Who's The Boss?

The engagement gap - employers need to do more to keep the worker bees, well, working

Towers Perrin recently released their 2007-2008 Global Workforce Study in which they claim that the corporate world is experiencing a significant "engagement gap" amognst its employees. 

38% [of employees] are either wholly or partly disengaged, meaning they might not know the right things to do to add value to the company or they might be doing just the minimum to get by. Play those percentages out across a large workforce, and it’s easy to see the implications for performance, especially if large numbers of those disengaged people are in customer-facing or strategically important roles.

But the biggest threat (or opportunity, if you are a glass-half-full type) is that the majority of employees are neither engaged nor disengaged.  They are stuck in the middle.  Stuck in limbo land of employment.  Going through the motions of their job.  Not sure how to add value to the organization.  That's quite scary when you think about it.

It always slight irks me that we need common sense studies and reports to tell corporations what many of us know already.  Employees care about what kind of leaders they have and leadership’s focus and commitment. They care about what their company stands for, and their ability to build skills and advance in their careers. Pay isn't everything.  We want good, honest managers that aren't looking for ways to take credit for their team's work.  We want a company that values its employees by promoting within and truly having a family friendly culture.  We want VPs that don't just talk about the bottom line but actively try to get to know the people in their organization.

You can see for yourself the employee drivers when being recruited, being retained, and staying engaged.  Each stage is all very different from the others. 

(click on the image to expand)

When I changed companies, I was honest about my decisions for leaving.  But I had mentally disengaged way before I gave notice.  Before I had even updated my resume.  Some of the reasons I disengaged are on this list.  Some are more personal.  By the time I was looking for a new job, I was completely disillusioned with my organization and the company at large.

Could things have been different?  Of course.  There are many woulda, coulda, shoulda moments in those months leading up to my decision.  My former manager felt like I didn't speak up enough about my dis-satisfaction in my position.  I felt, like short of standing up and screaming it in a meeting, it was painfully obvious that I was unhappy.  Clearly we weren't communicating to the best of our abilities.  I learned a lot about myself during those trying months.  Hopefully, my manager learned some things about her management style as well.  Hopefully, we both changed for the better.  Afterall, that is what this study is all about.  Managers and employees making changes to better, not only the company, but themselves.

Companies should pay close attention to programs and trainings that help workers balance personal and life responsibilities.   A major take-away from this study is that many employees voice their frustrations with their feet.  By walking out and finding somewhere new - the next organization that enables work/life flexibility or whatever it is that is lacking at their current company.  Senior leaders best heed the cry of the workplace: we seek ethical decisions, transparency, clarity and visibility. 

Say What??

“Momma you are a dickhead.”

“Excuse me.  What did you just say?”

“Dickhead.  Dick head.”

“Darius, that isn’t nice to say.”

“What? Dickhead?”

“Yes, Darius.  That is a potty word.”

“Dickhead is a potty word?”

“STOP saying that.  It is a potty word.  Where did you learn that word?”

“At school”

“You are learning potty words at school?”

“We learned about dicks”

“You learned about WHAT????”

“Dicks.  You know the ones that go quack quack.”

“Darius, do you mean ducks?”

“Yeah, ducks.  That’s what I said.  Duckhead.”

[trying not to laugh]

“Momma, why is duckhead a potty word?”

“It’s not. I thought you said something else”

“What you think I said?”

[stalling]

“Momma, what potty word did you think I said?”

“Nothing, honey.”

“Momma?”

“Eat your dinner”

Daddy's home!

Neville has been in the midwest for the last 10 days.  He's finally coming home today.  This is the first time since Darius was born that I was the one left behind.  It's typically my job, my friend getting married, international travel with girlfriends, what have you that pulls me away from the family.  I'm usually the one kissing Darius good-bye for a week or more.  Neville is the one that stays behind. 

Mind you, when Neville stays behind his mom pitches in more and my dad will bring over meals.  Because if you know anything about Neville you know that he has never learned how to make a proper meal.  The man can't even cook pasta.  He can make a mean microwaved hot dog, but other than that he's got nothing.  As fate would have it, when Neville decides to take a trip to visit with family, his mom decides to go with him.  And my dad decides to chaperone the French class trip to France over SpringBreak. Triple whammy for me.

I was talking to one of my friends about how hard these 10 days have been.  It's not the routine; we've basically stayed on track.  It's not the work; my boss has been incredibly flexible with my need for flexibility during N's trip.  It's not even the strict drop off and pick up times at his preschool. 

I really miss Neville.  His companionship.  How he's so incredibly grumpy when he's tired.  And how he can devoure a meal.  And the nightly battle of him trying to put his cold hands on my warm body.  And me screaming out in horror when those icicle hands get near me.

When I travel, I usually miss Darius.  I mean, I miss Neville too but the momma bear in me needs to be close to my cub.  By the end of the trip, my heart aches for my child.  Don't get me wrong, I want to see Neville when I get home.  Yet my first priority is to grab my little guy tight for a bear hug.

I know that Darius has missed his daddy too.  But when Neville walks through the front door tonight, there is going to be a mad dash to hug daddy.  I wonder who will get to him first.

