America woke up Monday and apparently decided its relationship with Canada had been peaceful for long enough. After 50 percent tariffs took effect Saturday on roughly $20 billion worth of Canadian goods, Trump announced this morning that Canadian cars, trucks, auto parts and steel will also face 50 percent tariffs beginning January 1. Canada is preparing dollar-for-dollar retaliation beginning September 8, and Ontario Premier Doug Ford says that if things keep going this way, Canada should be prepared to withhold electricity and critical minerals from the United States. We have reached the stage of international diplomacy where our closest neighbor is considering turning off the lights, which feels less like sophisticated economic policy and more like two brothers fighting over an extension cord.
Sunday is supposed to be my day off, even though Mom refuses to acknowledge this because “news doesn’t take days off,” and to be fair, I do always post my Sunday reminder that hope for humanity isn’t lost. Beyond that, though, I try very hard to make Sunday a family day. For some reason however, Sunday always ends up being one of the worst days of the week.
I think all week long we put so much pressure on Sunday to perform that by the time it finally arrives, we’re living inside a water heater that’s ready to blast through the roof. This is the day we’re supposed to relax, reconnect, enjoy each other, get things done but not too many things, make memories but don’t manufacture them, recover from the previous week and somehow prepare ourselves emotionally, physically and spiritually for the next one. No pressure, Sunday.
I can’t quite figure out why it keeps going sideways, but I’m tired of spending Sundays emotionally exhausted and run down. Does this mean I know exactly what to do to fix it? Absolutely not. That would require a level of organizational competence I don’t possess. What I can do is pay attention. I can observe my family and their emotions a little more carefully, notice what my husband is excited about and try to make some room for that on the one day we finally get to spend together without work hanging directly over our heads.
I work from home, so my husband and I are technically near each other all the time, but somehow it’s still very easy to be far apart. We pass each other carrying laundry baskets and babies and tools, we discuss appointments and construction plans and what somebody needs from the grocery store, and suddenly an entire day has happened without either of us actually spending much time together. I’d like to remedy that.
The children, meanwhile, are expecting packages of school supplies today and they are absolutely delighted, which I find particularly enjoyable to watch with my oldest because he has developed a strange and beautiful obsession with office supplies. Sticky notes, paper clips, staplers, desk organizers, pens, folders, notebooks, little containers for other little containers, you name it. If an item has ever appeared inside an office cubicle, he probably wants one.
Unfortunately for him, he is my ADHD buddy which means I have the ability to see in my stepson something I also see in myself. There’s something about walking into Staples that immediately convinces me I’m about to become an entirely different woman. Everywhere I look there are beautiful systems for organizing a life I have never successfully organized. There are color-coded folders and matching file boxes and notebooks with designated sections, and for a brief moment I can see it all so clearly. My office will be immaculate, my thoughts will be orderly, and every important piece of information will have a designated location.
Then I come home, use the new organization system for approximately four business days and eventually look up to discover 50 sticky notes scattered across my desk with terrible handwriting scribbled on them and absolutely no discernible order whatsoever. My oldest and I have this in common, and there is something oddly satisfying about knowing there is another person out there like me, especially one I get to raise and perhaps, with a little luck, show a slightly better path.
My daughter is the opposite, at least philosophically. Ember is extremely organized when she wants to be, and she genuinely prefers the world that way. The wrinkle is that she’s four years old and, like most four-year-olds, wants absolutely nothing to do with the labor required to bring this vision into existence. She believes deeply in organization. She simply believes management should provide it.
When she was around two, she used to take all of her bath toys and arrange them along the edge of the bathtub from smallest to largest. I remember the first time I saw it because it was the most marvelous sight. There was my tiny child, sitting in bathwater, calmly imposing order on the universe one rubber animal at a time.
Now her bedroom generally looks like it has survived several natural disasters and a minor tornado, but she remains the only member of our family who displays genuine excitement when she opens her dresser and discovers that I have folded all of her clothes, separated them by color and arranged them in rainbow order. She may not create the system, but she appreciates the craftsmanship.
Then there’s Ezra, my mister boy, who has encountered yet another snafu in our grand tour of the American healthcare system. We were finally on the books for his MRI after months of waiting, calling, asking questions and navigating referrals, only for the hospital to call and inform me that they actually don’t perform MRIs on babies because infants generally need to be sedated. This would have been useful information during any of the roughly eight times I specifically asked for clarification about whether they could perform an MRI on a baby.
So now we are back in the mixer, waiting to hear from his pediatrician’s referrals office while everybody determines where, exactly, one is supposed to take a baby who needs an MRI. Around and around we go, each office handing us gently to the next office while I develop an increasingly intimate relationship with hold music. The healthcare system is broken, and I will be doing a much deeper dive into this soon, so stay tuned. But I digress, because Ezra himself is marvelous.
