Every morning I get dressed for work while feeling sorry for myself for having to wake up at the crack of dawn. I usually walk past Babboo’s bedroom on my way out of the house to make sure he’s still sleeping. My gut starts to hurt at this point it the day. This is the time of day when I’m reminded that I won’t see my kid for another nine hours. I’m always tempted to wake him up, just so I can get a hug or a “bye Mommy” from him. But It’s too early for him to wake up. I know he needs to stay asleep.

Every other morning I walk to the bus stop and dream about what it would be like if we could afford for me to stay home. I think about all my lady friends from my church congregation and about the fun things they have planned that I’ll be missing while slaving away at the office. I missed their trip to the pumpkin patch last week. I’ve never been able to go to their Thursday morning playgroups. I can’t join their 9am book club. I’ve yet to attend one of their Ladies Luncheons. I am left out of their little club 100% of the time. All because I work and they don’t.

Most of them don’t know my kid’s name and they really have no idea who I am. I feel like an outsider.

And most morning, I feel sorry for myself about this. I feel left out. I feel like the world is working against me, all because I have a career and they don’t. I know it’s wrong, but I’m typically jealous of them. I know my husband The King, and I don’t have a lot of money and that’s why I work. I know it’s the best thing for our family right now. I know. And yet, why do these SAHM have nicer clothes then I do? Why do they all drive better cars? How is it that their kids dress so nice? And dude, really, how do you afford those new DVD players in your van? How can they afford to go to the museums and the zoo every week? Why do they get to put their kids down for their naps everyday and potty train their own toddlers?

And why am I so darn jealous?

Until last night.

Today is the first day, in a very long time, that I was happy about being a full time working mom.

I hung out with some of the SAHM’s from church last night. It was their monthly Girls Night out. I hadn’t even planned on going. You see, I only get a few hours a night with Babboo and The King so to give up my one chance to see them is a hard choice to make. But this night out was scheduled late in the evening, so I would still have a little bit of time with Babboo. And so I decided to join the ladies.

And dude, was it a mistake.

I had no idea that these SAHM could be so catty. And over dramatic. And just plain mean to each other. In the first thirty seconds of the evening out unnecessary drama was introduced to the party. I’m talking about scathing e-mails, mean words about people’s kids, family secrets of (those not in attendance) shared, and tears. Actual tears.

These women are all adults. They are married and have kids and families and they were acting like we were all back in high school junior high. Apparently this type of drama is uber common in their SAHM group.

And I felt like an outsider. But this time I was okay with being the outsider.

I didn’t want any part of this drama. I didn’t want to know why they all hate Rebecca’s son. I didn’t want to know why Ginny’s family all hate each other. I didn’t want to read the e-mail Samantha sent Amy before the party. I felt like all eyes were on me and that I needed to choose sides and make alliances right that second. But I don’t want to make any alliances. I don’t want to be on one side and not the other.

I just wanted to go home.

But I couldn’t. I was stuck there for the rest of the evening until my ride was ready to go home.

I finally got out of there and returned to my house. I started to recount my unbelievable evening to The King. I told him I didn’t know what to do and how I was going to make peace with all of these ladies. I mean, I have to serve with them at church. And I like them. I do. I just don’t want to be around this negativity.

So today, I’m thankful to be sitting in my quite cubicle busily working on my tasks while listening to my iPod. There aren’t any sides to choose and nobody is talking bad about me or my kid or my husband. And so what if I can’t go with them to see High School Musical III today because I’m at work.

This is where I’d rather be today.

So you SAHM’s out there, is this what it’s like for you guys? And if so, then I’m sorry.

(Today’s column was originally posted over at hola, isabel.)

Isabel is a pseudonym for this Seattle-based blogger. She’s been working since the day she realized soda and lip gloss weren’t free. Isabel became a mom in 2006 and continues to work full time, outside the home, since diapers and mortgages aren’t free either. You can read far too much about her personal life at hola,isabel.

If you have questions, anecdotes, or topics for “Double duty. One paycheck.”, email Isabel at holaisabel [at] gmail.com.

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My work day changed recently.

