10:15 p.m. on a Friday night and my cellphone was buzzing. Who in the world would be calling so late? I was curious and probably should have thought twice before answering when I saw my friend’s name on the caller ID. But being the loyal girlfriend with little to do other than work on the book proposal I have been dreading, I picked up … and subsequently got an earful about the most recent perceived snub Anne had experienced at the hands of another suburban stay-at-home-mom. Something about not getting an invitation to someone’s kid’s birthday party and then running into them at swim team practice and then a snotty comment about another mom’s actions at the brownie meeting. Or did I mix this story up with the one I heard last week? I’m not sure; I drifted off and started scrolling through my Facebook page while she droned on.
Okay, I know! I am horrible, a horrible friend. After all, I love Anne. She’s been a loyal friend who dropped everything at any hour of the day or night more...
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Tags:Girlfriend Gab, Juggling & Struggling, SAHM Sisters
Blame it on good old Isla Vista, the post-adolescent playground by the sea where both Marcie and I retreated for four years of kamikaze shots and keggers on “DP” (Del Playa, for those who care) while ostensibly earning a degree from UC Santa Barbara. For some reason, both of us girls raised in the heart of suburbia took our own sweet time getting around to the business of growing up, let alone reaching mommyhood … and I took much longer than she did.
Unlike Marcie’s luck with her now hubby, none of my UCSB stoner surfer boyfriends endured far past graduation. Maybe it was the colder waters of Northern California or the decidedly less laid-back culture of early ‘90s San Francisco, but somehow the sandy blond boys were nowhere to be found in the City by the Bay … or at least in the preppy Marina district where I lived for most of my twenties. For seven years post college graduation, I stumbled through any number of bad boyfriends and even worse break-ups. There was the snowboarder more...
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Tags:Express Male: Hubby Talk
“You have no idea what I am going through”… there’s always that person who seems to hint (more than a few times, downright complain) about how difficult his/her life is. Their child is a “handful” or “has more energy” than yours. “I want one of those,” as if you’ve never had to chase your 18-month old around for 2-hours because the little tyke just found out how much cooler feet are for getting places. So actually, I do know what you’re going through. In fact, almost every parent on the planet knows (I had to say “almost” because I had to factor in the slackers out there that don’t give a crap...check back later, more to come on lame-ass loser parents). Whether you have an angel or a little devil, the choice to raise another human being is a 24/7 commitment complete with sleepless nights, dog-tired days, scheduling conflicts, cancelled vacays, puke, snot, poo, pee, tantrums, weeping jags, worry, fear, exhaustion, humiliation and moments of dementia. All the things you likely haven’t experienced in very long time (if ever at more...
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Tags:Express Male: Hubby Talk, Just For Laughs
“Suffer to be beautiful.” It’s a saying I heard often in my childhood years as my mom struggled to get a comb through my angel fine mane in the mornings before school, and later as she tweezed my brows into the perfect Brooke Shields bushy arch through my adolescent years. But little did I suspect this notion of enduring minor pain for the sake of vanity would become somewhat of a theme throughout my life … and that it would only get harder – and more expensive – the older I got.
The expensive side of staying beautiful – or just “somewhat hot, for a mom” as my husband would put it – is where this warped perspective starts to intersect with the typical WoMo life. I mean, it’s one thing to forgo the pumpkin pie and hit the treadmill when the rest of the family is feasting and snoozing, but when the escalating price of various beauty treatments (facial peels, special creams, highlights, trainers, injections, extensions, nip/tucks, etc.) start to add up to a third or more of more...
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Tags:Express Male: Hubby Talk, Looks: Is This Mirror Working?
“I’m not mad at you – I’m just busy.” It’s entirely possible that will be on my tombstone someday given the amount of times I catch myself saying or typing it to friends and family. Mostly, it’s in response to a misunderstood email I fired off in haste, eager to clear out the inbox or the Blackberry. For some reason, it always seems better to at least answer an email, no matter how concise the answer, than to leave someone dangling … or so the rationale goes. So, I will take the 2-3 minutes to type a sentence or two just to show I’m here and listening, even if it’s a lame, “Sure, sounds good” or “Good luck and talk soon!” But as we all know, the typed word – particularly when shortened in the interest of time and let’s face it multitasking – can often be misinterpreted, often in the bitchy way.
