Did I really just quit my job? Answer: I did. Yes, I did.

A year and a half ago I had my third baby. When I went out on maternity leave, I told my boss I was 50/50 on coming back (code for “don’t ask”). After five months, I came back. Happily. And my husband – a man not beholden to traditional gender roles - quit his job. His good job. The one where the stock doubled after he left. He didn’t quit his job to join a gym or the Sierra Club, but to change a lot of diapers and to be the preschool chaperone in a baseball cap.

Prior to this decision we had been a dual income family with two kids, a nanny, and a network of family and friends helping to keep the Ballbach enterprise afloat. It was working, but we were THAT family who spent more time shuttling between places – always busy, always late, always juggling, always operating at an elevated RPM. We lived for the weekends to “catch up” on life – cramming every errand into six hours on Saturday afternoon (and cursing the dry cleaner who closed at 2pm) and then jealously guarding the rest of it for family time. We were living, but not living well. And, the trim that so desperately needed painting – it never stood a chance.

Since we made the Mr Mom decision, our lives have changed dramatically. It has been better. Not always easy, but better. The intentional deceleration has given us time back. Time with our children in both scheduled and unscheduled ways. Time to connect with friends. Time to connect with our community. Time to paint the trim and plant a garden.

Now it is a year later and we are switching roles. My husband is re-entering the workforce, and I’m exiting it. And it’s hard. I changed my mind a million times over the past few months as this plan was hatching. I did casual online nanny searches to see if the *perfect nanny* might magically appear on my computer screen. I thought about going in with a *part time* proposal. But every time I started going down the road of staying, I kept coming back around to the fact that we are giving our boys a gift in giving them one of us full-time. Most people don’t get that choice.

Telling my boss Ted on Monday night was not fun. My resignation was not well scripted or even well thought out, but it was real. Ted could not have been more gracious or supportive, exactly what you’d hope for in a boss, but I know it sucks for him because he has to fix the hole. And it’s a hole he didn’t see coming.

I think it surprised him because it’s transparent that I love my work. I love my job. I love my boss. I love the people I work with (Kristen, Noel, Mike, Larry, Elaine, Deanna, Heidi, Alecia, Piper, David, Satin, Scott, O'D, Diane, Hilary, Gary, and on and on the list goes). I get energy from doing what I do every day at the office. And so when I wrote the job description for my replacement today:

“Are you a tenacious consumer marketer who is passionate about wireless data? Does the thought of bringing new wireless products to consumers with a clear value proposition energize you? Do you like to be part of the growth engine of a large company? Are you an inspirational leader that knows how to translate innovative ideas into clear and meaningful action items for your team? Because we are looking for a Director of Marketing on our Consumer Data team that is a seasoned and passionate consumer marketer who loves technology and knows how to get things done.”

…I started to sob in my office. A long ugly cry. I was crying because I felt the sacrifice of having to make a decision not just for me, but for my family. A friend reminded me today, “You can have it all. Just not all in the same decade.”

It feels like that. I spent the last 10 years working at being a Working Mom. And the obvious truth is that it’s hard to do and do well. I don’t regret the decision I made to stay working as long as I did, because I would not have been ready earlier. I wasn’t ready to hit the pause button years ago when many of my friends were opting out of the workplace. I felt I needed to accomplish more professionally and I was honesty scared to step off the train. I knew my friends were experiencing magic at home, but I was getting a rush at work too. Not to mention a nice paycheck and feedback for a job well done. Unlike my Mommy friends, I get an annual evaluation where my accomplishments are logged, my skills assessed, and my ego feed. Last I checked, there isn’t an eval form for number of band-aids applied, successful meltdowns avoided, or banana bread made.

I admit that much of my identity has come from my professional life. My work status has been central to my value prop (yep, nerdy marketing speak.) This tethering has loosened over the years, but it’s still been a natural fallback when I think about defining myself. “My name is Kate and I work out of the home. I also have 3 boys, an amazing husband, I occasionally run, and hope to be in a Book Club one day when I have more time. So please don't count on me for carpools or signing up for the PTA.”

