The Plate Spinner Chronicles Read online

  I believe I can speak for every working mother out there when I say that nothing says "romance" like being given the opportunity to get a good night's sleep.

  Fast forward twenty years, one house, two careers, and five boys later, it's been my distinct privilege to be the recipient of a number of wildly romantic gestures that don't necessarily come on a particular February day, but to this non-morning person, are worth more than their weight in gold—like the hot cup of coffee that I find waiting for me when I have to start spinning my plates earlier than usual, or the one morning that I got up before the crack of dawn because I let my "fill-up-the-tank" plate fall to the ground the night before, only to find that he beat me to it. He had even popped in my favorite CD that started playing as I turned the key in the ignition. The memory of it still brings a tear to my eye.

  And while I haven't received any additional velvet boxes with sparkly rings inside, my husband has gotten down on his knee for me since our engagement—never mind that it's been to tie my shoes when I've been too pregnant to find my feet.

  ~ Happy Valentine's Moment ~

  While some consider Valentine's Day to be little more than a fabrication by greeting card companies, chocolate manufacturers, and florists to boost sales, a much less cynical segment of the population holds out hope for a glimpse of romance on this particular day. Not something to be rushed, the challenge for plate spinners falling into this group is figuring out how to squeeze it in.

  Until my then-boyfriend decided to propose to me on Valentine's Day, I too was a cynic, manipulating more than one suitor to cough up roses and sparkly things because the date on my calendar said so. To me, it was just another day to hold my breath with the rest of my officemates when the floral delivery van would pull up outside of our building.

  For this plate spinner, while time doesn't always permit for a staring-dreamily-at-each-other-over-a-candlelit-dinner type of celebration, the expectation for flowers and chocolates still stands. Getting some alone time with my husband, on the other hand, will likely have to wait until the kids are asleep—no small feat. Like herding cats, the bedtime routine in our house can be simultaneously invigorating and exhausting.

  "Jammies and brush teeth!" I announce, just loud enough so all can hear.

  Like clockwork, the older two obediently run up the stairs to get ready for bed. The next two in line typically act as if they didn't hear me and continue with whatever they're doing. The youngest meets me somewhere in the middle. Fond of walking around bare-chested, even on frigid winter nights, he ignores my requests to don a shirt while categorically refusing to brush his teeth.

  When I repeat, "Jammies and brush teeth!" just loud enough for our neighbors to hear, my fourth son is spurned into action. He puts his PJs on and joins his father in front of the television to see the sports segment on the news. After reminding him where he can find his toothbrush, I go to our upstairs computer and IM my son still sitting at our downstairs computer, "Jammies and brush teeth. NOW." I hit the Return button. He replies, "In a minute…" I reach over and unplug our home network.

  "Mom!!"

  The impact of his feet stomping up the stairwell can be picked up on earthquake monitors in Los Angeles.

  With the last one on his way to bed, I get the coffeemaker ready while my husband, updated on all things sports, pulls a cork-topped bottle from the refrigerator. It's finally quiet. Tension begins to roll off of my shoulders as he turns on some Easy Listening music and pours a couple of glasses of wine.

  Snuggled on the couch, we clink glasses, yawn and call it a day.

  ~ Getting Carded ~

  I don't know about you, but I was in kindergarten the first time I got carded. No, apple juice wasn't a controlled substance back then, and no, I wasn't on a liquor run for my parent's New Year's Eve party (besides, my feet wouldn't have reached the pedals).

  It just so happens that's when I received my first Valentine's Day card.

  I still remember the thrill of tearing open the tiny envelopes to see which of my peers addressed one to me. It didn't matter that we had been instructed in advance to bring enough for the entire class. What mattered the most was whether the object of my secret crush gave me one that said "Be Mine" instead of "Pals 4 Ever."

  But, by third grade, the excitement over getting a little piece of cardboard with Batman's picture on it saying something like, "Blamo! You're the greatest!" had lost its luster. That was probably about the time that my Grandma turned me onto chocolate-covered cherries, a gift my Dad would give her each year, and I've been hooked ever since.

  I didn't get carded again until I was in college and, again, it's not what you think. Finding a big red envelope waiting for me in my dorm mailbox on Valentine's Day was almost better than getting flowers or chocolate. Almost.

  But here's the best part—because my husband-then-boyfriend filled every speck of white space inside of it with heartfelt sentiments, sealed it in an envelope, and trusted it to the United States Postal Service for delivery, I still have it. It's sitting right here in my keepsake box, ready to be pulled out and read again whenever I want to relive the moment, or remember how I got into this plate-spinning mode in the first place.

  Don't get me started on ecards. Even if it comes with a personalized message, animated or not, there's little romance to be had in clicking a button to open a file. While convenient, they're not perfumed or adorned with ribbons and can't be stored in a keepsake box unless, of course, you print it.

  Be still my beating heart.

  And, while email has its merits, speed of delivery being chief among them, no amount of emoticons can make up for the lack of a handwritten, sentimental expression. Taking the time to actually select, address, and mail a card leaves the recipient with a snapshot, frozen in time, of your affection for them.

