Working Mom

Many moms think that the title of this blog entry is an oxymoron because moms are always working - raising, teaching and bringing up their children. This is completely true. What, then, is a good way to represent a mom who has to go to work outside of the home? A non-home working mom? I'm sure there are tons of good titles and representations out there.

However this blog post is about my personal experience of being a non-home-working mom. Actually, for a while I would occasionally be a home working mom except that I wasn't being a mom at the very moment I was home. I was working from home and I was a mom. Even in those brief moments of being home, it was great to see my daughter for a few minutes here and there - when she woke up, having lunch with her or just being able to shut down my computer and  spend after work time with her.

In recent months, I have changed jobs and the ability to work from home has been on hold. I often get home from work with just a few minutes to spare to read a few books or spend some time with my daughter before she goes to bed. Honestly, it sucks so tremendously that there are no words to describe that empty feeling of not getting on an earlier subway to enjoy time with my daughter. You take what you can get and you enjoy it. That empty feeling is guilt. The resentment and frustration of having to work for a living and to provide the basics for my daughter. The aggravation of how times have changed so much that many moms can't stay home and raise their kids. The feeling that you will never get that time back no matter what you do. Yes, it's quality over quantity but it stinks when the quantity is spent with a bunch of ridiculous adults who are beyond help in so many ways.

On top of all those emotions is the wish that people in certain industries would understand how important a mom is to a child - their first and primary socialization model. You can 'lean in' all you want but so many women don't have the luxury or option of having a nanny in the office with them. Work needs to get done and deadlines need to be met. So many people don't care how you do it, you just do it.

Like the time a mom had to work an extensive period of 18 hours days working a time zone in another part of the world and their own because the boss wouldn't let the mom have any down time during the day. Even though she was up at 5 in the morning to take calls and up until 11 taking other calls. Not to mention that said mother had a 4 month old baby at home who still wasn't on a fixed sleep schedule. Somehow this bosses' wife got to stay home and raise his children but this mom wasn't allowed to do that. Some people's blinders are amazingly big.

Then you hear talk of how a working mom is paid and respected less than a working dad. Seriously, who carried that baby in the first place? Last time I looked, no man every gave birth to a baby! Why are we still hearing this nonsense? How far have we really come?

I always knew I'd have to work. I always wanted to be a mom. Working has it's pros but a lot more cons. Being a mom is one of the best things that happened to me. Seeing the direct impact I have on my daughter is so rewarding. (Yes, diaper changes and smells are relentless but isn't this the same kind of poop I deal with at work? At least in this manifestation, it comes from something I love dearly.) Very little at work is rewarding because I never see that direct impact. I don't see the value of any of the things I do. I know other mothers don't feel the way I do; it's just my two cents. Being a mom is fantastic  while being a working mom is annoying and unrewarding except in a financial sense.

The Strong Man

When I think of carnival sideshows, I think of the strong man. The humongous man who can single-handedly hold an enormous weight atop  his index finger. I've never actually seen a man like this but I know someone who for a couple weeks a few months ago tried very hard to be this character.

Back in April, I was working from home when my husband approached me saying he was not feeling well. I could not say he looked his best so I asked him what he was feeling. He said that he felt a sharp stabbing pain on the right hand side of his stomach. Having had a very similar pain many years ago and based on his description, I began to diagnose. I asked him if the pain radiated towards his back and he said it didn't. He decided to take a nap and a number of hours later, upon awaking, he said he felt better. I wish I could have concurred that he looked better. If seeing a ghost is supposed to make you look blanched, then my husband looked as though he saw a whole family of ghosts.

As the day progressed, he was sweating profusely. I decided to check for a fever and he did have one albeit not too strong. I happened to mention to my husband something a doctor once said to be (in a very similar situations as his), that a sharp pain and a fever are two things you shouldn't take lightly. Despite my saying this to my husband, he went to bed and woke the next day claiming he felt better.

Looking at his face told me otherwise. His stomach also inflated as if he were a few months pregnant. I checked his temperature and it had gone away. His face had taken on a different hue. There were shadows of a mustard appearing in his coloring. That same night, he had a fever again but not as high as the previous night.

I decided not to nag anymore. He was, the last time I checked, an adult and knew his body better than anyone else. I made a couple of threats like "if you get hurt, I'm going to hurt you!" I always found those to be very effective with my parents.

