Work It: a blog for Working Moms

Working moms in the news: The feminists made us do it

In the July/August edition of theAtlantic.com Sandra Tsing Loh writes about...well about choosing your choice.

I was laid off last September - my third layoff since May 2003 - I decided to stop forcing the issue already. My "career" didn't mean much to me anymore. I was regularly dealing with idiocy. Plus my area of expertise - niche technology marketing - is flush with people I don't like. I decided to try cobbling together some freelance work from home. It's going well, but not great enough to pay for full-time daycare. So I also spend 70 hours of bad to great quality time with my girls, while working in yoga pants and t-shirts.

I went from decent salary with huge chunk going to daycare (two kids in daycare = 2nd mortgage payment) to teenier salary all coming to me. And the gas price rise is not taking a bite either as the girls and I can walk everywhere but the grocery store. Admittedly I am looking for part-time work, an attempt at regularly scheduled money. With caveats though  - this PT job must be within walking distance of my home, because if I never have to commute again it will be too soon.

My take on our post-feminist (post-post feminist?) generation is that we get to choose our choice.I get to be picky about the location of my job because this is the era where I can/should have a job but also is an era (or should be) when I don't feel like I have to be working 9-5 with commute just to prove that whatever boys can do, girls can do better. Luckily we have a generation of men who understand - whether by experience with their own working mother or by wet noodle lashings by us - that despite our telecommute, freelancing or traditional 9 to 5 commute there will not be a martini waiting upon arrival home nor will there be a roast at 7:00 (unless someone remembered to put one in the slow cooker this morning).

So the feminists that came before me fought the good fight. And maybe women like Friedan and Steinam wouldn't be thrilled by my choice. Still I thank them for paving the inroads that allow me a choice at all.

Working moms in the news: "Less salary for more time with kids"

By Laura

As picked up in many places, a Careerbuilder.com survey released in May found over 40 percent of working mothers would take a pay cut if it meant more time with their kids. Among respondents 34 percent said they'd give up at least 10 percent of their salary for less time on the job.

"While moms strive to keep a healthy balance between their professional and personal lives, lack of time with their children still seems to be an issue. More than a third (34 percent) of working moms said they spend less than three hours per day with their children. Seventeen percent reported they had missed three or more significant events in their child’s life in the last year. Twenty-seven percent had missed two or more."

Ouch. That last one hurts. Yes?

Since I've been a work-from-home-mom for six months, this is no longer my problem (I'm considering sending both to full-time day camp this summer.) What about you? Are you missing events?

Is the difference between wanting to see your kids more/taking a pay cut and surviving $4 gas and $4 milk/after a pay cut too great a chasm?

Ferocious Fours - part deux

By Laura L.

Somewhere on this site there is a post about a four-year-old girl pushing her mother to try new levels of punishment. I wrote that one. It's about my oldest who is now (finally) a likable person again. Unfortunately for all of us, the 18 month difference between my girls means that the calming of the oldest marks the descent into madness for the youngest.

If you've known me long enough you may remember my relief and joy that my sweet second child was a quiet newborn, a quiet infant, and an introverted toddler. There were a few months of worry that she may never talk, but she was just a bit behind. Truthfully as much as her big sis talks we all have to find a place to fit two words in. Regardless, she is/has been different in so many ways - one would dare use "easy baby" - that I hoped this phase would follow suit. Julia turned 4 in February and it is different. She is making up for lost time.

This back-to-back fourness has worn my nerves and shredded my patience, but she is definitely worse. The tantrums are bigger and badder. I have yet to find a punishment that seems to affect her in any way other than a temporary slow down of her total annihilation of the house. Also we describe her whiney voice as the dog whistle. The pitch and shriekiness of it makes me (and the dog) mental. She's become a picky eater, has decided peeing in the toilet is optional and likes to find the tallest point in every room and jump from it.

The one positive I hang onto? Like every other part of parenting the second kid, I know it will end. The fear that I may never like to be in her company again isn't floating just beneath the surface of my "It's just a phase" mantra. It really is just a phase. I know it as opposed to hoping it. By this time next year we'll be on the other side of it. And - if she changes as much as her sister - all signs of baby will be gone and I'll have two big kids.

Still, keep a mattress-covered room on order for me, I have a feeling back-to-back fourteens will be my undoing.

What has been the most challenging age to you as a parent?

