The Cake is a Lie

Over Christmas (yes, 3 months ago), I had the opportunity to talk to my oldest friend - oldest in the sense that she and I have been friends since 6th grade (over 20 years), not in the sense that she is old. She had her first baby last September - a very darling girl, whom I hope to see before she graduates from high school. Anyway, my friend and I were both raised in a very feminist environment: You can have it all - job, family, whatever. But as we've both struggled through our professional lives and walked the precarious work-home tight rope, we've realized something:

The cake is a lie.

Despite how far women have come, let's face it: An assertive woman is often not rewarded in the work place. Heck, I'm not so sure men are either (although they have it easier in my experience). Growing up, I was told that if I worked hard, was conscientious, dedicated, and went above the call of duty I'd be rewarded.

Bull.

If the past couple years have taught me anything, they've taught me that the opposite is true. I gave my employer, whom I have worked for since 1998 (almost 12 years) everything I have between the hours of 8:30 and 5:00 - and sometimes beyond. There was a time that dedication mattered: I was one of 3 employees to receive a very generous cash award when our CEO sold his controlling share interest to a private investment firm.

Now, I'm not so sure.

Lately, I find myself repeatedly slapped - both for going beyond my zone into the "white space," and for not doing so. I can't do anything right. I'm too assertive, I'm not assertive enough. I have let basic responsibilities lapse - despite the fact that a year ago I repeatedly told my boss that I was overtaxed and no longer had the capacity to do all these things. I was letting the "small stuff" slide just to keep the engine running. She was okay with that - right up to my annual review, and then bam! Uh...

The past year, and the past 3-6 months in particular have made me realize something: This is a job. It is not my passion. It's a decent employer, a good wage, awesome benefits and I work with some fantastic people. But it's just a job. A recent email from my alma mater asked me to share "how I was living my passion."

Well, it's not in the workplace.

An email from a guy I've never met in real life, as to whether he was too young for a mid-life crisis, kept me thinking. What is my passion? What is the thing I would love to do - that would really make me excited? And I thought of two things: writing and teaching.

I love to write (the infrequency of this blog notwithstanding). I was good at it in college. I had fun. But I'm not sure at the age of 37 (close enough) I want to do the "cub reporter" bit. And I don't want the pressure of a daily newspaper deadline. I want to be creative, I want to write things that people want to read because it makes them think, maybe the occasional movie or restaurant review.

Teaching, well, that's what I trained to do, way back when. I was going to be a high-school English teacher. But I couldn't get a job in the mid-90s and the loans needed to be paid. Now, I realize I don't want to teach some snot-nosed teenager who is only in class because the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania tells him he needs to be there. Nor do I want to teach some snot-nosed young adult who is only in class to meet an elective requirement of his college. I want to teach people who want to learn - who are interested in what I have to tell them. I adore explaining things to my kids. I had a wonderful evening recently explaining WWII and the rise of the Soviet Union to my kids at the dinner table, using condiment bottles as props. I've explained the solar system using a globe, a tennis ball, and a can of Coke. Why did I enjoy it? Because they wanted to learn, they hung on my every word. I could almost see their little sponge-like minds soaking it all up, and it was fabulous. Literature, theology, natural science, it matters not what I teach - I just like to teach. I'm not an expert on all these things (well, I do have both a Bachelor's and Master's degree in Literature), but I know a lot, and what I don't know I can learn right along with my students.

The problem is, I have no idea how to go about acting on these desires. Because I do have kids, a mortgage, car payments, private school tuition, dance, tae-kwon-do, and thus the need for a regular income with benefits. So I teach my kids and putter on this blog (hoping that someone reads it and likes it). But oh, to find a way to make real money off of that would be so liberating.

In the meantime, I think am living my passion. It's at home. It's in the faces of a boy and a girl who think I'm the cat's pajamas - and a husband who thinks I'm pretty cool too. My passion is not some soul-sucking corporate job. I have the soul-sucking corporate job to pay for my passion - because while love may make the world go around, money sure is more convenient for the purposes of paying the bills.

I've been watching past seasons of "House, M.D." courtesy of a co-worker, and one recent episode hit me. In that episode, a young woman who is the assistant of a high-powered female right attorney gets ill, and she has a conversation with House's young female doctor assistant, 13. And the exchange goes something like this:

13: But that's feminism. You can have anything you want.