Cutting social time at work can hurt your career

Any successful corporate mogul will tell you that you don't get to the top level by merely doing a good job.  Yes, work performance is necessary to build a solid reputation.  However, it takes more than just doing your job to get ahead.  For many of us, finding the next opportunity typically happens by searching for positions that match your current skillset.  You may be looking to add Senior in front of that title.  You may be trying to break into your first management position.  You may just be looking for a job with better pay regardless of the title.  It's all very tactical.

Moving up the corporate ladder should be much more strategic.  Look at the successful folks in Senior Management at your company.  It's not unheard of that many of them have worked together in the past and/or brought in their own management team when switching companies.  These folks use their network to their advantage.  That's how you get to the top.  It's a winning combination of what and who you know.

I've seen, first hand, too many working mothers think that by cutting out the social time at work that they'll get more work done.  And on some levels it may be true.  You may feel like you accomplished more in that day since you cut out lunches and stopped going to the happy hour.  Investing in the face time or, as my buddy Susan calls it, social capital at work can get you a lot further than just pounding the keystrokes at your cubical.

Up until this point, sitting across from my agency’s fearless leader, I had not given much thought to the fact that my social-butterfly ways could actually help me succeed in my career. I certainly hadn’t realized that overriding my personality to be more “efficient” could hinder my professional growth—maybe even prevent a future promotion or other opportunities.

I realize that this is easier said than done.  The mommy guilt of spending even more time away from home can rear its ugly head.  And that feeling can be overwhelming.  Yet I'm assuming that most women, regardless of whether they have kids or not, want to continue on a career path. Now, the intensity of the drive on the path may change.  But I'd like to think that most of us don't want to be in the same role for the rest of our working lives. By making a few changes in how you go about your professional life can reap major rewards.  The more people you know, the more opportunities you can make.

Start saying yes.  You don't have to attend every happy hour or accept every lunch.  But if your VP plans an outing for the team, make sure you attend.  Casually invite your manager to lunch one day. If there is a lunch for a new hire or a soon-to-be ex-worker, do your darndest to make it.  Stop complaining about yet another social event outside of work hours.  Instead start saying "Let me check my calendar."  And then work with your spouse, friends, or babysitter, to get the time to be able to attend. Again, you don't have to go to every single outing.  Pick the ones that are strategic (ie. managers, executives, people of interest in attendance).  And don't forget to work the room when you do attend. 

Be visible. If you work in an office, take the "long way" back to your desk.  You don't have to spend 30 minutes at the water cooler.  Stop and chat with one person for a few minutes a day.  If you work remotely, make sure that you are online and available.  Use instant messenger to communicate with your team.  Oh, and if you happen to get into work at 6am or stay until midnight, subtly make sure that the team (and your boss) finds out.  Don't loudly announce it in a meeting that you've been up since 5am.  Just send an email out at that time. 

Investing in your social capital does not mean making friends.  In other words, work is not an opportunity to find a new BFF.  Among the things to keep to yourself are: details of an illness, details of your arguments with your spouse, details of your financial problems, details of your vacation, details of your monthly cycles, details of romantic conquests, involvement with what your child is selling from school. Whatever you share will be included in your reputation - whether it's work related or not. So keep the details to yourself.  Or share it with your true BFF.  After all, you were hired to work.  Not to use your boss as a free therapist.

Lastly, get a mentor.  I think a lot of women are afraid of having a mentor. Or at least asking someone to be a mentor.  But it is a great way to build up your network and utilize someone who has the knowledge/skills/resources/attitude that you need to get yourself to the next step.  Find an expert in your field, in a position that you one day want to occupy, or someone in another field that you want to break into.  Mentors can help you mold yourself into more successful you. 

It is naive to think that all that matters in your career is your work performance.  In fact, it’s harmful to operate accordingly. So ditch the illusion.  The office is a place where perception can be as important as results. The quicker you act accordingly, the sooner you’ll see success. 

Cross posted at Work It! Mom.

Speechless

Just when I think that the "working momma saga" has peaked, someone has to go and write about it.  Literally.  About working moms not having the time, um, how do I say this on a mommy blog... ff uh hmm, have self induced pleasure.  Whoa that was harder than I thought.

Take a read for yourself.  And then come back here (hee hee a sex pun) and comment. 

I really don't know what to say.  I'm speechless.  I'm all for mom's to open up about their lives.  But really? 

Who's the Boss? Easter Recap

3 Easter baskets for one very good boy

1 clueless kid whose mommy totally dropped the ball on explaining things like Easter or bunnies that leave you baskets filled with cool stuff

7 times I heard my mom say “Look at what Nana’s Easter Bunny brought you.” 

5 pieces of chocolate eaten by a certain child before breakfast

2 stolen eaten by a certain mommy

4 movies watched in one weekend.  And one of them was for adults only! Not that kind of adult movie, sicko.

