I’m not talking about this in the sense of the guy who keeps telling everyone his social security number. 

Of late, I’ve been involved in a number of conversations that all surround what I know is my hardest hurdle: who am I when I am not working if I’m not just Mommy (or Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy uttered incessantly and unceasingly 24-7 without a single “Daddy” interruption, always at various volumes but typically loud enough to wake the neighbors and their dogs).

A Detours alum emailed me asking for ideas about how to handle this loss of identity when you used to think of yourself as someone in a company and someone at home. I was giving it lots of thought, and spent the weekend talking to the mom of a friend, who retired 8 years ago – she said, the hardest part for her was not having anywhere to get dressed up to go. That made her feel less of herself. And that less of yourself is what so quickly develops into a loss of self confidence in general and completely.

That’s been the hardest struggle for me – I feel the same, why shouldn’t I pull on the same old jeans or whatever? Why bother with makeup? The problem is this slippery slope quickly leads to “Why waste money cutting my hair?” and not one month ago an intervention was called so I could cut off my WAY too long hippie-style ponytail!

It’s strange and hard to explain, why we tie ourselves to our jobs – even jobs we don’t like. When I was working at my last spot, I thought of myself as a mom first and then a marketing director. I worked full time (but with telecommuting option) but never considered myself a full time worker – in fact, considered the job a stopping point (a four year stopping point but) – never part of my career. Thus, it was all very up in the air and I could take from it what I wanted without letting that be my definition. I resisted getting business cards, because I didn’t consider it a “career job” and didn’t WANT to identify myself there – but it was almost as if by looking down on the job, I could identify myself and my place in the world (as someone who was “x”, but just doing this job for now – and if it wasn’t quite up to my level, well so be it – because I was only doing “for now”).

My sister advised me the other day that this ongoing identity crisis is because it’s my ego, wanting a title and the definition. Let me be clear that any ego I had was left at the door so long ago. I took so much cr*p in order to keep a job that gave me that telecommuting option – for instance, I once flew out on a 2 day 2 night trip to California to supervise a photo shoot at the Ritz (I know, this doesn’t sound THAT crappy) but was told to be sure to stay in my room and not join anyone for dinner because they didn’t want anyone to know I was there. (Right, it was a room at the RITZ! but it still was sort of insulting to basically be told to wear a bag over my head while in public). My office? Summarily pulled one day, no reason, and I instead got what used to be a closet re-made into an office; there wasn’t an outlet for my computer so (I’m not lying) a cord was draped across the doorway and plugged in via extension cord outside the door. I tripped ALL the time.

As an aside this isn’t even my WORST office! At my prior identity-sucking job I was moved down to an office that had been closed and locked because of mold infestation – not after it was cleaned, no, merely because it was the only one there so the mold and I hung on the 4th floor while my staff was on 11!

Ego? I gave it up. I knew that a lot of what I was doing, I did because I liked the work – and I liked any chance at flexibility to be with my kids, because they were a priority. It wasn’t about some title – because I never had what I felt I deserved, in part because my kids WERE the priority. So then why is it so very difficult to be defined as a mom – when I didn’t want to be defined by the job that I had?

Ironically, one year post leaving the last “real” job I had, I am getting calls at a rate of 2-3 a day because they are involved in planning for a business conference that I planned with a staff of 1/2 (ie, me and 1/2 a person – I had her part-time). Ego? I was doing mail merges and stapling agendas, stuffing packages of information and checking names on registration spreadsheets while having conference calls with Senators and football players who were speaking (I mean that last part was actually sweet and ego-gratifying). So now there’s a staff of 15+ inside and outside all working on this event and these calls should make me feel good as they beg for advice or talk about the mistakes being made.   

But I don’t care that much. The job’s behind me and the identity piece of it is gone. I’m not bitter about being gone (thank goodness since the HR director from there, in an ironic twist of fate, is the class mother for my kindergartener and I see her quite a bit!!) Shouldn’t it make me feel good that – at least in retrospect – it was recognized what a great job I did? I don’t know but I guess it’s what have I done lately? And whatever it is – that “lately” – got in good shape, planned these events, was a good mom, (I think), started a consulting biz – still makes me constantly question that identity. 