Patient: Just wanting it doesn't mean I can have it. I can aspire to anything, but I can't necessarily have it.

Yeah. I can have it all. To paraphrase a former president, it depends on what your definition of "all" is.

Words for Thought

Every once in a while, you read something that captures your mind and makes you think. Well, at least I do. If you don't, I'm very sorry for you because it means either a) you don't read or b) what you're reading doesn't affect you in the slightest. Which is really a bit sad because, well, reading should make you think - at least occasionally.

Anyway, I recently started following a blog written by a college friend of mine - Byline to Finish Line. Moritz and I were co-editors of the sports section at the St. Bonaventure student newspaper - the BV. In the fall of 1993 I was her assistant editor; when I became section editor in the spring of 1994, she remained as a "consultant" (they called it something else, but whatever). We had a lot of fun together, many sleepless nights of trying to fit copy on a page, and come up with catchy headlines (Hey Moritz, remember, "It's all about soul!"). Like so many people I went to Bona's with, I didn't hear from her for ages, until I found her one day on Facebook. And then I started reading her blog, and then I subscribed to regular updates. Because it's good and Moritz is a good writer. She blogs about two main points: her updates with ultra running and triathlons, and women's issues in sports. The latter really doesn't surprise me, but I find the first two fascinating. One because "triathlete" would not have been a term I'd have used to describe Moritz in college (sorry), and she really seems to have immersed herself in it. Second, I'm about as athletic as a tree stump and can't imagine running a city block, so I find anyone who really digs that stuff fascinating.

And while I have enjoyed all of her posts, there have been three recently that really caught my attention.

Using My Power

This seemed at first just a post about swimming - until the end:

"It made me wonder where else in my life I was failing to utilize my power. It’s not about a lack of heart or effort or desire. It’s not even about working on weaknesses so much. In fact, thinking about your weaknesses only reinforces the negative in a way. Instead, where am I not drawing out all my positives? Where am I stopping short, not using all the power I already have?

In swimming, it’s about finishing the stroke and utilizing all of the power that comes from pushing the water behind me.

In life, it’s about seeing all the positives, all the strength, I already have. It’s about owning that, letting it shine, and letting that carry me forward. We are stronger than we think we are, and when we realize that, our true power takes us right to the places we want to be."

How incredibly true. Think about it. How often does someone encourage you to focus on your strengths? I'm willing to be it's not often. In school, we're pushed to work hard on the things where you don't excel. For me it was math. I kicked butt at history, English, even science (as long as there was no math involved). Ask me to do something more complicated than 2 + 2 and I was toast. And the hours I spent working on my math skills really didn't help. My brain just didn't work that way. And in the end, it didn't matter. Because in the adult world, you don't have to calculate a sine or cosine or standard deviation by hand. That's what calculators and Microsoft Excel are for, right?

Imagine if I had spent all those hours struggling with math enhancing and extending my writing skills instead. Maybe, instead of being a frustrated project manager and blogger, I'd be a writer like Moritz. But while I was "good enough" for high school and college, I spent so much energy focused on math that I never took writing to "exceptional." My daughter has the same problem. She is very good with liberal arts. Not so good on the math. Fortunately, her teacher seems to know what mine didn't: She doesn't have to be an "A" math student. She needs enough to be able to know when she's been cheated in her change at the grocery store, and to know her basic math facts. Heck, even Quicken balances your checkbook these days. Instead, her teacher is trying to get her to use her power: her creativity, her imagination, her generosity, her verbal skills.

Focusing on your failings holds you back. Use your power and it will carry you forward to greater things.

Playing Big with My Tribe

If you are in touch with anything, you know humans are social animals. The news is full of stories of children who are kept from social contact throughout their formative years, and who, therefore, are not functional members of society. This article, like the others, started deceptively "newsy," until the bottom:

Sometimes we are so concerned about not upsetting others, that we forget to live our own truth, live our own authenticity. As author Marianne Williamson wrote, “Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened abut shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. …. as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.”

The world does not generally look favorably on those who "toot their own horn." Pride is, after all, one of the seven deadly sins. And it may be worse for girls and women, who still battle a social concept that a "good girl" doesn't push herself forward. But there is a difference between hubris and knowing your own worth. Hubris puts you above others. Knowing your own worth puts you on equal footing. This concept plays along with using your power: If you are constantly pushing yourself to the background, you deny yourself the opportunity to lift another. If you deny your own power, how can you be powerful enough to give your neighbor a leg up?

