Shop-a-what?

Are you a shopaholic? Do you live for the next sale, deal or bargain? I have a confession: I suck at shopping. If someone ever taught a course in this stuff for girls I missed it. I was probably down at the park playing basketball, baseball or hockey depending on the season. As I hit the teen years, I didn't spend much money on clothes, make up or nail polish. Nope, not me. By the time I hit high school, I needed go juice for that four wheeled ticket to freedom more than any pair of jeans.

I've never been much of a girly girl. More book oriented, sporty or techie would be much more descriptive of me. Don't get me wrong. I know how it's done and can play the game with the best of them. I just don't see the point in painting myself up every day for work. My geeky friends and colleagues know what I look like and respect me more for . . . *gasp* . . . my brain than my looks. I just don't see the point in using the stuff when it just wears away, smudges or washes off before I go to bed.

When it comes to clothes, I'm pretty lazy. I like comfort. I like durability. I like classic styles. Why spend $100 on a trendy pair of jeans that you wouldn't be caught dead wearing in 6 months? I can spend $20 on a pair I can wear for years and still look presentable. I'm not even going to talk (much) about what constitutes presentable for jeans in this day and age. If I can see your underwear or any part of your anatomy that shouldn't be showing: butt cracks, belly bulge, love handles, whatever . . . it's not presentable, but that's me.

What does all this have to do with shopping? Well, I shop like a guy. I know what I want I go in and buy it. End of story. I guess that's more hunting than shopping. I buy tech toys, gadgets, DVDs, books, and the like. I do some research, figure out what I want based on features, coolness or potential usefulness and only as an afterthought consider the cost. That is where my money goes. I've cut back A LOT in recent years, but there are times when I cannot resist the latest and greatest toy on the market. For instance, I have cell-phone envy. I'm in a tech world with a tech job. I see gadgets all the time and I want them because they are cool! Wow, you can check your email? Stock report? Traffic? And cook dinner with it? I have got to get me one of those!

Needless to say this means that I need to be aware of the money I spend. Tech toys can really add up fast. Especially in a world where as soon as you buy one something new comes out the next day. Now if I could just figure out how to have all of that and save for emergencies, the future and whatnot . . . I'd be in great shape. All I can say is that I'm working on it.

Manners Online

Web 2.0 was a major move forward in the Internet and allowing of more online interaction and community. There is no doubt that the way we've evolved to interact with each other has embraced the updates in technology. The technology will continue to evolve whether people like it or not. The question becomes: are we all so inured to criticism and feelings that our conduct online is considered appropriate? Have we completely abandoned the concept of manners?

People post things all the time. Personal, technical, opinion, public, anonymous or not: the topics are endless. Some discussions are very civil and stay on topic without degrading into personal attacks or vituperative remarks. Those are the exception rather than the rule, it seems.

No area or subject is immune to comment trolls as I call them. These are the people who take a valid topical discussion and bring in a personal attack that derail everything. Granted, everyone is entitled to their opinion.

My question is: has technology evolved to the point where individuals no longer care that another person is at the other end of the comment, post, article, thread, email, text message or whatever? Have we devolved to the point that manners are not important? We're more and more isolated by technology. Need to contact someone, send a text. Need to discuss details on a project, send an email. Want to comment on a product or technology, make a post on your blog or comment on someone else's blog. Even while we're in social settings, mobile phones and wireless devices keep us abreast of what's going on in the ether. Has someone you know answered a text or responded to an email while you're in their presence in the past week? I bet you have seen this.

Any online offering is subject to this behavior: games, newsgroups, blogs, shopping sites, reviews, etc. At what point do we say enough? Some people admit to being provocative and hostile on purpose. They don't care that others take what has been said personally. Follow up posts telling people not to be so sensitive are not helpful. What is written in text does not contain the nuances of feeling or tone that could make an innocuous message hurtful. Hurtful messages are hurtful regardless.

There are times when unplugging is the right thing to do. What happens when all the good people unplug and leave all the content to the trolls? Given the way technology and industry are going, I don't believe this is going to happen. More people would benefit from "Nettiquite" and better writing classes.

Fool’s Who?

Ok, I'm something of a skeptic. I've spent all day thinking about the fact that it's April Fool's Day. Fell for a couple odd jokes as well along the way. However, given the line of work I'm in, nothing that a customer wants surprises me anymore. That, however, is a topic for another day.

