Who's The Boss?

I may or may not be wearing a bra while writing this

When I was Darius's age (shut up, it wasn't THAT long ago), I was a morning person. Sometime during college, that changed. Nowadays, I'm not a complete night owl either. I can stay up until midnight without yawning once. For all you whipper snappers, I realize that midnight is when most night clubs are just getting started. But for a full-time working mom, midnight is practically like pulling an all-nighter.

Transitioning back to school hours has been really tough for me. Getting up at 7:30am is hard when I went to bed at 12:20am. And I realize that all you commuters are now rolling your eyes and saying how easy I have it. I know, I know... working from home full-time is a blessing from God and I need to shut up about how hard it is to wake up at 7:30am when there are people commuting on the road before 5 o'clock in the morning.

I know it's not fair that my commute consists of six steps to my computer. It's not like I asked to work from home full-time. I just lucked out. And I know that lucky me shouldn't complain about it.

But I'm a complainer. What can I say?

Getting up at 7:30am sucks. Making sure that Darius is up and stays focused to do THREE tasks in FORTY-FIVE minutes is truly and utterly exhausting. I mean, did you know that it can take TWENTY minutes just to put on a shirt and pants... a shirt and pants, by the way, that are the SAME every single day because the child wears a school uniform! I swear I'm practically chugging shots of coffee to take the edge off during the morning hour.

At the private school, Neville was in charge of drop-off. On rare occasion, he had a work conflict that put him in the office before 7am when then put me on drop-off duty. A joy really. Half of the time when we headed out the door to school, I was still in my pajamas. Thank god the school had a car drop-off where the teachers open your passenger door and escort your child onto campus. Throw a fleece jacket on top & my giant sunglasses over yesterday's smeared mascara, and you probably wouldn't know that I didn't have a bra on.

Every single time that I was responsible for drop-off, Darius would demand that I walk him to his classroom like Daddy does every single morning. When I was actually dressed and didn't have a morning meeting, I acquiesced to Darius's demand and walked him in. Which I quickly learned was a total waste of time. As soon as the kid got within 100 feet of the playground, he took off like a sprinter in the Olympics. No good-bye Mom. No kiss. No see ya later.

In the car, I get a kiss.

In the car, I get a "I love you."

In the car, I get a "Have a great day."

And did I mention that I don't have to wear my bra in the car?

This year, we've been incredibly lucky to have our next door neighbor walk Darius and her daughter to school every morning. Incredibly lucky. Beyond lucky.

The only problem is that when they knock on the door, I'm never ready. I'm always still in my pajamas. I'm nearly always without a bra. And I don't have a car door blocking the view. Every morning, after I've embarrassed myself at our front door, I say to myself that starting tomorrow, I am going to get dressed as soon as I get up. But then the next morning comes round and I spent 45 minutes getting my eldest child to do three things while getting my youngest child to stop doing 3 million things that will hurt him, break something, or hurt him while breaking something.

Every morning when I hear that knock on the door, I know that I've failed at doing the three things I've been screaming at my second grader to do for the last 45 minutes. Although, I feel even better about myself when the nanny shows up 30 minutes later AND I'M STILL NOT DRESSED.

For the next three days, I have work commitments that require me to be ready and out the door before Darius gets picked up. Which means that my neighbors and my nanny won't know I'm not only wearing a bra, I am also dressed like a professional. With make-up on and hair styled. With high heels instead of house slippers. With a bra on.

I'm starting to feel like I need to take pictures and text it over to them with a caption that says "See? It is possible for me to not look like I've just rolled out of bed when the truth is that I've been up for almost 2 hours."

But who's kidding... there's a strong possibility that I'll be leaving the house with my hair still in rollers wearing a sweater I thought was clean but does in fact have a greasy hand-print from my toddler. That's how I roll these days. One thing it certain... for the next three days, I'll be wearing a bra.

You're welcome.

Learning About Dr. Martin Luther King, One Cupcake at a Time

When Darius was in kindergarten, his teachers did a demonstration about segregation. They sent out an email to the parents to let us know that our kids would probably come up upset because the class would be divided into boys and girls. We, parents, were not to let on that we knew about the demonstration or that the changes weren't permanent. Instead we were to sympathize with our children and then ask them:

"What could you do to change it?"