I am so interested in hearing from others that are dealing with this at any stage. I want to hear what works and what doesn’t to make you get your confidence back and to make you not question your choices or what you’re doing.  

I took the kids to the zoo today – in a fit of good planning made sure it was the hottest day o’ the year so they were sweaty and grumpy by the end. One of our zoo-going-friends actually stood in the mister till she was full-on soaked and we thought “More power to ya”.So then we bought them McDonald’s ice cream (one dollar) on the way home and I found someone’s old Daily News on a table (free) and read this GREAT story about how CBS in NY kept a woman sports anchor.The long and the short of it: Ryan wanted to spend more time with her kids. Instead of firing her for this egregious sin – she said she would leave and only work VERY part time for national CBS sports, instead of CBS NY also, in order to spend more time with her 7 and 4 year old – her boss worked out a schedule that gave her local and national time and let her work 3 days for NY local news and  2 days for national sports, on a part time schedule. She’s thrilled, they’re thrilled – and in a very competitive industry where no doubt they could have found someone else to fill her spot, I take my hat off to CBS to come up with this solution for a working mom. Here’s the link to read more.  Also if anyone knows Sam Ryan I’d like to be in touch to have her come speak at an event… 

shall we? Because mine’s not calling me back and I’ve HAD IT. As recent posts have pointed out I’m trying on for size (“we’re” trying on for size) the one-permanent-income, one consulting income route. I’m the consulting income and it’s a bit touch and go. I’m sort of constantly worried about dough, thinking about money, saving here and there (except I still buy iced coffees because I love them).

Manis-pedis? So 2005. I line up all 40 toes, the girls and I, and slap some Brucci ($1) nailpolish on and we are set. Housekeeper? Puh-leeze. Let her go when I was still working – though truth be told that was more because I simply  couldn’t take that the house was messed up within 4 seconds of her leaving and I think I‘ve even blogged about that??  Is my house clean? No. In fact my neighbor, who was watching the twins in their vagabond days, swept my kitchen with a garage broom AND IT WAS AN IMPROVEMENT. My couch smells (“Don’t let the children eat on it-that’s why”, my husband says. That ship has SAILED out to a stinky harbor). 

All right. So we could definitely LIVE on one income, but we’ve decided to do more than live on that income – we’ve decided to “improve” the old home. And that is the cause of my stress. The initial estimate to blow out the kitchen and bedroom was over $250k and cooler heads prevailed (that one income, after all, is not the income of Derek Jeter or in fact ANY Yankee–or even a utility infielder). But we decided we could do the kitchen over and even the bathroom, to make them up-to-date and more important, usable as we currently have 1.4 inches of functioning counter space in the kitchen.

As every penny is counted, we shopped around and found a contractor and thought he was great and then the new twist is he never calls me back. EVER. And my husband keeps saying “Well, you can call him again – it’s ok to call him multiple times in a day”. REALLY? Why should I? I mean my initial thought was “I can do this my SELF” and I was told by all and sundry that in fact, I could not. And as I tried to imagine trying to wrestle a new bathtub in and upstairs with only a squad of 3 under-6 Brucci-pink-pedicured helpers to assist, I had to concede the inevitable, that I would indeed have to call in a professional.

So my point is – professionals call back. And work with you, and listen. And as I search for consulting work and develop this conference and take work on that is less than what I’m worth (sound familiar?) and even consider, for the billionth time, finding a fun-and-non-draining bartender gig (I consider this half seriously) I think: is this even worth it?

At the gym the other day, Oprah was talking about ways to cut down on your spending or economize. I think all of us, likely, are doing that or have done a lot of it – and it means different things to different people. Thinking twice about new shoes; canceling all but basic cable; buying cheaper wine (I did that for a while. I stopped doing that). There’s 18 zillion things you can do to save dough (tell me if you’ve got a good one! Would love comments on this blog beyond the spam that seems to get through the filters!) But I daily go back and forth between “I can save money and spend time with the girls” and “I want money and want my life…vacations, no debt, the whole nine yards that I had when working”…of course there are sacrifices a lot of us make. I wonder if everyone has the same feeling of constantly counting the pennies. 

