Momma Needs Work

Imagery of Work

2012-02-08T14:22:00.000-07:00

Thekids and I sit on the living room floor searching old print magazines for theirindividual classroom assignments when Magda asks, “What do humans need tosurvive Momma?”

“Ah,water. Food. Hmm, why are you asking?” I mutter while flipping the pages ofMary Jane Farm scouring images for pigs, pies, or anything that begins with theletter, P –TT’s kindergarten class’s letter of the week.

Magdaelaborates, “Miss Debra says we should bring in pictures of things humans needevery day. I know we need water already Momma. But...here! Do we need cellphones?” she asks excitedly.

“Ah,no dear, we do not need cell phones to exist.” Surprised that she suggested amobile is requisite for life on Earth, I add, “Grandpa Chuck doesn’t have a cellphone and he’s very much alive.” 'Though he might be the only person I knowwithout one.' I think to myself.

“Whatabout vegetables or fruit?” I suggest.

“Thoseare too easy Momma. Ah, TT! Here! I found a picture for you—a man in asuit—it’s a “Person”!” she announces enthusiastically while ripping the pagefrom its glue.

Hesmiles and proceeds to cut the man, ah person, out with scissors.

“Igot it! We need WORK! Here are TWO pictures of work Momma!”

Office Work
Image from healthylifecarenews.com

WhileI contemplate whether or not we NEED work and consider how I can make this alearning opportunity, I’m quickly distracted by the images. One is of a whiteman in a classic navy blue suit sitting at an executive style desk with a smartphone inhand. The other shows a similarly dressed male body walking into a sleek urban high-riseoffice building.

Farm Work
Image from listserve.com

“Ah,yes, these are pictures of SOME types of work,” I offer, not wanting to damperher spirit. At the same time, adding, “but not everyone works in an office or is a man. What about this picture Magda?”

Ihand her a shot of a middle-aged white woman tending the cotton on, likely, her home farm. Magda looks at me with the blankest of faces. I could’ve sworn Iheard her mind say, 'Are you kidding?'

“Remember,there are all types of work," I begin. "Men AND women can work on farms or offices. Theycan also work in the home or even on the moon!”

“Onthe moon?” the kids shout and start to giggle and I realize the learning moment is over, for now. But I'm left with many resultant questions.

Do we need work to live? Not just to bring in money to pay for food and shelter, because, after all, some people have enough money to exist. But do they need some work-activity to truly live life to their fullest? And why are most mediated images of work so very pronounced as to be discriminatory? How does a 7-year old learn so quickly what traditional forms of work entail and look like at the exclusion of non-traditional but likely more rampant forms of work?

Stay tuned for answers. I'm thinking of an example from the B-rate movie, Opposite Day, we watched this past weekend while snowed in from the big storm...

A Mother's Work

2012-01-27T11:57:00.000-07:00

Just when I thought drop-off couldn’t get worse, it did, today. This morning began with TT’s pleas for staying home from school, with a few doses of ‘my stomach’ hurts thrown in for good measure. The defiance continued when he wouldn’t put his shoes on, so I carried him to the car with shoes in hand.

The pleading even wore Magda down. She insisted that I "just" take TT to the Helix office with me today so no one would have to "listen to this whining" anymore.

A part of me was tempted to keep him by my side for the duration of the day. I’ve taken him to work with me many times prior. Heck, I thought, ‘What’s one day of ‘skipping school’ going to hurt?’

A lot, actually.

As novelist, Dorthy Canfield Fisher once said, “A mother is not a person to lean on, but a person to make leaning unnecessary.”

I was not going to help him by being a conspirator in truancy.

Montessori Spindles--thanks to 54Mama for the pic!

Instead, I need to help him by inspiring a love of learning, and letting him experience the resultant feelings of achievement that come from doing good work.

And he is poised to do just so at the Montessori both of our kids attend. Maybe if I told TT that the inventor of “The Sims” videogame, Will Wright, was not only Montessori taught, he attributes his success to the Montessori method. (TT does not know of The Sims game; Sonic is his game of choice) Heck, the mere discussion around gaming designers might peak his interest in school again.