Pride may goeth before a fall and it may well be a "deadly sin." But to constantly put yourself down and push yourself into a corner is a form of pride - and one I believe God finds more abhorrent than the former. As the saying goes, "God doesn't make junk" - so if you find yourself tempted to play small, remember that and play big instead.

Celebrating Strengths of All Kinds

This one hit me - kind of hard, actually. Written on International Women's Day, it made me think not just about my own life, but my daughter who is 9 and just beginning to realize her own power. In it, Moritz writes "Athletics breeds strength... It also breeds emotional strength. It develops an inner confidence. It makes you strong and humble at the same time. It allows you to see who you are, what you want, and gives you the focus and the support system to create your own authentic life."

True words. I was not an athlete - I am not an athlete. I spent most, if not all, of my school-age life lacking confidence. I was an awkward adolescent. I never fit in. I never really felt "good enough" - not until I got to college and found people who would empower me, instead of putting me down. Seventeen years wasted where I could have been more.

How different from my daughter. She is a dancer and a gymnast. She started doing competition dance this year: so far she has a second-place medal and a first-place trophy under her belt. She is supremely confident in her abilities on the dance floor - and it carries her forward. Where other children seize up reading or speaking in public, my child doesn't. Read this passage at Mass? No problem. I've danced in front of 200 people. Answer a question? Sure, no sweat. Older girls at school giving her grief? Who cares, I can dance - I have lots of friends who know I'm a good dancer and a good person. This is not to say that she is boastful or doesn't have moments of insecurity. But oh, how I envy her the confidence that dance has given her. The physical confidence and strength to do a back walkover or a back handspring (her latest goal), and the emotional confidence to step out on the stage and say, "Here I am world. Take it or leave it; it's the best I've got." When she started dance competition I told her she'd already done more than I ever had the guts to do, just by saying, "I'll give it a shot." She's hit the tri-fecta: using her power, playing big, and celebrating her strength. God bless her for it.

So there you have it. Moritz will continue writing, I'll continue ready, and who knows what will be the next thing that makes me go "hmm." If you've read this far, maybe I've done the same for you. If so, my work here is done. If not, go read something, keep your mind open, and you just might find yourself saying, "hmm."

Down the Rabbit Hole

(Wow, has it really been a year?)

Ever since Disney announced they would be releasing a Tim Burton-directed version of "Alice in Wonderland" with Johnny Depp as the Mad Hatter, my 9-year-old daughter begged to go. On opening night. With a stop at Hot Topic to buy movie gear beforehand. I was able to squash a midnight showing, explaining that "midnight on Friday" actually meant really early and not only did she have to go to school on Friday, I had to work. Me, I was less enthusiastic about this movie, although I do like Johnny Depp. But since her younger brother would be at a Cub Scout sleepover, I promised we could go. And go we did. She wanted to see it in 3D, but the 7:00 show was already sold out when we arrived, so we settled for 2D (since neither she nor I really wanted to wait for the next 3D show at 10:00 pm).

Now, if you've been living down a rabbit hole and not heard of this movie, here's the gist: it's not a remake of the Disney animated version. The movie opens up with a 6-year old Alice telling her father about a nightmare she had about falling down a hole and meeting all sorts of weird creatures, some of whom weren't very nice. Flash forward 13 years. Alice, now 19, is on her way to a garden party hosted by a young lord (who looks as icky and priggish as he is) with her mother. Her father is dead. In typical spunky Alice fashion, she refuses to wear a corset or stockings, at which her exasperated mother says, "But it's accepted." Alice responds, "If it was accepted to wear a codfish on your head, would you do that to?" It's a nice reverse of roles (okay, how many parents have used the old "If everyone jumped off a bridge" line with your kids?).

Once arriving at the party, Alice learns that Hamish (the priggish young lord) intends to propose, with about 100 party guests looking on, and she is less than thrilled. Fortunately, she spies a rabbit, follows him, falls down a hole, and thus adventure begins.