He will be one year old in less than two weeks, which fills me with overwhelming joy and also a deep personal objection to the passage of time. I can’t wait to celebrate him, except I absolutely can wait because he is my sweet baby pie and I would like to know who exactly authorized the gods of time to begin removing his chubby little squishy baby cheeks.
His newest favorite activity is feeding his father and me. Whenever I try to give him a piece of food, he takes it from my hand, looks at me lovingly and shoves it directly into my face. Naturally, I feel obligated to eat whatever he has offered because refusing would be emotionally devastating, even when the selection is steamed zucchini. This is love now.
Here on the Homefront, we’re finding our way toward enjoying family time even when the pressure is on, navigating a broken healthcare system for our sweet baby pie, living inside the ordinary chaos of a family with three children and, because of course we are, still renovating a house into a space that actually works for all of us.
I also saw some wonderful comments on yesterday’s piece about cabinets and countertops, and I want to say thank you. There were genuinely helpful ideas in there, and several of you gave me things to consider that I hadn’t thought of before, which is more than I can say for today’s trash heap of a news cycle.
Because while I am attempting to figure out how to make Sunday slightly less complicated, the federal government appears to be running an experiment to determine whether every manageable problem in America can be made harder. Which brings us back to Canada.
Prime Minister Mark Carney walked away from trade negotiations Friday after deciding the terms demanded by Washington went too far, and 50 percent U.S. tariffs on about $20 billion worth of Canadian goods took effect the following day. Canada says it will retaliate dollar for dollar beginning September 8, while Trump announced Monday that tariffs on Canadian cars, trucks, auto parts and steel will rise to 50 percent on January 1.
This would be economically significant even if Canada were simply another country from which we occasionally purchased lumber and maple syrup, but the American and Canadian economies have spent decades growing around one another. Auto parts can cross the border several times before a finished vehicle rolls off the line, American farms rely on Canadian potash, refineries use Canadian crude, and northern states purchase Canadian electricity.
Ontario’s Doug Ford says everything should be on the table if the dispute continues, including critical minerals, electricity, oil and potash. Ontario alone exports enough electricity to power roughly 1.5 million American homes and businesses, and Ford pointed specifically to the high-grade nickel and uranium Canada supplies to the United States.
The Trump administration says Canada has taken advantage of the United States for years. Canadian leaders increasingly describe the dispute as a matter of sovereignty and accuse Washington of trying to weaken Canadian industries until their production moves south. Whatever one thinks the ideal trade agreement should look like, it’s worth appreciating the extraordinary achievement required to transform Canada into an economic adversary threatening to withhold uranium.
Meanwhile, Health Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr.’s department has opened a new public-comment process around changes to the childhood vaccination schedule, following Trump’s August directive calling for fewer shots at individual appointments and eventually separating the combined measles, mumps and rubella vaccine into individual vaccines. This is happening while the country continues relearning why we developed vaccination programs in the first place.
The Washington Post looked closely at a measles outbreak in the Denver area this year involving just ten cases, nine children and one adult. Containing those ten cases required 189 public-health workers, 6,876 hours of labor, 91 quarantines and $491,175, while infected or quarantined students collectively missed 512 days of school.
Half a million dollars. Ten cases. Not ten thousand or a statewide epidemic, but ten human beings contracting one of the most contagious vaccine-preventable diseases on Earth created thousands of hours of work across multiple public-health agencies because measles doesn’t care whether the government has decided preventive medicine feels administratively excessive.
There is a peculiar kind of efficiency involved in taking a system designed to prevent disease cheaply, making it harder for families to navigate and then paying enormous sums to contain the disease when it returns. I have spent months trying to get one baby into an MRI machine, so perhaps my tolerance for healthcare systems introducing additional steps is currently lower than usual.
The immigration system has apparently discovered the same management philosophy. The Trump administration proposed a new regulation Monday that would charge employers $103,265 for certain new H-1B petitions, creating a formal rulemaking process after a federal judge struck down Trump’s earlier attempt to impose a similar $100,000 charge through presidential proclamation.
The proposed fee would apply to cap-subject H-1B petitions rather than the cap-exempt petitions used by qualifying universities, affiliated nonprofits, nonprofit research organizations and government research institutions. DHS estimates the new charge could generate roughly $8.8 billion annually. Here’s where things become especially interesting.
The new proposal is also broader than Trump’s earlier $100,000 policy in an important way. It would apply to cap-subject H-1B petitions for workers who are already living in the United States, including international graduates changing from student status into H-1B status. The earlier presidential policy largely targeted workers being brought into the country from abroad, which means the administration is no longer simply proposing a six-figure price on bringing a skilled worker into America. It could also put that price on keeping someone who is already here and has followed the legal pathway.
