Calling All Maryland Moms!

Juice in the City is looking to launch in the DC Metro area. If you are looking for a nice way to bolster your income or just earn a bit of extra cash then this might be a good opportunity for you. Yes, really. When you apply you already state how much time you can put into the job and what hours work best for you. It's nice to have that information up front. Another great point is that this job helps local small businesses. I'm all for supporting them whenever I can too. It is a great way to bolster your community and its local economy which is needed especially these days.

Want to know more?

Have Fun, Work From Home and Be a Local Hero!Moms, take note! There's a great company (founded by moms) called Juice in the City coming to Bethesda/Chevy Chase! Juice in the City offers great deals to moms and also employs moms part-time to source their deals. If you think you would be interested in having fun, being a local hero, working from home part-time, and making money, you should definitely at least go throw your hat into the ring by applying here. Who knows? It might be your dream job. It is for these local moms (read about their structure here in a recent article). Plus, shhhh, you’ll get $5 credit on the site for completing the app!

So is that like, uh a real job?

It is always when I'm about to go to an event with a lot of our friends that I begin to feel the 'I' word. Insecure. I didn't always feel that way. Nope. It only started when I quit my 9-5 job and decided to make a go of this whole writing thing that I felt these pangs of insecurity.




We go to an event and the topic of work comes up. No one asks me about my job anymore. I'm left out of the conversation unless I shoehorn my way in. When I would begin to talk about a particular project I could see the judgment. The "HA! Yeah right! You don't really work anymore, you just stay home." It has been said to me more than once. It has gotten to the point that now I don't even talk about work. Even if I'm really excited about something or something big is coming up I just find something else to talk about. Hell, I'm even traveling twice in one week for work and to me that is scary and exciting as hell but I won't be mentioning it this weekend. Why?



I don't really feel like a working Mom. This is especially the case when I talk about deadlines and people laugh in my face. When I mention how backed up I am and can't fit in another review and people look confused and then scoff. Yes, scoff at me because what I do must not actually be work. I just play with free stuff all day, write about it which probably only takes me five minutes. Never mind trying to write about other things as well. That's not work. I might as well just be surfing the MamaPop site all day.



I can't tell you how angry this makes me. Sometimes violently so. On some days I'm rearing for a fight because freelance work can be a lot like fighting. You are constantly looking for work and pushing for the chance to make a name for yourself and carve your little niche in the writing world. It is exhausting. Like any other working mom I juggle my time and work late. I sometimes need additional help with T.D. and I do get paid for a lot of the work I do. I make my own schedule and work from home so why in this telecommuting day and age is that seen as different and not real work? When I read Risa Green's article on Mommytrack'd this week it was just when those insecure feelings began rearing their ugly little heads. I could hear the scoffing, the snorts, and "yeah rights". Simply because I no longer work in a traditional office setting or because I no longer have benefits through my work I demean myself into thinking that I'm not a working mother despite that very much being the contrary. Maybe it's the lowering of my income that has done it as well but whatever it is I can't let myself spiral down into these thoughts and self-doubts anymore. I can't let the scoffers, naysayers and non-believers make a non-believer out of me.

I am a writer. This is my career. I chose this path which is more than just a j-o-b. I chose to listen to my heart and my gut and follow my dream to be a writer. Just because I'm not working in a newsroom or getting paid as much as I would like to be doesn't mean it is not work and I'm not working it. In order for others to take me seriously I need to start doing that with myself when I present myself to others. When people try to push me aside I can't let them. If it means I have to keep fighting in one way or another then I have to accept that and keep on fighting the good fight.

Original DC Metro Moms post.  Original post October 19, 2007.
 
Comments







Jenny said...


Stand up proud for what you do! As things stand we ought to celebrate you for finding a way to follow your dreams and be a mom. We need more flexibility with work for parents, not less. Many of those who belittle you are jealous - either of your time with your kids or of your opportunity to follow your heart.


Reply October 19, 2007 at 05:53 AM LawyerMama said...


I can imagine that would be so frustrating! Jenny may be on to something with the jealousy. I've had people say things to me like "Oh, I wish I had YOUR hours" in a snarky way because I sometimes take extra time off with my kids during the day. What they don't see is my butt on my laptop working after the kids go to bed. So I feel your pain in a small way. I think it's incredibly cool that you can do what you love and spend more time with your kids. Isn't that what we're all ultimately striving for?


Reply October 19, 2007 at 06:07 AM suburban ecomom said...


I really think insecurities are behind a lot of those reactions. We all have them. I think we all also wonder/question/second guess from time to time whether we are living our lives "right"--no one wants regrets, right?--so hearing about someone pursuing their dreams can set off a flurry of doubt about ourselves and life decisions. Congrats on finding the courage to follow your dreams--that's something that all too many people only dream about doing.


Reply October 19, 2007 at 09:53 AM Linda said...


Yep, so right there with you. But when I hear this stuff from people, as I used to work from home as well, I just smiled when I think about my non-commute to/from work.


Reply October 19, 2007 at 10:12 AM Selfmademom said...


It's silly to put such rigid definitions on things like work, etc. Why do people care how we define what we do? I say, as long as you're happy and it works for you, that is what is most important.

The Price of the Pump- That Old Boob Dilemma

Cross-posted from October 2007 DC Metro Moms. 

If you work outside the home and you plan to breastfeed after the birth of your child then there's a good chance that you probably already know what dilemma I'm talking about. Pumping. Will you be able to pump at work? Has your company made sufficient accommodations or are you going it on your own?

