Tag Archives: Working Mom

How to Juggle Work & Family: MEALS (Theory #12)

by Deborah

photo-198Okay.  This time, I’ve really got it figured out.  My sanity?!  It’s all about the food.

As a working mom,  preparing & serving healthy meals for the family is the most challenging of tasks.  Home-cooked dinners were the first casualty of my return to work.  They show no sign of resuscitation.

Here’s the problem, though.  Even my fat-pants are starting to feel tight.  I think my diet of pasta, pizza and frozen chicken nuggets is to blame.  Sure, they’re nitrate-free but really, I know it’s not healthy for me or the kids.  But how to get those good, made-from-scratch, healthy meals back into our lives?!

Fear not.  I have a plan.

Redundancy.  On a 14-day schedule.

Welcome to the launch of my “Two Week Recipe Rotation Plan.”  I’ve mapped out two work weeks’ worth of recipes (I’m no fool… we’re eating pizza and sushi on weekends).  They are easily prepared in advance (which I’m going to do on Sunday nights) AND can be thrown together the day of in 20 minutes.  I’ve got one shopping list per week (so I don’t have to think about what to buy as I walk the aisles & I’m eradicating the quick grocery run mid-week).   The meals are varied enough to keep everyone’s attention, they’re pre-vetted for healthiness, they’re kid-friendly & adult-worthy, and did I mention they are easy?  I’m going to make the same rotation every two weeks until it drives my family mad.  Then, I’ll find a new set of recipes.

I’m listing them, if you are interested, in the RESOURCES: Parenting section (see the top menu).

Imagine.  No More:

1.)  ”Oh, it’s Sunday night and here I am in the grocery store and I don’t know, what should I buy?  Another bag of tortillas and shredded cheese?  We can have quesadillas one night.  Oh wait.  We had that last night.  How about hotdogs?  Hotdogs are American, right?”

2.)  ”But I thought you liked my chicken stir-fry?  If I served ice cream for dinner twice a week, you’d still love ice cream, no?”

3.)  ”Oh shit.  I thought I had a can of black beans in here.  I always have beans in the pantry.    Sorry kids — We’ll do burrito night tomorrow.  Tonight, how about a stir fry?”

4.)  ”What?!  It’s already 6  pm?  Not again. Let me look in the freezer.”

5.)   “I’m sure there’s something I can make with frozen bagels, a bag of peas, a half-bag of tater tots and some chicken breasts dating back to December, right?  They do this kind of thing on tv all the time.

6.)  ”Let’s just order in some pizzas tonight.  Tomato sauce has tomatoes in it.  Tomatoes are vegetables.  Or are they a fruit?!”

7.)  ”I went to the Farmer’s Market’s on Sunday.  Bu why is the lettuce slimey?  And the zucchini shriveled ?  Is celery supposed to bend like this?  Let’s put the carrots in a bowl of ice water.   You’ll see.  In 2 hours, they’ll be totally firm again.”

8.)  ”YAY, kids.  It’s ‘Bizarro Night’ again.  What’ll it be, kids — Cheerios or Rice Krispies?  Who doesn’t love breakfast for dinner?”

Hear me now, believe me later.  This is revolutionary.  This is me, being more organized than I knew was possible.  That’s enough to make a girl go giddy.

Power Binge: 13 Hours in 3 Days

by Deborah
Courtesy of Netflix

Courtesy of Netflix

Everything you hear is true.  ”House of Cards” is that good.

[Before I go on, here's my disclaimer:  I don't own Netflix stock.  I don't even know who runs the company. I'd share my account login but I'm afraid they'd find out and block me forever.]

What is “House of Cards”?  Oh, get thy to Netflix without haste.  Just trust me on this.  It’s as good as Downton Abbey.  Just totally different.  But kinda the same.  In the addictive, obsessive kind of way.

I know what you’re thinking.  Where do you find the time, Deb?  Aren’t you trying to launch TOTEFISH in May, enrich your two children during Spring Break, lose those extra 7 pounds and read that book on Creative Intelligence?

