The Mamahood

Why Working and Blogging and Mommying Don't Mix

If you're a regular reader of my blog, you know I'm not a regular writer on my blog. Which is unfortunate, because I started this blog with the best of intentions—multiple posts a week with witty insights, fabulous advice, etc., etc., I was going to share with the masses.

But then reality set in. I realized that I didn't have all that many tips to share (because, you know, I'm kind of flying by the seat of my pants here). And most of the time, I was too tired to have insights...or at least, witty ones. Because most of the time, my "free" time comes at about 1 a.m., and if the options are to pack lunches so my kids can eat or blog about the latest in my life, my kids win out. Every. Single. Time. (Sorry!)

I'm a bad blogger because, despite the fact that I'm practically chained to my computer, I do have a rich real life. I have two fabulous daughters. A husband that I love. Lots and lots (and lots and LOTS) of challenging work to keep me busy (and dreams of finally living a big dream from my childhood and writing a novel). A core crew of fabulous girlfriends who I plan to drink wine and laugh with until I go senile (and probably even past then). Family far and wide who I don't see often enough. Oh, and a kitchen remodel to survive.

It's all a bit too much, at the moment, even for someone who likes her life busy. There are days where I fantasize about ditching it all and moving out to a deserted isle in the Caribbean...at least for a week or two. But mostly, I just trudge through in triage mode, taking care of my life one crisis at a time.

I'm hoping to get better about chronicling a bit more of my life (if only because my poor daughters don't have baby books, so I can at least, someday, print this bugger out and give them the high and lowlights). But for the moment, I'll have to be content to just go out and live it.

 

Missing Out

Only a few months into motherhood, I quit my full-time gig and became a full-time freelancer. It was the best decision I've ever made: Because of that, for the past five-plus years, I've not only been pulling down a pretty darned good income (thank you, wonderful friends and clients), but I've also been able to squeeze in every single school event, party, and milestone.

But in two weeks, thanks to a big business trip for a new client, I'll be missing a biggie: the first day of first grade.

I know I shouldn't be too torn up about it. It isn't kindergarten or college. My husband will be there to take the pictures and beam proudly as he walks her over to school—and he's missed out on plenty of other events over the past five years, so it's only fair that he gets a few just for himself. I'll be able to hear all about her first day and her new teacher that evening on the phone. (Should really get a webcam for my husband's computer, now that I think of it.) 

But I have such mommy guilt over it that I haven't been able to tell my daughter yet that I'm missing her big day. I keep holding out hope that the trip will get postponed (even though travel reqs seem to be going out as we speak). I know, in the grand scheme of things, my daughter will never remember that Mommy was in Memphis for her first day of first grade. But Mommy always will.

Green with Envy

Every evening, as I wander the neighborhood with my rabbit-chasing puppy, I find myself discovering that the grass really is greener, pretty much all over my neighborhood.

Because I start every spring with great expectations: This will be the year when I turn my overgrown front yard into a charming English garden (just a touch on the wild side). And by year's end, I have a somewhat lovely but totally overgrown mass of green (with plenty of weeds thrown in for good measure).

Unfortunately, I bought a house in a neighborhood populated with the types of people who can manage a landscape. There are an abundance of able-bodied retired folk, who have nothing left to tend to but their luxe emerald lawns (so soft and plush I want to lie down and nap on them). There's also a significant number of stay-at-home moms who have kids in school—and so have a leisurely morning to spend planting pansies and keeping the dandelions at bay. And of course, there's a small minority of working couples with no kids, who may not be tending their gardens during the week, but aren't spending their weekends constantly running kids around to karate practice and birthday parties, or ensuring their kids don't run into the street after a ball.

I can literally walk down any street in my neighborhood and pick out the houses of women in my working-mom boat—the overgrown, brown-patched lawns, the virtually nonexistent (or ridiculously ungroomed) landscaping, the days' worth of newspapers thrown into the bushes.

I know that someday I'll be one of the retired folks, tsk-tsking at the miserable mess of my neighbor's piecemeal attempts at home upkeep. Until then, I'll be spending my time growing girls instead of begonias.

Taking My Daughter to Work...When I Work From Home

I love the whole concept of take our daughters (and sons, if you have them) to work. They get a chance to see what you do all day, and what it's going to look like when they finally hit the workforce (unless, of course, by then we're all wearing Jetson suits and working from our home pods).

Next year, when my daughter's finally old enough (and they won't plan a field trip on the same day), we have a few options for her. She can take the early morning train into the city with her father, get a glimpse of how he edits stories speedily and sends them on their way (and engages in whatever newsgathering activities they have planned for the kids—corporations here now have very fancy programs set up for the kids). I could probably take her into the city and let her try her hand at creating clever advertisements at my main client's place—it'll be a rare treat to be in the city for a day for both of us.

