Work It: a blog for Working Moms

Working with Sick Kids

by Marijean

We've all done it; had to hand over a sick child to someone else to care for while we went to work. Sometimes it was just the sniffles or, worse, a slight fever we hoped would disappear before the end of the day, or at least go undetected until we could get home. My kids never seemed to get sick on a weekend, or on my day off and in previous less family-friendly jobs, taking off to care for a sick child was discouraged.

When I was a much younger working mom, I had a boss who was decidedly not the best for working moms. His understanding of what his largely female workforce endured to work under inflexible conditions was limited. As a father, his wife stayed at home and had a nanny to help when the kids were young. As a child, he was raised with help as well. He, while employing a high percentage of working moms, personally believed that mothers should stay home with their children. Knowing that, I should have been forewarned that the work environment would not be a friendly one.

Most memorable was the morning my daughter, then about two years old, was sick to her stomach. I knew I still needed to get work done and, weighing my options, decided to pack my poor little girl into the backseat with a towel and a bowl (just in case) and make my 45 minute commute to pick up work to do at home. I was weakened by desperation to, in my mind, keep my job and take care of my daughter simultaneously. Halfway through the drive I had to pull over because my daughter was throwing up in the backseat. I thought, "What on earth am I doing? This is ridiculous," and finally turned around for home. When I called the office to tell them I wouldn't be in but they could e-mail me this or that to work on at home, my immediate supervisor relayed a message from the big boss. He'd told her that I needed to find someone to watch my kids when they were sick and "get my ass into work."

I don't, in retrospect, know why I didn't quit on the spot. The whole scenario upset me so much that it became one of the top reasons on the list I left that job, sadly, a few years later.

Sometimes priorities go askew and it's hard to know when work absolutely has to take a backseat, but when kids are sick, they must come first.

Yesterday, a colleague of mine e-mailed the office to say her young daughter was sick and she'd be taking her to the doctor in the morning and check in later in the day to keep on top of what was going on. I immediately responded to remind her that sick kids come first, a message I want to needlepoint on pillows and deliver to every working mom I know. Today, I'm fortunate to work at home so a sick kid means I might have to take, at worst, half a day off to take them to the doctor, but they're old enough now that the attention they needed when they were small is no longer necessary.

I may have had to learn this lesson the hard way, but I'm determined to look out for younger working moms so they never have to experience what I did.

What do you do when your kids are sick, and you must work? How about your employer? Is there a policy in place? 

Parenting with brutal honesty: Talking about AIDS

by Marijean

It all started because we were listening to a Queen CD while painting the deck. The girl, very nearly 11- years-old, wanted to know what happened to the band.

"The lead singer, Freddy Mercury, died," I said.

"How did he die?" she asked.

"He had AIDS," I said. I could have left it there, but oh no, that's not my style at all. I am more and more, a TMI parent.

Thus began the "History of AIDS" conversation. As we painted, she asked questions and I narrated the history of a virus that appeared in my consciousness as early as 1981, when I was 11-years-old -- the very age she will be in just a few weeks. I told her how, in 1985 I did a report on AIDS for school, handing in a paper that explained the details of the transmission of the virus, to a nun in my very Catholic, all-girls' high school. I wonder still how I had the nerve, but then, as now, I was fascinated by the virus, it's impact both socially and medically.

The girl interjected with "that's very interesting," throughout the conversation. She even turned down the CD so she could focus on the topic more closely. That was a first. I learned that the history of AIDS carries so many great messages; about the importance of not discriminating against others (nod to Tom Hanks for Philadelphia), the importance of understanding and practicing safe sex, infectious diseases and the global impact, how fear motivates people in ways that are counterproductive and of course, the importance of getting to know someone thoroughly and over time before entering into a sexual relationship. "I'm waiting till I get married!" she said.

"Aren't there some diseases that are extinct, now? Couldn't that happen with AIDS?" she asked. I explained that yes, that could happen, if a cure or an immunization is found, but it would still take time and education, particularly in countries where healthcare and resources are so limited. We talked about the impact HIV has had on Africa, in particular, the difference between HIV positive patients and people who have full-blown AIDS and the impact the "cocktail" has had, good and bad as it helps patients live longer and with reduced symptoms, but reduced awareness of the danger of the virus, lowering its importance in the collective consciousness.

Because she's a kid, I told her about Ryan White and how he and his family helped Americans understand the virus, and protected the rights of those suffering from the disease and discrimination simultaneously. I told her about all his celebrity friends like Michael Jackson and Elton John. She wondered if they were more interested in becoming more famous by befriending a sick child. I told her I thought their hearts were in the right place, and that White and his family needed celebrity-level attention to get their message out. It  was that hard to make people understand.