Yes…

But since I’m off wine (2 pounds right there) and my kids implored me to let them “hang with nothing to do like regular kids for a week” and it’s not possible to read more than 3 paragraphs of any book in bed after a 16-hour work day … I was ripe for a small leap into total obsessiveness.

Enter 13 hours of Kevin Spacey’s power-hungry deliciousness.  Yes, it can be done in three days.   Who needs to sleep from 9 pm – 2 am?  Apart from the brilliance of the sublime acting, the tight writing, the gorgeous sets and the intoxicatingly complex morality of the characters… I think it’s the back-to-back availability of the episodes that sucked me in like a sale sign at the Gucci outlet.  It’s the totality of the experience.  It’s like an all-nighter with new friends in Rome.  You know you should get to bed but you just can’t bring yourself to flag down a cab.  And in the morning, you just can’t stop thinking about it.

Now, I don’t recommend dedicating a full day of sunlight to watching all 13-episodes but… if you happen to catch that nasty flu going around, what’s a little chicken soup propped up against your iPad, right?

I’m just saying.  I hadn’t intended to do it.  It was so feckless.  13 hours of tv in 3 days?!   Who does that?!

I recommend you should, too.

Wear glasses, Punch me in the arm: Ah, parenting

by Deborah
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Carrot and Stick? I say “Punch and Punch.”

My son is 7 years old.  He forgets that toilet paper shouldn’t be totally unrolled for fun.  He forgets that tennis balls shouldn’t be hit against the side of the house right next to the kitchen windows.  He forgets that feet aren’t allowed on the top of the dinner table (at dinner time).  It’s no big surprise he has a hard time remembering his reading glasses even when he’s got a book in his hand.

My son has a hard time distinguishing an “e” from an “o” in certain fonts but he’s a 7-year old boy.  He doesn’t seem to notice it.  But we all know it’s impossible to understand a story (let alone learn a fact or two) if you think the “pantry” is a “party” and a “horse” is a “home”.  But I don’t want to be a nag.  My son already wears hearing aids.  He’s wonderful about them.  Nagging about glasses… well, it just seems so unrelenting.

Don’t get me wrong.  I loved nagging when I was a full-time, stay-at-home Mom.  Nagging was a way to pass the day (and to pass on my frustration and stress).   But as a working Mom, there’s the “ratio factor.”  I’m not around my children as much and thus, I need to pay attention to the quality of our interactions.   The good news is that I have my own company so I make my own hours.  I take off from 5 – 7 pm so that I can be home with my children (and return to work 8 – 11 pm).  Although I spend most of that “quality” time running multiplication drills, pushing the attributes of cauliflower and arguing that the eraser was invented for a reason,  I don’t want to harangue my son about his glasses.

I needed a carrot and stick.  Reward and punishment.   But what kind?

Punching.

Yes, my son loves kicking, punching, poking, whacking and tearing at things.  I’m guessing it’s a boy thing.  But I’m a modern Mom.  I’m here to manipulate my kids without them knowing it, into doing what I want them to do, all the while they’re thinking they’re doing it because they’re motivated.

Here’s the deal I struck:

  • If my son remembers to put on his glasses without any reminding, he gets to punch me (or my husband) in the arm
  • If I have to remind him, I get to punch him in the arm.

Oh, I know what you’re thinking.  How hard can he punch?

Oh, don’t worry.  I’m not training the next generation of abusers.  I’m as staunch a feminist as you’ll find on the westside of LA.  My son created the rule that he couldn’t punch me hard because I’m “… a girl and Dad says we have to treat girls like flowers.”  Like all good feminists, I like a box of chocolates from time-to-time.

Guess what ladies?  It’s working!  The thrill my son gets from doing the forbidden has gotten him to wear his glasses nearly 90% of the time, without any parental prompting or jaw-jamming.  And we’re only 3-days in to our deal.