As the days went by, the descriptions of his pain perplexed me. I looked up ever symptom he reported and it completely befuddled me. Finally, he decided to go to the doctor. The doctor was equally perplexed by his symptoms and even more by his blood work results.

After 10 days (yes, ten days!) he went to the emergency room because he just couldn't handle the pain or nagging yucky feeling any longer. The doctor sent him directly to the emergency room. After some time, we discovered that my husband's appendix had ruptured that very first day when he mentioned having a sharp pain. For 10 (yes, ten days!) days his innards were accumulating all the pus and fantastical floating things that one collects around their inner organs when one's appendix breaks. He had to have a small catheter placed into his side to drain all the material that had gathered. It took as many days to drain his stomach area.

Due to the infection that had occurred in his stomach, the doctors couldn't operate to remove the appendix. They had to allow his insides to heal a bit. This past Friday, he finally had his appendix removed and he is recovering.

My husband is not a small man. He's 6'2" and weighs over 200 pounds. He could easily hold a heavy weight in his hands but a circus strong man he is not. His mind might be stubborn enough to refuse to see a doctor but it's not strong enough to bear almost 2 weeks of pain. Most people can't really tolerate much pain but to literally not listen to your gut can only get you so far. If he'd only listened to his wife, he would have gotten attention a lot sooner too.

Beauty School Drop-out?

Maybe it's a higher calling? Maybe it's a hidden talent about which I am not entirely on-board? Somehow against my better judgement and amidst great protest, I have become the family hairstylist. (I really feel like I must have written this in an earlier entry but I can't seem to find it.)

When my dad was alive, he'd often come over to my apartment and ask if I had time to give him a haircut. Not entirely sure why he needed me to do it. All it took was my shaving his head with an electric razor. I was confident he could have done it himself. In fact for a long time he did go to the barber but when his barber retired, he accosted me.

In the early stages of this request, it really annoyed me to have to cut his hair. Can't recall why it annoyed me so since it took maybe 10 minutes of my time probably 4 times a year. Perhaps I was still having a teen angst moment in my early 30s. Over the years I grew to enjoy this little tradition because my dad would make comments that I thought were very cute. As I shaved his head, he would say that he was getting sheared like a sheep. Occasionally he would even bleat as though trying to avoid the yearly (although for him it was a quarterly) woolen collection. As his hair grew greyer and it tumbled off his shoulders, it really did look like wool tufts. He'd even say something like "If you collect it, you can knit a nice sweater!" Then he would make a silly grin that would make me want to hug him. But in my family, we didn't openly show our love or appreciation so I never hugged my dad.

Seeing how good of a job I was doing for my dad, my mom, being the epitome of cheapskate, asked if I would cut her hair. My dad used to do it for years but I guess she thought a woman would do a better job since my dad often left her hair lopsided. This tradition is not one I enjoy -- not even with the passing of time. My mom expects me to give her a wonderful hairstyle the likes of Vidal Sassoon. She seems to forget that my salon training came from the school of Super Babboon. Her thinking is that if I go to the salon and watch my hairstylist do his magic on my hair, I should be able to copy it. I have never been able to convince her that this is incredibly faulty logic.

On top of all of that my mom won't be quiet while I cut her hair. If she would just go to a real salon, she could have someone whose job it is to pretend to listen assist her. I don't really want to hear what she has to say because I've already heard it all a million times (and seriously, I'm not exaggerating with the million. My mom is more than a broken record. She a broken orchestra). Then she moves her head all over the place. She can't seem to understand that I need her to be still. When I end up snipping her ear because she moves last minute, she doesn't see that it's partly her fault. 'Pay Attention!' she gripes. To which I reply "Follow Directions!"

No matter what happens or which technique I use, my mom comes to me after washing her hair to point out that I've missed a spot or it's uneven. To which I respond, "Mom, if you wanted perfection, you could go to the salon. Considering that they are actually trained to cut hair. You come to me and I'm trained to read and interpret books and speak foreign languages"

Being the penny pincher that she is, she often approaches me to cut and color my sister's hair. I have refused this for a number of reasons. #1) I am not trained to cut hair or color it! #2) I think my sister could use a nice hairstyle which I am not qualified to give her #3) My sister could use some deep conditioning treatment to control that nest on her head that is often sprouting goslings.

