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When I was pregnant, I was adamant that the only people in the delivery room would be Neville, the midewife, and me. No cameras. No flash photography. Some things just don't need to be captured forever.
That said, I nearly fell of my chair from laughing so hard when I watched this spoof on Matthew McConaughey's delivery room footage. Sorry Matthew but even for you I couldn't tape my "copacabana."
All of these photos were taken by Darius.
Honestly, I am getting a little sick and tired of the one-sided argument about mommybloggers. You know the one that goes something like "we are just exploiting are children for a quick buck." I'm sick of having to explain or justify why I blog.
While I may get classified as a "mommyblogger," this blog isn't any more about being a mommy than it is about everything else about me. The blog is just about me. There is a ton that I do not share. For one, at her request my mother is off limits. Secondly, I do think that Neville would skin me alive for some of my posts about our relationship or showing pictures of Darius. I'm still figuring out where the boundaries are for me. I've made decisions to not share initimate details of any of my relationships. I admire bloggers who can write openly about any topic. But I want to preserve my relationships with my family. Writing about my loving but dysfunctional extended family would only cause a rift - and I'm not willing to sacrifice my human relationships for a larger audience online.
That said, I like writing online. I like getting feedback. I love the connections and friendships that I have made. I can honestly say that my life is better for blogging. Will it last? Will I continue to blog when my son is a teenager? I don't know. Hell, I can barely keep pace with what's for dinner tonight. How could I ever look that far into the future and know what I'll do?
As for the money piece, puh-leeze. Very few women are making a substantial living on blogging. Very few. I have no problems admitting that I make money on blogging. It's not a lot and not with this site. If I'm lucky I'll make a $100 this year in ad revenue from this little blog which won't even cover the cost of my domain and my typepad fees. However, this blog has launched other freelance writing opportunities. How much do I make with freelance? Let's just say it covers our monthly trip to Costco. Considering the amount of time I put into writing compared to the money I'll make for it, I'm making WAY below minimum wage on my writing.
I'm hardly pimping out my son for money. I will never make in blogging what I make in the high-tech industry in Silicon Valley. That is not my expectation. I find it exciting, and totally validating, that blogging can launch other opportunities. Will I ever ditch my high-paid corporate gig? Who knows. I doubt it. I'm certainly not holding my breath for a million dollar book deal or my life written as a Lifetime Movie.
And for all you haters that think us "breeders" should stop making any profit from writing about motherhood. I've only got one word for you.
Jealous?
Should Non-Moms be lumped into to Mommyblogging?
Go read today. I'll weigh in with my opinion tomorrow.
Today marks the start of the backyard of our dreams. Okay, not so much the backyard of our dreams. More like the backyard of our budget.
We are going from a concrete jungle to a patio, some landscaping, grass, and maybe a couple new fruit trees. The backyard is costing us a small fortune. Honestly, we could have bought a new car with the amont we are spending on the back. But right now we have an usuable space. It isn't safe, it isn't fun, and it certainly isn't pretty.
We have lived in this house for nearly 18 months. And for all 18 months we haven't been able to use our front yard or the backyard. It's hard to have to tell your child that he can't play in his own backyard because it isn't safe. And while we can't afford to complete the front yard this year (we are thinking of putting in fake grass in the front which costs another small fortune), we will finally be able to have an outdoor living space.
I have the head-ache pleasure of working from home during the construction and landscaping. This just might make me crazy.
I cannot wait to have a real backyard. It's Christmas in August.
Me: "I need a helper" [looking at Darius]
My Mother-in-Law: "Helper is so sexist. Why do they call it a help-her? Like only women need help."
Me: "It isn't spelled H-E-L-P-H-E-R. It isn't even pronounced that way."
Darius: "But I don't want to be girl."
MIL: "It sounds like help-her to me. Where are the help-hims?"
Darius: "I am not a help-her. I am a help-boy."
Me: "Help-hers. Helper. Help-him. Help-boy. I don't care who helps. Just HELP already."
First, it told me that Not Just A Working Mom was really a porn site.
Then it went after Motherhood Uncensored as having "inappropriate content."
Now Hotmail is a "phishing scam."
The Security Software at work is making it really hard for me goof off.*
**For the record, I only surf the web during my lunch break or on really boring conference calls. I think it is only fair that if the company is wasting my time on the call, I get to read something funny.
Since Darius was born I have always worked from home for a portion of my 40+ hour work week. Working from home is not easy. It is not for the faint of heart. You have to be dedicated and self-disciplined to be able to do it successfully.
In these four years of having a flexible work schedule, I have never had a home office. The entire house was my office. I have worked on my laptop on the couch and in the kitchen. From my bed and, yes there was even once, from the bathroom. I have worked in my pajamas. I have worked from home in nothing but my birthday suit. I have worked from home with a newborn on my breast, a baby on my lap, then a toddler by my side, and now a four year old boy playing beside me.
After four years of consistently working from home at least one day a week or more, I've decided to create a home office. I place that I can easily push away from at 5pm to start dinner. A place where I can leave my work. A boundary that keeps my working life separate from the rest of my home.
We don't have a ton of space in this little house. 1500 square feet doesn't go far with three adults and a four year old. We had already "converted" the family room into Darius' playroom by giving up any formal spaces in the house. The formal dining room? Yeah, we eat on that fancy table every night. The formal living room? It has two lived-in sofas, a coffee table that has seen better days, and our big TV.