Now, if only I could figure out how to get Congress to sit down and balance the damn budget.

First rats, then snakes and now… heights! Startup-induced phobias?!

by Deborah

It’s a long way down, even for Julie Andrews

Hiking 3 1/2 hours up a steep mountain? Lovely.

Riding 7 minutes down on the gondola? Spear your hiking pole thru my heart and call it a mercy killing.

I’ve turned into a 40-year old acrophobe.  And I blame it on my start-up.

Here’s the back-story:

This past summer, my husband and I went day-hiking up Bald Mountain in Idaho.  Perfect excuse for exercise, communing with nature and accomplishing a goal.  Who wouldn’t feel good after that?

We made our way up the mountain in the shade of the gondola.  The free ride down was to be our reward.  Three hours later, I bounded, thrilled to be sitting down on the cushioned seat, happy for the beautiful scenery in front of us.

That was until we began the descent.  My stomach immediately lurched and my only vision was of the gondola slipping off its rail and careening into the rocks below.

I was afraid of heights?    What the hell!?!

As a teenager, I loved rollercoasters, cliff walks and skyscraper viewing decks.  I savored the take-offs of airline flights, I jumped from the high-dive platform without hesitation and I never lowered the security bar on ski lifts.  But now, in the safety of Swiss-manufactured steel cage, I got light-headed, starting negotiating with God and ended up with my eyes closed, humming “Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens” until we reached the ground.   I figured it was a gondola thing.  No more Swiss transportation for me.

But last week, it happened again on the plane ride home our Christmas vacation.   The flying scared the shit out of me!  Consistent turbulence and the sight of snow-capped mountains just below the wing tip sent me into a panic attack — sweaty armpits, shallow breathing and shaking arms included.   We were all going to die!  I shouted to my earphoned kids “I LOVE you!”  They nodded and kept watching their movie.

A few days later, while skiing, I found myself holding tightly to the chairlift bar, wondering if a gust of wind could send our chair tumbling down a ravine.

What on earth was happening to me?!  I was unraveling at the seams. 

I know the phobia of heights has plagued thousands, but for me, it was new.  A NY Times article (“Can A Playground Be Too Safe?”) discussed growing trends of acrophobic children due to the lack of high climbing equipment at parks and gyms.  Maybe I just needed practice bungee jumping and climbing ladders?  My husband suggested that I just needed rest.  But I blamed it on the start-up.   The stress and pressure of building a company, raising two children and not letting my muffin-top of fat overcome ALL of my jeans had made me afraid to leave sea-level.   Maybe I couldn’t handle it all?

No way!  I thrive on multi-tasking.

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Flight of Impending Death

So I started researching late-in-life phobias and strategies on how to overcome them (without a cockatil of heavy medication and vodka).  Turns out, the fear of heights is often most caused by a simple fear of dying; a greater realization of one’s mortality.  For some reason, I’m more afraid now of dying than ever before.  Hmmm.

Could it be that now, with a loving family and a start-up launching in April, that I am more in-love with life than ever before?  Could it be that the “pressure” to juggle my family and ambition is, in fact, engaging me more in life?  That I want to live more than ever?

Well, well, well.

That’s a spin on stress and aging, isn’t it?  Life is simply getting more interesting and I, more anxious to live it.

I’ll take it.  Here’s to a promising 2013… and lots of fear of dying.

Job Titles NOT to give yourself

by Deborah

It’s 2012.  Digital sophistication is at its highest and yet, people are giving themslves dumb titles on their Linked In resumes.

from “Resume Writers of Dallas”

I’m  17+ hours into my outbound recruiting effort (code for “I’m a start-up in a competitive job environment where the words Oogle, ‘Nterest and Prime Shipping are not part of my company name and thus, I’m left to target, stalk and cajole top-tier talent to come work with me on my grand vision with unsolicited yet clever and genuine emails”) and I’m tired.

Not of the search, mind you.  