So quick moral is: I know at some point I can go back to work and get a real (non bartending) job which will pay off our home equity loan or put the kids in college (they are 5 and almost 4 so we’ve got time). I know I need to stop obsessing over money. I enjoy days such as Friday when I spent an entire day with the girls at the park and the beach for a grand total of $6.37 worth of ice cream (I don’t count the iced coffee expense, it was on my Dunkin Donuts card). And in the meantime, if the contractor doesn’t call me back, I’ll install the damned tub myself – even if I do break a nail. 

As mentioned in my last post, I’m trying to blog more often – more reflections, perhaps less “lessons”.

Also mentioned was my two week sojourn in lovely Overlook Hospital which, not for nothing, IS a nice hospital and I have nothing but wonderful things to say about, especially, the nurses who made our rough time far better. 

So two weeks in the hospital isn’t anyone’s idea of a good time. But I must admit to a silver lining in this black cloud – it was me and my newly appendix-free daughter in a room where we could read and talk and watch shows and chill but not be distracted. I brought my laptop briefly but I couldn’t work; I had my iPhone to email but I didn’t all day – and it was freeing to just ignore life as I focused on my sweet 5 year old who was still wearing her pain on her face.  

I am lucky I wasn’t working and could focus on her; she refused to talk with the residents or even acknowledge, in certain cases, that they were talking to HER. I described her pain, I changed her bedpans; I got fluids in her and walked her down the hall. She’s 5, I’m her mom, I felt like that was my job. And I just blocked out the rest of life.

And that was sort of refreshing. Less so for my almost-four-twins, poor things,  who we gave two sticks and a bandana with a teddy bear in it to, and dropped off at the station to hit the rails, traveling vagabond style.

I am kidding of course but not by much. We now are talking with positivity about their “Adventures” (said sing-song like) but poor sweet girls, they got dropped at our family’s lake house for 2 nights with my wonderful uncle who they sort of knew (and know well now!) and his dogs – they aren’t dog fans. I rowed away as they held hands and waved goodbye. They came home for a night with daddy and then went off on another “La la la ADVENTURE” with my brother, THEIR uncle, who they adore – a great weekend visit but of course they missed Mommy and even called their sister to tell her how much they missed her, in their convoluted way (We also heard about the dogs…”There is a black dog here who licks ourselves each time he sees ourselves!”. 

Note misadventure here – dear teddies and tiger were left in Connecticut, so the hobos were now absent their comforts! And their travels continued…Another great-aunt. A dear friend. Another night with daddy. Holding hands, these sweet girls went through it all and sure, in one of their hospital visits one smacked the other with a box as the box-smackee threw a puzzle right back but let’s be clear: they were SICK of each other and who could expect anything less? Point is thank God they were twins so they had each other and thank God for my family and friends who I counted on (up to and including an old friend who smuggled Cabernet into the hospital like a prohibition-era pro!)

So I quasi-ignored the “other” children and totally ignored life and I focused on this little appendix-less 5 year old to get her better over two weeks. And then, we came home.

All the children were mine again and were so needy (of course). The lack of the appendix has made my oldest seem all the older and much more in need of love and help; she’s still not quite herself. The twins need me more than ever. And for a week I closed my eyes and didn’t even want to think of work. And I read trashy books and thought how easy it would be to ignore the world FOREVER.

Moral coming? I’m not sure.

Yesterday I buckled down and did a bunch of stuff; today I did some more. The children still chased me as I found closets to hide in for conference calls but as LITTLE as I wanted to get started I felt better and better the more I did. That’s something? 

I also got a note from my sister in reaction to my last blog telling me that I should stop letting my “job” define me and my importance. Let me clarify that many of my prior jobs constantly reaffirmed to me in word and action that I was not important (a for instance: my old boss had me fly to Boston in case she needed me in a planning board meeting and then had me sit in her office for the entire day “just in case”. I flew home at the end of the day, having done nothing. Oh, so important).

So I don’t know if the jobs made me feel IMPORTANT but there was a sense of structure (and a sense of being paid!) And that is the struggle I’m dealing with now. So more to come.

