Leading Mama

Parallels in the Motherworld

As I’ve been working on writing, I’m doing a lot more reading. Everything from Parents to Office Solutions, from the Toastmaster to The Sun is on my reading list these days. And I’m having a blast reading like a writer – paying attention to tone, length, use of authoritative sources, quotations, bulleted lists, anecdotes and visually evocative wording.

 

A publication that recently caught my attention is Motherwords, a Boston-area parenting magazine chock full of mom’s first-person essays on life in the trenches (so to speak). Actually, some days it sounds kind of blissful to lie down in a trench while the bullets fly over head. At least I’d get to lie down, right?

 

In Motherwords, you won’t find the usual how to choose a pediatrician or when to allow kids to use cell phones kinds of parenting advice. Rather, you’ll feel the burning frustration of parenting teenagers who know they know more than you and laugh as you read toddlers’ outrageous escapades, thankful for once it is someone else’s unruly teenager and not your own Play-Doh-eating toddler.

 

Sarah Teres, Motherwords’ Publisher and Editorial director, made a statement in her last editorial column that caught my attention. She wrote, “I’ve noticed that when I see my children going through a new stage of life, there is something in my own life that mirrors it.”

 

Teres’s comments resonated with me because right now I’m focused on finding my voice as a writer – getting the words out in a way that both makes sense and sounds like me, rather than someone else. At the same time, my son is finding his voice – getting words out in a way that makes sense and doesn’t sound like the sound effects track from a movie about aliens.

 

Classic Carsonisms such as “yeesh” and “whuzzat?” persist, but he’s added “no” for nose and “mow” for mouth and started using them when we aren’t pleading “Can you say nose?” like the desperate parents of a boy who isn't meeting the developmental milestone for language. This week he approached a fellow toddler at the playground, touched her nose and said (with great pride) "no." That seems like a good start to me.

Perhaps it’s coincidental that our own life issues overlap with our kids’. Perhaps there’s no coincidence at all and the perceived parallel is nothing more than a priming effect.

 

Priming refers to the fact that exposure to one stimulus makes us more aware of other similar or related stimuli. For instance, when you’ve just read an article on the dangers of bisphenol A in plastic baby bottles and you’re feeling really good about breastfeeding (despite waking up 8 times each night to nurse the little sucker) you suddenly notice your toxic food storage containers, your poisonous Nalgene water bottle, and the hard plastic rattle your kid loves to chew. When you’re trying to remember the last time the dog went out to poop, your toddler’s brown leather booties cause a complete freak out until you confirm their not-so-poopy status.

 

What do you think? Do you notice issues in your own life that mirror the stages of your kids’ development? If so, do you think it’s coincidence, priming, or a more meaningful pattern? Let’s hear your voice on this.

Eyes of a Child

One of the best things about being a stay-at-home mom is not staying home. It’s having time to get outside and re-experience the natural world through the eyes of a child.

I recently finished reading “Reclaiming Childhood: Letting Children Be Children in Our Achievement-Oriented Society” by William Crain.

 

A devotee of the child-centered approach to learning advanced by Arnold Gesell and applied by Maria Montessori, Crain believes “children enter the world preeminently ‘wise’ about what they need and what they are ready and not ready to do.” Parents, then, ought to take their cues from children and create opportunities for them to explore what they find most fascinating.

 

There is little in nature that doesn’t enthrall my toddler. He likes rocks and dirt, long blades of grass, knobby pinkish seedpods on the tree near our mailbox. Leaves of all colors and textures are greeted with squeals of delight. He grabs treasures by the fistful and brings them home from every outing.

 

At the park today, puffy clouds perched overhead while the sound of water fountains in the lake thrummed a soothing rhythm. I noticed them because Carson pointed them out – more than once.

A single gorgeous orange and black butterfly and huge black-striped-yellow bumblebees buzzed happily around some periwinkle blue flowers. Carson watched them with rapt attention for several minutes, excited each time the butterfly opened her wings or a bumblebee traveled from one flower to another. I couldn’t identify the flowers by name, or tell you what kind of butterfly sipped their nectar this morning. Carson didn’t care – the bees’ busyness was entertainment enough.  

Turtles poked their heads up through mossy, slimy water plants and paddled beneath the bridge over the pond. Around them, small fish enjoyed the shade. My arms ached from holding my son up high enough to see the fish and the turtles but he refused to get down.

