When I was just a little girl, I accidentally knocked a vase over and broke it that Mom had bought on her honeymoon. Mom was upset and angry of course because I had been careless. So I deliberately sat down and glued every single piece of that vase back together and gave it back to Mom. She said she would treasure it even more now because I had worked so hard to fix it.
Because my husband is in the Army, we frequently move and must ask the question "Am I OK if this is broken/damaged?" when we buy something. Almost all our furniture is used furniture from Facebook Marketplace, including a couch that, after our move from Alaska to Oklahoma, has a broken leg and a tear in the fabric covering its back. There's a physics textbook where the leg used to be, and because the couch sits against a wall, none of its problems are visible. We've seen that damaged things still serve their function (i.e., the couch is just for sitting, not to complete the aesthetic of the living room), so on our long list of concerns every time we move, our used, already-damaged furniture isn't one of them.
After reading your questions, I can’t help but think more broadly than what you mean--that motherhood itself is a process of dealing with flawed and broken human beings, just as mothers are flawed and broken. Instead of fumbling patching, and probably trying to disguise such work as such, we should be honest that most of what we do falls into a cycle of need and gift, or more deeply, repentance and forgiveness.
I've picked up sashiko as well, primarily for mending my husband's pants; somehow the man rips them out along the body and almost never along the seams! It's a great technique for sturdy repairs.
Lately I've been trying to do most of my (rare) clothing acquisitions at thrift stores, and if there's something I think I want to actively change about the item, I try to ensure it fulfills the following criteria:
1. it is a compelling positive change that I will really enjoy
2. I have a clear vision for said change
3. in the meantime, until I change it, I will still wear this piece
... otherwise I'm just acquiring projects with no end date and clothes I still won't wear. (The big snarl is if the tailoring or alteration takes longer than expected and I get sidetracked. That's one I'm trying to figure out how to recover from.)
I've also been borrowing lots of techniques from historical sewing to encourage myself to treat garments as more precious. "Piecing is period," I mutter to myself whenever I mis-cut something for SCA garb; the (somewhat related) concept of "hem guards" -- an extra piece of fabric over the bottom edge of something, especially a long skirt or pants, to protect the hem from becoming frayed -- is going to make its way into my regular usage as well, likely debuting on beloved pyjama pants (which are in fact already frayed).
The most deeply-rooted mostly-unwanted thing I have is a habit of hoarding. I've lived a rather mendicant adult life, moving house almost every summer, and each lease has slightly different requirements, each house has a different layout, and each new year brings an ever-so-slightly different family dynamic to balance. I keep things from years and years ago that I don't know if I'll need some day -- because I really have needed them erratically! -- and I look forward to the day I have enough stability and freedom to be able to weed or curate properly. But in the meantime, I can't afford to have to repurchase things over and over again: so I have two differently-sized silverware sorters, and a push-reel lawnmower, and a dozen bookshelves of varying quality, and so forth.
We live in an old (~1900) farmhouse in need of various repairs, and it frequently gets me thinking along these lines. Many elements of the house were built before things became more standardized, like the studs that are irregular distances apart. It makes it tough to just swap out for modern building materials and techniques because they’re only really compatible with themselves. The end result is that sometimes we have to rip out the whole thing instead of replacing just the one element that needs replacing. (Serious question: Anyone have good leads on general contractors in southern WI who remodel older homes with a repair/sustainability/traditional-construction-informed philosophy?)
I echo what several others have said about natural fibers and sturdier garment construction. I also like to consider “upcyclability” when selecting textiles. When purchasing tools and appliances I like to look not only at how it’s put together (ie, is it sturdy now?) but also at how it might be taken apart (ie, can it be put back together when a component fails?)
In my less cynical moments I’m hopeful that “right to repair” legislation will make a difference with electronics, household appliances, vehicles, and so forth.
This deep wisdom has more than one manifestation in Japanese art/craft. Sashiko, discussed here, clearly shares a common ethos of veneration for repair with kintsugi (repairing broken pottery and adorning the cracks with gold).
Dec 15, 2023·edited Dec 15, 2023Liked by Leah Libresco Sargeant
I have been sort of edging my way into a more sustainable way of managing my home. It started by choosing plastic alternatives when reasonable (shampoo bars have been mostly a success for me). There are three examples I can think of from my wardrobe that fit this theme.
I've been on a long journey to a sustainable workout routine that makes my own body more prepared for aging, including a lower weight. And in the process of losing weight, I have decided to only purchase second hand or natural fiber clothes (or both, if possible).