What I don't get is everyone trying so desperately to be funny. Most of this crap isn't funny, not even slightly. Granted, I looked at everything I read today with a jaded eye. If they keep pushing these stories forward on a real news site on any day but today, I'll be absolutely sickened. All I can say is, "Thank GAWD it's almost over."

I'm all for a good joke, but nothing I saw today even remotely resembled a "good joke."

A year of change

One year ago today, we learned we were pregnant. It was a very memorable occasion given all that had happened to us.

It actually wasn't the first time we discovered we were pregnant. No, I only have one child. You see, we miscarried in January 2007. We learned this at our 9 week appointment, the first doctor visit for us. We had been so excited over the holidays. We'd kept it quiet and just enjoyed the secret knowledge that we were going to have a baby. Only those that really knew us were in on it as they noticed the change in my habits. The night before our 9 week appointment, I felt a huge flutter. Not knowing anything, I was so excited. The baby moved! All that excitement came to a crashing end the next morning when there was no heartbeat during the first ultrasound. After much reflection and discussion with our fabulous doctor over the next couple weeks, we determined that I had felt the seizure that lead to the baby's death that fateful night. There was no necrosis of the fetus on that first ultrasound. The baby looked perfect, just no movement and no heartbeat. We learned what necrosis meant over the next couple weeks as my body didn't reset still thinking I was pregnant. It is heartbreaking to see what at first had been a perfect fetus slowly wither away. The news was devastating and even worse was the waiting. We knew the baby was gone but we still hadn't actually miscarried yet. It took weeks and 2 D&Cs to actually get everything back to normal. In the meantime, I mourned.

Those closest to me realized I was desperately fighting a losing battle with a major depressive episode. My mother, her friend and my husband conspired together and decided I needed a change of scenery. It was off to the big island of Hawai'i for us and 2 blissful weeks of not thinking about anything but our whims and wishes. We went hiking, geocaching, snorkeling, scuba diving and ate wonderful fresh seafood. Somewhere in the middle of the trip I began to feel a bit funny but I waved it off. After all, we were in paradise! The night we were scheduled to fly home, I ordered a sumptuous lobster meal that I don't normally get and practically turned green when the plate hit the table. I couldn't eat it. My husband and I winked at each other simultaneously as he took care of my dinner as well. Thoughts were racing . . . were we pregnant again?

After an all night flight home, we didn't hesitate in heading for the store and a home pregnancy kit. Yep, that was one year ago today. A lot has happened since then: pregnancy complications in the form of gestational diabetes, birth and the subsequent wonderful months of raising our son.

What a wonderful year it has been.

Switching Sides

Depending on where your mind is that title could have all sorts of interesting connotations. However, I'm looking at one in particular: changing the hand you brush your teeth with. If you're like most people you brush with your dominant hand. If you believe population genetics, that's about 95% of us brushing right handed and 5% left handed.

Per a comment I read excerpted from a book I haven't read yet, the theory is that if you exercise your brain in some simple ways it leads to more production of neurotrophins that help fight off the effect of mental aging. Don't believe me? Here's a link to Laurence C. Katz, Ph.D. and Manning Rubin's site, and book, Keep Your Brain Alive. The concept is simple, do thing a little differently than you usually do and you exercise your brain. A simple example is brushing your teeth opposite handed, (there are more, go check them out.)

I tried brushing with my non-dominant hand last night. If you haven't done this before and are not somewhat ambidextrous from some other cause (breaking a dominant hand or arm one or more times during your formative years,) this is HARD. Doing it normally, you go in, don't even think about it and viola, 2-3 minutes later you're off to do something else. Getting your teeth clean if you use the other hand takes longer . . . I'm picky about my teeth. I brush the recommended 2 minutes every time being sure to balance the areas covered. If I find a spot I missed marked by distinct texture where there should be smooth enamel, I go back and take care of it right then. Doing this process entirely with the opposite hand (and no, I didn't cheat at all, thank you,) takes time. About 15 minutes in my case.

It is just one of those things that make you go, "Hmm," as you go about your daily routine. If it means a healthier brain down the road, I'll try it. It's time to go find a copy of that book and do some more investigation.

Little things that count

I'm going to say something that may sound rather odd to most folks. Last Friday night, I was thankful that my husband still smoked. You see there is a reason I make this statement. One of our neighbors has outdoor cats. Not something I would do in this climate as we can have rather harsh winters. We also seem to be in a string of hard weather winters around here as well. Then again, these are not my cats.