To be sure, TT displays more electronic prowess than I have ever had in all my years of computer work combined. And part of that prowess comes simply from exploring buttons or tabs that I would never double click for fear of the unknown. He has no fear of trying and retrying and retrying again on a computer, DSI, or Wii. He simply figures out the solution through trial and error. He acts. He creates. He innovates. When he’s plugged in. And when he’s assembling or “upgrading” his Beyblades. Or when he’s doing origami.

Hmm, as I write this post, I realize that my son IS learning to love learning, more so of course when he’s interested in the subject matter. But, in saying so, the quandary of ‘school refusal’ remains...

Parenting as a Cliff Hanger

2012-01-26T10:57:00.002-07:00

Sunset Cliffs, Ocean Beach, CA

Cliffscan be scary. We are vulnerable at the edge. All senses are heightened. We canhear our crying echo. We can feel the weightlessness below. And the drop mayseem endless—with no branches, grass, or parachutes to catch our seeminglyinevitable fall.

Ineed to talk my son off his metaphorical cliff—a newly developed fear of school.

TThas been going to some kind of school since he was an infant. He’s now a monthshy of 6-years old. That's a lot of practice with what teachers call “dropoff”—the separation of child from parent at the school door. A child’s abilityto seamlessly enter the doors, without drama, is a marker of their independence anddevelopmental achievement.

Allof a sudden my son does not want to walk through the heralded gate. In fact, he’s willing to throw tantrums, like the show today (Sorry Miss Aaron!). He’s even willing to risk hisphysical health to say home.

Stomachache.Nausea. Headache. His anxiety manifests into these physical symptoms, which hethen uses to convince us (parents and teachers and school nurse alike) that hemust stay home from school and or be excused from school, immediately.

Apparently,the medical community has even named this phenomenon—“school refusal,” wherebya child develops physical symptoms that prevent him or her from attending school.He may be anxious about schoolwork or bullies or teachers or even using theclass bathroom. She may be worried she isn’t smart enough. He may simply notwant to be separated from his primary caregiver. Children ages 5-6 areapparently especially vulnerable to school refusal due to marked transitionsincluding the beginning of kindergarten or first grade.

Our happy boy at the Smithsonian
Air & Space Museum in Northern VA

Dad and I have exhausted our review of the myriad of causes. There have been no deaths, no divorce, no new home or school. The teachers say he is well liked by his peers. He is academically on par. And when we ask him why he doesn't want to go to school, he replies, "I just want to be with you Mommy."

He's breaking my heart.

Alas, we are trying to be good parents by following the teachers’ and literature instructions. TT IS still going to school. We DO talk with him about his anxieties. We DO encourage hislearning. We listen to what big sister says to him and attempt to stop belittlingcommentary. (Yes, the 3^rd graders in her class taunt the 1^stgraders, and guess what? The 1^st graders then taunt theKindergarteners. A vicious cycle to blog about in another post.) And we reinforce that Mom and Dad and Magdalove him very much.

And on the bad days, I snap back at his little boy soul. "Do you think Mommy wants to go to work?" Or, "We ALL have to do things we don't like TT." Or, "TT, I can't handle another word about this subject." Then I hear my own words echo, I shutter, and I wish I could erase these nasty notes from his life's chalkboard. After all, I can still hear my parents making insidious snippets about work as a necessary evil from my childhood!

So when I think back to the metaphor I left school with today--drop off as a threatening cliff-- I'm reminded that we all--children and adults alike--experience fear. He's scared, and I'm scared. A child that doesn't LOVE school--I'm not sure how to process this one given my affinity for all things educational. I'm even more scared that I won't be able to assuage his fears quickly so the foundation of a love for lifelong learning is not squashed by this setback.

For now, I'll work on reframing the cliff from scary to breathtakingly beautiful. I can't help but note that parenting itself is a cliffhanger. We can't anticipate where the story line will go next...

Start-Up Children

2011-07-13T11:29:00.000-06:00

Magda, my 6 year old daughter, posted signs in the front window of our home. The construction paper marked with Crayola colors read: "AЯt for Sale $7". She had asked her Daddy and I to hold a garage sale and when we begged off that option, she created her own! With a little paper, crayons, and an amass of scotch tape, her entrepreneurial spirit was born.

