Dear Random Lady

Dear Random Lady I Met at a Party,

Thank you for taking the time to assess my ability to manage my work life and parenthood.  I appreciate your unsolicited opinion on whether I am able to sufficiently care for my kids while working, in your assessment, 17 hour days.  It was incredible to hear your views on the time I spend telecommuting as you seem to be an expert in the field.  I particularly enjoyed your statement that I wasn’t really there for my kids if I was working remotely.

Our 90 second conversation where you initially confused me with someone else was clearly sufficient time for you to accurately determine the health of my relationship with my kids and my husband.  It was also plenty of time for you to fully comprehend both my professional and parenting styles.

Since you have such a prescient viewpoint of how I live my life, you may enjoy reading my blogs to see if your evaluations are correct.  Might I suggest What Do You Do or you may see something more in tune with your own proclivities for mothering in I am, I am, I am Supermom.  I personally would like to recommend Profoundly Profane.  Then you’ll learn the incredible restraint and composure I enacted at said party when I didn’t tell you to mind your own f$&!ing business.

Love,

The Rock and Roll Mom

Barbie Needs a Job

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When Shorty #1 was born, I vowed we would be those parents that supplied their kids with only good toys.  You know…

1. Toys that educate

2. Toys that are ethically made

3. Toys that are environmentally friendly

4. Toys that are gender neutral

You get the idea.

Fast forward 6 years and you’ll see how impossible it was to stick with the plan.  In that time Toys R Us crept into the picture, as did hand me down toys, as did Disney.   The Polly Pockets invaded and now we’re swimming in a sea of tiny little rubber dresses (for what I guess are little Polly Pocket fetishes).

What could we do?  Sheltering our kids from the reality of the corporate machine that monetizes and markets every TV show and movie franchise with the toys that go with them is an uphill battle.  Especially when they start preschool.  Shorty #1 loves it all.  Who are we tell her not to – all we can do is try and educate her.

So as we discuss the merits of children’s toys, let us jump with both feet into the dialogue about Barbies, shall we?  While I do agree with the argument regarding Barbie propagating unrealistic body images for little girls, I for one played with Barbies growing up and never seemed to notice her shape.  What I did notice was her imaging.

Warning: here’s where I climb up on my soapbox.

I will only contribute to the Barbie franchise IF said Barbie has an actual profession.  Please note that the world’s oldest profession does not count!

Yes, I am sick and tired of Barbies dressed like prostitutes playing role model to our little girls.  If I’m forking over cash for a Barbie she has to have a real job.  Chef Barbie, Teacher Barbie, Dentist Barbie, Computer Programmer Barbie – all of these are ok.  Hell, even Malibu Barbie is a pro-surfer.  I can accept that.  I want to see Lawyer Barbie in an Armani suit or better yet Supreme Court Justice Barbie in robes – that would be amazing.  Nuclear physicist Barbie perhaps or even Entrepreneur Barbie complete with tech conference badge and elevator pitch in hand.

Having a profession is really the tip of the iceberg. Barbie needs to be dressed for the job.  Tell me, why does poor Barbie always have to have her feet positioned in a 180 degree angle to fit into heels?  Really, don’t you think Chef Barbie would be better off with a pair of sensible Crocs?  She could slip on some foie gras in those heels and break her tiny little neck.  Or Dog-Walker Barbie – heels for that job – as if.  Imagine if you will Barbie careening down the street with 5 dogs pulling her along in those shoes.  Wait til they get to the dog park – she’ll be on her ass in no time.

Don’t even get me started on the short skirts and plunging necklines.  I don’t think that a real Dentist wears a micro-mini when seeing back to back patients.  Are you listening Mattel?  Oh and if you are listening, perhaps you could add a few extra millimetres to her waistline while you’re at it?

Profoundly Profane

I f@#%ing LOVE to swear.  Always have.  I mean it, I f@#%ing LOVE it.

As a rather tightly wound, type-a personality with a penchant for absorbing and experiencing stress – swearing gives me a chance to blow off a little steam.  Who’s kidding who – swearing is f@#%ing cathartic!

Trouble is, with the arrival of the Shorties we have had to curtail the swearing around the house. F@#%!  Seriously, having kids only creates MORE opportunity to swear.  Examples:

1. You just spilled yogurt into the gear shift of my car.  S#*&!

2. All bundled up to leave the house and someone poops.  B@lls!

3. The SuperMom at school drop off lays the guilt trip about you missing the next field trip because you have to work.  B+^$#!!!

