Come On, Get Happy

Has anyone ever asked you what you hope your children will be like when they grow up, and you reply, “It doesn’t matter, as long as they’re happy.”  It sounds good to say, and heck, you probably mean it when you say it.  I mean it when I say it, at least I think I do.

But then, I end up spending most of my time grooming them to be “the right kind of people” when they grow up and not a lot of time focused on making my kids happy.  I’ve put a lot of effort into making them smart, healthy, athletic, attractive, savvy, and polite.  I guess I always expected ‘happy’ to be a by-product of the rest.  As if being the straight-A student will make my son happy.  Or getting to the next level in ballet class will make my daughter happy.  Hearing the grandparents tell them how good they are with their “please and thank yous” makes them happy.

It does to some degree because children generally like to be praised.  It certainly makes them proud to have achieved goals they have set for themselves (or more likely, that their parents set for them).  And when they grow up, they will definitely be happier if they are successful in their careers, fit and healthy, and have strong friendships with people who will support them in meeting the goals they end up setting for themselves. But do these things make them truly happy now?

If I think about some of my daughter’s happiest moments, they include an unplanned walk to Baskin-Robbins and sharing an ice cream cone together or a tea party on a Saturday afternoon or even just a chance to sit in my lap to read together.  My son favors a good, old-fashioned tickle session on his bed or watching a hockey game on TV with his dad – oh, he likes that walk to Baskin-Robbins, too.

We don’t do those things very often.  Usually, we are too busy shuttling them from swim lesson to karate lesson, volunteering at the library, preparing for some Big Event for school, or nagging them to do homework, clean their rooms, and say “please” and “thank you”.   Not that any of those are bad things; they are building a foundation to ensure happiness in their future.  But I can’t help but feel like I do need to take more time to give them happiness today.

The (Not So) Good Old Days

I like to think that over time, we are becoming more enlightened and embrace progress, which is why I usually roll my eyes when people resist change with the refrain of, “I grew up with…, and I turned out fine.” I grew up with asbestos ceilings, but I’m not going to knowingly put asbestos in my house, even if I think I turned out fine.

But every now and then, I do yearn to hearken back to bygone days of parenting, back when:

1) It was OK to hit your kids. I’m not saying that I want to use my kids as punching bags and take my frustrations out on them. But I can’t argue with the effectiveness with an occasional spanking for serious offenses. For example, the other day, the kids snuck out during their afternoon nap and went into our exercise room, which they are not allowed in without adult supervision. It only takes the thought of a 10-pound weight dropped on a toddler’s foot to know why we have this rule. I found out about their scheme when I heard someone scream, which turned out to be from my son when my daughter slammed the exercise room door on his fingers. They both know the rule about not slamming doors, about not going into that room unsupervised, and about not leaving their rooms to play when it’s nap-time. I really wished I could have spanked them both as a reminder about why we have those rules.

But I couldn’t spank them, not just because I don’t want Child Protective Services on my case, but because I’m conditioned not to lay a finger on my kids. I would have been consumed by guilt. As it was, I was feeling pretty guilty just for wishing I could spank them.

2) You could leave your kids in the car by themselves. The really horrible parents who left their kids in a locked car on hot days ruined it for the rest of us. Whether you’re stopping at the ATM, picking up your dinner at Applebee’s to-go, or dropping off another child at school, if you need to get out, all the kids have to come with you. That’s extra five-point harnesses to undo and extra hands to hold crossing the street. Suddenly, what was a two-minute task takes 15 minutes.

3) You didn’t know how horrible high-fructose corn syrup was. It’s in practically every single snack food there is, even stuff you think might be healthy (I’m on to you, granola bars!). Of course I want to feed my children good, nutritious food. Every lunch I pack for them contains fresh fruit, a green vegetable, some lean protein, and a little starch to keep the tummy full. But when they hit a growth spurt, they seem to be hungry 24/7, and it’s a long and expensive scavenger hunt at the supermarket to find them good snacks that will keep them sated between meals. When I’m short on time and feeling a budgetary pinch, I do wish I could buy some Oreos and Pop Tarts and be done with it.