While no one knocked at the door to buy her Art, the seeds were planted. She had pieced together the components of capital and self, and the elementary buds of a Start-Up Self took root. In today's New York Times, Thomas Friedman suggests that our present high unemployment is "something that will require our kids not so much to find their next job as to invent their next job". I couldn't agree more.

We are witnessing a marked change in contemporary work. As Friedman rightfully notes, "this is not your parents’ job market". College grads expecting to be hired simply because they fulfilled the minimum requirements for a degree were surely be disappointed. Heck, even the valedictorian types will be disappointed when they find the doors to middle management closed. Instead, the new work ethos suggests: consider your skills, create a position (or business) that highlights your value, and sell it. Sell. You.

No one need remind our 1st grader that she loves Art. Following two back to back weeks of eco-Art and Mixed Media summer camps, the connection between Magda as Artist as Producer was made. (Meanwhile, our 5-year old son, who took the classes alongside his sister, begged us to withdraw him. "I can't take another day of Eco-Art. Yuck!" While still not able to identify his value-add, he surely knew it wouldn't be in water colors.) Now, since she is a child, the question is raised: how, as her parents, did we encourage or discourage her Start-Up Self? Well, we didn't take down the signs (well, not right away...), but we didn't hold an outdoor sale with framed sketches or sculpted dioramas either.

Thus I puzzle. And I'm not alone. Recently, Caleb Gardner, wrote an Etsy blog post titled, "Teaching Kids to Think Big", in which he questions his own parenting in this regard. While Gardner notes that his parents may have focused on the traditional life trajectory of job, marriage, kids and financial security, "I’d much rather encourage him [his son] to do something he loves, to make a difference, to think for himself – to live life to the fullest".

And we come full circle. A mother trying to model a life of meaning work, all the while the daughter is already poised to begin the The Start-Up of Her-Self. Guess it's my turn to stand back and take notes!

What lessons are your kids teaching you about work today?!

Work Space

2010-09-28T11:48:00.001-06:00

Finally! I got a gig! Ok, it's a small gig blogging for my awesome friends over at Extanz. And one blog a week hardly translates into retiring from Helix, BUT it's a small, meaningful (!) step toward uniting my interests and forging a new work path. Got to start somewhere...

To be clear, I did discuss the gig with my husband before committing. Of course, Pat proclaimed excitement, even used the work "relief" to describe his feelings--relief that he doesn't have to watch his wife mope around Helix and home now that she'll have something else to think about. And while his support was comforting, part of me remains suspicious.

The exact time frames escape me, but there have been several points within the past 2 years that I accepted then reneged on working for Extanz. Each time, I signed up with Pat's support, but as soon as Helix had a new crisis, I was sucked back into property preservation nether land. Of course, now we have staff, and operations are relatively stable so there should be no more excuses why I can't devote a few hours a week to something else. I'm simply not needed like I was before. Or am I?

Working space may provide some answers. I'm currently writing from my home office--a renovated bedroom closet. This "room" has had many iterations--from a 'nursery' to both our kids--to a 'craft' room when I had aspirations of becoming Martha Stewart--to a 'sanctuary' where I could hide out and read--to a 'home office' where I could work at home with my husband, but in a different room. The first 6 months of Helix, Pat and I shared the main level home office uneasily. His talking otp constantly distracted me or face-to-face with subs who’d show up at our home/office. More importantly, I started to own, literally feel, his stress so much so that as soon as he'd get into a heated conversation otp, I'd feel ill. So I moved upstairs. We could work together, but not in the same room I surmised.

Fast forward to today, Helix now rents office space downtown. We GO to work, as does our staff. I even have the "executive" suite which features wood flooring (not carpet), curtains (not blinds), and French office furniture (thanks craigslist.org!). It's by far the most calming and inviting workspace in our 1,000 square feet. So, naturally Pat has encouraged me to 'come to the office' to write this blog and do the blogging gig and otherwise be available to field Helix questions and emergencies on an as needed basis. The best of both worlds, no? After all, he remarked, "if you hull up in that closet at home, I'll never see you."