Of course, there are also those emails sent in haste that actually are a bit bitchy. You can probably relate if you picture the scenario: It’s late, more...
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Tags:Guilt: The Bad G-spot, Time Is A Four Letter Word
All work and no play sucks. For anyone. So before you freak out completely, take a trip (kids and dad not included). An overtired and cranky WoMo needs a little diversion just like everyone else, but for some reason, we moms have a habit of depriving ourselves of "me time." Well not anymore, gals. I’m tired as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore! Need convincing? Here are more than enough reasons to pack your bags and your best gal pals and hit the road:
Me time. Yes, you need it. Lose the guilt. Lose the fear. It will not hurt your child if you leave for a weekend. The wee one will be fine and you will be amazed how a mere 24-48 hours with your girlfriends can rejuvenate you (mentally and physically).
Men do it. About 99% of you are nodding your heads. No doubt the hubby’s been to sporting events, birthday/bachelor parties (even for fringe acquaintances), camping, fishing, skiing or surfing trips, and most likely Vegas, at some point in the last year. Balance more...
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Tags:Express Male: Hubby Talk, Girlfriend Gab, Looks: Is This Mirror Working?, WoMoLists
October 20th, 2009, posted by Aimee, Tags: On The Career Track
The cover of TIME, a new book by Maria Shriver and a week-long "special report" on The Today Show - need any more evidence that we Womos are the hot new "it girls" these days? Sadly, Matt Lauer took the report to a low note, asking the California First Lady and author whether it wasn't true that "some working women actually like to do more house work than their husbands" because it gave them more power in the home (paraphrasing here). Um, no, Matt. We love a man who dumps the Diaper Genie, cooks a mean mac 'n cheese and occasionally picks up his socks ... or better yet, doesn't mind shelling out for a housekeeper and lots of take-out. No one I know relishes the power of our domestic wiles. The whole thing reminded me of a comment a friend of mine made the other day, referring to the ubiquitous TV commercial from the '70s many of us remember for a perfume called "Enjolie" (i.e., "take home the bacon, fry it up in a more...
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Tags:On The Career Track
Now there’s a concept that most working moms will never have the opportunity to experience. I ran into a couple of moms on Friday while I was picking up the 7-year old. They were “killing time.” I wasn’t even sure what to say. “Congratulations.”? “Ah, yeah, I hated time anyway.”?
Giving hours, or even minutes, the ol’ heave ho is not something I do regularly. The very thought of it kinda makes me crazy with nervous energy (I suppose that goes against the point). What would I do with myself? Chat with a stranger? Doodle? In the spirit of Seinfeld, maybe I could just do "nothing"? Or, better yet, I could finally program my phone… Oops, but that would mean I’m not really killing time anymore. Productive, as usual.
The WoMo day is based on productivity. Task 1, 2, 3, 4…done! Next!! My days are often like a drive thru window. You know the one with the digital clock (hovering like an overzealous boss) slaying the seconds until the next guy gets served. I can’t even get a mani/pedi on more...
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Tags:SAHM Sisters, School Daze, Time Is A Four Letter Word
Inquiring minds want to know. So, here it is. My name is Marcie Carson, or some may know me as Marcie Baim, or even Marcie Carson Baim, sometimes with a hyphen, sometimes not. Take it from me, when you get married make a decision about taking his name or not and stick to it (IE Design produced a marketing piece not too long ago and my name appeared 3 different ways).
I got here because I met an 18-year old punk rocker 23 years ago at UCSB. It may sound corny, but I think we were supposed to be together, though I'm not sure why. I was the geek high school cheerleader and he was the rebel with spikes (it was right out of Valley Girl). He wore band buttons, pogo’ed to The Clash and drank Schaefer Light by the keg. I wore peg leg jeans, spent way too much time head-banging to the Scorpions and drank peach wine coolers until I puked (which was way too often). He was usually there to hold back my hair. It was a more...
