The Mamahood

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.

In-Mom-nia

In general, I'm averaging about 5 hours of sleep a night—and I don't even have a young, up-every-two-hours baby to blame. I'm up late catching up on laundry, working on projects, or just letting my mind race through a multitude of daily worries.

And apparently, I'm not the only one. My Facebook friend roster is full of people getting two, three, four hours a night. On a regular basis.

I never had this problem before I became a mom, so I wonder if this is something that comes with the motherhood gig. What kind of shuteye are you getting?

Take Our (Young) Children to Work Day

In a few weeks, thousands of school-age kids around the country will descend on workplaces, learning a little bit about what their parents do all day. I'm a little disappointed that my oldest isn't old enough yet to participate in the program, now that I'm on an assignment that's a bit more glamorous and interesting, and that involves actual human contact. Very likely, by the time my daughter is old enough to participate, she won't get to put together a magazine with a bunch of Conde Nast editors. Instead, she'll be hanging out with me at home, watching the usual monotony unfold: "Sit on the sofa and construct a content matrix. Call someone on the phone for an interview about adoption/arthritis/weddings for a story. Lather, rinse, repeat."

I also think it would clear up a little bit of an issue of helping my daughter understand what my work involves. When I asked her recently what she thinks I do all day, she came up with "read stories and eat cupcakes." She's not entirely wrong, as I do read stories (and fix them), and I'm working on a story about wedding cupcakes that involves taste testing various flavors. But I'm imagining she's picturing me sitting on a comfy couch, eating cupcakes and reading through picture books all day. And getting paid for it.

I recommend asking your little ones what they think you do all day at work. You may find that the answer surprises you (and makes for a really funny story to share with your friends). Like when my friend's son said he thought his daddy "ate lunch" all day at work. Nice work if you can get it.

Life at the Extremes

There seems to be no happy medium in my life—it's feast or famine, drought
or deluge. Cases in point:

I spent the bulk of November and December handcrafting Christmas gifts for
relatives and launching an active marshmallow business on Etsy, because the
flood of work I had in September and October (which often led to a complete
lack of sleep) slowed to the tiniest trickle once the economy was in the
toilet. Now that I'm back to work (thank you, oh friends at Modern Bride!),
I've had to turn down several lucrative assignments from new clients. Hope
they'll be there for me in May, when my Modern Bride tenure comes to a
close.

Inevitably, on the nights when I stay up late to try to get a handle on the
laundry situation or I'm on deadline, our youngest decides to wake up right
after I've fallen asleep. If I'm so dog tired that I hit the sack before 10,
she sleeps soundly through the night.

And either my kids are hyper, off-the-wall happy, or cranky and whiny. Or we
have one child on each end of the mood spectrum, which becomes a huger
issue.

I wish there was a way that I could smooth the workload down so it's always
manageable, and always available, that I could bank some sleep so I wouldn't
have to feel exhaustion, and that my kids could find a mellow kind of bliss
that would be easy for us to manage. Does anyone out there have better luck
keeping things on an even keel?

Getting Schooled

I find it fascinating that while the rest of society has moved into the 21st century, the local schools seem firmly committed to the 20th century. Particularly the 1950s, when there was a pearl-wearing homemaker waiting home for all the kids who are on vacation/early dismissal/school activities

My daughter's private pre-K has had 29 days off this year, and several other days with 1 p.m. dismissal. And then there's a week between the start of summer camp and the end of school. Which means that, if we didn't have very flexible schedules, where I work freelance and can work at night and take day-shift childcare duty, and my husband has a sick amount of vacation (six weeks this year), we would never get to take vacations together—and we'd still have two weeks we'd have to cover somehow.

Next year, she starts at the public school, and so far, it doesn't bode well. The registration packet could only be picked up during school hours (fortunately, even though I'm working in the city, I do have one day for errands/running around). When I did show up on one Thursday at five minutes to four, the woman said, "Oh, I already locked up...can you come back tomorrow?" When I said no, she asked if my daughter's grandmother or aunt could come pick it up. Um, no. I doubt they'll take a six-hour drive to come pick up my daughter's registration packet. Registration was also one day only, and on a Thursday. Orientation is in the middle of the day, on a weekday. (Not even in the morning, when working moms could just go to work late. It'll have to be a day off.)

Obviously, our kids are our number one priority in our lives. And we will do whatever we can to be there when they need us, and when they want us. (My switch to freelance was a big part of that.) But I feel like the schools haven't addressed the new reality, where most moms work (we're close to the tipping point, when more women than men are in the workforce), and it might be nice to consider that when they're planning events and figuring out school schedules. So that maybe, for once, working moms don't have to scramble or break hearts (hers and her child's) when it simply can't work out.