So we painted away, sharing our thoughts and opinions about a virus that has had an impact on the world for nearly thirty years now, something even our children should know and understand.

Resources for AIDS and HIV education:

• AIDS Education and Training Centers
• AVERT
• Center for AIDS

An Oath for Working Moms

by Marijean

1. I will schedule and commit to mental health breaks on a quarterly basis. These can include but are not limited to something as small as a nap, a pedicure, an afternoon of reading a book (or baking, or watching TV) or as extensive as a day spent by yourself (or with your significant other).
2. I will not hesitate to seek help when I need it so I can focus on doing my job at work or at home better. I will not be ashamed or feel guilty because darn it, nobody can do it all and frankly, who wants to?
   1. This includes hiring help around the house and/or childcare.
3. I will ASK. Instead of struggling along, letting things drop and being consumed by pressure I will ask my employer, my child, my spouse, my friends, my colleagues to look at another approach that will work for me and ultimately, them.
4. I will take sick days when I'm sick, not just when my children are.
5. I will forgive myself for not being perfect.
6. I will boldly drop off store-bought treats for the class, buy the commercial Halloween costume, order out for dinner and dust only when absolutely necessary, unapologetically -- because I know it's in the interest of preserving my sanity.
7. I will be honest when a dear friend asks how I'm balancing it all.
8. I will use the Buckets method of prioritizing and establish "Events Not to be Missed," such as children's concerts, birthdays, recitals and on the work side, new business meetings, company retreats and professional development opportunities.
   1. When there are conflicts, I will bow my head and pray/wish/hope for guidance.
9. If I don't love my job, but I need to work, I will look and network until the opportunity that makes it all worth it.
   1. I will not stay in a job where I am not valued.
10. I will re-evaluate my work life balance on a regular basis and when it's out of whack, I will acknowledge it and take the necessary steps to change.

What else will you swear to do, as a working mom, as SAHM, a working parent or heck, just as a working person, to make yourself the most valuable contributor you can be?

The Prom Night Speech

by Marijean

There are several uncomfortable topics a parent must cover during the life of a child. It's all part of parenting, of course, but I'm sure some people do it better than others. Most of these topics fall under the headings of Sex, Drugs and What You're Going to Do with Your Life. As the parent of a seventeen-year-old boy, these are topics I try to hit pretty often. Except for the Sex one. That's the one I still have trouble with, you know, being a girl and all, I assume I'm somewhat unqualified to see these things from his perspective. But as a mom, I know I've got to have some guts from time to time and just Say. The. Words.

Since I'm so uncomfortable with the topic, I tend to rehearse in advance, the result of which are Speeches.

We're thick into prom season and the boy's secured a date. We have a few weeks to go yet, but I planned ahead, setting up an afternoon to go select a tux to rent. I figured it would provide an opportunity to discuss all the prom pitfalls to avoid.

In the car, I launched into the Speech I can only call, "Don't Have Sex on Prom Night." Mostly, it was a disaster, ending with some vague 1950's reference to girls who would "disappear" to have babies they would give up for adoption. What on earth was I blathering about I wondered, even as the words trickled from my mouth.

Mostly, I think I got there though, with themes related to not losing control of your mind and body, of not losing sight of your future, of having enough respect for your date to not let them lose control, either.

It seems futile at times, when you're talking to a teenager who truly believes he's indestructible, to lay this heavy load at their feet. But when he walks out the door with a fresh haircut, wearing a tux that will make him look like he's off to his wedding, corsage (that I ordered, by the way) in hand, I'll feel better knowing I managed to squeak out the warnings, that I stated my case and he knows exactly how I feel on the topic. From there, of course, it's up to him.

Call the Merry Maids!

by Marijean

My mother is a rare breed. Unlike most mothers of her generation, those who listed occupation as "housewife" and had a day of the week for cleaning the baseboards, my mom encourages me regularly to engage a cleaning person. "Call the Merry Maids!" she bellows long-distance, when she hears I'm cleaning house on a beautiful weekend.

I'm not opposed to the idea, actually. We had a cleaning service for awhile, a team that would come in while we were at work once a month and maintain a level of less filth so we could wipe up, pick up and lightly dust in-between. I justified it then, since I was working three jobs. I had a full time job, a long commute, wrote a column for a newspaper that required a few hours of research and writing each week and taught a college course one evening a week. I figured some of the "extra" money I was bringing in was mine to spend, so I called the local cleaning company, deciding that I was certainly not going to get around to cleaning in the limited off time I had; no one else was volunteering, so there you have it. My mother applauded.

