You’re Fired 

It’s the thick of winter, with flu season colliding with PTA meetings and work deadlines. This morning, I’d managed to get every kid to school on time, with a healthy lunch and signed homework, while raspy voices in my head staged a heated debate over the merits of sending my nine-year-old, who’s still recovering from the flu. My inner critic, the school nurse, and unsolicited advice of nosy neighbors all joined the argument. Unsurprisingly, my boss’s voice won.

Pinny had spent too much time at home, and my work hours have been scarce lately, my performance subpar. I need to make up for it before my boss notices. And with that touch of realism, my guilt is temporarily stored away, replaced with a sense of empowerment.

I move toward my office, noting the rows of boxes lining the walls of my living room in anticipation of our upcoming move. I’m tickled thinking about our new bigger and brighter quarters. Hard work always pays off, I think, stealing a moment to picture my kids running around in the sprawling backyard. My heart expands with joy, and a touch of fear at our new, hefty mortgage.

The clock shows 25 minutes before my impromptu Zoom meeting with the Big Boss. I thank myself for resisting the urge to keep Pinny home and add an extra layer of lip gloss in an effort to put my best face forward, literally and figuratively. As a senior manager with solid credibility, I’ve become a celebrated backbone of the business. I enjoy more respect and flexibility than most. In a recent hire-discussion, my higher-ups insisted on only interviewing in-office candidates with no flexibility outside the 9 to 5 grind. I quietly relished my rare flexibility as a perk, well-deserved.