Working Girl

Hi~ I've come to a startling revelation. Now, I'm certainly not the brightest bulb in the box, but it just occurred to me that I started this blog in hopes that I could help other working moms, like myself, make sense of this crazy "work-life" bullshit. (Notice the cuss word. When I was a virginal blogger, I was wary of offending potential followers who may be sensitive to such brash language, so I never cussed. Now that I realize that only family members and a few loyal, sympathetic friends are the only ones reading this, I'm over it.) Well, it is actually impossible to discuss anything work related on this lonely blog due to the extreme conservativeness of my industry. Coupled with the fact that I live in a Right To Work state, and of course the spiraling economy, ya just never know. So I guess I will just have to be cautious when citing work issues.

I will share one working mom moment that happened to me this week. I was dutifully getting my doddling, leisurely kids off to school, as I frantically do each and every scrambly morning, when my car made a choking, horrific noise and then died in the middle of the intersection about a block or so away from school. I had to get these kids to school on time and get myself to a morning meeting, followed by a lunch with customers and a full day of sales calls. Luckily, a very kind friend pulled behind my defunct car and offered to take my kiddos to school. She was a godsend. Half a dozen moms from school stopped and asked if I needed anything? Coffee? Could they take me somewhere? Do anything to help? Sweet and genuine offers. I stood on the side of the road in my heels and dress, probably looking more like a "working girl" than a working girl. The greasy tow truck came to my rescue, followed by a rancid smelling rental car. Now, two hours late, I could start my corporate day, where I was expected to perform a full day of sales calls, irregardless of the morning mishap. Instead of going 55 MPH today, I had to crank it up to 75 MPH in order to pick up my kids before sunset.

So there's a boo hoo, whiny working mom story for ya. Several jealous thoughts crept in my head like "if i was a SAHM, I could easily just carry on with my day, frustrated with the inconvenience, but knowing that thank goodness I didn't have to be anywhere pressing today." I pushed those thoughts out of my head, and forged ahead, going about my working girl day...

Working Mom Girl

Flashback to the 80’s, when Madonna was more meaty, and less religious, with no sign of a faux English accent. She donned the hot pink satin strapless gown and matching long gloves with oodles of sparkling diamonds, in her Material Girl video, a Diamonds Are A Girl’s Best Friend takeoff. Got that image in your head? So, please sing along to the tune of Material Girl:

We are living in a stay at home mom world, and I am a working mom girl
You know that we are living in a stay at home mom world, and I am a working mom girl!
Ow, Ow, Ow!

These made up lyrics I sing (to myself of course) mostly every day. There is some small happening each day that reminds me that I am odd man out, or in this case, odd mom out.

Every morning, I drop off Cole and Patty at school, before I head to work. It is extremely hectic to get out the door in the morning, as most households with small children all across the globe are. Backpacks zipped. Water bottles filled. Snack packed. Lunch in backpack. Blue ice in lunch. Library books packed. Shoes tied. Teeth brushed. Hair brushed. Homework in folder, in backpack that is zipped. Name on homework.

Dishes on table from breakfast, washed. Flat iron unplugged. Lights off. Tatum’s bowl filled. Lap top. Cell phone. Headset. Bottled water. Mascara? No time.

We arrive at school and are greeted by various kids, moms, teachers. I walk each kid to their classrooms. Big smothering, wet, clingy kisses and hugs from Patty. Kind of a high five, but not too much contact from Cole.

The bell rings. The kids scurry. The moms are left. Moms begin to congregate to chat it up. I love this time since I get to feel like a “real mom”. The difference is the chatting time is limited for yours truly, because I need to get my butt to work. The stay at home moms get to stay and leisurely talk. For however long they want. One mom holds a coffee mug from home, not a travel mug with lid, but an open topped, porcelain, kitchen mug . As if this is a casual, easy morning ritual. Looking like the girl who overdressed for the party, I stand out amongst the casually, comfortably clad moms, the only one dressed to go to work.