Turns out, this is not her first trip to Underland. The White Rabbit was sent to lure her back. In the years since her first visit (at six) the Red Queen (deliciously portrayed with a hydrocephalic CGI head by Helena Bonham-Carter) has usurped the throne of her younger sister, the White Queen (a dreamy, more delicate creature than her sister and played by the charming Anne Hathaway) and brought terror to Underland through use of the Bandersnatch, Jub-Jub Bird, and the Jabberwocky. (Okay, note here: If you're thinking Burton has made all these things up, he hasn't. The original Disney cartoon was actually a mashup of two Lewis Carroll books, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, and Through the Looking Glass. All these characters are from those books, notably Through the Looking Glass, if my memory serves. And I can't put my hand on my copy right now, but I do believe Carroll calls the place "Underland" and it is Alice who dubs it "Wonderland" so don't go accusing Burton of distorting the story.)

Once there, she meets most of the familiar characters, Tweedledee and Tweedledum, the Dormouse, all of whom seem to think she's the "wrong Alice." So they take her to the Caterpillar (voice by the wonderful Alan Rickman) who dubs her "not hardly Alice." Eventually, she goes off to tea, and is rescued from the pursuing forces of the Red Queen by the Mad Hatter, who explains that it is crucial that Alice face the Jabberwocky (voiced by Christopher Lee, who unfortunately only gets about a dozen lines) on Frabjous Day. And the adventure really begins.

(Another note: It was Disney who introduced the notion of the Queen of Hearts. Carroll always had the Red Queen and the White Queen.)

Earlier on Friday, I got a text message from a friend saying the reviews had not been very good (really, I only listen to Roger Ebert) and the movie was "dark, twisted, and not for kids." Um, okay folks, this is Tim Burton. If you're looking for sweetness and light, you've got the wrong director. Even Ebert gave it 3 stars, only decrying the inevitable battle scene (which, honestly, I didn't have a problem with - it was clear from Alice's first meeting with the Hatter that some sort of battle was brewing).

However, I'm not sure the critics are on the mark here. Yes, this is not Disney's animated Wonderland. The colors are certainly lush, and the CGI is not irritatingly overpowering. Burton's storyline (which actually extends the Alice story) is logical - here is a young woman looking for what she wants. There is a lot of oddity and strange-looking creatures (flowers with faces anyone?), but I would call Burton's version of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory darker and more twisted than Alice.

Not for kids? Well, if your child is easily spooked by loud noises, or fantastical (and yes, somewhat grotesque) visuals, then don't take him or her. Depp's Mad Hatter alone is pretty outlandish looking. But the movie is rated PG and I think that's appropriate. There's the battle scene, some fantasy disgust (for example, a scene where the White Queen brews a potion to get Alice back to normal size and uses "buttered fingers"), but no sexual innuendo and no profanity. So really, the only "objectionable" content for children is the fact that Burton has not remade Disney's cartoon and it is slightly twisted. The effect is not quite that of watching a cartoon on LSD, but you know for sure and for certain that this isn't your mother's "Alice in Wonderland."

And here's the thing: Wonderland isn't cute and harmless. Read the book. Tenniel's illustrations are slightly alarming. Carroll's book is not sugary children's fare. Just as those who bemoaned Burton's "Charlie" as "betraying the original Gene Wilder version (which I love, don't get me wrong), Roald Dahl's books were closer to Depp's portrayal of Willie Wonka than Wilder's. The same applies here. Wonderland (or Underland) is supposed to be distorted. It's fantasy, but not a candy-coated one. I've read the Alice books three times: once in high school, once as an undergraduate, and once for a Children's Literature class in graduate school. At no time did I think these were light-hearted affairs suitable for a five-year-old. They are, on a certain level, very disturbing.

There is this notion, perhaps born out of the 50's but that has certainly persisted to today, that a "children's" movie must be cute and happy. I've heard many criticisms of Pixar's "Up!" that say the movie is too sad. But that's life. Life is happy, and sad, and violent, and dangerous, and joyful, and wonderful all mixed together. It is sweet and bitter. A great movies show that. Great children's movies show that in an age-appropriate manner.

The Alice in Burton's movie is a young woman who isn't happy with the role Victorian England has assigned her: marry young to a lord, produce children, and spend your days at teas and garden parties. "What do I want?" and "Who am I?" are the predominant questions here. It's even something that the Caterpillar asks repeatedly, "Who are you?" Alice keeps saying "I'm Alice Kingsley." But that's not the question. "Who are you?" does not mean "What is your name?" The Caterpillar's question is more profound: Who are you and what do you want to be? It's a question that plagues us all, and we are lucky to be able to answer it before we die.

