Who's The Boss?

Working Mommas, Don't Forget to Network

One of the perks of working for a large software company in Silicon Valley is having a large network at my fingertips. Sure, it is also difficult at times to figure out who's who.  But overall, creating a large network in my day-to-day environment gives me an advantage in the workplace.  I have a group of people that I can go to bat for in helping them achieve their goals and I can call on them to assist me in acheiving mine.

In this economy, building and maintaining your network is more important than ever.  Any successful corporate mogul will tell you that you don't get to the top level by merely giving 100%.  Companies aren't paying their employees to be perfect.  They pay you for your skills and the value you bring to the company.  That value isn't just your performance.  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.  You may feel like you accomplished more in that day since you cut out lunches and stopped going to weekly happy hour.  Investing your "social capital" at work can get you a lot further than just pounding the keystrokes at your cubical.

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.  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. Pick the outings that are strategic (ie. managers, executives, people of interest in attendance).  And don't forget to work the room when you do attend. 

Investing in your social capital does not mean making friends.  In other words, work is not an opportunity to find a new BFF.  Women often are great at having close, high-touch, long-term relationships.  Your work network need not be filled confidantes and bitch-buddies.  A professional network is still founded on professionalism.  Among the things to keep to yourself are: details of an illness, your marital problems, your financial problems, details of your vacation, 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 real-life BFF.  After all, you were hired to work.  Not to use your boss as a free therapist.

It is naive to think that all that matters in your career is your work performance.  In fact, it’s harmful to operate accordingly. 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.

Original post for the Silicon Valley Mom's Blog

it started with a pancake breakfast

Neville reminded me last night that Darius' preschool is closed today.  I have the closure on the home calendar, my work calendar, my blackberry calendar... and still it didn't even register until Neville said that he had a ton of meetings on Friday and wouldn't be able to watch Darius... and wanted to know if I was planning on watching him or if we need to call in for reinforcements (aka his semi-retired father).

How could the school possibly be closing for Staff Development Day?  How could I possibly be so together to frickin write the date down on every calendar I manage and still forget about it until the night before? 

husbands, if you ever want to get laid then read this

Don't ask your wife "What's for dinner?" before you give her a kiss hello.

Do empty and load the dishwasher without having to be asked.

Don't casually say "It's just an old girlfriend from high school" when she asks who are are talking to on the phone.

Do hold her hand when you take an evening walk around the neighborhood.

Don't watch your wife tidy up while you sit on the couch watching re-runs of Judge Judy.

Do fix the dryer on the same day that your wife notices the heating element is broken.

Don't ever under any circumstances say "Wanna do it?" and expect her to actually want to do it.

it's not me, it's you

"Momma, I like it when you are nice to me."

[silent]

"I don't like it when you get mad."

"Oh, you don't?"

"I think you should just calm down."

"I'm not mad at you now."

"I know.  I like when you are nice to me."

"Well, why does mommy get mad?"

"Sometimes I don't listen and you get mad because I don't listen."

"So if I agree to stay more calm, what do you think you can do better too?"

[silent]

"Do you think you could try harder at listening?"

[silent]

"Hello?"

wake-up

When I wake up, I look like this...

 

Puffy eyes. Yesterday's mascara making me look like a raccoon.  Hair frizzy and wild (usually pulled back and slept on funny all night).  Yes, I am wearing a sweater since Neville turns the heater completely off at night and we have so much tile in this house that it easily drops to below 50 degrees inside.

This?  This is what I looked like for all those months before I kicked my own ass to get ready to work from home. 

At least I don't have wrinkles, right? 

good morning

 

Fresh cut flowers and a home-brewed cuppa joe.  Almost makes me happy that it's Monday morning. 

portrait of my mother

 

I think the ruffles detract from my giant yellow belly, don't you agree?

Today I took a long hard look at the picture and asked Darius why I have cat-ears. He responded that these are mom and dad CHICKENS.  Hence the red tongue thingy coming out of Neville's neck.  It's a rooster gobbler (is that what it's called?).  And those arms of mine... those are really chicken FEET. 

I'm still trying to figure out if this is art depicting life or if Darius is trying to tell us something...

is your boss an a-hole?

I'm over at Work It Mom today asking working moms (or former working women who are now moms) to share the horror stories about their a-hole bosses of past and present. 

I tell all.  Well, I withheld names to protect those idiot bosses of my past. 

So come on over and share your stories. 

the truth, part 2

"Why do girls hurt boys?"

"Who is hurting boys, Darius?"

"Not. hurt.  Carry.  Why do girls carry boys?"

"Who's carrying boys?"

"Remember when I was in your tummy and you carried me."

"Yes, I remember."

