I Can Be Vanna!

I’m not the best barometer for sexism, probably because I have a number of shortcomings as a feminist. For example, I don’t have a problem with being “appreciated” for my physical features. This is partly due to the fact that, being in my mid-40s, I’ll take any compliment I can get, and also because, in the past, before I was married, I was known to acknowledge attractive male specimens.

So, if there’s a scale for feminism, with 1 being “you are an embarrassment to your gender” and 10 being “I refuse to even acknowledge that men and women have different body parts,” I’m a solid 5, or maybe a 6. My feminist beliefs include:

• Equal pay for equal work.
• Equal opportunities.*
• Equal respect and consideration. 
• All women should have the choice to do with their lives and bodies what they please.
• Mom doesn’t stay home and raise the kids because she’s the woman. If she stays home and raises the kids, it’s because she wants to. 
• Women around the world shouldn't be abused, bought and sold, subject to genital mutilation, or worse. Of course, no human being should be victimized in such unspeakable ways.
• History needs to acknowledge the contributions of women.
• Every woman is beautiful, and Barbie dolls shouldn’t be the standard we aspire to.
• No little girl should be told that she can’t do something "because she is just a girl."

Frankly, I would hope all women agree with those points.

On the other hand, I have some feelings that radical feminists (a broad term for which not all of these apply) might be displeased with, including:

• *Equal opportunity based on qualifications—don’t give me a job just because I’m a woman and you have to meet your quota (particularly true in the STEM fields). Give me a job because I deserve it. 
• A man complimenting you on your appearance is not despicable (unless he’s creepy and leering at you lasciviously; and/or he’s your boss or coworker and he acknowledges your legs and not your job performance).
• You can’t hate men for being men. 
• You can wear skirts and dresses and still believe in women’s rights.
• I’m not offended when God is referred to as “He.” 
• Women are no more superior to men then men are to women.
• Giving little girls dolls and dressing them in pink is not anti-feminist, as long as we’re also giving them Lincoln Logs and letting them wear whatever they want to when they’re old enough to dress themselves.

The point of all this is to say that I’m not one to quickly cry sexism at every perceived gender slight; therefore, when I say I was recently the victim of sexist behavior, I mean it.

Last week I attended a creativity and innovation workshop in which we formed teams and had to come up with a product or service, create a logo and prototype, and ultimately present to the rest of the group in a one-minute elevator pitch. I should add that I was one of only 3 women in a room filled with men, and the only woman on my team.

Appropriately, the category is "Around the House"

When it came time to present our idea—which I had proposed in the first place—one of my teammates strongly suggested, more than once, that I should be part of the presentation because “you’re a woman in a room full of men and you’ll get their attention.” To add insult to injury he then said, “You can be Vanna.”

Whew. For a minute there I thought he was going to actually encourage me to speak. Thankfully all he wanted was for me to hold the poster board and smile.

I’ve been asked how I reacted to this Neanderthal (who was in his 50s), and I’m ashamed to say I responded with nothing more than a “Ha.” Yes, I blew it. After the fact I thought of a number of appropriate comebacks, including:

• Too bad I didn’t wear my stilettos and a shorter skirt today. 
• After I play Vanna, can I get you a cool beverage and fawn over you?
• What decade is this? 
• No wonder more women don’t go into STEM careers if it’s filled with assholes like you. 

Women, I’d love to hear of your encounters with sexism, and men, I’d be interested to know if you think I’m overreacting, or if the guy really blew it. I should add that I don’t think he meant to offend; the problem is that he didn’t “think,” period. And that behavior is so ingrained in some men that they don’t even recognize that it’s wrong.

Share your stories, and suggest even better comebacks so if when it happens again, I won’t let the guy off the hook so easily.

Nothing I Love More than a Good Challenge!

I always hoped that someday I'd become a full-fledged adult who behaves like a full-fledged adult. No meltdowns, no whining, no crying, no throwing little fits, no breaking into a sweat and running away every time something doesn't go my way. Alas, it seems I have a ways to go.

Obviously this means that being my spouse can be hell on earth frustrating. Being my child isn't easy-breezy either. Close friends, too, have seen the ugly side. And I'm okay with exposing those I love to the real me. It's in the workplace that I really wish I had better control of my reactions to the down parts of life's ups and downs. When I imagine powerful, professional women who have successful careers, I see no resemblance between them and me. Sheryl Sandberg may tell me to "Lean In," but when the going gets tough, I lean so far out that I can touch the street from my third floor office.

You may be wondering how I arrived at this woe's me place. Two things: 1) A new marketing director, and 2) HTML tags and coding, URLs, and lions and tigers and bears, oh my!

My new marketing director started yesterday. She seems great. Very nice. Smart. Experienced. Capable and confident. And I'm not all wigged out about losing my "It girl" status to her, like I was with Kelly, her predecessor. "It" is already lost. That ship has sailed. No, this mostly internal meltdown is a function of having brain freeze on this young woman's first day on the job. The day when you most want to make a good first impression so that your new employee doesn't wonder what the hell kind of moron they're going to be working with. Ideally you don't want the individual it took you months to hire to go running for the hills when they realize their so-called boss is a blathering idiot. Yep. Blathering idiot. That about sums it up. In the process of showing her the ropes, I found myself unable to explain things that she really needs to know, like the status of our current marketing plan. And the location of important files. And how X-Y-Z works. I'm lucky I was able to communicate the location of the bathroom. I was completely incoherent. It was embarrassing. I can only hope that she was nervous enough on her first day to not notice my inadequacies. Except that I kept apologizing for my inadequacies. She's probably counting the days before we can switch job titles. I hope she shows up for her second day.