Despite all of my protests, I have often had to cut my sister's unruly hair. I always apologize upfront that it won't look as good as a real hairstylist's work. My sister doesn't go because she doesn't want to have to explain the unnecessary forking over of dollar bills to my mom when I could easily do it for free. So because of my frugal family, I have to fuss around with a second job that I was elected to do.

Runaway Puppy

Most of the weekends during the summer are spent at my parent's home on Long Island. It is close to the beach and close to the outlets (a particularly great point for me). One of my dogs loves it because there is plenty of room to run around and explore and to also chase birds. The other, older dog doesn't care either way if we go or not. She has a bed and she spends most of the time sleeping at her age anyway. On occasion, she does take a walk around and likes to see what's going on and what we are doing.

A few weekends ago, I went out with my sister and daughter to go grocery shopping. We ran some other errands as well. When we came back to the house we found my husband pacing and searching around the front of the house. He looked very upset. I asked him what happened and he said that B (the little, old dog) had gone missing. Incredulous to the news that was reported to me, I asked "what do you mean?" He said that he was working on putting in the air conditioner and when he went to check on her, she was not in her normal spot. He told me that he looked all over the house and around the grounds but he wasn't able to find her.

I couldn't start my search because I had to give my daughter something to eat and let her have her nap. After she fell asleep, I had my sister keep watch of the premises while I went out to investigate. My husband went around the neighborhood with the car. As I looked around and couldn't find her, I began to worry. My dog is 15 years young and despite being peppy and small, she does not see or hear very well. Being the pessimist that I am, the worst possible scenarios popped  into my head. I kept thinking I would find her crushed by a car or tossed on the side of a road after being hit.

When I couldn't find her, I went back home, tears streaming down my face. I began to prepare a flyer to post around the neighborhood and to give to neighbors. Luckily, my super calm and quick thinking sister had called the animal shelters and veterinarians in the area. She was informed that a dog matching my pooch's description was picked up. My husband had gone to get her but he had advised my sister not to tell me anything in case it was not B. My sister told me regardless because she knew how distraught I was.

But I was hopeful! Although of course, I still cried. Thinking of my life without my puppy was unimaginable. When he finally arrived at the shelter, he called to tell us "She's here and she's fine." I was super happy and the tears that I shed in sadness had turned to ones of joy.

When she arrived home, she walked to her bed as if nothing had happened. She looked at us staring at her as if we had lost our minds. My husband reported that when they asked for her description he gave it to them saying "She's white with black spots, has a couple of growths on her belly and tons of attitude!" The clerk said 'oh yeah, she's here alright!" 

Luckily everything turned out well -- the crisis was averted. I am seriously considering getting lojack for her though. That's why they have all these chips and devices you can implant in your pets now-a-days for situations like mine, where you never think it will never happen, until it does.

Thank You Notes

http://www.nytimes.com/2014/04/06/fashion/the-found-art-of-thank-you-notes.html?action=click&contentCollection=Health&module=MostEmailed&version=Full&region=Marginalia&src=me&pgtype=article&_r=0

I can’t begin to express how happy this article in the New York Times today made me. Not only do I love this segment of Jimmy Fallon’s show but I also love a good thank you note. Honestly, I love any personal note in the mail, which is why I still keep up with correspondence. 

I am thrilled to see that there is still some value in sending ‘Thank You’ notes to people. And I’m even more excited to know that an article has been written about this to propel people to do it more often. 

I’m not sure when I became such a proponent of the gratitude note. I’ve always loved writing instruments – pens, paper, etc. I was encouraged to send notes when people gave me gifts or attended events in my honor. Instead of cringing at the chore, I remember sitting at my desk for a few hours perfecting each individual letter to make it even more personal. 

As much as I want people to take up this practice, it’s nice that only a handful of people still do it. It is a very nice detail. It  makes them stand out in a sea of technology and unfeeling communication.

Coffee and Tea

Two weekends ago my sister and I graced the halls of the Lexington Armory for an enjoyable experience made for lovers of caffeinated beverages. There were non-caffeinated options too but sometimes that won’t get anyone out of bed on a chilly Sunday morning.

I had heard of the Coffee and Tea festival over the years and always wanted to attend. This year I bought a Groupon as an excuse to get there. I invited my sister to come along because she’s equally obsessed with and appreciative of trying new teas and coffee. 

When we got there the line went around the corner. Quite frankly I was scared that we would not get into the event. Even though I had the coupon, I was worried it would not be accepted. As we walked past all those people, I worried that the cheap ticket was too good to be true. I turned to my sister and said that if the line went around the block, we could skip the event and go home.

