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I was babysitting recently, and it came time to put the baby to bed. I asked and knew their general evening routine. I dressed the baby, gave him a bottle, and sang him the song that I used to sing Truman the guinea pig to keep him calm while he was in the car.

I put the baby in the crib and he let out a cry. I stayed for a moment, rubbing his back and telling him that he was okay. It was bedtime and he needed to go to sleep. He let out two more cries when I went into the hallway and was quiet by the time I got downstairs and checked the monitor.

I’m not saying that I’m magical or special. But I’m good at getting kids to go to sleep or keeping them entertained. I’m good at reading books aloud and remembering all the voices across a series. I’m good at sitting still and listening to a kid and asking questions. I’m not saying I’m a perfect mother; but I am a proficient mother. In a future dystopia where our jobs will be determined by where we excel, I’ll be chosen to be some sort of caregiver of kids.

[Aside: In the movie version, I would play the docile person who goes with the plan while my plucky friend breaks free of The Mold — which is what they would call this whole work system in the dystopia — and follows her heart.]

I feel immodest writing this, but I have so few things I am good at. This is what I’m good at. This and baking. There are so many things I suck at, but that’s not the point of the post.

The point is that I have these skills that I needed once upon a time, and I’ll never need again on a continual basis. I mean, yes, I could become a nanny, but I won’t because I have a job that I love. Or I could be asked to babysit in the future, but…

The point is that I think part of my grief of having the kids grow up (and I do want them to grow up) is that I no longer have a need for some of these skills. A few are transferable to other stages of life or caregiving, but a few, like getting a kid on a nap schedule, are time-limited. And I feel sad that I have these unused skills that once upon a time filled me with pride.

As a teacher, there is always a new year of students. As a writer, there is always another book or another client. As long as I am able to bake, I can keep finding people to eat my baked goods. But this kid-raising thing; that was finite.

This isn’t a problem that requires fixing; it’s just a realization of what makes me so sad about this whole growing up thing as they head back to school and the world beyond.

I was once interviewing someone for a book. I emailed them a question and they emailed back their answer in a voice note. They prefaced the voice note by explaining they always gave answers in voice notes because it was (1) slightly faster than typing and (2) much faster than all the pleasantries and extra questions that go into a phone call.

It’s sort of brilliant–especially timewise. It makes it harder to find information in the future (I just needed to open every audio email he sent me in order to find one fact) but in the moment, I could hear tone of voice, the way he paused as he thought about the answer, and a dozen of other tiny cues that let me know more than words on a screen. I’m someone who likes things in writing, but I realized that I also like things spoken as long as they’re recorded so I can listen again and again.

Apparently the youth are courting over voice notes. I really love this because it’s slow–slower than a phone conversation, at least. And you can think before you start speaking. And you can listen to the other person’s words over and over again. Plus sometimes meaning is lost in an email. This way, you can hear the other person’s tone and sighs and pauses.

I never ever want to date again, but I agree with the article that you can get a better sense of a person over time in a low-key way by exchanging audio files.

What do you think?

We are a tad obsessed with Downton Abbey. (We already have our tickets to see the movie in September.) Our favourite part is being able to see life in the house from all sides: the upstairs and the downstairs. We’re not just following Lord and Lady Grantham, we intimately know Mrs. Hughes, Mrs. Patmore, and Mr. Carson.

Sometimes when we’re watching the show, I’m wondering what the staff is thinking as they’re serving the family. Most clearly enjoy their job and wouldn’t necessarily want another position in life. Whenever someone is thinking about leaving Downton, there are always people who defensively weigh in with how much they enjoy a life of service and how they would never leave.

As someone who loves her work, I totally get it. If you gave me the option to stop working, I wouldn’t want to take it. I enjoy what I do too much, and I take great pride in a job well done and the level of attention I give to detail. So I’m not sure why I’m surprised whenever the Downton staff verbalizes that same sentiment: they’re happy with a life of service.