"Well why do girls get to carry boys?  Why don't daddies carry boys and the mommies carry girls?"

"Only girls have the body parts inside of their bellies to carry babies.  Boys don't have those body parts."

"But I have a tummy."

"But you don't have the same one as a girl.  Girls have special parts inside their bodies that hold the baby."

"I can see my belly.  See my belly?!?"

"I think it's time we check out a book at the library."

diy: home-made granola

 

Now that working from home is grown on me and I've gotten out of my unproductive slump, I've started taking on new challenges at home.  I've started making more meals from scratch.  You can save a ton of money by using your sale advertisement and shopping smartly.  Working from home means that I have more time to spend in the kitchen, a place that where I love to be. 

Neville absolutely loves granola.  He'll eat it with yogurt, milk, or by the palm-full.  One rainy day in February when I was out of my mind at the house, I decided I'd try to make my own granola.  I flipped through my favorite cookbook (America's Test Kitchen), wrote down my grocery list, headed to Whole Foods (for the bulk items) and made the recipe.  It was okay.  Not fantastic.  So I changed some things around and tried again.

the luck of the irish

It's St Patrick's Day today.  I made sure to send Darius to school with a green shirt.  That's about it for my participation in today's holiday.

I still remember when I first met Neville and he asked me where I was "from."  I looked at him funny and said "I'm American."  I later learned to realize that he was asking about my ethnicity.  If you didn't already know it being a white girl with raw-chicken-skin colored legs isn't an option to check on the US Census.   You can't make a culture for "people who sun-burn even wearing SPF 50."

thank god for grandparents

I read this article in the NY Times last week and realized just how lucky I am to have the opposite situation.  The story is about uninvolved Grandparents.   I'll give you an excerpt because if I know one thing I know that my readers hate to click over and read just about anything I link (yes, I'm talking to you).

"Women with young children are looking for guidance from their mother or mother-in-law, but these days they are often looking in vain.... In other words, it may take a village to raise a child, but these days the village may be more heavily populated with nannies than nanas."

like the boy scouts always say: be prepared

A little advice: Before you come out with your blog to all your friends and family, you may want to make sure that you are *really* okay with them reading your blog. 

Most new readers won't go back to the very beginning of your blog and read every post you've written.  But your family?  Oh, your family will.  And then they'll call you on it.  And you'll won't even have a recollection of writing it until suddenly your Aunt sends you an email promising she won't print it out and show it to Grandma.

double standard

About a year ago, I gave up my weekly housekeeper.  For one, she wasn't the most reliable person and there always seemed to be something that she missed.  But the biggest reason I said adios to the paid help was that I was sick of hearing Neville complain about the waste of money.  He's a firm believer in not paying someone else to do something he can do.

Or should I say, something I can do.

Neville just didn't see the value in it.  Combined with the fact that she wasn't doing that great of a job, I let go the weekly service and started doing to all myself.  Needless to say, the housework wasn't getting done.  Cleaning toilets or showers just isn't a priority for me.  It's never going to be priority.  I'm not one of those people that gets all bent out of shape when the floor is dirty or there's dust on the coffee table.  In fact, I don't even notice it.  Housecleaning doesn't enter my stream of consciousness until the house is a pig sty.  And then its hours and hours of cleaning.  The result: a house that is clean for a day or two before the tornado also known as my son has wrecked havoc on our little house.  In other words, its totally not worth it.

the truth

"Momma, boys and girls have different private parts right?"

"Yes."

"But why?"

"Because that was how we are made."

"But why don't girls have penises?"

"Because you can't push a baby out of a penis."

Good-bye pajamas, Hello working-from-home

Late last year I started a new role at the software company where I work.  The role was a global one requiring early morning conference calls with London and late night calls with India or Hong Kong.  I didn't mind the change in the schedule beause the job came with one special perk.  I could work from home as much as I wanted.  Being on a global team meant crazy hours, but those hours were flexible and fit perfectly into my busy life a working mom.

So I've been working from home.  A lot.  As in practically every day.  Ever since I became a mom nearly five years ago, I've demanded to have a flexible work schedule.  I've always negotiated for working from home days and a core schedule where I got to decide whether to start early or stay late. But I've never worked from home more than I've worked in the office.  And the transition was tougher than I imagined.

We all know that working from home has its benefits.  I can have dinner on the table when the rest of my brood arrives home.  And I don't have to eat cafeteria food.  I never miss a UPS delivery.  Oh and I can work all day long in my pajamas.

turning over a new leaf

Ever since we made the move to the new office last October and I started a new role, I just haven't wanted to make it into the office.  The commute is too long, the sales guys are too noisy, the bathrooms are too tiny, and the breakroom is all the way on the other side of the building. 