See?  So many opportunities when a good F-bomb would help ease the pain, but NO.  Our little dears are still in the throes of language acquisition and what if they (GOD FORBID) dropped a little F@#% you to the preschool teacher – all those years of good parenting and behaviour modelling goes straight out the window.

The real trouble is when I get home from being on the road.  The music business isn’t exactly… dainty… EVERYONE swears… A LOT!  I have to get all my swearing out on the plane.  I have to be so cautious not to let one slip when I’m back in the family fold and when I do I have to start rhyming to cover up. TRUCK, LUCK, SHUCKS.  HIT, BIT, WIT.  ITCH, SNITCH, WITCH.  TRAP, FLAP, CHAP.

In our house we have some emphatic substitutes.  They aren’t very creative but they work.  For instance a long drawn out EFFFFFFFF can ease the pain.

A friend once sent me the best book ever “Depraved and Insulting English” by Peter Novobatzky and Ammon Shea.  Its full of swears that no one knows.  So I can swear away when the kids are around and they don’t bat an eye!  Words like:

Gundygut /GUN dee gut/ n – an offensive, mannerless eater.  As in “YOU GUNDYGUT”

Shilpit /SHILL pit/ adj – Feable, puny or sickly.  Weak, good for nothing, watered down.  As in “THAT’S SHILPIT”

Or when stretched for a quick retort, one can always pick-up the quote made famous by Will Ferrell in the movie Elf – “SON OF A NUTCRACKER.”

The truth is, finding a satisfying way to let the swears fly just takes is a little f@#%ing creativity.

Black Magic Woman

Black Magic joined me on vacation in Mexico in 2002

In 2000, I took a little trip with some girlfriends down to Seattle for a shopping weekend.    I know we had fun and that we bought a lot of clothes and drank a lot of red wine.  We might have even crashed a wedding.  What I do remember is I bought a little black dress at the Gap Outlet shop for $15.  That LBD has gone on to live a long and fruitful life in my wardrobe and I still rock that bad boy to this day.  Hell, I’ve owned this dress longer than I’ve known my husband.

That’s right – if I amortized the total purchase price over the occasions when I (or others) have worn it, I would be running about 10 cents a wear.

Made of some polyester jersey fabric, the dress looks as good today as the sunny day I bought it from the outlet mall off the I-5.  I can roll it in a ball, pack it in a suitcase, pull it out on arrival with nary a wrinkle in sight.  I’ve worn it through various weight variations including two pregnancies and have loaned it out to friends.  I wash it in the washing machine with regular detergent and hang it to dry and the thing hasn’t frayed or aged a day.  That’s why I like to call it Black Magic.

Its a v-neck, cap sleeve, mid-knee cut with the perfect drape that flatters anyone that wears it.  Sure I’ve had to pop on my beloved Spanx on occasion, but still it works.

Black Magic Cape Town

Out for dinner in Cape Town with Black Magic and Shorty #2 in 2009

I remember first wearing it with a dark denim jean jacket and a pair of cow print black and red clogs (I did tell you I bought this dress in 2000).  Lately I like to pair it with some black patten pumps and a leather jacket.  Add a great choker if the occasion is fancy or a fun long necklace if its a little more casual.  Winter or summer – you can wear this dress any time of year, just change up the accessories to match the season.

In no particular order, I have worn this dress on first dates (including my husband), weddings, my parent’s milestone surprise birthday party, to the rehearsal party for my own wedding, several black tie events, on tour as both a cocktail dress and beach cover-up, on vacations, business functions, several staff holiday parties (its like camouflage – change the accessories and no one remembers the damn thing) at least one (maybe two Juno Awards) and a Grammy Awards.

For the Grammy appearance – I was 6 months pregnant and that dress just morphed around my great big baby bump.  Its like its made of plasma or something out of Star Trek.  I’ve loaned it out to friends and it just seems to shape itself perfectly to the wearer whatever their height and size.

My friend H borrowed Black Magic this past April.

My friend H borrowed Black Magic this past April and rocked it!