Coffee Break: Procrastination one link at a time

Today's Link: Deceptively Delicious, a cookbook

Why: I know I'm not the only mom always searching for healthy but delicious recipes for my family. And because I'm all about sneaking in the veggies. It's actually a hobby-bordering-on-obsession of mine, how many servings of mushrooms, green peppers and spinach can I hide in a fritatta? Heard this mentioned by Kelly Ripa, she served guest co-host Pat Sajak a brownie that is hiding spinach and carrots (!) and he seemed to actually like it.

Football Season

by Laura

In my house, we're all about the Eagles. Anyone who pays attention to football has heard the stories about the rabid Philly fans. I don't consider myself rabid. However I do plop my children in a different room and in front of an age-appropriate DVD so that I can watch part of each game uninterrupted. It's one of my dirty mom secrets. They need something to bring up in therapy in 20 years and if my need to watch the first half of a football game is the worst they come up with...well, it's just not that bad.

Way before we had to think of ways to entertain the girls, really way before we even had the girls, my husband and I started a tradition of gameday food. Our own personal tailgate in our living room. The menus vary from surf and turf one week to cheesesteaks the next. When we're hosting or attending a football-related get together I have to think bigger. Easier, even. I love my friends dearly but I do not want to be slaving away Martha Stewart-style in the kitchen while they're drinking beer and yelling at the TV in the living room.

In the 10 years of this foodie tradition, there have been many winners. But there is one dip in particular that is often requested, easy-to-make, and can satiate a crowd. I share this gem with you now:

Buffalo Chicken Dip

4 or 5 cooked chicken breasts, chopped (feel free to use already-cooked and sliced chicken in packages 2 – 9oz pkgs, you must still chop it into smaller, less than bite-sized, fits-on-a-chip pieces)

12 oz Frank’s red hot sauce

2 – 8 oz softened cream cheese

1 C chopped celery

1 C ranch dressing

2 C shredded monterey jack cheese.

Chop chicken. Heat chicken and red hot sauce in a frypan or skillet. Add cream cheese, celery and ranch dressing, stir until combined. Pour into 9x13 baking dish and sprinkle with shredded cheese. Bake at 350 for 20 minutes.

NOTE:  You can easily halve the recipe for 2-4 people. Use 2 6oz pkgs of chicken but 1/2 all other ingredients. My husband has suggested many times that I sub shrimp for chicken (he likes to order buffalo shrimp at restaurants) but I'm not so sure that will work. If you try it that way, be sure to let us know how it turns out!

And also...GO EAGLES! No, really. PLEASE...GO already. 0 and 2 is not what we imagined!

Thank you to the teachers

By Laura W.

Last week was "Teachers Appreciation Week." Both the school my son goes to and my daughter’s daycare had posted lists of gifts to bring to the teachers every day: cards, chocolates, flowers, food for their lunch, etc. I know some parents got annoyed that the teachers demanded to be appreciated, but honestly, how many times do we tell them what a great job they do?

The daycare teachers in particular get a bum rap. Some people don’t even consider them "teachers." To me, they are more than teachers: they are mothers and aunts and friends. While I may complain about changing diapers on one kid a day, these women change eight or ten kids, every day. They have to deal with the runny noses, and the spit-ups, and the vomit, and all the smelly things that come out of babies. They encourage the babies to learn how to sit up, and crawl, and then walk. They make the cute cards we get for Mother’s Day. They toilet train, and then clean up after the kids have accidents. They get bitten, hit, scratched, and then have to deal with angry parents, who cannot believe their little angels are capable of that behavior. They kiss the boo-boos, mediate the conflicts over the legos, and constantly remind everybody to keep their hands to themselves.

The daycare teachers watch our children from birth to school, and what do they get in return? Poor pay, no benefits, and the wrath of the parents when things don’t go like they want. No wonder daycares have such high turnover rates!

The daycare my daughter goes to is not the most prestigious. It doesn’t have all the accreditations, and hasn’t gotten any awards. What it does have are teachers that are caring and warm. My daughter gets spoiled with all the attention, and hugs and kisses. She seems happy there, and that makes me happy, because I can come to work comforted in the knowledge that she is safe there. One week out of 52 is not enough to tell the teachers how grateful I am for their efforts. I try to do something for them every holiday. And it doesn’t have to cost too much money: a hand lotion from the dollar store and a pretty card can mean so much.

So today I want to say thank you to all the daycare teachers out there. Your work means so much to all us working mothers. I consider you more than just a teacher: to me, you’re a partner and a friend.