Under Pressure

The documentary Race to Nowhere has been making the rounds in our communities, and all around me, parents are tsk-tsking the achievement-obsessed pressures put upon our kids today. In the Silicon Valley, where everyone is hustling to create the Next Big Thing that will Change Life As We Know It, the pressure is even greater as parents try to instill that drive to excel in their children at a very early age.

But it’s not just the kids who live in this pressure cooker. We parents are getting cooked right along with them. When my son started kindergarten, I was immediately approached by the PTA recruitment team, mostly comprised of the wives of the VP’s, CEO’s, and CIO’s that run companies like the one at which I work. They needed room mothers, fund raising task force members, traffic council volunteers (“traffic council” is a fancy word for being a crossing guard in the school parking lot). They’re very lucky that they don’t need to earn a living with jobs that dictate how to spend 10 hours of the day, but I do and their husbands work me to death. I don’t have the energy to work for them, too.

We can’t just sign up our son for Little League, we have to coach, too (they must be strapped for coaches if they’re asking us). And I can’t bring cupcakes for him to share with his classmates on his birthday due to a strict no-sugar policy. Instead, I am supposed to put together a book about his life that I need to present to the class. Really, he’s the one in kindergarten, but I have to do a project?

We get weekly reminders – er, I mean newsletters – to pack healthy lunches, buy organic, support local businesses, recycle, conserve water, compost, participate in school events, read to our children at least 15 minutes every day, sign up for [insert sport here], and (my favorite) slow down and enjoy quality time with our families.

It’s not that I have any issue doing those things, but we can’t just do them. We must perform them at the highest level at all times. And for some reason, even though I believe that I would try to do most of those things on my own anyway, it becomes so stressful when there are external levers driving those behaviors.

Don’t get me wrong. I love where I live. I love the diversity. I love the culture of innovation. I love having my family close. I love having Stanford in my backyard. And I love the weather. I just wish this area came with a safety valve.

It Gets Better When We Get Better

Maybe you have seen the recent “It Gets Better” campaign, in which celebrities urge LGBT youth not to take their own lives. It’s a tragic campaign really, putting the spotlight on how trapped today's kids feel by bullying.

It made me wonder how kids can be so cruel to one another. Then it made me mad. Why is everyone trying to convince the victim not to commit suicide? Why isn’t anyone telling those bullies to stop? And what about their parents? Who are the horrible parents of these horrible kids?

Certainly I’m not one of those parents. I’ve never taught my kids that it’s all right to take out my anger, frustration, and insecurity on someone else. I’ve never acted in a way that would encourage such awful behavior in my children.

It’s not like I’ve ever had a bad day at work then yelled at my five year-old for something as trivial as spilling his water on me at dinner. Or been embarrassed by my three year-old pooping at the public pool then humiliating her by scolding, “only little babies poop in their diapers” in front of her friends. I’ve never made a side comment to my husband about how the waiter at Chevy’s must be kind of stupid to get our order wrong three times in one visit and will be lucky if I don’t complain to his manager. Nope, not me. Or maybe I did – once or twice.

But surely the parents of these bullies do more than lose their temper. They must beat their kids. Or drink themselves into a stupor in front of the children. Or completely neglect them and leave them to lead “Lord of the Flies”-like lives at home. Losing one’s cool occasionally in front of the kids can’t turn them into bullies, right?

Then again, my kids have been yelling and taunting each other a lot. That’s just siblings being siblings, and a kindergartener learning delinquent behavior from the more belligerent kids at school. It couldn't be me. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe I had something to do with their recent aggression toward each other.

So I have been trying very hard the last few days not to yell at them at all, not to lose my temper over a five year-old acting five and a three year-old acting three. It isn’t easy – five and three year-olds are pretty evil – and there is a lot of stress in our lives from our environment, the economy, and an ever-growing sleep deficit.

What amazes me, and shames me, is that it has made a difference. They listen about as much as they did before (which is to say, not much), but they treat each other more civilly. They treat me and my husband more civilly. We’ve had fewer tantrums from the kids because their mom is throwing fewer tantrums.

