Who's The Boss?

This post has very little to do with Whitney Houston

I spent Saturday off Twitter and Facebook and kept my phone hidden so that I could get in some valuable family time. When I peeked at Facebook after dinner, my stream was abuzz with Whitney Houston's death. While no cause of death has been named yet, there is speculation that the pop diva of my youth drowned in her bathtub after taking a deadly mix of prescription drugs and alcohol.

Sad? Yes.

Tragic? Perhaps.

Expected? Maybe so.

Perhaps I'm blessed that I've never had a drug or alcohol problem. I partied in my 20s with the rest of 'em. I experimented with a few drugs that are known to be addictive. I smoked and snorted and drank at frat parties like every other insecure girl there. And then I grew up. I grew out of it. Now as real adult (you know, one that doesn't call her dad at the end of every month asking for $50), I have a glass of wine maybe once a week. I walked away from all that crazy and I feel blessed that walking away was more than easy. It was effortless. So effortless that when I walked away, I didn't even realize the importance of it.

But I have friends and family that haven't been able to walk away on their own. I've watched them destroy their lives during their addiction. I've watched them try to pick up the pieces. And I've seen that once something is broken, no matter how much glue you have to put it back together, it never quite fits the same way. I've witnessed people closest to me fall back into addiction just when you thought they were pulling themselves together. I've been there to walk beside those whose journey in recovery never ends. Never. I've never been more proud of these people.

One of Neville's childhood friends is an alcoholic. A raging one at that. I've known him as long as I've known Neville. Over the course of the 12 years, he's always been an alcoholic. I've seen him get sick at parties. I've heard Neville's phone ring in the middle of the night because he's too drunk to even walk home. I've had to ask him to leave when he shows up fully loaded at our house to play with our kids. At 33, Neville's friend is dying, slowly and painfully, from his addiction. His liver has begun to shut down. The doctors have given him two years at most - if he stops drinking. Less, if he continues to drown himself in jack and coke.

Neville's friend is a talented guy. He's funny. He's caring. My children love him. He's patient and kind. He's smart. He's drinking his life away. Literally. He's taking forty years off his life - maybe more - by poisoning himself. And it's unbearable to watch.

So I'm not going to wax poetic about Whitney Houston. I'm not going to reminisce about her music - the music of my childhood. I'm not going to pretend that her death was tragic. The tragedy began long before her death. It began when Whitney continued to abuse. It continued when Whitney didn't get help. The tragedy wasn't in her death. It was in her life.

Drug addiction, from what I can gather, is like a death sentence. It's a prison. But here's the remarkable part. The addict himself is the warden. He has the key to his release. It's recovery. It's asking for help. It's a choice that may seem impossible to make. But it can be done.

Just as Neville can't release his friend from his addiction, we can't take pity on Whitney Houston's death. If you want to honor her, stop posting her videos from the 80s and seek out a friend who is struggling with addiction. Help someone see that they are worthy of recovery. They are worthy of life. They are worthy. Period.

For Susan

I can't remember if I ever met Susan in person. I been searching through all of my blogging memories to figure out if we've ever shook hands or looked one another in the eye or hugged. I'm know deep down inside that we most likely never met in real life. If we did, I'm sure I would never forget. It's the craziness that is blogging. We meet so many kindred souls online that it's hard to remember who you know in real life and those whom are just friends on Facebook and Twitter.

It's hard to believe that I'll never get the chance to meet Susan now. At least not until we meet in Heaven.

I "met" Susan in an unusual way. I decided at the last minute to attend BlogHer 2007 in Chicago. Yahoo! had sponsored my ticket, my airline miles were getting me there, but I needed a place to stay. The block room rate was gone and I was going to have to pay through the nose for a room. Kim, who also decided at the last minute to stay in a hotel, and I were going to be roommates. Kim called me to let me know that Susan...

Susan who had just been diagnosed with IBC...

Susan who was now in the fight for her life...

Susan who should have been screaming F^CK YOU to the world...

Susan who should not have cared about BlogHer or hotels rates...

Susan wanted to make sure that her room - the room with the cheaper rate - was transferred to someone else.

Who does that? Who cares about helping someone else when you yourself are in crisis?

Susan does. Because that is who Susan is.

I was floored by her grace. By her generosity. By her. Period.

Susan and I talked briefly on the phone. At the time, she blogged under a pseudonym and held her family's privacy above all else. She made me promise that I would never speak her real name - as I was about to find it out during the room transfer to mine. I remember promising that I wouldn't even look at the form with her name. But I lied. I did look. I saw her name was Susan and I smiled. And I began praying for her everyday, lifting her name up.

For the last five years, Susan has been on my heart and mind every single day. While I'm officially the world's worst blog commenter (as I rarely do it), I've followed Susan's story with total commitment. I have virtually been by her side, virtually holding her hand, virtually singing her praise. I've learned more about breast cancers, cancer treatments, recovery, and chemo from Susan. She has taught us all about the science of our lives.

I've been struggling with how to close this post. Do I say good-bye? Do I say thank you? Do I say how I terribly regret never getting to shake your hand, look you in the eye, and maybe even get to hug you? Do I tell you that I'll never forget you? That I love you? That I'm here, virtually at least, for you as your journey on Earth ends to begin your everlasting one with our maker? I don't know what to say. So I'm just going to say this.

I've been praying to those in my life who have passed before and have asked them to meet you at the Gates of Heaven. And I pray that I should be so lucky as to be greeted by you when it is my journey here is over. You've touched more lives than you could possibly ever know. You are not alone. You will never be alone.

Learning About Dr. Martin Luther King, One Cupcake at a Time

When Darius was in kindergarten, his teachers did a demonstration about segregation. They sent out an email to the parents to let us know that our kids would probably come up upset because the class would be divided into boys and girls. We, parents, were not to let on that we knew about the demonstration or that the changes weren't permanent. Instead we were to sympathize with our children and then ask them:

"What could you do to change it?"

It was the kindergarten version of the Civil Rights Movement. Two years later, it is a lesson that my son still talks about.

The children were divided into boys and girls. The girls had all of the privileges inside the classroom. They got to use the indoor drinking fountain. They sat in the front of the class. They got to line up first and all papers/supplies were passed to girls first. If a girl raised her hand, she would be called on before a boy. The boys had all of the privileges outside. They got to use the outdoor drinking fountains. They could play on the kindergarten play structure. They had first pick of the balls.

If either gender was caught breaking the Jim Crow Laws of Room 17, the child would lose 5 tokens. Those tokens were hard earned and used to buy little trinkets in the class store. Normally a kindergartner would cry if they lost one... so 5 was a big deal. The kids were told that it was "Separate but Equal." The boys knew the truth. They were getting screwed.

I remember volunteering in the classroom during these two days. And I remember that the boys felt like they had much less power. With only two recesses and one lunch break, the power outside was significantly less than the power the girls wielded inside the class. And, boy, did the girls make sure that the boys never forgot who was in charge. It was disturbing to see how quickly one "class" of students - the girls - took to their new privileges. The boys had been their friends until now. Now it seemed that the girls took pleasure in making sure their boy peers were at the back of the class.

The teachers were stunned by the girl behavior. After doing this demonstration for years, they had never come across a group that seemed so content with the law that the girls had actually asked if these new laws could become permanent. The girls were so caught up in the power of privilege that they not only didn't stand up for their friends; they asked for more power. The teachers and I brainstormed about what to do. How could they get the girls to understand the other side of the coin? While the boys were already making picket signs and planning a march to the Principal’s office, the girls were enjoying being the ones in charge.

Until the arrival of the cupcake. A mother dropped off goodie bags and cupcakes for Alex's* birthday. A boy's birthday. The teachers debated back and forth on what to do.

Who knew teaching moments would present themselves in the form of a cupcake?

It was decreed that since this was a boy birthday, only the boys would get to celebrate. The girls had to sit on the rug while the boys sang “Happy Birthday” to Alex. A few of the girls cried as they watched the boys relish in their cupcakes. Since only half the class was participating in the party, the teachers told they boys that they were allowed to take home the other cupcake.

It was ugly. It was brutal. It was heartbreaking. It also was just what the girls needed. The girls finally understood that segregation hurts everyone.

Then something extraordinary happened. Without any prompting, Alex took 5 tokens from his pencil box, walked over to his teachers, and asked to let the girls participate. The girls who had been mean to the boys. The girls who had previously asked to keep The Jim Crow Laws of Room 17 permanent. Alex got the lesson.

Separate but Equal isn’t equality. Or fair. Or just. Or what we should uphold.

With tears of joy in their eyes, the teacher accepted Alex’s tokens. The girls were allowed to their cupcake.

And the light bulb went off for everyone else.

For the rest of the afternoon, the girls took the 5-token penalty to allow the boys to sit wherever they wanted on the rug and to use the indoor drinking fountain. The boys did the same for the outdoor rules. The kids were fighting for equality but still were paying the price.

The next morning, the kids worked together to protest the law. They made signs, wrote little speeches about why these laws were not fair, and planned a march to the Principal’s office. It wasn’t quite The Million Man March, but it was equally momentous for these 5 and 6 year old children. The Twenty-Seven Kid March through the cafeteria, across the playground, and to the school office garnered a lot of attention from the rest of the school. Their principal listened to their speeches, asked some questions of his own, and let them know that he would make a decision before lunch.

In the end, the laws were reversed and everything went “back to normal” for Room 17. It was a long two days for the kids and the parents both. But I’m glad that my son’s teachers didn’t just read a book about Martin Luther King, Jr. I’m grateful that the kids learned a lesson the old fashioned way… By walking a mile in another person’s shoes.

*Name changed to protect the innocent

9/11

Today is just another day for my sons. 

They aren't mourning the loss of their father or other loved ones.

They aren't visting a memorial to honor the victims in the Twin Towers.

In fact, if you mentioned 9/11, my kids wouldn't know what you were talking about.

My children were born in a post-9/11 world.  They never saw the heartwrenching photos of New Yorkers fleeing their beloved city.  Or of firefighters placing an American flag in the rubble.  

 
We were so lucky to not have lost a family member or a friend on that day.  My kids are so very  blessed to not have experienced the very real and very tragic nightmare of that day.

I still remember 9/11.  I still remember waking up to the replay of the first plane hitting the Tower.  I still remember going into work and feeling totally and utterly helpless here in California.  I still remember. 

So now, how do I talk to them about it?  When do I talk to them about it?  How do I explain it?  What do I say?

Love, Loss, and Peanut Butter

I've been struggling to write this post all week.  Words, my typical rock, have failed me.  The words I do come up are cliche.  Or lame.  Or, as in my typical defense, totally inappropriate.