Even worse than my supervisory stumbling was the nearly overwhelming sense of panic I felt when confronted with a problem I didn't know how to solve. Here's the thing: There's nothing I hate more than not knowing how to do something and do it well. This explains why I don't ski, vehemently dislike magic tricks, don't dance unless I've been drinking, avoid math problems like the plague, and refuse to debate politics or religion. I don't like to lose and I don't like to look or feel stupid, unless it's voluntary on my part. Like blogging about it, for instance.

My childish refusal to work on something that does not come easily (I believe they call it "trying"), is really pathetic. I've become one of those old people who've been on the job for 40 years and refuse to work with that new fangled technology known as a computer. "What's wrong with hard copies, for cryin' out loud!"

This pattern of panic started months ago with a Google Analytics course. It's been toying with me recently on topics like landing pages and inquiry forms. And yesterday it blindsided me with an email subject line that read: "ROI Tag Instructions for multiple ROI Pages." Before I even read the message, my heart started pounding and I began whimpering and stomping my feet. The message itself -- sent from my ad agency -- took things from bad to worse:

"We do not have new ROI tags for Smartbrief and Technically. This will not affect the leads that you receive, but it will affect if I can see them in my ad server.  These tags should go on the Thank You Page that pertains to the Smartbrief and to Technically. It would be appreciated if you could have these implemented as soon as possible. Also, once implemented, if you could send me the url of the landing page, that would be great."

I could share with you the actual instructions for adding said ROI tags to the custom landing pages with the unique inquiry forms, but looking at them again may cause my head to explode. The email might as well have asked me to split the atom, scale Mt. Everest, or successfully train my puppy. Time to put on my running shoes. I can't do this!

I realize that very few of us (probably only those powerful and successful folks I dreamt of one day becoming) get psyched when confronted with something well outside our comfort zone, but my reaction seems a bit extreme. As in "I need to quit my job because I'm never going to understand how tagging works." I guess it hits so hard because my job is the one place I feel most secure in my abilities. I know there's lots of room for improvement in my performance as a wife and mother. I know I totally suck at cooking and general "home" stuff. I know that despite my best intentions, I'm not knocking it out of the park with this puppy thing. But Communications? I can do that. And do it well. I can write. I can work social media. I can deliver strong publications and make effective presentations (except to new employees). I can meet and beat deadlines and have a reputation for getting stuff done. I feel really good about my ability to do my job well. Why would I muck that up with ROI tags, SEO, SEM, and Google Analytics?

It really does make me want to cry. And that's not mature. Not adult. Not the sign of a powerful or successful professional. It's this kind of reaction that makes women look bad. I'm single handedly setting women back in the workplace every time I feign having a heart attack so I can run from the office.

I can go on whining about this or I can put on my big girl panties and deal with it. I'm smart. I can learn how to do this stuff. Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'm having a heart attack.

Good News: We're Going to Work Together on This!

Nothing strikes fear into men, women and children like the prospect of a "group project." Has anyone of above average intelligence with a decent work ethic ever been psyched to hear those two words? As children, we learn early on in our education, that "group project" is code for a dysfunctional team approach that leaves everyone unhappy except for the biggest slacker. Schools torture students with group projects throughout their elementary, middle and high school years, to prepare them for more of the same in college. In college, group assignments are intended to reflect "the real world" in which working well in teams is vital to a company's success. Once we arrive in the working world, we lie to our employers when we state in our cover letter that we're "team players." Of course, there is the possibility that I'm the odd man out on this and the rest of you crave such project-based camaraderie, but my sense is that I'm not alone in preferring a stroll over hot coals to working on a team.

It's quite likely that it's the Type As among you who are nodding your heads in agreement while enduring flashbacks of evenings spent redoing a member's contribution to the "group" project. Type As want nothing more than to finish the work efficiently, correctly and without other humans mucking things up. Type As want control and that's exactly what's lacking when the assignment calls for teamwork. Even when you respect your group members and, in general, find them to be competent human beings, you're still likely to mutter, "I'd rather do it myself."

In the past year, I have been reminded several times of the evil that is group projects. I experienced sympathy pains when my colleague Kelly announced that she was working on such an assignment in one of her MBA courses. On another occasion I met with a fairly large group of school parents who are going to work together to put on a successful fundraising event. This "project" revealed an interesting dynamic that I would title "The Swarthmore Syndrome." The way it works is that all the parents from Swarthmore know best. 'Nuff said.

Perhaps the pinnacle of my personal group-based experiences, however, have been two years worth of committee and sessions meetings at church where the unfortunate among us were called into service to re-envision and rebuild our fellowship. I love my church family dearly, but putting Christians together in groups leads to the longest, most drawn out processes ever, accompanied by hushed side conversations, overcommittment by 20% of the frozen chosen, discussions ad nauseam, a great deal of private grumbling, and a lot of public prayer. I think the only thing that could make the experience bearable would be providing adult beverages during meetings, but that would be in violation of the new drug and alcohol policy.