I like reading through people’s’ resumes, searching for the diamond-in-the-rough, the outside-the-box-thinker-screaming-to-be-let-out-of-the-box, the undervalued high-performer.  It’s total arm-chair psychology from the safe distance of an internet connection.

I’m tired of bad decisions made by others.

In today’s day-and-age, with the mind-boggling array of career advice blogs, how is it possible that anyone would post a less-than-professional job title on their Linked In profile?  Sure, you’ll get attention — but so does the kid who farts in the back of classroom.  Maybe I’m a stick-in-the-mud Founder & CEO-type but cute & corny or wacky & irreverent doesn’t make me want to work with you.

Here’s what I’m talking about.  Here is a collection of some of the entries I found in resumes on Linked In.  (I couldn’t make them up.  The titles are real.  The snarky “aka” commentary… that’s mine): 

Rainmaker (aka “Maker of a long stint in unemployment”)

Change Agent (aka “Ex-Bank Teller”)

Serial Entrepreneur (aka “I’m-still-looking-for-the-idea-that-works Entrepreneur”)

Addict at Pinterest (aka “Recipe clipper, fashion wannabe, who-am-I-kidding-I’m-never-gonna-remodel-the-bathroom & I -should-be-learning-a-new-language Waster at Time”)

Thinker (aka “I was going to write ‘Breather’ but that seemed too obvious”)

Deep Thinker (aka “I ain’t just a Thinker”)

Social Media Guru (aka “Really?  Guru?  It’s 2012 & I just read a tweet that said your yoga mat was on fire”)

All Around Technologist (aka “All Around Bullshit Artist”)

Gun For Hire (aka “Watcher of too many Hollywood movies”)

Brain Child & Captain (aka “Founder of My Mom Still Makes My Lunch & Folds My Laundry”)

Self Starter & Finisher (aka “Masturbation Expert”)

Online Adventurer (aka “Gold Member of the Self Starter & Finishers chat room)

If you recognize one of these titles from your resume, I’m sorry to be so harsh.  But I’m here to tell you what your spineless friends won’t — delete the corn.  Go staid.  Go boring.  Go professional.

I’m not crazy: That fake snake was real!

by Deborah

I’ve seen my future.  I’m a senile old woman who gets kicked out of the nursing home because I keep scaring the other elderly guests with my shouts of imagined wildlife creeping across my bed.

Living in a bush on my back patio

Let me get you up to speed.  Last year, after a long 24-hour standoff with a 7-inch rodent in my bedroom, I (successfully) worked my way through some serious post-traumatic stress episodes:

 ”Jim, did you hear that scratching noise?!   No, wait, there it is again!  Wait, what?!  Well, stop scratching your leg that loudly.  Who does that?!”

(See “Rat In My Bedroom: A True Story in Three Acts” for a dramatic re-enactment & medical justification for bitchy wife comments; option rights still available).

A few months after that, I found a rattlesnake curled up nice-and-sweet in a small bush 10 feet from our back door.  Luckily, our neighbor’s gardener was quick to respond to my shouts.  He “tamed it into a box” (and when I say tame, I mean “used blunt force with a shovel”).   Ah, canyon life.

Last week, as my meeting with my CTO ended, my daughter ran screaming into the house.  ”I tried to pick a snake’s tail.  I thought it was a cherry tomato!”

Saying nothing of the tomato/invertebrate confusion, I remembered my husband’s pleas that I not pass down my hysteria for wildlife to our children.  As calmly as I could, I asked, “Was it making a noise as you grabbed it?”   She shook her head.  ”It’s black with green stripes.  Eewww,  I can’t believe I touched a snake!” she replied.  I forced my voice to sound airy, as if I was discussing my plans to invade Canada, Sarah Palin-style.  ”Okie dokie, then, let’s go get this snake out of our garden so we can pick our tomatoes.”  I was sweating as I reached for the broom out of the closet, smiling big and weird, like a freaky clown that shows up uninvited to your birthday party.