Something hit me when I realized that my middle son was starting Kindergarten this Fall. The first thing I realized was “thank the Lord we’ve made it this far.” (See previous blog posts on Colin for more background. Suffice it to say that this is the boy who asked me when reading the Easter story to please start back at the beginning when God made the Earth and to please explain how He is could possibly make water because how can anyone make water and why would he choose to only make two people – Adam and Eve – when he could have made more people in the Garden of Eden and where is Jesus sitting right now anyway? He’s also the kid that uses a baseball bat as a weapon.) Then I realized that I had missed the window with my first two boys and that this was my chance to do it differently with my third. I didn’t want to get down the road twenty years from now regretting never having made that choice to be at home during those early formative years. I have yet to talk to anyone who regretted staying home with their kids, but I have talked to others who wished they had made a different choice when they had the opportunity to do so.

I’m giving myself one year to acclimate. I suspect it will take me that long to get comfortable with a new rhythm and find new outlets for creative expression. My goal is to simply be present for my boys and to chill out about plans for the future. I also hope to clean out a couple of drawers.

What's been up with my blog

Some of you have been wondering what’s up with my blog. The history:

Oct – last blog post
Nov – sheer laziness
Dec – the Holidays excuse
Jan – joined Facebook
Feb – became Facebook addict
Mar – best laid plans to blog again
Apr – have decided to shift focus and write a screenplay

Did you know that 98% of screenplays fail?

That’s ok though. I’m writing one because I want to. For me. To feed that creative impulse I have. The one that doesn’t involve my work or my children. And it feels great.

The electronic recipe box idea (feeding my other passion of finding new business opportunities) is currently on hold. Technology limitations.

Here’s a very rough, unedited scene from my currently untitled screenplay:

KELLY
You know how I know if I'm with the
wrong guy.

ANNIE
How?

KELLY
If he doesn't enjoy sucking my
toes.

ANNIE
That's your litmus test for a
long-lasting relationship? Not trust,
not mutual consideration, but a
foot fetish?

KELLY
It hasn't failed me yet. Remember
Jason? He loved my feet. He used
to put Bon-bons between my toes and
then eat them. It was incredibly
sexy - that is until they started
to melt. Anyway, that relationship
lasted 3 years.

ANNIE
And you're sure it was your feet
that kept you together?

KELLY
(Showing feet)
Have you seen my feet? I haven't
missed my weekly pedicure since I
was 22. Even when I was going
through that horrible, gut wrenching
breakup with Stan, I didn't cancel
my appointment.

ANNIE
I can only assume this means that
Stan was, in fact, not a foot guy.

KELLY
He was initially, but I think it
was really all an act. He would go
down there, massage a little, even
whisper sweet nothings to my pinky
toe ... but he never seemed to
fully enjoy the toe sucking part.

ANNIE
Clearly a doomed relationship.
(Beat) Don't take this wrong,
because I don't want to judge.
And, let me just say for the record that
your feet are in fact incredible.
Totally worthy of eating food off of.
I'm just wondering, wondering what
tasty cuticles has to do with staying
together.

KELLY
You know Jesus' disciples kissed
his feet, right?

ANNIE
Umm, yeah .. but... I think that
was a sign of worship. Of
adoration.

KELLY
Same thing for me. It's my measure
of a man. Of how willing he is to
be vulnerable to my needs. I know
it sounds kind of crazy, but it's
worked for me. Jason, Chris,
Jerry, Tony - all toe suckers. All
good relationships really. Stan,
Mark, John, Harry, and Tony (the
second time around) - all
toe-adverse psychopaths in sheep's clothing.

ANNIE
What happened to Tony the second
time around?

KELLY
He had a bad experience with the
peppermint cooling foot lotion.
Things were never the same after
that.


Wish me luck!

Good Friends

You can tell someone is a good friend when you hardly notice you’ve just run/walked 3 miles around a lake in the rain.

For starters, it would be much simpler to call for a rain out with a lesser friend. They’d say, “No problem. I understand. We’ll do it another time. Yeah – rain in Seattle in October – who would have known?” Good friends have a way of not letting you off the hook quite so easily. They can discern if you really are, in fact, under the weather or if you just woke up, saw the rain and decided to eat a cinnamon roll. Good friends are dialed in when we offer up lame excuses. And they know just the right mix of persuasion, guilt, and the silent treatment to get us up off the couch.

