Tag: I039m

Categories
Health

I Don't Have Children, But I'm Still a Mom—Kind of


When we meet strangers, and I have to introduce the girls, I sometimes avoid having to identify our relationship by just saying their names, but everyone assumes I am their young mom. Other times, I say, “This is my kid.” Sometimes, the girls will get a wicked look in their eye and introduce themselves—“I’m her daughter.”

When they come over to our apartment for taco night or to eat my famous dinner of “engagement chicken”—which I got from this very magazine—and roast potatoes, we choose shows to watch “as a family”—like High School Musical, or AJ and the Queen, and it is forbidden to watch those outside of that arrangement—the four of us and our dog, Frankie, on the couch, with chamomile tea and snacks, blankets draped over us. The girls always raid our pantry for snacks seconds after finishing dinner and my partner makes their teas just so, with ice cubes and sugar, in mugs they choose.

The girls’ dad once told me I should be able to claim the girls as dependents on my taxes, but I wasn’t keeping them alive. I didn’t feed or clothe them daily, didn’t put a roof over their heads. Their parents did that. But I was spending a lot of money on them, and there was no way for me to formally recognize with the government that I kind of did have kids. Sort of. It was an alternative family structure, and the IRS has never been good at recognizing those. Not for queer families, of which I’m a part, and not for those who relationships don’t adhere to the traditional nuclear structure. I also, for example, help take care of my mom and brother and the IRS doesn’t have a form for that either.

Having the girls in my life hasn’t changed my decision about wanting kids in the conventional sense. But it has made me resolve to always have enough money and be emotionally stable enough to serve as a sturdy presence. I didn’t seek out Franny and Brianna. We stumbled onto each other and we fell in love with each other and we became family. I do think of them as my children and I know they think of me as their mom. I hope and assume that once they’re grown up, and I no longer have this exact role in their lives, I’ll find more family. I would like to do this again, I mean, and so would my partner. Other kids need us, too.

I’ll never forget the look on their faces when one Christmas, I gave them gift cards to Barnes & Noble, when they wanted some hot new Air Jordan release. And they’ll never forget the look on my face when they showed me what they’d bought with those gift cards—not books, but Yale hoodies and stuffed animals from the Yale bookstore, where I earned a graduate degree.

I’ll never forget the feeling of getting a call from Brianna, her knowing she could tell me [redacted] and we wouldn’t judge.

I’ll never forget the feeling of finding out the boy advice I’d given Franny and Brianna had spread from girl to girl in their high school like wildfire, putting the fucbois in their lives on notice.

They’re my kids. And they’re not. I’m their mom. And I’m not. And that’s the case for millions of families in this country, families who have been affected by the war on drugs, by mass incarceration, by detentions, by deportations, by poverty, by the opioid crisis, by Covid-19. Millions of us have stepped in to take care of children who need us in very specific ways and we’ve come to love them so that they might as well be our blood. This is what family looks like.

Karla Cornejo Villavicencio is a writer who lives in New Haven. Her first book The Undocumented Americans is out now.



Source link

Categories
Health

I'm a Flight Attendant in the Age of the Coronavirus


As for when I’ll fly again, I have allergies, which means at some point I’m likely to experience some of the symptoms (a sore throat and cough) that comes with the virus, so I want to get some confirmation and advice from a healthcare professional. My temperature has been normal, and I’ll continue to monitor that as well.

Meanwhile, colleagues have started a Facebook support group, but as emotional as I’ve been, I don’t want to add to someone else’s level of anxiety. We are caregivers and first responders for our passengers, so it’s a little odd to be the one that needs the comfort. I’ve been relying on my husband and friends more than ever.

But if there’s one thing I take pride in, it’s how the airlines have responded to the pandemic. In addition to extensive cleaning, my airline has been providing hand sanitizer and wipes on the airplane for people, and I also hand out masks to people who request one.

On the planes, most of us are wearing gloves while we’re serving. One of my co-workers is even layering her hands with four sets of gloves. As soon as she’s served someone, she’ll peel that one off and then serve the next person. Then when she’s cleaning up, she’ll use another set of gloves. Maybe it sounds excessive, but we’ll do whatever it takes. Our company just wants to keep our passengers as healthy and safe as possible. That’s why when the coronavirus started spreading, the airline sent recommendations on how our service would change, and that’s continuing to evolve. I know another carrier has removed everything except single serve water bottles on their planes. Everything is changing day by day, hour by hour.

A few days ago, a couple of passengers reached out and hugged me when disembarking and told me to stay safe. I stiffened up and they remembered and said, “Oh sorry, I’m healthy.” Listen, I get it. People are very loving, and it’s hard to flip that switch so quickly. Then there are those who wear masks and gloves and want to be as wrapped up as possible. Take what precautions you need to.

Everyone keeps asking if I’m scared right now, but to be honest, I haven’t been that apprehensive. I’m more sad that I can’t fly. I’ve always been pretty vigilant when it comes to staying healthy, but perhaps now I’m scrubbing my hands as if I’m prepping for surgery. No wonder they feel like sandpaper!