According to the proposed regulation, nearly $3 billion of that money would help fund federal immigration courts and roughly $1 billion would go to ICE, while additional billions would support USCIS and other agencies involved in the immigration system. So an American employer seeking to legally hire a highly skilled foreign worker could pay more than $100,000 for the privilege, and some of that money would then help fund the country’s immigration-enforcement apparatus. We have apparently found a way to make legal immigration finance immigration enforcement, which is certainly one method of closing the circle.
There may be another six-figure barrier coming even earlier in that pathway. DHS has now sent a separate proposed fee rule for the Optional Practical Training program, which allows international graduates to work in the United States after completing their studies, to the White House for regulatory review. Officials have reportedly considered a fee of roughly $100,000 for OPT, although that amount has not been finalized and the rule itself has not yet been released. For now, it’s a proposal to watch rather than a settled policy, but it would potentially place another enormous cost between graduating from an American university and remaining here legally to work.
Then there is plastic. A diplomatic memo reviewed by The Washington Post shows the United States pushing against binding limits on plastic production in negotiations over a global plastics treaty while seeking broad language allowing countries to disregard treaty obligations when they determine national security, infrastructure or supply chains require it. Global plastic pollution has already grown beyond 57 million tons per year.
Plastic, it should be noted, is overwhelmingly produced from chemicals derived from fossil fuels, and the administration’s position closely resembles the plastics industry’s preference for voluntary national plans rather than binding international production limits. The argument is that strict limitations could interfere with materials needed for military readiness, protective equipment and other national-security purposes, which sounds reasonable until one remembers that we are negotiating a global agreement about a substance now present in oceans, rivers, soil, animals and human bodies. Apparently there must always be a loophole large enough to drive a petrochemical plant through.
And while diplomats discuss how much environmental restraint is simply too burdensome, more than 90,000 people around Reno, Nevada, have been urged to evacuate because of the Hawk Fire. The human-caused fire exploded across more than 15,000 acres after igniting Saturday and remained uncontained Monday morning as shifting winds pushed flames toward residential areas. Homes have been destroyed, six people have been injured, thousands have lost power, schools across Washoe County have closed and the Nevada National Guard has been deployed.
Firefighters are trying to hold the line while tens of thousands of people decide what they can fit into a vehicle before leaving their homes. That’s the part climate stories eventually arrive at. Not the graph, the treaty language, or the argument over regulatory authority, but somebody standing in a bedroom deciding whether there’s enough time to grab the photo albums.
Washington, meanwhile, spent part of the weekend hosting the Freedom 250 Grand Prix, where IndyCars raced around the National Mall as Trump waved the green flag and took a ceremonial lap in the presidential limousine. More than 150,000 spectators packed the area for an event featuring military flyovers and race cars screaming past national monuments.
At essentially the same moment, the government was fighting in court to continue constructing Trump’s $400 million White House ballroom, which the administration has increasingly defended as a national-security project because of secure facilities planned beneath it. Chief Justice John Roberts temporarily allowed construction to continue Friday.
There is, somewhat inconveniently, already a modern nuclear-resistant bunker beneath the White House grounds that former officials say was designed to shelter the president and senior government leaders for weeks during an emergency. So that’s Washington this week.
We are racing cars around the monuments, building a ballroom over a bunker near another bunker, fighting Canada, reconsidering childhood vaccination, charging six figures for legal skilled immigration, negotiating a national-security escape hatch for plastic and watching tens of thousands of Americans flee a wildfire.
At home, my children are waiting for school supplies. My oldest is probably going to open a package of sticky notes with the reverence normally reserved for religious artifacts. Ember will continue demanding the organizational standards of a tiny corporate executive while refusing to participate in implementation. Ezra will continue feeding me zucchini and growing despite my repeated objections, and I will continue calling hospitals until somebody, somewhere, tells me where my baby can get the MRI his doctor says he needs.
My husband and I will try Sunday again next week. Maybe we won’t expect it to repair everything. Maybe we’ll stop handing one day the impossible assignment of making up for six others. Maybe we’ll pay closer attention to each other and do one thing somebody is excited about and let the rest remain unfinished. Because that may be the lesson buried underneath today’s mess. Life is already complicated enough without deliberately adding another obstacle.
Families understand this because eventually somebody has to actually live inside the consequences. Somebody pays the grocery bill after the tariff, misses school during the outbreak, and waits on hold for the referral. Somebody packs the car during the evacuation, cleans the plastic out of the water, and somebody still has to make dinner afterward. Preferably not steamed zucchini.