Silicon Valley Moms Blog

Lesson from my Grandmother

I just returned from a week long trip visiting my Grandmother in Arkansas with my son and my dad. For every meal, there was four generations eating, drinking, and enjoying one's company.   Every day I asked my Grandmother for a recipe for one of her famous desserts or prodded her to tell stories from when she was a child.  Since I only make it out to visit her every four years I realized that this could very well be the last time I see her alive and I wanted to soak up all that she was willing to teach me.

My Grandmother, Louise, is an 89 year old woman.  Raised on a working farm in rural Arkansas, she still rises before the sun.  She's been growing tomatoes her whole life and can make a Blue Ribbon berry cobbler without having to follow a recipe.  She's tough and sweet.  She's buried two of her four children and her husband. She hates asking for help but generously gives it.  She's survived the real Depression and has been known to hide money in a tin can in her closet. 

My Mom is Nice

Those were the words written on my Mother's Day card, an art project from my son's preschool class.  "My mom is" was written by the teacher and my son had filled in the word "nice."

The card has sat on my desk ever since the Mother's Day Breakfast his school hosted for it's moms.  Every time I look at it, I think "Really?  This is what he thinks of me? That I'm nice?"

Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled that my kid didn't say something embarrassing like the one mom who had to walk around with a "Mom is a... cougar" card.  Well never know if her son was referring to her fierceness or her preference in men. 

But Nice?  I'm nice? 

It takes a village

Around this time last year, I spent a week in San Francisco on business.  Even though I live in Silicon Valley, my manager and I agreed that the commute was too much for the long hours I was going to work so I booked a week a four-star hotel in the city and went on my merry way. 

I am a Bay Area native and have heard new reports practically my whole life about the "homeless problem" in San Francisco.  When I was newly licensed driver, my dad took me to the city to make sure that I didn't get lost and end up in a bad neighborhood.  Every time I have come to San Francisco, I have seen people living on the streets.  But something about this business trip made me more aware of the issue.  Instead of seeing well dressed financial folks and wide-eyed tourists, I could not take my eyes off the people of the streets.

In fact, my week in San Francisco has haunted me ever since.

I watched a disabled veteran get into a scuffle with a gawking tourist.  I saw men older than my father sleep on the street.  For all the women dressed in glamorous clothes as they power walk to their high-profile job, there was as many homeless women wearing the only clothes they own.  There was more than one man in a wheelchair and a woman asking for money with a baby on her hip.  An elderly man was drinking from a brown paper bag while he sat on the steps of a church. 

My heart raced when I walked down a street where a group of homeless are clustered.  I am not used to this.  It's uncomfortable.  I was afraid.  When did they become the enemy?  Something to be feared instead of someone to save?

Don't forget to wear sunscreen

My dad has been battling skin cancer for the last two years.  What started as a reddish patch the size of a quarter on his collar bone has led to tests and biopsies that revealed just beneath the surface basal cell carcinoma covering his entire chest.  He has more on his forehead and a couple on his bald spot too (not that he'll admit to those).   His dermatologist has prescribed a smart cream to kill the cancer cellsas there are more cancer cells than normal skin cells on the right side of his chest.  An operation would be a physical nightmare. 

When I was growing up, my dad put sunscreen on us kids.  Our fair Irish skin would burn so easily.  In fact my brother had 2nd degree burns and blisters on his shoulders after a swimming all day at the Cabana Club with no sunscreen.  My parents never made that mistake again. 

While my dad was diligent about making sure we didn't burn, he never put on sunscreen himself.  Unless coconut oil and Tropicana SPF 4 counts as protection. 

Sex after baby? That's just crazy!

A former co-worker turned close friend called me recently to discuss motherhood.  She had a gorgeous baby boy six months ago and recently returned to work.  I figured when she said she needed my advice that she’d be asking about how to pump at work or quick and easy dinner recipes.

Oh no.  She wanted to talk about sex.  Or rather, wanted to know when she’d be interested in sex again.  She was exhausted from nursing, exhausted from working full-time, and exhausted from life in general.  Sex was just one more thing on her “to-do” list and she didn’t care if that got checked off.