Luckily, we got into the line just before it wrapped around another corner. We chatted for a bit and finally the line started to move. After entering, we went to the admissions table and I told them I had a groupon. And there I was on the list. YES!! I was so happy that it worked out well. We got our directory and walking the immense space. As we crossed the threshold, the scent of roast coffee wafted into our nostrils. My sister and I both inhaled deeply and went ‘ahhhhh’. This made some people around us laugh. We were psyched and ready to go.

We planned out a course of action and started trying samples. We had some lovely teas and sipped some strong coffees, which I really needed as I had slept poorly the night before the event. The space became increasingly crowded so that it was hard to try everything. When it became too difficult to get through the mob without spilling a drink on oneself, we opted to leave. 

It was a lot of fun. We purchased some unique coffees and teas. We got a BIG bag of free samples! That alone made up for all the people!!  I would definitely go back next year. 

My only complaint was that the vendors didn’t have special areas cordoned off so people tasting could enjoy their samples. If I had that time to make an informed decision, I might have purchased more. Come to think of it, maybe it is better that it didn’t turn out that way. Less is more, right?

Problem Solving

Someone recently asked me how I solve a problem. First and foremost, I said that it depended on the problem. Everyone’s definition of words is different. What I might consider an enigma, another person might see as a routine issue. 

Typically I find that a lot of my problem solving stems from something ‘not being quite right’ in the pit of my stomach. I can look at data and may not completely understand it upon first glance but immediately I can feel that something is off. From there I will review the data until I can figure out where ‘the off’ is back ‘on’. If that doesn’t happen after slicing and dicing for a while, then I may bring in a second pair of eyes. Often others can see things that you can’t because you’ve been looking so intently at the data that it becomes one big fog of information.

Another scenario is where there is a bottleneck or barrier to getting something done. In this kind of problem, often it is about generating ideas and other options to clear out the bottleneck. I might draw out a current situation and then some variations that could fix the mess. Invariably, once I have something prepared in some form or other, I might present it to someone else for validation or even just as a sounding board. Does my thought process make sense? Is this a feasible solution? 

What it comes down to is that my way of solving issues is a very individual thing at first and then I will collaborate and bring it to others for confirmation. 

After I thought about it for a while, I wondered what other ways there were to solve problems. When I was working on math or Science problems in school, it was always me first and then consult with either a teacher or a classmate. Perhaps the real problem here is how one defines solving a problem in the first place. Honestly, I am not sure. Shall we discuss it further?

Loss of Appetite

I decided to treat myself to a quiet book reading lunch by myself today. Sometimes there just isn’t any better to way to ease into the week than to schedule some ‘me’ time. I went to a local restaurant, book in hand, sat down and flipped to the page I was last reading. 

And that’s about as far as I got. Unfortunately I went to lunch a tad later than I normally would have and the place was crowded. Even though I was eating alone, I was really eating with the tables beside me as well. To one side was a duo of younger people who might as well have been texting each other through the whole meal because they spent that much time on their cell phones. They might have even been texting each other, I’m not entirely sure. Then their food arrived and the proceeded to chew with their mouths open. The lip smacking and noodle slurping made me want to run my nails down a chalkboard. It really wouldn’t have been as painful as this cacophonous chomping. Dear Almighty Being, why does this always happen to me. 

I tried to focus on the book. It was, after all, quite funny. Then the other table started in with their laughing and complaining about their co-workers. As much as I tried not to eavesdrop, it was impossible. My soup arrived and I tried to focus on that but ‘chomp chomp’ was all I heard on one end. I put my book in front of my face to cover what looked like a pride of lions attacking a gazelle on National Geographic. Actually the lions might have been less noisy. I’ve never see people or animals slobber over food like that in my life! 

The book boomeranged the chomping noises away but let the other ear open to the table on the side. They kept laughing and being mean. I called my waiter over and asked him to pack up my lunch. He asked if something was wrong. I said ‘I suddenly lost my appetite’. I explained that it might come back a little later and I didn’t want to waste the food. I requested the food and check at the same time so that when they arrived, I paid and picked up my stuff and left. 

So much for a relaxing lunch! Sadly, it was much tastier at my desk than I ever imagined. I guess I learned my lesson, best to eat lunch before the crowds arrive so I can enjoy both my book and my meal.