I moved, then, across the country, necessitating giving up the teaching gig, letting go of the newspaper column. I became a work-at-home mom with just one job and lost, I thought, my justification for hiring out the cleaning.

Of course I'm home, nearly all the time. My living space is my working space. At the office, they have cleaning staff. At home, there's me, and my support staff, consisting of my husband, son and daughter. Realistically, though, there's me. I work between 45 and 55 hours per week, and with no commute, I still have far more time than I used to have with my previous schedule. The time is absorbed, though. I cook more and better meals. I write more often. I even take more frequent walks. But do I clean more? Not unless I have to.

My mother's been, er, aggressively suggesting I again engage a cleaning service. It's not that she finds my dusty, dirty home frightening (she hasn't seen it since April and I totally cleaned before she came), it's that she knows my peace of mind depends on knowing my down time will be that, and not more work. For a mom who never once worked full time outside the home, she's amazingly supportive and understanding of the working mom's schedule and needs. I should listen to her, I know, and call the darn Merry Maids, already.

What about you? Do you have a cleaning service or person? Do you feel guilty about it or justified?

No grace under pressure

By Marijean

I'm suffering from a laundry-related injury. After traveling four days last week, I returned home to a huge pile of dirty clothes and linens, needing immediate attention. I had one day to get it, and the shopping and running around, done before returning to work Monday morning.

I'm exceptionally tall and, to balance that, have big feet. Not athletic, I'm also a tremendous klutz. In my haste to get everything accomplished before I collapsed into bed Sunday night, I was walking out of the basement laundry room with a basket full of clean laundry, ready to fold and put away. I wasn't looking where I was going and somehow, got a foot caught in another laundry basket (this one with hand washables that are still waiting to take a turn through the extremely gentle cycle) and went down in slow motion. Well, it seemed like slow motion. I remember having enough time to try to break my fall a bit by angling toward the doorway I was in, but the result was the same; I landed on my knee and my arm, the impact of the concrete floor giving me a shock.

It's a couple of days later and the bruises and my wrenched back are reminding me to slow down. That it's okay if it takes more than a day to get it all done; that the kids and my husband can pitch in, I just have to ask. Next time, I won't wait until I'm benched to ask my team mates for some backup.

Mother, Blogger

By Marijean

My father called to tell me I "freaked my mother out" by writing this post about my daughter's recent, um, hair issues.

It upset me. I was already upset from the nightmare that was my weekend, but then, instead of calling to see how I was, how she was, whether we were recovering from the OCD-fest, she dispatched my father to tell me she was disappointed. Freaked out. Whatever.

So I got all immature and snottily said to tell my mother that I was pretty sure her friends weren't reading my blog and therefore wouldn't find out what a horrible mother her daughter, the blogger had turned out to be. My dad said, "your mom thinks maybe you share too much."

I'm suspicious now, several days after this conversation, as my mother has not once mentioned either the post nor the conversation my father had with me, not to mention all the backtalking brattiness I unleashed in response. Did my dad use the excuse of my mom to tell me he was the one who had an issue with my writing? Hmmm.

In any case, now I'm feeling edited; censored, sensitive. I don't want to upset my parents, but I feel like blogging can not have those kinds of boundaries on it. I choose the boundaries; no one else. I wonder, as I often do, "What would Heather Armstrong do?" and the answer comes back loud and clear. Put your earbuds in, your iPod on, and blog, blog, blog. It's therapy and baby, after last week, I need it.

We know many of you are fellow bloggers. What drives you to blog? What do your friends and family think about it?

Are you there, God? It's me, the girl

By Marijean

Today, my 10-year-old precocious imp came home from school with a story. It seems Serena (not her real name), a fellow 10-year-old in her class got her period at school today. The girl, my daughter, came to the rescue.

In my zeal to arm my children with information, at times I think I've gone overboard. To the great fortune of her classmate, however, the girl determined from the spot on Serena's pants what was going on, pulled her aside at recess, peppered her with questions that would have made any physician proud, and ushered her to a teacher to explain her classmate's need. Off to the nurse and back in a jiffy, Serena felt better and delighted to have a mentor to guide her through the process.

That's my girl, mentor to the menstruating. It's hilarious to me that she's not crossed that threshold herself yet, but seems to know more about it than girls a year older than she. She reads all the coming of age material she can get, and is more confident than many grown women I know. Nothing phases her and of this I am extremely proud.