For my friends active in the blogosphere, this post comes as no surprise.  All over the country (perhaps world), bloggers are making Peanut Butter Pie for Mikey.  For my family and friends who don't participate in this online community, other than to read my own blog, may not understand this post.

 

Last Sunday, Jennifer Perillo's husband died suddenly of a heart-attack.  Gone with no warnings and no chances to say good-bye.  He's just gone.

Who's Jennifer Perillo, you ask? 

Well, she's a blogger.  She's a mother.  She's a fellow member of the Yahoo! Motherboard with me.  Jennifer  could be me.  Or you.  Maybe she is you.  Maybe she's joined your club losing someone who was too young to leave the world.  Or maybe, she's what you fear most: losing the people who are closest to you and not believing that you'd be able to breathe let alone move on with your life.

Yesterday, I made my Peanut Butter Pie for Mikey as a tribute to his life.  But it also serves as a reminder to me that people leave this Earth everyday.  And that I'm so lucky, so blessed, so taking it for granted that the people I care most about in this world are still in this world.

So I lift up my fork to Mikey.  And I thank those who have loved me despite all of my crazy.  And I tell you that I love you too. 

I love you, too.

Is Opting Out a Feminist Mistake?

After working moms getting praised and slapped last week for working... the Stay-At-Home Moms are now in the whipping seat. 

There's been a lot of talk about career women who give it all up to raise their children. Some say it's a throwback to another generation. But for those who can afford to be stay at home Moms, it's a difficult, and very personal, decision. A controversial new book, “The Feminine Mistake”, by Vanity Fair writer, Leslie Bennetts looks at the risks women take when they put their careers on hold, even for a short time. Leslie Bennetts was invited to appear on TODAY to discuss her book.

 

In a nutshell, Bennetts argues that opting-out is a high risk gamble that doesn't pay off for most women.  Benetts goes on to say that most women who quit their jobs do so intending to return to work when their children are older, but they are often unaware of how many barriers there are to opting back in.  Through her research she found that there are tremendous financial penalties for taking a time out. The more time you spend out of the work force, the harder it is to get back in, and the higher the financial price you pay.

Bennetts was on the TODAY show this morning discussing her book.  There is also an iVillage interview with a debate going on in the comments section.  On Today's website, there is a poll for Can women be moms and have careers? Interestingly, the poll results show about 70% of people saying that we can.  But what kills me is that about 10% say that women can't but men can.  I am so freaking sick of this double standard.

As a working mom myself, many of the risks that Bennetts listed (economic dependence, loss of career/title/pay, fear of divorce/widow) are all reasons that kept me working.  The feminist in me was not comfortable being economically dependent on my spouse.  Not to mention that I didn't have a large saving account or cushion to make staying at home an option.  I am also in an industry (high-tech) where the landscape can change every six months.  Taking an extended leave would have made it incredibly difficult to stay current with my skills.  Mix that with having to eat like a college student again since we would be dirt poor - and my decision to keep working was pretty easy to make.

Bennetts says that "It's vital to keep up with your field, to maintain your contacts and update your skills so they don't become obsolete. If you're going to do volunteer work, consider doing it in your professional field, because running the bake sale at your children's school is not going to help you with potential employers. And while you're home, make sure you're knowledgeable about and involved with the family finances."

While this all seems common sense; my famous quote at work is "Common sense is NOT common knowledge."  But I wonder, how many women really opt-out with expectations that their marriage won't fail, that they'll let their husband take care of the finances because he is the man after all, that after taking 7 years off to raise three kids that all they'll have to do is sent out their dusty resume and they'll get a new fabulous career in a jiffy.  Are we, women, really that dumb?  I don't think so.

All I know, is that in the whole mommy wars thing, I'm glad that the working moms aren't getting torched today. 

Orginally posted in April 2007 for the Silicon Valley Mom's Blog.

Photo:Alexandra

Working Moms Time with Kids is Increasing

 
The next time your mother points out that you should give up your career to spend more time with your kids, you can point out that you spend MORE time with your kids than she did when raising you.

A University of Maryland study shows that today's working mothers actually spend slightly more waking hours with their children than at-home mothers did a generation ago. In the study, 300 working moms kept time diaries explaining how they'd spent the previous 24 hours. The results, compared to time diaries kept by 1960s moms, showed the following:

• Today's working mothers spent an average 14.1 hours a week with their children.
• In 1965, the mothers spent 10.2 hours with the kids.

So, just how do we do it? 

The study points out that a working mom sleeps an average of six (6) hours less a week than our SAHM counterparts.  We also have less kids, spend less time on housework, and less “personal” time than our 1960s mothers.  The 1960s mom may have been physically there more, but she was busy cooking, cleaning, sewing, and ironing – all things that many of us working moms now outsource with housekeepers, meal delivery, and that darn dry cleaning bill. 

Looking back to my mother's generation, I see differences. My mother (a SAHM until I was about 10 yrs old) would "shoo" us out of the house every day.  We were not to stay inside (where she was doing housework, laundry, and cooking).  When we were school-age, we came home from school, changed our clothes, had a snack, and were thrown outside again.  She spent the majority of her time doing things for us and not doing things with us.

In today's busier, more child-centered times, mom's don't allow their kids to play outside unsupervised.  And we enroll them in a million classes and activities expose our kids to culture and athletics.  Not to mention giving up the housework and the pot-roast dinner to have active, quality time with our children. 

The big take-away here? Working moms, we are doing ok.  Throw that guilt out with your next order of Chinese take-out.

Originally published in March 2007 at the Silicon Valley Moms Blog

Photo LituFalco - Fotolia.com

This is why I buy organic

Just 1.3 percent of imported fish, vegetables, fruit and other foods are inspected — yet those government inspections regularly reveal food unfit for human consumption.

1.3 percent!  That means that 98.7 of imported produce comes into our country without even a glance.  I can’t believe it.

Non-US farmers can (and do!) use pesticides, chemical fertilizers, and hormones that are banned in the United States.  About one-quarter of our fruit, both fresh and frozen, is imported. For tree nuts, it’s about half. And for fish and shellfish, more than two-thirds come from overseas. 

After attending an interesting discussion with Robyn O'Brien,  author of the new book The Unhealthy Truth, I'm pretty certain that most of our conventional produce in this country may not be safe for our bodies either. 

But if you can't afford to shop at Whole Foods (and honestly, that isn't my go-to grocery store), here are four simple changes that you can adopt.

1. Buy Local

Even if you can’t afford organic, buy local.  Go to your weekly Farmer’s Market (there are over 70 each week in the Bay Area).  Buying organic at the Farmer’s Market can be significantly cheaper than buying it at the grocery store.

2. Change Your Milk

Check to make sure that your milk is hormone free.  Believe me, the dairies are making it easy to find out.  There should be a RBST-free or RBGH-free sticker on there.  I don't buy organic milk (sorry, $6 a gallon is highway robbery), but I make sure that the milk I do buy is hormone-free. 

3. Eat Less Meat

If you eat less meat, then you can afford to buy better quality meats (organic, local) when you are eating meat. Our Costco carries organic chicken breasts and thighs that are roughly the same price as conventional chicken at the conventional grocery store.  We've also purchased "shares" of local, grass-fed beef in the past. You just need to make sure that you have the freezer space to handle a share.

4. Let loose 20% of the time

Stick to healthy eating 80% of the time, and then let loose 20% of the time.  No one wants you to become that mother who doesn't let her kid eat birthday cake at a birthday party.  We still go out to Chili's with friends on a Friday night.  It's not about creating a strict diet.  It's about making informed decisions about what is going into our shopping carts and, ultimately, our bellies. 

Will women only get work-life balance when MEN demand it?

In my almost seven years of being a working mother, I've come to one conclusion: work-life balance is like the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.  It's an urban legend.  Things for the story books. 

The truth of the matter is that something has got to give.  Sometimes you'll just have to beg the babysitter to stay late because you absolutely cannot under any circumstances leave work at 5pm.  Sometimes you'll have to reschedule the launch of your new project because your child is so sick that a trip to the ER is necessary.  Work-life balance really means that you'll be juggling lots of balls.  And it's been a really awesome day when some of those balls are still in the air instead of all at your feet with you wondering what the hell went wrong all while still having to answer emails and find a way to feed your picky toddler that doesn't involve pressed and formed chicken nuggets.

In other words, work-life balance is bunk. 

And now men are figuring that out too.  While women have been demanding work-life balance since we starting working, men are only jumping on the bandwagon now.  Leaving me with a sneaky suspicion that we're finally going to see traction in workplace flexibility.

 I've been truly blessed working in the high-tech world in Silicon Valley.  Ever since I've been a mother, I've had the freedom to work from home at least one day a week.  Three years ago, after an acquisition switched my manager to one in another state, I was given the opportunity to work from home full-time.  My work and my life have co-existed in our tiny 1400 square foot fixer upper where my "office" is the kitchen table.  Most days it works because I have a very flexible employer who measures my success not on the hours I plug in, but on the quality of the work that I produce.  It works because my manager doesn't freak out if he doesn't see me in our virtual chat room for hours after school because he knows I'll be on again once my children are in bed.  The work-life balance I've achieved has nothing to do with my organizational skills, my commitment to my family, or my abilities to juggle the crap outta my life.  

My work-life balance is achieved only because my company allows it.  Promotes it.  Cultivates it.  I make jokes with my manager that I'll be a lifer at this company because of the flexibility I have.

With glass ceilings that still prevent women from moving from managers to senior management, I'm curious to see if we'll begin to see a trend on workplace flexibility now that men are making an appearance on the debate.  Or will things continue to stay status-quo where women opt-out as their husbands climb up the corporate ladder?

The evolution of a writer

The first time my work was "published" was in the 7th grade.  The middle school I attended put together a literary magazine that showcased talented writers (nominated by their English teachers).  A fictional story I co-wrote with a friend was the featured story that year.  I've also written for the school newspaper and have had a few blog posts placed into syndicated print newspapers.  But I've never been able to say before, with feeling much legitimacy, that I am truly a writer.  A bona fide published writer.

Until now. [cue applause]

 My friend Joanne Bamberger  has included one of my essays in her new book (coming June 1st), Mothers of Intention.  I haven't read the book yet, but can.not.wait. for my copy.  Since becoming a mother of two, the only books I've been reading are about vaccines, baby food, and sleeping through the night.  Needless to say, I'm thrilled that I'll be reading a book written by a friend and tickled pink that I'll see my own name in bounded print. 

I'm asking in my nicest voice to go out and buy a copy (you can pre-order on Amazon). 