Lest we let the workplace off the group project hot seat, I'd have to say that this is where you're going to find the widest range of so-called team contributors. I suppose this is a result of the salary element. Now, you might think that a paycheck would make a noticeably positive difference in teamwork participation, but based on my personal experiences of the past twenty years, you would be mistaken. In fact, to help those of you are just now entering the workforce, I've created this simple guide to identifying those you may encounter on your team:

• The Naysayer: It can’t be done. 
• The Boxer: Don’t ask me to think outside of it.
• The Historian: That’s not the way we’ve done it in the past.
• The Soother: Don’t worry about it being perfect, no one gets fired here.
• The Amnesiac:  If we just ignore it, the boss soon will forget he even gave us the project.
• The Suck Up: Quick to volunteer, less quick to work, quick to offer to present it to the boss.
• The Millennial: Assigned to task, encounters first obstacle, commences whining.
• The Thrill Seeker: It won't take long. We'll get around to it.  
• The Meet-aholic: Let's meet to discuss next steps, again. I'll bring donuts.
• The Bucker: It’s not my job.
• The Pre-Retiree: Been there, done that. It is what it is. 
• The Once and Done: I tried. It didn’t work. Oh well.
• The Know-it-All: Type A without social skills.
• The Fantasizer: Let's try to run a six-month television ad campaign with the $200 in our marketing budget.
• Frankie Goes to Hollywood (a.k.a.: "Relax, Don't Do It"): There’s always tomorrow. I’m heading home. I've had enough for today. 

And then there's my personal favorite:

• The Dismisser: The beyond-ballsy colleague who simply declines when presented with an "opportunity" to take on a new project. 

A colleague and friend of mine (someone whom I'm delighted to work with), sent me this helpful venn diagram. Please refer to it the next time you're asked to lead a team. You'll save yourself a good deal of pain and may actually find you enjoy the group project experience!

Just a Cliche and a Decade Away from Being the It Girl

I am officially too old to ever again be an "It Girl." This painful realization hit me a couple of weeks ago when I learned of a much younger colleague's designation as the cat's meow, the cream of the crop, and the best thing since sliced bread. Okay, no one used those exact words, but the sentiment was communicated clearly enough.

While I will agree that this colleague is a terrific person and a hard working, competent and mature professional, I am not happy about all the chatter. My reasons for being envious concerned are completely rational:

1. If this individual were to learn that she is so highly regarded, the ego boost could make her very difficult to work with.
2. Those who think this individual is all that and a bag of chips may become blind to her weaknesses and willing to overlook her flaws.
3. For leadership to heap the majority of praise on one employee can have disastrous affects on the self-esteem of others who may feel the need to retaliate.

While, none of this applies to me personally because I don't compete work that closely with this individual, I have become aware that older women like myself are clearly being discriminated against when it comes to being the bees knees. Simply put, It Girl status can only be bestowed upon those under the age of 30. This is evidenced by the fact that business journals publish lists of the "Top Professionals Under Age 30," or "40 to Watch Under Age 40," but you never see anything for "Fantastic in their Fifties" or "Successful in their Sixties." The reality is that, once you turn 41, you're expected to be a performer. There's no special recognition. No talk in the break room about the new superstar. No grumbling about the girl who thinks she's "all that."

This is a hard reality for me to face because in my 20s and 30s, I was an It Girl. I worked hard to make sure I was bringing the very best to whatever position I held so that the bar would forever be set at "Kim level" and my replacements would always have very big shoes to fill. Gave everything 110%, never content with the merely the old college try. Raised my hand for every new job responsibility. Kissed butt ad nauseum. And for what? The same Wawa gift card everyone else received. And more responsibility at the same salary. It Girl status doesn't really pay off in the non-profit sector. Ah, hindsight. The point is that I enjoyed the heady feeling of knowing I was appreciated and recognized, and now I'm being forced to rely on my self-confidence to get me through the day. This is why middle-aged people turn to drinking and prescription drugs. They're much more accessible than self-esteem. 

In retrospect, I should have seen this coming several years ago when I noticed that I was no longer the youngest employee in my department or organization. I remember being truly shocked to discover that not only was Susie Q not older than me, but in fact, she was a good decade younger. Clearly I was am in denial of my advancing age, and this new performance-based "reality" is adding insult to injury.

In trying to decide how to handle this delicate situation, I can think of only a few options:

• Sabotage my colleague's work so her performance is of concern versus congratulations.
• Find ways to highlight my own work in such a way that it overshadows hers.
• Encourage her to find employment elsewhere and then recommend a clearly inferior individual to take her place.
• Find a new job in which I likely am the youngest employee. Maybe the library or the school cafeteria?
• Put on my big girl panties and deal with it.

I welcome your advice, really. I especially look forward to hearing from you if you've personally managed to maintain It Girl status into your 40s or 50s. I probably won't talk to you again, but I'm still eager to know how you did it. 

I'm Going 'Round, 'Round, 'Round...

I'm picturing a hamster cage, sort of like the one here on the right. It's got a nice little hang out pad or dome on one end, which connects by a tube or passageway to the hamster wheel on the other side.

I believe I've become the hamster.

I've been here before; I think most of us have. It happens when we over-commit, forget how to say "no," and make promises we're not sure we want to keep. We find ourselves spinning madly out of control and getting nowhere fast.