It was the kindergarten version of the Civil Rights Movement. Two years later, it is a lesson that my son still talks about.

The children were divided into boys and girls. The girls had all of the privileges inside the classroom. They got to use the indoor drinking fountain. They sat in the front of the class. They got to line up first and all papers/supplies were passed to girls first. If a girl raised her hand, she would be called on before a boy. The boys had all of the privileges outside. They got to use the outdoor drinking fountains. They could play on the kindergarten play structure. They had first pick of the balls.

If either gender was caught breaking the Jim Crow Laws of Room 17, the child would lose 5 tokens. Those tokens were hard earned and used to buy little trinkets in the class store. Normally a kindergartner would cry if they lost one... so 5 was a big deal. The kids were told that it was "Separate but Equal." The boys knew the truth. They were getting screwed.

I remember volunteering in the classroom during these two days. And I remember that the boys felt like they had much less power. With only two recesses and one lunch break, the power outside was significantly less than the power the girls wielded inside the class. And, boy, did the girls make sure that the boys never forgot who was in charge. It was disturbing to see how quickly one "class" of students - the girls - took to their new privileges. The boys had been their friends until now. Now it seemed that the girls took pleasure in making sure their boy peers were at the back of the class.

The teachers were stunned by the girl behavior. After doing this demonstration for years, they had never come across a group that seemed so content with the law that the girls had actually asked if these new laws could become permanent. The girls were so caught up in the power of privilege that they not only didn't stand up for their friends; they asked for more power. The teachers and I brainstormed about what to do. How could they get the girls to understand the other side of the coin? While the boys were already making picket signs and planning a march to the Principal’s office, the girls were enjoying being the ones in charge.

Until the arrival of the cupcake. A mother dropped off goodie bags and cupcakes for Alex's* birthday. A boy's birthday. The teachers debated back and forth on what to do.

Who knew teaching moments would present themselves in the form of a cupcake?

It was decreed that since this was a boy birthday, only the boys would get to celebrate. The girls had to sit on the rug while the boys sang “Happy Birthday” to Alex. A few of the girls cried as they watched the boys relish in their cupcakes. Since only half the class was participating in the party, the teachers told they boys that they were allowed to take home the other cupcake.

It was ugly. It was brutal. It was heartbreaking. It also was just what the girls needed. The girls finally understood that segregation hurts everyone.

Then something extraordinary happened. Without any prompting, Alex took 5 tokens from his pencil box, walked over to his teachers, and asked to let the girls participate. The girls who had been mean to the boys. The girls who had previously asked to keep The Jim Crow Laws of Room 17 permanent. Alex got the lesson.

Separate but Equal isn’t equality. Or fair. Or just. Or what we should uphold.

With tears of joy in their eyes, the teacher accepted Alex’s tokens. The girls were allowed to their cupcake.

And the light bulb went off for everyone else.

For the rest of the afternoon, the girls took the 5-token penalty to allow the boys to sit wherever they wanted on the rug and to use the indoor drinking fountain. The boys did the same for the outdoor rules. The kids were fighting for equality but still were paying the price.

The next morning, the kids worked together to protest the law. They made signs, wrote little speeches about why these laws were not fair, and planned a march to the Principal’s office. It wasn’t quite The Million Man March, but it was equally momentous for these 5 and 6 year old children. The Twenty-Seven Kid March through the cafeteria, across the playground, and to the school office garnered a lot of attention from the rest of the school. Their principal listened to their speeches, asked some questions of his own, and let them know that he would make a decision before lunch.

In the end, the laws were reversed and everything went “back to normal” for Room 17. It was a long two days for the kids and the parents both. But I’m glad that my son’s teachers didn’t just read a book about Martin Luther King, Jr. I’m grateful that the kids learned a lesson the old fashioned way… By walking a mile in another person’s shoes.

*Name changed to protect the innocent

2012: The Year of Intention

Looking at the sad state of my underwear draw, it is safe to say that I didn't take care of myself during 2011. 2011 was The Year of Transition. Neville was promoted at work, leaving me home with the kids way more that a working parent should be home with the kids. I returned from my 6-month maternity leave to a job with a new team, new responsibilities, but the same title and pay. Darius moved from private school to public with a few hiccups along the way.