How I long to stay and talk about the kids, school stuff, share funny stories, be leisurely. I want to be in this stay at home mom world, and I cannot. I do not live there. Cuz we are living in a stay at home mom world, and I am a working mom girl…

I'm A Soccer Mom In Heels

Ok, so hence the name, Soccer Balls and Conference Calls, today will be the first theme related post. Yippee! I am exploding on where to even begin when I ponder upon the array of experiences that I have encountered as a working mom.

Throughout my 8 years of mom-hood, I have been working. Working full-time. I still don’t seem to have a handle on it. There are soccer balls rolling around in my back seat amongst the files and pens and maps. Inside my sales bag, I there are Pokemon cards, a few Lego pieces and a silver Barbie shoe at the bottom, along with photos of my kids, which I whip out throughout the day, to catch a glimpse of those precious smushy faces. These odd combinations of elements often pull me in several different directions both emotionally and physically.

As most moms, I am always rushing. Rushing to get the kids to school in the morning. Rushing to get to work. Rushing to pick up both kids from 2 different schools, attempting to get to soccer practice on time without forgetting the cleats, shin guards, a full menu of snacks, books, crayons, paper and a pink plastic Dora cell phone for Patty’s entertainment. I am standing on a soccer field with heels on. The other moms are comfy in flip flops. I am a fish out of water. Where are all the working moms? Could I be the only one working? No, not possible. I just need to find them. This will validate my insanity. Hopefully.

First Time

Hi! My name is Amy and this is my first time in the blogging universe, so please be gentle. I didn't even know exactly what a blog was until just a few months ago. I live under a rock. Seriously, it just took me 3 hours of blood, sweat and tears to set up this Blogger page, and I still need to make obvious changes. I must be extra remedial, huh?



My husband, Jerry and I have been married for 11 years and have 2 amazing kids: Cole, age 8 and Patty, age 5. We live in Scottsdale, AZ. I work full time as a pharmaceutical sales rep.

I decided to write this blog primarily to help make sense of my role of a working mom. This is a role I have always struggled with. It will be short in length due to the fact that if you are a mom, you have little, if any time to read leisurely. The content will be simple to understand, since my current reading comprehension ability is about a 4th grade reading level. So, here we go...

Today was a monumental day for our family. Patty, our "spirited" child, decided she wanted to spend the night at the camp sleepover. She had been solicited and brainwashed by the multitude of targeted marketing the camp aimed at these little people that this would be THE night of all nights, complete with:

*gourmet dinner: cafeteria style pasta, salad and fruit
*entertaining camp "talent" show"
*critically acclaimed classic movie: "Alvin and the Chipmunks"
and the finale...
*getting to sleep at the camp (on the filthy social hall floor where they eat lunch daily) with a few hundred sweaty, cranky, tired campers, who would be giggling, talking and NOT sleeping...

But wait,...there's more!

In the morning, there was a field trip to... THE CIRCUS!!! So the whole thing was a circus within a Circus.

Who planned these back to back action-packed series of events? Obviously not a parent.

Please keep in mind, this child is only 5 years old. She has never had a sleepover. And she was so out-of-her-mind-excited to attend this life-changing event, she had been on her very, very best behavior for the entire week, which we had not witnessed for about 2 YEARS. What a sublime week of "yes, mommy!" and no fighting with her older brother, Cole all glorious week. Patty has been prime Super Nanny material, if that gives you a picture. The deal was, if she had a "good" behavior week, she could go to the sleepover. Mission accomplished. She was perfect. Who was this child? So, she got to attend.

I picked her up this afternoon, and she was standing upright, comatose. She looked right through me with her dark, droopy eyes, sucking on a chocolate lollipop. Good, I thought, she's zonked. She'll go home and crash. Six seconds in the door and she had reverted back to the Old Patty, having a complete meltdown, totally naked with chocolate surrounding her mouth, stabbing her plastic piggy bank with a fork, trying to get her money out because her brother spent his allowance on a $9.49 Lego set while she was at the sleepover, so why couldn't she go spend her money "RIGHT NOW?!?!" What a picture. And just like that, the good behavior streak was over until another worthy bribe comes along. She was in bed, snoring at 7:15 p.m.