12 eggs scored at the annual Easter Egg Hunt at my mother's church

0 pitcures taken

42 whiny requests to open another egg

43 threats to throw them all away

6 compliments on my hair

4 days visiting with Nana and Grandpa Jim

1 heart that is overflowing with love

2 tummies that can't handle any more chocolate

Ok, maybe one more piece.

Birth Story

Darius was due on June 1st.  On June 2nd, I went to my OBGYN for our weekly visit.  I told her that I was done being pregnant.  She told me to wait another week and then we’d talk of induction.  The week had nearly passed.  I swear in that one week I had gained 15 lbs.  My legs were so swollen.  I no longer had feet.  I suffered with pregnancy induced insomnia. 

By some sort of miracle, I feel asleep that night around 12:30.  It was the first time in two weeks that I had made it to bed before 3am.  An hour later, I woke up with a startle. I had peed the bed.  I was so embarrassed.  Here I am the size of a whale and I just peed the bed.  But then when I got up, I actually felt the need to pee.  Who pees the bed, wakes up, and then pees again?  I remembered the teacher from the birthing class talk about how many women confuse their water breaking for peeing.  And the way to tell the difference is to smell the liquid.  Yes folks, pee has a distinct well pee smell.  And amniotic fluid does not.  So I did what any desperate pregnant woman the size of a whale would do...

I woke up Neville and made him smell my pants.  Yeah, that’s why I love the man.  He didn’t even question me when I asked him to smell me.  Total and complete love, people. 

Thirty minutes later we were at the hospital where I was being hooked up to fetal monitors and getting the usual pokes and prods.  I hadn’t had a contraction yet.  Nothing was happening.  We sat in the labor and delivery room staring at my enormous belly as if to say “Well…. Do something already.” 

As soon as Neville found out that I could get all the free juice I wanted, he started demanding that I put in juice requests.  The man must have drunk a gallon of juice in an hour.  You’d think that he was more excited about the juice than the fact that we were about to become parents.

Around 5:30am we started to call family.  My dad first since he gets up at 4:45am every day.  Then my mom since she had the furthest to travel.  My contractions were barely contractions.  I have experienced worse menstrual cramps that those early contractions.  When our family would ask me how I was doing, I responded with “I’m fine.  I think I can do this naturally.” 

Of course, as soon as you use the word “natural” your body has to play a cruel trick and make sure that you really know what a contraction feels like.  Within an hour, I had dilated to nearly 5cm.  The contractions were only managed by me crying uncontrollably through it.  The nurse offered a narcotic to “take the edge off.”  I agreed.

Five minutes of pain free bliss were all that the narcotic would give me.  It would be another hour before I’d be able to get another 5 minutes of reprieve.  And so I reluctantly accepted the epidural.  Neville was against it but supportive of my decision.  I swear the anesthesiologist was in the room within 15 minutes.  But by 7am, I was no longer in pain.  And my mom had arrived. 

The epidural allowed me to rest for an hour.  But I couldn’t get comfortable in the bed.  And my left leg had gone completely limp.  It was such a weird sensation.  Neville got cut off from the juice as the nurse was afraid I’d throw up since I was “drinking all the juice.”  Little did she know that it was really Neville.  And now I was really thirsty and had to bargain for ice chips. 

Around 8:15, the pressure from the contractions was unbearable.  My mom and Neville did their best to massage my lower back where the pain was too much.  They did well dealing with my bi-popular responses to each contraction.  “Touch me there.”  “Stop touching me!”  “Hold my hand”  “STOP TOUCHING ME!!!” 

By 9:00, I was fully dilated.  And ready to push. The midwife came in and my mother left the room.  Neville and I wanted to do this alone.  Well, him, me, the midwife, RN, and whoever else from the hospital staff that happened to be there.  The epidural was turned down so that I could feel the contractions better.  Neville and the nurse got me into position.  And then we waited. 

And waited. 

20 minutes later, the midwife advised to administer pitocin.  They added it to my drip. And then we waited.

And waited.

20 minutes later I thought that maybe I wanted to push.  So we tried.  But nothing happened.  And so the epidural was turned completely off.  And the pitocin was turned way up. 

Finally, around 10:00am I felt the need to push.  And push I did.  Over and over again.  I really don’t need to go into the details.  The pushing piece it really not a part of the story that I want to relive.  Let’s just say that it isn’t any fun.   

10 minutes into pushing, I decided that I was over it.  I really didn’t want to push any more.  I told the midwife I was done. 

She looked me straight in the eye and said “The only one who can get this baby out is you.  So push, honey.  Push.”

10 minutes later, our baby boy was born.  The midwife placed him on my chest.  I was so out of it.  He looked like an alien.  Covered in gooey stuff.  His eyes were swollen. His mouth puckered.  Reality had not set in.  I did not just give birth to a baby.  My baby.  This did not just happen. 

Neville was instantly bonded.  He followed the nurse as she weighed, measured, and tested our infant son.  I asked for a cup of water.

The card on his hospital bassinet read:

Baby boy
8 lbs, 7 oz
20 inches
10:20am
June 9, 2004

A day later we would name him Darius and bring him home.  When I laid him in his bassinet for the first time, it finally hit me.  I was a mom.  And this teeny, tiny child was mine. 