The other thing is that the run/walk concept would not work so well with just an acquaintance. You have to know someone well to be totally at ease in saying “I…NEED…MUST…WALK!” at any moment and not be self conscious if those moments happen frequently. A good friend also knows how to read your hyperventilation cues -- when it’s time to pick up the conversation baton and when it’s OK to pass it back. What’s more, good friends get when it’s important to be doing the “run” part of the run/walk. Like when you have an opportunity to pass large groups of people. Or when someone over 60 passes you. Or when a Starbucks is within line of sight. Lesser friends might make the mistakes of suggesting a second lap around the lake to continue talking. But friends who know you well understand that’s what Starbucks or next time is for.

Conversations just flow with good friends. You could be talking about you child’s sleeping habits, in one moment, skip over to the grave water shortage in Atlanta in the next breath, and then jump to the topic of a new diet idea that involves more sex. All done completely seamlessly. No awkward transitions. No need to explain how or when topics shifted. And, because you’re not talking to husbands or children, repeating yourself is also not necessary. Time is precious for all people, particularly mothers, and so the best friendships are the ones where you can skip over the niceties, get to the meaty stuff, and then rapid fire through as many topics as possible in 90 minutes. The best moms can also do this while making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

I think most Moms would say there are days when you wish you could switch your role as a work-at-home or work-out-of-the-home Mom. Having a good friend for honest discourse about this never-ending internal debate helps a lot. That debate has a way of quieting down – at least momentarily – when you share in the successes and failures of a friend living your opposite life. On the last run/walk, my dear friend Cory was able to vicariously live through me as I shared some recent office successes. Because of her eagerness to hear all the details, I didn’t feel the need to self edit or tone down my enthusiasm. And just like your own Mom would do, she stroked my ego -- telling me she wasn’t surprised. And then asked me what my plans were to ask for a raise and promotion.

Likewise, I was able to live vicariously through her as she shared her and her husband’s strategy for teaching their kids about some core family values. The “5 Star Plan” is reviewed regularly at dinnertime and even has some visual aids posted around the house. (Overachievers can find a use for Powerpoint skills both in and out of the house.) Instead of feeling immediately inadequate about my own core value family plan, I was 100% inspired to shamelessly copy the idea.

It’s also great to have a friend that is hip enough to want a pair of “f**** me” shoes (um, just repeating how they’re known in fashion circles). These shoes I learned are basically heels with an ambitious arch, a hellacious heel (I guess you could say – heelacious), and preferably in a can’t-me-miss-color like red. Until my recent trip around the lake, I had no idea what they were or when one would find an occasion to wear them. Since my dates nights with my husband are infrequent and I’m challenged already with a mini boot heel, I don’t think I’ll pursue a pair of my own – but man do I respect having a 40 year old friend that could totally pull it off and look good doing it. And, if I’m ever brave enough to change my mind – if even just for practice around the house, I know where to find a pair to borrow.

Thanks to all my dear women friends for making life that much more than it already is.

Middle School is Coming

What do you drink before a marathon?
Lots of running water.

Why did the ghost go to the game?
To boo the umpire.

What happens to a quarterback who eats too much?
He becomes a fullback.

Which of Santa’s reindeer is a track star?
100-yard Dasher.

Which baseball team also takes care of sick animals?
The New York Vets.

That’s 4th grade boy humor in a nutshell. Simple. Pure. 100% Family Circus. Slightly over the head of a 4 ½ year old desperate to understand what’s so funny but more than willing to accept that it is. Somewhat painful to anyone past puberty, particularly those living under the same roof with the 4th grader and his jokebook. Chuckling at the punch line however is critical; otherwise, it will be repeated until confirmation is received that you’ve actually heard it. Or without a laugh, you might be inviting back the “poopyhead” days where reactions were guaranteed.

If the truth be told, I remember getting excited when I started to understand that words could have double meanings. Excuse me a minute as I think of a good excuse for why I am up so late writing this post. It’s just that I’m not yet content with the content of this post. (I’ll stop that now.) As I have aged, I realize that the universe of words with double meanings is even larger than I had originally imagined. Take for instance the word, shop (v). To a female, to shop is to browse, try on, purchase multiple items, try on again, and finally return something. To a male, to shop is to enter and exit a store in under ten minutes.