 

When we finally made our way back to the car, several bright yellow dandelions caught Carson’s attention. We released the seeds from a fluffy white dandelion – the first of many times I’ll see my son’s eyes light up as the wind catches the seeds and carries them away to places he can only imagine. I’m sure the gardener resents those dandelions, but they brought us joy.

All this I experienced because children need sunshine like they need food and water and love. As children, our connection to nature is deep and automatic. But it withers as we grow, spending more and more time indoors at home, in school, at work, in malls and restaurants.

 

Remember the sense of wonder inspired by ants carrying crumbs? Perhaps you lost it somewhere on the journey to adulthood. To reclaim that childhood magic, you don’t need to look any further than your own backyard. “The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.” Fortunately, that’s what children give parents.

Mommy Time? Priceless

Lately I’ve been ranting about bad customer service. (And yes, I've got that out of my system now...) I think part of my frustration comes from a sense that others don’t value my time the way I think they should. When I’m waiting in line at the grocery store, holding the phone for the Comcast rep, or chasing my son around the waiting area of a car dealership or doctor’s office, I think to myself “they’d get this done faster if they thought my time mattered. They probably think I have nothing else to do anyway.”  

 

Maybe my frustration reflects my own internal conflict about staying home with my son, I don’t know. Most days I really don’t feel conflicted about it. I’m thrilled to be able to watch Carson grow even on days when I’d give my left eye for a conversation with a well-read, interesting grown up.

 

But I’m sensitive to the value of Mommy time in our culture. And I know there are lots of ways to do the math on what my time is worth. I’m sure the real answer is “it depends.”

 

It depends who you ask. And it depends how you think about the value of time. If my time is worth the amount I could earn working professionally, it’s worth at least $60 per hour. If my time is worth the amount it would cost to hire someone to care for my son, it’s worth about $15 per hour. If my time is worth the amount I currently earn per hour, it’s worth nothing at all.

 

Of course, the value of my time is much greater than this calculus suggests. But its value isn’t fairly captured by an economic analysis, because you really can’t put a price on love.

 

You can’t put a price on kissing a skinned up knee or mending a well-loved blankie. You can’t put a price on trips to the zoo or searching for bugs in the yard. You can’t put a price on mac ‘n cheese from scratch or reading “My Truck is Stuck” for the 10^th time today. You can’t put a price on holding hands while crossing the street or blowing bubbles at bath time.

 

You see, I get paid in smiles and tears, in hugs and kisses, in crayon scribbles and feathers found on the way to the mailbox. I earn the affection and respect of my child. And that’s priceless. 

Customer Service Part Deux

If you think my experiences with Nissan changed forever the fabric of my impatient personality, you’ve got another thing coming. Patience doesn’t develop over night. But the “opportunities to excel” (read time-wasting, soul-stealing customer service fiascos) just keep coming.

 

One of the joys of moving every 2 years or less is I get to establish new service with one or more telecommunications companies. These companies have a deservedly bad reputation for customer service. Here’s my most recent example. (WARNING: This is a LONG story. Pour a cup of coffee before you read on.)

 

When we moved to Virginia, I decided to hook up to cable internet rather than DSL. Since I was opening an account with the cable company, I decided to purchase phone service via internet as well. I called Comcast and ordered the service I wanted. Two weeks later, their rep came to install.

He worked feverishly for five hours installing one modem for the internet-based telephone service, and an additional wireless router for our home computer network. Five hours. He hadn’t installed this particular equipment before, so ours represents the steepest part of his learning curve (at least I hope so). He apologized for the long service call but finished the job that day. Our phone and internet service worked flawlessly.

 

Fast forward three months. Leading Mama has been busy. I’ll admit while I pay all our bills on time, I don’t always read them. The first bill from Comcast seemed high, but I chalked it up to new service charges and installation fees and dashed off a check.

 

This month I opened the bill ($121.48 for internet and home telephone) and again muttered under my breath “Why is this bill so damn high?” And then I turned it over. On the back of the bill under Comcast Bundled Services, it says “Preferred Bundle includes Digital Pref with On Demand, Performance High-Spd Internet, Digital Voice Unlimited, Triple Play dscnt included.”

 

Hmmm. Triple play – cable television, Internet, and phone. Only I don’t have cable TV, I have satellite. And I’ve always had satellite.

 

I quickly called Comcast and explained the situation. The sympathetic representative explained she did not have the ability to turn off my cable TV service (which I do not have), and issued a customer care request. She told me I’d receive a call within 24 hours.