Apparently, we have a long way to go.

Making House Calls

My husband is awesome. Heroic, in fact. Since we had to give up the cleaning lady (a sad day for us all), he has stepped up to the plate, ensuring our house stays in some semblance of order while I work while the working's good.

And since he gets paid if he takes sick days, and I do not, he sacrificed his nice, quiet day at work yesterday to stay home and care for not one, but two sick children.

 And while I do appreciate (immensely) everything he does, I just have one teensy request. Do. Not. Call. Me. At. Work. When I am home all day with the girls, I might e-mail him a little bon mot or two, or call him one time if the girls are clamoring for daddy, or if we require more milk or something from the store and he needs to stop on the way home.

But yesterday, I received a LOT of calls...everything from where the medication is stored to how to handle a customer service call that came in. While I appreciate being kept abreast of the situation at home, especially because it involved a very rare, "i really feel sick and have a fever" day from my oldest, I was trying to get work done...not that I didn't appreciate the opportunity to give my daughter a kiss over the phone.

Is this a guy thing? Do all of your husbands all require a greater degree of input from you to manage a day with the kids than you do from him?

The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

I had about 30 good minutes today. I got dressed, scarfed down leftover pancakes for breakfast. And then, it was over. I had to wake the girls up this morning, and there was much sobbing and gnashing of teeth about having to get out of bed. (Trust me, girls, I didn't want to get out of bed then either.) Our oldest refused to wear the outfit we chose last night, and threatened to drop out of school. Our youngest decided she wanted to spend the day sitting on the potty, and screamed bloody murder when I tried to put pants on her. Our dog has been having, ahem, digestive issues, and so I had to let him out several times, all while trying to load up the massive, Santa-like sacks filled with breakfasts, lunches, lovey blankets, sippy cups, fresh bedding, books and the other accoutrements I need to get two children and myself out the door. And, of course, manage all of this while screaming at my oldest that there would be serious consequences if she didn't get ready RIGHT. THIS. MINUTE. And that I would have to stay late at work and miss seeing her if I missed my train, which I was now quite clearly in danger of doing. (This comes back to haunt me later.)

After clearing the six-inch-thick snowdrift off of our windshield and strapping both children in their seats, we were off on my crazy, zig-zag morning commute: 10 minutes racing to our oldest's school. 10 minutes racing back to our youngest's day care provider, right across the street from our house. 10 minutes racing back again to the train station, half a mile from the school. (Don't ask. It's best if you don't know.) I slipped and slid my way through the train station parking lot-cum-ice rink and made my train with moments to spare.

So my day should have improved, right? Except, because we had snow yesterday, apparently, today we needed to have serious problems with the train. Serious, as in, we needed to stay completely still for 45 minutes, on the train, for no apparent reason. I sprinted into work, breathless, an hour late. And since it wasn't work's fault that the train was late, I planned to stay late to make up the time.

Even a day spent copyfitting—slicing and dicing stories to fit a layout, something that I usually find enjoyable in a video game kind of way—wasn't enough to break the funk that my morning caused. 

Soon enough, though, I'd put my time in, and it was back to the train. My commute involves switching trains at a "junction." Generally, there's about 10 minutes to run from one train to the other. Today, apparently, our train line just wanted to eff with me. Because the train out was delayed about 10.5 minutes; and the other train didn't want to wait around for the two dozen of us who were sprinting to the track. And since it was long past rush hour, that meant spending an hour staring at the other sad sacks waiting...and missing seeing my daughters. (Cue the mama guilt, since I'm sure my oldest now thinks that she caused mommy to have to miss dinner.)

(CAUTION: AVOID THIS PARAGRAPH IF YOU'RE EATING) I managed to hold it together until I talked to my husband on the phone. The dog's digestive problems had continued, so my husband took him to the vet. After $300 worth of poking and prodding, the vet determined that our dog has something jagged lodged in his butt. It's my firm belief that this object is a Darth Vader action figure, which has been MIA for a couple of weeks, other than a few small, gnawed-up bits that we found on the floor. The doctor believes the item will pass on its own, but it's going to be pretty ugly at our house until then.

And then I cried, a big, ugly, sniffly cry, in the middle of the train station. And said good night to my girls over the phone.

I made it onto the next train and forgot to stop for milk on the way home, which meant I did get to give my girls kisses good night before they went to sleep. But it also means that I'm giving my girls boxes of chocolate milk in the morning for breakfast. Because there is no way in hell I'm stepping foot back outside the house.

Now I am eating Chinese takeout, drinking a beer, and not moving off the couch. I don't want to take any chances.