I also realized that 100% cotton, zero stretch jeans are significantly more comfortable than what women have been squeezing ourselves into for the last 20 years. I bought two pairs of such jeans a year ago, at the beginning of my weight loss journey. They finally got to the point that they look wrong, even with a belt, and so I decided to take them to a tailor. For less than the cost of a new pair of jeans, I get to keep wearing these that I already like.
I also have a polyester sweater from before I made this switch that fits me really well. It got a good sized hole right in the front, and it was not going to mend neatly. So I stitched a cluster of beads over it. Then I added more clusters so it would look like an intentional design. I've been working on it off and on for over a month, and I know when it's done, it will be amazing.
Finally, I have difficult feet. They are extra wide, and I need zero drop soles to prevent pain from cartilage loss in my toe joints. Finding shoes that fit and are fashionable and affordable is impossible. So I have decided to invest in a few pair of high quality shoes, and then find a cobbler to help me maintain them. One pair that I'm especially looking forward to purchasing comes from a company in the Czech Republic that makes all their shoes by hand.
I read "Into Your Hands Father" by Wilfred Stinissen and he has a description of Providence that has been really formative in my own understanding. I'd go get the book and look up the quote but it sounds like one of my kids is about to wake up so I'm going to be hasty. He talks about how a terrible cook can't make a good meal out of even the best ingredients, but a great cook can make a good meal out of even basic ingredients... in this analogy, God is so good a "cook" that he can make the best meal even out of ingredients that are actually rotten. If we make an absolute mess of our lives, and still turn it over to God, he can make it great, to the degree that we actually turn it over to him. Or, as we say, "felix culpa."
I've had conversations with other (Catholic) friends about whether we will keep our disabilties, illnesses, disfigurements, etc. in heaven. The arguments for "yes" include that Christ kept his wounds, and they were glorified; also, some saint (Augustine?) surmised that martyrs would keep their wounds in a glorified way, too. I think of how formative my own experience of bodily imperfection has been for me -- I've grown in virtue, worked through insecurities I probably wouldn't have otherwise, developed friendships that I might not have otherwise, etc. All of this has significantly influenced who I am (and has then had an influence on everyone that I influence, like my kids.). I might be a different kind of person if I'd gotten to be friends with different people, and my bodily imperfections have influenced which friendships grow. For example -- if you have food allergies or dietary restrictions like I do, social eating and therefore friendship changes in a big way; I often become fast friends with people who share my dietary restriction because we can eat together easily and make Christmas cookies for each other. And that's not meaningless! That's the normal way that friendships grow.
I want there to be a way of acknowledging the good that has come from these imperfections, and the way it has changed me and made me who I am, without denying that these things really are imperfections, that there is real suffering that comes from them and it's not all rosy. I don't know how to make it work except to think of Christ's glorified wounds.
I learned to sew on my mom's 1950's vintage Singer sewing machine. I invested in a good solid Bernina in the 1990's and it's still going strong, but it does require a professional to service it. I found an old Singer somewhere and we cleaned it and adjusted it ourselves and it was an eye opener! The machine was designed with the assumption that people would do their own maintenance. Large screws are designed with knobs so you can remove them without tools, remove a metal plate, and get into the inside of the machine to clean and lubricate it. The metal covers are decorative--the machine has its own beauty. Shiny black enamel, gold scrollwork, and the bright silver parts are the ones that are removable. It must weigh almost 30 lbs and it sews like a dream.
When I sew, I almost always use the Singer--the machine handles things like hemming jeans quite easily, where lighter weight machines struggle. I am here also to advocate for aprons. I have a basic crossback design with enormous deep pockets, and I make them out of home dec cotton that is heavier than the cotton you find in quilting stores. Wearing an apron while doing messy things like cooking or working in the garden prevents stains and prolongs the life of your clothing. I look for 100% cotton or linen because it's much cooler in the summer. I used to be able to find 100% wool garments but that is almost impossible now. I had a couple of Pendleton skirts and a jacket that I passed down to my daughter in law-who just had the lining replaced in one. The lining shredded but the wool blazer still looks as good as it did in 1980 when I scored it off of a deeply discounted rack at a Nordstrom clearance.