Well, long story short.  It turned out to be a very scared garter snake that, with some vigorous broom-shaking, fell from the tomato plant and slithered off to the neighbor’s yard (sorry Patti…)  My daughter went back to picking vegetables while I read interesting snake facts aloud from my laptop.  I told my kids to call me Indiana Momma.  I’d licked my fears about nature.

Until that night.

My husband was away on a business trip.  Around 2 am, I woke up out of a deep sleep.  Why was I up?  I looked around the room and saw the back patio lights on.  The lights.  I’d forgotten to turn them off.   I walked through the dark house, towards the bank of light switches.  Then, I saw it.  The back door was not closed.   All night long, the door from the patio to the house…  the only barrier between me and wild… was wide open and inviting.

I nearly peed my pants.

No, I wasn’t afraid of burglars.  I was afraid of snakes.  They were noctural, for god’s sake.  They do their traveling while humans sleep.  Yes, I immediately jumped on the coffee table and surveyed the room.   I went through my snake facts:

  1. They couldn’t hear me yelling at them,
  2. They were as afraid of me as I was of them (which meant they were probably peeing in a corner under the sofa),
  3. They would only respond to vibrations

So I started stomping.  I jumped off the table and stomped around the room, pausing briefly to listen for the sound of a rattle.  Living Room?  All clear.  Den?  All clear.  Kitchen?  All clear.  Kids Playroom?  Well… this is where I lost my mind.

No more Amusement Park Prizes for us!

My kids own two toys:

  1. A large smiling green python stuffed animal (won at the Santa Monica Pier)
  2. A cylindlical baby rattle (filled with beads)

I swear, it sounds EXACTLY like a snake!

Taken alone, these are innocuous toys.  Together, they are the devil’s creation put on earth to string out high-strung mothers at 3 am.

As I stomped in the playroom, I knocked into the loft (which holds all the kids stuffed animals) and damn it if that python snake didn’t drop down the pile AT THE EXACT TIME the beads in the rattle spilled down to another level.   Couldn’t make it up, even if I wanted to.  Why my kids had their baby rattle toy out-and-about, I’ll never know.   But leave it at this.

At this point, I did pee my pants.  For real.

Eventually, I calmed down and went to back to bed.

I didn’t have a snake in my house… Just a few bats in my belfry.

Less-Than-Zen Reflections on My First Hot-Yoga Class

by The Totefish Blog

Since the stress of balancing a family & a career isn’t going away any time soon, I’m incorporating [all and any] stress-management techniques into my life.  Yesterday, it was Bikram hot yoga*.

Here’s how it went:

1.)  It’s hot like Las Vegas in March, which means it’s manageable for the first 60 minutes (or the equivalent of how long it takes to walk from Treasure Island to the Luxor, stopping to see a water fountain show & throw $20 into a “this feels lucky” slot machine).  The last 30 minutes… constant, angry negotiation with myself (just like the second 24 hours in Vegas).  The Yoga instructor (and my friend, who convinced me to try it) set one simple task — to stay in the 105 degree room for the class’ duration.  Fine.  Check.  Done.  I am 7 pounds lighter due to sweat loss.  That never happens in Vegas.

2.)  The 26 poses aren’t so terrible.  They’re a mixture of stretches from PE gym class, 12th grade ballet and Cirque de soleil.  And if you follow the recommendations and don’t eat for up to 2 hours before class, you won’t fart.  Phew, right?  ’Cause I was worried about that.  And trust me, if I’d had that tomato & avocado omelette I so badly wanted, everyone would have known about it.  Can’t believe I just wrote that, right?  Just trying to keep it real and loose.  Like my spine after the camel pose.