Here's the situation. Everyday I go to work and do a job that I absolutely love. I know what needs to be done, I know how to do it, and I enjoy my responsibilities. I consider this the "hang out dome" part of my day. I am steady and content and sitting on my butt (at the computer) for hours on end. But around 3:30 or 4:00 p.m. as my day is about to end (hey, I start at 7:30 a.m., so don't judge me), I start to feel the slightest pang of anxiety. On my drive home, the traffic is much heavier than it should be, giving me entirely too much time to think. I spend 20-30 minutes considering what my options are once I reach my humble abode. For most people, heading home after eight-plus hours in the office is the best part of their day; the at home options are far better than whatever they've just left behind. For me, this transition time is the equivalent of the tube/passageway section of the hamster cage. As I pass through, my anxiety reaches a dangerous level, and before I know it, I'm on the hamster wheel.

As I spin, I know I have some decisions to make, namely, what should I do with my time? There's the gym, and I know I should go, but I don't want to go, even though I always feel better afterwards. Then there's my never-ending list of things to do. If I could handle just a few small things, I'd spend less of my weekend making myself (and my children) miserable with what needs to be done. One of my most stressful options responsibilities at home is making dinner. Like the gym, this is something I know I should do (if not for me, at least for the children), but don't want to do. Unlike the gym, however, I rarely feel better when I'm done. Mostly because my cooking stinks and I don't know what to make, and God forbid I try anything new (the picky eater being me).

If I survive those couple of hours before dinnertime, I now face a decision about what to do with my evening. That's assuming I don't have a meeting on the calendar for youth committee, church session, or book club, and that Abby doesn't have a sporting event that I'd like to attend (providing me with a very good excuse reason to not take care of other stuff). Do I clean? Maybe I should handle the laundry. Or put the dishes in the dishwasher, and wipe off the table, stove and kitchen counters. For some reason, the prospect of cleaning up after I've just tortured myself by making dinner (or serving bagel bites), is more than I can bear. And don't suggest that I have the kids clean up. No one else in the house can properly load a dishwasher. But I digress.

Because I am a completely insane individual, I recently decided that it would be fun to add a little something extra to my list of time-killing obligations. I committed to spending about 10 hours a week handling the social media for an organization I'm fond of. Normally this is the kind of work that I would thoroughly enjoy, but because 1) it's brand new, and 2) I'm spinning on a hamster wheel, the whole thing has me a little stressed out and wondering what I've gotten myself into.

You might be saying to yourself, "I wonder what Kim really wants to do with her time?" Well, it's nice of you to ask, and I'm not embarrassed to say that I want to catch up on American Idol (love that Harry Connick Jr.), watch last week's episode of Scandal, or binge watch some new series. If we want to pretend I'm more highbrow than that, then let's say I'd like to read, or at least play spider solitaire (I'm up to three suits!) or sudoku until my eyes glaze over and I can shut my brain down and go to sleep.

Ah, sleep. My happy place. The other night, Abby asked me why I go to bed so early. Without hesitation, I told her that some people do drugs to deal with stress; I go to bed. (Then I asked her to fill my weekly pill organizer; the irony wasn't lost on either of us). It's true. Sleep has always been a wonderful avoidance technique for me. I recall during college, if I felt the least bit tired, I could convince myself that sleep was more important than my school work. Worked then. Works now.

Not surprisingly, by going to sleep early, the morning comes more quickly. I love mornings. I realize this makes little sense, given the way I've just compared my life to a hamster cage, but for some reason everything dissolves away overnight and I wake up happy, even though I know what I'll face at the 4:00 hour. Makes me think of the movie Groundhog Day when every day is a repeat of the last. I'm detecting a rodent theme here. Of all the animals I could compare myself to...

The good news is that I think I may have found a solution. I've been asked to join the Sanctuary Choir at our church (I felt flattered at the invitation, but in reality 1) they will gladly take anybody and 2) they just want to use me to help bring the median age down closer to 60). Singing has always been a source of joy for me. In fact, it's one of my favorite memories of my Pop Pop: "When you're unhappy, Kim, just sing." So I might say yes to this choir opportunity. That will take care of Thursday nights, giving me one less evening to figure out on my own. Although it does add one more commitment to keep...

Hanging on by a thread...

Reaping Your Rewards?

Our gene pools provide us with all kinds of personality traits. On the downside, my family tree has provided me with a healthy dose of crazy. On the upside, I was also bestowed with an above average work ethic. Sometimes this hides the crazy (i.e. at work), other times it reveals the crazy (i.e. at home). Just ask my kids.

Recently I had a conversation with a friend who, like me, works for a large non-profit (albeit not a university). She expressed her frustration with a situation in which a coworker would have had to go above and beyond to take care of a time-sensitive project. Only a couple small steps were required to make sure the project was satisfactorily completed, but rather than take those steps, this coworker offered a (technically legitimate) reason why it couldn't be handled, and wrote it off. This led to my friend -- who shares my stubborn, hard-working Pennsylvania Dutch heritage -- having to trek through snow and ice, literally climbing over downed tree limbs, to get to her office and complete the mission. She, too, could have given her boss a legitimate reason for why the project wasn't going to be completed in time, but instead she made it happen.