Our church recently started a small guild to repair and replace vestments and linens. What a wonderful world that has opened for those of us who are part of the ministry. There is a small but active group of people who love this work and they have been incredibly helpful. I have "met" people all over the country who have offered advice, sources for materials, and examples. We have replaced linings, reinforced older garments, and removed and saved decorative trims when the vestment itself was beyond saving. We recently finished a new white set where we purchased some fabric from the UK and used construction methods that will allow the set to be used for decades, if not a century. It certainly will look better and reflect the glory of the Incarnation better than the sad old polyester set that it replaces--but we'll remove the brocade from the poly set and use it for another project. Making vestments is so much more purposeful than buying ready made, conserves money, and builds community.
A particular realm where I've shifted my purchases to enable repair is socks -- it's much easier to darn ones knit from a heavier thread (it doesn't have to be huge -- think hiking socks vs dress socks). I also try, with varying success, to start repairs earlier so I'm reinforcing rather than patching.
"Stewardship of the invasive" is honestly a pretty good way to describe my relationship with computers / smartphones now. It feels a little like a fitting restitution or repentance - there was a time where I wanted everyone near me to jump on the next big technological thing; now, I spend time trying to maintain those same technologies now that the people around me rely on them.
We try to buy appliances and electronics that my husband can repair or that sell replaceable parts, when possible. It’s hard to do these days! We have been successful with our coffee grinder, we chose a brand that is designed to be able to swap out parts if they break and that he can take apart easily when problems arise. My husband also convinced me to switch over to PC’s vs Apple computers and he has done the same with his smart phone because non Apple products tend to have more options for repair or customization.
I have developed a lot of domestic skills in my adulthood, but for the most part I still find textiles to be really daunting. I've learned how to hem and I can do some embroidery, but the idea of making seams that have to hold is intimidating!!
I have learned, though, that natural fabrics are a lot easier to work with. When they get beyond my capacity (which is probably pretty quick to an experienced sewer) I can cut them up for cleaning rags or even compost them. I hate throwing clothes in the garbage. Some places will accept rags for recycling, but most won't.
My domestic skills are mostly food related. I have some sour milk right now draining into a rennet free "cheese." When it's done I'll preserve it in olive oil and spices. Avoiding food waste is a really rewarding hobby, ha!
“What is deeply rooted that you would have removed if you could, but now you have to incorporate into the pattern of your life?”
Daylilies? Honestly, not even sure about the daylilies. I’m more sure that buckthorn does *not* deserve “mindfully incorporate it into your life” status even if buckthorn eradication proves impossible.
“What does stewardship of the unwanted or invasive look like?”
Stewardship of unwanted knowledge can look like one failure after another.
We learned several “unwanted” lessons from COVID. Among those were:
Hand hygiene alone does far less than we had supposed to control common infections. Air hygiene does far more than we had supposed — and air hygiene is harder.
More specifically, singing together superspreads. When you sing with the dear ol’ Meemaws at church, you’re risking their lives much more than previously supposed. (Which isn’t to say the absolute risk of killing them with your sweet song is all that great, or justifies catastrophization, or that the risk can’t be mitigated in various ways — just that the risk is significantly higher than the suppositions which shaped our habits allowed for.)
Chronic pulmonary condition, particularly asthma, don’t just *react* worse to infection. Infections do much more than previously supposed to *drive* their “underlying” severity to begin with. The “asthma miracle” that happened during COVID shutdown is actually a pretty bitter pill to swallow, since it means individual avoidance of non-infectious triggers matters less, while avoidance of infectious disease (including those many “minor” infections families of young kids basically can’t avoid) matters far more, than we were once taught.
We also got a lesson on the importance of in-person activities, especially education, to children’s development at the same time we’ve gotten a lesson on the inadequacy of pretty much any “when to stay home” policy to control infectious spread.
If you’re not home-schooling, your public-health obligation to prevent infectious spread at school is *even more* at odds with you obligation to ensure your children attend regularly (rather than continually disrupting both their own education and their classrooms’ social environment with absence) than we once thought.
What does adjusting to this new knowledge look like? In my experience, one failure after another. (Anyone besides me noticed a rash of news stories on chronic absenteeism at schools since shutdowns ended?)
We now know the habits we once took for granted as “just the way it’s done” to balance our obligations of regular attendance with our obligations to public health (and our own private health, too, if we’re particularly vulnerable ourselves) don’t reflect reality, but that knowledge doesn’t automatically inform us which changes to our habits are feasible.
When the weakness of old habits is revealed, the process of discovering better habits can easily begin in failure after failure.