When I gave birth to my daughter I knew without a doubt that I would breastfeed and it went off without a hitch. She was a natural. I was lucky. She was also colicky. I tried to persevere but even after I had already paid the rental fees on the pump for the next few months, I knew my days were numbered. My boob dilemma was rearing its ugly head. How was I going to pump at work? I had a cubicle without a door. Sure the walls were high but anyone could walk in at any given time. How was I possibly going to figure this out? The months I spent trying to figure this out prior to giving birth had rendered no answers.

I talked to my administrative assistant person and she referred me to the the company nurse. She offered up the 'sick' room. Great! Except that the 'sick' room had an entire wall made of glass that anyone could look into on their way to and from the company gym. I called the lactation consultant who urged me not to use the office restrooms. "Try to find a quiet office that is empty or a conference room." I tried. Oh I tried. Unless I wanted to post to the entire building that I would be taking three or more twenty minute meetings a day in various locations throughout the building I was stuck. Plus, the higher ups were not too keen on my reserving conference rooms all "willy nilly" like that for months at a time. We were also extremely short on offices so there were no empty ones to be found. I felt I had run smack into a brick wall.

When my daughter turned colicky and I knew my maternity leave days were numbered I just up and quit. I turned to formula and didn't look back. Sure I harbored some resentment for not being offered a solution. But it seems in this day and age that all that talk about having a breast-feeding friendly work environment is just lost lip service for many woman. That despite being required by law in many states we already exhausted mothers choose to pick other battles to fight and we give up the pump and just close down the store so to speak.

If you fight this battle good on you. You are a better woman than I am. I was simply too sick of the wall of men and the empty promises. If you are lucky enough to be able to pump at work in peace and a sanitary place get on the floor right now and praise something higher up because you my sister have found one great place to work. I'm just relieved that next time around I'll be working from home and won't have to worry about fighting for fridge space or "accidental" walk-in's while I'm at the pump.

Cross-posted and archived from DC Metro Moms. Original post from October 3, 2007.

Comments




LawyerMama said...

Oh, V, that pisses me off! We had a similar problem for some of the staff in my office being given a hard time for pumping in a records storage room that almost no one ever used. I don't think the administration really realized how horrible they sounded until they were called on it & I offered up my office for them. I know what you mean about picking your battles though....

Reply October 03, 2007 at 10:19 AM Julie Katz said...

I was lucky that a woman who came before me convinced my company that we needed a nursing room. So for 9 months after I went back to work I pumped three times a day in a tiny room with an industrial pump and a refrigerator. I didn't know so at the time, but what a luxury!

Reply October 03, 2007 at 04:02 PM Jenny said...

I hadn't realized how lucky I've been. My second daughter is 8 months old and I've pumped at work since I went back. I did the same with the first. I teach elementary school so I can pump in my classroom during lunch - it means I have to eat really, really fast to do both things in the 20-25 minutes I have, but it's possible. The biggest downside is the lack of hot water in elementary schools. Clearly we're afraid kids will burn themselves. So, I keep a hot pot to boil water to wash the pump stuff each day. And I keep a dorm-size fridge in my classroom. I'm counting my blessings!

Reply October 03, 2007 at 05:41 PM K said...

I pumped in the handicap stall of a basement rest room.



For 18 months.



Yes, you read that right. Two kids. 9 months of pumping for each kid.



I brought down a chair and a little table and set up shop.



There was nowhere else. Every office was filled, and there was no storage room or anything else that I could use. Trust me, we looked everywhere for a better solution.



But, this is the same company who has given me a completely flexible part-time work schedule for the last 7 years. I've gone from 20 hours/week up to 30 hours/week back down to 20. I've worked from home. I've worked odd hours. They never even blinked. As long as I got the job done, they were flexible.



Ironically, I have fond memories of "my" stall...it wasn't a perfect solution, but neither kid ever got a drop of formula, so for me - it worked.



My last company had a "pumping room" - a whole room dedicated to pumping. It was amazing. But they didn't offer part time or flexible work arrangements.



For me, the part-time was more important than the pumping room. Someday, maybe all workplaces will have both?

Reply October 03, 2007 at 08:30 PM Nicole/wksocmom said...

I didn't even know we had rooms for my first, and used a handicapped stall and my shared office occationally. Turn out each campus has a room, so if you aren't in the building with the room it's the bathroom or walking to the other building, but still better than what lots of women get. The second time I discoved a "meditation room" - but you had to sign up before using it, get a key, return the key, again inconvenience but not too bad. It just pissed me off when I really needed to pump and a stupid guy was in there, which happened a lot.

Reply October 03, 2007 at 10:30 PM Whymommy said...

I hear you, oh, I hear you.



I pumped in a dusty and dirty "lactation room" in our office's clinic downstairs, twice, until it was taken for the annual flu shots (and never given back).



Desparate to pump for my oldest at work, I turned on a fan for noise, turned my back to the door, and pumped in my cubicle. It was a terrible solution, and I was interrupted more than once by a clueless individual who would stand there, talking to my back while I pumped and sent him the message to GO AWAY NOW.



Ugh. It still makes me shudder. Why don't all breastfeeding women have access to a clean, secure lactation room and the time to pump when they need it? It takes no more time than the average "smoke break" used to take ....

Reply October 04, 2007 at 02:07 AM Jen Gathman said...