I used to pick up my two year old son from his downtown Seattle daycare and then we would ride the Metro bus home together. This was our time together. He would sit on my lap and tell me about his day. He would tell me what he ate for breakfast and lunch. He would tell me about the library visit, or “Singing Time with Brian”, or what he did out on the playground. Sometimes, if I was lucky, he would even sing “The Wheels on the Bus” to me and the rest of the commuters. (It must be noted that often the commuters did not appreciate this and would move away from us. Oh well, their loss.) My Sweet Babboo and I had this forced alone time each day. There was no dinner to prepare, phone to answer or bathrooms to clean. It was just he and I. And I loved it.

Last week he started at a new daycare. This one isn’t in downtown Seattle, instead it’s closer to our home. It’s a good daycare full of energetic kids and innovative teachers. It’s entwined in our community and 50% cheaper then the downtown daycare. But there is no bus ride home, together, from this daycare. Instead I ride the bus alone and then drive the car to pick him up.

The first few days of the new commute I thought were great. Oh the reading I could do on the bus. I excitedly packed my book into my bag every morning and was giddy with anticipation of some reading time. I was able to finish a 700 page book last week. This is unheard of for me. Before, when I didn’t have time to read on the bus, it would have taken me months to finish a book of that size.

Babboo and I get home in the evening much later then before. This new commute just takes more time. It took a few days but eventually I realized that I missed having Babboo with me on the bus. I missed that physical interaction with him on my lap. I missed watching his face light up as he told me about his day. I missed watching the other bus riders telling me what a cute kid I had and being able to gush about him.

We get home a little later now. I quickly start to prepare dinner while returning missed phone calls and throwing the wash into the dryer. Babboo usually goes into the office to play with his toys while I’m running around like a mad man. Sometimes we’ll sit together on the couch, him playing with his blocks while I do a Soduko puzzle. But mostly life just goes one.

I miss my kid.

I decided I needed to try to get back some of our old one-on-one interaction. We have a car ride now that we didn’t have before. During this ride I have recently forced myself to turn the radio off and ask Babboo questions about his day, just like we used to do on the bus. We are both still trying to learn all the other student’s names and figure out their food menu and teaching schedule. So having these few minutes to just talk is good.

It’s still not the same as riding the bus together. Babboo’s not sitting on my lap. He isn’t touching my face while he tells me he loves me. Sure I can watch his facial expression in the rear-view mirror. But let’s be honest, that isn’t the same. (Nor is it very safe.) We aren’t walking home from the bus stop together anymore and checking out which neighbors have wind chimes (the kid is totally fascinated with wind chimes) and which neighbors have “ding-dongs” (also fascinated with door bells).

This is how it’s going to be now. I need to just make the needed adjustments and get used to it. Just because it’s different doesn’t mean it’s bad.

So tell me, what is your commute like? And if you have kids, how do they factor into your commute? I’d love to hear what works for you!

Isabel is a pseudonym for this Seattle-based blogger. She’s been working since the day she realized soda and lip gloss weren’t free. Isabel became a mom in 2006 and continues to work full time, outside the home, since diapers and mortgages aren’t free either. You can read far too much about her personal life at hola, isabel.

If you have questions, anecdotes, or topics for “Double duty. One paycheck.”, email Isabel at holaisabel [at] gmail.com.

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Have any of you seen “Mad Men” on AMC?

What about “Swingtown” on CBS?

I’ve been watching both of them lately and dude let me tell you, the ladies on that show are being sexually harassed left and right. “Mad Men” is set in the 1950’s where there are typing pools and secretary’s who are working at an office for the sole purpose of finding a husband. Once you get married and have babies, the ladies no longer work out of the home.

Swingtown is set in the 1970’s, and although it’s twenty years after “Mad Men”, the show also portrays women staying home after they are married. One character on the show recently reentered the work force after her husband was fired from his job. She wasn’t there five minutes before her butt was grabbed by the boss.

He grabbed her butt. Totally out in the open for all to see. When she looked at a coworker for support he just said, “get used to it”.

Get used to it? That so wouldn’t fly in 2008.

Except, would it?

How many women (and men) out there are being sexually harassed? And how do you know if you’re being sexually harassed? I would constitute any situation that makes you uncomfortable is well, unacceptable. You know if someone is doing or saying things to you that aren’t right. I would say that being touched by a coworker in any way is inappropriate.

You’ll know if you’re being sexually harassed.