When I was just a little girl, I accidentally knocked a vase over and broke it that Mom had bought on her honeymoon. Mom was upset and angry of course because I had been careless. So I deliberately sat down and glued every single piece of that vase back together and gave it back to Mom. She said she would treasure it even more now because I had worked so hard to fix it.
Because my husband is in the Army, we frequently move and must ask the question "Am I OK if this is broken/damaged?" when we buy something. Almost all our furniture is used furniture from Facebook Marketplace, including a couch that, after our move from Alaska to Oklahoma, has a broken leg and a tear in the fabric covering its back. There's a physics textbook where the leg used to be, and because the couch sits against a wall, none of its problems are visible. We've seen that damaged things still serve their function (i.e., the couch is just for sitting, not to complete the aesthetic of the living room), so on our long list of concerns every time we move, our used, already-damaged furniture isn't one of them.
After reading your questions, I can’t help but think more broadly than what you mean--that motherhood itself is a process of dealing with flawed and broken human beings, just as mothers are flawed and broken. Instead of fumbling patching, and probably trying to disguise such work as such, we should be honest that most of what we do falls into a cycle of need and gift, or more deeply, repentance and forgiveness.
I've picked up sashiko as well, primarily for mending my husband's pants; somehow the man rips them out along the body and almost never along the seams! It's a great technique for sturdy repairs.
Lately I've been trying to do most of my (rare) clothing acquisitions at thrift stores, and if there's something I think I want to actively change about the item, I try to ensure it fulfills the following criteria:
1. it is a compelling positive change that I will really enjoy
2. I have a clear vision for said change
3. in the meantime, until I change it, I will still wear this piece
... otherwise I'm just acquiring projects with no end date and clothes I still won't wear. (The big snarl is if the tailoring or alteration takes longer than expected and I get sidetracked. That's one I'm trying to figure out how to recover from.)
I've also been borrowing lots of techniques from historical sewing to encourage myself to treat garments as more precious. "Piecing is period," I mutter to myself whenever I mis-cut something for SCA garb; the (somewhat related) concept of "hem guards" -- an extra piece of fabric over the bottom edge of something, especially a long skirt or pants, to protect the hem from becoming frayed -- is going to make its way into my regular usage as well, likely debuting on beloved pyjama pants (which are in fact already frayed).
The most deeply-rooted mostly-unwanted thing I have is a habit of hoarding. I've lived a rather mendicant adult life, moving house almost every summer, and each lease has slightly different requirements, each house has a different layout, and each new year brings an ever-so-slightly different family dynamic to balance. I keep things from years and years ago that I don't know if I'll need some day -- because I really have needed them erratically! -- and I look forward to the day I have enough stability and freedom to be able to weed or curate properly. But in the meantime, I can't afford to have to repurchase things over and over again: so I have two differently-sized silverware sorters, and a push-reel lawnmower, and a dozen bookshelves of varying quality, and so forth.
We live in an old (~1900) farmhouse in need of various repairs, and it frequently gets me thinking along these lines. Many elements of the house were built before things became more standardized, like the studs that are irregular distances apart. It makes it tough to just swap out for modern building materials and techniques because they’re only really compatible with themselves. The end result is that sometimes we have to rip out the whole thing instead of replacing just the one element that needs replacing. (Serious question: Anyone have good leads on general contractors in southern WI who remodel older homes with a repair/sustainability/traditional-construction-informed philosophy?)
I echo what several others have said about natural fibers and sturdier garment construction. I also like to consider “upcyclability” when selecting textiles. When purchasing tools and appliances I like to look not only at how it’s put together (ie, is it sturdy now?) but also at how it might be taken apart (ie, can it be put back together when a component fails?)
In my less cynical moments I’m hopeful that “right to repair” legislation will make a difference with electronics, household appliances, vehicles, and so forth.
This deep wisdom has more than one manifestation in Japanese art/craft. Sashiko, discussed here, clearly shares a common ethos of veneration for repair with kintsugi (repairing broken pottery and adorning the cracks with gold).
I have been sort of edging my way into a more sustainable way of managing my home. It started by choosing plastic alternatives when reasonable (shampoo bars have been mostly a success for me). There are three examples I can think of from my wardrobe that fit this theme.
I've been on a long journey to a sustainable workout routine that makes my own body more prepared for aging, including a lower weight. And in the process of losing weight, I have decided to only purchase second hand or natural fiber clothes (or both, if possible).