Happily, I think Alice does answer the question. She finds out "who are you" in a way that satisfies her. The last time we see the Caterpillar, he is building his cocoon and says he's going away. "Are you dying?" asks Alice. "No," he replies, "perhaps I will see you in another life." A deep question. But one essential to the human story.

Is Burton's "Alice" children's fare? Perhaps not, in that a child of 9 will hardly appreciate the profoundness of the question. Will children enjoy it? I think so - it is a visually stunning film with plenty to capture the imagination. Should you take your child? Can't say: how sensitive is your child to fantasy violence and visual oddity? As a parent, I don't find the behavior of the characters or their language objectionable (well, nobody wants to imitate the Red Queen, but the movie doesn't exactly try to make her a heroine - the "off with their head" line is alive and well).

"Perhaps I will see you in another life."

Who are you?

New Year's Reflections

2009 arrived with a bang and a splat in our house. The bang was from someone in the neighborhood setting off fireworks. The splat was from The Girl throwing up a 2:00 a.m. (she had emptied her stomach twice earlier in the evening - no fever, just vomit). The fireworks are over, and I think the vomiting might be too (although I'm keeping her on Coke and dry toast until I'm sure this time - she's not happy with me).

But now that the noise and mess is over, here are some reflections as we start 2009.

Resolutions - Two of them
Yes, I know resolutions are passe, but I think I can keep these.

#1 - Use the F-bomb less
My co-workers should have a good laugh at this one.

Every year for Lent (you know, that period before Easter where everybody thinks Catholics are wallowing in guilt, but is really about getting rid of the things that keep you from God) I give up swearing. And I do it. It hasn't even been particularly hard the last couple years - probably a sign that I should give up something else this year, but I digress.

Every year after Lent, the swearing returns. Full force. And the frequency with which I drop the f-bomb has gotten embarrassing. I'm an educated woman for crying out loud. I have no problem keeping it "G" at home or around my kids, but at work? Well...

Now, I have a friend who does not think this is a problem. I'm not really offending anyone. Except me. I have another friend, an ordained deacon in the Orthodox church, who also doesn't necessarily think this is a problem. There are good times for such language.

Unfortunately, my "good time" seems to be "all the time." Not good - at least not for me.

Thus my resolution. Note that it is not to give up swearing completely, nor to give up the f-bomb completely. Just cut back. Reserve it for the most appropriate situations. I think this is achievable.

#2 - Exercise More
One of the most popular resolutions and one most often failed.

Again, I'm not looking for miracles here. Continuing balance issues and a troublesome knee have put the kibosh on really vigorous exercise (I can't even walk briskly anymore - fell over at last year's Race for the Cure). But I have to do something. Taking the stairs twice a day at work is not enough. I feel like I'm turning into a sedentary lump and at 35, the metabolism isn't what it used to be.

So Santa brought a Wii Fit for Christmas. I'm hoping this does the trick. No, it won't help me lost 20 pounds or get ready to run a marathon, but that's not the point. I don't want to be an uber athlete, just not a couch potato. Some yoga and some light aerobics should do that. I'd love to join the pilates class that is being offered at The Girl's dance studio, but who has the time? The Wii Fit is in my basement - no excuses. There's no money and there's no place I have to travel to use it.

I'll keep you posted on my progress.

New for 2009 - Facebook
I've been resisting the Facebook phenomenon for, well, a long time. Why such resistance? Because. I'm not terribly big on social networking sites. God only knows who is out there watching me. And I've got enough drains on my time. So why cave now?

Because while there are a ton of people from high school with whom I have no interest in connecting, there are a significant number of people from college with whom I'd really like to find again. Surprise, surprise - they are almost all on Facebook. Including a very dear friend who was a bridesmaid in my wedding and who never can seem to write regularly, and a guy who I had the biggest crush on my junior year (he turned out to be gay, but that's a different story).

Email alone just doesn't cut it. I understand - in a hectic world, even finding time to write an email can be challenging. So if Facebook is all about being able to reach out and "touch" someone quickly, so be it.

Hopefully it will not be a time sink. I think it won't. First off, I'm almost positive I can't get to it at work, so there's 10 hours of Facebook free time. Second, I sometimes get home and don't want to look at a computer. And sometimes I just shouldn't if I want to have a happy marriage. I mean look how frequently I write in this blog. I should be able to behave myself.

Oh, and all you HATT-OT people - no Wordscraper. I suck at those games - it's the whole spatial aspect.

