One of the main things I am hugely thankful for in the midst of this pandemic is technology — specifically our ability to afford it, understand it, and be in community with others who enjoy such privilege and access.
This afternoon, I got to catch up with Audrey — one of my sisters from another mother. Audrey’s family and mine are linked in many ways — primarily through church but also through proximity in terms of distance, life stage, and opportunity. My mother had tutored all three kids in that family, and they, in turn, had been my babysitters twice or three times a week at one stage, when my mother had to work late evenings tutoring other kids. I’d eaten their dinners, learned all their hiding places, played in their playground, watched their TV, read their books, practised on their piano (badly), and loved each of them as I still do.
Audrey is the friend who is closer than a sister, and easily one of the kindest people I know. Her Christian faith is deep with far-reaching roots so I find comfort in knowing she’s still here — running the long race, face tilted towards the Son. Her faith is child-like but hardly naive — the best kind of child-like there is — while I find myself constantly questioning and doubting and uneasy. I really treasure this woman, even though we can hardly find the time to chat between the children, the time difference, and our jobs.
Until today. It’s her birthday, and thanks in part to this pandemic, we managed to have a long and luxurious chat — she in her kitchen, me amongst the books. She’s one of those lifelong friends with whom I can easily oscillate between the superficial and the sacred, the shallows and the deep. So much shared history that there’s such an easy shorthand. So much silliness that we can dissolve into the kind of laughter that hurts.
As for that kitchen she was sitting in, it’s where I experienced that crazy unconditional love — her stripping and cleaning my stroller when Arddun (still not quite 2 years old then) had taken suddenly and violently ill while out at the zoo. That was a seriously gross endeavour and Audrey had been amazing. Honestly, I wouldn’t have taken it well if someone else’s kid had made such a mess and I helped clean it up. I can barely stand my own kids’ mess, much less someone else’s.
Happy Birthday, sis. You know I love ya and miss ya. xx
It has been a time of massive adjustment for our household. It’s time to take a breath. Let’s recap.
Thanks to the Sunday of Tumult (22 March) wherein the east coast of Australia speedily jumped within the day from “self-isolate as far as possible but SCHOOLS ARE DEFINITELY STAYING OPEN” to “Wait… we’re closing the schools! Except for those in ‘essential services’, whatever that means — sort yerselves out?” to the Federal government stepping in just hours later and yelling, “SCHOOLS ARE DEFINITELY STAYING OPEN! Take your kids out at your own discretion and peril!” I paraphrase. But it was an abysmal day for Not Confusing the Australian Public, with many of us in the communication field screaming silently.
All this happened on that Sunday, with the PM’s press conference reverberating through social media well after 9:30pm AEST. Meanwhile, some peeps in Queensland still awake were going, “Wait… what? School? Huh?” and I’m trying to explain Australian politics to Singaporeans unused to State and Federal governments from different sides of politics seemingly running off in parallel to do their own thing for the good of the realm and then colliding into each other in stretches of dark tunnels. It’s a far, far cry from a benevolent totalitarian government steadily rolling out Year 55 of its 100-year plan and counting. It’s easier to be organised when you have a single head for a single body.
The announcement about schools came on Sunday. We had all of a single Monday to sort ourselves out and then that was it — Tuesday was Thundercats are Go. Whenever I encounter a post from Singaporeans wringing their hands about how crazy it was to co-educate their children on Wednesday past while still working from home, I think of all the lead time they have to transition to juggling work and teaching full-time, and laugh and laugh and laugh.
I hold two part-time jobs, with the second gig now in jeopardy as things change but then I have also blessedly picked up another client. It’s a much smaller gig but I’m hardly ungrateful. The nature of Tony’s job means he can’t work from home, which means I’m flying solo and suddenly keenly aware and appreciative of what my own mother had to put up with as a single working mother dragging me along home to home as she tutored other people’s kids.
It hasn’t been straightforward. Teachers themselves are on a steep learning curve, and the announcements, resources, assignments and advice fly in thick and fast from multiple directions. That Monday after the announcement, I spent a few hours that night trying to consolidate the sum total of the kids’ obligations to school before chunking it down into a reasonable work program for each of them that would fit around my priorities and vice versa. I ended up having to rework that schedule at least twice during that week before giving up altogether and teaching each kid separately. My weekend got burnt to a crisp trying to catch up with my day job.
In all that time, I was very painfully aware of how significantly my life just got upended (again) while my spouse’s remained relatively unscathed and unchanged. And in my chats with woman friends from all over, I find I am hardly alone in noticing this — the lion share of this upheaval is borne by women.