It’s a disturbing realization. How many of us suffer incompetent co-workers, bad drivers, and apathetic service providers all throughout the day and go home feeling just a bit pent up? How many parents take out all the inequities of their crappy day by inadvertently letting off steam at the stupid (sometimes colossally stupid) things their kids do? How often are bullies passing on the hell they catch at home – over getting a bad grade, forgetting to do their chores, talking back to a parent, or being generally lazy and recalcitrant – to someone who is going to shut up and take it (until that someone can’t take it anymore)?

In other words, how many parents essentially bully their kids without realizing it? After all, bullying is inflicting emotional pain and creating a threatening and hostile environment. What’s more painful and hostile than to have your mom or dad go crazy mad at you?

It’s really difficult as a parent to recognize when we’re treating our kids like emotional punching bags. At the end of an immensely bad day, if you come home to a whiny son and a daughter who decides to paint your skirt with strawberry yogurt, the first reaction is to yell and punish them. But that doesn’t make the day any better. Nope. It gets better when we get better, about managing our own hostility and giving our kids a good example of how to treat others.

School's In Session

E officially started kindergarten this last Tuesday. After all the worrying and stressing over private vs. charter vs. public schools, whether to put him back in his bi-lingual daycare after kinder or keep him at the on-site after-school care, who would take him, who would pick up, and all the million other things that kept me up, it was a very anti-climactic first week.

Somehow he made it through his first few days without crying about not being with his sister or pre-school friends. Amazingly, I was able to wake up in time to get him to school before the bell rang. He made friends. He ate his lunch.

Lesson learned: I don't give him or me enough credit to transition to the next stage of his life without trauma.

And now that I've figured that out, I can return to my regularly scheduled program of worrying whether V will ever be able to quit the diapers.

Wearing Mom Genes

Recently, I had one of those calls with my mother. You know, the kind that starts out innocuously enough and casually takes a turn to disaster when you least expect it. Mom knows all your insecurities and exploits them willy-nilly on a whim. In this case, it began with a simple phrase that should always be accompanied by foreboding, slasher-flick music whenever my mother utters it, "Oh, I need to tell you something..."

Apparently, I have a smart mouth. And I shouldn't be dispensing advice to my cousins or siblings (or any relatives or even friends, for that matter). I guess an off-handed comment I made to a cousin caused a cataclysmic tear in the very fabric of my cousin's relationship with her parents. I didn't know I have such POWER. Neat-o.

It doesn't really matter that when I called to apologize to said cousin, she told me that my comment had nothing to do with the argument she had had with her mother and that it had already blown over. It's irrelevant that my mother blew the situation out of proportion by just a wee bit. The damage had been done, I was an emotional wreck for days. Now that's power.

It's the power of Mom, to undo someone with just a sentence or an intense glare. And it's in every mother's genes, as I discovered from E's teacher after I scolded him one day by simply telling him, "I'm really disappointed in you." E's teacher told me he was nervous and scared to do the wrong thing all day, that he didn't want to disappoint the teacher, that he hoped I wouldn't be disappointed in him anymore by the time I picked him up if he was a good boy all day. With V, if I look at her the wrong way, she spontaneously bursts into tears, not one word needed.

I'm really ambivalent about this. On the one hand, I know what it's like to be on the receiving end of a Mom-whammy, and I feel for my poor kids. On the other hand, sometimes it is the most efficient and effective way to influence their behavior. With great power comes great responsibility, but Peter Parker never had to figure out how to get his son to stop using his daughter as a battering ram. I guess there's really only one solution: save up for the kids' therapy bills when they get older.

Do you have Mom-guilt? If so, how do you cope?

It Wasn't My Idea

Whenever my husband and I argue over something kid-related, and let's be honest, it's always the same argument, a little voice inside me always falls back to the same position, "Well, I'm not the one who wanted kids."

Horrible, right? I'm a bad person and a terrible mother because when things get tough, I always feel like I took on this extra responsibility that I didn't really want in the first place. If you ask my friends, most of them will tell you that they were surprised that we ended up having children. That's because I had said quite clearly on many an occasion that I didn't think I could do the whole parenting gig.

No one is more surprised than I am that I did it (twice) and that I actually enjoy it. That I was capable of investing so much love, time, and effort into the whole endeavor. That I actually have enough patience to watch over my little brood without going completely mental. So do I love being a mom? Yes. Do I regret having kids? No.