According to Seema Goswami, the author of “Woman on Top: How To Get Ahead At Work” you might try saying to an overly physical coworker; ‘I’m sorry, but would you mind removing your hand from my back. I know you don’t mean any harm, but it makes me a bit uncomfortable.’ If he stands too close to you in the lift (elevator) or presses up again the back of your chair, don’t just edge away. Turn around, look him in the eye, and say, ‘I’m sure you don’t realize it, but you are crowding me. Do you mind standing back a little? I’d really appreciate it.’”

It is best to remain non confrontational and away from others.

Seema Goswami says that odds are, if this person is harassing you they’ve done it before. She suggests that you discreetly ask around to see if others feel the same way you do.

My mom always taught me to write things down. Get a notebook and write down when anything fishy happens. Make a note of the day, time, and what was done/said. You might want to even write down what you were wearing and what you said. Just to avoid anyone saying that you were “asking for it”. Better safe then sorry.

Take this information in with you when you meet with your local Human Resources department. Make sure they know what your complaints are, whether they be inappropriate touching, dirty or racist comments, or flat out being told you won’t get a promotion unless you wear shorter skirts and lower tops.

You HR department should know how to deal with this. They may take the offender aside and have a confidential discussion with them. They may hold a company wide “harassment training” to remind everyone of your company’s policies. If this isn’t a first offense, they may just terminate the offending employee.

Seema Goswami has a list of ways to cope with sexual harassment that I would like to pass on in closing:

• Speak up if you feel that the office has been sexualized.
• Articulate your concerns in the most non-confrontational manner possible. The idea is not to go on the offensive but to lay down boundaries of acceptable behavior.
• Ask around discreetly and find out if anyone else has been targeted by your harasser. If you have to register a formal complain, their corroborative evidence will help you build your case.
• Take a colleague or sympathetic senior into confidence so that you have reliable witness to stand up for you when it comes down to your word against his.
• Keep a detailed diary or journal relating the incidents of sexual harassment as they occur. If you get any offensive or suggestive e-mails, save them to produce as proof later on.
• Clamp down on the hysteria. The more reasonable you seem when you relate your version of events, the more likely it is that people will believe you.
• Don’t confuse the company with the individual. Just because one person has made life miserable for you, it doesn’t mean that the company is at fault. If those in authority act against him swiftly and firmly, then absolve them of blame and move on.

You don’t have to put up with being sexually harassed. Ever. Stand tall and firm and get it taken care of before you are forced to wear short skirts and get your butt grabbed just so you can put food on the table.

Isabel is a pseudonym for this Seattle-based blogger. She’s been working since the day she realized soda and lip gloss weren’t free. Isabel became a mom in 2006 and continues to work full time, outside the home, since diapers and mortgages aren’t free either. You can read far too much about her personal life at hola,isabel.

If you have questions, anecdotes, or topics for “Double duty. One paycheck.”, email Isabel at holaisabel [at] gmail.com.

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I even went as far as to ask my boss about changing my schedule for the summer only.  Of course this was met with a side look and talk of “what would everyone else think if you got to take off every Friday?”  Needless to say I’m still working five days a week and dreaming of what it’s like to be a SAHM.

Enter Amy.

Amy got to do what I’ve been wanting to do.  She’s been able to take a break from her career to try this out this whole SAHM thing.  And because Amy rocks (and has all this free time now.  HAA!), she’s been awesome enough to share with us what she’s learned about becoming a (temporary) SAHM.

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This summer I’m taking my first summer off of work since I graduated college. It was one of those things that just worked out. I was in between projects and since my daughter is starting kindergarten in the fall, I thought it’d be a great time to be around to make the transition a little easier.

It didn’t hurt that after our especially dark, dank, and long winter this year, sunny afternoons outside sounded infinitely better than back to back meetings in an over-air conditioned office building.  It also didn’t hurt that after many consecutive nights last May of frantically and unsuccessfully trying to sign two kids up for consecutive summer day camps that were located within ten miles of each other, I realized that I’d waited too long and that my husband and I would have to devise some pretty creative carpooling strategies in order to get three kids to where they needed to go each morning. After eight years of wondering if the grass was really greener on the SAHM side of the fence, I was going to see whether or not it really was.

And do you know what I’m finding? The grass is pretty much green in the shade and brown in the sun no matter what side of the fence you’re standing on.

I knew that staying home would be hard. Three kids with completely different interests makes activity planning difficult. Plus, there’s naptime to honor for my two-year old and playdates to schedule for my increasingly social eight-year old who has become addicted to sleepovers. And then there’s the fact that I’m bound and determined to teach  my five year old to swim this summer, as well as replant the yard, clean out our closets, learn to cook a few new recipes, paint the hallway, rebuild the deck, and a few other little household chores along the way.  But I figured I could do it since every kid needs to experience at least a few hours of summer boredom. It’s a rite of passage.