But in some ways, I'd like to have her really see what I do all day. So she'd stay home with me, curled up on the couch with a laptop and a dog. I'd let her help me with my content matrix for a client—and pick our entertainment to accompany the activity (audiobook or movie?). We'd take a laundry break—then later, a lunch break to cobble something together from the kitchen. And then interview a few people for a story that's due next week. And maybe shop for some clothes for my daughter online. (She's growing like crazy, you know.) I'd let her borrow her dad's laptop to pull together a great blog post about our day together, then we'd head out on our route of pickups and errands.

I wonder what she'd think of my work day, my type of work, my attempts (often lousy) to try to balance my work and life. And I wonder what her work life—and her work-life balance—will look like when she's the mommy.

Tales of a Scatterbrained Mom

This is the time of year when already overloaded moms the world over add another billion to-dos to their lists. Among them:

• Figuring out what to get for the various and sundry relatives—both hers and his.
• Working through the delicate set of equations necessary to determine if the number and size of gifts presented to each child looks about even, mirrors their wish lists at the given moment and won't cause tears if the children get different gifts and suddenly, one decides that she likes what the other one got instead. 
• E-mailing furiously with the other completely overwhelmed moms to see if there's a mutually agreeable tiny chink in the overpacked schedules of holiday shows and pageants, shopping, visits to Santa and cookie baking to squeeze in a little visit. If only to allow said moms to drink coffee/eggnog/tequila and take a minute to breathe.
• Trying to remember who moved in the past year, trying to locate the change-of-address e-mail, then sending a sheepish, "Sorry, I'm a dolt who couldn't take the time to copy and paste your new address into my computer address book...send it again" e-mail to the person.

(And I have found, invariably, that the dads of the world simply don't worry their pretty little heads about this...their brains are way too busy trying to figure out what to get their wives, who don't need or want anything and don't have any time for the foolishness of "hobbies" because they're too busy figuring out what to get their kids and filling out 95 Christmas cards.)

And so, inevitably, with all the work a mom's doing, her brain becomes overheated and melts. Just a little bit. Which allows things to happen as they've happened this week. I've forgotten an appointment or two. I purchased not one, but two of the very same amazing (and not so cheap) gift for my dear husband. (He won't need but one.) I marched away from my daughter's school with her backpack and lunch one day. And I've been calling my cats/dogs/children all by a string of all of their names—Matty/Turkey/Boo/etc./etc. Somewhere in there, I hit on the right one.

I still have many cards to send out, several gifts to buy, and not a single cookie baked. And yet, I've agreed to take on a last-minute, tight-turnaround project for a brand-new client. We'll see if I have any brains left come 2010.

What a Working Mom Really Wants for Christmas

My darling husband has been asking for gift ideas for me for Christmas. And I'm kind of hard pressed to figure out what to tell him. Anything I need (and pretty much anything I want), I buy for myself. My jeans-and-tee lifestyle isn't conducive to fancy jewelry. And I've just forced myself to make the appointment for the much-needed massage that was my birthday gift (back in April, people), so I should be good until at least my birthday.

Now that I've put my diaper days behind me for good, perhaps I could ask for a swanky purse, but I'd feel a little ridiculous sporting a $300 bag with sweatpants. And since I recently upgraded all of my tech (I get to indulge my passion for the hottest laptop and call it a business expense), there isn't even a cool computer I'm salivating over.

What I'd really want, my husband couldn't wrap and put under the tree. Here's my wish list for Santa:

1. An off button for my brain. So I don't waste those precious few moments I have available for sleeping worrying about my to-do list for the next day. 

2. A housewife's services, for at least a week or two. She could take care of those nagging issues that make me grumble under my breath, like the tomato sauce spatter on the kitchen walls, the air conditioner that's still in the window, the pool gear that's still sitting outside under several inches of unraked autumn leaves.

3. A get-out-of-guilt-free card. One that could be reused over and over again. For those times that I feel like the worst mom in the world when I'm shushing my daughter so I can listen in to a conference call, or nudging a deadline so I can read a story to my daughter's class. A breather from the constant feeling of being pulled in a dozen different directions and the incessant mom guilt would be wonderful.

4. Someone to force me at gunpoint to take free time for myself. Because, honestly, that's the only way to get me to do it. I always see something else on my to-do list that can (and should) be done, and so I won't skip the laundry folding or the work assignment so I can paint my nails or squeeze a workout in.

What's on your list this year?

Opting In or Opting Out

For a long time, the raging working-mom story is that all the moms were quitting the career track for the mommy track. But now, apparently, the trend is reversing—and the moms who were at home are hitting the job market, thanks to concern about shrinking 401Ks or their husband's job security (or lack thereof).

I'm not exactly sure this is the case. First of all, where are the jobs that these women are supposedly nabbing? (From what I've heard and seen, the job market is exceptionally tight.) And second of all, I haven't seen any such trend amongst my friends and family members. Yeah, there are a few who did decide to become SAHMs, but it seems to have nothing to do with the lack of corporate support. It was strictly a personal preference. The bigger trend, at least among my friends, is to quit the corporate lifestyle and become entrepreneurs. Of my close circle of mommy friends, only a few are holding down a traditional, in-the-office, sick-days kind of job. The vast majority call their own shots, which makes it easier to make it to morning dropoff or that all-important preschool play. 