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Tags:Express Male: Hubby Talk, Party Girl
Accrapulate: the act of accumulating a large amount of child/baby gear over time (usually crap that takes up precious space in a garage) /
Bagmata: the red marks you get on your hands from carrying too many shopping bags in from the car because the toddler is still strapped into his carseat (and of course, you’re running late to your next urgent mom errand) /
Cookie Nookie: giving the offspring a diverting treat in an attempt to partake in adult activities
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Tags:Just For Laughs, WoMo Book (untitled)
After a 12 hour day (again) and facing an evening of slogging through the 150 emails that piled up during all my meetings today, the Dr. Phil show I happened to catch over dinner tonight just didn't improve my mood. Here's a link to the show - yet another debate between stay at home moms and working moms. Yawn. So sick of this debate and finger pointing. No situation is ever 100% black and white, and it's a tough life no matter whether you work full-time, part-time or stay at home all day. We all miss our kids, get sick of our kids sometimes and then wake up in the morning and start all over again. Guess it makes for good TV though, especially when they can find the tyrannical ninnies like "Jessica" featured on the show.
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Tags:Guilt: The Bad G-spot, Pop! Culture, SAHM Sisters
After a fourth weeknight in row spent tapping away on a laptop until just shy of midnight, I decided to run my time … just for the fun of it. To explain (and unfortunately for my employers), we in the PR agency world are required to account for every 15 minute increment of our time of every single day, with the goal of being extremely “billable” to clients. So, it’s as easy as a click of the mouse to see a snapshot of a week or month’s worth of work.
I ran that time report and low and behold – I put in an average of 48.5 hour weeks last month. The previous month, I was closer to a 58-hour work week average. So, long hours, boo-hoo. But here’s the clincher: I am a “part-time employee” who volunteered to take a 20% pay cut after my son was born in order to get the privilege of Fridays at home. So, I am putting in a heavier than the average full-time employee workload, within a four-day work week, at an 80% more...
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Tags:Colleagues & Coworkers, On The Career Track, Time Is A Four Letter Word
A colleague told me a great story the other day that highlighted what can happen when we try to apply our work lingo to the world of a two year old. Jen said she was arguing with her preschool-aged daughter one morning about getting dressed (sound familiar anyone?). Her little girl wanted to wear “the same Tinker Bell shirt she wore yesterday AND slept in last night.” As Jen tells it, “I told her ‘no’ and then I channeled Aimee Grove and said, “…the bottom line is that I don’t care what you wear, but you’re not wearing that shirt again today,” to which she responded, “Where’s the bottom line? I don’t even see it, Mom! Is it this one?” then pointed to the crack between two boards in the floor and stomped away mumbling something about “not seeing the bottom line.”
Am I guilty of trying to cram work-isms down the throats of my family? Hell, yes. Not only do I schedule T’s playdates into my Outlook and use my work bridge line for phone calls with grandma/hubby more...
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Tags:On The Career Track, Time Is A Four Letter Word
After finding scribbled lists strewn throughout our house, it occurred to me that the seven year-old was compiling his holiday wish list. A bit early, but as a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of gal, I appreciate the foresight. So what would appear on a WoMo wish list? Here are a few wants that seem oh-so-appropriate, but let me know what you think...
Wish #10: After all that pumping, please let my breasts return to their demi-buxom selves. (Too late option: can I just get a little boobie pick-me-up?).
Wish #9: Allow me the clarity to get out the door without forgetting something.
Wish #8: One frustration-interruption-free morning. Let's start with a little tranquility in the toilet (perhaps with a book or magazine), a peaceful shower (with time to shave my entire leg, both of them, and let’s throw the pits in there too), a complete and undisturbed beauty regimen (hair and make-up!) and let’s finish this hedonistic pursuit with a wrinkle-free ensemble (that I don’t have to spot-clean to wear).
Wish #7: Keys to a new sex drive.
Wish #6: Just once, only once…I wish the hubby more...