3.)  Oh, that floor.  That floor is crazy stinky.  Like, in a way no one can ever be prepared for.  The room smells less-than-fresh (as a 104+ degree room with sweating bodies has a tendency to do) but wow, that floor… a whole other zip code of odor.  I’m guessing that bamboo-fiber rug retains foot-sweat better than your grandmother’s sofa.  Your towel-covered mat becomes your little island in the middle of a shark-infested sea.   Don’t touch the carpet, you repeat in your head.  You’ll get a foot fungus, for sure.  Your chant is calming and helps you “be in the moment.”

4.)  Get a pedicure.  You reach for your feet, you grab your feet, you touch your nose to your feet.  Splurge on the spa pedi.  Not even an elightened yogi could endure staring at sock fuzz under his big toe for 90 minutes.  No toe-picking allowed in class.

5.)  Hot yoga gives you an inordinate, non-coffee-induced energy high.  Or so Bikram says on his website.  I returned home, booted up my computer and fell asleep sitting in my chair.   Couldn’t read an email.   Couldn’t focus a thought.  Couldn’t even focus my eyes.  Ended up sleeping for an hour, my head thrown back in the swan pose, drool running down the side of my neck.  Woke up, drank a cup of strong tea, ate half-a-bag of tortilla chips & a strawberry popsicle and stumbled through the rest of the day in a non-drunken haze.  So much relaxation, not even my typical “To Do List” could stop it.

I’m guessing it works.  Other than the stress of not accomplishing what I needed to accomplish while I was taking my nap, it was a calmer day.

I’m going back tomorrow.  Just don’t expect me to answer any emails afterward.  I’ll be much too relaxed to work.

*Wine not included

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What’s wrong with outsourcing a little “wife duty”?

by Deborah

In case you can’t live the life, you can always buy the book on Amazon.

For the month of July, I hired a “wife.”  And I love her.

No, not in that way.

For an hourly rate, “my wife” deals with the termite-invested sideboard, negotiates with the internet-provider company for a new router, picks up the prescriptions at the drugstore, swings by Whole Foods for the 1% milk, verifies the warranty (and arranges the return) on a busted Bose speaker, shops for a beautifully-themed birthday gift for my niece, measures (and compares prices) for new patio furniture covers and picks up the kids from camp.  And that was just yesterday.

I love my wife like my husband loved me when I wasn’t working on my start-up company:

She frees up my time so I can focus on my work.

She empties my personal inbox & deals with all those post-it notes on the refrigerator.

She keeps the house running in tip-top shape.

She reminds me to take the kids to their dental check-up at 4 pm.

She brings me a cafe latte in the afternoon because she “knows how much I need it.”

But my husband tells me I have to stop calling her “my wife.”  He says it’s derogatory to women.

I was raised by a 1950s-fashioned mother but I quickly picked the other side in the feminist revolution.  I wanted to make my own money.  I wanted my own apartment.  I wanted to wear men’s jeans.  I got married and left my career when we started a family but not because it was what my mother did.  I became a stay-at-home mother because child development experts told me, in their books, that it was the best way to kick-start a child’s life.  For eight years, I did the 1950s thing — total division of labor between home and office.  My husband went to the office and I stayed at the home.   I did all those “wifey” things because that was how we kept the whole thing afloat.  Shit had to get done and someone had to do it.  My husband ran his company – and I ran the house.

But I’m now trying to run my own company.  So who’s running the house?

My “wife” is!  And I don’t mean ANY disrespect by the term.  Or do I?  I am so confused.  What do I call her?!

I guess I could use the term “Assistant” but in my experience, an Assistant works out of an office and is “in training” for a bigger job.  And while a “Personal Assistant” does work out of someone’s personal home (or at least, their shiny SUV), I imagine their tasks are more “personalized” (“make my appointment with Fabio at 10!”) and their task-masters usually have some dramatic flare (tiaras and yachts do come to mind).

I could call “my wife” a “Secretary” but yes, much like the maligned “Stewardess”, that word is laden with cultural references that include knee-length skirts, Girl Fridays, and martinis at lunch.