I know that I have definitely been fortunate to have been able to pump in my office for the last 5 months. But even having a place to pump doesn't eliminate all of the challenges. My boss and coworkers are very understanding but how do you tell a client...um no I can't meet right now because I have to pump. In any case I have found that pumping in the car isn't too bad (just went to a conference at a hotel and had to do this)...medela makes an attachment that allows you to plug into a car cigarette lighter. For those of you challenged with having to pump in the restroom it's a clean alternative.

Overheards- Avis Edition

Words you never want to hear from the car rental representative-

"Ma'am are you sure you want to return this car?  Maybe you might want to check to see if your flight is still going out today?  Now, ma'am, why are you looking at me so funny?"

I made it home.  That's all that matters.  The trips are done.  I am relieved.

They Have Computers in Jersey, Don't They?

Scene:  I am on the phone with TD.  Me in my CA hotel room, she at my parents home.

TD:  "Where are you now Mommy?"

V:  "I'm in California, pumpkin."

TD:  "Are you going to New Jersey next?"

V: "Err..no.  Not New Jersey."

TD:  "Is that because there are no computers in New Jersey?" 

Man, I really miss that kid.  That other one too.  What's her name again?  I mean what mother that works or travels for occasionally for work actually misses their kids, right? Heh.

Traveling is Cake

Oh, sad little, lonely blog.  I've been so neglectful these past few weeks as I live my own version of the movie, "Up in the Air".  Each day I wake up in a different bed, my cell phone alarm chiming away at me. A breakfast suprise awaits me as I head to the lobby or to venture out on my own to find some food.  The worst was the area that didn't have a single place open for breakfast and I had to resort to chugging instant oatmeal out of a cup with out even a spoon. This was also the same place that had no internet service.  Hello, 1994!!! 

Good times. 

My bank account will be happy, the review site will be brimming with hotel and car reviews too. I'll be debuting my new brand of review, "Sneak Attack!" style reivew, so stay tuned.  Hotels around the country considered yourself warned. 

It's fun, tiring and a great way to feel independent as I navigate new areas, work with various types of people and organizations and find new places to sustain myself.  I miss H and I miss the kids but I have yet to miss our daily grind.  When clients say to me, "How do you do this while being pregnant?" I just smile and say, "THIS is a whole lot easier than climbing the stairs of a townhouse all day long with two small kids, laundry and all that entails."  And it's true.  Giving presentations, delegating and overseeing  events is less of a strain on me than making three squares, cleaning a home, running errands with little ones in tow and all the while trying to work.  To me, this is cake. 

My Terrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

You put on the dress, ripping off the tags and feel brand new. Your heels click importantly as you wheel your suitcase out to the car and you breathe a sigh of relief. Aaah, I feel ready to work and professional.

Then you stop for gas before getting on the road and your GPS feels cranky. It clearly isn't feeling professional today and doesn't want to play either.  After twenty minutes of fiddling with it, cursing at it, downloading apps to your phone and calling your spouse you have directions.  You are now late.  The feelings of professionalism begin to recede as anxiety carves a pit into your stomach.  You glance at the clock and think, "There is still time. I'm fine." 

You coast down the highway in your new car, getting used to its feel and briefly accelerate too hard.  Realizing the errors of your ways you slow down.  Too late. A cop flashes his lights and you are pulled over. More time is sucked away and you try not to scream at him as you tell him that you just got the car last night and it's a real step up from a '98 Corolla.  Being blond, pregnant and female does nothing for you. Neither does the "I have to pee!" excuse.  He, like the GPS, doesn't feel like playing.  At least you got out of a criminal offense and just got a ticket. Cringing, heart beating fast you grip the steering wheel and head back onto the highway.  You finally make it to the city you need to be in, but not your destination.  The minutes are flying by and instead of being there an hour early you will barely be on time.  IF everything from here on out goes smoothly. 

Oh look! A sign up ahead for a toll.  Funny, I don't see a toll.  Just a parking lot and parts of downtown.  Right. That parking lot attendants booth was not a parking lot attendant booth. It was in fact the toll and you just drove right through it.  GAH!  Breathe. Just breathe. Flames will not shoot out the sides of your head or come billowing off your face.  So what that part of your paycheck will go towards fees and fines now.  At least you have a job.  Right?  Right.  If you can get there on time. 

Up ahead at the light you are ready to cross the bridge to your final destination.  WHY IN THE WORLD ARE THERE ROAD BLOCK SIGNS?!  WHY IN GOD'S NAME IS THIS HAPPENING?  You check to see if your blue dress has suddenly turned into a yellow shirt with a black zig zag pattern.  Nope. Good grief.  It's not even ten a.m.!  Pulling over you call your work and they direct you to the site.  You have made it.  You feel sweaty, nervous and totally freaked out.  What more could happen today to make this day complete?  You don't even want to know. 

Later, when the work day is complete. All you want to do is head to the hotel and get something to eat.  Here's what else can happen.  You spend an hour with a dead GPS looking for your hotel, not even finding a gas station to stop at to ask for directions.  Your phone dies half way through this ordeal.  So much for those downloaded apps.  Finally, you miraculously find the hotel.  Alone. Not a soul or restaurant in miles to be found.  You set your suitcase down, chug some water and are relieved the day is done.  Tomorrow WILL be better.  It has to be. 