I do think that corporate America is failing families big time, by refusing to allow their workers the flexibility they need to have a healthy work-life balance (and make them much more motivated to work hard for their employer). As an entrepreneur, I put in plenty of hours (probably even more than I did in my corporate job)—but because I'm my own boss, I'm able to make adjustments to my schedule to accommodate my family. And I feel very, very lucky for that.

Mind Your Own Business

My mind often boggles when confronted with so many people so willing to tell other people how they're living their lives or raising their kids "wrong." You name the topic—breastfeeding vs. formula, working vs. SAHM, TV vs. no TV—everyone has an opinion, and they're willing to blab about it (and scold you about it). Especially on the web, where the opinions expressed are often extremely harsh, because those expressing it can hide away behind their computer screens.

I definitely have my own opinions about how children should be raised, and how life should be lived—and my ideas (for the most part) seem to work well for my family. But one of my biggest opinions is that I should, generally, keep my opinions to myself. We're a working-mom, mostly vegetarian, lots of pets, TV's okay, pierce-your-ears-at-age-5 kind of family. But I know that that doesn't work for everyone, so I don't feel like I should force my own views on everyone else.

I'm tired of watching women tear other women down over the choices they make, or the lifestyles that are forced on them. (Most women I know don't have much of a choice in their ability to stay at home, for instance.) Can't we all just get along, embrace our differences, and enjoy each other's company? Be a little kinder, a little gentler, a little more supportive?

I'm thankful that my circle of friends has always been supportive of my choices—even if the outside world isn't always.

Raising A Quarter Million for Your Kid...

According to MSN.com, that's how much you'll pay to raise a kid from birth to age 17 (note that that figure doesn't even factor in those wonderful college expenses). So how are so many people from modest means go about raising a child without going (too far) into hock?

As someone who is in the home stretch of our most expensive year of parenting, thus far (including a trip to China to adopt one child, day care/preschool expenses for both kids, and diapering the baby), I have to say it isn't easy. Especially when the economy pulls the rug out from under your relatively successful business.

Our entertainment expenses have been practically nil, since we've basically had a sitter exactly three times in the past year (and every time was free). A wild night for us is a glass of wine and a game of dominoes.

Since I'm able to accomplish most of my writing and content strategy work from the comfort of my couch, I'm saving oodles on commuting and wardrobe (since I don't even have to move out of my pajamas on any given day, if I really don't want to).

And of course, there's always debt. We are in the hole right now, due to a faster-than-expected adoption, and a miserable fourth quarter for my business. But I'm expecting, with my growing uptick in work, the fact that my oldest is heading for a (free! blessedly free!) wonderful kindergarten down the street, and my hope that we'll make it through the next quarter without a major home-repair catastrophe (fingers crossed and knocking on wood), we'll be, with the exception of our mortgage, debt free by January. 

Just in time to really buckle down and start saving up for college—the other quarter million we'll need to raise by 2022.

This is How She Does It...

So, you wonder how a mother manages to run a business—and attempt to take care of her family at the same time? Let me walk you through my morning.

1. I wake up at 6 a.m. to the sounds of my youngest playing in her room. Before I took on my last project, which required a crazy commute into the city, the girls (and I) would often sleep well past 7. But now, my girls have become early risers. Check my e-mail for the conference call dial-in. I'm supposed to be on at 9 a.m. sharp.

2. Get the girls (and me) breakfast, which is one big bickerfest over plate and cup colors, and who gets to sit next to mommy.

3. Get everyone dressed. We're running into a problem where most of our oldest's clothes are too small for her, yet she insists on wearing them...resulting in me looking like a bad mommy who lets her four-year-old daughter wear belly shirts. Hunt through the house for oldest's shoes. The dial-in number finally comes through, and I take a few seconds to look over the documents.

4. Feel an odd sense of foreboding when I leave to drop my youngest off across the street at 8:30. This is all going too easy.

5. Get my oldest strapped into the car, then discover that the key is missing off of my chain (thanks to yesterday's car repairs). The time is now 8:45. I have to get my daughter to her school, 10 minutes away, and make the conference call.

6. Get my daughter out of the car. Run into the house and scramble frantically for the key. Call my neighbor to see if she can drive my daughter to school in time for the 9:30 field trip. My neighbor already left to take her son to the same school. It is now 8:55. There is no key.

7. Get on my conference call on my cell phone. I warn my daughter to be quiet. I put myself on mute whenever possible and rustle through things. The time is now 9:10.

8. Find my key. Continue listening in on the conference call, on speakerphone and mute, while I drive. The time is now 9:15.

9. Get daughter out of car while making a few meaningful comments on the call. Put on mute as I get daughter into class (thankfully, there was no need for me to chime in while I was near the rowdy three-year-olds). She arrives as her class is lining up to hit the planetarium. She gets a quick kiss as I run for the exits.

10. Make my contributions to the conference call from my car, in my daughter's school parking lot. Take deep breaths. And wonder if it's too early to drink wine when I get back to my house. Time is 10 a.m.