Who's The Boss?

I'm a (sub)Urban Mom

One thing was certain at the end of our trip to Arkansas:  I am not a Country Mom.  While I loved the rural sprawl of the country, I'm not cut out for that type of living.

Having to drive 15 minutes to get to the grocery store? Not for me.

Having to wear OFF or other bug repellent just to sit in your own backyard? Not for me.

Having to mow eight acres of land every week?  Even on one of the cool John Deere thingamabobs? Not for me.

We spent the Fourth of July at my Aunt's lake house on Lake Ouachita (I think that's how it's spelled).  The whole time we were there I was grossed out to the core.  Swimming in lake water?  Yeah, its disgusting.  It's even more disgusting when you know everyone has peed in the lake.  And you know they've peed in the lake because they never get out of the damn lake all the while drinking beer after beer since noon.  G to the R to O to the double S.  Gross.  I don't know how you people buy boats and go on lakes when really you are just swimming in a man-made toilet.  

My Arkansas family got so sick of me saying "eww" or "yuck" or "I think I just got bit by something."  At one point my cousin Michael, a country boy to the core, asked me "Don't you have any bugs in California?" To which I had to explain that in California I have to go looking for bugs.  And no, in California I've never seen the sheer volume or size of the insects that I've seen in Arkansas.  You might find pesty ants, annoying gnats, and persistent fruit flies.  But I've never been one with nature just by being outside. 

I've known for years that I'm not a City Mom either.  I'm not cut out to lugging groceries three blocks because that was the nearest parking spot.  I don't want to have to step over hobos to get to my front door. 

So that leaves only choice. I am a Suburban Mom.  I like my two-car garage.  I like tending to my teeny backyard.  I like my neighborhood grocery store to actually be in my neighborhood.  I guess I'm too old for the city and not old enough for the country.

All I need now is a minivan.

Arkansas

Darius and I just returned from a week-long trip to visit my 89 year old Grandmother in Arkansas.  Going there was total culture shock for me and complete bliss for Darius.  My Grandmother lives in what would be considered a big city by Arkansas standards but a rural town by California standards.  When the average person's home comes with acres of land, you know you aren't in a big city.  Here where we live in the Bay Area, any lot over 6000 square feet is considered big. 

Before Darius was born, my Grandmother moved out of the house that her husband had built with his own hands and into a small cottage built just for her on her daughter's property.  My Grandmother had lived alone since my Grandfather died in 1989.  I know it was hard for her to give up her independence.  She no longer drives and is reliant on my Aunt to drive her to the store.  I can't imagine how hard it must be to have to ask someone to take you to Walmart to buy eggs.  

My Aunt lives in a posh gated community up on a hill.  The satellite TV and internet are spotty (it worked only 1 day that we were there), but the home and its surrounding eight acres of land are gorgeous.  While I practically started having seizures from the stress of not having  internet, Darius was thrilled to have land to explore, bugs to catch, and adventures lurking behind every tree.  He was in seventh heaven. 

And surprisingly only has two mosquito bites to show for it.  Those country bugs wanted nothing to do with his suburban blood.

Technology is my Saving Grace

If there was a Nobel Prize for multi-tasking, I’m positive a working mother would win every single year.  Hands-down.  We are the ultimate multi-taskers.  We aren't necessarily naturals at the multi-tasking game, but learn how to do it well to survive.  It is technology that keeps us sane between corporate meetings, volunteering in classrooms, trying to be domestic goddesses and all that other stuff in between.

I am beyond lucky to be a 21st century working mother.  Technology allows me to juggle the demands of my profession while still spending plenty of time with my little guy.  My BlackBerry, laptop, and two dozen Wi-Fi spots around town make it possible to work from home, work from a coffee shop, even work during the carpool ride to home (no,  I'm not driving).

Continue reading at Full Time, All the Time

My Testimony

I've had my fair share of one night stands.  Not enough to write a juicy memoir, but enough to get tested for STDs in my early twenties.  I've never made a sex tape, but I did expose my boobs at a Squid Row in Cabo San Lucas during a raucous Spring Break week.  By today's standards, what I've written is hardly scandalous news.  My shady past is now considered normal.  At the time, I was a rebel. 

I never told my family of my transgressions.  I just knew that I'd be met with judgment.  My parents had expectations about how I lived my life and I certainly never did anything to make sure that their expectations were re-set to match my reality.  Well, except for when I came from college one summer and my mom found a pack of cigarettes.  Scandal!

So imagine their surprise when I told them I was knocked up with Neville's baby when I was 25.  I was an adult, and yet, I felt like a 16 year old child who got caught sneaking in past curfew. 

After

 

11 inches and four hours later... Not to mention about 300 bucks

I'm still getting used to it.  I keep seeing myself in the mirror and thinking "Who's that girl?"

Darius loves it.  Neville hates it.  As for me? I can't stop staring at my old hair.

 

This pony is nearly three inches wide.  I hope that whomever gets my hair will love it as much as I have.

Before

Guess what I'm doing today?  Here's a clue... it involves 12 inches and small fortune.

I'm donating my hair to Locks of Love today.  About 12 inches will be cut from my auburn locks.  You have to give a minimum of 10 inches, but considering the amount of split ends I have, I figured I should throw in a couple more inches for good measure.

I'm going to a fancy salon and paying through the nose to have my hair cut and getting a few highlights.

This will be my first haircut in over 15 months.  

I wasn't planning on growing my hair this long.  It's only about two inches from my butt crack.  I thought of taking a picture of that, but (pun intended) thought I would spare my darling readers of that scene.   Some things are better left to the imagination, don't you think? 

I can't wait to cut off my long locks.  Although, I am TERRIFIED of having short hair.  My hair has always been a defining feature for me.  I'm known for my great hair. 

I'm hoping that the cut will hit the top of my shoulders.  I'll share photos tonite when I'm back from the salon. 

Wish me luck.

Sorry for the grainy photo, but you should try taking a photo of yourself from the back and see how well you do. 

My sentiments exactly

"Kiddo, it's time to get dressed and brush your teeth."

"Is it a school day?"

"Yes."

"Already?! I only had two stay home days!"

"Yup.  The weekend is only two days."

[frowns] "But I only had two"

"Hey, if it makes you feel better, I only had two stay home days too.  I have to work today when you go to school."

"Only two stay home days is unfair.  We should have a hundred stay home days a week."

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.  We'll never know if her son was referring to her fierceness or her preference in men. 

But Nice?  I'm nice? 

Continue reading at the Silicon Valley Mom's Blog

I love business travel

Confession: I love business travel.  Now, I'm lucky that my travel for business is more rare (once or twice a quarter) and that nowadays it only requires a three hour drive.  But even when I traveled to lame places or had three hour layovers, I loved it.  And I didn’t feel guilty about it at all.

When I am traveling on company business, I'm not a mommy.  I am Robyn.  I am a highly-respected colleague.  I am a contributor to a team.  I am a problem-solver, a solution provider. I feel like I'm Super-Woman instead of Super-Mom.  

The "Mom" in me is put on the shelf for a few days.  I don't have to juggle. I don't have to worry about what's for dinner. I don't have to wipe any butts.  Business travel is a luxurious break from my day-to-day reality.

Continue reading at Full Time, All the Time

WOHM vs WAHM... The New Mommy War

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

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

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

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

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