Her experience made me think about some of the challenges in working for a non-profit. While those of us who pursue this career path recognize that we're never going to get rich (though I must state for the record that I feel more than fairly paid), the one thing we hope for is recognition for a job well done. Or even a raise based on performance. Yes, I said it! Imagine if your work determined your reward. It's such an old-fashioned concept. Because I've worked for non-profits for the past 12+ years, I haven't experienced this approach to employee compensation. In fact, this same friend noted that, after years with her organization, it was clear that whether your job performance was exemplary or average, everyone got the same annual cost of living increase. Granted, "non-profit" often translates into "no money," but I would argue that one whose performance is above-and-beyond should warrant, for example, a 4% raise, whereas a coworker who turns down every opportunity to take on more responsibility should only get 2%. That way we're still averaging out to that dismal 3% overall.

I had a conversation on this topic with my sister who works for a global health services corporation. She mentioned how she still calls home when she receives a great performance evaluation (even at our age we're still seeking our parents' approval). While I, too, tell mom and dad when something nice happens at work, my sister's evaluation means something substantially different than mine. For her, a superior review equals a bonus that's worth about 50% of my salary, as well as a raise for the new year. Again, I made a conscious choice to work in this world, and I would never survive in hers, but still, the financial differences, based on job performance, definitely sting a bit.

In light of this reality, I'm wondering if it still makes sense to work your ass off demonstrate an exemplary work ethic. At what point does this kind of employee succumb to thinking that "It makes no difference how hard I work, so I will no longer go above and beyond, giving up my personal time to get the job done." I have friends who are fiercely protective of their time away from the office. They refuse to check email, answer their phone, or schedule an important 30 minute conversation with a client if it needs to take place when they're "off the clock." I'm completely incapable of cutting myself off from my employer regardless of the time or day, but perhaps those individuals are the smart ones.

I think this approach to employee compensation, where everyone is treated equally, reflects one of the major problems with our society today. If we give people no reason to try harder, work harder, take pride in their work, or go above and beyond, why should they? If unemployment or welfare pay better than minimum wage, why bother pulling yourself up by your proverbial bootstraps and taking a low paying job? Whether you're with a large corporation, a medium-sized non-profit, or a small mom and pop business, if you've learned that your performance provides little reward, how long will you continue to give it your all? For some of us that work ethic is so ingrained, that we can't imagine ever giving less than 100%, but it certainly makes you think (and obviously harbor some degree of resentment).

I know Christians are supposed to take comfort in our reward being in heaven, but the parable of the workers in the vineyard (Matthew 20: 1-16), in which everyone is paid the same regardless of how long they work, just doesn't provide much comfort in today's secular world.

I'd love to hear your thoughts on this one.

If I Could, Would I?

Ever since I graduated from college, my dad has wanted me to go into business for myself. He's offered to help financially, and even offered his support if money is the obstacle to my writing a book (it's not; it's just laziness on my part). After 50+ years of "working for the man," my dad knows that true job satisfaction comes from pursuing your own dream, not someone else's. While I'm certainly blessed to have such supportive parents, unfortunately, I'm chicken shit scared to death at the prospect of going out on my own. The work I do for others stresses me out, and that's with a guaranteed paycheck and benefits. I can't imagine how insane I'd be if financial security and success rested almost completely on my shoulders. This fear of doing something so radical leaves me awed and inspired by those who go for it.

In the past few years, more than a couple friends have taken the leap to fulfill a dream. My college friend Tom and his girlfriend moved to Florida from PA and started a kayak tour business. Freakin' Angel Kathy decided to go solo with her law practice, and FA Andria is engaging her creative side in making unique pieces which she sells in local stores and at shows. MPC friend Bill opened a Sports Clips Haircut location. My former Judson Press colleague Linda ventured out on her own as a marketing consultant; and while I'm not exactly sure what she does, my old Lehigh Valley friend Cathy appears to be successful in whatever endeavors she's pursuing. Among my craziest most inspiring friends is Dave, who just a couple months ago fulfilled his dream of opening a restaurant (get thee to The Granary!). I'd be scared to death, but even if he's a tad nervous, he doesn't show it. Geez, imagine my blog posts if I was trying to succeed in business on my own. You think I bitch, whine and complain now!

An example of Lori's stunning photography

As impressive as these friends are, there is yet another who inspires me at an even deeper level. Imagine sacrificing your salary and the comforts of home to spend thousands of dollars in order to travel to a foreign country to help others in need. In two short weeks, my friend Lori Sheppard, a pediatric physical therapist, will leave for Morocco where she will train and provide support to people caring for children with special needs. This will be Lori's third visit to this country - her first two visits were for two weeks each, but on her last trip she felt called to return for nearly three months.

Lori's company is kind enough to hold a position for the duration of her trip, but she needed to resign from the management job she held and will return as a staff physical therapist. As you can imagine, this decrease in salary adds to the financial burden of this opportunity (home mortgage payments don't stop while she's away). Lori has made some lifestyle and budget changes over the past year and has started a small photography business (she's amazing!) to help bring in some funding. These changes alone are not enough, however, and this is where we come in to the story.