About the book:  Born out of women’s writings on websites and blogs, Mothers of Intention: How Women and Social Media are Revolutionizing Politics in America examines the rise of the motherhood political movement and how women have become a larger, more powerful presence in political activism.  Women make up the majority of online users and utilize the Internet more effectively than men overall. As a result, they are rapidly growing in political influence. Mothers of Intention debunks the commonly held notion that motherhood renders women mute 
when it comes to public policy and electoral politics. With the authority of a veteran political commentator, Bamberger documents the emergence of a collective female voice in politics. Describing today’s complex political scene with humor, intelligence and humility, and explaining what it means to be a mother within it, Mothers of Intention provides a perspective that often eludes works of social commentary authored by a single individual.

Disclosure: I've made no money by being in the book or writing this post begging y'all to buy it.  This is just one friend reaching out to another friend asking for support in this awesome endeavor. 

Obama gets Osama and I have to go back to work (go figure)

I'm not sure if there is any special meaning about the fact that on the eve of my return from maternity leave, Obama announces that we finally killed Osama Bin Laden.  It only took nearly 10 years, billions of dollars, and thousands of lives lost.

Sort of how it felt to get all of my passwords changed with IT this morning.

Joking aside, I'm in great awe and respect for our military men and women who have put their lives on hold to fight in this war - a war that many, including me, haven't supported.  As I watched hundreds of people crowd the White House in celebration last night, I was reminded of the same celebration that we've seen in Egypt, Libya, and even Iraq.  I'm left wondering what is going to be the real fall-out of taking out the religious leader of scariest terrorist organization of our generation.  The war certainly isn't over and I fear for those serving overseas.  There will certainly be retaliation, no? Enough people have been killed in this crusade.  When will it stop?  Will it ever stop?

I remember working at a medium-sized software company in Silicon Valley on 9/11.  I worked in the consulting organization, pairing our customers with our technical consultants for the West Coast.  That week, I just happened to be covering for Sal - my counterpart for the East Coast.  That day was a nightmare as we couldn't get in contact with a consultant, Satyapal, who was scheduled to be working in Tower 2.  We were on the phone with our other 100+ consultants who were suddenly grounded and couldn't make it back home.  We were on the phone with customers in New York to postpone, indefinitely, their scheduled projects.  I still remember when we finally received an email from Satyapal saying that he was okay.  He was alive.  He walked across the bridge with thousands of other New Yorkers. 

Some of us cried when we read that email.  Our own was safe. 

I wish the same could have been said for everyone else that lost loved ones that day.  I'm sure for them, the news last night was good news.  Or at least some closure on a nightmare that began nearly 10 years ago. 

I just wish it was closure on a war that has killed countless more than 9/11 did.  I'm praying that this is the beginning to the end of this war and not the beginning of a new beginning. 

Top blogger lists can suck it

As a blogger with an audience larger than my mom and Aunt Sue (hi mom and Aunt Sue), I belong to a few blogging networks.  At least twice a week, sometimes more, I get an email from a fellow blogger asking her entire frickin' network of bloggers, friends, and family to vote for her in some sort of contest slash top list slash award.  Even when I really like that blogger and think her blog is worthy of such contest slash top list slash award, I delete the email.  I don't vote.  I forgive her for spamming the inbox of everyone she knows. 

Why?

Lists and/or awards that are given to a writer based the highest number of votes are, in my not-so humble opinion, stupid.  We all know good writing when we read it.  We don't need to send web traffic over to a site just for the hopes of winning.

This week, I got an email from a website (no, I won't link it) congratulating me on making their list of Top 25 Baby Journals.  First, I rolled my eyes since I don't consider my blog a journal of my children but rather a journal of ME parenting those whipper snappers.  Even though I might have did a WTF at first, I was still flattered to be on a list that wasn't titled Top 25 Bloggers Who Should Stop Writing.  But then I read further.

See... I wasn't really on the list of Top 25 Baby Journals.  I was nominated to be on the list of Top 25 Baby Journals.  All I had to do was ask all of my blogging network, FaceBook friends, and anyone else I knew with an email address and access to the web to go over and VOTE FOR ME! to get onto the list of Top 25 Baby Journals.

You can see where this is going, right?

Email deleted. 

Then my friend Lia told me about Backpacking Dad's list of Top 25 Sexiest Mom Bloggers.  His post couldn't have been better timed. 

Shawn couldn't have written it better when he explained that a Top Anything List "ignores elements like quality of writing, helpfulness, sincerity, skill, morality, popularity, hilarity, and advocacy."

So bloggers that get bent out of shape over not making a list or spam everyone they know to vote for them, then those bloggers need to seriously take a chill pill and find their happy place.  Because we all know good writing when we read it.  Lists won't validate you.  It won't make you feel better.  It won't keep you warm at night.

Oh, and if you do feel like you just.can't.rest unless you finally.make.a.top.list then you really should read Shawn's list.  It just might be your lucky day.

Once again, the government gets it all wrong

As a part of her First Lady project on battling childhood obesity, Michelle Obama has announced that she'll be promoting breastfeeding over formula.  In addition, tax cuts will be given for breast pumps. 

I’m a fairly social liberal. I think everyone should have the right to marry.  I believe that a woman’s reproductive rights are nobody’s business but her own. I think that every child deserves a great education.  I wish that every American had access to the kind of health care I have access to as a worker bee in large corporate America. But when it comes to the latest left-wing idea of offering tax breaks for breast pumps, I have to say enough is enough.

The government needs to stay out of women’s bodies. My uterus is off limits. And so are my breasts.

Read more about what our government should be doing for working mothers at the Silicon Valley Mamas Blog.

I'm a Fag Hag so leave my friends alone

 
See that gorgeous man next to me?  That's one of best friends.  He's awesome.  He's beyond awesome.  And he's gay.  Gayer than gay.  The man is one hunk of burning gay love.

And if anyone ever treated him the way that Dhuran Ravi and Molly Wei bullied Tyler Clementi, I would be on them like flies on shit.  When I think about what those two people did to that young man, I am so fully let down by humanity.  I thought my freshman roommate, Jen, was a bitch for reading my journal.  I guess I should write her a thank you letter for only violating my privacy and making fun of me in private.  My tearful "I miss my boyfriend" entries never made it on the internet.  Or perhaps when I wrote an entry titled "Dear Jen, Emily told me you are reading my journal.  Back off, bitch," she got the point and left me alone.

So I'm signing up for the "Seriously? Stop Being An Asshole Project." Because people who bully need to be called out.  Whether they are kids or adults.  We need to create a zero tolerance policy for bullies.  Stop making excuses for bully behavior.

 For those you who have been bullied... whether you are gay, straight, bi, tranny, fat, skinny, pimply, smart, tall, short, awkward, or whatever... I can honestly tell you that It Gets Better.  In fact, it can be awesome.  It can be fan-fucking-tastic.  You will find people that love you. That accept you.  That want to be around you.  That tell you wonderful things about being you.

But you've got to stick around to discover that. 

Yes, that blond girl is me.  Well, me 10 years ago.  When I had time to curl my hair, get my brows waxed, and spend hours primping in the bathroom to go to gay bar with my gay friends where my goal was for at least one lesbian to tell me I was pretty.  Otherwise known as "get your party on before you become a breeder."

Mombloggers have their panties in a bunch (again)

 
If you want to be a mommy-blogger, you better develop a thick skin pronto. 

Just as in baseball, there is no crying in blogging.

Unless you are crying wolf.

Once again the momosphere is all riled up.  This time about blogger outreach on the very controversial topic of High Fructose Corn Syrup.

In the past it's been about Motrin, Disney, Nestle, Pampers, Johnson and Johnson just to name a few.  And then there are the forever controversial topics like vaccinations, home schooling, breast vs formula feeding, and whether autism is linked to genetics, mercury, or other factors in our environment.  I'm starting to think that this blogging niche is running out of authentic things to say so we've got to get on some soapbox or another to prove a point about something that's really inconsequential at the end of the day.

Whoa, I can see the mob swarming about me saying that HFCS is inconsequential. That's not what I mean.

I mean that the way we rally around a topic for a day or a week.  Then we forget about it because there is some other hot-button topic that pops up for everyone to get all nasty about.  Am I the only one that sees this cycle?  Am I the only one sick of the twitter storms and blogging fervor that passes like a flash fire in a pan?

I don't think there is anything wrong with participating in a blog tour about HFCS.  In fact, I wish more haters skeptics of HFCS had participated so that we had balanced coverage.  If we as bloggers say that we are only going to write positive reviews, only going to write about with campaigns that align with our personal beliefs, or only going to write about a topic/company/issue when we get something in return... well then we've just given up a tremendous amount of our collective power.

If HFCS is an issue that is important to you, then write about it.  Write about alternative fruit roll-ups for kids.  Write about your journey on giving up soda.  Review books on the topic.  Research and inform your readers.  Maybe even attend that blog tour sponsored by the Corn Refiners Association and then ask tough questions.  But don't pop up on some A-list blog's comments about how you've campaigned against HFCS for 15 years but don't have a single blog post or tweet ever mentioning that hatred.  You just look like someone who's jumped on the bandwagon in hopes of a few click-backs over to your own blog.

I am consistently bothered by these trendy-topic shitstorms. If we want to talk about it, let's talk about it.  But let's avoid lambasting bloggers as "dumb and irresponsible." There's a bigger conversation here.

Let's starting talking.

Photo credit: Lee, Russell. Corn near Muskogee, Oklahoma stored at the Library of Congress

Elmo and Katy Perry

I don't know about you... but it seems to me that we should be more ashamed of Elmo than Katy Perry in this "controversial" Sesame Street video.  Sure, Katy could cover up a bit more (but if you look close, you'll see that there is nude fabric already covering her cleavage), but Elmo is the real booger for making that girl run around and refusing to play with her.  I say Elmo needs a lesson in friendship more than Katy Perry needs a lesson in appropriate clothing for a children's show.  What's your take?

Happy Employees Equal Successful Business

 
Whenever I read about a new study about the workplace... especially one with a "Captain Obvious" conclusion... I am reminded that common sense is clearly not common knowledge.  A new report from Hewitt Associates shows that employees engagement in a company is directly linked to the financial success (or failure) of that company.

Unfortunately, the study found that employee engagement is on the decline.  I guess we all know who to blame when a company doesn't meet it's numbers on Wall Street - it's employees.

It must have been 9 years ago when I started taking classes to eventually gain my Project Management Professional (PMP) certification, but I still remember the class well.  There were a couple dozen of us students listening to a lecture by a successful Project Manager who had now reinvented herself as an Organizational Management Consultant and Project Management Trainer.  She said plain as day:

Common sense is NOT common knowledge.

In other words, just because you think it's a no-brainer doesn't mean that most people are going to come to the same conclusion. 