On the flights, I’ve also noticed passengers trying to create more social distance between others. Our gate agents have to be aware of the weight and balance issues on each aircraft, but they’re doing what they can to accommodate social distancing.

Our cleaning crews have always been really wonderful, but I’ve never seen such a large formidable team come onto our airplanes and clean them so diligently. My mouth dropped open when I saw that the cleaning crew take up a third of the jet way. There’s probably a group of 10 to 15 people now that vacuum, clean every surface, wipe down every tablet ray, overhead bin, air vents, armrest, seatbelt, etc. You name it, every surface is being disinfected. That’s just how we have to operate during this crazy time.

I’ve heard people say planes have never been cleaner, and it’s probably true. Still, if you’re nervous to fly, take hand sanitizers and a face mask with you if that makes you feel more confident. And talk to the flight crew when you board. Tell them you’re nervous, and they can probably tell you all the different steps the airlines are taking to make you safe and keep things clean.

Last week my flights were still two-thirds or more full, but the flight I just missed was at around 50%, due to cancellations. Going forward, I think there’s a lot of uncertainty still on how that’s going to play out, but the only thing constant in our industry is change. And now, because of what’s going on as a result of the pandemic, there are going to be major changes. But eventually we will build back up. We always do.

I’ve been so proud of the work that my coworkers and our leadership and everybody’s been doing. We’re all in this together and we’re doing everything we can to make you feel safe. We’re delivering loved ones to see the people that they love, and that crosses my mind a lot these days. Even though the travel industry is a business, we’re going to do everything in our power to get through this together. 9/11 was a stunning time in history and I think we’re in another stunning time in history. You can let it overwhelm you, or you can focus on how these difficult times help build character and strength. I’m doing the latter.

Jessica Radloff is the West Coast editor at Glamour.



Source link

Categories
Health

Cheating Is Wrong. I'm Still Glad I Did It


Early into my marriage, my father learned that he could no longer call me on the phone and start talking openly. If my husband wasn’t home when my dad called, I’d answer the phone and say, “Hey, I can talk.” And we’d talk about the divorce we both knew I wanted, or else I’d just cry while he listened, furious and helpless. But it was rare that I answered the phone this way. My husband was always home.

We shared the most stifling homes together: first, my junior year dorm room and then, during my senior year, an apartment in downtown Annapolis that was so tiny we couldn’t even fit our sofa through the front door. We had to move it in by dragging it around the back, smashing in the glass rear door of the vacant apartment next door, and pushing the sofa through that apartment until it was free to come through the other side into ours. These were spaces that were never meant to house more than one person.

That was my husband’s position: We fought because we were jammed in unnaturally stifling circumstances, like factory-farm chickens packed so tightly that they have to be debeaked so they don’t peck each other to death. I was only a year away from graduation, at which point we’d have a second stream of income that would allow us to upgrade our space. This apartment and the fights for which it was responsible—all that was temporary. Soon, we’d move on to better things. “Tell your dad not to worry,” he’d say, which I never did.

My friends were sympathetic, but all of them put together didn’t have the resources I would have needed to leave and live alone. Plus, it would have cost me a couple thousand dollars to break our lease and put down a deposit somewhere else. Once, after a particularly bad fight, I attempted suicide. In the hospital, I knew no one would be able to see me outside of visiting hours; such was my desperation. But during the hospital visit, I was foggy and sad. When I got home, I was furious with myself. I’d wasted the last precious time I’d likely ever have to myself when I could have been hatching a plan.

In the end, I didn’t set the wheels in motion to end our relationship. Or at least it didn’t feel deliberate at the time. One day, serendipitously, my husband was too sick to join me to see a friend. I went alone, and the friend, whom I’ll call Jake, confessed his interest in me. Under any other circumstances, I likely would have shot him down, but I was starving.

The sex alone was nothing to write home about, but the whole assignation was an unprecedented hours-long span during which I felt free. Most of the time, I had nowhere to go and no money to spend when I got there. I had no option but to spend my free time with my husband, in whose presence it was difficult to imagine a future free of him. I was less thrilled by the physical act of infidelity than by the freedom it had rented for me. At Jake’s apartment, I could call my father and speak candidly to him, and I did.

“Hang on,” my dad said a few minutes into our conversation, during which Jake had put on headphones and was bobbing his head to some music. “How long can you talk?”

I barked out a laugh. Nothing was particularly funny, but a year of the nervous energy that characterized my marriage was bubbling up through the cracks any way it could. “I can talk all day,” I said, and then, still laughing, I started to cry. Jake peered over at me and hurriedly looked away. “I can talk to you all day about anything I want.”

When I got home to my husband that afternoon, I was blissed out. “Hope you’re feeling better,” I said.