What's in my purse?

I love purses.  Love 'em.  I typically have three purses that are in use at any given time.  And I just rotate by throwing in my cell phone, make-up bag, and wallet.  Oh, I rarely clean out purses.  So it will inevitably end up full with receipts, a little mail, an occassional toy, and god knows what else.

One Kate Spade small purse.  It's a little handbag. 

It may be small, but it can hold a ton of stuff.

From the top left

• A bunch of old receipts including ticket stubs to the Penninsula Youth Theatre performance of Peter Pan, tickets from our Amtrak ride to Sacramento in February, and a fresh $28.00 Parking ticket from the city of San Jose.  Little tip: always put more $$ in the meter than what you think you'll need.
• Bottle of prescription pain meds from the car accident in January.  I didn't even realize this was in here - it was shoved down in the inside pocket.
• Hand Santizer.  nuff said
• An eye shadow brush.  I have no clue on how that got into this purse
• Spare change.  $2.63 worth.  I bet I could scrounge up and dollar in the car and then I could get a latte.
• Empty container of mini M&Ms. 
• Dooney and Burke make-up bag that holds: 1 lip liner, 1 Bulgari sample purfume, 1 lipstick, 3 lip glosses that basically all look exactly the same, 1 Bobby Brown pressed powder in the lightest shade they make.
• Hobo wallet that can double as a clutch in a pinch.
• SanDisk photo card reader.  It's the best thing ever.  Especially after I lost the USB cord for my digital camera.
• Match box car
• Old skool head set for the phone.  My bluetooth one is on the fritz.
• Secure ID token to get on the VPN for work
• Gum
• Memory stick
• Purple pen.  Yeah, I am so much cooler than you.
• Some weird plastic stick thingamabob.  Don't ask, I don't know.
• Target sunglasses
• Car keys
• My personal crack-berry
• A bunch of gum wrappers.  And I think there is a mini-tootsie roll lollipop wrapper and left over stick in there.  Gross.
• My badge to get into work (no way am I showing you that photo)
• Treasures!  At least that is what Darius calls them.  The kid seriously collects things that are shiny. 
• Gold hoop earrings
• A bunch of hair bands and a barrett.  'Cause I never know when I need to tame the mane.

I wish I could say that I actually threw away the junk and organized my purse after taking that shot.   But I didn't.  I threw it all back in. 

Left over lollipop stick and all.

Happy Easter

We interrupt our regularly scheduled programming...

Want a chance to get a Free Pass to BlogHer?  Come on, you know you want it. 

Me swears it won't take much of your time.   

Ok, even if you don't want the pass and you don't care a smidgen about me, take the darn survey anyways.

Sincerely,

The Boss

Working Momma Pop Quiz

When your boss decides at the last minute to work from home, but you know for sure that she is really studying for her MBA class final exam.  AND you are waiting for about twelve different people to respond to your outstanding emails before you can actually do any work.  Do you...

a. decide to "work from home" too but really watch the episode of Survivor that you missed last night?

b.  clean up your desk that right now looks like a mini work tornado has hit?

c. read about the Disney and J&J Mommy Blogger drama?

d. tell your boss you have some spare time to help her with the 53 due diligence requests that have been asked by our soon-to-be company?

Pick up your dog dookie!

We have a little situation going on in our neighborhood.  There is an irresponsible pet owner.  One that thinks it perfectly acceptable to let their dog defecate on the lawns of  those that live on the block.  I’m assuming that since the dog is teeny (and we know this since the presents on the lawn look like tootsie rolls), the owner thinks that it really isn’t inconvenient for us to have to pick up someone else’s dog poop on my lawn.  So let me set the record straight.

IF YOU OWN A DOG, PICK UP THE POOP!  NO ONE WANTS TO PICK UP YOUR DOG’S CRAP.   

My DH has been on the look-out to figure out who has been such a cowardly neighbor by allowing the mysterious pooping to continue.  After weeks of coming home to poop on the lawn or waking up with a stinky treat, we finally figured out who is the bad, bad neighbor.  So now that we know who it is, the question comes down to how do we confront the irresponsible dog owner?

I thought we could go get a pooper scooper and the next time we found “presents” on our lawn, we could pick them up and return them to the lawn of the rightful owner.  I’m even willing to put a bow on the scooper and leave a nice card that said “I think you forgot something.” 

My DH’s ideas are way better (and probably not legal):

• Collect the tootsie-roll poops in a bucket and when we have lots sprinkle them all over their front lawn.
• Leave the poop in the mail box every time we find them on our lawn
• Put them in a bag, light it on fire, and throw it at the door

Or my personal favorite…

• Go a take a dump on their lawn and see how they like cleaning that up.

Of course we don’t plan on  doing any of these, but come on! We are a little desperate.  Short of catching them in the act of letting their dog poop on our lawn and then neglectfully walk away,

What should we do?