Common sense tells you that happy workers equal productive workers. 

Common sense tells you that "burn out" does not really exist.  Burn out is really a combination of low employee morale, little confidence in the organization, and lack of career opportunities and/or rewards and recognition programs. 

Common sense tells you that the more engaged your employee, the more they personally invest into the company, and the better they will perform. 

Common sense tells you that higher performance equals higher productivity equals higher profits.

Common sense tells you that a company's most important assest is its human capital.

Sadly, common sense is not common knowledge.

It's a shame, really, that more executives haven't figured it out. 

Photo credit: Kelly Ley on flickr

Understanding Maternity Leave in California

In a little over a month, I'll be virtually waving good-bye to my coworkers as I begin my extended maternity leave.  With my boss's blessing, I've been approved for a 6-month leave.  Some of it paid, some of it not.  After attending a 2-hour seminar offered by our Human Resources department and then a couple more hours calculating what that all meant for me, I feel compelled to share what I know.  But before I do, read the disclaimers at the bottom of this post.

Now that we got that out of the way, there are four different types of leave available in California.  Some have pay, some don't.  Some have job protection, some don't.  You will literally have to piece-meal your maternity leave together to get time off with pay and with job protection.

Family Medical Leave Act (FMLA)

This is a federal act that offers up to 12 weeks of unpaid leave in a rolling 12 months.  It is unpaid.  But it offers job protection.  This is open for both mothers and fathers.

California Pregnancy Disability Leave (CA PDL)

This is PAID leave (as long as you've paid into the State Disability Insurance) in Calfornia under the state disability plan for up to 4 months.  You get paid up to 55% of your salary up up a weekly maximum benefit cap (for 2010, that's $987/week).  Generally, pregnant moms are entitled to FOUR weeks prior to your due date and SIX weeks after the baby is born (EIGHT if you deliver by c-section).  There is no job protection, but you take this paid leave in conjunction with your FMLA.  Your doctor determines when you are disabled and when you are cleared back to work.  If you are having twins, the timelines increase so double check with your HR rep or the EDD for more info.

California Family Rights Act (CFRA)

This provides an additional 12 weeks of unpaid, but job-protected leave for baby bonding.  One big caveat, my fellow pregnant Californians: this leave can overlap with FMLA.  Once your doctor has cleared you to go back to work (generally 6-8 weeks post partum), CFRA kicks in.  This means that you may not get 24 weeks of job-protection.  Depending on how much time you take off before the baby is born, when the baby is born, and the type of delivery, you may get a few weeks less of job-protected leave. 

California Paid Family Leave (CA PFL)

This paid leave gives both mother and fathers (and adoptive parents) SIX weeks of paid leave up to 55% of your salary (with a maximum cap).  Again, there is no job protection, but you can take this leave in conjunction with FMLA or CFRA. 

So what does this mean for you and your maternity leave?

Let's face it, we all just want to know how long we can be out on maternity leave and still get paid for it. In a nut shell, you can take off 4 weeks before you due date and have 6-8 weeks of after the baby is born under CA PDL. Then tack on an additional 6 weeks under CA PFL.  That's roughly 16 weeks of paid leave with job protection if you use the full benefit and assuming there are no complications in your pregnancy or delivery.

Still confused about how to calculate your maternity leave?

I'll use my own maternity plan to describe it further.  My due date is October 31, 2010.  Since I work from home, I only plan on going out on maternity leave one week prior to my due date (unless my doctor tells me otherwise between now and then).  I already have an approved return date of May 2, 2011. That's just a tad over 6 months of leave.

My last day of work will be Friday, October 22nd.  Therefore my leave begins on Saturday, October 23rd. This marks Day 1 of FMLA and CA PDL.

If Thing Two is born on time and without complications, I will be paid for 7 weeks at $987 per week (1 week before and 6 weeks after).  At that time, my doctor will clear me for work.  CFRA will then kick in (overlapping with FMLA for 5 weeks) and I will apply for an additional 6 weeks of pay at $987 per week under CA PFL.

That's 13 weeks of paid job-protected leave, if you are following along. Or roughly, $12,831 for 3 months of leave.

I still have an additional 7 weeks of unpaid but job-protected leave under CFRA for baby bonding.  After that, I plan on using my accrued vacation time for 2 weeks. While I'm on "vacation," I will apply for a 5-week unpaid Leave of Absence.  Those 5 weeks are without job protection, so I'm taking a risk. But I think the risk is small of getting laid off during those 5 weeks. 

To sum it up, that's 13-weeks of paid job-protected leave, 7-weeks of unpaid but protected leave, 2-weeks of vacation time, and a 5-week unpaid, un-protected LoA.  That's still just $12,831 for a 6-month maternity leave, plus my two weeks of vacation time.  Motherhood certainly doesn't pay.

And you thought the delivery was going to be the tough part.

I hope this helps you as you guide through your own planning for maternity leave. Congrats and good luck!

The Disclaimers

First, let me say that it absolutely, completely, utterly sucks balls that the most powerful country in the world doesn't offer a federal paid maternity leave.  With roughly the same number of men and women now in the workforce, it's really a shame that we don't offer paid leave for working parents (Obama, why don't you add that to your stimulus package?).  I'm fortunate to live in California where paid pregnancy disability and paid family leave are offered.  What I'm about to share is based on living and working in California.

Second, I work for one of the largest software companies in the world. I do not work for a small business or the government - different rules apply for companies with less than 50 employees and government employees (that includes teachers).

Third, by no means am I an expert on maternity leave in California.  I'm just passing on what I learned.  Call it tribal knowledge, but don't call it the source of truth. You're going to have to do some homework of your own.

Steven Slater, We've all had a bad day at work

I can't decide what's my favorite part of the Steven Slater drama... A flight attendant getting on the loud speaker and telling a passenger (who, from what I can gather, deserved it) to Fuck Off?  Or a flight attendant being so pissed off that he grabs two beers and pulls the emergency shoot to slide down the plane while passengers are still de-boarding? 

This story is so outrageous that you'd think that it was an Urban Legend.  I mean, really?  Who does that?  If there weren't witnesses and coverage coming from reputable new sources, I would've thought that this was like that old legend of a lonely co-worker dying at his desk and no one noticing for days.  It's unbelievable.

Even if you can't relate to the extreme measures Slater took to get his point across (I guess his point was that he was mighty sick of rude passengers), anyone whose worked a day in their life knows that we've all had a bad day at work.  We've all worked with someone that seriously lost all composure at some point.  Hell, many of us have been that co-worker that seriously lost all composure. 

I remember in my early years of working in the corporate world calling a co-worker an idiot on a conference call with 20+ other people in the organization.  We were rolling out a new forecasting tool for the team to track their work in projects.  Our team was growing and we needed to know what customers were already scheduling their time so that we could see when we could take on new clients.  One engineer, Vinay, just couldn't wrap his head around the change and was being obnoxious on the call stating that he was going to just fill the forecast with bogus data.  To which I replied, "If you do that, you're a bigger idiot than I thought." Silence followed and no one spoke up after that.

Two weeks later Vinay asked our Sr Director that I no longer be responsible for owning his schedule and assigning new project to him.  I was the Resource Manager - my entire job was to make sure that the team was fully booked on customer projects to ensure profitability for our department.  When the Director said no, Vinay quit.  I figured that made the score 1 point for Robyn, 0 for Vinay.

It took me much longer to realize that we both lost.  I developed a reputation for being "too tough" and "resistant to differing opinions" that day.  I spent YEARS trying to change that perception within the company.  After being passed up on a promotion that I knew I was ready for, I knew that the only way to change my reputation was to change companies.  Had I taken the time to understand Vinay's viewpoint or asked to meet with him personally after the call to walk through his questions or even called him on his ludicrous comment without resorting to name-calling... who knows how different the outcome would be.  Maybe Vinay still would have quit.  Maybe I would have found a new way to shoot myself in the foot. Or maybe we would have found common ground and I would have gotten that promotion after all.

I learned that I couldn't always trust my first response.  While I was right (he was an idiot for saying what he did), I could have taken a deep breath, laughed at his response, and said something witty to diffuse the situation.  It was a lesson for me that Killing with Kindness really has a much higher pay-off than Killing with Satire.  Or cursing. Or calling a person an idiot in front of their peers.  Or telling a passenger what you really think of them.

In a few days or weeks when everyone has moved on to the latest news story and Steven Slater finds out if he still has a job after his shenanigans, maybe he will also have reflected on his behavior that day and decide if his actions were worth it.  No matter how much fun it must have been to steal 2 brewskies and slide down that shoot, my money's on Slater eating crow and regretting his actions. 

Parenting sucks. Now get over it

According to New York Magazine, nothing the sucks the life outta you faster than becoming a mom. I'll admit that I didn't read past the first page... the photo on the front page was enough for me to roll my eyes and hop on over to Twitter for mindless brain candy.

I mean, seriously... can this woman look any more depressed?  It's like a pre-photo to her drowning that adorably cute and cudly baby.  It screams "I forgot to take my Xanax this morning!"

I'm not going to tell you that parenting is all sunshine and butterflies and rainbows.  In the early years it is more about tantrums, poop, and musical toys that can drive you insane.  In the school-age years, it's about homework and endless sports games where you pretend to be excited while really checking your BlackBerry when your son isn't looking.  And from what I understand, it only gets worse.  Teen's sexting, college tuition, and twenty-something grads moving in back home because as it turns out majoring in Basket Weaving doesn't automatically make a career. It's not 18 years of having a parasite attached to you... it's for the rest of your damn life.

But there is joy.  There is lots and lots of joy.  There is joy in kissing chubby baby feet or having your son write you a letter for Mother's Day promising to "take care of you forever" (which you plan on saving when he does marry that girl who you think isn't worthy of his awesomeness).  There is joy is watching them ride a bike or tie their shoes or read a book... and knowing that YOU took part in teaching something so damn great to your kid.

There is plenty of joy.  You just have to choose to see it.

Photo credit: Jessica Todd Harper

Sexting, Internet Safety, and Teen Suicide

While at the Yahoo! Motherboard Summit last Friday, we watched a video about a local Los Gatos family whose teenage daughter committed suicide after a naked photo she had sent through her cell phone (aka a "sext") to a boy in her class was passed around school by a group of her peers.  While it was clear that three boys were convicted of distributing child pornography (and received some sort of probation in the juvenile system), the story never made news since all involved were minors and the parents of the girl didn't want this to turn into a media circus.