Also new for 2009 - Wii
This I'm looking forward to.

Santa brought a Wii (I'm sure you figured that out when I mentioned the Wii Fit) and Mario Kart. I can't play FPS games with friends from work - either the computer isn't up to spec, or I don't have the time (there's that whole peaceful marriage thing again), or I suck.

But I play Mario Kart on the DS at lunch and I don't totally suck. I don't totally suck on the Wii either. And lots of people at work have Wiis and Mario Kart.

I'm sure you see where I'm going with this.

Plus the kids and I have a blast playing together. The hubby not so much, but that's his loss.

Now if only I can find my Friends codes, I'll be set.

2008's Biggest Web Sensation
Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along-Blog is on DVD! Available on Amazon.com. 'Nuff said.

Patience, Young Grasshopper
Patience, I need it - NOW.

Patience at work to deal with people who just don't get it - any of it. No, you cannot have that thing that will take six months to develop tomorrow. Yes, you have to fill out the support request ticket correctly to actually get an answer. Yes, you really should pass this information on to your client. Rinse, lather, repeat.

Patience at home to deal with kids who will turn 7 and 9 this year (egads, I've been a mother for almost a decade). It's true - it doesn't get any easier as they get older.

Patience at home to deal with a husband. This is tough because all the hubby seems to want these days is, well, you know. It's a longer post for a different day, but let's just say that if he wasn't such an ardent opponent of porn, I'd get him a subscription and a blow-up doll.

Patience to deal with, well, everything.

Please God, grant me patience - now if you wouldn't mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So 2009 is here - bring it on.

Well, you can wait until after I shower.

Why are men such babies?

Well, not all the time. But sometimes.

The Hubby is sick - head cold. The kids have had the sniffles for a week or so; I knew our turn was coming. Started yesterday with a text message saying his nose was stuffed and he felt "woozy." He asked if I felt the same. I did not.

Did my usual Tuesday night thing - which now includes leaving work 30 minutes early to beat the traffic. He arrived home at 9:00 - the same time we got home from the dance studio - and went straight to bed.

I did not go straight to bed. I did not go to bed until 10:30. I had work to do.

So tonight, he calls me sounding all sad and draggy. Cub Scouts was canceled because the pack leader was sick, so what was he supposed to do with The Girl?

"Get her upstairs to dance as usual."

"Well, I'm not going to be able to go get food. I feel horrible. I'm going to bed when I get home."

"That's okay. Are you taking The Boy home or are you leaving him for me?"

"No, I'll take him but I can't get food. I'm going to bed."

"Just worry about him and you. I'll take care of The Girl and I."

"Okay, but I'm going straight to bed when I get home."

Gee, I wonder if he went straight to bed? Well, apparently not judging by the pile of dirty dishes in the sink. The dishwasher is six inches to the right of the sink, yet somehow the dishes never seem to get any farther than the sink - in a big, messy pile no less.

Okay, fine. You're sick. I understand. Stop whining about it, take some cold medicine and move on.

Because that's what I have to do. "You didn't come to bed early last night." Uh, no. See there was still work to be done. Put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher (empty it first). Get the mail. Enter the day's receipts in Quicken. Unpack the school bags. Make sure the homework was done (it wasn't - not last night and not tonight). Pack lunches (because the church hall, which they use as a cafeteria, flooded in mid-November and won't be usable until after Christmas so no hot lunch service). Pack the school snacks. Make sure there are clean clothes for tomorrow. Feed the dog. Let the dog out for the last time (has to be around ten because his bladder won't make it until 6:00 a.m. otherwise and he'll get you up at 3:00 a.m.).

You get the point.

See, here's the thing that after 12 years of marriage and 2 kids he still doesn't understand: Mom doesn't get to be sick. Ever. There is always work to be done and unless Mom is on her deathbed, Mom has to keep going. No rest for the wicked.

I'm not even asking him to change and ignore his illness. You're sick, right, got it. Go to bed and let me get on with what I have to do. Don't play stupid and ask dumb questions such as "Why didn't you go to bed early?" Because I can't. The work must be done. The kids are not going to pack their own lunches - yet.

And don't strain my sympathy either. It's a freaking head cold. Not the bubonic plague. Man up and stop sniveling.

Or perhaps I should say "woman up."

Tip for the Married Men

Don't tell you wife that you're going to spend $500 on snow tires for your car and put it on the American Express, and then go spend $300 on new tires, pay cash, and expect her to be all happy about it.