 

When 48 hours elapsed, I called again and asked to speak with Customer Care. Again, a representative said my account showed a cable box at my address. Only I’ve never had a cable box. I explained the original work order, and subsequent installation fiasco while digging through my haphazardly organized files of important papers. At last, I laid hands on a single sheet of blue paper, folded in quarters. On the back side, our installer had noted my email account name and password. On front was our work order and his hand-written comment: Installed 1) Digital Voice Modem and 2) Wireless Router.

 

Aha! This crumpled blue paper proved the nonexistent cable box was, well, nonexistent. The customer service representative said I’d have to take my blue paper to the local Comcast billing office to resolve the discrepancy on my account. Imagine my excitement – I get to take a busy, clingy toddler to the cable company’s billing office where I will prove that I don’t have cable and reclaim my long-lost moola. Whoopee!

 

On Monday I drove to the billing office, evidence in hand. A well-spoken and helpful service representative (again) noted my account shows a cable box at my address. I handed her the blue believe-me, I-really-don’t-have-a-cable-box slip of paper. She pecked at the keyboard, stared at the work order, pecked at the keyboard some more. Carson amused himself swinging like a monkey from the “lane ropes” on either side of the service window.

Thirty minutes later she’d worked it out. Comcast owes me $10.67. Two phone calls and one trip across town, and all is right with the world. Leading Mama emerges victorious.

 

Or so I thought.

 

After his gymnastics workout in the Comcast lobby, Carson went down for a nap. And I sat down at the computer to work.

But it didn’t. And I didn’t.

 

There on the screen where the internet should have been was a box that said “Welcome to Comcast. Click here to Install.” So I clicked. Nothing. The internet was no where to be found.

Again, I called Comcast. I explained what was on my screen and informed the representative of the morning’s billing debacle resolution. Her response? “Oh, you always lose internet service when there’s been a change of service on the account.” Are you kidding me? I “changed my service” by removing cable TV (which never existed) and now I have no internet service. Yes, that’s how it works.

 

To make a very long story a little less long, this rep worked for 90 minutes and couldn’t reset the modem/router. She said she’s call back when she finished. Four hours later, she hadn’t called. So I called Comcast again. Another representative worked for over an hour to reset the modem and finally admitted defeat. The system would reset my modem within 72 hours, but there was no fix she could do at the moment. She said to keep checking, it might be reset sooner, but call back if I didn’t have internet service by Thursday.

 

On Tuesday morning, I hopefully clicked on Internet Explorer. Leading Mama is not patient, but she is optimistic. Wonder of wonders, the internet appeared. The system reset my modem in the night and I could get back to living my life. But I’ll never reclaim the time I spent canceling cable television I never ordered and never received. Apparently, that’s just the cost of modern living.

 

Putting the Cuss in Customer Service

Patience isn’t one of my virtues. But lately I seem to have more patience-testing trials than I know what to do with. Here’s Exhibit A.

 

My Nissan Pathfinder (a.k.a.“the money pit”) has always had only one key. I bought it used and after hours of negotiating over new tires, warranties, etcetera, the fact that the dealer had only one key was not a battle I wanted to fight. Of course I’ve always feared I’d lock myself out, and in the 5 years I’ve had the money pit, I’ve done so only once. Triple A rescued me quickly.

 

Well, in the last year, the key has been falling apart piece by piece. First, a chunk of black plastic that covered the microchip in the corner of the key broke off, leaving the little blue chip exposed. It made me nervous, but not nervous enough to shell out $170 for a new key.

 

The money-pit and I limped along with our chip hanging out for about a year. And then it happened. The key broke so it could no longer attach to a key ring. Frantic constant worry I’d lose the key soon ensued. When it fell from my pocket once in our street out front, I went from zero to crazy lady in about 3 seconds. And I stayed that way for 45 minutes it took me to find the key. Last week I went to the local Nissan dealer to get keys made. I figure if it’s my money or my life, I’m choosing life. 

 

We went early, before Carson’s play date at the park. The service rep told me it would take an hour to make 2 new keys and reprogram the old one. An hour with a get-me-to-the-park-play-date toddler and nowhere to go. We walked. I entertained as best I could. Even my best attempts to divert his attention at the nearby Home Depot (the only business open at that hour) were not enough. We ended up back in the dealer’s showroom where Carson colored the showroom plate glass windows with the free crayons they gave him. Hey, any shelter in a storm.