They were bored out of their skulls.

So I took them to the wading pool at the park, where they splashed around happily and then played on the playground, easily meeting new kids and floating effortlessly in and out of games. I sat in the shade alone and watched some of the other parents, most who came with friends, and felt a bit lonely. And, though I feel guilty even saying this, I was really bored.

We continued this routine for weeks. Everyday I’d attempt to cross some projects off my list and then we’d set off for some activity. During this time, I noticed that my laundry pile grew more gigantic than ever, my house looked like it has been attacked by the same pack of wild monkeys each day, and the garden was yellowing and crackly and less vibrant than ever. And to top it off, I rarely had time to stray from my old safety meals, let alone cook.

I was losing my mind. But the kids were in heaven.

They loved having me around and they loved having weeks of fairly unstructured time. They went to bed more easily after active days and were less clingy when I took some time for myself–something that previously looked like something out of Sophie’s Choice. They seemed relaxed and happy, and that made me feel like this was a good thing.

I think my main misconception is that I had this idea in my head of what staying home looked like—happy kids, lovely family dinners, carefree afternoons and a clean house—and pretty much that exists only in Ozzie and Harriet, or else with a lot of practice. It’s not something that can be achieved over a summer–or even in half of a summer, since I’m generally an impatient person.

But what I’m learning this summer is something closer to what I experienced all those years ago during my younger summer vacations. I’m learning a lot about myself. I’m learning that it’s hard to feel carefree and successful when you really don’t like cooking lovely meals, but prefer eating them out, or being lucky enough to have a husband who loves to cook. It’s hard to care about laundry when it’s more fun to play with the kids, especially when you know this summer is a special one. And nobody really minds so much that they have to go find their clean clothes in the laundry room.

And even though I love my children with every ounce of myself, I am a much better mom when I’m doing the things I love—being a mom and growing a career.  And it’s important to remember that they’re happy during the year, too—that this summer doesn’t have to be the end all be all of my parenting experience.  But I do hope that this summer I can show them the importance of being who they are and valuing their gifts and talents. And I’ve loved (almost) every minute of spending extra time with them and falling into this lovely relaxed routine together.

And hopefully, they’ll inherit their father’s love of cooking.

Isabel is a pseudonym for this Seattle-based blogger. She’s been working since the day she realized soda and lip gloss weren’t free. Isabel became a mom in 2006 and continues to work full time, outside the home, since diapers and mortgages aren’t free either. You can read far too much about her personal life at hola,isabel.

If you have questions, anecdotes, or topics for “Double duty. One paycheck.”, email Isabel at holaisabel [at] gmail.com.

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For the past six months I’ve had a little piece of paper hanging in my cubicle at work. It says:

Guaranteed Ride Home

Employees who ride the bus, carpool, vanpool, bike or walk to work on any given day are guaranteed a free ride home – via taxi – in the event of illness, emergency or unexpected overtime. There is a limit of 8 rides per year per employee; up to 60 miles per one way ride.

I’ve often looked at this little piece of paper and figured it was there in the event that my son got sick at daycare and needed to be taken home. While I was thankful for this service my company offered, I hoped that I’d never need to use it.

Monday while sitting at my desk just working and minding my business my foot started to feel a little odd. I kept working and minding my own business and my foot kept hurting.

I got up to use the bathroom and quickly realized my foot wasn’t working properly. There was no way I could even walk to the bathroom.

Crap.

How was I going to pick my son up from daycare?

How was I going to get us both home?

Especially with his latest trend of making me carry him.

How was I going to get to the restroom before I peed my pants?

I sat at my desk and wondered what I was going to with this situation. I thought that maybe my foot would get better. But it wasn’t. It was only getting worse. As I replayed the events of the day I remembered that I had tripped over an open drawer earlier. I started to get scared that I had broken my foot.

Crap. How what was I going to do?

I still needed to pee.

I called my husband at work and told him that he’d have to pick up Babboo from daycare today. This isn’t our typical method as I get off work much earlier then my husband. But dude, there was no way I could get myself and my toddler home.