But that doesn't change the fact that having them wasn't my idea. So when we come back to the recurring argument - and for the record, that argument is over whether or not said husband is investing enough time and effort into the rearing of his children - I always end up thinking to myself, "It's time to cowboy up, because you were the one who wanted these kids, not me."

I never say it, of course, precisely because it is so very wrong. But I think it. I think, I earn half the household income, so why is it every time a munchkin is sick, I'm the one who has to take a day off to stay home. Why does everyone give me a guilt trip for carving out time for myself to exercise or have dinner with a friend while the husband does the same completely guilt-free? How come Daddy gets extra credit for taking twenty minutes out from surfing the net to play with the kids, but if I give up my whole day to devote to the kids, nobody remembers. Especially since I didn't want to have kids in the first place.

See, there I go again. I guess the crux of the issue isn't really who wanted to start a family first, it's really about parity in parenting. If one parent is the wage earner and the other is the household manager, the roles are more clearly defined. But when both parents have equal responsibility for bringing home the bacon, it's harder to define who's "in charge" of managing the parent-child dynamics. On most days, I gladly take ownership because I love the kids and I'm capable and well, it's just not going to get the attention it needs if I don't. But sometimes, I wish the one who was doggedly persistent about becoming a parent would step up to the plate.

Resisting the Rat Race

As the days grow shorter and the leaves turn from green to gold to red (or rather, here in the Bay Area, the leaves simply yellow at the edges before falling off the trees), parents of 4 year-olds everywhere start to experience anxiety attacks and insomnia as we prepare to enter our babies into the rat race. I don't know about where you live, but here in the Silicon Valley, when our children reach school age, we parents are overwhelmed by the pressure to get our kids into the right kindergarten to get into the right elementary school to get into the right high school to get into the right college to get into the right post-grad program to land the successful career. As you can see, it's pretty much a straight shot from Montessori to that corner office at the Fortune 500 company, and you don't want your child to get behind.

A perfect storm of over-achieving parents, a sucky track record for state public schools, and affluence means that parents here start grooming their kids for success at a young age through a combination of academically rigorous private schools and a plethora of extra-curricular activities. For example, my niece, who just turned 5 in August, takes ballet, jazz/hip-hop, swimming, gymnastics, ice skating, and soccer, on top of being enrolled in a private Mandarin immersion school. Parents fight over that one open slot in the "gifted youth" program like it's the last Tickle-Me-Elmo at Christmas time.

Well, most of us do that. I've horrified many friends and colleagues by telling them we plan to enroll our son in either the neighborhood public school or charter school next year. Even though many of California's public school test scores are in the crapper, our school district gets great scores and consistently boasts that 50% or more of its graduates go on to top universities. So why pay private school tuition when the public school in our district is doing the job?

Still, when I tell other parents about our intentions, they look at me like I suddenly sprouted horns. "How could you short-change your kids like that?", "Don't you love your kids enough to buy them the best education available?" Yes, those are actual questions I have been asked. By my mother, no less.

It's hard not to occasionally fall prey to self-doubt. I don't want my kids to be at a disadvantage later in life. I do want them to get the best opportunities that we can give them.

But I also really want to believe that one can achieve that without putting a 5 year-old in 6 extra-curricular activities on top of an 8-hour academic program at an ultra-competitive private school. I want to believe that with all the pressures my kids will face in adulthood, my husband and I can give them a few years during which to play, explore, and enjoy life without without feeling the pressure that they have to get really good grades because mom and dad have invested a lot of money in their brains (and they definitely feel that pressure, even if they can't articulate it). I want to believe that by staying involved and interested in their education, we as parents can build a foundation for a love of learning that will serve them well in the future.

Maybe I am naive, I'm not sure. But I want to believe that I'm not.

A Journey of a Thousand Miles...

Means bringing a whole lot of crap with you when you're travelling with babies. My cousin A is bringing her adorable baby to meet the family in October, which means she is going to be travelling with a 3 month-old.

I remember taking E to Washington DC when he was about 5 months old, and taking V to Hawaii when she was about 4 months old. It seemed like a lot of work at the time (little did I know that it's cake compared to taking a 4 year-old anywhere, including to the mall just a few miles from home), but now, it doesn't seem so bad in hindsight.

