Silicon Valley Moms Blog

My secret weapon.

Hey, guess what? I am a busy mom. Oh, I have a few kids running around my house, and I have a busy photography business that I run out of my home-office, a husband with, ahem, needs, oh, and some friends and family and gosh, just a few things on my never-ever-really-done-to-do list but nothing more going on than the next mom. But my life runs, kinda', well, reasonable, um, smoothly. Most of the time. It does because I have a secret weapon. The most fantastic and amazing secret weapon that I can't believe I ever lived without. That secret is . . . drum roll please . . .

I have housekeepers.

There, I said it; cats out of the bag. Now, that wasn't so hard. I used to actually feel a little embarrassed by this truth (although not half as embarrassed as I felt when someone stopped by unannounced and had to go "potty" before I had them). I didn't want anyone to know that I simply don't do toilets and that my house isn't "so clean" because of, well, me!

Mom, can I have a job, please?

Can you imagine hearing those words from your 7 year old? Your 8 year old? Your teen-ager? I hear them, seriously. I hear them everyday; usually many times. I am NOT kidding. Right now, as I type, my almost 15 year old is folding 6 loads of laundry for me! And if that's not enough, how would you like to have clean children's rooms, all-the-time? Ours are, really! I am no super-mom. I am a mom like any other.  I have my moments when I wonder if I will survive raising four kids, if I spend enough time with them, if I clean too much, or too little, if they will ever look back and resent the choices I've made; you name it, I figure I've blown it. But a broken clock is still right twice a day, and I had my "right" moment when I created our family's "Marble Economy".

The mom-of-a-teenager-school-ager-toddler-playgroup

There are some fantastic advantages to having your children spread out by many years (mine are going on 15, almost 9, 7 and 2) Advantages such as having someone to send to the other room for a diaper or being able to ask your older child to play with the baby while you make dinner. Or better yet, being able to sneak out on a date without calling all of the teenagers you know and driving to get your last choice from the next county. Not to mention paying top dollar for someone who doesn't even scrape the spaghetti off the walls after dinner. But it isn't all roses.

Besides being an amazingly challenging juggling act (try explaining to your 9 year old why the baby and the teenager get to stay up later than him or telling the teenager that you can't attend his tennis match because the baby won't nurse in public or reading stories practically half the night; first a pile of board books, then some "Olivia" books, some "Ramona Quimby" chapters and then some "Lord of the Rings" to finish it off) it also makes me a "hard to market" friend. Oh, I have friends. Great ones. But they are all my different "stages" friends. I have friends who have never met my older children because we only hang out  with our toddlers when the big kids are off at school. I have friends who have rarely seen my toddler because once she was done sitting quietly in her car seat she was no longer invited to our quiet coffee dates.

Oh, boy, school's out!

Wow, summer vacation is here. I can still vividly recall the days when I counted the seconds until its arrival. I plotted the delights of swimming in the lake (Minnesota girl, here) , riding my bike around the neighborhood ALL DAY, swinging in the hammock and finishing a good book (more like 10-15 good books). It was the most alluring season and captivated me year after year. But, hmmm, that was then. Fast forward 20 years; I am the mother of four children, a wife and currently, the primary bread winner in our household, running a children's photography business out of our home. I still counted the seconds until its arrival, but the motivation has shifted. I was more like, BRACING myself for school to be out and for all four of my beautiful blessings to be home. all. day.

An unexpected Sabbath

The ancient Hebrews worked, no doubt, long hours of hard labor to provide food, shelter and safety for themselves and their families. But they had a wise God and He gave them strict instructions; on the seventh day...you must REST. Somehow, in this crazy 24/7 world of ours, we have lost sight of that Sabbath...that day of rest. I know that as a children's photographer and small business owner, I have often allowed myself to get sucked into the endless list of to-dos and have gone for weeks or even months at a time without taking a day off to rest. I have worked hard to build my business, to provide excellent customer service, to be on-call when I am needed. It all comes at a cost.

One day last fall, God decreed, through a fallen tree limb, that I MUST take a Sabbath. I had sent off my four children with their daddy to Giant's game and settled down in my office chair to finish up the work I needed to do on my mini sessions so that I could meet my Monday deadline. I had almost 8 hours ahead of me of child-free work time to get it all done. Never mind that I had worked everyday for the last 13 days...I have a deadline; period. As I settled in I heard the looming sound of my backup surge protection system beeping that I must power down within 6 minutes...5 minutes...3 minutes...or lose everything I had open. The power to our home was out.

The Legacy of a Mommy

I am a children's photographer and I have captured hundreds of children and countless mommies over the years, but this image has more meaning to me than it might typically. Last month I attended the funeral of a friend. She was 37 years old and the mother of two beautiful little girls. She died suddenly of pregnancy complications and her death has hit me in a profound way.

Although Heather and I were not the closest of friends, her daughter, Sara, is a playmate of my daughter, Alayna. Sara has spent countless hours in our home and Alayna in hers. Her funeral was on Monday and as my husband and I arrived at the chapel we were seated in an overflow area. From where we sat we could see little Sara wrapped around the neck of a young man, presumably a cousin. Just looking at her was almost more than I could bear. As I listened to the pastor and the family and friends speak of Heather’s life I couldn’t help but think of what I would leave behind should I prematurely leave my children. What would they remember? What would they cling to? I imagine that Sara and her sister, Emily will remember baking cookies with their mommy, being pushed on the swings. They will remember how their mom took piano lessons right along with them so they could all learn together. They will remember the things we think of as mundane; brushing their hair, tying their shoes, making peanut butter sandwiches. Those things are momma. Those things are safe and familiar.

Vasectomy regrets

My husband and I have been happily married for almost 10 years, have four great children and are pretty sure we’re “all done” (to quote my 2 year old). We are also only 32 years old, love being parents and would welcome a fifth child with open (although stretched) arms. To top it off, I am decidedly maternal. I always wanted a big family; six or seven kids, at LEAST, ha ha. However, after going through the last two pregnancies with an extreme separated pelvis (a debilitating and very painful condition!) and with my cholesterol being 379 un-medicated, we decided it would be the most responsible thing to declare our family complete. After almost two years of debate between us, each taking the pro-con stance in turn, we finally, kind of, decided to go for it. However, it was more like- Brian decided he was ready and I decided to stick my fingers in my emotional ears and say “na-na-na-na-na” until it was over. That, I learned, was my mistake.

I wish someone had told me what I might feel like after it was all said and done.