Silicon Valley Moms Blog

All I want for Christmas is to be debt free

For the past several years my husband and I have made the choice to take a huge salary cut in order to allow me to stay at home to raise our kids five days out of seven.  To say that we pinch pennies would be an understatement.  Living is expensive.  Doing it in Silicon Valley on 1.4 salaries is down right crazy.

With me in school, again, one child in preschool, and swim lessons for both the kids, we live and breath the balancing act of spending money.

As Christmas creeps up, a knot the size of a mango implants itself deep within my gut.  We have many, many family members.  And gifts are a must.  Christmastime presents a huge financial challenge for us, as it does many American families.  You see, I refuse to go into debt over one holiday.  I will not spend money that we don't have

 

Could I have had her baby?

I have a friend who, like me, went through agonizing years of infertility. Mine ended in my son Zachary through IVF,  followed by the double whammy of my two girls conceived of naturally just 18 months a part after that.  Three babies in four years. Whew. Blessed overwhelmingness.  Hers, instead, ended in endless failed attempts at staying pregnant, and then a vigorous double pursuit of her own child by a surrogate and the adoption of a child from a foreign orphange. The surrogate backed out. The orphanage came through, twice. Two brothers they now proudly parent.

Though she was on the East Coast, she was pursuing surrogacy in California, which apparently offers more flexibility in dealing with surrogacy than her home state did. Since I was in Palo Alto, we talked frequently during her visits of her process, its ups and downs, its “gotcha’s” around every corner. The surrogate’s psychological tests weren’t favorable. The next surrogate changed her mind just before the final stages. It was in these days that my friend, hit rock bottom emotionally. It was unbelievably sad to hear how so much disappointment could be shouldered by one person, two when you include her heroic husband who weathered it all with her, in such a brief time period.

How I Learned to Love My In-Laws

I just got back from a four day trip to Disneyland.  I don't think I would have been able to survive it if we hadn't brought along my mother-in-law.  If you would have told me ten years ago that I would someday type that previous statement, I would have laughed at you and said "No way would I ever take a vacation with my mother-in-law."

To say I got off to a rocky start with my in-laws is a bit of an understatement. My husband is an East Indian from London whose parents had a traditional arranged marriage. I, on the other hand, am a white girl with Mid-Western parents, who had never even tasted Indian food. Let’s just say that I wasn’t exactly what they had in mind for their only son. For fear of their reaction my husband didn’t even tell them he had a girlfriend until after we had moved in together. Even after our relationship was out in the open and going on 4 years, they sent him a list of potential brides complete with bios and pictures. Once we got engaged, they realized I wasn’t just a phase. They made an effort to get to know me, but it’s accurate to say that things were still chilly between us.

Insider, Outsider

My son is bi-racial.  White mother.  Indian father.  At four, there are already two cultural identities forming.  One is the Irish-boy, Christian identity.  The other is the Indian-boy,  Zoroastrian identity.  He has is everyday clothes and his Indian clothes for cultural events.  He celebrates Christmas and attends Novjotes of older Zoroastrian children. 

He is an insider and an outsider in both communities.  He can blend into both.  He's looks white.  He understands Gujarati.  My son is what is means to be diverse.  He has two religions, two languages, two cultures, two names, two identities.  He thrives in both worlds. 

Yet on the outside, my son looks white.  He got his fair skin and brown hair from his momma.  If only looking skin deep, you'd never know his diverse roots. 

What They Don't Know Will Hurt Them

A few weeks back I ran into my high school boyfriend.  He and I dated on and off for a few years.  That was more than 15 years ago but we have kept in touch over the years.  We email once a month or so to say hello.  We send each other photos of our families and ask about each others parents.  We are friends.

There are no feelings there anymore except those of pure friendship.  I actually look at him and wonder how we ever stayed together for so long.  We are truly better as friends.  Over the years, my husband has known about my friendship with "Mark."  He is fine with it.  What I did not know is that Mark's wife had no clue he still talked to me.   

My Dirty Little Secret

My palms are getting sweaty, my breath is becoming shallow, and my eyes dart from side to side.  I quickly walk up to the merchandise and pick one off the shelf and bury it under the other groceries in my cart.  When I check out, I refuse to make eye contact with the checker.  I am embarrassed.  When I get home, I quickly stuff the goods into the top drawer of my dresser.  I take a deep breath. 

I’m a 30-something mother who is mortified to buy *gasp* condoms. 

It’s like I’m a teenager again - doing something that I know I’m NOT supposed to be doing.  I am an adult in a loving committed relationship.  I’m not seventeen.  I’ve been having sex for all of my adult life and yet buying condoms still invokes a sense of shame in me.  I am mortified every time I buy condoms.

Carpooling is Saving Money, the Environment… and my Marriage

When I started a new job in January that was less than a mile from my spouse’s office, he suggested that we start carpooling.  Gas prices were increasing and we were trying to find alternative ways to reduce our carbon footprint.  I wasn’t at all interesting in carpooling.  It seemed like a big hassle just for saving a few dollars at the pump.  It would require both of us to be cooperative, synchronize our schedules, and be understanding when one of us needed to come in early or stay a little later.  In other words, it seemed near impossible to me. 

Seeing how enthusiastic my spouse was over the notion of getting to use the carpool lane, I started to come around to the idea.  When he offered to do all the driving, I decided to give it a trial run.  Our goal was to carpool three or more days a week.  I honestly thought that we wouldn’t make it past a month before we’d be back to driving separately. 

The first month was like a honeymoon period.  I was in a new role at a new company.  While I was getting up to speed on the projects I would be managing and learning the lay of the land, it was easy to come in at 8:30 and leave by 5:00pm.   Carpooling was dreamy during the first month.  Literally.  I often took a cat nap on the way home from the office. My spouse was at the wheel and I was relaxing.  We carpooled nearly every day – saving over 50% on our gas bill.  We felt pretty smug about ourselves.

Neighborly Love

We live in the Heritage District of Sunnyvale.  Six years ago we moved into a house owned by my husband's grandparents.  It is cute little house on a corner lot with a nice backyard.  The houses are about 50 years old but most have been kept up nicely.

When we first moved in, our neighborhood was "in transistion."  There weren't very many families with small kids.  In fact, most of our neighbors were well into their seventies and not very friendly.  In short, our neighborhood didn't feel much like one.

 

New meaning to the word "Homecoming"

When I walked in the door after a 10-day trip away from my family, the first thing my spouse said to me after a kiss hello was “We’re out of bread.”

With a grocery store within walking distance of our house, a fully stocked fridge upon my departure, and ten days away from my family, really?  That’s the first thing you want to say?  How about a “honey, how was your trip?” or “Supplies are low, but I’ll run up to store tonight for you – you’ve been traveling for 15 hours.”

I know being the parent who gets left behind while the other spouse is traveling, isn’t easy.  It’s hard to be the one that has to hold down the fort.  But good grief is it really that hard to go to the store to pick up a few items?!?

Gay marriage: this time it's personal

I have a relative who lived an entire lifetime--married, raised three kids to adulthood, finally retired.  Several years ago his wife died after years of chronic, debilitating illness.  Some time later, he went on a diet, lost 100 pounds, moved to South Beach and--now in his 60s--came out of the closet.

At my wedding nearly 14 years ago, I remember wondering how it felt for our gay friends to attend so many weddings, buy so many gifts, celebrate with so many friends, yet not have the same right in return.  "Always a bridesmaid, never a bride," one wryly put it.