It’s then that I looked up and saw the Guaranteed Ride Home manifesto on my wall. I hurriedly called my Human Resources department who then ordered a taxi to come and take me home.

I hopped down to the front of my building and waited for my white knight to arrive. Thankfully the taxi arrived in record time and I was home with my foot elevated and iced in no time at all (and I finally got to use the bathroom).

Holy cow, never have I been so thankful to my employer. While the taxi ride would have only cost me about $20, I would have probably never thought of getting one myself.

It’s the end of July and I only have 7 more guaranteed rides home. Here’s hoping I don’t have to use any more of them (either for myself or my kid) and here’s hoping my foot isn’t broken.

I’m off to see the doctor and get some x-rays taken.

So tell me, does your company offer anything like this? And have you ever had to use it?

Isabel is a pseudonym for this Seattle-based blogger. She’s been working since the day she realized soda and lip gloss weren’t free. Isabel became a mom in 2006 and continues to work full time, outside the home, since diapers and mortgages aren’t free either. You can read far too much about her personal life at hola,isabel.

If you have questions, anecdotes, or topics for “Double duty. One paycheck.”, email Isabel at holaisabel [at] gmail.com.

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When school shootings started to be the in-thing I was well out of the school system. While I was thankful that I would never need to worry about a fellow student losing it and shooting up the school, I was fearful of my dad. He is a teacher at a public high school. I used to have nightmares of a disgruntled student walking into his classroom with a gun hidden in his backpack. I don’t think my dad has ever been worried about this. Which is fine, since I was worried enough for the both of us.

I’ve grown up and I’ve moved on to worrying about other things besides a shooting at my dad’s school. I work in an office and now I worry about a disgruntled employee with a gun hidden in his laptop case. Or maybe a wronged ex-wife or lover. Hey, you never know. Everyone is capable of becoming disgruntled.

Everyday I go to work and everyday Babboo’s at daycare. I’ll be honest and tell you that I don’t give him much thought during the day. I’m busy at work and I know he’s safe, happy and healthy at daycare. I trust where he’s at and so I don’t feel the need to worry. His teachers are capable. The daycare location is secure. And he’s happy.

It wasn’t until yesterday’s police shooting in downtown Seattle that I realized I needed to be worrying about a freakin’ shooting involving my child.

The shooting happened just a little too close for comfort to all of us. While nobody in my precious family was ever in danger during the shooting, we were near real live guns that real live bullets were being shot out of.

I’m not comfortable with this.

Thankfully Babboo’s daycare was on top of things yesterday. A notification to all of the parents went out immediately assuring us that all of our children (and the daycare employees) were safe and inside the building.

I appreciated that. I needed to hear it.

Peace of mind is a good thing for a mother. Especially one that’s not physically with her child all day.

Isabel is a pseudonym for this Seattle-based blogger. She’s been working since the day she realized soda and lip gloss weren’t free. Isabel became a mom in 2006 and continues to work full time, outside the home, since diapers and mortgages aren’t free either. You can read far too much about her personal life at hola,isabel.

If you have questions, anecdotes, or topics for “Double duty. One paycheck.”, email Isabel at holaisabel [at] gmail.com.

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Working full time, for anyone, is time consuming. Typically you spend eight hours, each day, doing work that you get paid to care about. On your off time, each day, you end up doing work that you don’t get paid for, but that still has importance and must get done. And honestly, I find the work that I do in my off hours to be far more important to what I do all day at my desk at my office.

Before I became a mother it seemed like my personal time was super important and valuable to me. But dude, there was more of that free time. Now that I have a kid I have less time and more things to accomplish in that smaller amount time.

(Holy crap, I have a lot of things to do this week. And really all I want to do is read “Twilight”.)

(Say it with me now, “NERD!”)

No matter how I prioritize my time off I still have to do personal tasks to do during my work day. Stuff that I don’t get paid to do, but that I’m still responsible for. I have phone calls to make for a church activity I’m putting together. I have said activity to plan and prepare for. I have possible babysitters to call and line up for this weekend. I have new daycares to call and schedule tours with. I have Father’s Day gifts to research and order. And while I’m being honest, I have blog posts to read (and write). And an e-mail inbox that is filling up by the second.

And I have to do this stuff during the hours I’m at work.

I think most of us try to limit the amount of time we spend on personal things while we’re at work. Am I right? I mean, do we try to limit this type of stuff? Or do we realize that life just goes on whether or not we’re at the office? And dang it, we just have to get it done.

