Tag Archives: working mom blog

Working From Bed: How a sick mom does it

by The Totefish Blog
My Temporary Office

My Temporary Office

The inevitable occurred.  I caught my daughter’s germs and I’ve been laid up in bed for 2 days.   Now, I’m trying to launch a website in 4 weeks so one can imagine how convenient such a forced convalescence is.  But wait.  Turns out, this “problem” isn’t all bad.

The good things about working from bed:

1.)  Those lap desks really work.  No more laptop batteries unnaturally warming my reproductive parts.  I’m a convert.  

2.)  Spontaneous naps.  With pillows propped up around me, it’s easy to nod off for a quick 27 minute refresher.  Seriously, that’s awesome.

3.)  Take-dinners delivered to the door.  Two nights in a row, guilt-free pizza dinners.  It’s like we’re on vacation.

4.)  Instant weight-loss.  I’m too sick to walk to the pantry and grab my hourly “pick-me-up” handful of Oreos.   Who needs will power and sit-ups when a virus can jumpstart your goal to lose those extra 10 pounds brought on by stress and bad eating habits?

5.)  Wearing your pajamas while you craft a Powerpoint Presentation isn’t depressing, demoralizing or ironic (as in “working from home on my start-up feels like make-believe business”).  Instead, it’s empowering.  It shows stamina and commitment.   I’m a Mom with a start-up.  Hear me roar.  Who knew a virus could do what months of therapy couldn’t?

6.)  Taking a shower IS a big accomplishment.  When you’re sick, the little things matter and To Do lists are irrelevant.   I’m damn near becoming a Zen Yogi with this kind of wisdom, no?

7.)  When Mom goes down, the kids rise up.  Payback is a wonderful thing. My kids bring me cold drinks and fresh boxes of tissues, unprompted.   They do their homework on the floor in my bedroom “just so they can be close” in case I need something.  My son insisted on giving me a back-rub (“the way you do, Mom, when I’m sick”) and my daughter gives me “power hugs” to kill off the germs.  Forget Mother’s Day.  Sick Days rock!

Sure, the laundry is piling up, most emails have gone unanswered, I’ve had to reschedule important conference calls, and my kids have gone to bed without their usual array of Mom & kid bedtime antics.   I don’t welcome this virus on anyone but it’s not as bad as I would have thought.  Sickness acts a great reminder of what we take for granted.

Turns out, my water glass on my bedside table is half-full.

Nature Strikes Again: DAMN IT!

by Deborah
Red Ants (aka Fire Ants) Courtesy of Wikipedia

Red Ants (aka Fire Ants)
Courtesy of Wikipedia

“Fire Ants Invade Lady’s Printer In Canyon:  Hysterics Follow”

My anxiety-ridden, dysfunctional relationship with nature continues.   Rats.  Snakes (real & perceived).  A multitude of spiders.  And now, fire ants and their ever-so-disgusting maggot-like eggs.

I’m ready to move to a high-rise building in the city.

“You’re not scared of a few ants?” you ask.

“Oh, you just wait until you hear this story,” I reply, flapping my arms as if to shake any invaders off.  A shiver runs up my spine.

Yesterday, I decided I wanted to use the scanner feature on my All-In-One printer.  I’ve had the printer for 18 months but was always intimidated by its scanning functionality.  Who isn’t, right?  But being that the world has gone digital (and that I want to stay relevant in this constantly-evolving state), I decided it was time to transform all my legal contracts into digital copies. Very tech-forward of me, no?

I opened the lid of the printer and what to my wondering eyes should appear?  A colony of frickin’ fire ants (and their transparent rice-kernel eggs) living underneath the glass of my scanner.  50 of them.  A Queen Ant.  A bunch of busy work ants.  Maggot-like eggs by the dozens.

AAACCCKKKKKK!

Then:

  1. I screamed again
  2. Took a photo of it (yup…)
  3. Ran the printer outside
  4. Let it sit in the driveway until the kids came home
  5. Showed my kids (cause they LOVE gross stuff)
  6. Tossed the whole damn thing in the trash can
photo-203

Canon MX512: Where Technology & Nature Co-Exist

That Canon Company, what will they think of next?  All the while I’ve been printing out my daily To Do lists, a colony of biting ants has been thriving in the machine.   That’s taking “multi-functioning” to a whole new level.  Serious “Thinking-Outside-The-Box” going on at the company.

Fire Ants, in case you didn’t know, rarely make their home in modern pieces of technology.  They usually prefer moist outdoor locations.  But then again, nature and I don’t exactly have a typical relationship.  Clearly, the universe is trying to send me a message.  Humans must learn to cohabitate with nature.  Humans must stop the destruction of animal habitats.

Well, universe.   I have a message back.

Get the F*&#%$K out of my printer.

Gender Differences (aka “The Wile E Coyote Factor”)

by Deborah
Screen Shot 2013-04-08 at 10.35.22 AM

Larry “Lawn-Chair” Walters
(1949-1993)

Here’s a short story about the difference between boys and girls.

At dinner last night, my husband told our two kids the story of Larry Walters, a man who decided to take flight on his lawnchair with 40+ helium-filled balloons to propel him 10,000+ feet above the ground.

My husband’s childhood recollection of the story was that Larry lifted up off the ground, unprepared for the height he would reach.  In order to come down, he needed the help of authorities and their beebee guns.  (The details of the story, as outlined in his wikipedia page, are a bit different but the general experience is the same).

This happened in the early 1980s.  There have been many “inspired by” flights since; with the most recent ”launch”  in 2012.  All of them have been led by men.

My Response

MOM

“Now kids.  Don’t ever do that, okay?  It’s dumb.  And really dangerous.”