Giving Number Three Some Attention

I've been in Florida this past week.  I should be soaking up the rays from the sun but the windy temps have kept me working away at my laptop in the confines of my hotel room.  I've ventured out for meals and post-dinner exploring with H, but not much else. 

If it sounds like a drag it isn't. I'm reveling in the fact that I can get this much work done.  I'm booked for trips through April now and I feel alive again.  I feel like Vicky and not a drone.  I've accomplished tasks and feel like my brain is no longer mush.  On my jaunts out for lunch and dinner I've tasted some amazing food at local venues (quiche to die for and a chocolate cake that made me smile for almost an hour straight) and enjoyed the warmer temps and ability to wear wedge heels without chasing a tiny being around and breaking a cankle. 

It goes beyond saying that H and I have had full conversations, discussed the girls in-depth and felt like we were dating again.  We needed that. I needed that.  I've missed him more than I even realized.  The break from the norm, the routine, the household duties, the childcare and just all of it has enabled me to focus on this pregnancy too.  It almost (I said, almost.) makes me tear up when I think about how little time I've devoted to just rubbing my belly and thinking about this next baby.  I've bought nice clothes to celebrate how I look this week and concentrated on rest and eating good food.  I'm doing what I need and what I allowed myself to do with both girls.  Something I haven't had the luxury of this time around.  I want this baby to feel wanted even if it didn't start out that way (Ok, forget almost.).  In a few weeks we will find out if it is a boy or girl.  The talk of names can truly begin and maybe then I will be able to fully own this pregnancy and not think of it as a back-burner, mark on the calendar thing on my to-do list.

I hope this feeling will last. 

The Beliefs Behind the Work at Home Mother

Dog food.   Dog food all over the floor.  Dog food in the dog's water dish.  It happened in about six seconds.  One minute the dog was happily eating her breakfast. The next, destruction in the form of The Comedian crossed her path. 

To the right of the dog food disaster is a bathroom.  A lid to a pot is now in the toilet.  Directly behind the dog food mess is a trail of cereal bits and Matzo cracker crumbs that goes all the way down the stairs to the den and litters the floor in various spots in there.  Go back up the stairs and there is a Matzo cracker massacre littering the living room floor.  The dog, Lex, exacted her revenge on The Comedian in this crumbly spot.  Look up and you will see the staircase leading upstairs.  More crumbs of the cereal and cracker variety.  Stuffed animals and little plastic Strawberry Shortcake dolls lie abandoned and left for dead in the hallway, scattered in every direction.  The faint scent of strawberry-scented plastic reeks of mayhem. Watch out for more lids to the pots and pans on the stairs!  You don't want to trip. 

Standing on a chair in the kitchen is TD. She is in her underwear screaming about dress-up clothes. Her hair is wild like a creature from the jungle or Claire from Lost.  She wants a second, third or fourth snack. I refuse to cave to this ridiculous request when her breakfast sits nearby unfinished.  Across from her is me  hunched over my laptop trying to work.  Just 250 words. That's all I need to eek out and yet in this chaos I can barely spell 'shirt' correctly let alone string a sentence together.

This is the life of a work at home mother.  If there is a sitter or day care involved it is a bit different.  Then there are solid chunks of work time.  Many days though it is like this scene one.  It's maddening to have to continuously switch gears back and forth.  Work mode. Mom mode. Back to work mode.  Wait!  Diaper change! Wipe an ass. Back to work mode.  You feel unprofessional and like you are grasping at straws. So many days I wonder what mistakes I made that I didn't catch.  Did that person just hear your child scream like a banshee just now?  Can you just MAKE. ONE. FIVE. MINUTE. PHONE. CALL?  Please?!  It is hard not to give in and give up.  Eating a box of cheddar bunnies while my kids run in the yard would be so easy.

I can't let myself go to the dark place called jealousy by thinking about how H does not have to work in these conditions.  The most he has is chatty co-worker who can't shut up or the office slacker. He isn't applying butt paste or wiping snot off bedroom walls in between trying to sound intelligent as he discusses PTSD with some military base or attend a conference call where half the time I nervously sweat and pray for just ten minutes of silence. 

A work at home mother really loves her kids and has to fully believe in the value of staying home with them just as much as she has to really love her work if she is going to keep at it in this type of environment day after day.  It isn't always like this but on the days when it is I can be found wondering if writing about blush, organic snack food or consulting for a mental health organization is really possible or worth it.  It has to be more than my paycheck that tells me it is worth the effort.  It has to be. I love my job and believe in it  beyond the unrealistic notion of having it all. I want to be proud of something I did. I want to lay the foundation for future work after the kids are grown and out of the house.  I want them to grow up learning about all the different paths your life can take if you just believe in it strongly enough. 

Notes from the Road #54

Scene: On the phone with H one night. I sit cross-legged on the bed, watching the black beetles crawl into my hotel room from the great outdoors. How many will infiltrate my premises tonight?

V: I had to deal with Border Patrol today. The line was short but it took forever. Then they get to me and I have my ID out. I'm ready to answer any and all questions about live plants or contraband oranges I might carrying across the Texas/New Mexico border. It's not like I'm hiding anything inside the rental car doors or what have you. All the guy asked was this, "Are you a US citizen?" I replied, "Yes." "OK, you can go." He said.

I guess a blond girl in a black mustang, well, you just don't get anymore American than that now do you?