 

An hour and a half later, my keys were deemed ready, and I paid $302 to go on my way. We hurried to the play date, and then home for a later-than-warranted nap. In our driveway at home, I decided to test all three keys. (When they brought the money-pit around at the dealer, it was already running – and we were late for the park – so I didn’t think to test the keys then.) Two of the three keys worked. One new key and my old, broken down key. Suddenly the new key was a $300 key. And that’s not okay.

 

When I called the service manager back, he apologized and said I’d have to come back. They would reprogram the keys for me. (Oh goody, I can’t wait to spend another hour plus trying to keep Carson from coloring the sides of a shiny new Nissan Murano!) I told him I’d be there the next morning.

 

When we arrived, I asked if this would take more than an hour again today in the exasperated way only a teenager or toddler’s mother can ask. He assured me it wouldn’t. Off we went to the kids’ table in the showroom. Carson colored. And charmed the salespeople. I worked on article outlines and kept one eye on the boy. We paced by the service office to make sure they remembered we existed. I let Carson play with the vending machine buttons in their hallway. Still no luck.

 

Finally, 90 minutes later the service rep came and told me that one of the keys “dropped the encoding” after a few minutes, and must be a bad key. He had ordered two new blank keys from the warehouse in Baltimore and would call me when they arrived so I could come back and go through the reprogramming procedure AGAIN. Imagine my excitement. He handed me my old broken down key and I left. Let’s look at the scoreboard:

Nissan Dealer:	$302
Leading Mama:	-$302	and 4 hours time

 

And still, I’ve got nada. Zilch, zip, nothing. Same ol’ broken down key. Can you believe it? I couldn’t. The following morning my service manager called at 7:15. I say “my service manager” because at this point it feels like we’re dating. I see more of him than I see of my husband. Truly. He says the keys have arrived. I’m sure my response was not the giddy-with-excitement reaction he had expected. We went to the dealer that morning to visit our new keys and have them reprogrammed again. Happily, 45 minutes later he emerged with two new functioning keys and my old broken down one. I tested all three in the parking lot. They work. Hurray!

But I figure the cost of the entire transaction in money and time makes each new key worth approximately $275. That’s if I bill $50 per hour for the time I spent getting keys made. Two keys = $550.

 

Patience isn’t one of my virtues. Leading Mama’s time (like yours) is priceless.

 

Parenting as Leadership – Anyone Can Cook!

For my philosophy of parenting, I owe a debt of gratitude to the movie Ratatouille.

 

In the movie, Chef Gusteau's motto, "Anyone Can Cook!" inspires Remy, a suburban Parisian rat to cook in a 4-star restaurant under the toque of a garbage boy. His technique is sophisticated, his results are sublime. The critic swoons over Remy's ratatouille, a brilliant sensory reminder of childhood in his mother's kitchen. If a rat can cook, anyone can.

 

I believe parents are leaders. All parents. Not just the ones whose kids nominate them for father or mother of the year. Not just the ones whose kids win scholastic awards, or make it to the all-star team. Not just the ones whose kids dress impeccably, in the latest fashion, and address all adults as “Sir” or “Ma’am.” Even parents of playground bullies and kids who start food fights in restaurants are leaders. But some parents are better leaders than others. And all of us have better days and not-so-better days.

 

There are many, many recipes for good parenting. And no one approach, technique, or list of ingredients will suit every parenting relationship. Or every day.

The best chefs know many techniques, are aware of how they work and when to apply them for the most scrumptious results. The most successful parents have great love for their children, focus energy on understanding the ingredients that make each child unique, and flexibly tailor their parenting approach as the child and the situation require. And the results are delicious!

 

 

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If I Divide My Attention Any Further, Will My Brain Fall Apart?

I've reached multi-tasking meltdown, and it ain't pretty. A quick review of my to-do list exposes the overload:

• Write and find homes for filler articles on kids' bad dreams, snoring and heart disease, clinical research participation, www.kudzu.com, full-time working mamas' decline
• Wash Carson's laundry, think up fab dinner dish, get to the store for laundry soap, stain remover (chocolate milk is my sworn enemy!), and dish detergent
• Update website homepage (content), move business consulting content to new web space, find graphic designer to create high-res header image that doesn't suck (note: designer must be able to hear what I want and not respond "that's not working for me" like some sort of frustrated creative genius...) 
• Read writing class materials and complete writing assignments, make comments on classmates' contributions
• Try not to read email when I should be working (bing -- I've got more mail)
• Write up first draft of essay on my year in Fresno, CA without lapsing into such self-indulgent reverie that it grows far beyond 2,000 words and becomes a major motion picture screenplay
• Don't think about editors who don't return calls or email. Really, it's impossible to concentrate with puffs of smoke coming from your ears
• Figure out whether we have ingredients for fab dinner dish identified earlier and cuss when we don't. Muse over options: go to store to buy needed ingredients or select new dish (not so fab) or chuck it all and order Thai take out
• Draft query letters for 2 feature articles I've been plotting and planning in my "spare time"
• Wait! Where's Carson? Have I changed his diaper? Cooked his breakfast? How much TV has he watched today? What time is his "Fledgling" program at the Nature Center? Should we walk or drive?
• Blog, blog, blog

