I heart insomnia

I’ve started to enjoy my sleepless nights.

In my 30s, fter a bad breakup with a boyfriend, I had a really bad period of insomnia. I fought it like crazy which of course just made it worse. I went to bed early, stayed up late, drank wine, ate turkey. Nothing worked and I started to freak out. It got so bad that I was getting depressed from lack of sleep. Then one day my Dad said something that clicked: he told me that when he can’t sleep he does paperwork or cleans his office. The simple matter-of-fact way he said it made me understand that fighting insomnia wasn’t the answer, embracing it is. The next time I couldn’t sleep I did my taxes, something I’d been putting off. I got the whole thing done (ok, this was back in the EZ-form days) and it felt great. The next night when I couldn’t sleep I cleaned. Soon I was sleeping through the night.

For the past couple years I’ve had chronic insomnia. 4 or 5 nights a week I’m awake in the middle of the night, usually between 2 and 4 am. I’ve come to really like it.

For some reason, like those taxes I did years ago, I get things done at 3 am that I can’t get myself to do during the day: answering emails I’ve put off, finding a missing insurance form, cleaning out my purse. Often this time is quite productive, almost like a second wind. I think clearly and with purpose and while I don’t have tons of physical energy, I can sit down and plow through a project or answer a slew of emails. It’s gotten so bad—good?—that I actually put off real work knowing I can get it done the next time I can’t sleep. (Bonus: sending a project to a client at 4:20 am and knowing they’ll think you pulled an all-nighter.)

Of course, sometimes I just read a book which is damn satisfying when you have three kids under age ten.

More than once, I’ve wondered if insomnia isn’t my body’s way of getting me-time that I would never get otherwise. I can count the number of times I’ve been alone in our house—every delicious one. Being wide awake at 3 am is the next best thing: a poor mother’s solution to her crazy-busy life. It’s perfect: absolutely nobody needs me. I’m not neglecting anything because— I’m supposed to be asleep! If I get something done it’s a bonus. My insomnia is truly stolen time. And since I stole it from myself I can spend it any way I like.

training bras

My oldest daughter R got a bra yesterday.

You’re probably thinking tmi but hang in there. There is a reason for my overshare.

Poor R. The youngest in her class, the biggest tomboy EVER, and she gets boobs before any other girl in 5th grade. (well, there is one but she’s a full year older.) Needless to say this was not a happy “development” in our family.

The good news: her best friend M, one of those concave-chested girls, is dying for breasts and leapt at the chance to go shopping and try on bras “just to see what it’s like”. God love M. What could have been a very teary trip to K-mart (killer training bras, btw) turned into a funny, exciting adventure. While R and I investigated the sports bra area looking for the tightest, most t-shirt-like boob smasher/binder, M and my 4-year-old F, headed for the “real” bras, gravitating to the most flashy, styrofoam-like cups they could find. B, my middle daughter, did her middle-child part running back and forth—consoling, offering commentary, eager to make everything nice.

We left with 4 very plain boob diminishers and 2 adorable 30AA boob creators. All 4 girls “dressed up” in bras when we got home.

OK, so where am I going with this? Well, I started thinking about my own first bra and the shopping trip. It was just me and my mom and although it wasn’t a terrible experience it was a bit uncomfortable. Although I had a good relationship with my mom—and a great one now—I didn’t like talking to my mom about private things; it was embarrassing, unnatural. Things were just a lot less open back then.

This got me thinking of how much healthier these conversations are today. I don’t think I've ever seen my mom naked, but since I tend to walk around in my underwear at home my girls have seen just about all of me. I think—hope—that this has made them feel OK about their own bodies. I try to set an example: this is what a woman’s body looks like, no big deal. They ask me questions I would never dreamed of asking my mother. Occasionally the questions are inappropriate and I tell them so but for the most part I’m honest and open and I think this is good. Which is kind of unusual for me.

For the most part, I tend to see their childhood in less than ideal terms compared to mine. I worry that kids today grow up to fast. I hate the loss of innocence, the 10-going-on-20 attitude. I don’t like most of the tv shows a lot of kids watch, the amount of “stuff” they have. I think the computer and other screens take away from the books and imagination-building games I had to come up with. Although they are basically good girls, I don’t like the way my kids talk back and challenge me.

In all this worry and comparison, I’ve missed a benefit to their growing up in 21st century: the emotional connection I have with my girls (and the one they have with their stay-at-home-Dad). They can talk to me in a way that I never could with my mother. I know when one of my daughters is upset. I can read her behavior and take her to a quiet room and get her to tell me what’s wrong. They talk back but that can be part of an open dialogue (right?). Yes, we argue over the stupidity of “Jake and Josh” but it is a conversation and kids are entitled to opinions and (a limited amount) of inane tv.