I also realized that 100% cotton, zero stretch jeans are significantly more comfortable than what women have been squeezing ourselves into for the last 20 years. I bought two pairs of such jeans a year ago, at the beginning of my weight loss journey. They finally got to the point that they look wrong, even with a belt, and so I decided to take them to a tailor. For less than the cost of a new pair of jeans, I get to keep wearing these that I already like.
I also have a polyester sweater from before I made this switch that fits me really well. It got a good sized hole right in the front, and it was not going to mend neatly. So I stitched a cluster of beads over it. Then I added more clusters so it would look like an intentional design. I've been working on it off and on for over a month, and I know when it's done, it will be amazing.
Finally, I have difficult feet. They are extra wide, and I need zero drop soles to prevent pain from cartilage loss in my toe joints. Finding shoes that fit and are fashionable and affordable is impossible. So I have decided to invest in a few pair of high quality shoes, and then find a cobbler to help me maintain them. One pair that I'm especially looking forward to purchasing comes from a company in the Czech Republic that makes all their shoes by hand.
I read "Into Your Hands Father" by Wilfred Stinissen and he has a description of Providence that has been really formative in my own understanding. I'd go get the book and look up the quote but it sounds like one of my kids is about to wake up so I'm going to be hasty. He talks about how a terrible cook can't make a good meal out of even the best ingredients, but a great cook can make a good meal out of even basic ingredients... in this analogy, God is so good a "cook" that he can make the best meal even out of ingredients that are actually rotten. If we make an absolute mess of our lives, and still turn it over to God, he can make it great, to the degree that we actually turn it over to him. Or, as we say, "felix culpa."
I've had conversations with other (Catholic) friends about whether we will keep our disabilties, illnesses, disfigurements, etc. in heaven. The arguments for "yes" include that Christ kept his wounds, and they were glorified; also, some saint (Augustine?) surmised that martyrs would keep their wounds in a glorified way, too. I think of how formative my own experience of bodily imperfection has been for me -- I've grown in virtue, worked through insecurities I probably wouldn't have otherwise, developed friendships that I might not have otherwise, etc. All of this has significantly influenced who I am (and has then had an influence on everyone that I influence, like my kids.). I might be a different kind of person if I'd gotten to be friends with different people, and my bodily imperfections have influenced which friendships grow. For example -- if you have food allergies or dietary restrictions like I do, social eating and therefore friendship changes in a big way; I often become fast friends with people who share my dietary restriction because we can eat together easily and make Christmas cookies for each other. And that's not meaningless! That's the normal way that friendships grow.
I want there to be a way of acknowledging the good that has come from these imperfections, and the way it has changed me and made me who I am, without denying that these things really are imperfections, that there is real suffering that comes from them and it's not all rosy. I don't know how to make it work except to think of Christ's glorified wounds.
I learned to sew on my mom's 1950's vintage Singer sewing machine. I invested in a good solid Bernina in the 1990's and it's still going strong, but it does require a professional to service it. I found an old Singer somewhere and we cleaned it and adjusted it ourselves and it was an eye opener! The machine was designed with the assumption that people would do their own maintenance. Large screws are designed with knobs so you can remove them without tools, remove a metal plate, and get into the inside of the machine to clean and lubricate it. The metal covers are decorative--the machine has its own beauty. Shiny black enamel, gold scrollwork, and the bright silver parts are the ones that are removable. It must weigh almost 30 lbs and it sews like a dream.
When I sew, I almost always use the Singer--the machine handles things like hemming jeans quite easily, where lighter weight machines struggle. I am here also to advocate for aprons. I have a basic crossback design with enormous deep pockets, and I make them out of home dec cotton that is heavier than the cotton you find in quilting stores. Wearing an apron while doing messy things like cooking or working in the garden prevents stains and prolongs the life of your clothing. I look for 100% cotton or linen because it's much cooler in the summer. I used to be able to find 100% wool garments but that is almost impossible now. I had a couple of Pendleton skirts and a jacket that I passed down to my daughter in law-who just had the lining replaced in one. The lining shredded but the wool blazer still looks as good as it did in 1980 when I scored it off of a deeply discounted rack at a Nordstrom clearance.