I had a really hard time watching the video and listening to much of the discussion from the panel after which included one Yahoo! exec, an internet safety expert, and a Sunnyvale Police Officer.  While my heart goes out to the family and their daughter, I was also mightily disturbed by the amount of blaming that the boys received from the panel.  I won't deny that the boys were royal assholes for distributing the photo.  I'm not disputing that they don't deserve the punishment they received.  Still, I couldn't help wondering if this would have all been prevented if their daughter hadn't been so foolish as to send something so intimate to a boy she barely knew?  I only watched a ten-minute video; I certainly don't have all the information to make a qualified opinion of my own. But what is clear to me:

Girls and boys behave differently when it comes to virtual peer-to-peer interaction

Everyone in this case made a bad choice. The teenage girl chose to take a photo exposing herself and text it to a boy. The boy chose to share it and ultimately distribute it. Lots of teenagers chose to view the photo and continue to either pass it on or not tell an adult.  Girls need added doses of self-esteem. This girl was a popular teenager... don't go thinking that your "straight A, pimple free, has lots of friends" daughter isn't dying inside for "someone to like her."  Boys need to understand that no matter how exciting it is to see a girl's boobs (especially a popular girl's boobs), it isn't right.  If just one of those teens had reached out to their parent during the incident (one did after the death and that's how the parents found out), who knows how different the outcome could have been. 

As a cop-friend pointed out, if the girl in this case hadn't committed suicide, she could have been held criminally liable for creating child pornography.  I know it's a tough conversation to have with teens who have an under-developed frontal cortex that controls understanding consequences (something that doesn't happen until early 20s).  But your teen's bad choices can have lifelong impacts that their little brains just don't grasp yet.   Not all of those bad choices are going to end in death or jail... but there's certainly lots of consequences that can hurt for years to come.  Whether that's not getting accepted at the college or company of your dreams to losing gallons of self-esteem to having friends turn into enemies. 

Cell phones are just as dangerous as computers or laptops

In this case, the nude photo was taken with a cell phone with a camera and texted to a boy.  No computers were used.  Cell phone rules seem simple enough:

1. Make your child sign a contract with expectations on use, behavior, and consequences if there is violation of the contract.
2. Make them regularly check-in the phone. My mom-friends with older kids/teens suggest a nightly check-in so that the kids aren't texting and calling past bedtime.
3. Disable texts, data, or internet on the phone until you feel that they are responsible enough to use it without abusing those features.

Withdrawal is a burning red flag

This wasn't the first parent I've heard who's looked back and noticed that their teen withdrew from normal family interaction in the weeks/months leading up the tragedy.  When your once-engaged teen turns into a different kid, it is not their cry for independence.  It is a cry for help.  Investigate.  Be tough.  Snoop.  Confiscate cell phones and laptops.  And if they refuse to talk to you, take them to a professional they can talk to.  As much as teens don't want to acknowledge that they need a parent, they do in fact still need parenting. 

As I kissed Darius this morning on his way to summer camp, I said a little prayer of thankfulness that we aren't at this time in our lives where I have to worry about my child sending inappropriate messages to girls or watching God knows what on his friend's laptop.  I know that as soon as I blink, my six year old will be a pre-teen and then a teenager.  I know that soon enough we'll have to figure out when (if ever) he gets a cell phone in his youth.  And I know that cyber-bullying can exist even if your kid isn't online frequently.  But for right now, I just want to kiss my little boy and hope that by the time he's a teenager that Prince will be right and the internets will be dead.

Motherhood isn't enough

Last week I went to see Sex and the City 2 with my friend Lia.  I didn't go because I'm a huge fan (loved the show, but was absolutely fine with it ending and never needed a first or second movie).  I went because Lia asked.  And I love Lia and have a hard time saying no to her because hanging out with her is always comedy. About three quarters of the way through the movie, there was a scene that made paying for the movie totally worth it.

Charlotte is afraid to admit about how horrible motherhood can be.  Wiping butts, screaming kids, not finding fulfillment in the day-to-day.  Miranda has to coax it out of her so that Charlotte can let it go.  Miranda goes first by saying (in a nutshell, it wasn't like I was taking notes):

"As much as I love my child.  He isn't enough.  I need to work."

I think the beauty of this is the admission that motherhood isn't enough.  I love Darius more than I love anyone else on this planet.  More than I love myself.  Or ice cream. Or cold watermelon on a hot day.  I'd give up just about anything for him.

But he isn't enough.  He cannot sustain me.  He cannot bring total and complete fulfillment to my life.  Even if he could, it really wouldn't be fair to put that kind of responsibility on a child. 

That I am a working mom has nothing to do with this.  I'm not advocating that every mother work.  In fact, I don't care if you work or not as long as it "works" for your family.  This is so much bigger than working versus staying home. 

For most of us, motherhood isn't enough.  That's why we have hobbies or volunteer or drink too much.  That's why we set up play-dates for infants - not because our 4 month old needs a friend but we do.  That's why we plan date nights or romantic weekend away with our spouse.  That's why we blog - to make connections with other women who are coming to the same realization. Or shop to much.  Or eat too much.  Or cry in the shower too much.

This is what a sore loser looks like

If you watched Survivor for the past two seasons, then you've seen Russell throw big old temper tantrums in both Reunion episodes.  A part of me wished that the show was on at an early time so that Darius could watch and learn (what not to do) from this guy.

We all know a sore loser.  The person who victimizes everyone else, tries to manipulate every outcome, and when they finally don't win, cry foul, act the victim, and can't give kudos where kudos are due: To the person that ultimately did win.

I've watched Russell complain about the structure of the game now that he's lost twice.  I'm not sure he'd be stomping his foot and saying NO FAIR like a bratty four year old if he actually did win.  That's what makes Russell the ultimate loser.  He can't admit that he lost - in a game that is more about the relationships you make than the challenges you win.  He lost because he was a jerk, dishonest, willing to sacrifice anyone, and unwilling to show one redeeming quality.  Even when given the opportunity to apologize for being an ass, he just continued to be an ass instead.  There was no surprise when he lost the million dollars. 

Do Celebrities make good role models?

Last month, I participated in a Dine and Dish video series about whether or not celebrities should be role models for our kids.  Watch the video of opinionated moms from all over the country giving their two cents about it.  And then head over to my latest post on the Silicon Valley Mom's Blog to really hear why I think the idea of the celebrity role model should be a fictional legend like a hobbit or a gremlin.

I'd love to get your opinion.  Should celebrities be role models for our kids?

Are Celebrities Good Role Models for Kids? @ Yahoo! Video

When we cancelled the cable last year, we didn’t realize at the time the bullet we’d be dodging in raising our son. No Nickelodeon. No Disney Channel. No Sponge Bob Square Pants or Hannah Montana. PBS’ Electric Company and CyberChase are pretty much the only TV my son watches during the week. We do have a regular “Family Movie Night” every Friday, allowing just about any PG movie of my son’s choosing from our local library. But when it comes to celebrities, I’m not even sure my son knows the meaning of the word.

There’s no Hannah Montana or the Jonas Brothers or those twin boys living in the hotel. I’m sure he knows who those people are – he does go to school where he picks up all sorts of stuff besides reading, writing, and arithmetic. But he doesn’t watch their shows. Or see their movies. Or get caught up in the fever of all that Disney sugary pop-culture.

My son is totally into sports (he plays at least one sport every season) and we’ve gone to many professional basketball, baseball, and hockey games. But he wouldn’t know Pablo Sandoval from Jerry Rice. He loves the sport not the player. The only name of an athlete he’s latched on to is Michael Phelps. It didn’t help that the year he joined our community’s swim team was the same year as the Summer Olympics. My son was more proud of his first trophy than Michael Phelps could have been about all his gold medals. Weeks later when the scandal broke of the swimmers recreational marijuana use, my son had already moved on to Flag Football. Not that he would know what “pot” was other than the thing mom uses to cook dinner.

With sports figures in the tabloids as much as musicians, actors, and celeb-utantes, you’d think he had caught wind of some scandal. But the truth of the matter is that we’ve never put any stock in the idea of fame. While a professional athlete may make more money in a year than Tom Cruise that person has never been the reason why we enjoy the sport. Replace Tiger Woods with another golfer and he would still watch the Masters on television.

I don’t think most celebrities make good role models. Especially these days where a sex tape and reality show make you famous. My son has excellent role models: his family, his uncles, his grandparents. There are people in the community, police officers who keep us safe, firemen who rescue us. There’s a hero in every book he reads. He has so many role models that he doesn’t even know what he’s missing. And that’s a good thing.

Original post for the Silicon Valley Mom's Blog

My son is totally into sports (he plays at least one sport every season) and we’ve gone to many professional basketball, baseball, and hockey games. But he wouldn’t know Pablo Sandoval from Jerry Rice. He loves the sport not the player. The only name of an athlete he’s latched on to is Michael Phelps. It didn’t help that the year he joined our community’s swim team was the same year as the Summer Olympics. My son was more proud of his first trophy than Michael Phelps could have been about all his gold medals. Weeks later when the scandal broke of the swimmers recreational marijuana use, my son had already moved on to Flag Football. Not that he would know what “pot” was other than the thing mom uses to cook dinner.

With sports figures in the tabloids as much as musicians, actors, and celeb-utantes, you’d think he had caught wind of some scandal. But the truth of the matter is that we’ve never put any stock in the idea of fame. While a professional athlete may make more money in a year than Tom Cruise that person has never been the reason why we enjoy the sport. Replace Tiger Woods with another golfer and he would still watch the Masters on television.

I don’t think most celebrities make good role models. Especially these days where a sex tape and reality show make you famous. My son has excellent role models: his family, his uncles, his grandparents. There are people in the community, police officers who keep us safe, firemen who rescue us. There’s a hero in every book he reads. He has so many role models that he doesn’t even know what he’s missing. And that’s a good thing.

Original post for the Silicon Valley Mom's Blog

celebrating Earth Day in our own backyard

Last year, we planted three fruit trees in our backyard. Along with the orange tree that was original to the house, we're hoping to have to depend less on big grocery and become more sustainable on our own.  I'll admit too that my inner-cheapskate was excited about never having to pay for $3/lb organic peaches again.  As our tiny peaches grow, I realize that what I'm teaching to my child about food, like how long it takes to grow and the work involved in getting delicious fruit, far outweighs any cost saving we'll recoup from buying a $30 tree.

When my brother was around three (I'm not even sure I was born yet), he asked our mom to buy him something at the store.  My mother simply told Ryan that "she didn't have enough money" and she continued on her way.  My brother then ran up to her and shouted "I know. CHARGE it!" My mom realized in that moment that, even though Ryan was still very young, she was already influencing his spending habits. 

I feel the same way about food.  If I don't teach Darius where food comes from, then I am failing in one aspect of parenting: getting my child to have life-long healthy eating habits. 