Recently, the neighbor went out of town. They provided food and water. However I don't believe they provided enough food and water. Granted, the animals are not skeletal nor are they normally ill-cared-for. But in this case, one of the kitties made its way across the street to socialize with my hubby. Hubby is a kitty friendly guy. Cats of all shapes and sizes love him. He came back inside from his smoke and mentioned that he thought the neighbor's cat was hungry.

After talking about it a bit we put out some food for the cat. See, we recently lost a cat (she was 17) and we still have some left over cat food that I haven't made myself throw out yet. Normally I choose not to interfere. In this case, I will NOT let something suffer when it's obvious that the critter is hungry and no one is home to feed it. The cat ate every bite we put out.

These people are not cruel. I think they just don't quite understand the volume of food required by their pets when they leave for extended time periods. I heard that this isn't the first time that hubby has intervened. They were away at the Christmas Holiday as well and underestimated the food requirement. The sad part of that was he encountered another neighbor doing the same thing as they had also noticed the hungry kitties.

Sometimes you just need to do something a little nice for someone. Next time I see them, I'll mention that they need to up the volume of nutritional supplements they leave out for their animals when they're gone.

End of an era

As if everyone else in the world was not talking about it, not grieving over it . . . Arthur C. Clarke has passed away at 90. Over 100 books written. 2001 and 2010 made into movies. It truly is the end of an era of Science Fiction. He will be missed.

4 Months and counting

Yesterday my son was 4 calendar months old. Time really does fly when you have a little one. And one day you look and the little one isn't all that little any more. I'm not saying this is a bad thing. The alternative is much worse. However, my little guy is growing. So it's time to reflect on just how precious every moment is. And secondly, it's time to make an appointment with a photographer who can immortalize these days forever with a much better artistry than I can.

I am off to contemplate how lucky I am for these last 4 months.

Fieldtrips

My hubby and I have a pretty unique situation when it comes to the daily care of our son: both of us work out of the house. I've said to many a friend and colleague that I wouldn't have borne a child if I couldn't spend time raising said child. That is still true. However on days like today, I cannot help but feel like I've missed something.

Today was one of the days that Hubby had primary care duties. He still had a client he had to visit. But this client was friendly to bringing the little Frog Prince along for the appointment. Apparently the Frog Prince was the hit of the day. This in itself is not surprising. (No, I'm not at all biased.)

What is surprising is that I now feel like I've missed something important. Not that anything unique happened today while the two of them were out on their adventure. I strongly feel that a first visit to the hardware store is truly a male-bonding experience. I guess I just cannot adequately express how much I missed them both today.

At least tomorrow's fieldtrip includes me. That is something to look forward to.

Rabid Parents

There are many opinions in the world. And there are many parents who are rational and sane most of the time. Until . . . someone criticizes their children or parenting styles. Then the gloves come off.

Every parent needs to do what they think is right for their child. Every child is different and may have different needs. I do not presume to know anyone else's situation with their child. I only know my own. I read . . . a lot. There are many parenting sites, articles and blogs for anyone to peruse at any given time.

Where the conflict comes in is when someone states something emphatically: do this for your child, don't do that for your child, to spank or not to spank, home school or not, medicate or not, discipline or not. Get a grip folks. What's right for your family and child may not be right for someone else's family or child. I see this daily where a comment on a blog or even just a comment on a blog will spark a rabid attack. No holds barred. Then people start taking sides and it's an all out war.

Few things can really push our buttons like opinions on raising children. I just hope I remember that as I continue my journey through raising our son. And you know what . . . I'm not telling you how to raise your kid either.

Thought Constipation

There are some days that the thoughts just roil around in your head waiting for a means of escape. Any outlet will do. They just need the opportunity to fly free. And then there are other days . . . days when you wouldn't know an original thought if it bit you in the patootie.

That is Thought Constipation. So many interesting things going on in the world and not one of them has generated an iota of interest in me for blogging tonight. Even the drama of my Personal Stalker saga has little to keep me enthralled.

Therefore I will take the evening and go bury my nose in a book. My "to be read" pile, or TBR as I like to call it affectionately, is massive.

The other side of the coin

What, pray tell, is the wife of My own Personal Stalker thinking? I mean after all, her husband is the one who's been asking various family members and friends about me for years. Heck, even she has told my mother that her husband would love to talk to me. I still think that clueless is a good word for "I've lived here for 2.5 years and haven't called" but then what do I know?