In my frequent travels this week (six states in less than 12 hours!) I began to notice something. Airports have some strange carpet. It's not all industrial blue or grey anymore. El Paso has green and blue lizards. Whereas Phoenix has red and beige airplanes going in swirls. It's quite fascinating. I'm thinking of doing a whole photo collage on it. It will be called, "Being brain dead while in the airport."

As I sit in my seat waiting for my flight to take off I hear the man next to me say in an angry hiss, "Don't be late! Don't make me hate you like I did last time! I will fight you!" It sounds so completely ridiculous I can't help but snort. He glares at me and I smile. Does he even know how cartoonish he sounds? I really do want to see this man fight someone.

Finally, we touched down in DC. It's been a long night but not a bad one. I've driven almost two hours from one state to the next. I've boarded three planes and now at last I am on home soil. I am overjoyed to know that a shower is in my near future.

As I walk towards the baggage claim a man cuts across my path. He is terribly familiar and instantly I yelp. He quickly looks back at me and then keeps walking. "Yes, it is him! I knew it!" I try to get a closer look but he eludes me. I give up and decide to call for my ride. A minute goes by as I am put on hold and "Whoa!" There he is again. I decide to get up the nerve and say, "Excuse me, sir? Are you from Rhode Island?" He looks back, as he is just about to exit the airport and says, "Why yes, I am. Are you?" I think my smile might break my face and I say, "Yes! And I know who you are! You are Patrick Kennedy!" I then become a smiling faced freak who spills forth sentences that include things like, "I had pictures of you on my wall in college to remind me of home!" Gah! What was I thinking?! Am complete blathering idiot.

We briefly discuss what H and I are doing down here now that we have made the DC Metro area our home. What I think of Rhode Island and it's economy and employment rates and he agrees with me and offers some of his thoughts as well. We talk a bit more and I feel bad for holding him there. I'm like a tween meeting a Jonas Brother or something. I wrap it up by telling him it was "nice to meet him!" and he is on his way. I hold off as I realize we are going to the same car service station and I don't need to act anymore fangirrl crazy today.

Where's Mummy- #34

Funny, I have yet to see a scene like this since I've arrived in the desert. I've seen my fair share of tumbleweeds, abandoned buildings and prehistoric dragonfly type insects that scare the beejeezus out of me. Oh and some vicious little black beetles that like to crawl under my hotel door at night and scoot around the floor. Frightening!


It is more like this-

My fine dining choices consist of Applebee's and Chili's and I'm done. You would think I could find an interesting little Mexican eatery but alas there is nada. Ooh, I'm already speaking the language. Heh.

Did I mention that the hotel hair dryer doesn't work? I'm sportin' the most interesting do. It's part beach wavy, part matted mangy dog hair hot mess. I had to conduct a training session like that yesterday. Today I'm out greeting the public looking like I just spent the night on a side walk. By the time my red-eye flight rolls into DC tomorrow I will be looking like I let some desert tweakers style my hair.

If you can figure out where I am, I'll send you something interesting.

Three Girls, Two Cities, One Day

Ellen Burstyn lived as a homeless person for a few days to step out of her comfort zone. I don't need to go quite that far just yet. For me, stepping out of my own comfort zone only requires me taking the girls into two cities, aboard two trains, on three cab rides and onto the steamy streets of New York. All in just twelve hours.

Even though I stay home with my kids I don't really think of myself as a hands-on mother. I still work, travel and am independent from them. It is a system that works well for us most of the time. TD was a year old before I had ever taken her to the grocery store on my own. Taking a three year-old and a nine month old on a day excursion to one of the world's largest cities is not something I find within my means of momfidence. It is more of an adventure.

Then HIT Entertainment invited us up for a few hours of Thomas the Train goodness and I felt I couldn't say no. It was right up TD's alley. I knew it would be a day we wouldn't soon forget in either a "Wow! This is the best day ever!" or "Holy hell, I am not so friggin' smot, now am I?" I packed minimally, brought the craptastic umbrella stroller and talked up the trip to death with TD. It's the only way to get her to be good to go in any situation. We had snacks galore, activities and a leash. We were ready to hit Union Station. I am loathe to drive into the city and if a GPS wasn't in my car I think I might have blown a blood vessel at one point. We boarded our train and it was all going well until we got delayed picking up passengers from a broken down train near Baltimore. If I had only TD I probably could have twittered away the trip, snapped cute photos and been the best little blogging chronicler on the eastern seaboard but I was wrangling a non-napping Comedian and a fidgety dictator so being Mom 2.0 wasn't in the cards.

By the time we hit a steamy Penn Station and hailed a cab (a first for me! fist bumps all around!) we were an hour late for the Thomas event. After running through a freak rain shower and up two elevator rides we arrived. Just as everyone was leaving. I was disappointed and felt bad that I just dragged the girls all that way for what seemed to be the end of a party. However, the HIT people played the Thomas clips again, let the girls play with the train toys, eat some snacks and I was able to catch my breath. I got to hang out with these fine ladies too which always makes my day.

After noshing a quick cupcake Isabel saved the remainder of our day by whisking us down to Central Park. A first for the girls and I. The abbreviated tour had TD and I riding the Carousel, throwing pennies into the Bethesda fountain, posing at Alice and Wonderland and more. It was just the balm we needed on our chaotic day. After placing us into a cab we said good-bye to Isabel (aka- "Mommy, that lady? In the orange shirt? She's your friend? I like her." I am still hearing this a day later.) and took a roller coaster cab ride back to the train station. I give mad props to the cabbies of NYC for their driving skilz. The girls and I actually enjoyed seeing the city in a whizz-bang sort of way and they were ever so helpful with all our gear.