My Kids’ Responses

DAUGHTER (age: 9 1/2)

“Duh, Mom.  A lawnchair?   On balloons?   That’s something they do on Looney Tunes.”

SON (age 7)

“Yeah, Mom.   Don’t worry.   I’d take a pin with me.   So I could pop the balloons myself.  Definitely.”

Screen Shot 2013-04-08 at 11.19.02 AM

Be A Good Mom: Sign Your Daughter Up For Computer Camp

by Deborah
Courtesy of Mattel

Courtesy of Mattel

Move over Malibu Barbie.  HTML Barbie just bought some beach-front property and you’re getting evicted.

The internet used to be limited to the specialities of the web applications.  But now, every brick-and-mortar has an online component.  Banks, Grocery Stores, Schools.  You name it, its virtual service is as good (if not better) than its physical equivalent.  And it’s only going continuing that way.

So, if you want your children to get a job when they finish their education, they’d better know the difference between HMTL from PHP.

I know what you’re thinking.  Is PHP a typo for that vaccine we have to get our girls?

Java Ain’t Just An Island in the Pacific

Just because Ruby on Rails makes you think of Dorothy walking the curb on the yellow brick road (just a little?), doesn’t mean your kids shouldn’t become proficient in computers.  I’ve met great programmers who do not have a handle on the English language but wow, how they can structure a database!  They can live in any country and always know they will have work.  They are sought after with 4-to-5 job offers at any one time.  Now, I’m not saying we should forsake our English Departments (goodness, no!) but every school should prioritize technology languages in their curriculum as much as they do Math, Science and PE.  But until they do, it is the job of parents.

And I don’t mean buying them an i-Touch or a Game-boy.

Our children need to know how to program as much as they need to know how to read a map or calculate proper change at the register.

But you already know ALL of this. 

Actually, if you have a boy, he’s probably already bored with Scratch and Sketch-Up.  He’s asking for a summer programming classes.   Easy.  Done.  But wait?  What about your daughter?

She says she’s not interested.

Nope.  That will no longer fly.

“Give a girl an education and introduce her properly into the world, and ten to one she has the means of settling well without further expense to anyone” – Jane Austen

Letting our daughters “not” learn to code is like letting our sons “not” learn to read.  It’s setting your daughter up for a life of limited options.  Who does that in 2013?!?

I just dropped my 9-year off at a Spring Break Tech Camp.  And guess what?  She’s the only girl in the camp.  The rest are boys.  All 15 of them.  She attended a programming camp last summer and of the 22 kids, 3 of them were girls.  Two of them were from other countries visiting Los Angeles for the summer.

I’m not going to delve into the reasoning for why girls aren’t drawn to computer (I’ll save that for another post).  Let’s leave it at this — Computers have a “boy” thing associated with them.

But we need to power through that perception and get our girls into the computer room.  A NY Time’s article “In Google’s Inner Circle, A Falling Number of Women” outlines Google’s aggressive pursuit of female technology stars because even they, a market leader, can’t fill their ranks with the 50/50 gender ratio they want.   Teaching girls to excel in technology is practical, if for no other reason than to insure they have real job options when they head out into the world.

Please sign your girls up for computer class.   It will make them happy and independent.

Dead Birds Don’t Sing

by Deborah

One woman’s dirty work — made picturesque

And they don’t make a peep when you run over them with your mini van, either.

I know.  That’s terrible.  But it’s true.

The morning started out like any other. I pried my eyes open with an alcoholic’s promise to not stay up late working tonight and yes, to get out of bed tomorrow before my kids run in asking for breakfast.  Without time to brew coffee, I rushed the kids out of the house and drove them to the bus-stop five miles down the street.  30 minutes later, I returned home with the warmth of a Starbucks latte coursing through my veins, ready to hit my computer and start my work day.  I slowed as I approached our driveway.  What was that mound of black feathers barring my drive to the garage?   Was that blood?   Was it… yes, it was a dead bird!   Ewwww.

I maneuvered the car’s wheels around the carcass and cursed that my husband ran over a bird and left me with the clean-up.  Maybe I could pretend I never saw it?  Or maybe one of my neighbors would be kind enough to throw it in their doggie poop bag on their daily walk-by?   Wait.  This is L.A.  The only guarantee from our neighbors is gossip ’cause a dead bird left on your property gets people talking.  And not in the good way.

I opened the garage in search of a shovel, mumbling to myself about the virtues of being a strong woman with an unchivalrous husband raising two kids and running a company who shouldn’t be skittish about dead omnivores when, lo-and-behold, I saw that my husband’s car was still parked.  If my husband hadn’t run over the bird, who had?

I walked slowly, shovel in hand, to the front of the driveway.  I know what you’re thinking.   Like watching that woman strip off her clothes and splash late night into the dark shark-infested water, you want to shout, Don’t go!  Stop!  Make your husband do it!  But I knew.  You know?

The bird was still warm.  Its little bird brain was splattered across the cement.  Blood pooled around it.  My stomach heaved.  I looked at the trajactory of the tire tracks.  The location of the wings.

I had run over the bird.  And I hadn’t even noticed.

And as the responsible party, it was my duty to clean it with dignity.

Otherwise, who am I?  I obsess over how to be a better Mom and a worthwhile businesswoman. But the only way to lead — be it of a twosome of under 9 years olds or a team of advanced-degree-holding engineers, is NOT to delegate the disgusting, reality-jolting jobs of life to others.  If I can’t face down my fears or overcome my own desire to let others do my “dirty work,” how can I expect to raise the next generation of good citizens or inspire innovation and change?  How to be a better parent and a more successful CEO?

Own up to your mess, apologize (oh nameless, unfortunate bird, I am so sorry) and clean it up.

And let me assure you, scraping bird guts off the pavement at 7:30 am quickly reminds you how tenuous the whole thing is…

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