So why was the baseball player’s mother happy?

So why was the baseball player’s mother happy? (second attempt)

Because her son reached home safely! And because her son was not the one overhead during a recent carpool saying, “Say rubber buns and liquor fast after everything I say …. What did you have for breakfast? What did you have for lunch… What do you do when you see a cute girl?”

AHHHHH!, middle school is almost here! And middle school is NOT 100% Family Circus. I’m so not ready for this. I’m not ready for crude jokes that my son doesn’t yet understand, particularly ones that are at the expense of another person. I’m not ready to make more judgments about when to speak up, and when to simply let things run their course. I’m not ready to be unpopular with his friends, or worse yet, an embarrassment to him. I know that there will be more whispered voices, private chuckling, and closed doors in the future. The iPod will leave it’s docking station and move into my son’s ear. I know that we will soon be entering a stage when my advice will be sought less often, and my opinions challenged more frequently. Other voices will start becoming louder in my son’s ear, and so my hope is that we’ve said and done enough that the voice he attends to most consistently is his own.

Until then, I will try to laugh even more heartily at Santa’s track star reindeer, 100-yard Dasher.

A Happy Home Needs Kleenex

My parents take care of my nephew Josh one day a week. In preparation for their weekly visit, my sister likes to stock her house with some of my parent’s favorite goodies. It’s her way of saying thank you. My way is to move the dishes into the sink and find the TV remote just before they arrive for babysitting duty. Both are appreciated. As is the on-time “Happy Anniversary!” card from my sister compared to my four-days-late phone call. Not surprisingly, only one of us has any idea when “Grandparents Day” is.

Recently my sister told me that my Dad had made one small request for their next visit. He wondered if it might be possible to get a box of Kleenex. Like me, my sister has embraced toilet paper as a completely adequate tissue replacement. With special provisions allowed only for the most severe of colds (repeated blowing and raw skin variations). Paper towels could also be used in a pinch. But a regular everyday supply of Kleenex? Never.

It hadn’t dawned on either of us that maybe it was slightly uncouth to send our family members and house guests to the bathroom to blow their nose. It certainly wasn’t a targeted effort to exhibit boorish manners, or even a veiled attempt at conservation – more like a complete oversight on WHAT NORMAL PEOPLE DO. The typical home that plans to have visitors should include running water, heat, a bottle opener, maybe a grill, but certainly a $1.59 box of Kleenex. Some chairs would also be good. [The normal home probably also doesn’t have condoms lying around under every seat cushion, but my husband maintains that the desire for spontaneity coupled with the need to prevent a fourth child is more important than just about anything else. So if you visit our home, please don’t go looking underneath the couch. That might be even more awkward than sending you to the bathroom for scratchy toilet paper.]

I digress, but it still defies expectation how both my sister and I have maintained a Kleenex-free home. We grew up in a home with a never-ending supply of Kleenex. It was a staple. Found in every room. And not just the cheap stuff, but the good multi-ply super soft kind. I’m sure we were one of the first to get Kleenex with Lotion when it came out. So, either my sister and I share an uncommon insensitivity to sandpaper on our nose or this represents a twisted form of repressed rebellion against a lifetime of an overabundance of tissue.

Regardless, we are now committed to making Kleenex a part of our happy homes. I plan to include it on my next stock up (actually purchased a 10 pack today at Costco) and hope that my Dad notices and tells me he is proud. In spite of this, I have no plans to stock up on Rueben sandwiches or Ding Dongs. Because that would mean I was trying to compete with my sister for my parent’s affection. I would never do that – at least not so brazenly. I also have questionable self-control where Ding Dongs are present. In fact, it’s a long and sordid history with the Ding Dong and the rest of the Hostess family.

While happy to be on our way to tissue recovery, I fear that my sister and I have much more work to do on our “half-pour” habit. Most commonly observed when pouring orange juice, my sister and I learned at a young age that orange juice was expensive and therefore not to be squandered and that full glasses of anything had greater potential for spillage. So began our years of pouring only a half a glass of juice – for yourself or anyone else. That was something we definitely got from our mother – probably even passed down from her mother - and so it’s difficult to overcome. It may also explain why all the women in my family are challenged with finishing a full bottle of water. Although we are exceptionally good at carrying half drunk water bottles from room to room. Our brother on the other hand took a different path. He took the 7-Eleven road which says that every pour should be at least 32 ounces.