It's not that I'm too lazy to walk over to the other side.  I just don't always have time in my meeting schedule to get there and back (and then walk to other other side to go the bathroom).

Alright, and I'm a little lazy.

So I've been working from home.  A lot.  As in practically every day.  I'll tell you it has its benefits.  I can have dinner on the table when the rest of my brood arrives home.  And I don't have to eat cafeteria food.  I never miss a UPS delivery.  Oh and I can work all day long in my pajamas.

But after a couple of months (yes, months) of being in my pjs all day long realizing at 5pm that I hadn't brushed my teeth or put on a bra for that matter, I was kinda over the whole working from home thing.  It didn't help that on a few of those nights where I still looked like I had rolled out of bed, Neville asked me point blank "What exactly did you do today?"

his mother must be so embarrassed

Didn't his mother ever teach him to use a tissue? Or to at least not pick your nose when being videotaped? I'm sure there are plenty of people that pick their noses in private.  I'd bet money that a bunch of them eat their boogers too.  But on TV?  What an idiot. 

growing up

Darius started a love affair with Thomas the Tank engine when he wasn't even yet two.  There was a gorgeous wooden toy shop in our area that had a giant train table set up with Thomas and his friends.  Darius and I frequented the shop often on my working-from-home Fridays.  I would sit on the floor checking email on my blackberry while Darius played for hours at the train table.  With each visit, we'd expand our set at home.  One train here, a curvy track there, and suddenly we had enough tracks to compete with the set at the toy store.

Lately, Thomas is frequently getting passed over for Star Wars Lego's. His once-beloved toddler bed that my dad painted to look like Thomas the train, has been covered up with a hand-me-down Power Ranger sleeping bag. 

the lonely road

I'm back up in Rocklin for a few days this week for work.  I know, I know... you don't really care to read about the city with the world's biggest shopping mall every time I make a visit up here.   But come on!  This place has every restaurant ever known to man in a 1-mile stretch.  Its a corporate traveller's dream. 

Lucky me, I'll be making the trek up to Rocklin at least once a month for the next few months.  I'm not joking about the lucky part.  I'm hoping it's a sign that I'll survive lay-offs when I am taking on more work.  Anyone who's worked long enough in the corporate world knows that a sign of pink-slip doom is transitioning your work to other people. 

every party has a pooper

 

Darius at a Tinkerbell party.  I had to convince him that it was a PETER PAN party not a Tinkerbell party.  From the looks of it, I think he caught a clue when every single girl arrived in a princess dress. 

never say never

Never bake your spouse a birthday cake before you have your first cup of coffee.

Never decide that baking a cake would be a fun project to do with your child on a rainy day when you have back-to-back conference calls.

Never give your child a bowl of frosting and expect any of that frosting to actually make it on to the cake.

Never ever give your child a jar of sprinkles without having the dustbuster at the ready.

Never totally lose your cool when you step in a glob of sprinkle covered frosting.

Never tell your child that they can light the candles just to get them to stop crying after you lost it when stepping in a glob of sprinkle covered frosting.

Never pull the candles out of the hand of your child and tell them they are "doing it all wrong" when it's just a damn candle on a damn birthday cake that you shouldn't have made but just picked one up from the store and what it exactly were you thinking, lady, when you thought it was a f-cking fantastic idea to make a cake between back-to-back conference calls on a rainy day with a kid who has way too much energy and is now on a major sugar high from eating a bowl of frosting.

Never think it's never too early for a drink. Or a lobotomy.

Oh and Happy Birthday, honey. When are you coming home?

I need a life

When I was a a third grader, we spent some time talking about the future in our class.  We decided that one day you would simply tell the oven what to cook and then PRESTO the meal would make itself.  Yeah, I'm still waiting for that technology.

If only life was easy enough that I could simply type "Robyn needs" into Google and wha-la all my needs would be laid out right there in front of me (hopefully with some sort of solution too)! According to Google, these are the top 10 things I need:

1. Robyn needs some love.
2. Robyn needs a home.
3. Robyn needs help.
4. Robyn needs a boyfriend.
5.  Robyn needs another sandwich now.
6. Robyn needs you!
7. Robyn needs some education.
8. Robyn needs zombies.
9. Robyn needs to go home.
10. Robyn needs to be taught a lesson.

Alright, maybe not as useful as I had hoped. 

PS.  Thanks to Kim for letting me kill 15 minutes at work googling Robyn needs.  I heart people who can magically make me procrastinate.

PPS.  You can play along my googling your name and seeing what comes up.  If you are as lucky as me you'll get a home, a boyfriend, and killer zombies with a click of a mouse.