Laura Whitlock is a new "Work It" writer. Welcome, Laura!

Kindergarten? Not so much

By Laura

 

Two years ago, our school district pushed back the kindergarten entry date. I know this because the lovely director of our daycare informed me the day after the school board approved the new date. Since the daycare/preschools generally follow the school district's calendar, she foresaw Alana being affected and wanted to give me the option of moving her back or keeping her with her class. I was slightly annoyed by the news, but mostly thought about in terms of another year of daycare costs for two.

I have a different annoyance now. My kid? Totally ready for kindergarten. According to all the checklists and tests (such as here, here and here) she’s ready. According to her teachers at preschool, she’s ready. According to the vast majority of those who know her, she’s ready. Of course I think she’s ready, I’ve yelled “Call Harvard!” for each milestone along the way. Though to be honest, we’re still working on her successfully wiping her butt. Still she’s good to go.

 

I was a really early entry kid. And I don’t think it did any harm. Perhaps being 17 and a freshman in college wasn’t the best combination ever, but everyone matures at their own pace and there’s no way to determine that from preschool. However, to enter the big K now, one must turn 5 by August 31, as opposed to by September 30. Our school district no longer allows testing for early entry. So she misses the deadline by eight days. I blame the relatively new practice of starting the school year in August.

Late last year I had a brief respite from worrying this random change of dates will cause her to be bored at school forever (okay, slight exaggeration). I researched our charter school and loved it. Though it’s technically part of the district, it has a separate board that hadn’t changed the date. Alas, a letter arrived in January announcing that Alana’s application will be revisited for the 2008/09 school year, due to her birthdate and the recently changed kindergarten entry date. It’s still my first choice – the charter school – but she’s in daycare, okay preschool, for another 18 months.

 

I acknowledge there is a possibility that I’m being Alpha Mom about this. Kindergarten won’t provide her with a huge competitive edge. It’s not even required. And considering the growing population in our district, there are probably 40 other kids who will turn six within days of starting kindergarten next year. And yes, they have to pick a date, based on whatever – emotional readiness perhaps. But I have a kid who is “ready,” who misses by only eight days and who will cost me another $6500. (That last one slipped in.)

Perils of Punishment

By Laura

On a lovely Friday morning in November, the quiet lull of my neighborhood going about its pre-commute routine was shattered by the cries of a 4-year-old girl. It wasn’t just any 4-year-old it was my 4-year-old. And it wasn’t just any Friday it was Show-n-Tell Friday. I’d just taken away her turtle puppet – the item she wanted to share with her class that day – as punishment for repeated non-listening and aggressive swinging of Swiffer at her sister’s head. The crying was her frustration, upset and embarrassment at facing show-n-tell with no item. Also, it was her woeful attempt at convincing me otherwise. Then there was the anger, displayed for all within earshot when she stomped across the front porch, yelling/crying that I am mean and that she’d prefer it if I was no longer related to her.

What she didn’t realize? My position was solidified. Because enough is enough. Because I made the threat and I don’t believe in empty threats. Because when I requested the turtle, she threw it at me. And because…I am the mother in this scenario.

This is a new level of punishment for us. Alana has been ramping up the outrageous behavior for awhile. I mistakenly let out some slack and was allowing room for her to settle down. I’m trying to temper my anger – it’s jarring to be angry at her – and I think I’m doing a good job at that. Still, I feel badly, like maybe I am the meanest mommy ever. But I see no other choice. For this mini-phase within a phase that’s part of the big phase, relatively harsh penalties are the only things working.

Since the day of no show-n-tell there have been a few more moments of jaw-dropping behavior. Each quickly followed by equally surprising (to her) punishments. I wince each time her lip quivers and she shoots me the wounded puppy look. I worry all the time. Sure, the usual, ‘what if I’m doing this wrong’ kind of worries. Also, a new, more uncomfortable worry. What if this is it? This phase is the start of the war. The one that escalates over the next 10-12 years. The one that leaves mothers and daughters battered. I was an active participant in just such a war. I survived. But do I know how to avert one?

My name is Laura and I've let myself go

By Laura

Are you sensing a theme in my recent entries? For me, this was a year of asking ‘Who is that person staring back at me in the mirror?’ And I’ve dissected that subject in this space a few times.

This past week was particularly hard, I turned 35. It’s an age that I’m not yet connected to. One I’m having trouble accepting. For all the reasons you can guess, the birthday made everything raw. I’m weeping often, but am sure that will subside any minute. (And will hopefully be under control before next week’s episode of Grey’s Anatomy, because that show is putting me over the edge.)