I liken it to Willy Wonka’s Everlasting Gobstopper – it won’t wear out.  I’m sure if The Gap knew that this dress was so incredible – they would never want to make it again.  It would negate women from ever needing to buy another LBD in their lifetime.  (OK – thats ridiculous, seeing as I personally own about 10 black dresses.  But to be fair I do work in the music business where black is standard issue and in cases when you’re behind the scenes – a necessity).

I picture some Judy Jetson type picking it up in a futuristic thrift shop in 2113 and wearing it on one of her first dates.  I hope Black Magic brings her as much luck as it has me.  I love you BLACK MAGIC.  You will outlive us all.

Be Prepared

My Dad was a Queen Scout.  He taught me to always be prepared.  He has a direct line to Canadian Tire and can outfit a car, apartment, house, boat – you name it – with every bit of safety gear in the event of calamity – batteries, flash lights, fire extinguishers.  I remember him stocking my first studio apartment in Vancouver, I had 6 flashlights in 600 sq feet including the closets.

Dad’s preparedness is clearly genetic.  My Grandparents were legendary for their pantry.   This was Cold-War era stockpiling at its best.  Dad definitely got this from them and he passed it on to me.  Our pantry is borderline hoarding territory.  But truly, my need to be prepared is most evident when I’m heading out on the road and all supplies need to be carefully packed in a suitcase and paraded around from home to taxi to airport to taxi to hotel lobby for the whole world to see.  I admit it, I am a chronic overpacker.  Most recently I was heading out on a three day trip and I’ve packed an oversized Samsonite that is tipping the scale just under the 70lb limit (phew!).

Disclaimer: I was traveling to the Canadian Prairies in the “spring” so I had to be prepared for any sort of weather pattern.  AND it was 12 celsius when I left home and I landed in a -14 celsius windchill.  To be honest I still froze my ass off all in the name of fashion.

Nevertheless, its good to be prepared and sometimes being prepared is just having wardrobe options.  What if I have been traveling for the past week and the hotel food bloat creeps up – you need to have your fat pants or at least Spanx for moments such as this.  What if that dinner is a little more formal than you expected and the red heels are so much cooler than plain old black boots you’ve been wearing all day.  Or what if you spill coffee all over your one pair of jeans during a little turbulence.  Options are always important to be suitably prepared.

Now we need to factor in the other comfort items required for life on the road.  If you’ve read some of my previous blogs you’ll know I’m not such a fan of hotel rooms.  So to beat the travel blues, I bring some scented Voluspa candles.  I’ve also invested in a pair of lightweight Nikes so I can hit the gym.  If I’m really lucky and have the space, sometimes I’ll throw in the yoga mat.  I’m not saying I actually use all these things.  But what if I have a spare hour in the hotel and I can finally take up meditation????

We haven’t even gotten into the gory details about the food I bring just in case room service can’t accommodate my dairy, gluten and sugar free regime (UPDATE: so far so good on sticking with the plan with only the occasional cheats – thank GOD for rice cakes).  Whole food bars and packets of almond butter can save the day.

I take full responsibility for my over-packing, proudly schlepping my bag in all its glory.   The real truth however is if you think this is bad – you should see what happens when I travel with the kids!

I Shop, Therefore I Am…

What can I say.  I love to shop.  Always have, probably always will.

It’s definitely genetic.  I started at a young age, following my Mom and Aunties around discount stores and outlet malls on illicit cross-border shopping trips.  Buying up hordes of clothes at rock bottom prices, then carrying all the bags into the Denny’s bathroom on the I-75 to try and wear EVERYTHING back across the border in an effort to avoid duty charges.  I have this clear memory – I was about 12.  My mom wearing some Wham! knock-off sweatshirt that I bought, my aunt layered in 4 brand new leotards for her aerobics classes and me in a skirt with a pair of pants rolled up underneath.  Scuffing the brand new shoes all the way to the car, the old ones long discarded in the Denny’s bathroom trash. The real moment of terror was when my sister noticed the pants rolling down under my skirt.

Shorty #1 in NYC with her Grandma - note the bags piled on the back of the stroller!

Shorty #1 in NYC with her Grandma – note the bags piled on the back of the stroller!

We loved new clothes and nothing was stopping us from getting them.  (Sh&# – I hope there’s a statue of limitations on smuggling seconds, overruns and deeply discounted clothes).