It's always the mother's fault

According to the latest research out of Britain, working mothers are raising society's next generation of losers, cheaters, and addicts.  A really old white dude has decreed that employing a nanny for your son “creates a division in his mind between the woman he knows to be his natural mother and the woman with whom he has real hands-on relationship." The result is that “he grows up with the idea that although he will one day go through all the social and sexual formalities of marriage, he will have at the back of his mind the notion of this other woman, who not only knows, but caters for, all his needs.”

What a lovely article to read before my 10am conference call. After six years of being a working mother, you'd think I'd be used to being society's punching bag.  At least for this latest accusation, I can laugh it off as some senile old man, stuck in his old ways, who thinks that women should still be in the kitchen, preferably barefoot, pregnant, and making a homemade dessert from scratch while the roast cooks in the oven.

Food Challenge: Eat-in More

Apparently last week was National Eat-In week.  I must have missed it from all my cooking.  I recently purchased the first ever (in the US at least) Parsi cook book.  My MIL and I have been pouring over the pages, she reminiscing about her own childhood in India and me, wondering how foods cooked with practically the same ingredients could taste so different from dish to dish. 

There are many reasons why we don't eat out much.  First of all, it's expensive.  Personally, I'd rather use my extra income to pay for a housekeeper than to eat at a restaurant a couple nights a week.  Second, it's much healthier to eat at home.  You control the portions, the fat, the salt.  In California, it is now law for restaurants to disclose the number of calories and fat in every dish.  It's scary that a BBQ Chopped Salad at CPK has more than my entire day's allotment of calories.  Lastly, it is faster to cook at home than it ever is to eat out.  Making meals from scratch doesn't mean you have to be a slave in your kitchen.  Most nights, dinner is on the table in 45 minutes or less.  There's no way that you can get your brood in the car, drive to your favorite restaurant, decide what to order, and get your meal in that time. 

Menu plan (yes, that really is my menu this week)

If you sit down for 15 minutes on a Sunday to figure out what you are going to make for dinner each night of the week, then you can be smarter about how you grocery shop.  No more throwing away the bag of zucchini that never made it to a meal.  You know exactly what you need and when to use it. For those of you who say you want flexibility, I rarely actually cook the dinner I planned on the night that I planned it.  My weekly menu moves around.  So the spaghetti and meatballs on Tuesday may actually be made and eaten on Friday.  By having all the ingredients for the entire week, I know that I can change it up and move stuff around as our schedule requires.

Double-Up

Whenever you are going to make something that takes extra time, double (or triple) the recipes. 

Confession: I've worn pajamas in public

There is the group of mothers at my son's school that always look put together.  It doesn't matter if it 7:45 in the morning or 2:45 in the afternoon.  These ladies are always perfectly primped with their coordinating outfits, styled hair, and matching accessories.

Sadly, I'm not one of them.

When it's my turn to take Darius to school in the morning (something that Neville often does for me 3-4 days a week), I throw on a baggy jacket over my bra-less night shirt and grab the biggest pair of sunglasses to cover as much of my yet-to-be-washed face that I can.  I've been known to drive in my slippers.  It's not pretty.  It's pretty slob-y if I'm totally honest about it.

In the UK, some schools are tsk-tsking this behavior. Taking a page from a supermarket in Cardiff that banned shoppers who were still in their nightgowns and slippers, area schools are “taking a stand,” according to The Daily Mail online.  The principal at St. Matthew's school sent home a notice to parents telling them, "While it is not my position to insist on what people wear, or don’t, I feel that arriving at the school in pyjamas is disrespectful to the school and a bad example to set to children. People don’t go to see a solicitor, bank manager or doctor dressed in pyjamas, so why do they think it’s O.K. to drop their children off at school dressed like that?”

Another reason to celebrate the end to British rule. We're American, dammit.  Give us our liberty.  Give us our right to wear whatever the hell we want wherever the hell we want to. 

One of the joys of working from home means that I don't have to get ready while getting Darius ready.  I don't have to get up an hour early to get myself showered, styled, and read for work.  My personal goal when I work from home is to be ready by 10am.  After I've checked email and attended a couple of morning conference calls, I'll take a quick break to get out of my pajamas (or my bathrobe in today's case which I've been wearing for the last three hours) and into a pair of jeans and a sweater. 

There is no accessorizing, only a hint of make-up, and my hair is barely styled.  I've been known to wear the same sweater for three days in a row because I never left the house other than to do drop off and pick up and no one has seen me or my sweater.  I'm never gonna be one of those put-together moms that I stare at from beneath my very large dark sunglasses.

I fessed up.  Now how about you?

In my next life, I want to be a performer in Cirque du Soleil

My family was first introduced to the magic of Cirque when I was in highschool.  The Color Guard I was involved in (yes, I was in Color Guard, don't judge. we were actually kick-ass and 10th in the world), used music from two different Cirque du Soleil shows for our performance music.  The music was different, irreverent, and oh so melodic.  The next time Cirque traveled to San Jose, my dad bought tickets.  We've gone to every show that has toured these parts since. 

I love Cirque.  Partly because their aren't any animals in the show; you'll never miss the parade of elephants or the lion tamer.  Partly because the venue is so intimate that there really isn't a bad seat in the house.  But the reason why I love Cirque so much is that the acrobatics are so original, so jaw-dropping, and look like they are done so effortlessly.  While watching you're thinking "How in the WORLD can they DO THAT?" while also thinking "HOW in the world do they make it LOOK so EASY?"

On Thursday, I had the privilege of attending opening night of Cirque du Soleil's new show OVO, courtesy of Hadley Media.  I will say that if you have never been to a Cirque show or if you've wondered if your kids are old enough to handle it, this is a great show for you.  Some Cirque theme's in the past have been dark or even a little scary.  This one is light and airy... all about insects and love.  The show is long (2.5 hrs including a 30 min. intermission), but really you are so captivated that the time flies by. 

I won't give anything away about the show.  You have to see it for yourself to believe it.  And also, my dad reads this blog and got the whole family tickets (we go next week) and if I spoil anything for him, I won't hear the end of it.  All I'll say is that when the show ended, and we walked back to our car in the pouring rain, my step was a little lighter.  I honestly said that if reincarnation really does exist, I hope I do something excellent in this lifetime so that I can be a Cirque du Soleil performer in my next life.  I'd even be thrilled to be a silly clown.

Photo credit: Cirque du Soleil

iPad and the glass ceiling

Last week when Apple launched its new product, the iPad, women around the world cringed.  Naming a product after a feminine hygiene product was an error on Apple’s part.  For the rest of the week, thousands of women joked on Twitter, Facebook, and their blogs about the lapse in judgment.  There was iTampon, the iPad with wings, iPon.  There were people saying that the product marketing folks iFailed or should be iFired.  iLaughed (get it?) my way through most of the week.  We’ll see if Apple changes the name of the iPad in its second or third generation launch in years to come. 

After I tilted my head in confusion over the slip-up, I thought to myself "Does Apple not employ any women and did they not speak up about how iSlate or iTab or iAnythingElse would have been a better name?"  But then, I found out that Apple doesn’t employ women executives, so there might not have been a woman in the room to speak up.  Maybe Apple has hired a female VP in Human Resources; that seems to be the place where most companies place their token female executive.  In fact, when you look at Apple’s executive roster, you don’t find any diversity.  Look at those eleven pretty shiny faces of white men.

Maybe Apple should have name their products according to hiring practices. iWhite.  iDiscrimination. iDon’tGroomDiversity.  For some of you, you may think I’m too harsh.  You say that women aren’t in executive positions because they don’t have the job qualifications or they took time off to breed the next generation.  I say that is all hogwash.  I bet that most, if not all, of those guys didn’t graduate with their fancy MBA ready to lead a company or a division of a company.  Those men were mentored and groomed. 

I'm not here bashing the product.  The iPad seems like it will be the next big thing.  Everything that Apple launches right now seems to turn to gold.  I just wished that their Midas touch was implemented on the women in their company.  Because the iGlassCeiling is clearly rotten at Apple.

My favorite posts of 2009

January - I wrote about my journey into blogging and the community that embraced me.

February - I dealt with my very cuddly baby growing into a not-so-cuddly boy.

March - After reading a NY Times article on absent grandparents, I had to share just how awesome our lives are because of the active participation of grandparents.

April - I was saddened when Prop 8 passed in California, but I was deeply offended when Carrie Prejean spoke on behalf of all Californians against gay marriage.

May - We embarked on a trip of a lifetime.  Twenty family members made the trek to Disneyland to celebrate D's fifth birthday.  It was amazing and easier to plan than you might think.

June - I donated more than twelve inches of my hair to Locks of Love and lived to tell about it.

July - Darius and I travelled back to Arkansas, the land of my youth, to visit my dear Grandmother.  Later that month, I finally joined Facebook.

August - This was the hardest month for me.  Darius started Kindergarten, started reading on his own, and proving that he needs me a little less each day.  Cancelling the cable in the same month was no help either.

September - I stood up for breastfeeding working moms. Let's not forget that my dad also turned 60 in September (and wrote the most lovely comment on my post that still makes me cry when I read it.)

October - After watching the Dr Phil show where more gasoline was thrown onto the fire of the Mommy Wars, I officially declared that I'm dropping out of this idiotic conversation.

November - I proved, once and for all, that I can do something as good as my dad. I also learned that taking a five minute shower is an impossible feat.

December - The ghosts of Third grade came back to haunt me. Darius learned that no matter how many times he asks Santa, he's not getting a Nintento DS. Then he proved that he isn't all "nice" all the time either.

Getting prepared for the next "BIG ONE"

 I’m ashamed to admit that we’ve never discussed disaster preparedness or emergency plans with Darius.  I’m not sure if it is because, when he was little, it was OUR job to make sure he stayed safe if there was an earthquake or fire.  I’m also sure that we’ve gotten lazy and complacent.  Where we live in Northern California, there hasn’t been a big disaster since the ’89 Quake.  Yes, there’ve been fires – but not where we live.  There’s been mudslides – but not where we live.  The closest thing we’ve had to a disaster is losing our fence in a fierce storm two years ago and having a few hours without power every year during the first storm.

On Monday, I went to CityMama’s adorable apartment to hear from California Volunteers about Disaster Preparedness.  I was only a little ashamed that I haven’t done anything to be prepared.  It was a morning that was more informative and thought-provoking than I ever realized disaster preparedness could be.   And I learned that you don’t have to be a freakishly perfect to get it all done either. Simple things like:

Remembering my Grandfathers on Veteran's Day

Both of my Grandpa's were military men.  Both grew up dirt poor in the rural South.  Both knew what it felt like to go hungry.  Both felt the military was the only option to pull themselves out of deep poverty.