I've come up with a couple theories that fit what PS's wife might be thinking: nothing at all, he just wants to talk to her, or complete trust.

Absolutely nothing or complete naivety is rather disconcerting at best. How can you not think anything when your husband keeps bringing up a woman he wants to talk to? Especially one he dated years before and once asked to marry him? Granted, it was a lame reason to get married, but still. I'm not sure I could buy this one as I've talked to her. She doesn't strike me as being this stupid or blasé.

Moving on to he just wants to talk to her . . . ok, fine. He's talking and bringing this up in casual conversation over a couple years. After the fifth or sixth time it was brought up, I'd be kind of suspicious. What on earth could be so important or special about this girl, (except for the fact that you're remembering her through rose colored glasses) that you'd rather talk to her than your spouse? Yeah, the one who DID marry you? And trust me—I wasn't all that nice to this guy in the first place. One of the reasons I knew I had to get away from him and all the negative influences in my life is I hated, yes hated, who I was when I was around him. His humor always hit me wrong. And it made me mad and sarcastic. Not such a nice girl after all.

So that leaves me with complete trust. She knows absolutely and truly in her heart that she has nothing to fear from me. I can tell her now, that she's right if this is the case. Whatever the reason she came to this conclusion, if she did, I can affirm that nothing will ever come of anything, period—end of story. Maybe she is smarter than I gave her credit for realizing that we've lived here for 2+ years and never once have I looked them up. It would have been simple: she's in a social group with my mother. Their phone number is in the member book. Needless to say, I never even looked at it. I can tell you that hearing about her and them from my mother was too much information sometimes. She means well, but . . . not in this lifetime.

Just wondering what PS's wife is thinking is making my head spin.

My own personal Stalker

Do you ever have one of those days where something takes you so completely off guard that you don't quite know how to respond? I usually come up with a good response a day or two later, but sometimes a good one never comes.

I went out to get the mail on Saturday. Something I do fairly regularly, but as the mailbox is not all that far from the door, the likelihood that someone "walking by" might catch me at that given moment is truly minimal. I don't spend a lot of time hanging around outside in my front yard, that is what the deck is for—out back.

So it's the first nice day in forever. Family is scheduled to appear that night for an overdue visit. Hubby says, "Will you go pick up the mail?" Sure, no problem. I don't keep track of "old friends" well. There are 2 good friends, or used to be, I'd like to find again as I regret not keeping them closer. I don't make all that many friends, especially women friends. But this one person who knew me in high school has made it his personal mission in life to track me down. My stalker is non-violent, thank gawd. But I'm not really sure why he's so keen to start hanging out with me again.

In HS I was not a very outgoing person. In fact, given the mental state I was in compounded by being a teenager, I'd say psychotic was probably putting it mildly. Come on . . . I chose which college to attend based on the fact that no one who KNEW ME went there. I didn't like who I was. I didn't like where I was going. And I did everything I could to change the direction of my life.

There I am, standing at the end of the driveway with my head in the mailbox. This unmistakable voice comes flinging across the street, "Some people never write, they never call . . . " And this is supposed to be funny? Didn't the fact that I moved here 2.5 years ago and haven't once looked you up mean anything? He found us based on the county tax records. Great. Wonderful. What good is an unlisted phone number if a stalker knows where you live??

Hubby was terribly nice about having his day completely interrupted. We still were cleaning up the house, the baby needed a bath and he hadn't hit the showers yet. I just wanted them out of there as fast as humanly possible.

I haven't yet come to terms with the fact that now he does have our phone number. I'm not sure what I'll do when he does call.

I can tell you this. After years—more than half my life—reinventing myself, I found that I was reacting and feeling much like I did when I was first leaving for college. Back then, I knew there was an end in sight. I got through it mostly sane. This time, I'm not so sure. The problem is that he expects me to be the same person now that I was then. Because as far as I can tell, even though it's more than 20 years later, we're both married to other people and have kids, he hasn't changed much at all.

People grow and change, or at least I may have deluded myself into thinking so. It's kind of sad and pathetic in a way. In another way, it's just terribly disconcerting. I will have to deal with it someday . . . right now I'm just creeped out.

Belly up to the Milk Bar

Warning: this is a mommy topic post. If you are squeamish about or not interested in the topic of breastfeeding, skip this entry.