2011 wasn't a horrible year. But it wasn't The Year of Awesome. Change is often good. A lot of the changes we faced were ultimately good. But that space when you are in the middle of it? The transition part? The uncomfortable movement from your comfort zone to something different? Well, that part, frankly sucks balls. 2011 was not an easy year. It made me question our life. Do I work at the right place? Should I work at all? Do we live in the right neighborhood? Do we need to move?

Looking back, I realize that I've really neglected myself in 2011. I've neglected this blog. I've neglected my body. I've grown distant from many friends. I've spent too much time bitching about the craziness that is my life that I've had a hard time finding the things I'm grateful for in it.

So 2012 is going to be another year of change. But this time, I'm starting it on my own terms. We've got 2 family vacations planned. I'm about to embark on a wellness journey. I'm recommitting myself to my other blog. And I'm cutting back on my writing here. No more posts about how hard life is. No more posts telling you I'm taking a break. No more posts complaining about how the dishes never get done. No more half-assed product reviews as a substitution to real writing.

I'm going to be writing a weekly essay here. I can't guarantee that it is going to be the.best.thing.you've.ever.read but I can guarantee that the appropriate time and energy will go into writing it. I don't know if it will stick. Or if I'll even find the time for a weekly post. This is another year of change, after all. But I'm going to try. This isn't The Year of Me as many of my friends have posted on Facebook.

2012 is The Year of Intention. My intention is to change things for the better. Personally. Professionally. I hope you stay along for the ride.

A Month of Gratitude: Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, & Seventeen

I fell of the gratitude wagon this week. In my defense, a work project was about to go-live during the last week before Winter Break. I wanted nothing more than to throw up my hands and surrender. But that would only cause everything I was carrying to fall on the ground and break. And we already know who would be the person who had to clean it up.

I'm grateful for our nanny who never says no when I ask her to stay late. And recently, there's more late days than ever.

I'm grateful for two co-workers who never freak out when I drop an F bomb. And recently, there's been more F bombs than ever.

I'm grateful for my children who constantly remind me that God doesn't give us more than we can handle. And just when I think I'm at my breaking point, they go and do something adorably sweet that cuts through my frustration and straight into my heart.

I'm grateful for pillows and comforters and a warm place to snuggle every night. Even if it involves a pesky toddler who refuses to sleep in his own bed.

Im grateful that I can find the silver lining, for winter vacations, and lots of adult, alcohol-present holiday parties.

Sent from my iPhone

A Month of Gratitude: Thirteen

My teenage godson loves video games.  He's talked about wanting to design video games when he grows up.  Which to me sounds like an oxymoron.  I bet the best video game designers are the ones that have a serious Peter Pan complex and refuse to "grow up."  He knows that I receive video games to review on this blog; he's even helped out with reviewing games before.  But he's been dying to review something that doesn't state E for Everyone. 

Enter Assassin's Creed Revelations.

Admittedly, I know nothing about this video game franchise and it's cult-like following.  All I do know is that I'm the coolest Auntie ever and am making a name for myself amongst gamer-teens in the greater Las Vegas area.  Normally, my godson wouldn't get to play a video game from start to finish in one sitting.  But that's practically what he did for me (with his mother's blessing).  For that, my brownie points are THROUGH THE ROOF! 

Late into the night last night (and by late, I mean until 10pm), my godson and I texted back and forth about the game.  I don't understand a word of what he said, but I'm writing it all down here for 1) posterity, 2) to get him to improve his writing skills, and 3) because other gamers probably know what's talking about.

In the words of a 14 year old boy...

"I think its amazing it has great texture, awesome cinematics, and an amazing story line. I have been a fan ever since the first game.  Revelations is the 5th game of the series.

The hook is a cool new feature.  You can zipline across the cities. I like the ending the most. It just threw me off (ed: sorry, no spoiler alert here).  I hope Ubisoft continues the series and makes another game. 

My only improvement is in multi-player mode.  If the multiplayer comes along when you are about to die, you can press "B" to avoid the other person. But when you press it, you always die no matter what. They should fix that in an update."