Growing up, the monthly visitor was something to be ashamed of, embarrassed about and hidden at all costs. I lived in dread of discovery, suffering my first panic attacks related to anxiety over having, and hiding, my period. When I had my daughter, I vowed that she would be well armed with information, prepared with products and ready to comfortably enter the big, bad world of womanhood without skipping a heartbeat.

So today, all smiles, my daughter came home from school to relate her story. You could tell she felt pretty good about her role in her friend's day. We should all have a friend like her.

A letter from the management

By Marijean

Dear STL Working Mom:

We are writing to notify you of some items that have recently come to our attention. We feel strongly about bringing these items to the forefront so you may address them. Please know that we do this because we CARE (Can Always Rescind your Employment.)

Work habits
Our sources tell us you have been working many more hours than required, of late. We’ve also heard about a little game you call “work chicken,” where you competitively work as hard, long and fast as you can to see if you can do more than anyone else you know. While we appreciate your competitive nature, realize that better is not always equal to more. Take a break.

Family
Is it true that you blew off deadlines for not one, but two school fundraisers? We also understand that on a recent Monday, you were not even aware until the last moment that the kids had the day off of school. And, what about those dentist appointments you’ve been meaning to make? Get on it, Mom. The kids would like to keep their teeth.

Personal care
Our records show that recent lunches have consisted of a) nothing b) a handful of chocolate chips c) two Altoids and a cup of coffee. Please know that regular meals are encouraged and are entirely possible with a little planning and forethought.

Personal appearance
Frankly, we’re aghast at how far you’ve allowed yourself to backslide. Our sources report that recently you went shopping at Sam’s (we’re not even going to go there) wearing sweatpants. Since you’ve been working at home, you’ve managed, for the most part, to keep up the wardrobe, but recently we’re puzzled by some of the ensembles you’ve thrown together. What are you thinking? Not to mention your complete disregard for the fact that you frequently display VPLs. In addition, we’ve noted that you are long overdue for a hair appointment. Pull it together; you can do better.

It is your responsibility as a working mom to get ahead of the game, to balance all aspects of life and still make time for yourself. If you suddenly appear to be falling apart, what will the other, young, working moms think? You owe it to them and their future as successful working moms to get organized, eat well, sleep a full night, work hard and look good while you’re doing it. You can do it. We’ll check in with you again in 30 days to evaluate the progress you’re making. Remember, we do it because we CARE.

Sincerely,
The Management

Confessions of a teenaged mom

By Marijean

It's true; I was a teenaged mom. No more than one year and eight months from the day I graduated from high school, I gave birth to my son. I was nineteen, married, and scared out of my mind.

When I got over the shock of being pregnant, I settled into a "pregnancy must last forever" mindset. When it came to an end as I abruptly went into labor one evening (it was SuperBowl Sunday, 1990), I could not accept that there would be a baby at the end of this ordeal.

The entire labor scenario was terrifying. Yes, I had been prepared with childbirth classes, books like What to Expect When You're Expecting, and all manner of advice from the well-meaning people in our lives. The fact remained; I was a teenager. I panicked fully in the middle of labor, hyperventilating and looking wildly around the room, feeling as if surely now, I would die. A level-headed nurse got me under control quickly, forcing me to look into her eyes and breathe. She saved me, and I never got to thank her. I terrified my husband, of course. He was 19, too. After our son was born, he looked at me, still white-faced and said, "I didn't think there'd be so much blood."

Oddly, I opted for natural childbirth the second time around. The first time, all my classmates in the childbirth class told me that I should get an epidural, so I did. I didn't know how weird and uncomfortable that experience would be for me. I preferred to feel everything and never once lost control when my daughter was born. That experience, by comparison, was a piece of cake. There's something to be said for the second time around.

It's not often I share my teenaged mom status with people. Anyone who bothers to do the math comes to the realization independently. I'm 35. My son is 16. People have preconcieved (no pun intended) notions about those who had their children young. I don't like living with others' assumptions.

After my first year of college my son was born. It took me until he was two to get back to school full time. I finished when he was five. My husband and I, married when I was 18, he was 19, have stayed together through thick and thin. We're statistical anomalies. We've worked hard and a lot. Once we had our daughter, I started my career (before that, there were just jobs) and my husband went back to school. It took him eight years of part-time courses but he did it, and started his second career immediately after. The result of the investment in our futures has paid off; we both have satisfying, rewarding careers and two great kids who have witnessed firsthand how much we value education.

I've learned in this life how not to panic. I've learned that no matter how desperate or impossible life can be, there's a way to find focus, to work through it, to come out on the other side, better than you were when you went in.

This is my story. If it gives someone hope or helps them find their focus, then sharing it will have found its reward.