Maybe that's because I've probably forgotten most of what I learned about travelling with an infant. Among the things I can recall:

• Breastfeed the baby at take-off and landing (if you're lucky, he will sleep for at least part of the flight)
• Don't try to pack up all the baby stuff and bring it with you - you know how much airlines charge for luggage these days, right? - and buy things like diapers when you arrive (that is, unless you're about to take a hell ride on a cruise ship)
• Ask your airline if a bassinet is available and if it is, try to reserve the seat in front of it. Alternately, if you can afford it, put your baby in his own seat.

I'm sure I learned way more than that, so I'm hoping anyone who might see this post would be willing to share your tips on travelling with Junior.

We Need Less Mom-on-Mom Hate

I've been enjoying a much needed and much appreciated week break in between jobs, and I've had a chance to connect with a lot of my stay-at-home mommy friends. At one lunch date, we found ourselves lamenting about how daddies don't understand the plight of the mother.

"He thinks it's easy," complained one friend of her husband.

"He asked me what I do all day," chimed in another.

What I didn't add was that sometimes I wonder, too. My working mommy friends have a slightly different conversation, about how to balance career and family. Why is soccer practice always at 11:30 on Wednesdays when we have can't-miss meetings with our boss? What's the secret to being able to prep a dinner without having to hit the drive-thru line at the local fast-food joint? Somehow, we have to get all the mothering done along with all the bread-winner crap, too. So how do you not get it all done when you have the whole day and no work responsibilities?

At the end of lunch, my friend closed with, "You know what, who cares if he doesn't get it. I am making my family a priority. You need every fiber of your being devoted to being a mom to keep the family going, and I'm proud of the job I'm doing."

That stung me just a little bit. I have fibers devoted to my job, lots of fibers. Am I short-changing my kids?

After thinking about it, I realize what a disservice we all do to each other as mothers. Mothering comes in all kinds, and they are equally hard and equally valuable. So why dis each other?

Mothering is like air; it fills up the space you have to give it. I have to give time and space (and fibers) to my job. Would I rather be helping the kids with their A-B-C's, teaching them to read, taking them to the library, and getting them to soccer practice? Absolutely. But my job also puts the roof over their heads and shoes on their feet. It funds the insurance that pays for their check-ups. And because my space and time are limited, my husband is much more involved and understands just how tough a gig parenting is.

But I do have days when I look at my stay-at-home mom friends and feel like a cut-rate parent. I spend too much time on the computer. Too much time on the phone. Too much time on the road. Not catching development challenges and milestones early enough. Not being available to take them to activities and classes. Generally not being there enough. Stay-at-home moms are totally devoted to their families' needs, and I can't do that. *sigh*

Let's help each other out and stop dissing how the other side lives. Working moms, stay-at-home moms, single moms (the strongest and bravest of us all!), moms with help, and the moms who have to do it all on their own: it's all equally hard. And all equally valuable.

Finding Guilt-Free "Me" Time

Between a full-time job and two kids, there is precious little time to just enjoy myself. I find myself trying to do the little things that I like (blogging, exercising, catching up with my DVR) in the wee hours of the night.

My attempts to carve out "me time" during the evening hours when the kids are up are fraught with guilt. Am I ignoring the kids and somehow causing them psychological trauma? Am I over-burdening my husband by having him fly solo with the kids? Do my dogs miss me? OK, I know the answer to that last question is "yes".

I'm pretty sure my husband doesn't feel one iota of guilt when he goes out to see a Sharks game with his buddies, so why do I beat myself up over two once-a-month activities (Girls Night Out with the gal pals and a writing group)?

And I always feel like I need to fill it with something "productive" - working on the computer, working out, etc. Why can't I let my "me time" be taken up with a nice lazy activity, like napping? Lord knows I could use the extra sleep!

Someone please tell me the secret to finding some guilt-free time to myself!

Shout Out To Working Families On Their Own

After a month without my nanny, and both sets of grandparents travelling at the same time, I've really developed an appreciation for all the parents who raise little ones on their own. No family, no hired help. Moms who hold down jobs while raising a child? SUPERMOMS. Single mothers? WONDER-WOMEN.

