lisa and I touching a stingray! (even though I am very little in this picture, I do have a vague memory of this day, because who could forget the time they touched a stingray!)

With the exception of the stingray, I don't remember any of these individual moments. They are, mostly, very ordinary days. But here I am looking for ordinary days, because I'm looking to find "did mom and dad feel this way or that way", and looking to find "is this or that feature of my son reflective of my own face at his age". And this is why we take pictures. When my son was born, I couldn't take enough pictures of him. Every part of him fascinated me and I didn't want to forget. But now, it's mostly him who looks at those pictures, and not me. I hold the memory more easily than I thought I would, but he doesn't hold it at all. I use the pictures so that I can transfer my memory to him, just as the pictures above are transferred memories from my mom and aunts about how they felt when I was the toddler.

I can hold the memory of my newborn and love the three-year-old of my present at the same time. It's wild to me to think on how my mom holds the memory of a new born and loves her almost-32-year old of the present at the same time. Nothing helps you appreciate your mom more than becoming one yourself. Nothing helps you appreciate your aunts more than becoming one yourself. And this goes for what I'll call "spiritual aunts" as well, friends of your parents, neighbors, women from the church. Yesterday I was talking to one of my mom's neighbors (who happens to also be a woman from my church) and she was remembering how I helped paint her house when I was ~12 years old, how I used to babysit for her kids - holding a younger me in her mind while engaging with present day me. One day, my best friend's toddler (who I love fiercely) will look at me and talk to me as "an equal adult" and I will carry the memory of her as a sweet little girl in pigtails from today with me in that future.

Happy Mother's Day (weekend), Mom. And Aunt Julie, Aunt Kimberly, Aunt Lisa, and Aunt Janet. Happy Mother's Day to all those women who loved on me to get me to where I am today, who hold a memory of me younger in their hearts simultaneously with the me of the present.

On all the boys I've loved before

 Today at the groccery store with my almost three year old, I saw one of the boys I've loved before (thanks, Jenny Han, for that poetic phrase). 

The one that had my exact same birthday and it was a point of unification for me to build a little crush on. (while my crush didn't last, I did feel a little sad when he walked past me like a stranger in the store today.)

And that got me thinking about the other boys I've loved before.

The one who played the organ at church after youth group, and I would sit and listen to him play and let the music build me little castles in the air (we hardly ever spoke, but his mom is friends with my mom so I periodically hear about him, he got a whole degree in organ music which is cool).

The one who was on debate team with me, and made me feel like I was someone worth talking to and more than just "a girl" (we went to different high schools and that was that).

The one who walked around barefoot with a mohawk and played guitar in our dorm and was super cool, but had a girlfriend who became like a big sister to me so I scolded myself out of the crush as quickly as I could. (They're married and still my friends now, I'm really glad I got over this one)

The one who had a girlfriend, and I knew it, and I told him I was into him anyways in the dark of night on a religious retreat, and he was very sweet and let me down very gently. (I was too embarassed to speak to him much again after that. He married that girl.)

The one who liked country music, and helped me with my homework, and let me read the draft of his horror novel, which I read because I had a crush, and then I sobbed violently when I thought he was going to date one of our other friends. (he didn't, but by the time I knew that I'd moved on)

And then...the one. The one that stood a foot taller than every other guy in our dance class, and hunched his shoulders to try and hide it, and our teacher kept telling him to stand tall. The one that I looked for on campus but never found, because he didn't actually go to our school, he was just taking the dance class to meet people (girls. he wanted to meet girls. don't let him tell you different, that was the story). The one who asked for my number to practice dancing with me, who practiced with me every week for three months before asking if he could come home to meet my family one Sunday after church, and I forgot that it just happened to be Easter Sunday that week. The one who took me on our first date on my parent's wedding anniversary, and three years later took me back to the same spot to ask me to marry him. The one who made his mini-me with me, and now I love that little boy more than any other boy I've ever loved before.

Happy Valentine's Month to all the boys I've loved before, but especially to my husband and my son.