Some well-meaning people want to know why I cheated and didn’t leave, and other even more well-meaning people understand why I didn’t feel like I could leave but still think I shouldn’t have cheated. I understand. And to an extent, I agree. It’s not a kind thing to cheat on somebody; it isn’t respectful. When you cheat, the other person has an understanding of your relationship that you’ve secretly decided you no longer share.



Source link

Categories
Health

I'm Sweating After Camila Cabello and Shawn Mendes' 2019 MTV VMAs Performance


That being said, Cabello did say in this same interview that her new album was made in a period of time when she was falling in love. If she’s not referring to Mendes, then who is she talking about?

“Falling in love is like an infinite amount of levels and layers and angles,” she said. “I fell in love and just opened up. Everything was written in present moment.”

Of course, photos speak louder than words, and Mendes and Cabello have been photographed getting their PDA on several times now. But it looks like these two are keeping mum on what’s real and what’s not. The speculation continues!



Source link

Categories
Health

I'm Afraid to Tell My Male Bosses I'm Pregnant


“Would you like to know the gender?” the woman who had announced the results of a first-trimester blood test asked over the phone. She had just told me my near-geriatric pregnancy looked fine so far. Gripping onto the steering wheel of my car, on my way back from an interview for a news story, I fiddled with the air conditioning, waiting for this stranger, whose name I don’t know, to give me news about my 13-week fetus.

“Congrats,” she said, clearly bored after relaying the news yet again to someone that day.

Then, she hung up.

We’re having a girl. I’m terrified. I’m 34, freelance (AKA unemployed), and facing an uphill battle as I think about how I’ll claw my way back into the workforce full-time once I deliver. But in that moment, I was so excited that I pulled over to call my husband.

I’m six months pregnant now and none of my editors know. Most of them are male. Many of them have kids. I know because they talk about them all the time in the doting, loving way only a father can. One mentions his children while working from home when I submit a 6,000-word feature; it’s a tough handoff day between him and his wife. Another apologizes when he’s delayed in responding to my edits because he has been taking care of two sick children since his return from an international vacation.

Each time I speak to one of them on the phone, I hang up in awe with the ease they speak about being fathers. I’m so envious.

I haven’t told any of them I’m pregnant. When I go on assignment with a colleague, I wear a massive button down, lifting the camera gear with my knees and hoping I can hide the burgeoning bump. The only other professional colleague I’ve told is another female freelance journalist. Over chicken wings in rural Appalachia, she told me she has worked with other female freelance journalists who’ve decided to wait to have children until after the 2020 election or until they are hired full-time somewhere. That night, after another 14-hour reporting day, I think about what she said. It terrifies me, but it also makes me feel more sane. I know I have to withhold this information. The more I reveal, the greater the risk to my career.

And about my career. Here’s what it’s like: I spent the majority of six months after Hurricane Maria in Puerto Rico, investigating claims that the Puerto Rican government made in the aftermath of the crisis. When I asked for a single day off to see my Irish husband become an Irish-American citizen, my then boss waited until the day before to ask if I really had to go. I assured him, no, not at all, it was fine. When protests broke out in Charlotte, North Carolina, after a white police officer shot and killed an African-American resident, I drove with a cameraman overnight to sleep in a pay-by-the hour motel to be the first team there to cover the riots. When I worked in Afghanistan, I spent two years traveling alone across the country for work and research, dodging questions about whether I was qualified to run a team of Afghan men.

Each time I had family or friends visit during a quiet period, I’ve been called away, without fail. Once, my parents came to town, and for the first time in nearly a decade, I lived in the United States. Mom had plans to make samosas the next day and take us to Costco so I could stock up on books and food samples. Of course, at 3 a.m., my phone rang, asking me to go cover a protest somewhere. I jumped out of bed and made it onto the 5 a.m. flight. I love what I do, and this is the fealty it demands.



Source link

Categories
Health

Lady Gaga Keeps Being Extra on Red Carpets, and I'm Living for It


When it comes to red carpets, Lady Gaga has a pretty consistent approach: go big or go home. From arriving to the 2013 American Music Awards on a fake horse to the orbit she brought to the 2010 Grammys and, of course, the egg, Mother Monster isn’t one to just hit the step-and-repeat with a smile. She brings her A-game—and, more often than not, loads of props.

But the type of red-carpet extravagance Gaga has been serving lately is different. It’s not so much bizarre or avant-garde as it is just…fabulous. That’s not a word I use often, but it perfectly describes her photos since last fall. Gaga has been full-on basking in herself lately, and I’m living for it.

Just look at any of the red carpet pics she took at the Oscars, Golden Globes, or, most recently, an event honoring her hairstylist, Frederic Aspiras. Their translation, in my opinion, is, “Yup, it’s me: Lady Gaga. Legends only!” Which is 100 percent accurate. I mean, if I were Lady Gaga, I’d literally take every opportunity to tell the world, “I’m Lady Gaga!” These recent red-carpet pics do that without words, and they’re national treasures.

Check them out for yourself, below.



Source link