  My husband has probably forgotten all about that first Valentine's Day card that he sent me eons ago, but I'm sure if I ever decide to exploit the contents of it for my own personal gain—say for a new kitchen, I bet he'd remember.

  It won't be long now before I take my youngest to the store to pick out Valentine's Day cards for his class party. Maybe for the last time. He is, after all, in the third grade.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Spinning from Home

  ~ Working From Home Rules ~

  Telecommuting. For most breadwinning parents, the very word conjures a vision of a perfectly balanced lifestyle, one in which work and home are seamlessly intertwined.

  I'll be the first to admit that working from home is not without its advantages. Experience, however, has taught me that if kids are about, the line dividing work and home can quickly become blurred.

  To help redraw the line, we have a list of mutually-agreed-upon rules to keep the two straight.

  1. If my office door is closed, do not open it. Ever.

  On a recent frantic morning, one of my sons alerted me to the fact that his supply of clean underwear had been depleted. Throwing a quick load in the wash, I ascended to my office to prepare for a mandatory cannot-miss, must-participate-in meeting with members of my project team. Just as we were diving into the gritty details of said plan, my son burst in with, "Hey Mom, the underwear's done!"

  "Great… Thanks, honey," I replied after hitting the mute button on my phone with enough force to push my car down the driveway and onto the street.

  2. No singing in the shower.

  Because my home office shares a wall with my sons' bathroom, and the members of my project team do not appreciate the aesthetics of Top Forty hits as much as they do, singing in the shower is banned when I am on the clock.

  3. Dazzle me with your survival skills.

  Remember that despite being home, I really am working. The last thing I want to see when I punch out is a sink full of dirty dishes. Also, do not expect me to fetch things, make things or clean things that you can fetch, make or clean yourself.

  4. No electronic devices at the kitchen table.

  Why? They're distracting
, cause disputes over possession, usually emit whirring, beeping, or vroom-vroom noises, and divert one's attention from the meal.

  In short, playing with toys at the table is just plain rude.

  As soon as my husband reminded me of this, I closed my laptop and slipped it into the briefcase sitting innocently at my feet.

  5. The planner does not leave the office.

  Arriving late to a lovely sit-down dinner with my family, I took a head count and noted that all were in attendance. No one was at Scouts, track practice, or the library.

  We had a quorum.

  So, while everyone was enjoying their food, discussing their day, and telling newly-learned jokes, I pulled out my planner and, knee bouncing furiously under the table, started running through my agenda. Topics included: family vacation ideas and a review of open action items ("Honey, where are we at with getting that check engine light diagnosed?" and "Didn't I ask someone to shovel today?").

  Something in their blank stares told me that I had crossed the line.

  Perhaps this rule is in need of an edit.

  5. The planner notebook does not leave the office.

  The planner in me, however, is allowed time off for good behavior.

  ~ Playing Dress Down ~

  Maybe it was the plaid wool uniforms I had to wear to school during my formative years. Maybe it was the hand-me-downs I was forever inheriting from my older sisters. Maybe it's because the only time I played "dress up" as a kid was on Halloween. Or maybe I inherited the I-Hate-Shopping gene that runs down the male side of my family tree like a polka dot tie on a striped shirt.

  Whatever the reason, I spend an inordinate amount of time staring at the contents of my closet each and every morning, wondering what to wear. Not exactly time well spent for this busy plate spinner.

  Until someone comes up with a line of mix-and-match separates for grown-ups, I tend to wear a lot of black, grey, khaki, and red. My fashion-savvy sister, on the other hand, is always decked out in this season's latest styles and colors. She inherited the I-Love-Shopping gene from our mother whose affinity for apparel acquisition was rivaled only by Leona Hemsley. When my parents moved to Phoenix, Marshall Field's went out of business. Coincidence?

  I don't think so.

  Luckily for me, though, my closet floor is cluttered with shoes my sister has tired of. If only those white slingbacks went with anything dangling from the rod above them, I'd be in business. As it is, I trod through my day clad in either my running shoes or, on dressier occasions, my black loafers.

  I admit it. I find fashion daunting. Where style may not be as much a priority as comfort and cleanliness, I suppose there is some truth in the saying that clothes make the person. Yet, the whole idea that apparel can transform me from just another slipper-wearing, bed-head coifed adult to a power-suited, designer shoe sporting, top-notch executive is transparent at best. Having delivered my share of presentations with a baby formula smudge on the padded shoulder of my newly-purchased $400 suit, I can assure you that it only takes one oatmeal-smeared good-bye kiss to poke a hole in your charade.

  While my executive presentation days may be behind me, fashion still dictates which role I'll play on any given day. Take this morning, for instance. I wanted to wear something that would make me feel confident, creative, and entrepreneurial. The image of the late Steve Jobs, former Apple mogul and the idol of my tech-savvy sons, came to mind.

  Reaching for my black mock turtleneck shirt and blue jeans, I effectively turned the game of "dress up" on its ear and it's working like a charm. I feel a revolutionary product announcement forming in my head as I write this. I haven't a clue what it will be about, but with what I'm wearing, I'm prepared to walk in front of a packed house of media reps and investors, eager to hang on my every word.