So, I’ m curious to know what your boundaries are. How do you feel about making personal phone calls at your desk? Do you read blogs at work? Do you blog at work? Do you write e-mails to your husband and girlfriends all day?

Or do you sit, fervently, at your desk all day pouring over graphs and charts and work e-mails?

Isabel is a pseudonym for this Seattle-based blogger. She’s been working since the day she realized soda and lip gloss weren’t free. Isabel became a mom in 2006 and continues to work full time, outside the home, since diapers and mortgages aren’t free either. You can read far too much about her personal life at hola,isabel.

If you have questions, anecdotes, or topics for “Double duty. One paycheck.”, email Isabel at holaisabel [at] gmail.com.

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What I’m saying is this: dude, it’s dark in Seattle.

Except for in the summer months. Summer days in Seattle start bright and early at 5AM and go until 10 PM. There is nothing like sitting on your porch, in the sun, at 10PM at night. It’s glorious, magnificent and oh-so-well-deserved.

It’s also not so good for putting your kid to bed at night.

This summer is the third summer that I’ve been a parent. The summer of 2006 was easy. Babboo, my son, was a few months old and wasn’t following any rules about sleeping at night. I was probably still waking up every 3 hours to nurse him. Our little family was still on a new baby high and I’m confident that we didn’t even notice if it was sunny or rainy outside or what time the sun set.

Summer of 2007, Babboo was only a year old, no longer waking up to nurse at night, and pretty much just doing whatever we told him to do. We were following a pretty strict bedtime routine that started with a bath at 7:15 and being fast asleep by 8:15. It was like clockwork and it was heaven well into the fall, winter, and spring months.

Summer 2008 hasn’t even officially started and already I know it’s not going to go so well. My little two year old has quickly noticed it’s still light out at 8:15 and wants no part of “night night time”. While I’m begging “night night?” he’s replying with “Babboo play toys!”

What makes this even harder is that it is also getting light out earlier. So it’s not even like Babboo can sleep later in the morning. Thankfully, according to his daily reports from daycare, his naps are still almost 3 hours long. The “experts” suggest toddlers get 12-14 hours of sleep a day. While Babboo isn’t getting as many hours at night, combined with his time at daycare, he is meeting the recommended amount.

I finally realized this last night, while deep in the middle of trying to get my kid settled into his crib. He’s fine. He’s getting enough sleep. I need to relax a bit and let him stay up a little later in the summer.

If he’s anything like his mom, the added daylight will be good for his soul.

So tell me, do you adjust your children’s sleeping habits according to the seasons? Do you adjust your own sleeping habits?

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Isabel is a pseudonym for this Seattle-based blogger. She’s been working since the day she realized soda and lip gloss weren’t free. Isabel became a mom in 2006 and continues to work full time, outside the home, since diapers and mortgages aren’t free either. You can read far too much about her personal life at hola,isabel.

If you have questions, anecdotes, or topics for “Double duty. One paycheck.”, email Isabel at holaisabel [at] gmail.com.

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Now that my son is officially a toddler, he’s talking more.  And saying full sentences.  This has been especially helpful during meal time.  Now instead of just throwing food on his plate and hoping he’ll eat it, he can ask for what he wants to eat.  Of course he usually asks for waffles, yogurt, grapes, milk, and oranges.  All of them.  In that specific order.  (I can’t judge the kid’s taste in food, as all of his requests sound good to me.)

We all know that kids learning how to talk also opens the door up to them repeating everything they hear the adults in their lifes say.  For some reason, the kids always hone in the things they shouldn’t say and they repeat those things like crazy.

During dinner on Saturday night my kid was too busy talking to eat his dinner (read: waffles).  During of of my least proud Mommy-Moments I told him to “just zip it, and eat”.  Shortly after that my husband spilled some food on his shirt and said, “damn it” under his breath.

Needless to say Babboo spent the rest of the night telling us both to “zip it, damn it!”

Hey, we probably deserved it.

Everyday when I pick Babboo up from daycare I ask him how his day went while I’m packing up his gear.  His typical response is to say “went”.  He likes to repeat the last word he heard me say.

“What did you do?”

“Do.”

“Did you play outside?”

“Outside.”

“Did you play in the sandbox?”

“Sandbox.”

Last week Babboo had a new response when I asked about his day at daycare.  He pointed to his forearm and said, “bite.  Ouch.”  I pulled up his shirt sleeve and found a very distinct toddle sized bite mark.