Observing habits that you share with your siblings is intensely amusing. It reminds you of years of bonding and shared experiences, some of which are deep and others just a little whacky.

A Change in Plan

One of the things that most parents learn early on is that only bad things can come from abrupt changes to the game plan. Unless it involves a visit to see baby elephants or Ben & Jerry’s, most kids - particularly ones that are less flexible and slightly deficient in frustration tolerance - really don’t like to be taken by surprise. Preschoolers especially seem to have a knack for locking in on “the plan.” Any hope to shift their thinking requires a great deal of pre-emptive parental intervention and patience.

The same kind of patience it took to grow out your bangs for the first time. Only now, it takes repetition not barrettes for reinforcement. Creative thinking in place of hair gels with mega hold. And when things get really ugly (and the headband used to be your only fallback solution) use this instead: “ASK DADDY WHY THE PLAN CHANGED!”

Brett recently missed the pre-emptive parental intervention step. Instead of the normal routine of dropping Colin off at preschool at 9am, Brett had to change up the plan. The new plan involved dropping Colin off at his BEST FRIEND’s house at 8:30, heading across town to drop Lawton (and all his stuff) off at Grandma’s house by 9:00, and then busting it downtown to make a 9:30 meeting (showered and not in shorts for a change). Way more coordination than is required of me by 9:30am at the office.

So conventional wisdom might expect that a bonus 30 minutes at one’s BEST FRIEND’s house would be the cause of great delight. But then you would not be thinking like a focused preschooler who missed the all important parental set-up. Kind of like a computer who has trouble working with more than one application open at a time.
So the car meltdown ensued and Colin refused to get out the car. First there was wailing. Then there was prodding. Then there was pounding on the steering wheel. No baby elephant could have moved this boy. And so Brett waited. But the tears did not stop and so Brett did what we often have to do as parents, he got out the hair gel with mega hold.

He drove around to kill time until school opened. After several laps around a traffic circle, making grunting noises in lieu of profanity, he arrived at school roughly 7 1/2 minutes before 9am. Just early enough to say with surprise "Oh, we’re early today" but not too early to reveal the true desperation for early childcare assistance. After that, he raced across town to make the Lawton drop. Managing the drop off in ninety seconds, he made it to his downtown meeting by 9:32 thanks to some strategically timed speeding and a visitor friendly parking lot.

So when our friend Ellen mentioned last week that she was suggesting a change to our regular Sunday Supper kid routine, we knew that we needed to take immediate action. Instead of the normal routine of feeding the 9 kids first, then plopping them in front of a movie while the 8 adults ate (a very reliable and grown up friendly routine) … Ellen decided to mix up the plan with an after dinner craft activity that involved hammers. Hammers and lots of boys.

We sat Colin down on Thursday to explain the new plan – a plan that did not involve Scoobey-Doo or an animated talking animal. It was immediately met with some resistance, until hammers were mentioned and we confirmed the dessert plan remained intact. The luminarie project turned out to be a great success for all participants last night. The only slight issue that came up had to do with Colin wanting his luminarie on "all night long" in his room. Baby steps.

As I’ve been considering this whole issue of warning, I’ve actually been thinking about how much we as adults still require it ourselves. And, how even with it, it still often isn't enough to keep the crankiness at bay.

For example, even though I’ve had many life experiences to tell me that laptops not plugged in to an electric socket will, in fact, use and drain my battery and even though Microsoft was kind enough to put a batter indicator in my system tray for status, I still curse my laptop every time it shuts down “unexpectedly”. Doesn’t it know when I’m right in the middle of something very important?

Or, even more illustrative, I have gotten no less than a dozen emails over the past several weeks telling me that my 2008 benefits are changing. While I have acknowledged this truth, I guarantee that when I finally log in to enroll this week I will freak out about my new premiums. Because even with the warning, I can't stop long enough to really grock the inevitable disappointment and hit to my pocketbook that I know is just around the corner.