Ever since I brought my son home from the hospital, breastfeeding has been a bit different for us. According to the Occupational Therapist who specializes in breastfeeding he has a "tight suck." Basically he crushes the nipple when he latches on and doesn't let go, much like a bulldog. After 2 days of trying to feed him in the hospital, I had sores from trying to feed him. There is a lactation clinic here in my town. I went in. They gave me a nipple shield. It's a cone shaped piece of silicone that goes between the nipple and the baby essentially protecting the tender skin and giving the right shape to the baby to promote sucking properly. It took a couple weeks for my disappointment to wane. I wanted to feed him normally and I was a failure (not really, but hormones will do funny things to the thought process.) Every now and then I would try and feed him without the nipple shield. It was a very painful and demoralizing process. Eventually I just came to the realization that in order for me to breastfeed, there would be this little piece of silicone between us and I would do whatever it took to provide all the nutrients I could. I went to the store and bought a couple extra shields so we would have plenty whenever my little Frog Prince wanted to nurse. In other words, I got over it.

Recently I went back to work. Now I have a real low-stress kind of job in the software industry—if you believe the low stress part, I have some prime coastal property in Arizona to sell you. Returning to this environment has impacted my production but not my desire to breastfeed my child. My production declined rapidly. Once I got back from my first business trip, which Dad and Son bonded quite nicely, my little FP refused the nipple shield. After 3 months of always using this little piece of silicone, now he wanted nothing to do with it? And here's me thinking that all that has happened between now and his birth is that he's bigger and stronger than he was before. After a bit of panic where I wasn't really sure I wanted him anywhere near my unprotected nipple, I gave in and offered it to him. Why? (I mean beside the fact that he was hungry.) I was sick and he desperately needed the antibodies in my milk to keep him from getting sick. Yep, I got the hubby sick too. FP really needed those antibodies. Barracuda boy latched on and believe it or not, I survived. The interesting thing since then: he refuses, absolutely positively refuses, the nipple shield. I've tried. He likes it au natural and won't have it any other way. He also went through the 3 month growth spurt and was feeding all the time. Luckily FP isn't as destructive to the nipple tissue as he was at first. Either that or . . . never mind!

So I guess the next round is on me (pun intended) as he bellies up to the milk bar.

Just do something—even if it’s wrong

As women, is it more important to live the myth rather than respect our feelings of self-respect and self-worth? I heard a quote today from a woman who was miserable in her marriage but chose to lie and say everything was fine when asked. Now, not knowing anything about this woman: her name, age, or circumstances I cannot fathom just letting things continue on that way. It may not be possible for her to extricate herself from the situation due to any number of things, but she could at least try and change either herself or some of the circumstances for the better. I'm not talking abuse here, that's different. In my mind there is a choice in abuse cases that generally is based on whether or not you have any respect for yourself if you stay. There are always ways of getting out if you're willing to make the choices that do work. I'm also not talking about white lies. There are ways to tell people the truth without being cruel if we take the time to think about it.

This woman who is miserable in her marriage though . . . she may have kids, or a special needs child, or parent dependent. Assuming that this is a relatively normal marriage without exigent circumstances, why is she just wallowing in her misery? The impression was that anyone who asks is given an answer of everything is fine. Ok, now go to the husband's point of view: the same conditions exist in his life as hers. Yet she's miserable. We don't know about him but I cannot imagine both of them reacting the same way. If he's lying and saying everything is fine too there is a bigger problem. I read recently that the only person you can change is yourself. So why doesn't she change her thinking? Yes, this situation or whatever is making her miserable is not what she would have chosen. But then life rarely is. We all make choices along the way and we have to deal with the results of our actions or inactions, whatever they may be. So she got herself into a shitty situation, deal with it. Everyone has different challenges to face, sacrifices to make and the consequences of those choices in their lives. Why are some people happy and some not? Because the ones who don't avoid or run away from their problems have the self-esteem needed to DO something about it. When you're standing still and change directions—guess what, you're spinning in circles. If you get moving, even going the wrong way and change directions—viola you're going somewhere. This is a difficult concept for a lot of people. They'd rather sit around and think "Poor Me" than do anything constructive.

So what if your circumstances suck? Take a class. Read a book. Go out with a girlfriend you don't have to pretend with and talk it out. Even little things can help shift the focus away from you and your problems. Figure out some way of coping that doesn't involve lying to everyone around you. Think about how all your loved ones will feel when it finally comes out that you've been lying all along. Think you feel miserable now? Wait until the backlash hits. And it always does. It doesn't help when they ask "why" that you say "I didn't want to hurt anyone." Well, guess what—by lying that is exactly what you did whether you knew it, wanted it, or not.