My smuggling days are long past now.  I always declare what I buy.  But I still LOVE to shop.  When I’m on the road, shopping is my favourite way to see a new city.  I hate sitting around a hotel room, so if I have a window of time to head to the shops, I take it.

I don’t have a particular fetish per se.  It isn’t just shoes I lust after.  It’s everything… with one tiny condition.  It has to be on sale.  Yes, my training as a professional shopper was ingrained with “you must get a deal”.  So now, I may fall in love with the beautiful pair of Frye boots in the window, but if they are full price I have to walk away OR find them on sale some way, some how.  Which has lead me to… the internet.  I never dreamt that online shopping could be so fruitful.

Yes, I am now on the mailing list for many online shops.  My gmail inbox fills every morning with notices of discounts, special offers and warehouse sales.  I lovingly sift through them looking for my favourite brands for me and the girls.  Hoping to see those Frye boots discounted even just a little.  Its so fun – the shopping is coming to me.  I can shop from the comfort of my bed, coffee in hand.  When the UPS man delivers that beautiful parcel, I can try the clothes on in the privacy of my own home (and lighting!).  I don’t need to worry about wearing my fancy underwear in case the sales lady walks in the fitting room – I’m in my own bedroom for pete’s sake.  Every now and again it doesn’t work and I have to ship the items back.  But for now, I’m kind of into you online shopping.

PS – in case you’re wondering and because they are AWESOME.  My favourite online shop is http://www.eluxe.ca

Doctor Doctor Give Me The News…

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Shorty #2 around 6 months.

Being a parent is probably one of the most terrifying jobs I have ever had (and that includes cocktail waitressing in a dance club).  I thought pregnancy was scary – but for a chronic worrier like me – parenting can be a white-knuckle ride.

For the most part, day to day things can be very easy and calm but when things start to get hairy, look out!  Suddenly one of the shorties tumbles off a chair and develops an immediate goose egg on their forehead.  Or inexplicably, out of the blue a strange rash envelops their little body with absolutely no warning.  Or how about the random limp that comes out of nowhere.

Off to the emergency room for that harrowing ride and even more harrowing wait in the germ filled space.  Much like a petting zoos and butcher shops, emergency rooms is one of the most horrifying places for a germaphobe like me!  Don’t forget to bring the Purell!

We have been incredibly fortunate with our kids that they have been healthy and the little scares have been easily diagnosed and quickly treated.  So count me extremely grateful for that.  Rather, I like to share these moments for the comedic value one might find in laughing at me trying to cope with the situation.

One of my better emergency room stories was with Shorty # 2.  After a rather tumultuous couple of weeks with multiple visits to emerg and a diagnosis of a bone condition in Shorty #1 (that was easily treated and quickly resolved – thank GOD!) we were ready for a little quiet time.  We were on an outing to Science World and #2 needed a diaper change.  Mid-change we discovered many tiny red and blue dots all over her legs.  That was a new one on me and looked concerning enough that we packed off to the walk-in clinic.

It was January – so busy cold and flu season and the wait at the clinic was creeping past the two hour mark.  When J arrived, we talked it over.  We could wait the two plus hours only to be told this was too weird and be sent to Children’s Hospital for another 3+ hour wait.  So I did what any other worried parent would do – I asked Dr. Google.  I typed in red and blue dots – guess what came up… MENINGITIS.  Basically the website said if your child presents with this symptom to head straight for emergency.  So we did.

The triage nurse reassured me after I apologized for coming in (for the record, I always apologize to the triage nurse since our afflictions seem so minor compared to others and I hate to be the person burdening an already over-extended medical system for some frivolous reason. I also apologize to massage therapists for putting my arm in the wrong place and I always thank a doorman for holding the door.  I’m Canadian, what can I say?).  She said I had done the right thing, steering us to the waiting room.  Moments later, I knew she was right when our name was called and we were ushered into QUARANTINE!

That’s when I started to really worry.

In minutes a doctor was at our door arriving before the nurse.  I worried more.  She examined little #2 and explained that yes, it could be meningitis and if it was we would know very quickly as other symptoms would soon follow this strange rash if she was infected.

I was about to panic.

In came the nurse to hook her up to the machines – heart monitors etc.  She checked her vitals and ordered blood work.

Shorty #2 in the Emergency Room

Shorty #2 in the Emergency Room

I looked at J – while I can worry myself silly in these moments, I usually try to hold it together for the sake of the Shorties.  This time he could see that I was starting to come a bit unglued.