My mom's dad, Skip, was a career Navy man. He enlisted in the Navy when he was just 17.  He loved everything about the Navy - even boot-camp.  I remember my Grandpa saying that it was the first time in his life that he felt like home.  Three square meals a day, a cot to sleep on, and money in his pocket.  He felt like he hit the jackpot. My Grandpa and Grandma lived all over the world during my Grandpa's 20 year service.  All of his four children where conceived or born overseas.

My dad's dad, Woody, was a Marine. Woody was an MP in the Marines.  His job was to pull drunk guys out of bars when they didn't make it back to the base in time for curfew. He survived Malaria twice and was a tough as tough could come.  In fact, he never disciplined his children for fear that he would forget they were just kids and not insubordinate Marines.

For my Grandpas, the military was the only option.  Neither had finished high school.  Neither had any hopes of college - that was for rich boys.  In the military, they learned skills that landed them real jobs when they retired from actively serving their country.  When I look back at the legacy they've left behind, their years in the military changed their lives and the lives of their children and their children's children. 

Both of my Grandfathers have passed, but their stories remain alive in their wives and their children.  Neither ever served on the front lines of war, but knew many of the men who did.  They both talked somberly of those that gave up their lives for the freedom of this nation and the freedom of those on foreign soil. Both had a deep love for America, their families, and God. None of the men in my family have served in the military since my Grandfathers. After living through more than one war, my grandfathers didn't want their children to fight in one. 

As a child listening to their stories of war, I am sure that they left out the gory details and talked of romantic memories about their military days.  As an adult, I realize now all of the details that they didn't share, stories that would never be re-told, the demons and nightmares being omitted to save a little girl from the real atrocities of war.

On Veteran's Day, I light a candle to Skip and Woody.  I light another for the men currently serving in the war on Iraq and Afghanistan.  And I light a third for Peace. 

Original post for the nSilicon Valley Mom's Blog

Happy Halloween

About 3 years ago, when Darius was around 2, we decided to begin hosting an annual Pumpkin Carving Party. When D was little, he wouldn't go near the inside of the pumpkin.  This year, he lasted about 5 minutes before he went inside to play with my God-daughter, Bella.  So if the past is any prediction to the future, he'll carve his own pumpkin when he's 23.

I know, you are all thinking that Ya-Ya carved this one of Yoda. This one is all me, thankyouverymuch.  And I managed to do this without swearing once or totally losing my cool, so I say that clearly I'm the winner!  Take that, Ya-Ya.

Neville, who I love to tease for never really getting a "real childhood" carved the first pumpkin of his entire life. It's the little one on the left.  The one that Darius was supposed to carve himself.  That was before Darius realized thast Ya-Ya could do a way better job than he could so he left it to the professional.  Which basically sums up every art project in my entire life.  What's that old saying "Those who can can, those who can't teach."  All my life it's basically been "Those who can't, call Ya-Ya."

There's no Halloween Fairy in this house

When I was a kid, my brother and I would Trick or Treat on Halloween for hours.  I can’t ever remember my parents setting a curfew – they must’ve known that we couldn’t stay out much past 9pm.  We'd go in a little tribe of neighborhood children, often unsupervised, to canvas the streets for the best Halloween candy.  My parents only had two rules: never go inside someone’s house and don’t eat any candy that is unwrapped. 

I was a picky eater so many of the chocolate covered candy bars would go into my reject-pile, much to the delight of my chocolate-loving parents.  My parents let us eat to our heart’s desire on Halloween night.  For the rest of the week, my mom would pack a candy or two in our school lunches. And then one day when we came from home from school asking if we could eat another piece of candy, my mother would simply reply “There’s none left; you ate it all.”

I can’t remember if we ever questioned our mom about the mysterious and sudden disappearance of the candy bag.  All I know for sure is that there was no more candy.  Where it went, I’ll never know.

My child is getting the H1N1 vaccine, why isn't yours?

I wouldn’t consider myself pro-vaccine.  Sure, my son was stuck in his chubby little thigh right on schedule.  But, honestly, I never considered any other options.  If The Vaccine Book had come out while I was pregnant, I would have chosen to slow-vax my son.  He’d eventually got all his shots, but it wouldn’t have been at 3-5 in one sitting.  Instead the book arrived in stores when I was a mother to a toddler who was already more than half way through the rigors of inoculations.  While it certainly made me feel better about the choice we made to vaccinate accordingly to the traditional schedule, it also made me realize that I probably should have done a lot more research before I blindly trusted my pediatrician. 

Considering that I vaccinated my son against many life-threatening illnesses… illnesses that killed some of my own ancestry when they were children, I never understood why I took such a hard stance against the flu shot.  I’ve, personally, only received the seasonal flu shot twice in my life.  The year I was pregnant and the year I was a mother to a newborn.  My son Darius had the flu shot only once when he was 6 months old.  I didn’t even bother to take in him for the recommended second dose hoping that my continued breastfeeding during the flu season would keep him safe.

Yet nearly five years after his one and only flu shot, I am pulling my son out of school 30 minutes early to drive to our pediatrician’s office to get the H1N1 vaccine. 

With H1N1 already causing more deaths in children than the regular seasonal flu (and we haven’t even hit the real cold and flu season), I’m surprised at how many parents are opting out of the vaccine.  One mother in my son’s class said that she was “pro-germs” and would take the risk of her children getting the virus naturally before she’d give them the shot.  I was shocked!  At least a third of the children who’ve died of H1N1 were healthy children before they contracted the virus.  I’m all for building a child’s immunity to common colds, but I’m not sure I can be pro-germ when kids are the most vulnerable to this virus.

There have been two reported cases of H1N1 at my son’s school.  One was a child in the kindergarten class next to my son.  I want to do everything that I can to protect my son.  We’ve amped up our hand-washing, have had lots of talks about how germs are not for sharing, and are keeping a watchful eye to make sure our son stays healthy.  Add to it that my son has contact with many family members who are considered to have compromised immune systems.  I couldn’t take the risk of my son exposing them when they are a high-risk category as well.  It’s not about panic or pandemonium.  Rather, I want to take precautions when we can to make sure that we protect the health of our family.

Lucky for my son, our pediatrician is only doing the flu mist for now.  I don’t have to go back on my word of not having to get any more shots after we finished our round of boosters for Kindergarten.  I’ll be getting the seasonal flu shot this year as well. I know it won’t lessen the risk of getting H1N1, but my son will see how shots are really no big deal when I roll up my shirt sleeve and take the shot in stride. 

You can bet I’m gonna ask for a lollypop too.

Original post for the Silicon Valley Mom's Blog

Second Harvest Food Bank

Every year my company holds a Volunteer Week.  The company does a fantastic job of proactively identifying volunteer opportunities throughout the year for those who are civic-service minded.  But then in late September, they do a big push to get every employee across the nation to volunteer in their community. There’s an entire website to connect volunteers with projects .  In the Bay Area alone, there were over 25 projects for employees to sign-up.

I picked the one closest to my home.  I’ll admit that I was a little disappointed that it meant that I’d lose three hours on a Saturday morning.  Yes, I was being selfish with my time.  I’m a busy working mom with weekends that can be more stressful than my meeting schedule.  I’d much rather have found a community service project that was in the morning during the week… might as well kill two birds with one stone and get a break from work while serving my community.  But alas, I picked convenience of the local over my desire to play hooky at work.

And on last Saturday, I showed up to the Second Harvest Food Bank with 20 other employees of my company to bag produce for needy families in my community.

In three hours, our group of twenty bagged over 750 3-lb bags of carrots.  These carrots weren’t like the carrots you’d see stacked all perfectly in Whole Foods.  These carrots were broken in half or triple the size of a carrot you’d see in the store.  The food bank has a deal with local farmers to buy the carrots that wouldn’t be “sell-able” in a regular grocery store.   Whatever carrots were deemed un-safe for human consumption, we threw into a bin that went to a local pig farmer.  No carrot went to waste that day.

At the end of the three hours, I felt like I had really accomplished something for my community.  Until I heard that our 750 bags wouldn’t even survive a few hours at a local food pantry.  Second Harvest Food Bank serves over 200,000 Bay Area families every MONTH.  That’s over 6500 families a day.  Our Team Leader told us that with the economy in bad shape, they see more and more families each week.  There are people in our community who have to pick paying rent over buying groceries.  That there are children who go hungry on the weekends as their only meal is the free lunch they get at school.  It was heartbreaking.

Suddenly that one grocery bag of food I brought to donate seemed like a pathetic attempt to show my support for my community.  I was thrilled when I learned that Second Harvest has partnered with companies and local farmers to make donations stretch even farther.  For a $15.00 donation, Second Harvest can buy 350 pounds of fresh fruits and vegetables.  At my local Farmer’s Market, that would buy 7 pounds of peaches. 

So I’ve marked it in my calendar to regularly go shopping for my community at the Second Harvest website.  I can make a single monetary donation that Second Harvest uses as they see fit.  Or I can virtually shop, knowing exactly what my dollars are buying and how far those dollars are stretching to feed my community.  It still may not be enough. But by spending a mere three hours at the Second Harvest Food Bank, I realized that there is so much more than I can be doing.

Original post for the Silicon Valley Mom's Blog

In three hours, our group of twenty bagged over 750 3-lb bags of carrots.  These carrots weren’t like the carrots you’d see stacked all perfectly in Whole Foods.  These carrots were broken in half or triple the size of a carrot you’d see in the store.  The food bank has a deal with local farmers to buy the carrots that wouldn’t be “sell-able” in a regular grocery store.   Whatever carrots were deemed un-safe for human consumption, we threw into a bin that went to a local pig farmer.  No carrot went to waste that day.

At the end of the three hours, I felt like I had really accomplished something for my community.  Until I heard that our 750 bags wouldn’t even survive a few hours at a local food pantry.  Second Harvest Food Bank serves over 200,000 Bay Area families every MONTH.  That’s over 6500 families a day.  Our Team Leader told us that with the economy in bad shape, they see more and more families each week.  There are people in our community who have to pick paying rent over buying groceries.  That there are children who go hungry on the weekends as their only meal is the free lunch they get at school.  It was heartbreaking.

Suddenly that one grocery bag of food I brought to donate seemed like a pathetic attempt to show my support for my community.  I was thrilled when I learned that Second Harvest has partnered with companies and local farmers to make donations stretch even farther.  For a $15.00 donation, Second Harvest can buy 350 pounds of fresh fruits and vegetables.  At my local Farmer’s Market, that would buy 7 pounds of peaches. 