I don't know how I came out on the other side of holding down a full-time job, parenting, and being without my usual support network, having only this deepened respect and negligible psychological trauma to show for it. I bow down before all you mothers and fathers who do this day in and day out. I'm not worthy.

Surprise!

After E's birthday party, we sat down together to open presents. E received a variety of gifts, from puzzles to baseball equipment to art supplies to toy cars. I was probably even more excited than he was at the things he received that I have an interest in: paints and brushes, puzzles, and more track kits for his GeoTrax collection. I envisioned us painting together, putting together new train track configurations, and laughing and having fun conversation as we assembled the puzzles.

The baseball, basketball, and golf sets? Meh. Maybe there is a gift receipt and I could return them for something I knew E enjoyed more. After all, he has shown no interest in sports whatsoever.

So imagine my surprise when the thing he wanted to play with most was his T-ball set! And a double surprise that he was actually really good at hitting the whiffle ball. My son, a natural athlete? Who knew??? He and his daddy were having so much fun playing T-ball on the front lawn that I couldn't help but start to like baseball a little more just watching them play together.

Then E said, "I want Mommy hit the ball." Oh no, baseball is not my thing; I was Miss Picked-Last-By-Team-Captains-During-PE from kindergarten to my senior year in high school. I was enjoying being a spectator, and I really didn't want him to see his mommy striking out.

I got my third surprise of the day when I was able to hit the ball that the machine pitched to me. And after a few swings, I was hitting line drives between first and second base. Guess who is playing with E out on the front lawn these days? Daddy is happy to catch a quick nap after work while Mommy and E play T-ball.

And to think I almost returned that toy! So this is a little reminder to myself not to impose my own likes and dislikes on my kids, and also to keep an open mind about what time with them can teach me about myself as well.

Under Pressure

The rat race starts early here in the Silicon Valley. Parents cram their children's days with extra-curricular activities in order to get them into the right grammar school so they can get into the right high school so they can get into the right college. Children end up with tremendous pressure on their slight shoulders and little time to be kids.

My niece P is a prime example. She is currently enrolled in one of the most academically rigorous schools in the area. She also takes gymnastics, swimming, ice skating, and Chinese. Her mother wants to enroll her in a dance class and music class as well. By the way, my niece is three.

My sister-in-law says that P enjoys all these activities, and it's better for her to learn new things than just sit around and watch TV all day. All these things are fun as well as educational, and P is a happy, bright girl - she's not a basketcase or sullen from her full schedule, so what's the problem?

Well, since you asked....

I see two main problems: (1) Kids at P's age can't necessarily articulate that they are feeling pressure or stress, but that doesn't mean they don't feel it, and (2) if one's child is in a rigorous academic school setting from 8am - 5pm and taking four extra-curricular activities in addition, how much time does she spend with her parents?

Let's talk about problem #2 first, because some would argue that there is extensive driving time involved and parent participation in the classes. In P's case, there is a lot of driving time, but since she is three, most of the extra-curricular classes are no longer parent participation (for which my sister-in-law is extremely grateful). I don't know about you, but I consider the time I shuttle my kids around a good opportunity to chat with them (if they're in the mood to talk). Quality time together, however, it is not.

Children still learn primarily by example, and their most significant role models are their parents. So instead of plopping P into an ice skating class, why not take her ice skating and have a good time? And herein lies my biggest beef: the use of extra-curricular activities as a substitute for real parenting. My sister-in-law has often said that she doesn't have patience to answer all of P's questions or to wait for her while she learns something new. She claims that it's better for P to spend time with "trained professionals".

And that brings me back to problem #1. Children at P's age can't express the complexity of what they feel; they can say they are happy, sad, or mad. But they do perceive everything, even if they can't say it. Kids know when their parents are fighting even if the parents don't fight in front of them. They can tell in a very short time who will give them what they want, who will not listen to what they have to say, and who has patience with them. They can certainly tell if their parents would rather not spend time with them.

And they innately want to please their parents and gain their parents' affection and attention. So P may say that she enjoys doing all those things because some of those activities are fun for her, but she may also say she enjoys them because she senses that "Mommy is happy if I go do this thing". Either way, she will only be able to say that she likes it. The bottom line is that taking on that many activities would be hard for an older child, a teenager, or even an adult. Why would anyone expect that a three year-old could handle it?