While the comment is clearly an exaggeration--we do see each other every morning and every night--the subtext remains: my husband prefers working together to working apart. And what wife is going to complain about her husbands' desire to be close? Surely not I. Yet…

Making Parents Proud

2010-09-20T11:32:00.001-06:00

I flew back to Pittsburgh last week to surprise my father for his 90th birthday. As hoped, he answered his apartment door with shock and gratitude. Together with my sister who drove up from D.C. and Dad's "girlfriend", Angie, we celebrated the hallmark with steaks, the proverbial candle and reminiscent stories. Dad asked about the kids, I shared my Shutterfly photo album, and we all agreed that children grow too fast. (Was he thinking that of me?)

The next day, Dad waited with me at the hotel for the airport shuttle. Though he said my visit was better than any ole Christmas present, I couldn't help but wonder if I'd disappointed him.

The night before, in between brags and exclamations about the grandkids' curiosities, Angie had asked me if I missed academe. Normally I'd say not really, smile, and move the conversation in another direction. This time I said, "Yes. I do." She replied, "I bet." And with those few simple words exchanged, I wondered if she and Dad alike think I'm wasting my (still unpaid, thanks Sallie Mae) Phd by "helping" Pat with the business and mothering. With each weekly Sunday phone call, my father extols the importance of supporting my husband and taking care of those kids. Heck, he gave me a lecture on my 'job' as wife and mother the last time I told him, no, I wasn't preparing a Sunday dinner and, yes, the pizza delivery is on its way. Needless to say, at 90 years of age, he remains a bit conservative in the gender roles department.

On the other hand, he was one of my biggest advocates during grad school. He shed tears at my graduation. And, he was thrilled when I accepted the tenure track job at UC Boulder, not least of all because he served in Denver during the War and liked the idea of possibly revisiting the famed Brown Palace and enjoying more slaughterhouse delights. Back then, I truly felt that my father wanted ME to succeed. Yet, now, our conversations focus on (grand)children, and Pat's business, and diet or meal preparation...and I'm left to wonder if I've failed my father by not utilizing the opportunities I earned.

After all, Dad gave his life to the Steel Works. He dutifully worked the 3rd shift every day for over 40 years. He didn't bother asking if the job was fulfilling or meaningful, he simply labored as needed and supported himself and me with those earnings. Needless to say, the virtues of the Protestant Work Ethic were widely extolled in our family growing up. Yet, anyone could see the glint of hope Dad carried in his eyes when I walked across stage to receive my diploma--the piece of paper that promised a different life. A life where I could make choices about my work and how I'd contribute to the world. The personification of the next generation doing better than the previous one...Perhaps my eyes are clouded but what I see now is some level of resignation. 'She made her choices, now she must live with them.'

I hope my daughter and son NEVER consider whether or not they've disappointed their father or I in their work choices. Though I do hope when the time comes that they're truly content in those choices...

Entrepreneurial couple or supportive wife?

2010-09-14T11:51:00.000-06:00

So I asked some female friends, "Would YOU work with your husband?"

Unequivocally they answered, "No! I could never do it."

"Why not?"

The answers varied from 'we have different communication styles' to 'I don't want to have to answer to my husband' to the simplest, 'I don't want a divorce.'

What's the motive behind my pseudo-interviews? Confirmation that I'm not crazy. Confirmation that working with MY husband is HARD work. Confirmation that we're not the only husband-wife business co-owners with conflict, at work and at home. But the confirmations weren't enough.

Being the post-academic I am, I sought literature too, to help "explain" what I've already learned but haven't been able to articulate. Amazon.com offered up Kathy Marshack's Entrepreneurial Couples, a book about "making it work at work and at home". Intrigued, I hit the Prime, Two-day 1-click button and awaited some insight.

While not a huge fan of self-help books--self-assessments and checklists are littered throughout the text, I must shows that intimate partners, particularly with children, struggle to balance (meaningful) work, family life, and marriage. While this may seem a no-brainer, the specific challenges for copreneurs are different from, say, dual-career partners. Starting, maintaining, & growing a start-up is no easy task and the stresses often exceed that of traditional employer-employee relationships. For example, the risk of immersing the family's entire financial livelihood into a start-up can create insomnia in the best of us. In fact, the whole endeavor can be a recipe for disaster, or delight. The jury is leaning toward the former in our case.

