All Joy and No Fun: The Paradox of Modern Parenthood by Jennifer Senior Read Free Book Online Page A

intellectually relax into a project and build a head of steam.
    And that’s just at the office. It’s likely that our work suffers even more acutely when we’re attempting to do it from home. Disruptions at the office—say, an email from a colleague inquiring about a memo—usually generate little emotional heat. Disruptions from children, on the other hand, often generate plenty of it, and strong emotions aren’t easy to subdue. “There’s a warm-up period,” explains David E. Meyer, an expert on multitasking at the University of Michigan. “And then there’s a calming-down period that happens subsequently. And both take extra time away from getting a task done. The hormones that happen after an emotion linger in the bloodstream for hours, sometimes days.” Especially if the emotion is a negative one. “If the interlude involves anger or sadness,” he says, “or the kinds of emotions Buddhists refer to as ‘destructive,’ they’re going to have a much more negative impact on something you were doing that was emotionally neutral.”
    So imagine your child is having a meltdown while you’re working. Or he’s hungry, or skins his knee, or is fighting with his sister. We physically experience these disruptions differently. “This is over and above the stuff that happens when you switch between two different windows that are neutral in nature,” says Meyer. “This is emotional task-switching. I don’t know if anyone’s ever used that term, but it has an additional layer to it.”
    The result, almost no matter where you cut this deck, is guilt. Guilt over neglecting the children. Guilt over neglecting work. Working parents feel plenty of guilt as it is. But in the wired age, to paraphrase Dalton Conley, parents are able to feel that guilt all the time. There’s always something they’re neglecting.
    I am now watching this conflict unspool in real time in Jessie’s home office. About thirty minutes after she’s helped Bella set up the movie, Bella walks back in. “Mom? It’s not doing that brrrrrrrrrrrrrrr— ” She rolls her r ’s, attempting to imitate the sound of a whirring videotape. They still use a VCR.
    “It’s not rewinding?”
    “No, it’s not rewinding, and I want to watch Barney again.”
    Jessie gets up from her desk and goes to the family room with Bella, giving her a brief tutorial on how to rewind the tape. Then, for a third time, she returns to her office and tries to focus on her work, adjusting the light on an image that won’t cooperate. She still hates it. “I’m afraid this looks over-Photoshopped.”
    Bella comes back through the door, this time with tears in her eyes. “It’s still not working!”
    Jessie looks intently at her daughter. “Is it worth crying over?” Her daughter, wearing a denim skirt with two hearts on the rear pockets, seems to consider this question. “Take a breath. A breath, please. Okay? Calm down.” Jessie walks into the TV room. “See this?” She points to the VCR and then looks at Bella. “This button makes it go back to the beginning. And then you press Play.”
    She goes back to her office a fourth time and takes her seat. She has not spent more than thirty consecutive minutes in front of her computer since she started, and her husband won’t be home until dinner. “Sometimes I notice that when the kids are really overwhelming me, work is a big release,” she says. “But at this moment, I’m not trying to get away. I have a real deadline.” She looks up. “I think I hear a baby.” She does. William’s awake. “Crap. I haven’t gotten enough done.” She fiddles with an image onscreen. “This job is very mental,” she says. “When I’m doing a shoot, I’m thinking about light and background and wardrobe and props. When I’m editing, I’m trying to make the pictures look magical without looking over-Photoshopped.” But then she gets lost in what she’s doing, and the kids start to beckon. Like now. A few minutes go