I'm not saying that we all need to treat strangers on the street or the acquaintances in our lives as therapists. They don't have an emotional investment in you, nor you in them, to make it worthwhile to work things out that way. But there has to be someone, pay someone or call a free helpline if you have to, that can help you work through the emotional baggage and figure out the problem. My husband doesn't let me get away with "I'm fine" when there's obviously something wrong. A lot of times, I don't know what it is. He loves me so he calls me on it. Then he helps me figure it out when there is something bugging me. If he doesn't, it takes some time but I figure it out myself and then do something about it. In this case it just happens that it was impacting him as well as me. That's what I don't get . . . how can these people not know that something is up? Unless they just don't care. That is entirely possible. But in that case—find someone who does care. You're not doing yourself any favors.

Happiness

Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness . . . My hubby got a fortune cookie yesterday that said, "Some people pursue happiness, you create it." I like the sentiment of that. Life . . . this existence we have that some know how to take advantage of, some don't. Liberty . . . freedom, the ability to self-determine what you're going to do and how. Happiness . . . now that is harder. Happiness for everyone it is different.

What is happiness? For some it is material: money, things, more money, chocolate . . . you get the drift. For some it is not material: family, love, faith or feelings of general well being. For others it is simply unattainable. Of course if you don't know what makes you happy it's kind of hard to make sure you get it, isn't it? Back to the fortune cookie. What if you stop pursuing happiness and just create it or decide to BE happy? I know. A sickeningly simple thought that can be very hard to do.

I don't have any answers. But I've come to the conclusion that I am going to find out what makes me happy, short term, long term, whatever and go after it. Because the pursuit can be fun. But you know what? I've got the best hubby in the world. He's my best friend, my partner, my lover and my other half. He and I have a beautiful son who is a treasure and a happy boy as long as he has his favorite burp rags to play with (he's 3.5 months old.) Now that is what makes me happy. If I could figure out my career . . . that's a topic for another day.

Productivity

As I near the end of my maternity leave, I'm struck again by the staggering dependence we Americans have on our automobiles. A staggering number of the vehicles on the road only have a single occupant. And we're driving farther and farther to get to work. Now, granted, some of us just can't get to work using public transportation. Some of us don't live anywhere near our coworkers making carpooling less of an option. And some of us just can't juggle all of that, plus the demands of family, kids, errands or whatnot with sharing rides. To be honest, how many really try? But there are options that can reduce the number of cars on the road at least one day a week. I'm one of the lucky few whose car is parked for more than 90% of the time in front of the house. Why is that? I telecommute. I'm very fortunate to be able to work from home with a combination of the internet and telephone. Every few weeks, I get on an airplane and head into the office for a week. Come on people, this is the age of Information. Why can't more employees work from home, even for just one day a week?

I understand the risks: people will goof off all day and not get anything done costing employers valuable time and resources, workers could become more detached than ever as they hole up at home and have no social interaction at all, or the work cannot be done remotely. With some jobs where there is direct work done that is true. With more and more jobs, most of the information, work or output is done on a computer. If this is the case, there are options to get things done in a less traditional setting. Now obviously this isn't going to work for some jobs: pilots, waiters, mechanics, etc. where the work being done is directly needed. But all those office drones: computer programmers, insurance adjusters, industry analysts, or hundreds of other jobs where people are sitting in front of a computer everyday could benefit from the idea that productivity does not necessarily mean driving into the office for a day.

People ask me how I do it all the time. It's staggeringly easy once you get used to the concept. I spent 10 years driving into the office of the company I work for still, only now I work remotely. How did it happen? Well, my husband got an opportunity too good to pass up in another region. I went in to work and told them I was leaving, they told me I wasn't quitting. I told them I was moving, they worked it out for me. I'm not an executive; I'm not the most valuable employee in the company with industry knowledge greater than the next guy; I'm not irreplaceable. I'm a hard worker who loves what she does. Since the move I've worked from home. You know what I discovered? 70% or more of my time in the office was unproductive time. Unproductive does not mean wasted. I was building rapport and team skills with my coworkers for some of that time. A surprising amount of interaction happens spontaneously in an office setting. Between trips to the restroom, getting refreshments or traveling hither and fro to meetings or appointments a fair amount of an employee's day is spent in the hallways or common rooms. Now some are more efficient at staying focused than others, granted. That's true in any situation. Home workers don't have that distraction and can be more productive than they are in an office setting.