This bite mark was the first of it’s kind on my precious child’s skin.  I was horrified.

I immediately asked his teacher about it.

“Who the hell bit my kid today?”

His lead teacher told me that yes, he had been bitten by a “friend” (that is the word they use at his daycare about other students) and that ice and pressure were applied to Babboo’s skin.  She then told me the child in question had been reprimanded.   She also told me that it was daycare policy to not rat out the offending “friend”.

This is probably a good policy as the Mommy-Bear in me might have hunted down The Biter and bit him right back.  Only harder.

On our way home from school Babboo touched his arm, again, and told me about his “owie”.  And then he said “Jamie bite Babboo”.

HAA!  The daycare’s “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy had been foiled by my newly speaking toddler.

Take that!

Okay, so knowing that Jamie is the “friend” that bit my sweet baby boy doesn’t really change anything.  I’m not going to ask that Jamie be kicked out of the daycare for doing what all kids do at some point.  I’m not going to ask that Jamie and Babboo be kept apart from each other.  I’m not even going to let the teachers know that I know.

But now I know that Babboo will let me know if something bad happens to him when I’m not around.  He knows I’m on his side.

Here’s hoping that as Babboo gets older, he’ll continue to tell me when something happens to him.  And here’s hoping Jamie keeps his sharp fangs away from my precious baby boy.

So tell me, do your kids tell you when something happened to them while you weren’t around?  And what do you do with this information?

Isabel is a pseudonym for this Seattle-based blogger. She’s been working since the day she realized soda and lip gloss weren’t free. Isabel became a mom in 2006 and continues to work full time, outside the home, since diapers and mortgages aren’t free either. You can read far too much about her personal life at hola,isabel.

If you have questions, anecdotes, or topics for “Double duty. One paycheck.”, send them to Isabel at holaisabel [at] gmail.com.

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As my due date fast approached I, again, breached the subject with my Supervisor. This time, I started the discussion by telling him what my plan was. I brought up the fact that I live close to the office and could thus, come in daily to pick up and drop off assignments. I used words like; cell phone, laptop, and home DSL. I discussed working lunches, with my child in tow, to discuss projects. I used words like “temporary” and “let’s try this for a while.” I spoke with confidence, even if I wasn’t that confident, and hoped that he would buy into my plan.

My plan was to work from home on Tuesdays and Thursday. I figured that would enable me to be in the office every other day. My Supervisor liked my plan. He felt confident it would work, and as a parent, he understood my desire to be at home with my newborn. We also both knew that this wasn’t anything permanent. I was okay with that, since I wasn’t even sure how well the plan would work. Heck, I’d never been a mom before. I wasn’t sure how much of my day would be filled with taking care of my child.

I asked my Supervisor who above him I needed to clear my flexible work schedule with. He told me not to worry about it. He said that it was up to him, since I was working exclusively on his project. Perfect.

My Supervisor announced the plans in our weekly project meeting and all seemed to be okay with the situation. One coworker even offered to walk any items up to my apartment on his lunch break on my working from home days. While I had been worried that my coworkers would be jealous of my option to work from home, they seemed supportive.

My first week back to work, after my measly maternity leave was up, was fine. Working from home every other day took some getting used to. Especially the prep work that I would have to do in the office the day before (compiling needed paperwork to take home, transferring files to my hard drive from the network, getting phone numbers I would need). But it worked. I was home with my baby two days a week, and still working enough hours to enable me to be Full-Time with my company.

While my foray into working from home status didn’t last forever, it was fun while it lasted. I think the reason it turned out so positively was the way I approached it prior to having my child. I think having a definite plan and one I was positive I could pull off, enabled my Supervisor to trust me and my proposal.

So tell me, do you have a flexible schedule in place with your company? If so, how were you able to successfully negotiate your schedule?

Isabel is a pseudonym for this Seattle-based blogger. She’s been working since the day she realized soda and lip gloss weren’t free. Isabel became a mom in 2006 and continues to work full time, outside the home, since diapers and mortgages aren’t free either. You can read far too much about her personal life at hola,isabel.

If you have questions, anecdotes, or topics for “Double duty. One paycheck.”, email Isabel at holaisabel [at] gmail.com.

Subscribe to ’ Double Duty One Paycheck | Subscribe to Seattle Mom Blogs