Even when men work from home, it’s the woman who the children run to and distract. It’s taken me two days to get this far on this blog post. Even in the last two paragraphs, I’d been interrupted every second-to-third sentence. They’re hardly bratty kids — they just generally crave companionship, have memories of goldfish, and live very much in the present. But do you know what it’s like to constantly break concentration, then try and find your focus again only to have it ruined not three minutes later? It’s fatiguing, frustrating, and bloody demoralising. It’s, frankly, torturous. Yesterday, it took me 3 hours to do what would normally take me 45 minutes, tops. It’s why I’m increasingly waiting for Tony to come home before I start on a piece of real work. But he doesn’t get back till 6:30pm on average and by then, I’m already mentally switching off.
Most unfairly of all, it’s the clutter and dirt blindness that frays our mental health — the house that needs to be ordered after a long day at home with children. The table that still needs to be wiped after dinner, the floor that needs to be swept, the kitchen linen that ought to be changed, the dishrack that needs to be washed and cleaned, the toys that haven’t been put away yet. The additional disinfecting that should happen each time our spouse returns home. The millions of things (mostly) women do as a by-the-way that everyone else doesn’t think to do themselves… all that still remains to be done. (Telling women to outline what they’d like to get done, by the way, is also adding to our workload. It takes energy to delegate. Please just make very accurate guesses and act on them.)
Our housework doesn’t get halved — not even close. Meanwhile, our time to do our day jobs just shrank by a factor of at least two. And the mental load and hassle of having to plan and retrofit a whole other job in amongst it all is the other untold burden that most women in my shoes end up shouldering. We’re also grieving, like everyone else is. The exhaustion that this pandemic induces is universal and we are hardly immune. If anything, we mourn more because our losses and changes are greater.
But what am I thankful for? An employer who understands and gives grace and space. We’ve touched base every Monday to Thursday for two weeks straight and it’s been a welcome part of my routine. The picture at the top of this post was a typical moment of me conferencing while the kids beavered away at their schoolwork. My children are my colleagues now, along with the ones I work with usually. And honestly, if I didn’t have such an understanding employer I’d be a lot worse off mentally and emotionally by now.
Most of all, I am very grateful to have a job at all. This tension between work and home life is only possible because I am still gainfully employed. I want to mention and honour this truth because while the going is tough at the moment, there is a lot to be deeply thankful for — including the husband who is taking a couple days’ leave next week.
Even in this madness, I am a lucky and blessed duck.
I’m just closing in on Week 2 of our self-isolation. The children have been learning at home with me full-time for a week, and even though I’m still experimenting how to manage 2-3 part-time gigs alongside the usual housework and teaching Kindy and Year 3, I’m finally settling into some semblance of normalcy.
1. People who pray with technology
This week, I got two text messages filled with love and practicality. It said I was prayed for, it told me what the prayer was about, and it had a pretty handy piece of scripture attached to it. Short, to the point, powerful. You know how you read a chunk of scripture over and over, and nothing quite sinks in? Not deep-and-meaningful like? And then you get sent one verse at just the right time in your life and – ka blam! Impact.
This was the verse:
“Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours.”
Somewhere in my spiritual life, it got trendy to ONLY ask for strength to handle the come-what-may. Somehow, somewhere, it became the done thing to NOT plead with God. To not beg Him for a specific outcome. Not ask that it be A, and not B. Pretty please. Somehow, somewhere, the idea that we submit to God’s will mutually excluded the bit where I run to Him like a child and pester Him. To take what’s nearest and dearest to my heart and go… “Dad, this is my heart’s desire. Could I please have it?” Rinse, repeat.
I don’t know where I learnt not to ask for healing, but only for endurance. Not to ask for the removal of the impediment, but only to beg for fortitude.
So thanks for the reminder. And for finding the words, when my own brain lies still and rather useless at the mo.
2. Pretty vouchers
Arddun’s Christmas present to me: a very generous get-pretty voucher at a spa in the city. This, on top of another pedicure and facial voucher. Which is on top of my hair appointment this Saturday.
After feeling all mumsy and like a dag for months on end, it’s lovely to finally book in these pretty-me-up dates. The impetus is a wedding in late March and my trips to Brisbane and Singapore. Oh who am I kidding. I don’t really need a reason to book in afternoons of massages and pampering!
3. Hand-me-down Happies
Now that my weight and body shape have stabilised, I’ve had to take a deep breath and start throwing out things I can’t wear anymore. Which is about half my wardrobe, easily. And while I’ve been putting off the putting-aside because of laziness, the bigger reason has been my reluctance to pass on my clothes to complete strangers.
I donate regularly to Salvos and Vinnies… but these clothes spell history for me. And because most of these pieces have been with me since I was a teen, it’s been even harder to give away remnants of my past life in Singapore. These clothes aren’t just clothes – they’re memories of dates and break-ups and Sunday services and tertiary life and first jobs… They are one of the very few things in my house that came with me from Singapore. That were part of what I brought to our marriage home.
But then the Kirky girls have suddenly all grown up – and so I’ve found new clothes horses! It’s been happiness on both sides, because they get a new wardrobe while I see my clothes get a new lease of life every Sunday morning. Now complemented with gorgeous chestnut brown and strawberry blonde hair.
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