Two years ago, Pat had been working as a sales rep for a software company when a long-time mentor introduced him to the property preservation industry. I believe he saw this as an opportunity to earn more money and overall fulfill the American dream of the self-made man. He started taking “orders” from the mentor’s son’s company and within months, built and claimed the Colorado market for himself. In fact, business took off so quickly that he quit his job in software sales, and requested my help to manage the volume. After all “Nikki, you’re not making any money, you’re dissatisfied with academe, and you’re not going to make tenure.” Given I couldn't argue with any of his claims, I quit my tenure track job and began to “help” Pat. Quickly, Pat and the mentor’s son argued over money and went their separate ways. Pat asked if I wanted to become his business partner (with me taking 51% ownership so as to take advantage of a woman-owned business status--which to date we never have). I agreed and we incorporated Helix.

In those early days, Pat and I shared high hopes that I’d draw upon my academic skills and contribute to Helix by researching and writing about the industry, and working with higher-level stakeholders to define and address the problems within the industry (there are many). But we quickly learned that running a small business demands all your waking hours and energies and resources, and within record time, the small business was running us. Recruitment, training, payroll, tax planning, paper processing, sub-contractor (subs) management, and other host of other daily tasks supplanted any lofty aspirations of industry reform. And those tasks quickly became divided along stereotypical gender lines. Pat worked “in the field” and managed subs, while I became the primary paper processor and bid writer.

Fast-forward to today, Pat and I continue to argue over when, how, and or if I'll contribute to Helix. And from Marshack’s categorization of entrepreneurial types, I can begin to see where some of the conflict is arising. Given her criteria, I’d surmise that we’re the “solo entrepreneur with a supportive spouse” type. We aren’t “dual entrepreneurs” who each have their own venture, and given our history and division of labor, we aren’t truly “copreneurs”. Instead, the whole endeavor fell in Pat’s lap, and I came on board to help. And, at the end of the day, I’m probably too competitive to be anyone’s helper, even (or especially?) my adoring husband’s.

Where to go from here? I don’t want a divorce either, so I guess I better start reading Chapter 2 now…

Back to Work (?)

2010-09-01T12:31:00.001-06:00

Summer vacation is officially over. The kids have been back to school for a week now. The morning air carries that old, familiar chill of autumn. And my husband has requested my presence back at work. Really? I thought I was finally “out”…

This past May, I called a meeting with Pat and our HR/organizational consultant, Courtney. I asked that she attend so there would be a 3rd party to mediate. (Working with your spouse is not always easy, and we had been less than discreet with our conflict in the office. In fact, our "disagreements" had reached an all-time high (low?). Our employees were suffering and our marriage was teetering as a consequence.) I needed to share how very frustrated I was with our business and its impact on our marriage, my self, and our family. Because all my earlier attempts to phase out of the business were unsuccessful (I’d tried over 6 different times to “leave” in the past 2 years), I was willing to pull the ultimate card—our business or our marriage. And while I didn’t want to leave Pat in a bind, I was simply at my breaking point.

The three of us sat outside on the local Panera’s patio. I began, "Look, I love you but I don't love the business. I have not contributed in ways we originally hoped for, and worse, my daily activities are unforgiving. I can't handle one more inane client phone call asking why I don't have a dump receipt to prove our sub removed a gas can from a property. I can't handle responding to one more insulting client demand to lower our bid prices--it's a BID for a reason, and no, our sub is not working for free!" Pat starts to interject with the specifics of some ridiculous work order when Courtney says, "Stop. Look at Nikki. She's literally curled her body into a knot as you were talking. Nikki?"

Holding my legs to my chest, I say with a finality that brings calm, "I'm done, for now. I choose Pat, not property preservation. For now, at least. I hope you understand."