I Never Thought I Would Be That Kind of Model

I confess that I am addicted to supermodel reality TV. America's Next Top Model and Make Me A Supermodel are my guilty pleasures. I guess it's because I feel that I've missed my calling to be a supermodel (if you have seen me, you would know that I kid - I'm being funny, not delusional). But I often find myself yelling at the girls in these competitions, "You better work that runway, girlfriend!" "Remember to sell the garment you are modeling!" "That one has no idea how to pose for the camera."

Supermodel as a profession sounds great, doesn't it? I used to have lofty career aspirations, too (although never absurd ones such as supermodel or pop star, like most girls do today). But something weird happened after I had kids: I stopped caring about career climbing. It used to be that when my manager asked me what my goals are, I had ideas about the next promotion, getting on the right "track" (leadership track, management track, etc).

If you ask me now what my goal is, it's to be a good role model for my kids. That means being a kind person, being good for the planet, having integrity, demonstrating a positive outlook in life, and following through on the things that matter.

My career aspirations these days revolve around how I incorporate those role model qualities into my job. It can be especially hard to demonstrate a positive outlook when one is surrounded by office politics and climbers who are only working towards that next promotion. At the same time, there is something liberating about not caring about all of that stuff and just focusing on how to be the person I want my children to admire and emulate.

When I think about it, being a person that others look up to is a pretty worthwhile ambition, why hasn't it been my goal all along?

When Did I Become Boring?

A few friends from high school had our monthly moms' night out recently. This time, we decided to invite one of our friends who is still single, so we tried our best not to talk mommy talk. After all, this was our chance to get out of the mommy role and be interesting, vibrant, intelligent, modern women. But it ended up being the most difficult exercise to talk about something besides poopy diapers, when Disney on Ice is coming to town, and how to get one's toddler to have a decent nap.

I drove home in an abject state of disbelief and horror; I have become one of those people, talking ad nauseum about their kids. When did this happen? I went to a good college. I hold down a challenging job at an industry-leading Fortune 500 company. I have interesting opinions on the world around me. At least, I used to.

Aren't we having an election this year? The war is still going on in Iraq. China is doing all sorts of weird things as it frantically prepares to host the Olympics. The Giants staged a major upset over the Patriots in the Super Bowl. And Britney Spears has gone nine kinds of crazy since shaving her head. So why can't I have a conversation about anything more interesting than the Little Gym class into which I just enrolled E?

We ended the evening by inviting our single friend to keep joining us, because we really miss seeing her and because her presence helps steer the conversation to non-mommy topics. But just to encourage her to come again, we promised next month we would see a movie instead (hopefully one that is rated R), so that there would be a much smaller chance of slipping into mommy talk.

The Mom with the Most Balls

My friend, who is expecting her second baby later this year, asked me how one is able to raise two children. With defeat misting up in her eyes and a crack in her voice, she confessed to me, "I don't think I can do this. I'm already such a bad Mom now with only one. How will I be able to handle two?" She continued, "You are so much better than me: you work full-time, you run the household, you have two kids, and you're still breastfeeding...Gosh, you do it all."

I had to apologize to her, if anything in my deportment implied that I could, and in fact, did do it all. Under the surface, we are all frantically trying to hold it together. My only advantage over my friend is that, in my line of work, the ability to bullshit is called upon daily, so I am better at faking an air of competence.

There is this myth that the modern woman can balance career, family, and self, like those Chinese acrobats spinning countless plates on sticks. In reality, it is more of a constant juggling act to be a mom today, grasping at one thing and tossing something else off to be dealt with on another day. And we women tend to compare ourselves to each other- as if we were cars or appliances, assigning a value to ourselves based on who is juggling the most. But the fact of the matter is that it's a silly way to judge your worth as a mother. At the end of the day, the mom with the most balls in the air isn't the winner, she is the most exhausted one of us all.

It's much better to know how many balls you can juggle and set your limits accordingly. That doesn't mean you can only have three balls if that's all you can juggle; it means delegating someone to hold on to a few balls for you every now and then. I have learned that the secret to maximizing yourself as a mother is to set limits, ask for help when you need it, and accept assistance graciously when it's offered. And on those days when you find yourself having to juggle more than you are comfortable with, put a smile on your face and fake it.