I’ll never like everything about childhood today but I can say this: when R noticed her breasts growing and was upset about it, I knew. She showed me and we talked about it. She was able to tell me that she didn’t like the changes in her body. So I told R that I had hated getting my period but it was OK after awhile. I never told my mom this.

iknowmoms

on reinventing myself

Who knew that I would be “finding myself ” at 46?!

Not that I really want to; I don’t have a choice. My skills as a print designer and even recently as a website designer are quickly becoming obsolete. I need to learn “interactive design”—and fast. Which I will, and this isn’t a bad thing. I tend to need to be dragged, kicking and screaming into situations that later are life-changing and I think this is one of those times. Yet, going back to school—admittedly just a night course or two—wasn’t in my career plan even two years ago.

Just a couple short years ago I thought I was approaching my “coasting” years—the ones where one has “arrived” career-wise and can rest on past successes. Those days are over. Steve Jobs made this idea impossible for any of us print people.

All my of mentors were able to coast in their later years. They earned their dues and deservedly got to the point in their careers when they could relax and know there would be work for them. Admittedly, I’m just a tiny bit bitter that I’m going to miss this opportunity. Part of me is kind of tired of striving. Frankly, I’m not dying to compete with the 20-something computer whizzes out there. I like designing printed pieces.

On the flip side, there is nothing like seeing your work on a screen. Even my printed pieces in pdf glow with colors that can’t be replicated on paper. Once I get over the old-lady-“Why do things have to change?”-shock, it’ll be great. Learning something new—especially something you’re afraid of—is liberating. I witnessed this recently with my 7-year-old and her bike. Because she was embarrassed, she’d avoided learning to ride it. It had become so big in her mind she became afraid to try. But once she got on, she rode it easily and now wants to bike ride everywhere.

Hopefully, 6 months from now I’ll be posting interactive ideas here—sans training wheels.

iknowmoms

ny circle

I’ve been working on this networking diagram for months, adding names after each meeting (added a client today, thanks to Debbie). The idea started as a way to keep track of contacts (and being a visual gal I had to make it fancy). After a while I was struck by how many women I’ve met in the process of starting this little business. I went back through my notebook and found a few from the beginning stages whom I had forgotten. Definitely a work in progress.

Networking is painful for me. Asking for help is simply not a natural instinct. So the fact that I have a networking circle is something. I started with a small circle of relevant friends/ colleagues, made contacts through them and through these contacts, more. Yeah, I know this is truly networking 101 but you have to realize that I am not a social woman, in fact, I’m downright shy.

The idea that women unknown to me agreed to a meeting just because another woman’s name was in the subject line of my email, is pretty cool. The fact that most of them agreed right away to see me was a relief. And surprising. And gratifying. Most of the meetings resulted in another name or an idea; even if nothing concrete materialized these meetings kept me motivated. If these women were game to have coffee with me my idea must have some merit, right?

Call me crazy—or sexist—but I don’t think men do this for each other. I can’t imagine my husband or one of his friends reaching out to the friend of another guy for help. I can’t hear the words “Hi X, Y says you might be able to help me with my resume.” Admittedly, I married another wallflower so he might not be a strong case study. Something tells me most guys would have a hard time making a diagram like the one above. Let me know if you disagree.

I do know I owe the women I met with. Many of my clients came as a result of this networking. So did the idea for the business itself.

iknowmoms

OIJDIM isn’t the answer

I’m taking a break from the end-of-year-class-project-teacher-gift, a book of photos and quotes of my daughter's 2nd grade class. Nice idea (not mine!), waaaaay too much work. This “little” project has got me thinking about my inability to negotiate my fees well. This is a freebie of course, but I could have said no or asked for help. Why not?

Three times recently I’ve low-balled my fees. In one case I’ve done additional work without charging. In another, I gave so much information away in the initial--free--meeting the client hardly needs me. The interesting part is these clients are all women, 2 are moms. At the same time, I held my ground with a male client, aimed high and got more than I thought I would. Why am I so resistant to asking another mom for what I’m worth? For payment for my skills and knowledge?

Last week I had a networking coffee with another mom from school—a real go-getter with a new business. Repeatedly, I offered to help her--gratis--with her website photos (“It’s what I do! Really, it’s no problem!”) Repeatedly she refused. She finally said: “You have to stop thinking like a designer and start thinking like a business person.”

She’s right. That kind of “I’ll take care of it. Let me help you” attitude is so ingrained in me I can’t stop myself from offering help. Isn’t this is what we mothers do: we pick up each others kids from school, edit each other’s resume, design the bloody class project? We raise our hands. We’re volunteers. It’s called sisterhood.