Just don't.

Trust me on this one.

My Horrible No Good Very Bad Day

I've never enjoyed a Friday less than yesterday.

At 9:10, one of our QA engineers came up to me as I was speaking to two other friends at work, stuck out his hand, and said, "I just wanted to say it was good working with you." The three of us were confused. "Are you leaving?" I asked in a puzzled tone. The guy hefted a black garbage bag in response and said, "I've been laid off. Me, three other people, and a few across other departments." Flabbergasted, I went looking for the head of Development, the CEO's younger brother and a guy I've been friends with for 10 years. He was walking another employee, brand new SQL Server developer who moved from Philly to take a job with us to his desk. He shook his head, and said, "In a little bit."

I went to my boss's office. The other members of my department filtered in and she shut the door. "There's been a cut," she said. "Pretty deep."

The CEO addressed the company at precisely 11:30. At 9:00 a.m. a reduction in force had been executed that resulted in the loss of approximately 20% of our staff domestically. With our clients slashing costs and jobs (our clients being all these wonderful financial institutions reeling from the mortgage crisis as well as the stock market turmoil), our sales forecasts were down, and management decided we needed to take action to ensure the company would not only survive, but be strong and ready to rebound by retooling to focus on client service. Ironically, while our clients cut costs and jobs, they will be relying even more on our software because while the jobs may get cut, the regulatory and reporting requirements will not. By focusing on making our clients happy, the CEO said, we will ensure that in 18 months, about how long they are predicting this current situation will last (and these are smart guys - they were right back in 2002 about the 9/11 fall-out), we are ready to storm out of the gate again. We were assured that the RIF portion of the plan was over, and those of us remaining were being counted on to be part of the team to pull us through. We were also assured that a reduction in benefits, such as health coverage, was not being contemplated nor were we going to be asked to pay for a portion of our benefits. Both the CEO and CFO described those as "sacrosanct," although the CFO said they will continue to aggressively shop to make sure our benefits package gives us the most bang for the buck.

Mercifully, the CEO does not follow the AIG example. Our Christmas party, usually quite a lavish affair, was canceled, with the CEO feeling it would be "inappropriate" in the aftermath of a massive layoff. Hear, hear.

Along with the RIF, they unveiled a massive restructuring plan, some of which was very familiar because we've been talking about it in Development for a while, but some of which was quite new. Two guys I work with are leaving their current positions to return to their roots in Client Support - where they will be fabulous, actually, but still.

When the dust settled in the early afternoon, unofficial losses stood around 43 people, somewhere between 20 and 30 percent of the company. One of those losses was a woman I have worked with and called a friend for 10 years - she had been with the company for 11. Clearly, seniority was no protection from the scythe of economic practicality.

Fortunately, nobody in my department was cut, and Development's losses in general were pretty light. That meant I wasn't saying good-by to too many close friends. But in a small company, almost everybody is a "friend," with the possible exception of a few folks who hadn't been with us very long. The mantra of the day was, "How are you?" "Well, I'm still here." It wasn't a particularly comfortable response. As I said to the CEO, "So this is survivor's guilt, huh?" He hugged me in response. The COO and I gave each other a strong hug as well (yes, we are not a huge company and I am that close to our CEO and COO).

Hugs, in fact, were running high all over the company. After work, there was an impromptu gathering at the bar down the street, appropriately named Finnegan's Wake, for our own Irish funeral. Even my friend in TS who never drinks had a Guinness. Our toast was appropriate, "To us, to the future, to our friends who are gone." The most senior developer, a guy who has been with us for almost 20 years and who was floored that a member of the "10 year club" had been let go hugged everybody as he left. We filtered out by ones and twos. I left with a guy from QA who has become a very good friend in the year he's worked with us. "This is the worst Friday ever," I said. We parted at the parking garage with another hug.

Some cynics who read this would say this is only the start, but despite the fact that I've disagreed with the CEO, CFO, and COO over the past couple years, I believe they are men of integrity and they told us the truth. There will be no more RIFs, always barring unforeseen economic catastrophe (like going out of business, which I don't anticipate) and they will not touch our benefits package. And yes, looking at their faces yesterday morning I believe this was as hard on them as the rest of us. And like them, I believe we can and will come out of this a leaner, stronger, better company. We did it after 9/11, we can do it again.

But man, Monday never looked so good.