As you can see, not many words from a 14-year old boy.  But I'm sure it's way more than he's ever written about a game to an adult.  And way more than the "It was cool" that I was expecting. 

So, thank you to Ubisoft for sponsoring this blog post and increasing my stock with my godson.

Please click here to learn more about Ubisoft. I was selected for this sponsorship by the Clever Girls Collective. All opinions are my own.

A Month of Gratitude: Twelve

Whenever I've gone on a business trip, I get romantic notions of how my family will greet me when I walk through the door.  In my head, it's wonderful.  In reality?

Neville is usually exhausted from the kids, the house is a disaster, and we're out of bread.  Or milk.  Or both. 

Last week was no exception.  Except the house was perfectly tidy when I arrived home.  For a while I thought this was the doing of my family wanting to show me how much they appreciate everything I do for them (see romantic notions above).

Turns out an appraiser came by that morning.  Neville had spent the previous night cleaning and tidying up for an appraisal.  For a moment, I was miffed (see reality above).  But then I realized...

Who cares why the house is clean.  The house is clean.  And I didn't have to clean it. 

Now, how I can get the housed appraised, say, every Monday and Thursday?

A Month of Gratitude: Eleven

Darius is in year round swimming.  It doesn't sound so bad until you factor in that he's swimming in an outdoor pool in December.  Even in California, it starts to get pretty ridiculous to send your seven year old out in a speedo during 50 degree weather.  To keep him warm, we have sweats, thermals, ugg boots, gloves, beanies, and a parka that covers 85% of his body.  Instead of a swimmer, he looks like Ralphie's little brother. 

Even dealing with the freezing cold, I love going to the competitions.  I love getting to scream my son's name.  I love pulling him out of the pool, wrapping him in a towel, and snuggling close to get him dry (and then warm) as quickly as possible.  Even when he's just watching a movie on YaYa's iPad as we wait for the next event, I feel connected to my boy.  So today, I am grateful for swimming.  And my loud voice that Darius says he can hear under the water. 

He knows that I'm his biggest fan. 

A Month of Gratitude: Ten

Yes, those are straw glasses.

Yes, I imagine that one day those bad boys will be swirling up beer instead of its non-alcoholic root cousin.

Yes, something so fun requires so much concentration.

Yes, he ruined his appetite by drinking a whole glass of root beer before dinner.

Today, I am grateful for my dad who always seems to know exactly what a seven year old boy would think is the coolest invention ever.

Yes, he spoils him rotten. But that's what Grandpas are for, right?

A Month of Gratitude: Nine

Every year around this time, I begin the difficult task of having to share what Darius wants (or what we don't want more of) for Christmas. It's difficult only because there are so many people in Darius's life that love him so dearly that they want to shell out their hard earned dough to get him something special.

If only that was the worst problem we all had to face, right?

This year, I had the genius idea of asking my extended family if they wanted to get him a group gift. I wasn't sure if they'd be interested in helping us fund the "big gift." I was pleasantly surprised when they all got so excited. Yes it means that Santa doesn't get the credit. But my family will get the ultimate gift of getting to see Darius's face when he realizes what he's receiving for Christmas - and who is making his seven year old dreams come true.

Today, I am grateful for my Aunts, my Uncles, my mom, and my grandma who are about to make Christmas extraordinarily special for my little boy. And for showing that it is truly better to give than to receive.

A Month of Gratitude: Eight

I don't have a sister. I've had sister-friends over the years, but from what I can gather from my friends who do have sisters, it just is not the same.

I have two girlfriends who have become like sisters over these last 5 years. Whenever we are together, I fear for my life. Not because they are dangerous (although one of these ladies is infamous for texting and driving). It's due to the fact that I'm laughing so hard, I'm afraid I'm going to suffocate. Dying by laughing is probably the best way to die. And these gals push my lungs where no one has pushed them before.

I am grateful for friends that are so entertaining, I'm not sure if I'm going to pee, puke, or pass out whenever we're together. LeBouefs for life, bitches.

A Month of Gratitude: Seven

My laptop is on the fritz.  The screen has been cracked for years, but now the battery won't carry a charge.  That means my laptop is no longer a laptop.  It has to be docked so I can use a monitor to see and it has to be corded to function.  During a business trip, this means that I can't fully function.  It's nothing but good-frickin'-times over here. 