But Princess-No-Appendix and I looked at each other that last day o’ the hospital and said “I don’t want to go” “I don’t want to go” – for the escape from life and pressure (and for her, because of the Wii). I just need to get to a life that I enjoy as much as the “life” of the hospital – 6 am wakeups (6:05, 6:10, 6:15, and on – “How’s the patient???” said with sunny Resident cheeriness), vending machine food, and all. That shouldn’t be so hard. Right?   

I have entered a new phase of my mom – slash – careerdom. I have alluded to my fall layoff from my position as the head of marketing at a  ”family friendly, Working Mother Top 100″ employer, as a result of my 2-day-from-home schedule. Since that layoff, I did some consulting and decided to take the time to figure out exactly what I wanted to do–beyond making Detours a viable, perhaps full-time-career, option.  

An interesting stopping point on this journey came last night as I hauled the girls off to the library for a free (that’s a key word these days, though I find refreshingly not just for my not-working-self but for many in this economy) puppet show. Who did I see across the room but the head of HR from my old company, who lives in my town? While certainly we have a cordial relationship, as I know it was nothing personal, I’d probably have preferred to not be wearing a Target shirt, 10 year old Abercrombie shorts, with my hair scrunched back in a ponytail and only a quick swipe of mascara on, when I saw her. Even better, I realized after I sat down that I had some sort of banana bread batter droppings up my arm, from earlier exploits. No one knew that but me, I don’t think, though. 

Nevertheless I decided that the time has come to dive back into my blogging. The impetus behind this is the stated aim of the blog, to give a perspective on how moms these days balance it all. I know, from talking to different folks at conferences and online, that a surprising number of people take comfort in some of the things I share on this blog, seeing themselves in the stories or their own situations in my relating of the craziness of my everyday.  And I also think it will force me to try to find the funny in some of the not funny.

For I know that no one wants to read of how hard it’s been the last 6 months–how frustrating it is to see things I put in place in my old job succeed without me but because of me. To see how they aren’t even doing half of what I did by myself but they still have jobs. It’s been hard to take consulting jobs that I know aren’t “all I can be”. It’s also a CONSTANT struggle–as in every day, every minute–to look at my girls and know that I absolutely want to be with them all the time. One of them has recently developed the four-year-old talent of drawing people–you know, the people with circles for heads and legs and arms sticking out of those heads? (She’s the only kid ever who does this, right? She’s a prodigy??) Well, she’s now decided to err on the side of realism and has begun adding ears to those people! I don’t want the babysitter to be the one to see that. I want to be with them all the time and ALL THE TIME I am thinking I want to do more. I want to write. I want to “market” (my chosen profession). I want to talk with people and be important, as I felt in my “real jobs”.  Important, not just round-the-clock needed. Then I think how important was that work when they summarily released me and life goes on as usual, there–while my girls need me?

My oldest, two weeks ago, went into the hospital. She had a perforated appendix, at 5. Certainly kids have so many scary illnesses and God Bless you, and your children, if you are dealing with a serious one; I knew (and was repeatedly told) that appendix-outs are THE most common operations for children. But it’s still scary to hear “Mommy, give her a hug and a kiss” as she heads into the operating room; it still made me cry to go into her room to gather the pillows and books and nighties from home to bring to the hospital for her, and think “What if she can’t come back here?” I cry now just thinking of it. I cried as she sat in the ER yelling at me as they put in her second IV “Mommy make them stop it!” because I knew they were helping but I felt bad, that I couldn’t help her. I stayed at the hospital for two full weeks with her, life on hold, thanking God that I was able to do so (work-wise) because she needed me. And my heart goes out to everyone who doesn’t have that choice to make.  

So that was an awful two weeks and yet, I was still able to find moments of humor–such as in that ER on our second pass through when I had not only the “victim” but her twin sisters ALL YELLING at the top of their lungs, on my lap, as both nurses yelled as they all tried to get one IV in. I thought to myself THIS is what is going to send me to a padded room and the only thing for it was to laugh. Just as it was equally preposterous that I was driving around town, on the odd 30 minutes that I was able to escape the hospital to dash home to shower, with a TOILET in the back of my car since prior to appendectomy we were trying to renovate bathrooms on the cheap and used our one date night in 9 years of marriage to hit Lowes, without kids, to buy said toilet…but we hadn’t had time to unload it. So in some sort of Sanford and Son revival I drove around like a jerk with it rocking back and forth in the back with dirty laundry and random balloons.  So that’s a little funny.