So, with the present request to return to the office--to act as an office manager, help train new employees and subs, develop performance plans, to “make the employees more productive and efficient”—I’m faced with the "what have you accomplished in this time off anyway?" While I needed to recover from the stress and disappointment of property preservation, and wanted to redefine how I’m to contribute to the world and model for my children how good work can inspire and create and reform, the reality that my “vacation” has not necessary birthed any new ideas, routines, or income stands likes an insurmountable brick wall. 'Am I working outside of the home or Helix?' No. 'Am I regularly blogging?' No. 'Are you bringing any income to the household?' No.

“What the hell do you do all day?” Ok, Pat didn’t explicitly ask it, but the enthymeme feels like the elephant sitting in the living room. Perhaps it's my guilt, guilt derived from living in and coming from a family that considers work a necessary evil, not an (indulgent) fulfilling of one's passion.

As my sister, Cindy, says, "Helix is your family's livelihood. You can't quit because you don't enjoy it. Who the hell enjoys their work? That's why it's called, WORK!"

As my father says, "You job is to support your husband however you can. You have children counting on you."

As Pat says, "Your absence has caused great financial strain. You did the work of 3 processors, and now we have to pay those processors to take your place. That's a loss of income for our household."

Alas, competing paradigms of work are at work. On the one hand, Pat and I own a business that supports many households other than our own; people rely on us to feed their families. I did commit to Helix when I signed the Inc. papers. I implicitly ask my husband to own the lion’s share of responsibilities and bullshit each day I forgo the office. Bills do not get paid on their own…So I need to pull my share, lace up the ole’ bootstraps, and get my hands dirty, again. Get back to work!

On the other hand, I see how the trappings of middle class demand that we work harder at work that we don’t necessarily enjoy. (That I both enjoy and despise these indulgences does not help.) I see that our business is really not our business and in fact our clients’ demands shape how we work in ways that are simply not always humane. I don’t want to be part of the problem anymore; I want to be part of the solution.

Betwixt and between worlds of work…

The Power of One

2010-07-20T12:12:00.000-06:00

While someone once said there’s comfort in numbers, I don’t think they were talking about careers. In fact, from the perspective of a 4-year old, I’d surmise that there is comfort in the opposite—the power of one, career.

This past Saturday, the kids and I were walking through the Denver zoo with our family friend, CB, and her 4-year old son, Ben. The boys began scouring one of the habitats for a baby zebra when Ben announced he wanted to be a zookeeper when he grew up. CB asked my son, TT, also 4, what he wanted to be. No surprise, “I want to be a zookeeper too!” he proudly proclaimed. Of course, I had never heard him utter this desire once prior.

As we pushed our way through the encroaching 100degree mark, and our pace began to slow as a consequence, I noticed all the messaging aimed at our children. From hats to pins to plastic tumblers, for a price, any child could be walking around the park as a “junior zookeeper.” Since TT himself can’t read yet, nor, I assume, most of the preschool crowd wandering the exhibits, I deduced that it’s not parents purchasing mere souvenirs, but caregivers actually buying a career aspiration for their kids . “Here Bobby Sue, you’re now a ‘junior zookeeper in training’!”

And she grins with her newfound “job,” and hat or pin or plastic tumbler.

TT didn’t get a souvenir that day, or at least not the “junior zookeeper” type. And in fact, his “I want to be a zookeeper” mantra quickly changed Sunday to “Momma, can I be a truck driver when I grown up?” as he watched 18-wheelers roll down the freeway on our drive to Costco. Ah, recency theory at work.

While I understand the power of immediacy for a 4-year old, I didn’t see any crossover in TT’s thinking. For example, he could be a zookeeper that drives animals from habitat to habitat, or trucks to natural lands to find or save endangered breeds. But these options were as remote as the lost sock in the laundry. And given the proverbial, cultural questions of “what are you going to be when you grow up?” to “what do you do?”, it should come as no surprise that children and adults alike struggle to define their work.

While I’ve worn many hats over the years, from waitress to student to professor, at any given time, I had some “thing” work-wise to call my own. When asked the question ‘what do you do?,’ I could always answer, and I always answered in the singular. “I’m an Assistant Professor.” “I’m a Business Owner.” I have never said, “I’m a wannabe writer, a wife, a business owner, a mother of 2 young children, a dabbler in art and design, and a scourer of estate sales.” In fact, now that I am all those things and no longer have a “work path,” I have avoided all situations where I’d have to answer the proverbial, “What do you do?” question. Truth be told, being without a designated career path is a bit like being Waldo in the zebra habitat at the zoo. Disconcerting.