When you're a project manager, like I am, you spend time analyzing resource productivity. For example, a full time programmer only spends 2-4 hours per day actually writing or designing code to attribute to a project. Why the discrepancy in how much work gets done? I mean after all, aren't we "working" for 8 hours a day on average? (We'll stick with that number, though anyone who's been in the industry knows that actually working 8 hours a day is NOT anything close to the reality.) The rest of the time a developer spends at work involves meetings, reviews, planning and all the other nonsense that goes into software development. This doesn't even take into account the re-work that happens when issues are found with the code written, called bugs. Yep, people make mistakes. Happens all the time. No one is perfect. If we could all get that through our heads we'd probably be a lot happier as a society, but that is a topic for another time. If you're more easily distracted, the less valuable work you actually get done. Imagine that. People have a short attention span. They get distracted by new, different or interesting bits that come their way. I've heard it described as shiny object syndrome. Something new and shiny comes along and people just have to get involved, investigate or obtain said shiny object. Think about how many times during the day that someone just pops in to say hi. If you only talk for 10 minutes, 6 people stopping by have used an hour of your day. You say that it isn't that bad, you only talk for moments. Track yourself for a day or two. You might be surprised at how much time you've actually not been working. And we're interrupt-driven as a society: phones, email, instant messages. They all distract from the end goal: productivity.

Working at home can be more productive than working at the office, even for just one day a week. Just think, if you turn off email for an hour or two a day and focus on the document, project, code, plan or whatever it is you're working on . . . you might actually get some valuable work done. When you launch email again in an hour, you've not been out of touch that long and can respond to all those important messages. At the end of the day I can see visible progress on the projects I have. It doesn't take very much discipline at all. How do I work from home? Very easily, thank you very much.

Girlfriends

All my life I have been a very odd girl . . . I don't really have all that many girlfriends. To be perfectly honest, most girls drive me nuts. Since I graduated from college, women have done the same thing. I have very little patience for gossip, makeup, shopping or any other of the major activities that go with being female in this day and age. Put me in the mountains with a backpack and compass. Ride across the country on a motorcycle with a day's change of clothes in the pack. Give me a good book to read or computer game to play. Most of these things will not make the top 10 list for girly activities. Most of the time, I'm ok with that. I have a couple of really good friends who are gals. They aren't what you'd expect either. One's a real jock. The other is fearless in most social situations and wouldn't leave me alone to eat lunch until she became my best friend. I love them to death. But why is it when I'm confronted with a 'girl' situation that I freeze? I don't actually freeze; I'll just sit back and watch.

There is this notion of "sisterhood" among women. The men have their bonding moments over beer and sports. Give me a cold brew, bag of peanuts and a double header (doesn't really matter who's playing) and I am a happy camper. Admittedly, during my most formative years I spent the days playing football, baseball, soccer, smear the queer . . . (yes, that's the guy running around with the football), hockey, climbing trees and fishing. It wasn't until I was about to hit puberty that it dawned on me that I was the only girl in the neighborhood who was "one of the guys." Then we moved and I got to go to a new school. Needless to say, my comfort zone was not conducive to making lots of friends. The guys I felt comfortable around didn't want anything to do with that "weird new girl" and I had no idea how to talk to the girls. All they wanted to talk about was makeup, clothes, hairstyles, and of course, boys. Not knowing anyone as I was new . . . well, my conversational range was limited. The other subjects did not interest me at all. Still don't for that matter. I was at the grocery store just last week and someone commented that I had really clear skin. She asked what my secret was . . . I had to stifle a laugh at her expression when I told her occasionally cleanser, cold water and moisturizer. I don't have any secret. I just don't clog up my pores with that chemical crap they call makeup. I did eventually learn how to put it on, but I couldn't see spending all that much money on it to cake it on my face and wash it off every night before I went to bed. To quote a movie, "I'd just look like me only in color." So now, I just wash my face once a day and all is good. Makes too much sense to me, but then logic has always been one of my assets.

There are times where I've felt the lack of girlfriends in my life. My 2 best friends don't have children. Now this is not a criticism of them as they've chosen other paths for their lives. But I don't have someone I can call and chat over what's new with my son. I also feel a bit weird talking with them about the ins and outs of parenthood. I don't want them to think . . . well, that I'm boring as all I talk about is my son. It probably gets old to them as they don't really have kids, and aren't all that interested in the day-to-day occurrences of being a parent. But then I think maybe I should make some new friends. And therein lies the rub . . . I really don't like most women. The more I think of it, the more grateful I am that I have a son. With my fabulous relationship with Mr. Murphy . . . I'd get the girliest girl in the world as a daughter. At least I know how to throw a football and baseball. My son won't tell me I throw like I girl because I don't.