And though much of my current state, I feel, is not-so-funny, I know that if I try to write about it with humor perhaps it will inspire me to feel better and less sad and depressed about the state of where I stand. This is, to be clear, where I stand. In the past, I’ve hesitated to blog on certain things I’ve gone through in an effort to not seem judgmental on other’s choices to stay at home, work, etc etc. Let me be clear now that the premise of these conferences, and how I really feel, that everyone’s choice on staying at home or working is an entirely personal one. There isn’t a right answer, globally, because there are different right answers for everyone–I never judge anyone or their choices, except myself–and I reevaluate those choices every single day ad nauseum, way way way too often. Thus, when I write of my own frustrations and doubts, they are mine and not meant to project my own opinions on your choices. Read or ignore but over the upcoming entries my goal is to try to profile a bit more on how one well-educated and very experienced marketing professional keeps sane while seeking solid gigs and providing ROUND THE CLOCK on-call service for 3 little girls and a husband-who, by the way, hit the stereotype square on the head by leaving the house a disaster in my 2 week absence, up to and including not replacing a single toilet paper roll. Proving, in fact, that I guess only I can do it.  

So in my ongoing quest to be the perfect mother I gave up yelling for Lent (I was sort of successful. That is, I have been yelling less and also, when I yell, I think about it more in the sense of “I gave up yelling and now I am yelling”. So noticing is half the battle.) 

Part of why I gave up yelling is because of an “EPISODE” with my children, my delightful angels, who seem to have no inherent ability to determine what is “too far”. For instance, when Mommy’s been on for 4 straight days because Daddy’s had work stuff and Mommy is tired and working also and it’s way way way past bedtime and Mommy wants to watch The Biggest Loser it’s best to just hop in bed and GO TO BED. However, since the “Too Much” filter is either missing, set too low, or just permanently off, the 3 1/2 year old twins just kept asking, and asking – (“Another hug” “Where’s my tiger” “Another hug” “Where’s my bear” “Another hug” – I love them but FIFTY HUGS? – “I’m tirsty” (misspelling intended).  So then I was done and (this is not my proudest moment) I yelled. And I might have dropped a very bad word. Twice. On my 3 1/2 year old. In the sense of “Lie down, lie down now” (insert the bad word twice in there). 

I felt REALLY bad after this. Felt even worse because my husband then guilt tripped me about how awful I was for dropping the word-that-should-not-be-said on the “innocent” child.

Ok so, fast forward to this weekend, when a good friend whose name will not be used, to protect the innocent and the guilty, told me of her temper tantrum. (She did not know she was “on the record”, another reason her name will not be used). Her temper tantrum was predicated by the same sorts of things MINE was – the pushing, the pushing, the PUSHING. In her case her 6 and 4 year old girls were  joining her (and her baby and her husband) in their bed every am earlier and earlier and oh yes, fighting louder and louder each morning. She’s supremely patient, etc – but had HAD ENOUGH the other day and finally yelled “Get the (really bad word) out of my bed, get the (really bad word) out of my bed right NOW!” Having not blown off enough steam, she then marched everyone downstairs for 5 am breakfast which was literally “on the fly” as she hurled a box of rice crispies across the kitchen at her children and told ‘em to eat up. No stranger to hurling food myself, I saw myself in EVERY PART of this story.

It made me feel better about myself that she, who IS typically very very calm with her children, was pushed to throwing/very bad word status. Her husband didn’t guilt trip her – in fact, he admitted the kids had it coming. And the very next day they did NOT join her in bed and were angelic in the am.