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Tags:Express Male: Hubby Talk, Looks: Is This Mirror Working?, Pop! Culture, Time Is A Four Letter Word, WoMoLists
Before I had a child (note to self: why do so many sentences I write these days begin with those same words?), the concept of napping was not only foreign to me, it was borderline repulsive. A typical Type-A personality, I thought that anyone who would suddenly cuddle up with a blanket to grab a few z’s in the middle of the day must just not care about getting anything done in life. Even when Tav was a hungry, colicky newborn waking every two hours through the night for a boobie snack and everyone urged me to “sleep while the baby sleeps,” there was no way that was ever happening. And probably worse, I recall numerous times over the years when friends with young kids would complain about their offspring refusing to nap when I dismissed their complaints out of hand, often noting proudly that my mom could never get me to nap either and that some people, even children, don’t need to sleep as much as others. Throw this one (like hundreds of others) into the category of “Stupid more...
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Tags:Juggling & Struggling, Time Is A Four Letter Word
Sometimes in Womoland, it’s the little things that get to you. Here are a few of my little “don’t you hate it whens” - any of these sound familiar?
o You get mascara on one eye ... and that's when your sweetpea wakes up from his nap screaming
0 Just after you exclaim, “Playing hooky at the zoo with my little guy!” on Facebook, you remember your boss is a friend (and monitors your posts)
0 You start singing the theme from “Little Einsteins” under your breath in the office
o A single, childless colleague complains about insomnia. Please, what a luxury.
o The new client/business prospect/new boss insists on a conference call with you and “the new team” on your first day off in months – and the only day that pre-school offers parent tours
o Your well-meaning CEO tells you he really needs some “senior leaders who can put in those 14 hour days to network with influencers” to balance out those of you on the mommy track
o You answer a “private call” on your cell at more...
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Tags:Colleagues & Coworkers, Looks: Is This Mirror Working?, On The Career Track, Pop! Culture, WoMoLists
The reality is not quite as tragic as this picture (though sporting Madonna's platinum disco fro in 1993 may have provided a glimpse into my future). Despite my years working in fashion, I find myself utterly OUT of fashion at times. How could this be? I worked for Madonna for goodness sake! I shopped for her sunglasses and shoes, I plucked boa feathers from her sweaty skin! I ask you ladies, what does being a crazed working mom do to our style sense?
This painful realization hit me at work the other day. There are girls in my office that were exiting diapers when I was entering college and while I try to stay in the know, there are a lot of styles that I ignore as a matter of mommy survival. Ever tried to crouch down to help a toddler in low rise skinny jeans? I’m guessing that’s why there are mom more...
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Tags:Looks: Is This Mirror Working?
It’s not all about what you give up to be a working mom. There are also some perks … and a few other less enjoyable things you acquire along the way. I couldn't think of a full 10, so suggestions welcome. Also, any of these sound familiar?
1. 10 pounds. Okay, that was too easy. There’s more.
2. The ability to walk out the door at 5:30 p.m. sharp – with a 90-minute commute and T’s 8 p.m. bedtime, there’s no room for burning the midnight oil (in the office, that is).
3. Efficiency. They don’t call us master multitaskers for nothing. During the same 24-hour period in which I used to only care for myself, a hubby and numerous needy clients, I now also squeeze in all of that plus the care and feeding (and worrying about) a two-and-a-half-year-old human being. Go me!
4. Guilt. Not much to add there; few Womos claim to escape the nagging feelings that they could or should be doing something more or different to spend more time at home and with their kids more...
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Tags:Juggling & Struggling, Looks: Is This Mirror Working?, Time Is A Four Letter Word, WoMoLists
October 2nd, 2009, posted by Aimee, Tags: Pop! Culture
I have a deep dark secret, something so shameful to reveal that I risk losing all my friends and the majority of my dignity by admitting it here. After all, I am a card-carrying liberal gal hailing from possibly the leftiest city on earth here, so it really makes no sense at all, but here it is. I used to be – gulp – a devout Dr. Laura listener. (Long story, but in a nutshell, I had a long commute and a crappy car stereo that only picked up AM stations … you get the picture.) And yes, after too many hours of listening to the brow-beating and shrill nagging, I actually started to buy into the idea that working at all outside the home when you had a child was the ultimate in selfish child abuse. No, I would never, ever do that to my child. We would figure something out, but I would not be leaving my child in the arms of a stranger while I went to work. Of course, this sentiment was easy to have more...
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Tags:Pop! Culture