Shorty #2 was doing great.  She was thrilled with the attention and particularly liked the cartoons they brought to help pass the time.

After about 3 hours of waiting, with #2 smiling, playing and even napping happily, the Doctor came back for what would be her final visit…

Now, #2 was rather chubby back then in her pre-crawling days.  I think she was about 35th percentile for height and about 85th for weight.  So a little bit round I guess you could say.

Turns out Shorty had a simple case of broken blood vessels.  You see, on our outing that day, I had carried her around Science World in the sling.  This constricted her legs a little bit and caused some blood vessels to break.  “Yes,” the Doctor said, “we often see this with babies of this…stature.”

So in this case, the morale was – better to be safe than sorry and this Mama was nothing but purely relieved and grateful to be headed home with a healthy and happy – albeit chubby – Shorty #2.

You Are What You Eat

It's not me it's you, cheese and bread.

It’s not me it’s you, cheese and bread.

Its been 65 days since I gave up wheat, dairy and sugar.  Sounds horrendous (in a first world problem sort of way) I know.  But really, I kinda like it.  I’ve lost over 10 pounds and according to J – I’m not as gassy.  (That’s true love right?  When your partner notices your new eating regiment by the amount of gas you are or are not passing).  Is that TMI?  We all do it right?  Don’t try and make it seem like YOU don’t!

I always avoided cleanses and elimination diets like the plague.  But I felt I needed to shake it up this time and really cut out the bad habit foods that I lived on – I’m looking at you delicious granola.  It hasn’t been as hard as I would have thought.  When I do sneak a little treat here and there, I pay for it later.  Who knew that one small morsel of chocolate birthday cake could reek such havoc on the digestive tract.

The question is, now what do I do.  I am pretty sure that gluten was my secret enemy.  So it can piss off.  Luckily every grocery store these days offers lots of gluten free alternatives.  I really dig quinoa and rice cakes are kinda yummy (I know what you’re thinking, “whatever weirdo”).  But do I let dairy back in?  Or do I continue to ban milk.  And sugar.  That’s a whole other deal.  What do we do about sugar?  Are we breaking up… forever?  Maybe not forever.  Maybe I can cheat on sugar with its less refined friends?  Well hello maple syrup, perhaps you’re not just for breakfast anymore?  This is where its tricky.  I’m kind of scared to let any of this unholy trinity of food back into my life.  What will happen?  Will I pull a Roker?  Or do I stay the course and hope some new study doesn’t come out refuting the health benefits of quinoa?

At least eating plans are so common these days, you no longer get the hairy eyeball from waitresses who need a whole pad of paper to take down your lunch order and all the subsequent modifications.  I’m heading out on the road next week.  I guess we’ll really see how all this will go down when I’m faced with tour eating habits.  Must resist the late night pizza.  Cannot order a clubhouse sandwich from room service.

If you’re wondering, red wine and coffee get to stay.  I think we’re destined for a life long love affair.

This is a Man’s World

Life on the road with dudes

I work in the music business.  One of the last bastions of male domination.  Sure, there are lots of amazing women that work in this business, but the upper echelons are still held by men.

Its ok.  I actually don’t mind it.  Some of these guys that I’ve had the privilege to work with harken back to an era of when women were dames and men wore fedoras – and not in some weird fad-ish way.  Like the real deal Don Draper-styles.  These guys are something else.  Aside from male domination, this is also an industry that’s fed by youth and here they are running the machine, still relevant, still getting their calls returned.  I love it when they call me “Babe” when they forget my name.  Somehow they have earned the right.  Now if some little hotshot straight out of recording engineering school tried that he would get the freeze from me!

I don’t mind being one of the few women at the table.  The women that are here are for the most part pretty damn cool and have more chutzpah in their baby finger than you can imagine.  Women who have built major companies while nursing babies and traveling the country.  Pushing a stroller side stage, they created their own empires.  And they did this in the ’70s and ’80s when you were a pariah for even considering the working mom title.  Women who have chosen to make the artists their families and work around the clock, dedicating themselves to the business.  Female artists who have had to overcome the need for physical beauty to find success and respect for their artistry in spite of their looks.