Crossposted at the Silicon Valley Mom's Blog

March 19: Against the Irag War Blogswarm

When I was a teenager, my mother worked as a Registered Nurse for the VA Hospital in Menlo Park, CA.  My mother started her career in at the VA in their addiction unit.  It was an 18-month in patient program for vets to get them to get them clean and then stay off drugs and alcohol.  There was limited space in the program.  And always more people who needed help than beds to give help. 

After a couple of years, my mom was transferred to the psychiatric ward at the hospital. The program she was involved in was specific to veterans with PTSD.  And most of them were from Desert Storm.  She would tell tragic stories when she got home.  Stories of women being raped, of soldiers being subjected to mustard gas, of terrible sand storms and uncertainty. My mother would have a hard time falling to sleep when she arrived home after her shift.  It was nearly impossible to leave the work hospital.  It was as if she shouldered the burden of these experiences. 

I think my mother was relieved to leave when budgets were hit in the late 90s and VA nurses were laid off.  After 5 years of working for the VA, my mother was physically and emotionally spent.  She won’t ever admit that leaving was best.  I know that it was hard to walk away from the veterans.  They all needed more time to heal.  More resources to help them.  A means to a better life. 

I was a naïve teenager when my mother left the VA for work in public health.  I certainly didn’t understand the war, the aftermath, the loss, the grief, the pain.  I remember once my mother talking in hushed tones with my stepfather about how glad she was my brother was practically blind without his glasses.  It meant that he’d never have to serve on the front lines.  I didn’t get what she meant then. 

As a mother to a boy, I understand much more now.  My son is many, many years away from being of age to serve in the military.  But with the current administration and the Republican nominee trying to get elected, it seems as if there would be no end to this war. 

It's time for the war to end.  It's time for our soldiers to come home.

After seeing my mother work with veterans for those five years, I now understand all too well that the war doesn't end when the soldiers come home.  We have a lifetime of pain, nightmares, and trauma that will play out in the hearts, minds, and bodies of our veterans.

Still, it's time for healing to begin.

Join your fellow bloggers by writing out against the Iraq War at http://march19-blogswarm.blogspot.com/

100 things, part four

part 1 and part 2 and part 3

61. When I was a kid, I refused to swim in our pool alone. I just knew that Jaws would come and eat me when I was alone. That's what happens when your parents think it is cool to let a four year old watch a scary movie.

62. I sometimes talk in my sleep.  It worse when I was a kid than now as an adult.  Darius also talks in his sleep.

63. It really creeps me out when my mother talks about sex.

64. I love to travel but I hate flying.  Flying always makes me feel rather pukey

65. I cannot respect people who cannot make fun of themselves or let others make fun of them.  Being able to laugh at yourself and laugh with others is a trait that too many people lack

66. I secretly wish I could be a SAHM. Especially on Mondays.

67. When I work from home, I have to have the TV on for background noise.  Otherwise, the house is too quiet and I can’t work

68. I still nap when Darius naps. He’s almost four

69. It really annoys me when people take personal calls at work.  And then talk really loudly so that everyone can hear you.  Like we all need to know about the training schedule of your horses, lady. 

70. I’ve been stung by a jelly fish.  Over 160 stings on my left arm.  The pain was comparable to child birth.  That is, if you were giving birth out of your hand.  But instead of a cute baby at the end, all I have to show for it is a faded scar.

71. I can make fab smoothies.  It’s from the three years that I worked at Jamba Juice as a teen.  Seriously, my smoothies are the best.

72. I heart sushi

73. When I was 10, my mom and stepdad decided that we would travel the country for 5 weeks.  In a beat up Chevrolet.  All the way to Florida and then back to California.  They spent months planning it.  We spent hours in the car every day.  I can barely remember the trip.  I feel kinda guilty that they would spend so much time/energy/money on a family vacation that turned out to be just okay.

74. I love listening to my dad’s childhood stories.

75. I am vehemently pro-choice and have a really hard time dealing with people who are not.  This doesn’t bode well with my bible-thumping, pro-life, extended family.

76. If I had to pick one food that I had to eat for the rest of my life, it would be pizza.  Hands down.

77. I permed my hair as a pre-teen.  I thought it was the bomb.  My thick wild hair was out of control during those years.

78. My first crush was on Domingo Rodriguez.  I was ten.

79. I don’t really like soup.

80. I almost married two other men before I met Neville eight weeks before my 22nd birthday.  One when I was just 18 and the other about 5 months before I met Neville. 

Guilty as charged

All mothers feel some sort of guilt.  I swear that the capacity for guilt grows once you become a mom.   

So go on over the Silicon Valley Mom's Blog today to read all about mommy guilt and what this group of mommy bloggers is doing about it. 

And don't make me give you a guilt trip for not checking out my post over there too.

Let's go fly a kite

100 things, part three

part 1 and part 2

41. I’m terrible at keeping in touch with my friends.  Sorry!

42. When I was 13, I could talk on the phone for hours every singly day.  As an adult, the last thing I want to do is talk on the phone.

43. I deeply feared getting an episiotomy when in labor. The thought of have my vay-jay-jay spliced open makes me quiver.  And not in the way that one should be quivering down there.