How many times do we say “Oh, I’ll just do it myself ” instead of asking for help or, in my case, asking for more money? (After I write this post I’ll likely pick up the TV room rather than try and get my kids to help.) Since the days of having an assistant are over, there’s a certain amount of “Oh, I’ll just do it myself ” inherent in business (as in motherhood). Like folding laundry, sometimes it’s just faster to do it. And often there isn’t anybody else raising their hand.

But, to paraphrase my coffee date, I have to stop thinking like a mom and start thinking like a CEO. “OIJDIM” isn’t always the answer and doesn’t necessarily mean free.

iknowmoms

On GLEE

I’m not one of those moms who gets offended easily and writes letters about stuff she’s read about or seen on TV. I simply don't have the brain power or the time.

But here I am on a Friday night, when I should be nursing a second beer on the stoop, watching my kids skateboard, writing about how upset I am about the finale of GLEE. Yep, GLEE—a show, the only prime-time show, I adore. What’s got me upset (besides the loss at regionals)? All the baby stuff.

Let’s just gloss over the glamorization of teen pregnancy. Yes, Quinn had a few hard moments in the first trimester but she became a better person, won her mom back, and managed to dance and sing right up to delivery (even my kids were worried about the baby on that regionals number).

What really has me freaking out is the way GLEE has handled adoption. As the mother of two adopted girls who are GLEE fanatics I’m struggling to find a way to explain the mixed and downright sad messages their favorite show has sent out. I’m not sure which of the following is more troublesome:

1. Rachel’s birth mother, knowing that Rachel is her daughter, coerces a student to woo her and then break her heart to gain advantage at regionals. At the same time, the birth mother, unable to contact Rachel directly because of adoption laws, gets the student to plant a cassette tape so Rachel will discover who her birth mother’s identity and contact her. How f--cked up is this? She’s breaking her daughter’s heart, but hey, she also wants to meet her after 16 years.

2. Having finally met Rachel, the birth mother decides that she’s missed too much of Rachel’s life and can’t handle a relationship with her. So she abandons her daughter a second time! (She sings a Lady Gaga duet with her to make up for her crappy behavior.) Oh, and then she let’s the student, who is now Rachel’s boyfriend, dump her and throw eggs at her. Nice.

3. So, you’d think Rachel’s misery would end here. No. Her friend Quinn, shedding not one tear, gives up her baby (after a ten-minute delivery). And guess who adopts the baby on the spot? Without so much as a background check, Rachel’s evil birth mother, carries a new baby girl home.

One of my adopted daughters (I have 3, one biological) threw a tantrum the night we watched the finale. At the time, I passed it off as a stayed-up-too-late fit. But after thinking all this through, I wonder if unconsciously she was upset about the messages the show was sending her. Is it really so easy for a woman—even a young one with a means side like Quinn—to give her child away? And could a mother really reach out to her daughter, a 16-year-old girl, befriend her, and then decide it’s too late to get to know her? Could she really just replace her flesh and blood daughter with a newborn? Should any of this be mixed up with comedy?

As I said above, I’m not prone to bitching about prime time TV. At the same time, choices were made in the writing of this show. Why did they have to involve Rachel’s birth mother at all? And if so, did she have to be so mean and calculating? Thankfully, Rachel’s the most resilient character on TV and we know she’ll bounce back (if she hasn’t already). But as a mom, I can’t let my girls think that they could or should sing their way through a hurt like this.

We’ll be discussing GLEE’s finale at the dinner table for awhile.

iknowmoms

a confession

It’s official.

I’m a better mom now that I’m working from home. I’ve spent years convincing myself that working was important to me and therefore good for my kids as well. In many way it was and still is. I want my girls to see their mom engaged and focussed on something (besides them) that is exciting and important to her. I have many great memories of them in the office, on photo shoots and business trips. I was proud to have them see me at work and to show them that what I do is fun and stimulating. I want them to jobs they care about and showing them my job was an important step in that direction. None of this has changed.

The problem is, when I was working full-time I was crabby a lot. I was late for dinner almost every night. I remember the panic I felt when the train was packed and I had to wait for another, knowing that everyone at home was hungry and that I still had to stop at the grocery store and get some kind of vegetable because my husband--wonderful as he is--is incapable of purchasing green things.

When I was working at an office I was always desperate for time alone. Today, I still want to be alone and read every night but having spent the day by myself I’m not jonesing for it. I don’t fantasize about coming home to an empty house. My favorite time of day is no longer after everyone goes to sleep.

And the shrill edge of stress is gone.

I can’t believe I just wrote that. How freaking sad is it that my choices are working in an office, making a lot of money and being shrill. Or, working at home, barely squeaking by financially (for the time being) but being sane(r).