Follow up is our recent trip to IKEA. My husband, fed up with the three girls not listening and perpetually whining, had already had it when one of the twins dropped the entire bag of 400 colored straws ALL OVER the floor having been told over and over not to open the bag. Having a, dealt with similar before and b, expecting nothing less, I was not surprised or even particularly bothered but HE dropped a GD bad word on them (not as bad as mine but still pretty bad). The road to perfection is, it seems, littered with a couple of swears and some flying rice crispies, here and there.  

I got a note from a woman at Money Magazine. Money is doing a story on women who are going back to work in this economy, because of this economy. In return for profiling the woman, Money will provide career coaching and advice from a financial planner. If you are interested, you can email me at meghan@onrampsforum.com and I will put you in touch with the editor; this request is urgent so they are looking for respondents today, Wednesday, June 3. Please note that they would like the profile to include the family’s household income. 

If you’ve been at one of our Boston events, you’ve likely had the opportunity and pleasure to hear Christine Koh speak. Christine is an amazing and smart and creative superstar; she has a degree in brain science and music and didn’t want to be a professor, she decided. Instead she started Bostonmamas.com and ALSO Posh Peacock Designs. Whew! Exhausting!  

But now other people see how amazing she is to and she’s been nominated as one of Boston’s best bloggers. If you’ve read her great, witty, prose and used her amazing resources and tools you’ll likely be happy to vote for her here to help her win. Good luck, Christine! 

Obviously first and foremost many of us trust our instincts. I’ll usually bounce a really bad day or a big question off of my mom, figuring that I turned out ok so she must have been doing something right. I get good ideas from my friends.

Somewhere I don’t go for parenting advice is virtual strangers. Yet in a shocking and maddening turn of events my  3 1/2 year old twins’ dance teacher misunderstood, thinking that my not asking her for her views on my parenting was an oversight and not, as is actually true, a clear and total lack of interest in her opinion.

Now I must say the twins do not have an unblemished record of good behavior. Once they figured out there were two of them they, between them, determined that if they were not interested in the goings-on of a particular class they’d be better off just amusing themselves. For the most part we’ve reinforced “YOU HAVE TO LISTEN TO THE TEACHER” to deter this behavior but hey, once in a while everyone has a bad day.

Which they did the other day and their teacher asked them what they had for breakfast (cereal and half a donut, they fessed up) and this led to not me, but my poor babysitter getting a 15 minute lecture – in front of all the other parents, kids, etc on “Healthy Eating”. As my 5 year old said, “It just went on and on”. She heard how they couldn’t have sugar, at all, how Americans have horrid eating habits, that’s why we are all so fat, that sugar is awful for kids, that they should have scrambled eggs and meat protein for breakfast, blah blah blah, blah blah blah.

At the risk of sounding defensive several facts come into play—one, Twin 2 literally has had to leave swim class two weeks in a row because she’s too cold in the pool due to her negative body fat ratio. She (no joke) at 3 ½ has six-pack abs in some sort of non-genetic stroke of luck as, I can assure you, neither my husband nor I are sporting anything resembling a 6pack. Two, I work all day at getting fruit and veggies into them, and they’re getting better and better. I’d once resorted to trickery a la Jessica Seinfeld, pureeing up veggies and slapping them into all manner of meals and cookies, but after the chick-pea chocolate chip cookies received a “Don’t put those corns in there again” and the sweet-potato laced hot chocolate was spit out, I decided it was better to be up front about veggies and get the kids to like them. Which they do! My 5 year old eats full salads, they nosh on carrots and broccoli, they eat fruit. It’s not all the time, and I certainly still pat myself on the back with a “Job well done” after I get a good serving of fruit into them…

But the point is I didn’t send them to dance class with a Big Gulp, a 40 of malt liquor, or anything of the sort. It is in NO way appropriate or within bounds for anyone to volunteer advice on how to raise my kids, except MAYBE their grandmother. I got madder and madder, planning telling-off scenarios—but I don’t want repercussions on them (they’re only 3 ½!) So I’m resorting to my blog and on the chance that “You know who you are” is reading this—thanks, I’m all set on the nutrition advice.

Anyone else have experiences with unwanted advice? 

None of this is news, but there’s a new report coming out all about what we cover at Detours&OnRamps. Maria Shriver, who’s made this a big issue in California and beyond, speaks on it…peek at it here.