44. I say the things that everyone else is thinking but doesn’t have the balls to say.

45. I wear reading glasses in front of the computer

46. I cannot keep plants alive.  And yet I yearn for a vegetable garden in the back.  Go figure

47. My first car was a Mazda 323 hatch-back.  The vinyl seats could cause second degree burns in the summer

48. I lost my virginity in that car

49. I was in color guard for three years in high school.  We placed 10th in the world for our division.

50. When I was 15, my friend Nancy and I watched Grease 2 until we could recite the entire movie word for word. 

51. My bra size is 36DD.  Yes, their big.  But do you have to stare at them?

52. I wanted to join the Peace Corp after college, but never got around to applying. 

53. I was a huge fan of the Babysitter’s Club book series.  I tried to start my own babysitter’s club with the girls in my neighborhood, but they ahem weren’t of the same ahem caliber as I was.

54. I am bossy

55. In college, my friend Carmen and I made up our own cocktail.  You take a Shirley Temple (7up and grenadine) and add a ton of vodka.  We called it the Betty Ford.  I’m sure the cocktail was the culprit to many girls taking off their tops at Frat Parties.

56. I have great hair. Christian, one of my BFF’s, once said that we were like Will and Grace.  He was fabulous like Will.  And I had big hair like Grace.

57. I don’t shave my legs in the winter.

58. I can always trust my gut.  But I don’t always act as quickly as I should.

59. I’ve had more bad bosses than good ones

60. I like extra sharp cheddar cheese.

Photohunt: I Spy

I spy with my big brown eye....

Hint 1: It's maroon.

Hint 2: It carries passengers

Hint 3: It is not a train.

you can click on the photo to enlarge and click on the link below to get the answer

Are Working Moms Happier?

According to Leslie Bennetts, we working mommas are happier than our stay at home counterparts.

Contrary to popular mythology, decades of social science research have consistently shown that working mothers are happier and less anxious than stay-at-home moms; those cliches about desperate housewives fighting depression and substance abuse turn out to contain a good deal of truth. Moreover, when full-time homemakers return to paid work outside the home, their mental and emotional health improves significantly.

I know for me, personally, I like to work.  I want to work.  And I continue to be career focused.  But I also want to be home.  I want to be the sole caregiver of my child.  And I wish that I could get over the loss of earning power and career identity to be able to stay home.

But staying at home has never been an option for me.  And even with Darius' care subsidized by his grandparents (who watch him two days a week for free), we still cannot afford to have one of stay at home.

Unless we stop saving for retirement, stop planning for his college, move into a shady part of town, get rid of the car, and eat Top Ramen for dinner.   And I'm not willing to do any of those things.   (and before you think  I am over the top, we've done the research at it would take MAJOR sacrifices to SAH and even then it would only be possible for a mere months - not the years that many choose to opt-out).

I don't know if I am any happier than my SAHM friends.  There are days that I wish that I truly had the option to not work without sacrificing mine and my son's futures.  But most days, I'm too busy to think about anything other than getting D to school on time, getting to work on time, getting to my meetings on time, picking up D from school on time, getting dinner on the table, and getting to bed before midnight.  And somewhere in between all that still finding time to do a load of laundry, go to the bathroom in peace, and maybe even gasp sex with my partner in crime.

I don't have time to compare my happiness to others.  Hell, most days I'm too tired to even think about if I am happy or not.

So am I happier?  I don't know, you tell me.

Explanations, by Darius. Or where I document this stuff before I forget how ridiculously funny my kid can be even when he doesn't know he's funny

On discipline...

"Momma, I need you to be a good momma and not give me any time outs then Santa will bring me lots of presents."

On the human body...

"When I swallow air in my tummy, I burp.  But if my butt swallows air, then I toot."

On gun control...

"You can only shoot the bad guys.  Good guys don't get shot.  Only bad guys.  And you have to be a superhero to have a gun. So pretend you are a bad guy, momma, and then I'll be the hero and shoot you."

On family...

"Nana is my grandma.  Ya-Ya is my grandpa.  And Grandpa Jim [Nana's husband] is my stepmom."

On the birds and the bees...

"Daddy put me in your belly.  I was in your belly growing and then you got a tummy ache and yelled at me to GET OUT.  So I crawled out of your tummy and then I was born."

On healthy living...

"If you eat your growing foods, you'll grow big muscles.  If you eat junk food, your teeth will falled out."

writing on the wall

There's nothing like hearing that your project is "risky" and that the VP recognizes "your value" so you may be working on "new initiatives" to make you quite certain that you are not going to survive this acquisition. 

I don't plan on looking for another job anytime soon.  Honestly, I don't want to have to pay back that pretty sign-on bonus that they gave me and their severance package is just too good to be true for a person that has only been here for less than two months. 

So I'm waiting it out.  Who knows, maybe they'll recognize my fabulousness and I'll get put onto another project that is fierce.  And we all know that I love to do fierce.

Or maybe I'll be standing in the employment line and get to have a short stint as a Stay-At-Home Momma for a few months until I land a new job.