Whoever said New Yorkers were mean was dead wrong. We would not have made it through the day without them. From the burly man who helped TD down the stairs by holding her leash for me as another one carried our stroller to the woman who gave us her place in line after we missed our train and needed new tickets. Both girls were in full-on screaming dictator meltdown mode complete with flames coming from their ears and daggers from their eyes. I think I saw some people turn into pillars of salt after laying eyes on them. This woman just graciously let us in as I thanked her with my eyes full of tears. Just as we were heading to the train we encountered our last obstacle (Ha! Who am I kidding? The first obstacle on our trek home is more like it.) - a very narrow, steep escalator. Silly me. I forgot that TD had never been on one and that strollers are not allowed on them at Penn Station. Even with all their elevators broken. (Gah! Much swearing, using phrases like, "well that's handy!" and teeth gnashing!) Three women swooped in, glared at the Amtrak employee for telling me to shove back through the line of people to find "some elevator if you can.." and helped me out. One grabbed my stroller, another took The Comedian and covered her with kisses while I escorted TD down the escalator. They didn't stop there. They found us seats and settled us into them and really saved my sanity. I wanted to hug them. Yes, really. Actually, I did.

The train ride home was a bit easier. The girls slept most of it and even changing them in a train bathroom wasn't so bad. Minus The Comedian trying to eat tp off the floor. I'm gagging right now too. People helped us out, commented on how good they were and one man showed me a beer ad in his magazine and said, "You deserve one of these right now."

We arrived back in our nation's Capitol close to eleven p.m. I knew we were back home when I tried to ask a woman for help in the deserted parking garage and she refused to acknowledge my repeated pleas/bellows of, "Excuse me? Ma'am?" repeatedly. Because a woman with a baby in a stroller, two bags and a toddler on a backpack leash is really going to chase you down and knife you. Sure. All I wanted to know was where I could go to pay for my parking, lady. I think there's a special place in purgatory and hell for people like that. It's called, "The Bitch's Lair" and no it is not as cool as it sounds. It's all one big deserted parking garage filled with muggers lying in wait and snakes. Scores of snakes! And um.. no water, only really salty pretzels from grimy vending machines and no matter how hard you try you can never find your car. Bwahahaha....

So yes, in a long-winded way I just told you all about how I got out of my comfort zone. I took the girls on an adventure all of my own making and we had a blast. It was a nice bonding time for us in a way that a shopping trip or time at the movies never could be.


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Incidentally, the new Thomas the Train movie is awesome! Thomas talks in it too! I typically find CGI films for kids to be extremely creepy in a "Can't sleep, clowns will eat me" type way. It's stunning really. The quality of this new film is beautiful and it actually held my attention. It debuts in early September and is a whole 60 minutes long. It's coming soon to a theatre near you! Stay tuned!

Working with Kids. The Unsolvable Equation.

I woke up late today. So much for Body Pump. I fear I will never see streamlined thighs again.

I find myself running around today trying to catch falling yogurt cups before they hit the floor with a splat. Racing down the stairs with the dog who can't keep up and ends up tumbling to the landing in a yelping heap. There I am again on a work phone call, scooping cheerios off a high chair tray as I try to sound coherent and intelligent while TD yells in the background. That's just a fellow co-worker about to go postal over a PowerPoint presentation, right?

Five seconds later I'm emailing Gymboree about Bubble Camp and settling TD into a good hour of Sesame Street. Meanwhile The Comedian tries to rewire our entertainment system. I swear that child will know how to hot wire a car by age two. I think about how I haven't watched anything good in the DVR for ages and realize tuition is due for the new school year. Panting I race through our billing and write off the necessary checks. A deadline for two items looms in my not too distant future. A review is waiting in the wings.

The week started off slow with me spending quality time with the girls and I'm still trying to unpack from Blogher, process what I gathered there and organize myself and my thoughts. Do I want to go next year? Yes, I do. Can I afford it? That remains to be seen. My head feels all explodey and I haven't had nearly enough caffeine. I think I might smell and I crave a good enzyme peel.

When my husband asks me what I did during the day I can barely remember it all. It is such a blur. I remember the big things like dance class and grocery shopping but not the bazillion things I did in between. Somehow faxing W-9 forms, making phone calls, doing dishes, sorting laundry, wiping baby butts, while I invoice work and simultaneously write paragraphs in my head doesn't come up when I hit the daily recall button in my brain. The house looks like I never clean it and Blogher paper bits and swag pens litter my bedroom floor. It seems as if I'm lolling the day away perusing the stacks of magazines I acquire daily and letting the girls run wild. I wish our days were that easy but then I honestly don't think I would be happy with me. I don't know if I exactly thrive in this type of situation. I would like more order in my world but kids don't equate order. Working with kids is an equation that we are all still trying to solve. It's like Healthcare reform but more complex.


And if you still crave more Blogher09 nonsense, check this video out from Tellingdad.

Work At Home Mom Takes a Meeting

You give yourself an hour to get somewhere that takes thirty minutes. You take three hours to get yourself and the two kids ready for an outing that will take about three hours as well.

On the way to the meeting you get hit with some gnarly traffic, get lost on a few one way streets, scream so loud in a parking garage your three year-old quips, "Look, Mommy! Curious George! Just calm down..." Realize you need to valet the car and get two kids in car seats out with all their gear and some shorty (I kid, because I love) is standing in your spot texting away. An angel descends on your car and takes the oldest by the hand and leads you into the building.