While many of us like to think we would do something like this if we could, realistically, most of us can't. Lori can and is, and her only reward will be the joy of helping others in need (a nice reward, albeit with no monetary value). The cost of Lori's trip is $12,000.00, including travel (airfare and in-country), living expenses, ministry expenses and financial obligations here at home that cannot wait. Would you be able to give a tax-deductable monetary donation to help out?  There are a couple ways to give:

Lori

• www.compassion-corps.com - On the donation page, select ‘short term trip-Morocco’.  On the payment info page, use the drop down box under ‘designation’ to select my name.
  
• Checks (payable to “Compassion Corps”) can be mailed to the address on the website – put Lori Sheppard's name in the memo line.

Lori would remind us that the finances are not the only important item to consider. If you are so inclined, would you please keep her endeavor in prayer?

Thanks for thinking of her and offering your support. Of course I also encourage you to eat at the Granary, buy Andria's cool gifts, get your haircut at Sports Clips, and seek legal counsel from Kathy. And if you're ever in Holmes Beach, FL, visit Sea Life Kayak Adventures.

As for me, I'm going to ask my dad if he'll support my desire to purchase a boat and take friends fishing. I'm sure that would pay the bills!

Not Despicable, but Replaceable Me

When I heard my previous employer had hired someone to replace me, I had mixed feelings. On one hand I was glad they filled the position (especially since authors were starting to contact me on Facebook for help), but on the other hand, this hiring was proof that I am, in fact, replaceable. All I could hope for was that this person was already failing to perform, was completely unlikable, or passed gas during meetings. Apparently none of the above applies to the new Kim new marketing director whom everyone is speaking highly of. Well, goodie for them. I hope they'll be very happy together.

While I confess to having had this terribly immature response, you'll be glad to know I didn't dwell on it for long. I've chosen something else to fret over instead, namely, the superstar I hired to be the new Associate Director of Marketing and Communications. Kelly started last month and without question, she's terrific. She's smart, hard working, inquisitive and pleasant to be around. She has a passion for office supplies and to-do lists. I can tell from the tchotchkes on her desk that her family and boyfriend mean the world to her. She's showing signs of a compatible sense of humor. In other words, I think I hired a younger version of myself. Except that I realized after looking at all the photos on her desk that I don't have a single picture of family or friends on mine.

Aside from the photographic reminder of my shortcomings as a mom/wife/friend, things with Kelly look promising.Though I have to say that there have been a couple times I've found my ego crushed myself slightly hurt by faculty and staff who behave like we've hired the savior. One of the deans actually introduced her as "the future of the College." To which I replied with a not-in-the-least-bit bitter "Whoa! Hello? What about me?" That little episode was followed by a marketing-related meeting in which the director of one of our programs directed absolutely everything in the conversation to Kelly. At one point I blurted out, "I've been working on that and will continue to do so. I mean, Kelly and I will work together on these things." Geez. Talk about insecure. Afterward I immediately felt like a jerk for appearing to be desperate for control and power. I apologized to Kelly and a faculty member in attendance, both whom said they didn't see it as such. In fact, the faculty member said he could see I was being a mother hen in protecting Kelly from all the work that was being dumped on her. Yes, that's it. I was protective. Not petty and insecure. Let's go with that!

I have very little experience being someone's "boss" and I can't say I was looking forward to it when I was informed that I would be hiring someone to work with me. I'm kinda the lone ranger type. Not "kinda." I'm definitely a lone ranger. Tell me what needs to be done and I'll do it. Don't make me be part of team and don't tell me how to do my job and we'll get along just fine. Given this controlling personality of mine, my biggest concern with working with someone was that I wasn't going to be willing to give up any part of what I consider to be "my" job. That I'd want to hold on tight to everything, or at the very least, give very specific direction on how to get the work done. In other words, I foresaw myself as a micro-manager, the very thing I hate in a supervisor.

The good news is that I haven't found myself doing much of that micromanaging or even withholding of work (heck, there's so much of it and so much that's challenging, that I've been more than happy to hand it off). What I didn't expect, however, is that I'd feel threatened, bordering on jealous. During that meeting in which Kelly was the star of the show, and given her glowing introductions and interactions with faculty and staff, I suddenly realized that I had hired someone who could replace me in the not so distant future. My reaction during that meeting wasn't so much about control (and certainly not about mothering), but rather it was a direct reflection of the threat I felt when I realized if they gave her all the work, I would no longer be needed. Once again, in the span of a few weeks, I've been shown to be replaceable. This is does nothing to boost one's ego.

To add insult to injury, last week I had my first official "Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day" at work. It started with a security violation citation for leaving the office door open and the lights on with valuable equipment in the room. On Saturday. When I wasn't here. Four people in my office and I'm the only one with a citation. I hope this doesn't go down on my permanent record (insert "Kiss Off" Violent Femmes music here). The week only improved when I discovered a mailing piece I sent out was half the size I thought it would be (I'd only seen the computer file), AND that there was a major mistake in the title I bestowed upon the professor whom the postcard was for. Totally not my fault, but guilty by association. Then there was the insider information I received that clued me in to another rouge department pursuing a printed publication without me. And did I mention the number of occasions on which I've said too much about certain issues (so unlike me)? Have I told you about the tension that's been building in my office space because no one has the quiet place they need to accomplish their work? The honeymoon is definitely over, but the good news is I've gotten that officially crappy day out of the way and I'm still employed.