Ruining the Planet - One Purchase at a Time

One of my colleagues sent me a curious link to http://www.storyofstuff.com/, which turns out to be an educational, provocative, effective, and thoroughly depressing piece of propaganda about how American consumerism is ruining the planet. After viewing the video, I wondered in horror, "Am I mucking up planet Earth whenever I impulse buy a cute shirt for my son at Target or go for the 2-for-1 special on Chex cereal at the grocery store?"

The basic tenet of storyofstuff.com is that Americans, in their never-ending quest for a good bargain, feed the behemoth of Big Corporations, who lure us into buying more crap in their never-ending quest for making more money. There is conspiracy theory that manufacturers design their products to look great new but break often enough so that people will buy more. These companies also market their stuff to make people feel like they have to have the newest thing to feel worthwhile.

Watch the video and make up your own mind, but if you feel a twinge of guilt at potentially leaving a planet of "X"-ed out trees and dead fish for your kids, what recourse do you have? Does saving the planet mean that you have to be one of those fashion victims on "What Not To Wear", sporting 10-year-old clothing because you shouldn't buy any more just for the sake of vanity? Do you have to use a relic of a computer with Windows 2.1 so that you don't create e-waste?

Saving the world is like going on a diet: we all know it's good for us, and the steps are pretty simple, but doing them is hard unless they can be easily incorporated into our everyday lives. The section titled "Another Way" on the web site has some good suggestions that are easy to follow. Here are some more:

1. You don't need a phone that takes pics, plays ringtones, syncs with your e-mail, and allows you to access your Wii. My cell phone is 3 years old. It doesn't text message, it doesn't take pictures, it doesn't play MP3 files. I already have other stuff that I bought that does all those things. Resist the urge to get the newest gadget. Where do you think that cell phone goes when you toss it for a new one? It's always less wasteful to make do with the things you have already purchased.


2. Say NO to take-out. One weekend when my husband and I were both sick, we got take out at every meal because we were too tired to cook. We filled up 2 kitchen garbage cans with empty take-out containers. I had a major guilt trip when I saw how much trash we made.


3. Buy in bulk when you can. This doesn't necessarily mean do your grocery shopping at your local Costco, although those warehouse stores are not necessarily bad. I mean buy items contained in the least amount of packaging. For example, I bring a clean plastic container to the store with me and buy my flour in bulk. Try not to buy stuff that is individually packaged; rather, buy the food in a single larger container, and re-use small plastic containers to take individual servings on the go.


4. Read the label. Where was the item produced? What is it made from? How much does it cost? If the price is too good to be true, it probably is. You're better off buying a quality item that costs a little more than a cheap one that may break more easily or be unsafe for you or your family.

I'm still working on the "make do" and "buy less" part when it comes to shoes.

The Marathon That Never Ends

I recently had dinner with a single friend of mine, and when we exchanged our "what's new with you?"s, I said, "Not much, just dealing with the kids," while she informed me that she had just completed her first marathon. "Congratulations! WOW!" I replied.

Then it struck me: what's so impressive about a marathon? A marathon ENDS. Twenty-six miles, and you're done. If you are tired one day, you can skip your 10-mile practice run. Parenting never stops. Tired? Grumpy? Got the flu? Too bad, you still have to give your kids their bath and make them dinner.

Yet nobody says, "Congratulations! WOW!" when you say you're a mother or a father. You don't get a t-shirt or a free power bar or people passing out water all along the way. Nobody sponsors you for every child you raise (OK, maybe the grandparents do); there is no Team-In-Training program for how to parent.

People do it every day, every minute of every day. But it's not celebrated as an achievement. Nobody answers the question, "What's new with you?" with "My kid is six this year and I helped to get her there." What an accomplishment to bring a child into the world and teach him or her how to be a good person.

Over the holidays, I met someone at a party who told me excitedly that he and his wife were planning to spend New Year's Eve in Las Vegas. "We can finally afford it now that we've put the last of our four kids through college," he said nonchalantly, to which I replied, "Congratulations! WOW!"