The Atlantic had an article this month about the new servant class; the jobs that support the wealthy. The personal chefs and the personal trainers and the dog walkers and the massage therapists. The article loops in people who work for establishments or businesses, such as people who work in a salon or drive for Uber, which is different from Downton.

What drives the staff at Downton is the personal connection. Their work is reflected in the success of a single family. If the Crawleys are doing well, they’re doing well because of Daisy’s cooking, Anna’s dressing, or Barrow’s shoe shines. Whereas in our current service industry, you have no clue what happens to the person after they leave the salon or car unless they’re a repeat customer. Even then, a person has dozens or even hundreds of repeat customers. It’s hard to see your cog’s place in the larger machine.

The article and rewatching Downton Abbey provides food for thought as you move through your day. How many people out there are supporting your life? How many lives does your work support?

So I always thought the argument for the four-day work week was to make people more productive during the hours they’re actually at work. Shorten the work week and people will move unnecessary things… cough… Facebook… to home hours and use their time in the office to plow through their to-do list.

But the Guardian had an article about how environmental change rests on the four-day work week.

We also consume less in the process of getting our job done. Less work means less carbon-intensive commuting, less energy-sucking office space, and less time on power-hungry computer systems. In addition, working less would help to break down the work-spend cycle. Fewer hours at work mean we have more time to do other things such as travelling, preparing food or fixing broken household items. We are also less likely to rely on environmentally costly timesavers such as high-speed travel or takeaway food delivered in plastic containers by someone riding a motorbike.

So if we’re home more, we can find the time to do the things that we often say we don’t have time to do––such as cook a meal from scratch vs. use more energy having someone else cook and deliver a meal in disposable containers. Or take the time to repair something broken vs. dump it in a landfill and order a new item.

It sounds a little like the ideal version of what would happen if we had a four-day work week, but as someone who telecommutes full-time (no need for a work wardrobe or commuting time/costs/fuel!), I really love the fact that technology has made it possible to work with a team without leaving the house. I am productive because few people bother me during the day. I mean, except for Linus wheeking for alfalfa cookies.

Slack and Zoom make me feel like everyone on the team is close by. It took a little time to get disciplined and make work time actually work time, but now that I’ve worked from home for over a decade, I couldn’t imagine moving back into an office.

What do you think of the four-day work week?

Another great Carolyn Hax column recently. A woman writes in to say that her daughter-in-law and son refuse to socialize with the rest of the family. They’ll visit when it’s just the parents, but they won’t visit when the siblings and their children are in tow. And… of course… wouldn’t you know that she’s infertile and her unwillingness to be around kids is attributed to her inability to have a child. And that harpy is ruining the ability for everyone to get together.

I suspect the real reason for this is my granddaughter and now a coming baby. My oldest son’s wife learned she cannot have children after great medical trials, after which she was devastated. In the past she has complained about us through my son, so this sounds like a rerun.

And Carolyn Hax does such a great job reframing the situation in her answer:

From where I sit, I don’t just see a brokenhearted family matriarch; I also see judgy language in your letter, both overt and subtle … You don’t like her. I get it. Maybe she has earned every fine grain of your loathing. But if your opinion of her works its way into every line here, how much of it do you think you’re keeping from her?

In other words, this isn’t about infertility. This is about a daughter-in-law feeling like her mother-in-law doesn’t create an emotional safe space and responding by not entering the space.

There have always been babies I’m willing to hang out with and babies I dread seeing (replace the word “babies” also with “pregnant women” and “mothers” and the same holds). It all comes down to emotional safe spaces. Can I be my infertile self around them? Or, in other words, can I be myself around them? If yes, the baby/pregnant woman/new mother not only doesn’t bother me but makes me feel like being part of their happiness. If no, well, it gets a lot more difficult.

I love Carolyn for pointing out that this isn’t about infertility. This is about relationships.

What is your reaction?