During my harried Halloween day, which included a lot of car time commuting from mid-term to parade to job interview to babysitters to trick-or-treating, I caught Oprah’s show on the radio; “Have You Let Yourself Go?” (Oprah needs no promotion help from me, but I thought it may not be too repetitive if mentioned here, as most working moms don’t see the show.) Really, the show’s title tells the story. You can imagine women shared before/after stories. A vast majority moms who threw themselves into it, put everyone else first…I know, you know. I could have written the show really.

Dr. Robin Smith was the featured expert du jour. She suggests “launching your personal comeback,” which is totally an Oprah-fied phrase, but man it sounds really good. It seemed like perfect timing for me. I was crying along with the guests as they tried to grasp what happened, where it all went awry. I need a comeback! And I was confident that in a few months I’d write Oprah explaining how this show was it for me, the one that flipped the appropriate switches in my head.

“Oh I’d talked a good game, but never made all the changes until that show on Halloween,” my letter would say. (I have a vivid imagination during rush hour.)

My excitement lasted an entire commercial break. Then there was talk of starting a journal, a “Who Am I?” journal. But they don’t mean list mom, wife, Scorpio, mid-thirties. They mean answer the deeper, philosophical version of that question. My dreams - of this show as catalyst - faded. Though I did completely appreciate the doctor stressing this should consider who you are now, as the you pre-marriage, pre-motherhood or pre-that last ass you dated is gone.

I’m afraid to answer that question. Hell I’m afraid to consider its existence. First, I’m pretty sure I have no idea. Second, I fear the answer (if I had one). Third, I’m too busy putting everyone else first, studying, watching the week’s DVR’d shows and carting my children to 2nd-tier-holiday festivities to have moments of deep thought.

Have you let yourself go? Or do you know who you are? Do you want to launch your comeback? Where do you start?

Striving for balance

By Laura

What is all this talk of putting yourself first?

The parenting magazines, my mother, Oprah - they all strongly suggest it. I threw my whole self into motherhood. But I'm three years in and worn out. The compromise and selflessness, the juggling of priorities that aren't mine. It's constant. Unyielding. Along the way I've made small efforts at me time, but they're never re-occurring; a night out with the girls here, a mental health day off from work there. Apparently I'm doing this all wrong. I know, I'm not alone.

I've been feeling off forever, or just a very long time. I'm tired. Like first trimester tired. And forgetful, which isn't an accurate description of my daily, major "Oh, crap" moments. I now carry a notebook in my bag to consult when I forget why I'm driving to any given destination. Also, I'm disconnected in a way that makes me feel slightly out of control.

These are the things I was told to expect with motherhood, but one day about a month ago I decided it's gone on long enough and made a doctor's appointment. After a long talk about my symptoms and current lifestyle, my doctor sent me off for a battery of blood tests. The good news - and the bad news - is that there's nothing wrong with me (So far. There are still blood test results I don't know about, but the doc assured me she's covering all bases with these.)

Before the first set of results came back, I found myself sort of hoping it would be...something. Because God forbid I face facts. I used to be the woman who regularly exercised, who ate healthy, who got a pedicure just because, who took time to relax. I used to be her. And I was in denial about not being her anymore.

I own a well-worn t-shirt that says "Love. Peace. Balance. Harmony." Each has a corresponding icon. Ironically, it used to be a regular piece of my workout wardrobe. I wore it recently and repeated those words 8 million times because my oldest asked that many times. By midday I was thinking one out of four ain't bad. Except it is bad, I want all four.

During that first doctor's appointment a month ago, I was expecting the pat answer - the mom of young kids diagnosis. But my lovely doc - also a mother of two small children - said, "The fact that you're here, in a non-pediatrician doctor's office, for something going on with you says to me that it's something to take seriously." Us moms, we wait until a limb is falling off to use a half hour on a frivolous appointment for ourselves.

Last week, I was handed an opportunity - I'm technically not a "working" mother right now. And that's okay because I'm craving a change - a big change - in that area. I was never completely comfortable with turning away from something safe for the unknown. Not because I don't like to take chances, but because the mom and wife I've become assumed it was irresponsible. Now I have my chance to pursue what I want, what I've been dreaming of. Something that will ultimately be good for my family, but first satisfies one of my needs.

I'm working on balance. Harmony and peace are sure to follow.