Having a non-laptop laptop means that by the time I'm getting back to my hotel, I'm stuck working off of my iPhone.  Which means that I'm hardly working at all.  Which means I'm not working a 10+ hour day in the office and then another 4+ hour night in the hotel. Which means I'm not getting as much done.  Which means that I'm forced to let things go.  Which means I'm surrendering.

Tonight, I am grateful for surrendering.  Sure, it wasn't my first choice.  But I could be totally stressed out about not being able to get it all done.  Instead, I'm throwing up my proverbial white flag, settling into my lovely hotel bed, and watching Inception on HBO. 

Some things are out of my control.  And that's okay. 

A Month of Gratitude: Six

Working from home has awesome benefits.  But it sure is lonely.  While I spend most of the day on the phone and am constantly talking to someone, I'm staring at my computer screen.  Or folding laundry.  Or bouncing Cooper on my knee.  Or desperately finding a quiet place to continue to talk where my loud toddler won't be heard by the attendees on my conference call. 

I miss the in-person interaction that comes in office working.  I miss having lunch buddies.  I miss the camaraderie.  I miss the people.

This week, I've had an overdose of people.  This business trip is to solution a project in which I'm a stakeholder.  There are folks from all over the world working together to solve business problems.  While my brain is so overworked from all of the extra thinking, it has also been overwhelmingly invigorating to my soul. 

I've had the lovely opportunity to get to know my colleagues on a personal level.  I've seen pictures of their grandkids, heard stories of their kids, and shared my own.  I've put faces to names.  I've put personalities to those faces.  I've broken bread with members of my professional community.

Tonight, I am grateful for my colleagues who remind me of the sweetness of being a working mother.  I've been reminded of why I choose to work.  Why I continue to balance a professional career with a personal life.  It sure is hard work.  But it can also be incredibly fulfilling. 

A Month of Gratitude: Five

I'm grateful for company paid soy peppermint mochas, friends who meet you for dinner so you don't have to dine alone, and unlimited clean hotel towels.

While I fielded three calls from home, I also brainstormed with real people. Real people with real faces. With real ideas to solve real problems. I'm exhausted from nodding my head yes and smiling at my colleagues. Today, I am reminded of the synergy that comes in face to face meetings.

And I'm looking forward to tomorrow.

A Month of Gratitude: Four

Remember when I bragged about being done with my Christmas shopping? That was before I took an impromptu trip to a nearby outlet mall. After spending the last hour wrapping all those extra gifts, I've decided that I need to steer clear all malls and shopping centers. December makes me "spendy."

Darius has yet to share what he wants from Santa this year. He's talked about another Lego set, a nerf gun, and even a new guitar. But he isn't quite sure what to settle on. I've picked up a few things that I know he'll love. Now I've got to either steer him in the direction of the stuff already purchased or be prepared to head back into the dangerous world of the mall.

So today I am grateful for Cooper's inability to be swayed by commercials, friends, and that big book of toys catalog. While I eagerly await to hear his sweet voice talk to Santa, I'm glad that this year he'll be happy with footy pajamas.

A Month of Gratitude: Three

This morning Darius proclaimed that he wanted to go on a bike ride... with me. I haven't ridden a bike since before I was pregnant with Cooper. In all honesty, I'm not a big fan of the bike. The ridiculously small seat hurts my butt. Darius is known to race and then stop on a dime which makes it hard for this out-of-shape mama to pace herself.

But the kid rarely asks for me to do something with him. His dad is his preferred parent slash playmate of choice. So I got off the couch, abandoned my morning cup of chai, and spent two hours with my boy.

Lately, I've been feeling really under-appreciated around here. I've been feeling like my role of a mother and wife has transgressed to into the no mans lands of maid-cook-driver-nag. The special time with my son was just what I needed. The fresh air, the creek trail, the park playground reminded me that I'm not the only in our family feeling unappreciated. Work has been so stressful that I'm forgetting my kids need more than a maid, cook, and nag.

So today I am grateful for my son who gave me perspective.

Although, I'm not sure my hiney feels the same.