So I’ve marked it in my calendar to regularly go shopping for my community at the Second Harvest website.  I can make a single monetary donation that Second Harvest uses as they see fit.  Or I can virtually shop, knowing exactly what my dollars are buying and how far those dollars are stretching to feed my community.  It still may not be enough. But by spending a mere three hours at the Second Harvest Food Bank, I realized that there is so much more than I can be doing.

Original post for the Silicon Valley Mom's Blog

Can you get FIRED for breastfeeding at work?

When I returned from my maternity, my darling Darius wasn't even 12 weeks old yet. He was teeny tiny.  And I was a very bust-y nursing mom.  Armed with my super duper Medela breastpump (a gift from my mother), I was so thankful that my employer had just created super duper "Nursing Rooms" for the working mommas.  It was a good thing too.  There were five other women who used that room with me.  We all felt like we were doing the right thing.  We bonded over our babies while we each discreetly pumped behind designer curtains while sitting on comfy chairs. It was a working mother's dream.

So why did I quit pumping four months later?

Because pumping at work is hard, y'all.  Really really hard.

When Darius hit a growth spurt at 7 months, he literally wanted to be feed every hour during the night (mind you, I was working during the day so there was no "just sleep when the baby sleeps" anymore). After a few days of being totally exhausted, my milk supply was going down, not increasing. So one night, I asked Neville to grab a bottle of formula.  I had kept formula in the house for a few months, realizing that if I got hit by a bus or had to take a business trip that there was not enough milk in our freezer to last more than a day (and that had to go to the daycare lady).  Neville made a bottle, Darius took it like a champ, and then Darius refused to ever nurse again.

Who's the Boss Guide to Office Relationships

Those of you in California have been bombarded with the reports of our own government sex scandal.  For those of you too lazy to read the article (yes, I'm looking at you), here's my spin.  A married Assemblyman shags a lobbyist then brags about such conquests (in lurid detail) to another Assemblyman during the break of a committee hearing. In front of microphones.  That were still on.  That recorded the whole thing. Oh and did I mention that it was also videotaped.

The idiot has resigned.  And has also gone on the record to say that he made the whole thing up.  Yeah right.

While his unethical, lewd, and ungentlemanly behavior cost him his career, let's use this as a learning opportunity one the chance that you decide to have your own office affair.

Lesson 1: Don't sleep with married men.  Or married women.  If you are married, the only person who should be seeing, diddling, or pleasuring your private parts is your spouse.  Extramarital affairs never end well.  So if you want to have sex with someone who isn't your spouse, make sure that you (or they) end their marriage first. 

It's a man's world

Some of you may watch Track and Field with a real passion.  Most of you are probably like me... you watch every four years during the Olympics.  I'm always amazed at the sheer number of events.  You've got the mammoths competing in strength events like shot-put.  There's the tall and slender athletes who've perfected the jumps.  And then there's the flashy sprinters who can run faster than what seems humanly possible.

Track and Field is as scandalous as baseball.  There's always someone getting stripped of medals because of steroids, or as we now delicately call it "performance enhancing drugs." I guess the competition is so fierce to be the World's Fastest Man or Woman that a few of these world-class athletes would do anything to get (and stay) at the top.

But what happens when the world isn't questioning if you've taken drugs but rather if you are a man parading as a woman to win?  That's exactly what has happened to Caster Semenya after she creamed her competition by over 2 seconds.  Before she can claim true ownership of the medal she already won, Semenya is required to complete a "gender verification test."

WOHM vs WAHM... The New Mommy War

I am a WAHM.  Work At Home Mom.  I used to be a WOHM. Work Outside (of the) Home Mom.  Same company.  Same job. Same demands.  Same paycheck.

With my new home office, I also get a new title in the blogging world.  And, apparently, a new bulls-eye.

I work in good ole Corporate America.  I work at a company that has somewhere near 90,000 employees.  Our revenues are in the billions of dollars a year.  And I do an important job of streamlining our back-office operations to make sure that the revenue we report to the "street" is accurate and true. 

Sure, I have a little blog and a freelance writing job or two on the side that pays enough to cover my Costco bill every month.  So the way I define being a WAHM mom is a little different than the new WAHM (aka bloggers now freelance writers) versus WOHM (aka all other working moms) firestorm that is blowing through the internets over this last week. 

WAHM, WOHM, SAHM... can we come up with another four-letter acronym for motherhood?  I've been them all and I'll tell you with sincere honesty:

Carrie Prejean, Gay Marriage, and Equal Rights

I watched (and cringed) when Carrie Prejean, Miss California, answered in the Miss USA Pageant that she believes gay marriage is wrong.  Did I think that her beliefs should disqualify her for the title? Not really.  Beauty pageants are like a conservative version of soft porn.  Beautiful women prancing around a stage wearing a pound of make-up and little else.  Does it matter if her views are in sharp contrast to my own?  Absolutely not.  It's not like she's a world leader.  She'll be on the arm of Donald Trump for a year.  Hardly a face of America.  Does anyone really listen to Miss USA anyways?  I thought the main job requirements were to look good in a bikini and the ability to smile for hours on end.

What bothers me more is the firestorm about Carrie Prejean's response (just read some of those comments and you'll probably want to throw up).  I have always believed that gay marriage should be legalized.  I do not think that religious institutions should have to honor or perform same-sex marriages.  I do think that the federal government and state governments should have to recognize same-sex marriage and give same-sex couples the same rights under the law.  It's a civil rights issue.  Cut and dry.  Everyone in this country should have equal rights under the law.

No job is worth your life

I had an entirely different post planned today about Earth Day and what my family does to lower our carbon footprint. 

But as a working mom's blog, I felt compelled to write about the recent suicide of Freddie Mac's CFO, David Kellerman.  There's still a lot of speculation as to why Kellerman would take his own life.  Was it the pressure from the regulators?  Was it the disgrace of knowing that the company made terrible, costly, greedy choices that are now affecting the livelihoods of millions of Americans?  Did he see his situation as utterly hopeless and give up?  Or did he take the easy way out?

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."

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. 

"As long as we are human, there will still be work to do"

I don't know about you, but I am more excited about doing the work now.

Thanks CityMama for the link.

Reflection and hope

When I was in elementary school, there was always a class assembly on Martin Luther King Jr's birthday.  We would learn about Rosa Parks and the bus boycott in Montgomery.  We heard about segregation.  And every year we listened to the famous "I had a Dream" speech. 

In college I studied Feminism with a concentration on Movements, Policy, and Legal Studies.  I engrossed myself in the writings of women scholars who taught about racism and sexism.  I learned about privilege.  I changed the lens through which I saw the world. 

The Dishonor Roll

Ah, how I love living in a digital era.  Check out the Dishonor Roll of people and businesses that supported Prop 8.

There is also a database of contribtors that allows you to see who supported Prop 8 by making monetary donations to the campaign.  I plan on personally boycotting these business (It's not like I ever cared for Denny's anyways).

This is a civil rights issue.  Just as people boycotted buses to end segregration in Montgomery, today we can boycott businesses that supported the elimination of civil rights for a group of people that are different. 

For those that still believe in the "protection of marriage,"  I urge you to watch this.

Motherhood is a pain

I apparently was living under rock this weekend when a firestorm of Moms Who Twitter attacked Motrin and their latest ad campaign about motherhood.  Or more specifically about how "baby wearing" is pain in the... back. 

If you were also living under a rock, you can watch the ad on YouTube.  Thank heavens for YouTube - Motrin has already pulled the ad online.

I've watched the ad a couple of times now.  And for the most part, I get the sarcastic tone of ad.  Sort of reminds me of the weird VW commercials with Brooke Shields.  Alright, I'll agree that it makes babywearers out to be superficial pains and is borderline condescending.  And I'm positive that Motrin and other companies will be taking a closer look at the power of social media. 

But there was also some truth to the ad.  No, I'm not talking about the part where you are an "official mom" when you "bjorn" your baby.  Motherhood is a pain.

Yes, it's a joy and a miracle and rewarding and blah blah blah.  It's also a life of headaches from listening to all those annoying toys where the batteries just never seen to run out.  It's an eternity of backaches from carrying a 22lb toddler.   I swear I have done permanent damage to my knees from all those pony rides on our hardwood floors. 

I'm sure that there were many who were pleased with Motrin's action to issue an apology and remove the ad.   While I always think that saying sorry is the best policy, I'm not sure that Motrin needed to pull the ad entirely from online and print (in their apology, they did state that getting the print ads out of circulation would take time).  Once the weekend had passed, the Twittering Moms were moving on to new tweets and there even was a the start of a backlash against those who attacked Motrin.  Was the ad in bad taste?  Yes.  Was the "offense" blown out of proportion?  Yes, I think so.

I hope that the debacle with Motrin's ad proves the power of online social media.  I would think that advertisers and marketers will now take more time to reach out to their target audience.  I would also think that mommybloggers would learn to say something more constructive than "That's offense, I'm never buying Motrin again!" 

If social media is powerful, if mommybloggers are powerful... then let's act like leaders.  Let's engage in a conversation with businesses and marketing agencies.  And let's not get our feelings hurt so darn easily.

Because, really, all this noise is just giving me a headache.

Whose marriage are we "PROTECTING" anyways?

I had an entirely different post planned for today but lately haven't been able to think about much after Proposition 8 passed.  Since Wednesday, I've been ashamed to be a Californian, to be an American.  For this country and this state claim to be free from religious persecution, and then vote based on religious pursuasion to actively eliminate rights to somebody who is different from you.  That is wrong.  No matter how you try to spin it, it's wrong. 

54% of Californians voted against homosexuality by saying they were for the "protection of marriage."  Whose marriage are you protecting anyways?

It certainly isn't your own.  Last time I checked, this proposition doesn't eliminate the rights of heterosexual couples to marry.  Or for inter-racial couples to marry.  Or for Muslims or Buddhists or Hindus to marry.  YOUR marriage is already protected under the law.  YOUR marriage is still valid in this state.  NOTHING has changed for you.

Yet, you vote in favor of discrimination.  You vote in favor of religion in government.  You vote to make gays and lesbians second-class citizens.  WHY? Are you ignorant, bigoted, spiteful, angry, or misinformed? I don't understand.  Help me understand.  Please.  

This ballot really has nothing to do with marriage.  It has everything to do with equal rights.  Everyone deserves the same rights under the law.  You don't have to morally agree with "it."  Your church doesn't have to recognize "it" or be forced to officiate "it." And you already know that "it" won't be taught in schools.

For those of you who voted no against Prop 8....  For those who voted Yes and realize now that you've made a mistake.... I urge you to sign a petition against the passing of Prop 8. 

This is a battle for full civil rights, full equality, and full inclusion.  All Americans should have the same civil rights no matter their race, religion, gender, or sexuality. I thought that was established a long time ago.