Either way, I'm looking forward to it. If I am totally honest, right now I'd prefer to get my pink slip and have the summer off.  Or in that case, the summer ON with trips to the beach, sunny days at the park, and lots of special time with my kiddo.  I wonder if I can get wi-fi to job search at the Lake.

the curse of the printer

Darius' teacher sent out a newsletter, oh like 6 months ago, asking for parents to create a family page with photos for an album that she keeps at class.  She wrote something about how the kids love to see the families of the other kids.  Or something like that.  I don't remember.  I marked it on my things to do list.  And here we are six months later and well Darius is apparently the only kid in class that doesn't have a family page.  Oops.  My bad. 

So I decided that instead of throwing some photos together on a blank sheet, I'd make a scrapblog and then print it on 8 x10 photo paper.  Just because it is late doesn't mean that I can't be an over-achiever on the execution.  Yes, it took me forever to actually do the project, but come on at least it is better than everyone else!  Ot at least that's what I keep telling myself.

Now Scrapblog doesn't currently offer a print feature, so I just copied the pages into another application, turned it into a jpeg and hit the print button on my handy dandy all-in-one printer. Using photo paper made by the same company as the printer. The same company that I used to get a paycheck from. They make good printers. In fact, it's kinda what they're known for. Good ass printers.

So why then did the GD paper get jammed in my printer every single time I tried to print.  And then I'd have to go claw it out.  And try again with a new sheet since clawing it out would often result in damaging the sheet.  Only to have it jam again!  After playing this jam then un-jam then throw away the paper to jam a new sheet game a few times, I was beyond ticked off.  I was so frickin' pissed off that I practically threw the printer against the wall. 

My kick-ass family pages were kicked in the ass by this darned printer.  Stoopid printer.  I ended up sending it over to Target to get printed.  The pics, not the printer.  And it wasn't cheap, let me tell you.  With the photo paper I wasted, the price of the two 8x10 prints, the cost of gas to get there and back from the house, I figure I spent about twenty bucks (and that doesn't even include the hours I wasted on this darn project).  Twenty dollars that went down the tube all because I had to be an over-achiever. 

On a project that could have easily been completed by handing Darius a stack of photos, his kiddie scissors, and some glue. 

I'm trying to be all grown-up about the situation and think about the life lessons that could be learned from this whole experience.  But I'm too busy cursing at the printer.

100 things about me, part duex

You can read Part 1 here.

21. I love to bake.  Especially late at night

22. My high school mascot was an acorn.  My college mascot was a banana slug.  Two of the lamest mascots ever.

23. When I was eight, my mom made me a pair of lavender paisley pants.  I still remember how excited I was that day when she finished sewing them.

24. I rarely cook a meal that doesn’t have onion and garlic.  I’ve channeled my inner Italian Grandmother

25. I wax my armpits

26. I love peanut butter and jelly sandwiches

27. I get my nails done every two weeks

28. I have a membership to Happy Hollow.  Darius and I go at least once a month

29. I don’t have a favorite color

30. I found out I was severely lactose intolerant after I drank a nice hot latte at the Stanford Mall and ended up projectile barfing at the jewelry counter in Macy’s.  During Christmas shopping season.  On the back of my roommate.  I didn’t go back into that Macy’s for nearly two years.  It still stands as my most embarrassing moment.

31. I burn easily. SPF 45 for me, every day. All day.

32. I am a Reality TV junkie and proud of it. 

33. I snore

34. I have a collection of Barbie’s.  I’ve been collecting since I was a girl.  I must have 30 or 40 rare or pop-culture Barbie’s.  My favorites are the entire set of Scooby Doo characters, the entire set of Wizard of Oz, and these ones that my dad found that look like strippers.

35. When I was about 11 years old, a friend and I snuck a pack of her dad’s smokes and went up into the hills to try smoking.  We smoked nearly the entire pack and were so physically ill.  I remember dry heaving.  So gross

36. I love to drink Champagne

37. My senior thesis in college was written about the history of eating disorders and the prevalent mother-blaming that occurs in the diagnosis and treatment of the illness. 

38. My dad gave me a cell phone when I turned 21.  I thought I was so frickin’ cool.  It kills me a little when I see teenagers with iPhones now.

39. I have anti-bacterial gel in the car, in my purse, and at my desk at work.

40. I can make my own ice cream

Photohunt: Different

In mainstream American culture, we don't place a ton of value on the extended family.  When sons or daughters marry, they move out of the house and start their own family.  Sometimes thousands of miles away from their parents.  In Neville's culture, when a son marries, his wife joins him at his parent's house.  And they live together, with the in-laws, for a period of time.  Sometimes it is a couple of years.  Sometimes it is for life.

When we had Darius, we decided to live with Neville's mother.  I was very, very nervous about the situation.  It was so different from what I was accustomed to in my culture.  But I'll tell you, it was one of the best decisions I think we've ever made as a couple.  His mother and I have become the best of friends.  And having an extra pair of hands around the house is a God send. 

So this week's photo is in honor of my wonderful mother-in-law.  She is such a blessing.  To see her having fun with her grandson every day.  To see Darius loving his grandma every day.  It is so worth it.  Plus, she like to wash dishes and fold laundry.  It just can't get any better.