Of course it'll be several years before the Peanut sees Mom riding off on her motorcycle (there's no place to strap in the car seat,) toss the ball around the yard or have a beer with as we're watching the game. I suppose I should be Thankful for small favors. In the meantime, I just wish I had more friends . . . male or female.

Fear

I can honestly say that until I had a child I didn't know what the true meaning of fear was. Oh sure, I've been afraid before. Who hasn't? But I'm talking about bone chilling, soul curdling, deep down bone cracking fear. The kind that makes you stand up and take notice of what you're going through. Time really does slow to a crawl. The world caved in on me. My breath caught in my lungs and I felt that I couldn't breathe. My vision narrowed to a small mote of dust dancing in the air.

What scared me? It wasn't one thing, it was two. And I can tell you that they happened within four days of each other. Yep, that's right, the two scariest moments of my life in the same week. The first came right after I gave birth to our son. The placenta didn't detach as expected. Here I was just having had the greatest moment of my life, giving birth to my soul mate's and my son, and an hour later I still had not delivered the placenta. There were concerns that the placenta had grown through the uterine wall. There is a medical term for it but I didn't hear that. All I could think of was the fact that if I started bleeding I could die. And it wasn't death I feared . . . it was not ever seeing my son grow, boy, teen, man. I still cannot think about it without just breaking down into tears. At least I'm not shaking uncontrollably like I did before. So an hour after I gave birth I'm being wheeled into an operating room not knowing if I'm ever going to see my best friend, partner, soul mate and husband again . . . not to mention my newborn son . . . it was terrifying. They didn't give me any additional anesthesia since I'd had an epidural. I went out on my own. Yep, I shutdown completely. My reaction to gut wrenching fear? Hide . . . don't face it. So I was out when they went in to figure out what was wrong. I'm sure that the 23.5 hours of labor had little to do with it. Needless to say, I didn't die. I didn't need a hysterectomy. The placenta had one spot that did not come loose. A small amount of teasing and everything was fine . . . but they didn't know that until they got in there to check. It hit all that much harder because we'd fought the gestational diabetes to get to this point to have a healthy baby boy. I know they have to tell you the risks up front so you can make an informed decision. My reality came down to "save my life" so I could be with my husband and son.

The second scare came 4 days later. My son and I had been released from the hospital right on schedule. We took him to the Pediatrician for his 4 day check up. Nothing new or unusual there. The doctor thought he looked a little orange (the first time I've ever heard "a little" being equated to the color of a pumpkin) and asked to do another bilirubin test. Yep, you guessed it, he had jaundice. At the time, I had no idea that this was a common occurrence in newborns. I know that now . . . hindsight is 20/20. But when they tell you that you have to take your 4 day old son back into the hospital NICU all the really bad things go through your mind. After all you've had this small, fragile little person for all of 4 days. You have responded to his every little cry. Held him. Cuddled him. Cared for him in the dark of the night. And now you have to take him to the NICU because something is wrong. This is something that if you've never been around many newborns that you would not know. It took my husband, who is the oldest in a rather large family, to explain it to me. This of course happened after we got the little one to the hospital and into the baby tanning bed. Everyone else just assumed I was losing it I guess. And trust me, I wasn't losing it . . . I'd lost it. Gone. Bye-bye. He wasn't in the hospital for long. Just barely 24 hours. They left him in the tanning bed all night and into the morning. I don't know that the tanning bed did all that much good, really. My milk came in and he started actually getting more to eat. The nurses were saying that getting more milk through his digestive system would also help clear him up as well. So we fed him, and fed him, and pumped and fed him some more. We took him home the next day. Thankfully he's been the right color, gaining weight and growing as expected ever since.

Even though I can now write this without shaking, I can't really articulate how afraid I really was. It's taken me almost 2 months just to get to this point where I can write about it. They say that time heals. In this case it has to a point, but I will never forget how deeply afraid I was. I'm sure that there will be other times where the fear reaches up and grabs me by the throat. That's called being a parent, isn't it? I can only hope that those moments are few and very . . . very . . . very far apart.