I didn't have much choice as to where I would place my office. Okay, so it isn't really an office. It is my dad's old kitchen table which was once used as a changing table for Darius. It's not fancy. It's well lived in. And somehow it seems fitting.
After all, the work I do puts food on the table. And I've dealt with many crappy situations at work. Kitchen table + changing table = my new desk.
There is no place like a home office.
I've been an employee of The Company for over 2 months, managed the data clean-up for the largest data migration in the history of all their 40+ acquisitions, and have schoomzed with my VP on the Russian River. But until I pull into the parking lot with the big sign with the Company Name, I still feel like a bit of an outsider.
It doesn't help that my project is now officially complete and we are just in the "Post Go-Live Support" phase (which any PM knows is a cake walk compared to the project itself). I'm feeling a little uneasy about not having enough work. My Director assures me that August should be a slow month and that I should take full advantage of having less work.
But in this economy and being at a new company whose culture and values I'm still sorting out, well... It's downright scary to not be working 40+ hours a week. I'm trying my hardest not to focus on the stuff I can't control. But don't we all try to control the things in which we cannot control? I mean, isn't that the whole point of control?
I'm finding other ways to stay busy at work. For one, I am negotiating with the facilities guy to upgrade my monitor for free. I also plan on creating a true office space at home. Sitting on the couch with my laptop on the coffee table just isn't cutting it for a work space any longer.
And I plan on watching a lot of Olympics. My VP's nephew is on the Olympic Swimming Team, so technically, it's work-related. Right? She did send an email out to the whole team about it. So I'm just following orders.
Too bad she doesn't have a niece on the US Gymnastics Team.
Over at Silicon Valley Mom's Blog....
First I admit that I'm getting old and need to wear reading glasses.
Then I show just how mature I am NOT when confessing My Dirty Little Secret.
Over at Full Time All the Time....
I admit that I really don't have my act together.
Did you read the latest article in the NY Times aptly titled "The Other Home Equity Crisis"? Go over and read the whole article (but let me tell you, the comments are carrying on a most interesting discussion too).
So why is it then that we all know of women who have "opted-out." Are our SAHM-sistahs really just making lemonade of the career lemons? An unsupportive husband, childcare that costs more than the average salary, a workplace that is still an old-boys club... are these the REAL REASONS why mothers leave the workforce?
The evidence says YES. So why are member of the "Opt-Out Revolution" saying NO?
Perhaps it is easier to say that you wanted to be a SAHM all along. Perhaps its like giving birth - it is only raw and painful in the moment but after a few years you don't remember the pain and instead just focus on the baby. Perhaps it's because we women have a horrible pattern of internalizing external forces and therefore feel guilty or ashamed for being forced out.
I'm not talking about all SAHMs. I know plenty of women that truly feel there is no other place for them to be than in the home. And while I cannot totally relate, I respect their choice. I am talking here specifically of woman that claim they are opting out for a few years but plan on returning to the workforce when, presumably, their children are older, childcare costs are not sky-rocketling high as with infant/toddler care, and they find an employer who allows for flexibility.
Why are these mothers being forced out of corporate world and then vehemently touting that this was a CHOICE?
What are the reasons mothers are leaving the workforce? Come out and say it. If we expect the working world to be any different when mothers decide to opt-in (or better for those of us still in the trenches), you cannot pretend that there weren't real issues that kept you away to begin with. You cannot stick your head in the sand and think that male-dominated fields will get better with time. The Old Boys Club has been around since the beginning of time. Speak the truth.
We can't expect change if we aren't being honest with ourselves about the reasons why women are leaving the workforce. Let's cut the warm-fuzzies and get to root cause.
UPDATED: Congrats to Lisa @ Twisted Noodles for winning the "This is MY Swag" Contest.
When I came home with SIX bags of swag, I just knew that giveaways where in the future. Last week, Marketing Mommy won the "Momma wants a Swag Bag" contest. This week's contest doesn't have a single piece of kid-related swag. Yes that means you don't have to share with the kids. You get to keep it all for yourself (including the free underwear).
"This is MY Swag" Contest includes:
HP laptop sticker
A free pair of panties (yes, underwear)
Emerita Massage oil
Merci Chocolate
Orville Redenbacher Microwave popcorn
TNT DVD with an episode of The Closer and Saving Grace plus wine glass jewelry
Weight Watcher's hard candies
Manicure Kit
A magic eightball
Plus much much more
Estimated Value: $100.00
How to Enter "This is MY Swag" Bag Contest:
Me: I'm having another contest on the blog
Darius: Can I pick the winner?
Me: Sure. Pick a number between 1 and 18
Darius: Any number?
Me: Yes.
Darius: Four-tee-nine
Me: Bubba, that isn't between one and eighteen. Pick a number between those numbers.
Darius: But you said I could pick any number.
Me: No, I said pick a number between one and eighteen.
Darius: But I want four-tee-four.
Me: Are you gonna pick between one and eighteen or not?
Darius: Fine. I pick one and six.
Me: Bubba, just one number. You can only pick one number.
Darius: Let's see. Only one? Ok.
Me: Ok what? What number is it?
Darius: Six definitely six.
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