Don't get me wrong, I've always had a (nearly) pathological tendency to put more on my plate than is healthy. And I mean that both literally and figuratively. Yesterday I ate so many of Jessica Seinfeld's Chocolate Chip Chickpea Cookies that I counted them as a serving of vegetables.

Seriously, I've started to wonder if the mommy brain drain isn't a result of divided attention. Maybe when you divide your attention between so many things at once, your brain just sort of falls apart. Maybe I still have one hundred billion brain cells, but they aren't speaking to each other anymore. They're working on separate projects. And right now I need it that way.

Ready, Set, Fail

As I scanned the business headlines this morning, an article entitled "How to Recover from Failure" caught my eye. The piece shows how entrepreneurs and political leaders get their wits about them and move on, despite massive, and often very public, failures.

In the sentimental closing section, Vice Presidential candidate Joe Biden even credits his mother with teaching him to stand up to challenges and fight back when all seems lost. Moms and dads everywhere should pat themselves on the back helping children "get back on the horse" over and over again. Teaching kids to fall gracefully and  to get back up again is, after all, a big part of parenting.

As I've been studying and practicing freelance writing, I wondered how people prepare themselves for failure. I know, it sounds defeatest to go into something expecting to fail and preparing for "the worst," but I can't help it. I've sent articles and queries to several national consumer magazines in the past month and that little devil on my shoulder shares his doomful doubts from time to time. He says things like, "That was a mistake," and "They'll never take you seriously." If he were real I'd strangle him.

A fellow student in my online writing class asked yesterday "Do I have to post my work?" The instructor replied that no, she did not have to post her work, but recommended she do so. I'm sure the student on the other end felt she was being encouraged to fail. Worse, it would be public (virtually public, anyway). I had asked a different question. My question was "Can I post some of my queries here for you and my classmates to read and make comments?"

I call it the READY, SET, FAIL approach. Here's why you should try it:

• Because risking public failure cements your commitment to the venture. I've met with many would-be entrepreneurs in my role as business consultant. Some brought me beautifully written, well-researched business plans. Others' plans were scribbled on the backs of gum wrappers. Some hadn't written a formal plan but positively burst with ideas when I asked how I might help. What they shared was a belief that their ideas were worth pursuing and the courage to commit to them.

• Because until you put your work out there, you can't get feedback on it. You've probably heard that Thomas Edison failed on the first 1,000 attempts make a lightbulb but he didn't lose hope. Rather, he says he learned 1,000 times how not to make a lightbulb. This is part truth and part mis-truth as Edison did not actually invent the lightbulb (it predated him by 50 years). Edison worked to identify a suitable filament for incandescent lightbulbs, one that would allow them to burn brighter and longer. What he did say was this:

 "After we had conducted thousands of experiments on a certain project without solving the problem, one of my associates, after we had conducted the crowning experiment and it had proved a failure, expressed discouragement and disgust over our having failed to find out anything. I cheerily assured him that we had learned something. For we had learned for a certainty that the thing couldn't be done that way, and that we would have to try some other way."

Thomas Edison interview, published January 1921, American Magazine.

• Because regret is a worse fate than failure. Studies of elderly people are revealing in this regard. When asked about their lives, few people say they wish they could change what has happened to them. Keep in mind, BAD things happen to people. They fall out of love, lose their jobs, and suffer debilitating injuries. But they seldom wish they could change these things. It seems tragedy has forged their character and to undo what's been done is unthinkable. What they DO regret is places they didn't go, projects they didn't pursue, relationships they let die over time.

So it seems wise to adopt the READY, SET, FAIL approach. Put yourself out there and see what happens. Remember, failure isn't the worst thing that can happen. Regret is. Commit to improvement and be persistent. When you fall, dust yourself off, figure out what you've learned, and lead on. Now, that's success.