  I can only hope my kids are in attendance.

  ~ Tools of the Trade ~

  No matter what your occupation, there's no denying that plate spinning is an indispensable skill for parents, both in and out of the workplace. Yet, without the proper tools, we'd be left stumbling around with phone numbers written up and down our arms, strings affixed to our fingers, and little yellow pieces of paper stuck to our foreheads, reminding us of all of our "to-dos."

  As great conductors use batons to create one harmonious sound from several disparate sources, we must utilize some type of instrument to keep things humming along smoothly. At work, you might have a wide array of options at your disposal, all designed to give you the illusion that you're in control of your time—everything from sprawling spreadsheets to computer-based calendars to sleek, savvy smart phones that beep at us when we're supposed to hurry along to the next thing.

  Wherever we go, we can remain connected to our schedules, obligations, and contacts. And, like death and taxes, upgrades to these products quickly render the version we have just mastered obsolete. While some of these upgrades are truly improvements (how many of you remember the boxy computer monitors sporting a black screen with bright green print appearing as you typed?), I think I'm speaking for plate spinners everywhere when I say that flashier and more expensive doesn't necessarily mean "better."

  Thankfully, at home our tools can be far less complex. In my bustling household, our paper-based tool of choice is a large desktop calendar that hangs on our kitchen wall. Each child is assigned a different color marker that is then used to chart each of their activities. Yes, this method harkens back to the Stone Age when Neanderthal plate spinners were still chiseling their to-do lists on cave walls, but it remains elegantly simple.

  Yet, just as computer companies "up-rev" their products, over time, we've had to enhance our system. For instance, "Release 1.1" came out after our third son started preschool. In the interest of space, it became paramount that all entries be written both legibly and accurately, and we switched to fine-tipped markers. The next major enhancement came out when, after adding two more boys, we needed the option to highlight entries in yellow if more than one child was involved in any given activity. And, after our two older boys started high school, we upgraded to the long-anticipated "Release 2.0" enabling the highly-touted pencil/eraser capability.

  As each month passes, I peel off the multi-colored mess. Before the gleaming white page has me searching for my sunglasses, I take a deep breath and quickly begin filling in family birthdays, anniversaries, and national holidays. School events are next—concerts, athletic events and field trips. When I'm done, I step back to admire my work. While still theoretically simple, in reality, one page of our calendar could easily earn a spot on the wall at the Museum of Contemporary Art. Especially during the school year.

  Looking down at my rainbow-splotched hands, I write one last entry for the day—"Research Release 3.0, the paperless version."

  ~ Banking On Time ~

  If time is money, then being granted an extra hour of free time is akin to winning the lottery. No one knows this better than plate spinners who, on a daily basis, must adhere to a strict time-based budget just to make it through the day.

  Managing the two commodities is strikingly similar. For money management, simply balance what you earn against what you spend. Pay yourself first by allocating a percent for savings. Know that the IRS is going to pocket a portion for taxes, but you might get some back in a refund.

  The payoff for properly managed dollars? Zero debt and a hefty rainy day fund.

  Time management is similar. I balance twenty-four hours against the time needed to complete my daily task list. I pay myself first by allocating eight hours right off the top for sleep. I know that Daylight Savings Time is going to pocket an hour each March when we "spring ahead," but I also know that I'll get it back each fall.

  The payoff for properly managed time? Zero to-do's and a good night's sleep.

  Monday through Friday, my tasks are usually predictable, so my time budget is relatively fixed. The weekends, however, are similar to a futures market. Like a harried trader, I try to anticipate what impact things that are larg
ely out of my control will have on my schedule, like my boys' social lives and homework loads.

  If I were to take the analogy a step further, I would liken an emergency fund to a good night's sleep. In that scenario, things like stress and insomnia, like the cost of unanticipated car repairs, can quickly deplete my account.

  Compounding matters is the fact that my time-based account is usually in the red when the weekend arrives. Like a person who uses credit to purchase items instead of saving up for them first, I sometimes commit to things knowing full well I don't have the reserves to cover the cost and I dread the day the balance is due.

  For me, that day is usually Saturday, my day off. It's the day that should be obligation-free, but rarely is. Things like housework, grocery shopping, and cooking from scratch all come due. With interest.

  It's no wonder, when I think of the extra hour allotted us each fall, I feel that same giddy excitement that washes over me when I find forgotten cash in an old coat pocket. Unanticipated, it's not targeted for anything obligatory like paying bills. Therefore, depending on the amount, I can use it to splurge on anything from a lottery ticket to a big bar of imported chocolate bliss—either way, a treat.

  The same holds true for that extra hour. Unanticipated, it's not targeted for anything obligatory like chores. Therefore, knowing the amount, I can use it to splurge on anything from sleeping in to snatching some quiet time with the Sunday morning paper—either way, a jackpot.

  ~ The Dreaded "B" Word ~

  Impending deadlines aside, when forecasters announced that a "potentially life threatening" blizzard was headed our way, my first instinct was to rush to the store.