And so, I fully expect to not get out of the proverbial car for awhile -- or click accept on my new benefits enrollment -- without first doing a little dog and pony show in the privacy of my office. After that, I just may treat myself to a little Ben & Jerry's.

Smart People

I thank God for the mind he has given me, but more and more I’m starting to see what sets the truly smart people apart from the rest of us.

For one, I don’t think the smart people are tempted to click on links that say: “Singer Bobby Brown has heart attack.” Because why on earth would someone who’s intelligent care about a man who was never fit to be Whitney’s husband in the first place. (For those who do however, it was a mild heartache caused by stress but he is home now resting and in great spirits.) I know for myself, celebrity and entertainment news has taken up some of the space that could have potentially been used for quantum physics (or at least the capacity to spell it all by my own self.)

I also don’t think that smart people flip through an issue of “The Economist” looking to read as many of the short articles as they can get through in twenty minutes so that they can feel “productive” with their reading time. I fear that I have instilled in my own son the drive to quantify one’s reading. When asked about the book he’s currently reading, his typical reply is “I’m on page 112, only 40 pages left.” The difference however is that he can sustain his reading without the need for potty, chapstick, or snack breaks to stay awake. The last time I read more than 100 pages in one sitting I was on vacation fueled by twelve hours of sleep and several cookies.

The other thing I’m realizing is that smart people think deeply much of the time. I was noticing this recently getting off a plane. There was a man in the row next to me who had spent the entire flight earnestly studying a thick document that was a) clearly work related, b) in a font size that doesn’t agree with me and c) absent of any pictures, graphics, or cute emoticons. Totally not my kind of document. I on the other hand was doing serious work on digesting my texas barbeque lunch without giving myself away. Once my gastrointestinal track was clear, I managed to make it through the last 50 (!!!) pages of my David Sedaris book. Pleased with the accomplishment of having finished my 10th book of they year (because I am totally counting), I rewarded myself by taking a snooze.

While we were waiting to disembark, this same man – now with aforementioned thick document packed away – still looked deep in thought. He had the kind of expression on his face that said “not only are the two hemispheres of my brain interconnected and communicating, but they are also operating at full capacity and should not be interrupted by needless airplane chatter or conversation.” To ask “So is this your first time in Seattle?” seemed like it might threaten all of our chances to find out if time travel is physically or logically possible. Because this was a brain that was clearly working on something that important.

As I considered this man, I reflected on what was had been going on in my own mind. The predominant thought was whether or not the man in front of me was aware that his hair was completely sticking up in a million different directions having slept the entire flight – and then guessing the odds of whether he would notice and take action or if he didn’t what his wife might say when he got home. My mind then drifted to thinking about where on earth I parked my car and then remembering that I didn’t actually drive my car and then wondering if cab drivers took credit cards and then debating on whether I should just stop and get cash but then realizing that I wasn’t sure I remembered my bank pin code and then worrying that if they didn’t take credit cards that maybe I would be stuck unless the cab driver was nice enough to drive me home and then let me write him a check and then my Blackberry buzzed and I thought about not checking it because I really needed to focus on how I was going to ask the cab driver this question but then I am completely addicted to my Blackberry and I couldn’t resist it’s call and it turned out to be a good idea because I got an email from a colleague who was on another flight that was arriving at the same time and who unlike me had remembered that I didn’t have a car and offered to drive me home which was so great because then I could stop thinking about the whole cab dilemma and get back to the important business of the man with the unfortunate hair situation.

Watching this man was a signal to me that maybe I could use these “downtime moments” to better exercise my brain capacity. So I started to run through multiplication facts to get the synapses moving and pledged to read and ponder more. Even to read the stuff in small font. And especially the stuff I don’t understand or agree with entirely.

Tonight I did a google search on “smart people” and found a link titled “Why Smart People have Bad Ideas” and another that said “Smart People Believe Weird Things.” It was getting late and so I didn’t want to take the time to actually read the articles (I was already all filled up with my reading quotient for the night), but just seeing the headlines made me feel better. I’m sure if I looked further I would have found something about intelligence and wisdom – and about how much better it is to be wise. I also bet I might have stumbled on an article about a man who was sitting on an airplane runway who was close but did NOT actually solve the mystery of time travel due to an inopportune distraction regarding a seriously messed up head of hair.