Silicon Valley Moms Blog

The Discipline Disappearance

I was just finishing my 50th email of the morning when I heard the sounds no mom working from home to cope with Spring Break wants to hear.

Crash
Thud
"Waaaa...Mommmmmm...."
"It's not my fault.  He pushed ME first."
"Waaaaa..." (louder now, 'cause he's mad)

I hit the Send key and dash upstairs.  Daughter has pushed son across the room, where he crashed into a toy box and hit the floor.  No blood, so that's at least a positive.  "Missy, you're in a lot of trouble!  I'm going to..."  I'm going to what?  There are no punishments left.  Now what do I do?

Maria, I'll Be Waiting for You

I recently got a review copy of a charming little book by California First Lady Maria Shriver, "Just Who Will You Be?" (subtitle: Big Question*Little Book*Answer Within).  It's a quick, light read, and even has a cool point, that fame and fortune are not as important as having a passionate vision for your life.  But the book overall left me wanting...

I've admired Maria Shriver for about 35 years, since I tagged along with my mom handing out McGovern/Shriver bumper stickers (I still have a pin somewhere - my first campaign pin!).  She was  enough older than me to be cool, without being so grown-up as to be inaccessible.  I actually voted for Schwarzenegger, my first Republican vote ever, because if Maria Shriver was married to him, he couldn't be all bad. And I'm glad to meet her more in this book, she seems as genuinely nice and humble and intelligent as I've always imagined she'd be.  But Maria - and I say this with respect and admiration - you can do better than this.

Prop 13 and Silicon Valley

I'm still in shock from a presentation I heard on the state of the finances of our local public school district.  Horrible fact #1: Our schools stand to lose $4 million in funding next year due to revaluation of local property, and the consequent reduction in taxes.  Horrible fact #2: 25% of the property in our school district is on the tax rolls at a value of less than $200,000 - in a community where the median property price is $1.87 million. 

Go stand outside your house.  You probably pay $20,000 a year in property tax if your house is worth the median property price and you bought in the last five years.  Now count four houses to the left.  Those people pay $2,000.  That one might be a little old granny living on a fixed income.  Hard to begrudge her.  But then count four houses to the right.  That one's probably owned by a semi-retired senior partner at Dewey, Cheetem, and Howe law firm.  He works 10 hours a week, serves on a couple of boards, and probably pulls in low six figures a year.  And he pays $2,000 as well, thanks to Proposition 13.  So your children's education suffers.

Mommy Guilt

So I'm thinking that I've got this Mommy Guilt thing pretty much under control.  Miss a basketball game to go to my favorite yoga class?  No problemo.  Skip the birthday party for the kid my son hardly knows so that I can sit around the house on Saturday, instead of driving to some neon kiddie paradise?  No worries. Feed the kids microwave chicken nuggets and orange chemical mac-and-cheese?  They're happier anyway.

Then comes March, and Private School Acceptance season.  And all that well-adjusted Mommy confidence flies through the window.  Confession time: I send my kids to public school.  Not even a charter school or a magnet program - just the neighborhood school that's 5 minutes down the street.

The Long-Term Legacy of Illness

I have a lot to say on the topic of illness.  I thought about writing a heartwarming post, about how my community of friends, family, and mothers' club members were so kind and generous when I was seriously ill with pneumonia.  Then I thought of writing an informative post, about my friend's web site for people who are taking care of elderly parents.  Then I thought of writing a funny post, about the flu cycling around and around my family.

But I'm not going to.  Instead, I will remind people that although our high-tech medical system can cure so many things, once you have been seriously ill, YOU CANNOT GET HEALTH INSURANCE.  Ever. 

We're All the Same Under the Non-Recyclable Plastic Dome

A bunch of moms from my son's class met for lunch the other day.  A couple of us knew each other, but many of us didn't.  We loaded up our plates at the Indian buffet, and sat down to polite chit-chat.  Texas Mom and Chinese Mom compared notes on the local housing market ("My husband refuses to buy anything yet, because he thinks prices are going to come down").  Two California Moms exchanged notes on web site advertising options ("We're selling direct, because Google didn't really get us enough.").  Everybody agreed that our first grade teacher was fabulous. 

But what really got the party going was when the discussion turned to feeding our families.  "My husband wants me to cook home food every night!" groaned Indian Mom.

2008 Election Through the Eyes of a 4th Grader

My 9-Year-Old Daughter: "Mom? I'm, like, the ONLY one in my class who wants Hillary for President."
Me: "Who do the other children want?"
Her: "They want Obama."
Me: "Why do they want him?"
Her: "Because their moms do." (and they say Union endorsements are powerful) "But I still want Hillary, because she would be our first woman president." (hey, at least she's almost voting on issues, rather than party line)

The QUESTION

No, not the birds and the bees question (we've already had that one).  The Santa question.  It finally happened - sort of.

The kids awoke on Christmas morning to a stuffed animal and enormous candy cane in their stockings, plus some Playmobil toys and videos on the floor underneath (Santa has never yet figured out how to get those rectangle boxes into the stocking itself).  Squeals of delight, ripping of packaging, swapping of licks - the usual.  Then the fun of Christmas itself, and then the recovery of the days after, and then house guests, and here we are, a week later.  My daughter snuggles up to me.  "Mom? Those toys and videos under the Christmas stockings?  Did you put them there?"

The California Storm - View from 7,000 feet

OK, I'm one of the stupid ones.  We stayed at our place in the mountains for the Storm of the Century.  The kids are out of school, we have high-speed Internet, and I wasn't going to get anything more done "down the hill" than up here.  And, if they do get the ski lifts open on the weekend, I'm going to be up to my waist in fluffy powder.

We're all actually kind of excited. We've had days to prepare - we made the 45-minute drive to the grocery store on Wednesday and stocked up on milk and batteries. We waved goodbye to friends and neighbors, who wimped out and drove home.   And now the wind is howling and the snow is falling - and so far we still have electricity and phone connections (the only thing gone is cell phone coverage).

Pumping and Driving

It's tough being a working mom, and it's even tougher being a breastfeeding working mom.  Now try being a breastfeeding working sales mom, where you spend a lot of time offsite, away from your office with the power outlet and the curtains that can be drawn.  For the desperate saleswoman, Medela makes a car adapter for the Pump - n - Style, a Godsend, as anyone working and nursing knows.  But only the truly desperate know that it is possible to pump and drive. 

Not that I ever did this myself, mind you.  It is far too dangerous.

Step 1: Dress properly.  A nursing blouse, with those slits down the sides, is a requirement - for decency, for comfort, and to help hold the flanges on.