Yes, getting older sucks. Learning you're replaceable is a bummer. Knowing someone you hired will eventually be doing your job is threatening. Envying your kids for the opportunities they have that have officially passed you by stinks, too. But on the flip side, getting older means I'm closer to living the dream. Hiring someone amazing means I have a colleague who doesn't frustrate, disappoint or require me to watch over her. And envying my kids means they have a life worth envying, and what more could a parent ask?

Wow. That was so weird. Me looking at the positive side of things. I better stop here before I revert back to my old self.

The Maternal Guilt Factor

For the past fourteen years I believed that my husband possessed truer maternal instincts than me. He shows more affection, is more eager to spend time with the kiddies, and is definitely quicker to respond to any signs of illness or injury than I am. Over time, however, I sense that he has been slowly working on me, chipping away at the thick protective coating that has limited the functionality of my maternal wiring. (Hey, I'm starting to sound like an engineer!) As a result, I now feel a more appropriate level of guilt every time I think I may be missing a mothering moment. And guilt is where my husband and I differ.

Rob feels a greater need to heal and protect than I do. And because he feels it, guilt transfers it to me. Whether the result of having what he perceives to be a more important or at least higher paying career, or a simple matter of it being the woman's job (which isn't a characteristically Rob approach to marriage or family), there is some expectation that after he has unintendedly guilted me into feeling properly maternal, I will do the right thing. The "right thing" generally being sacrificing my personal and professional needs to do what he believes is best for the children. Somehow, despite feeling that greater level of concern at the onset, Rob doesn't appear to experience the miserable internal conflict that turns otherwise composed, confident and professional career women into multiple personalities incapable of making rational decisions.

Yesterday Abby was on her fifth sick day, which started on Thursday with me staying home with her in the morning, and then abandoning her to be at work for an 11 a.m. meeting. During said meeting, Abby called me weeping to report that she thought she was going to throw up. Does it ever occur to the children to call their father at such moments? I called Rob and told him he needed to head home to be with her, and he did, because he had nothing that conflicted with him doing so. He left the next day for Spring Training. On Friday, Abby stayed home with Jess, our abandoning exchange student who was flying home that afternoon. For which I had to leave work early to handle the drop off. Over the weekend I missed everything I had on my calendar and by Sunday it was clear Abby wasn't returning to school on Monday. And Rob wasn't returning home until Monday evening.

With my calendar filled with back-to-back meetings on Monday, I seriously considered asking my husband to abandon his clients and catch an earlier flight home. (Couldn't someone else take them to dinner and drinks and make sure they made it to the airport? Wouldn't going home to his sick child score major sympathy sales points?) When we spoke on Sunday, however, it was clear no such thought had crossed his mind and that I was correct in not suggesting it. At this point I went through the always delightful internal dialogue that we full-time career moms suffer through:

Dammit. What do I do here? I can't leave her home alone. Even I know that that's not an acceptable solution. Maybe I can find someone to watch her. My parents aren't available. I don't know of any college students who are home on break. She doesn't much like any of the adult sitters her friends sometimes have. I could try to call in from home for all my meetings, but geez, I've only been in this job for a few months and I've already had to work from home on a few occasions. And I've taken time off for some minor medical stuff. And I'm leaving for Italy for 12 days just three days from now. And I have a new assistant director who just started last week. What are they going to think of me if I keep needing special treatment? Burt was an understanding guy; I'm still pissed at him for dying on me. Okay, even though it will cost me in the running for mother of the year, I'm going to have to find someone to watch Abby tomorrow. I'll send out an FA APB and see who can rescue me. Amen! Theresa is free this week. I can take Abby there. But Abby doesn't really want to leave the house. She'd understandably prefer to be at home. It's 7 p.m. on Sunday, who can I find to come over? I'm freaking out. Abby feels bad. She says she'll be okay at T's house. Damn, the guilt. 

Monday I make it to work. My meetings go well. One of them goes so well it runs late. I didn't bring my phone along. Obviously I'm trying to avoid any possibility of parental responsibility from interfering in my career. When I finally check my phone I have two messages from my son. Who didn't bring his house key. Who has been sitting outside on the front steps in the rain and the cold. For 45 minutes. Without a coat because kids don't wear freakin' coats anymore. He's weepy and sounds like he's dying. He's going to catch pneumonia two days before he leaves for Italy. This trip's going to suck. I should just stay home.

I call Angel Karen A. to ask her to pick up my son. She arrives at our house and he's gone. Angel-in-training Dave M. has picked him up and taken him to his house. This is my life. How the hell do single moms do it?

Fast forward to Monday evening. Rob is home. Ian is home and warm and dry. Abby seemed fine earlier, but now is a weepy mess because she doesn't know what to do to prepare for her field trip tomorrow. I sense another sick day on Tuesday. Rob gives no indication he could possibly step in and guard the castle if that turns out to be the case. Which it is.

Tuesday morning, the internal struggle begins again.

Em said I could take Abby there if I need to. Theresa said she'll be home again if I need her. But I know Abby would rather be home. I don't have any meetings today, I could work from home. But then I'll have to let the dean and my assistant know I won't be in today. I'll be asking for special treatment again. Did I need this much special treatment when I worked at Judson? Why is it so hard for women to ask for what they need? Do men have these issues? Probably not. But then again they never need special treatment because they expect the woman to deal with every child-related problem that arises. And Wednesday morning I have a doctor appointment which means I won't be in until noon. And did I mention I leave for Italy on Thursday? I wasn't going to come in at all on Thursday, but I guess I could work in the office until noon since we're not leaving for the airport until 1:30 p.m. Perhaps that would give me some brownie points to apply to my deficit situation? Damn, the guilt. 