Sex after a baby?  Now that’s just crazy.

Working Mommas, Don't Forget to Network

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

In this economy, building and maintaining your network is more important than ever.  Any successful corporate mogul will tell you that you don't get to the top by merely giving 100%.  Companies aren't paying their employees to be perfect.  They pay you for your skills and the value you bring to the company.  That value isn't just your performance.  It's a winning combination of what and who you know.

I've seen, first hand, too many working mothers think that by cutting out the social time at work that they'll get more work done.  You may feel like you accomplished more in that day since you cut out lunches and stopped going to weekly happy hour.  Investing your "social capital" at work can get you a lot further than just pounding the keystrokes at your cubical.

Good-bye pajamas, Hello working-from-home

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

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

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

Would you pay alimony to your husband?

  Since entering the workforce, I have always made more money than my college sweetheart turned domestic partner.  From the beginning my mate has taken more risks with his career while I steadily climbed the ladder in the same field. From taking a two-year break to pursue a dream (that eventually went flop) to juggling a full-time job while getting his MBA, he’s never cared too much about how much money he made.  I think that will change for him once he tries to get an ROI on his Santa Clara University graduate degree.  But I also know that if I ever asked him to become "Mr. Mom", he’d jump at the chance. 

When I read the new trend for men to claim alimony from their high powered wives during a divorce, I was intrigued.  Well, intrigued isn’t the right word.  My gut reaction was shock and a little disbelief.  I always thought of alimony as out-of-date and should never be used.  But when I started to really think about why I was so turned off by the idea of men asking for alimony, I realized just how biased I really was...

The feminist in me saw alimony as valid for wives that helped their husbands get ahead.  But guys who want it are deadbeats who aren’t willing to get a real job.  Harsh, I know. 

Legos: Great Product, Useless Packaging

  My son has morphed into a serious Lego-lover.  He practically plays exclusively with the big bin of Lego at his preschool.  For Christmas last year, he's Number One request to Santa was for a Star Wars Lego set.  A lucky boy, not only did he get the Annakin Skywalker's fighter plane but he also received four other lego sets from friends and family.  The kid couldn't have been happier. 

I didn't mind spending hours as the co-engineer in the putting together the spaceship, the garbage truck, or the rescue helicopter.  One set was 445 pieces and I swear I only silently cursed in my head when I saw the high volume of teeny tiny pieces.  I had to pull out my reading glasses for a couple of steps to figure out what really changed in their universal (read: no words) installation diagrams.

But what got under my skin wasn't the seemingly endless amount of pieces.  It was their terrible packaging.  Sure they come in nice sturdy cardboard boxes with graphic pictures.  But as soon as you open that box filled with teeny pieces, there is no turning back. 

Free Makeup on January 20

I've practically spent my son's college education fund on concealer to hid the dreadful dark circles under my eyes.  Those bags and darks circles represent my life as working mother -- too much work combined with too little sleep.  Going to the cosmetics department at Macy's has always been my form of retaill therapy.  Buying a bold color of lipstick or a pair of false eyelashes can help me remember my old self, even if for just a moment.  The former self that had great hair, designer clothes, and not even a hint of a darkness under her eyes.

Don't get me wrong, I love my son.  And I wouldn't trade in the joys he brings me for anything.  Even if it was a smaller pant size or not being confused with a zombie from the Night of the Living Dead when I leave the house without make-up.  But with a little blush and some mascara, I don't have to play the role of crazy working mother.  Or at least, I won't look the part.

So color me delighted when I heard about the Anti-Trust class action settlement against most major department stores.  To know that department stores and designers conspired to fix prices, really bugs me.  Especially when I've tried practically every cosmetic on the market to make me look less like a frazzled working mom and more like human being. 

To find out that millions of consumers will get to at least get a free product out of this, makes me feel a little better.  At least I'll get back a little from that $200 splurge at the Lancome counter when I was a sleep-deprived new mom.