After a quick hello to Clifford, the big red dog, you drop the kiddies off and head to your meeting. You are dressed, your hair is coiffed and you are even sportin' a piece of non-wedding related jewelry. You actually feel together, eat your lunch while it is still hot and can have conversations that don't start with, "If you eat one more bite of..." You are in heaven.

All too soon you find yourself getting honked at in the valet line as it takes you five seconds to throw the baby carrier in the car and another ten seconds (seriously, only ten seconds! world record!! am fastest mother ever!) to throw the toddler into her seat. You want to throw the bird and yell something along the lines of - "Bite me, old white guy! I'd like to see you get these kids in a car this fast!" However, you remain calm, tip the valet and drive off into a dead stop.

More traffic hell awaits and the kids aren't getting any perkier. You toss some snacks at the toddler along with a large piece of plastic known as 'Frosty' that looks suspiciously like a baby doll and not a snowman and hope the baby doesn't meltdown as you sit in four walls of car snarl. When you finally make it home all you want to do is crash but instead you end up bathing a baby with an exploding diaper and ripping apart the car seat to throw it in the wash.

When my husband takes a meeting? He simply gets up from his desk and walks over to it.

I Hired a Village

The arrival of The Comedian and some new work opportunities has made it imperative that I hire someone to look after the wee babes at least once a week. In fact, in just a few short months I've gotten a nice tidy list of sitters at my beck and call, including one that comes on a regular basis each week.

When I set off to work from home two years ago it was all about spending more time with TD and getting a little work done on the side. On the side being nap time, early in the morning and whenever I could grab a moment and compose my thoughts. Now it is nearly impossible to get anything done on a schedule if I don't have someone nearby to corral the tots into that pen, er den of ours, and make them play nice.

After the sitter left Monday morning I realized that not only did I feel refreshed, calmer than I had in weeks and organized, but I felt ready to play with my kids. Our lunch time routine didn't feel frenzied. Having that extra help and time to get into work mode and really work in turn makes me a better mother. I've always believed it takes a village to raise a child but never more so than now when I so often feel tapped out, brain dead and like I have nothing to give to my work or my family.

I wish I had realized this a year ago.

Open Letter to Ontario Airport Security

Ontario, CA that is. Not the Canuck one.

To Whom it May Concern at the Ontario TSA:

On my April 20 jaunt through your sadly depleted of all food services airport (seriously?! it was 4 pm and all restaurants were closed at 2 pm! Hello! Starvation!!) I was welcomed by not one but five security staff as I ran my bags through your security system. Clearly, you all have a lot of time on your hands. I abide by your rules to a 't'. I removed my shoes and laptop. My bag, shoes and special baggie of 3 ounce toiletries were placed in the bin and my laptop in a separate one. See? Rule follower, that is me! I waited my turn in line to go through the metal detector like a good citizen too. Oh wait, there wasn't a line. It was just me. Still, I passed with flying colors. I sprinted bare foot to catch my bags and saw you stop my carry-on suitcase. That's totally fine. The black bag within a bag got you. That pesky breast pump was at it again.

This time I even smiled calmly and said to the female screeners (all two of you for one machine), "It's my breast pump, happens all the time." We chuckled and my bag went through the machine. Then something funny happened. One of you decided not to believe me and had to open my bag to check. Fine. Totally fine. You then decided that my entire toiletry bag needed to be dumped despite having everything that is a liquid already in the plastic baggie. When I asked why that was being done you shoved a placard in my face with the rules. Whatever. Do what you must with the mascara that ISN'T a liquid. Moron. See, I'm getting testy now. You bent my heels on my shoes, pawed through my dirty laundry (literally) and then went to work on my breast pump. This is where I have a MAJOR bone of contention with you Ontario TSA. Did you really need to call three additional security people over to look over the breast pump? You swabbed it down because of a foreign substance first. Heh. Breast milk spatter perhaps? Rocket science, I swear. You frisked me up and down with your wand. Indeed, the woman is engorged and lactating. All systems are go! I had no idea that wand could detect mother's milk. How high tech we are these days. Did I put security at threat level orange after that?

I was fine with all this I swear. OK, wait. Not true. I was getting a bit heated now. However, when three men decided to try and pry the motor out of the pump case I decidedly did get a bit heated under the collar and said through clenched teeth, "Please! That is a $300 dollar breast pump! Do not pull on the motor you will break it!!" You all chuckled and said, "Ma'am, we know what it is and how much it is worth." Fine. SO STOP F*CKIN' PAWING AT IT! My blood pressure was roiling at this point and my fists were clenching and unclenching. I'm sure if I saw a mirror image of myself at that moment it would have been very much like Mrs. White from 'Clue' - "Flames, on the side of my face, breathing-breath- heaving breaths. Heaving breath..." As if that was not enough you then tried to pull apart the black pump bag and lift the motor out from the storage compartment. I wanted to cry and scream and gnash teeth and kick you all in the groin with a knife-blade stiletto.

This is where I learned that we women get can get all crazy-killer animal like when our kids are endangered but also when you mess with our breast pumps as well.

Note to the TSA- I'm all about airport safety and security. Just don't effin' touch my pump like that ever again. When I used it the next day the right side suction was hiccuping and I had to slam the casing back together again. If it had broken I sure as hell would have sent you a bill.