Our church recently started a small guild to repair and replace vestments and linens. What a wonderful world that has opened for those of us who are part of the ministry. There is a small but active group of people who love this work and they have been incredibly helpful. I have "met" people all over the country who have offered advice, sources for materials, and examples. We have replaced linings, reinforced older garments, and removed and saved decorative trims when the vestment itself was beyond saving. We recently finished a new white set where we purchased some fabric from the UK and used construction methods that will allow the set to be used for decades, if not a century. It certainly will look better and reflect the glory of the Incarnation better than the sad old polyester set that it replaces--but we'll remove the brocade from the poly set and use it for another project. Making vestments is so much more purposeful than buying ready made, conserves money, and builds community.
A particular realm where I've shifted my purchases to enable repair is socks -- it's much easier to darn ones knit from a heavier thread (it doesn't have to be huge -- think hiking socks vs dress socks). I also try, with varying success, to start repairs earlier so I'm reinforcing rather than patching.
"Stewardship of the invasive" is honestly a pretty good way to describe my relationship with computers / smartphones now. It feels a little like a fitting restitution or repentance - there was a time where I wanted everyone near me to jump on the next big technological thing; now, I spend time trying to maintain those same technologies now that the people around me rely on them.
We try to buy appliances and electronics that my husband can repair or that sell replaceable parts, when possible. It’s hard to do these days! We have been successful with our coffee grinder, we chose a brand that is designed to be able to swap out parts if they break and that he can take apart easily when problems arise. My husband also convinced me to switch over to PC’s vs Apple computers and he has done the same with his smart phone because non Apple products tend to have more options for repair or customization.
I have developed a lot of domestic skills in my adulthood, but for the most part I still find textiles to be really daunting. I've learned how to hem and I can do some embroidery, but the idea of making seams that have to hold is intimidating!!
I have learned, though, that natural fabrics are a lot easier to work with. When they get beyond my capacity (which is probably pretty quick to an experienced sewer) I can cut them up for cleaning rags or even compost them. I hate throwing clothes in the garbage. Some places will accept rags for recycling, but most won't.
My domestic skills are mostly food related. I have some sour milk right now draining into a rennet free "cheese." When it's done I'll preserve it in olive oil and spices. Avoiding food waste is a really rewarding hobby, ha!
“What is deeply rooted that you would have removed if you could, but now you have to incorporate into the pattern of your life?”
Daylilies? Honestly, not even sure about the daylilies. I’m more sure that buckthorn does *not* deserve “mindfully incorporate it into your life” status even if buckthorn eradication proves impossible.
“What does stewardship of the unwanted or invasive look like?”
Stewardship of unwanted knowledge can look like one failure after another.
We learned several “unwanted” lessons from COVID. Among those were:
Hand hygiene alone does far less than we had supposed to control common infections. Air hygiene does far more than we had supposed — and air hygiene is harder.
More specifically, singing together superspreads. When you sing with the dear ol’ Meemaws at church, you’re risking their lives much more than previously supposed. (Which isn’t to say the absolute risk of killing them with your sweet song is all that great, or justifies catastrophization, or that the risk can’t be mitigated in various ways — just that the risk is significantly higher than the suppositions which shaped our habits allowed for.)
Chronic pulmonary condition, particularly asthma, don’t just *react* worse to infection. Infections do much more than previously supposed to *drive* their “underlying” severity to begin with. The “asthma miracle” that happened during COVID shutdown is actually a pretty bitter pill to swallow, since it means individual avoidance of non-infectious triggers matters less, while avoidance of infectious disease (including those many “minor” infections families of young kids basically can’t avoid) matters far more, than we were once taught.
https://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2021/07/the-pandemic-drove-asthma-attacks-down-why/619396/
We also got a lesson on the importance of in-person activities, especially education, to children’s development at the same time we’ve gotten a lesson on the inadequacy of pretty much any “when to stay home” policy to control infectious spread.
If you’re not home-schooling, your public-health obligation to prevent infectious spread at school is *even more* at odds with you obligation to ensure your children attend regularly (rather than continually disrupting both their own education and their classrooms’ social environment with absence) than we once thought.
What does adjusting to this new knowledge look like? In my experience, one failure after another. (Anyone besides me noticed a rash of news stories on chronic absenteeism at schools since shutdowns ended?)
We now know the habits we once took for granted as “just the way it’s done” to balance our obligations of regular attendance with our obligations to public health (and our own private health, too, if we’re particularly vulnerable ourselves) don’t reflect reality, but that knowledge doesn’t automatically inform us which changes to our habits are feasible.
When the weakness of old habits is revealed, the process of discovering better habits can easily begin in failure after failure.