100 things about me, Part 1

1. I was born in the Bay Area and still live here.  Doesn’t sound like a big accomplishment, but most people I know are not from ‘round these parts.

2. I once gave tips to a co-worker on how he could approach his wife to have a threesome.  Not for me to be involved, mind you.  Just on how he could go about approaching the subject.

3. I have three tattoos.  The only one you’ll ever see is the one the back of my neck.

4. I cooked my first complete meal when I was ten years old.

5. I still laugh every time I think about when I told a male friend that there would be BJs for everyone after lunch.  I meant Ben and Jerry’s ice cream.  Let’s just say he was a little too excited about ice cream.

6. I hate ordering business cards.

7. I wear a size nine shoe. 

8. I don’t know my natural hair color. 

9. My laugh is loud.  Really loud. 

10. I once had a boss that I absolutely despised.  Whenever Neville and I would get into an argument, I would pull a Freudian slip and call Neville my boss’ name.  Neville still likes to tease me about it.

11. I drink an unhealthy amount of coffee at work. 

12. I am survivor of domestic abuse. 

13. When I was pregnant, I ate Red Curry Chicken from Thai Basil at least three times a week.  I haven’t really touched the stuff since.  Sometimes, you can have too much of a good thing.

14. I taught myself how to knit.

15. I sometimes think my mother is crazy.  And I worry that I’m turning out just like her.

16. I always wanted color contacts.  But I have 20/20 vision and wearing color contacts “just because” didn’t seem like a bright idea.

17. My middle name is Renee

18. Since becoming a mother, I am no longer a morning person.

19. I don’t wash my hair every day. 

20. I own six Kate Spade purses, three Coach, and one Louis Vitton. 

Like I said this is just Part 1.  Who comes up with 100 things about themselves at once?

Charlotte Allen, how dumb can you get?

Wow, Ms. Allen, I have to say that I'm impressed.  Not in the way that you probably think one should be impressed.  You had to have pretty big cajones or be exponentially stupid to write such a dim article in the Washington Post.  I'm impressed that you would show just how idiotic you really are.  I laughed during most of your piece.  Not because it was funny.  I laughed at how irrelevant and outrageous most of your points were in the article.  You clearly proved that at least one woman is as dumb as is gets.  And that woman is you, hon. 

I don't need to cite my accomplishments.  I don't need to talk about overcoming my struggles.  I don't need to prove myself to you.  I don't want to be a man.  I don't have a desire to pee whilst standing or eat "over the stove" or have hair on my back.   And I am certainly not the dim witted, shallow, idiotic-driver of a woman that you seen to know all to well.  I suppose when you were looking for inspiration for this article, you simply had to look in the mirror.  If only all of us girls had it so lucky.

If you had replaced "women" with people of color, Jews, or even homosexuals, the public would be outraged. Look at all that "scientific" research which not so many years ago produced countless studies showing just how inferior blacks were to whites, gentiles to Jews, and women to men.   You formed your words to continue to marginalize women and therefore have made sure to keep women in "their place." 

I do have to thank you, Ms. Allen.  For you proved that misogyny is alive and well in the 21st century.  You proved, with your villainous writing, that it is still perfectly acceptable in America to write about the hatred of women and continue the historical, systematic oppression of women by citing ill-proved scientific theories on women. I hope that woman all over the country read your piece and realize that the feminist movement is far from over.  Your disaster of an article proved what us feminists already knew: Feminism needs to continue to fight for the social, political, and economic equality of women.

And that instead of just fighting the good old boys club, we now have to fight an insurgency from within our own gender. 

The family meal

The family meal is very important to me.  We sit down and eat dinner together  every night.  Whomever is home is required to sit at the table.  And eat.  I love having dinner together.  We talk about the day, talk about politics, talk about plans for the weekend.  It's our time.  No phones.  No laptops.  No TV or other distractions. 

To make family dinner a reality, I've become the Queen of easy meals.  I have a slew of magazines and cookbooks that can make a nice dinner in 40 minutes or less.  The meal pictured was ready in the time that it took to cook the rice. 

The basmati rice was cooked in organic chicken broth to give it more flavor and make it more wholesome.  The meatballs are the fully-cooked frozen ones from Costco and re-heated in the skillet.  Sauce was a mismash of 2 parts ketchup, 1 tbs. tamari sauce (a kick-ass teriyaki style sauce), 1 part chili sauce, 2 tbs. worcestershire sauce.  I know it sounds weird, but I'm telling you it is way yum.  And then sauteed asparagus in a little olive oil and sprinkled with red pepper flakes and salt.  20 minutes to dining paradise. 

*For the record, Darius picked out the "I love Mom" shirt all on his own.  Total momma's boy. And that bowl next to Neville's plate is a bowl of shredded cheese.  The man puts it on everything regardless of whether it should have cheese on it or not.  I used to fight it.  Now I just put out the bowl and let the man have at it.

Here he comes to save the day...

I am Veronica Mars

Which TV Heroine Are You?

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