I always wanted to go down to Chinatown and buy those jangley Chinese meditation balls and send them to all my female colleagues. The way I see it you always need a good set of balls in this business.

I am, I am, I am SuperMom

Take your daughter to work day - Shorty #2

Take your daughter to work day – Shorty #2

I was just reading Devon Corneal’s blog on Huffingtonpost.com about what not to say to a working mom.  (Here’s the link – http://www.huffingtonpost.com/devon-corneal/what-not-to-say-to-a-working-mom_b_2566952.html)  Its incredible to me that in 2013 women have to defend their decision to return to work after having kids!  Kinda like what not to say to a pregnant lady – working moms can be just as vulnerable when hit below the belt with the judge-y comments hurled at them by other moms.

Heading back to the workforce is a really hard thing to do.  At the end of the blessed mat leave, Mom’s returning to the office are torn. Hormones are still supercharged still, the work clothes only kinda fit and your sweet little bundle has been left in the care of some stranger!  The last thing anyone needs is some jackass SuperMom judging the choice to re-enter the work force.

DISCLAIMER: Just so we’re clear before people start tearing my head off in the comments section – this post is NOT targeting Mom’s who make the choice of full time parenting.  I applaud those parents for their choice and respect (and even envy) their position.  This post is about those blabbermouth know-it-alls that give working mom’s grief for choosing careers over staying at home with the kids.

When Shorty #1 hit the one year mark, I had to extricate myself out of the sweatpants and back into my heels.  IT SUCKED!  Big time.  I cried and cried.  The hunt for childcare was horrendous (THAT is a whole other post) and I was a wreck leaving her every day.  But then, once I was well back in the swing, the hormones had balanced and my good jeans were just starting to fit again – it hit me.  I was sitting on a plane waiting to fly somewhere to meet up with a client on tour, beating myself up for leaving Shorty and J.  In a this moment of self-flagellation, it suddenly all came together;  I have to do my job.  Its an important part of who I am and leaving the job I’ve wanted to do since I was 12 years old would actually be a disservice to my kids.  By doing the job I loved, I was showing Shorty #1 (and eventually Shorty #2) that a woman CAN do whatever she wants to do, she can be whatever she wants to be.  And I haven’t looked back since… until we started school and I met the SUPERMOM.

SU-PER-MOM – n. informal – A Mom who does not work outside of the home, who bakes proficiently and volunteers incessantly while at the same time judges all other Moms for their short-comings, life choices and perceived failings.

SUPERMOMS are a whole new breed compared to the Daycare Moms I had encountered in the past.  Daycare Moms share sympathetic smiles at drop-off time, nodding in solidarity at the peanut butter on your lapel or the fact that you forgot the kid’s lunch.  Some SUPERMOMS can be equally as sympathetic and cool as the Daycare Moms – but always in every class there is one SUPERMOM who wears the badge of SuperMomdom like no one else!  She breezes in with her little one.   She doesn’t worry about forgetting lunch, why Junior eats lunch at home everyday.  She says things like “Are you staying for carpet time?  Oh right, you have to go to work.”  She invites you to midday playdates and when you decline says “Oh right, you have to work.”  The SUPERMOM scares the sh*& out of me with her ability to make cupcakes, host a party and write up a whole class of Valentines in one fell swoop.

SUPERMOMS also stick together.  I see their sideways glances as I drop off the Shorties with my phone in hand and a conference call waiting.  I hear their asides – judging Working Moms for choosing careers over kids.  One time was much like being back in High School.  I was with Shorty at the playground after one midday preschool pick-up.  The SUPERMOMS were huddled on the other side of the jungle gym and were talking loudly about their maternity leaves and plans to stay at home.  One SUPERMOM was recounting a story about a former co-worker who had negotiated the ability to work from home on certain days to be home with her kids, “Can you believe it?  She is so selfish and our boss always gives her whatever she wants!”  I was shocked.  These SUPERMOMS knew me and they knew that I was currently working from home so I could continue to nurse Shorty #2.  Me and the SUPERMOMS weren’t really friends after that.

Take your daughter to work day - Shorty #1

Take your daughter to work day – Shorty #1

Its a juggle managing everything for sure, but all Moms are juggling no matter what their career path holds.  Its the expectation for Moms to be June Cleaver and Hillary Clinton that makes it so hard.  Loving our kids and living our lives as an example is all we can do!