So how do I encourage a hybrid career to my young children when I too struggle over the absence of the self-possession of a defined career, income, job title, or otherwise, meaningful work outside the home? Or when I yearn, just like my son, for the singular “I want to be an X”?

Learning labor

2010-07-01T16:53:00.000-06:00

My son (nickname, “TT”) grabbed hold of his marigold yellow FAO Schwarz toolbox, crawled under the dining table, and while extracting the well-worn wrench proclaimed, “Don’t bother me Momma! I’m working!”

No, the table was not in need of repair. TT was simply in need of an identity—a way to fit into the grown-up world of (male) work. After all, for almost a year, he’d return from preschool only to learn that his Daddy was out “working on a stinky house” and wouldn’t be home until past his bedtime. From his mind’s eye, he saw:

1. Daddy WENT to work (outside of the home).
2. Daddy physically LABORED at work (strength over mind).
3. Daddy used TOOLS at work (machinery manipulated to complete a task).
4. Daddy didn’t LIKE work (‘I HAVE to go work on STINKY houses).
5. And when Daddy was at home, he was STILL working! (Talking to sub-contractors on the phone, completing our own home repairs, etc.)

TT’s Aristotelian view of work as toil came not just from his Dad, but what he picked up at preschool too.

Ever eavesdrop on parent-child drop-off exchanges at daycare? You know, ‘don’t cry baby. Mommy has to leave for work or she’ll be late. But, you’ll have fun. More fun than me! I promise!’ Or, ‘Daddy doesn’t want to go to work either, but I have to go now.’ Hmm...I'm guilty!

How about those preschool career books lying around—ever flipped through the big bold print? You know the books that plant the quickly rooted (American) question ‘what do you want to be when you grow up?” and offer few answers to that very question with a quick portrayal of traditional, sex-typed occupations. ‘Meet Dave. He’s a Doctor. Meet Jane. She’s a Nurse.’ Where are the social media consultants, entrepreneurs, or non-profit leaders???

It’s no wonder that our daughter, Magda, is worried that she might only get to be 1 thing when she grows up! She’s being asked to choose A work identity, now, at age 5!

While Daddy no longer works “in the field” and instead “goes to the office” Monday through Friday (the topic of another post), our son’s developing concept of work continues to gravitate toward that which he can see, manipulate or produce. Waving a hammer holds much more weight for him than sitting in front of the computer, though he enjoys the latter much more than the former...

And so it begins...

2010-06-30T15:55:00.002-06:00

On the way to summer kinder camp this morning, my 5-year old daughter asks me, “Mommy, can I be more than one thing when I grow up?”

“Of course!” I say, enchanted that she’s thinking beyond the traditional preschool lecture on work. You know, the ‘ I want to be a teacher when I grow up.’ (Please, teachers take no offense; I was one myself awhile back.)

“I can be 10-things?” she pursues.

“Yep,” I nod, searching for a kid friendly tune on the radio.

Then quiet, though I’m guessing that the conversation is not over. If I listen closely enough, I can hear the wheels churning (and not the car wheels). A “but…” is rising in her consciousness.

“So how can I be 10-things mama when you’re only 1 thing?”

Oh no. I don’t want to ask. I ask anyway, “What one thing am I?”

“You’re just a Mommy,” she declares.

And just then the radio stops on, ‘Life is a highway. I want to drive it all night long…’ My 4-year old son shouts, “Turn it up Mommy!” and I realize that the teaching moment is lost to Lightening McQueen’s theme song.

So I proceed to sing aloud with the giggles from the backseat on our way to summer kinder camp all the while asking the questions that urged me to finally dive into the mommy blog universe. Because I know I am not the only woman to ask how the hell her 42 years of work experiences and pursuits distill into one singular identity of mother? Is this my fault? In my efforts to be a “good mother” have I forgotten to show them other aspects of “me” or “work”? Is this a wake up call to start? Then again, what meaningful work other than mothering do I want to model?

The pursuit begins. Momma needs work.