So how about “Home Manager”?  When I mentioned to a close girlfriend that I was thinking about hiring a “manager to run the house,” she quickly replied, “Oh, you need a wife.”

Household Engineer?

Life Details Administrator?

Uber-Me?

I’m paying a generous hourly rate and I am in constant appreciation (and awe) that these tasks (which for the last four months have been neglected and/or forgotten) are now completed on-time, with efficiency and grace.  As a woman, I don’t find it embarrassing that a “wife” has traditionally done these tasks.  I did them myself.  And I used to do them well.

Until I can come up with another term, I’ll have to refer to my new woman as the “Industrious, Smart, Professional Woman Dealing With All the Loose-Ends of our Family Household” although you and I both know… it’s no different than calling her my wife.

Marketing Help, Please!

by Deborah

This is that post where I ask you to do the work.  Sneaky, eh?

My Executive Marketing Board Room

Today, I’m playing “Marketing Executive.”  Such is the versatile and glamorous  (i.e. “cheap” & “I’m eating a bag of tortilla chips for lunch”)  life of a Start-up entrepreneur.  And since I’ve never taken a marketing class, I need help.

What am I talking about?

Let me get you up to speed.  I’m 5 weeks from launching our functioning “oh, this is interesting” BETA version of Totefish.  That means everyone (including yourself) will be able to use the basic Totefish website for their shopping & coupon needs.  What is the Totally Efficient Shopping experience, you ask?  You’ll be able to set-up your own custom Mall, organize & shop all your favorite stores and immediately access all their coupons, sales and shipping deals.

So what do you got to do?

I’m working on the pitch line for the Landing Page.  You know, the page that comes up when you land on the site for the first time and catches your attention and makes you want to click that JOIN NOW button?  Being that I can’t afford to hire a real Advertising/Marketing Agency, I’m taking the decision to the people.   How’s that for a democratic Monday?

Let me know if you really like (or really hate) any of these.  And don’t go easy.  I’ve got thick skin.

And while it should go without saying… THANK YOU!

Note: the “Join TOTEFISH now!” will be designed as a clickable button

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Candy now makes me dumb?!

by Deborah

Don’t do it.  I mean it.  Oh no.  I can’t help myself.  Just one, I promise.  Oh, damn it.

The newest “As if I don’t have enough on my plate already” scientific study is out today.  Let me save you the 7 minutes to read it.

Eating anything made with processed sugar (in the form of corn syrup) messes up your brain function.

Yup.  They have the rats to prove it.  You eat sugar?  You an idiot.  Say yes to that slice o’ birthday cake?  Might as well let them take a swing at your head with the pinata stick.  Coca Cola?  One-way ticket to failing out of Community College.  Banana Split?  You be one dumb monkey.

So, let’s add it to our list, shall we?

THINGS TO DO to be smarter & healthier:

1.)  Exercise every day

Oops.  Meant to take that power walk but there’s so much on my Totefish To Do list.   I swear, I’ll show up for tennis clinic tomorrow.  And maybe I won’t be late.  Or have to leave early.

2.)  Sleep 7 – 8 hours every night

Well, started reading email before going to bed, then surfed web for an hour, then son had pee accident and husband woke me twice with his snores.

3.)  Drink 6 – 8 glasses of water every day

What’s the word on drinking out of a BPA-laden plastic water bottle that sat in a hot, sunny car all week?  Another cup of coffee, anyone?

4.)  Eat fruit and veggies every day

On no.  Forgot to buy them at the Farmer’s Market.  And I didn’t wash them.  Wait, I did wash them but, oh no, the tap water has higher-than-recommended concentrations of arsenic.    Is that bad?

5.)  Find time to relax, get calm and “do nothing”

So, it appears that while meditating, I forgot to pick up the kids from the bus-stop, swing by the grocery store to buy dinner, return that phone call to the new JAVA engineer, book the train tickets for the summer vacation and map out a legit strategy for customer acquisitions and oh, no, doesn’t Kendall have an orthodontist appointment??  Shit, shit, shit.

