The Mayor

Some Domestic Embarrassment

I turn my back for a moment and suddenly the internet is filled with people in relationships humiliating themselves. Somehow the rule (which might need some adjusting) is that the women are humiliated by what the men are choosing to do and not do. Whether it’s the poly husband of a famous writer dirty deleting rude comments claiming his overlooked career is relevant to media coverage of their throuple, or the picture of Kristi Noem’s husband’s dog, looking on at its’ owner doing lord knows what, or an attorney general covering up all the child abuse asked of her and still being tossed out like a used napkin, it makes me think of Sabrina Carpenter’s prescient song lyrics - “I beg you don’t embarrass me, motherfucker.”

They sure can get creative, these embarrassing men.

And you know what, I am not immune. I’ve had two husbands and both of them, while certainly individuals with appealing qualities (including being easy on the eyes), eventually proved to not contain the level or kind of strategic thinking I had generously attributed to them.

I still live with the fallout of some of that, so you will not find me over here (if I was ever inclined to it) seeing any of this crazy behavior and saying “my own smoochy woochy woochy would never!”

Instead I just shake my head. Because I have seen too many men really spiral out there in unexpected ways. To the point that I may have lost faith in God but not the devil that is human frailty combined with patriarchal conditioning.

It’s not that I’m giving up on men to be able to make good decisions so much as that too often I’m looking around at them and guessing at the what and why of things they’re actually doing, and going “well damn, guess I gotta handle it myself then.”

It gets old. I am tired. I want to do something else. Build stuff they aren’t gonna mess up and make me redo. Be in charge from the getgo.

Also, I suspect that some of this may be a lifespan/developmental phase thing. As a 42 year old mother, someone who if I had had a child at age 20, could now easily be a grandmother, I feel like I’m entering the stage of life beyond matrescence. Grand-matrescence, perhaps?

Now my main theory on life (a bit self-serving, perhaps), is that patriarchy has it all wrong, and while the men are polishing their warheads and spending money on cigars or whatever other foolishness they’re inclined to, it is mothers and grandmothers and aunties who keep the world alive and as a general rule need to be given much wider latitude and authority to actually do so.

I include myself in that, as I care about structural problems and think of structural solutions everyday and I can’t seem to stop.

But the men doing dumb shit, whether it’s clogging the toilet or the Strait of Hormuz, really are starting to feel like a barrier.

The other night, in between my baby and toddler waking me up, I even had a dream that I ran for mayor. Later I jotted down half of my campaign speech, which went something like:

Frankly I do think I could do a better job than what we’ve had to deal with.

As mayor I would never have you paying the developers’ bills while they make millions of dollars.

I promise you I would not do anything that resulted in good-faith calls for me to resign.

I would never act like a lawn care guy suddenly elevated to mayor, believing I needed no additional training or skill.

I’d make sure the parks are what the neighborhoods actually want. Which are probably more gardens and trees and walkable playgrounds, fewer statues on lawns or buildings.

I would never lie to you or mislead you.

I would never decide that rich people deserve priority over you.

I would never imagine my salary should be the highest in the state, or that I deserved a private-sector level of compensation for a public service job.

I would never make excuses for individuals or organizations that abuse or cover up abuse.

I would not be approving of developers writing a small check instead of building affordable housing.

As mayor I’d be careful to keep my campaign finance and the organizations I raise money for clean and neat and not something that would land this city negative newspaper headlines.

If I had this role I also wouldn’t be smug and act like I know everything. I would listen to the concerns and dreams that ordinary people in this city have and build that into both the master plan (which I would make sure to create) and everyday operational work.

So I’m out here to say that no matter who wins this election, this should be the standard.

If you want to vote for me, I’d be happy to have your vote. And even though I’ve never held office, I’m confidant I’d do better than this.

I awoke quite sure I had the election on lock. Then I spent eight hours making sure a three year old didn’t hit a nine month old with a hula hoop, and endured failure and a bout of lost confidence when she still got bonked in the head a couple times while I went to the bathroom.

Meanwhile, I found myself laughing multiple times over the course of the day when thinking of how I’d attended a parent teacher meeting the day prior, where I learned the social repercussions (and utter hilarity) of letting my kindergartner watch science YouTube shows. She’s gotten really interested in parasites and hyperparasites (which are parasites within a parasite - a thing I didn’t even know existed until she told me) to the point where she gave her class a helpful PSA on pinworms that included the statement “if you scratch your butt and then bite your nails, that’s how you get pinworms!” This understandably made her teachers a bit nervous, and considerable handwashing occurred while additional background information about her statement could be ascertained.

Her teacher then watched the science video in question and reported to me that our girl has excellent retention of information and clearly understood the material as it was presented. “Maybe she will be a scientist one day,” I said, helpfully. “Or president!” her teacher said, clearly impressed.

At least if my kid was president, she wouldn’t be telling us to take ivermectin or drink bleach, I thought. Although worms is the one scenario when ivermectin actually would be a good idea.

I found I was only too happy to leave parenting behind in the evening to go join a short urban planning series training by ACDC, where all I had to do was eat some dinner that was provided for me and be an adult in a chair, thinking about what I’d want to do for housing policy if I was the mayor.

But I did wonder how my family had fared without me for a couple hours.

How’s it going? I texted my husband.

I have diarrhea. The kids are getting on my nerves, he texted back.

The friend I caught a ride home with and I exchanged belly laughs, catastrophizing about the state I might find my family in when I returned.

And I’ve got to say the scenario did not disappoint.

I arrived five minutes past bedtime to discover my husband seated on the toilet with a pained expression, a newly-crawling baby crying and clinging to his leg, and our two older children loudly wrestling each other on the hallway rug right outside the bathroom, one of them wearing a tutu and a crown and the other one completely naked.

This is why I can’t run for mayor, I announced, waving my hand at them all.