Lessons in Working Mother Travel

You know it is just so awesome when you hear the words, "We're going to need to do a bag check..." and you know that bag is yours. That bag that will soon be pawed through contains only two things- work clothes and your breast pump.

Ooh, that scary black bag within a bag. Dun, da, da, dun dun.

When the tech asked, "Ma'am is there anything in this bag that is sharp and could attack me?" Umm... you mean like a cougar? No. I really wanted to say, "No, sir! Just watch out for yer teets! There's some major suction in them there breastsheilds, they might just suck yer fingers clear to the bone."

Note to self: Next time don't pack your panties in the breast pump storage space. Saving space isn't as important as keeping airport security from de-sterilizing all your gear and touching your unmentionables.


I'm giving away a Robbert Bobbert CD and a Gazillion Bubble Machine at MPR this week!

On Going Back to Work

Sometimes an opportunity presents itself in such a way that it cannot be resisted. That is exactly what happened to me a few weeks ago when we were in the thick of the evening ritual of sit-down-eat-your-dinner-now with holy-crap-the-baby-is-crying-and a side of we-still-need-bath-and-storytime-to-go-down-without-a-hitch followed by the cry of hurry!-where-is-mommy's-wine!!

A friend called stating that she had a new position opening up in her company and it would be just perfect for me. I could travel! (think exciting locales like Boston, SoCal and maybe even Lubbock, Texas!) Sleep in a hotel, eat room service and read a whole book on a plane. Such bliss cannot be believed. Did I mention that it pays and pays enough to make child care possible? It's also only about 2 days a month.

Heaven, right?

So far. Though I don't officially start until early next month. I am effectively going back to work. There will be at home office hours and follow-up work to be done for certain. It will be piled on with my other writing gigs making me feel more like a full-time working mother than ever before. I'm excited (new clothes!) and a bit stressed (still need child care!) but venturing back into the work force a bit more is just what I need. I've had my toe wading in it for the past few years and it has been loads of fun. I look forward to it each day but I like meaty projects that require a bit more professionalism now and again and this new job will hopefully keep me from feeling like week-old bread.

Working mothers guilt has yet to be determined.

Eight Weeks

I woke up this morning and realized that Dash Two is eight weeks old now. My, how time flies. I'm back at the gym, she has slept through the night for the first time and no matter what we do she is growing up at a remarkably fast pace. Those tiny baby days are gone already. She is reaching milestones at lightening speed and it was at this point with TD that I was already back at work.

While I'm still not feeling out of the woods yet as far as PPD goes, I do know that my bad bout with it coincided with my going back to work. Oddly enough, it is this same week in Dash Two's life that I'm heading out of town for the first time. I know she will be in good hands and if anything happens we have a plan but it just amazes me how fast time goes and how small she seems. I had no choice with TD. I had to go back to work. I imagined her bigger and less fragile to make myself OK with dropping her off at daycare each day. I look at her baby sister and I am grateful that we are able to swing this staying home thing. That I'm able to eek some work out that fulfills me and sometimes pays.

It's an amazing life. I am so grateful.


And now a walk down memory lane- Some Vintage Mummy.

-PPD? Maybe just a scootch.
- Violent Tendencies
- On the couch
-Starting to see the Sun
-Without a Doubt
-Day One

This Bloggers Life

A year ago today I packed up my gray wall-carpeted cube, handed in my work laptop and said farewell to the corporate world. No more daily Starbucks trips. No more commute. No more guaranteed paycheck.

Already a year ago. Unreal. I was elated. I was done with the frustrating situations like this. I was dumbstruck, gobsmacked and terrified. For months and weeks H & I planned how this transition would all go down. We couldn't do moments like this one anymore. They were happening all too often and we as a family unit were unraveling fast. The 'D' word was getting thrown around a bit and I think thought about even more.

This blog served as my release, as it still does, but for my work tensions and its going ons. The working mother thing worked but only as far as the blog was concerned. I wrote about asshats, smarmy bosses and all manner of tedious and heinous office moments with some black humor thrown in. Did I poison the office coffee? No. Did I want to? Sometimes. Who doesn't. Misery loves company too because my numbers just climbed. People begged me to quit my job. Then the blog got leaked at work and hate mail began. I had to write posts such as this to get my point across one last time. Then I was done. I turned to my new life and began to figure it out.

In the past year I have reviewed countless products, met amazing people, traveled and had time to reflect on our life and begin to live it the way we want to. As I write this I am almost brought to tears at how blessed I feel we are. How happy I am because I took the time to think and realize that my dream didn't have to be just a dream. Maybe I'm not a best selling author- yet. Maybe I'm not making the cash I once was and we aren't globe trotting anymore- yet. Maybe my life isn't your life- that's fine. But it works for us. A year ago I couldn't see two feet in front of me. My life was a mess. Our world was falling apart. Now we are hoping for an addition to this family and I'm continuously challenging myself and I don't have to ask permission to do it. It's of my own choosing.

If I can do it. So can you. I was never more afraid than in those first few weeks. I felt like I had been shot out of an air gun and who knew how or where I would land. And you know what? After an initial dive in the numbers and the hate mail, the numbers are up. I'm more aware of who I am today than I was a year ago. For that I can never complain. For this life? I can only be happy.

Thank you all for reading, sending encouragement, participating in my giveaways, supporting me and just being there. I look forward to so much more of it.