6.)  Don’t consume caffeine, sugar, alcohol, drugs or cigarettes

You see, I was at Whole Foods the other night and they only sell things that are good for you (right?) and yeah, I just walked through the kitchen to get a glass of a water and there was a box of Whole Foods chocolate-covered raisins and yeah, what I need now is a little sugar-pick-me-up.  Who wouldn’t shove a handful into their mouth?  No one’s watching, right?  Oh no.   What’s happening?  My list isn’t done but me no ‘member how to typ…

Happy Mother’s Day: The “Real” Cards of an L.A. Mom

by The Totefish Blog

Love you. Mean it.

In case the start-up business doesn’t pan out, I’ve got my next career at Hallmark all tee’d up:

CARD #1 to Me (from my kids):

Roses are Red,

Violets are Blue,

I promise never to get

A Mommy tatoo!

CARD #2 to Me (from my kids):

Roses are Red,

Violets are Blue,

You’re taller than Sophie’s Mom

And you sing Katy Perry songs really good, TOO!

CARD #3 to Me (from my kids circa 2034):

Roses are Pink,

Violets are White,

I’m sorry I thought otherwise,

Because it’s true.  You were right!

CARD to MY MOTHER (from me circa 2012):

Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

Actually, moms DON’T know best

Their grown daughters do!

CARD to MY MOTHER-IN-LAW (from me):

Roses grow high,

Violets near the wood,

He’s my husband, this is my house, they are my kids

All clear?   We’re good?

CARD to MY FUTURE DAUGHTER-IN-LAW (from an oedipal  me):

Roses like water,

Violets, the bee.

Don’t think for a second

He’ll love you more than me!

CARD to MY DAUGHTER WHEN SHE’S A MOTHER:

Roses are lovely,

Violets are rich,

Now you’re a Mom,

You’ll understand why some days, I was just a bitch.

(Sorry ’bout that.)

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HAPPY MAMA’S DAY, everyone!

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My Enterpreneur Obsession: SARA BLAKELY

by The Totefish Blog

Sara Blakely, Founder of Spanx

Every week or so, I obsess over someone doing something.  They’re often famous, but not necessarily.   Now, I’m not into stalking and although I harbor male-size ambition, I’m not interested in “keeping-up-with-the-Jones” competition.  I’m too ego-centric for that.  This is about me learning to do whatever I’m doing… better.

This week’s obsession?  Sara Blakely

Why I’m obsessed?  I’ve got a thing for strong, female entrepreneurs.  In particular, I’m drawn to the ones who appear grounded, who give humble accounts of the struggle & climb and who are actively encouraging us newbies to follow in their footsteps.  (And, there’s the fact that her business is about girdles and pantyhose.  It leads me to believe that no idea is a bad idea if you believe in it…)

What my obsessed is doing:  Sara Blakely’s success is evident (who doesn’t own a pair of Spanx?) and recently, she was named to Forbes Billionaire list & invited to Time’s Top 100 Influential People Party.  But what I find most compelling is her use of the microphone to talk about her early years of boot-strapping and relentless rejection.    She’s motivating the kids.  Sure, she’s the first one to credit the luck of the Oprah’s magic but as far as I can read, she’s the one who’s been working non-stop since then to turn that opportunity into success.

What am I learning from my obsession:  Keep showing up to work every day.  The slow slog forward ultimately turns into a very good story about your success.  Embrace failure and rejection.  You’ve got to sell, sell, sell.  Ignore anyone who says your idea is dumb.  Hear their “No, No, No” — then keep on pushing forward.  Be nice to other women.  And wear your girdle to the meeting.

Here’s to a motivated Monday!

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Fueling the Fire:

Here’s her 28-minute speech at the Edge Connection (September, 2011) via YouTube.

And an article in The NewYorker (March, 2011)

And an interview for Entrepreneur (March, 2011)

And an article in Vogue (March, 2012)

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