I stayed home. And I threw in laundry, and dropped off paperwork for Ian at the high school, and went to the pediatrician to pick up a doctor's note for Abby. That's what moms do.

This story is not intended to make my husband look like a selfish bastard, which he is most definitely not. I know that in reality I have it much better than some women. I'm just fascinated by what seems to be a natural tendency or societal expectation that regardless of whose needs are actually more important at the moment, moms will generally find themselves in position to put theirs behind their man's. I'm curious to know if all women, regardless of their salary and job title find they have this experience, because frankly, it's been eating at me for almost 15 years now and I'd like to do away with the bitterness before the kids head off to college. At which time I'll probably be expected to personally deliver vitamin C lozenges and Gatorade at the first sign of a cold. Rob will make sure to let me know when the need arises. He's really good at that.

I Finally Know Where I'm Going (for now, anyway)

For the past several couple months I have whined, complained, and pouted thoughtfully reflected on my life. More specifically, I've asked "What's next?" and "Am I living up to my potential?" I was becoming increasingly discontent with the path I was on, even though on paper there was absolutely nothing wrong with that path.

So I found a new job.

And the backstory is pretty good.

Over the summer I went on a resume-sending spree, primarily focusing on marketing and communication jobs in higher education. I've always wanted to work in a college or university setting. I think it would keep me in complete denial about how old I'm getting young. So, despite knowing full well that almost no one finds a job by haphazardly applying online for desirable career opportunities, that's what I did. It made me feel better. I could tell myself I was doing something.

At the same time I was making this half-hearted effort, I was struggling with my freakin' depression. It got to the point that I decided it was time for a little talk therapy. I looked up a doctor I had seen a decade ago.  Would you believe she went and died on me? Talk about inconsiderate. The next doctor I called kept me on the phone for 20 minutes trying to find a way to fit me into his schedule. Just when we had agreed on a date and time, he casually mentioned that he doesn't take insurance and he charges $140 an hour. My family doctor was of little assistance in recommending anyone and so I stopped looking. Figured I'd be fine without professional help. (Insert laugh here)

Then one day, when I had used up all my self-preservation and mental well-being reserves, I had an epiphany. An "A ha" moment. I decided to stop the frantic and useless job search (not a single nibble on the dozens of jobs I applied for), and concentrate on addressing the the crap clouding my brain. Figured if I could get my head on straight I would have a clearer sense of what I needed to do, where I might want to go, and how to get there. I also did the "at wit's end" shout-out to God, remembering that in Jeremiah 29:11 it says:

"For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."

I was looking for plans. Prospering is good. Hope and a future are excellent. And all that without harm? Bonus! With that, I handed my heavy heart over to the Big Guy.

Less than 24-hours later I was on the phone scheduling an appointment with a therapist when another call came in. I didn't recognize the number so I let it go to voice mail while I finalized my visit to the brain whisperer. When I checked my voice mail, this is what I heard:

Kim, this is Barbara from Human Resources at Villanova University. I am calling to arrange an interview with you for the Director of Communications job with the College of Engineering. 

God really likes to show off sometimes.

Three weeks after my call from Barbara, at 9:00 a.m. on a Friday I sat down for a three hour series of interviews with seven different people from Villanova.  At 4:45 p.m. they called to offer me the job. It's all terribly exciting and slightly terrifying.

In my next post I'll describe the stages of grief one experiences when leaving a place of employment that has been like home and family for elven years. It just wouldn't be a Freakin' Angel post if I didn't have something to be upset about, right?

A Glimpse at the Real Kim

Well, I'm home. I returned from the Center for Career Development and Ministry having been picked apart, prodded, and poked with sticks. It was an emotionally and mentally draining experience but it did yield some insights which I'll share with you in a minute. First, however, I want to tell you what happens when you don't follow directions.

Before I left for CCDM, I was told to plan for some down time afterward, time away from kids, work, home, etc. Those "in the know" recommended I give myself an opportunity to process and reflect on all l I learned, as well as time to recover from the emotional and mental battering. I, however, decided to go home. And that's when the trouble started.

When Rob picked me up at the train station on Friday night, Ian and Abby were with him. They had just eaten at Max Brenner's. The chocolate restaurant. I think the kids would have been less hopped up if he'd given them each 16 ounces of Red Bull. The were entertaining, but exhausting. And of course Abby had made me a cake saying "Welcome Home, Mom!" And it was chocolate. And we all had a piece around 10 p.m. Suprisingly, the kids didn't get to bed at a reasonable hour on Friday night.

On Saturday things really got ugly.



The schnoz

I cut my nose while shaving my legs in the shower at the gym. As I posted on Facebook, I may be the first person in history to have done this. I don't know how it happened. I must have been day dreaming or had an itch or something. It hurt and I bled like a stuck pig and I had to somehow get out of the gym without leaving a trail of blood behind me.
Later on Saturday, when taking off my socks while simultaneously using the bathroom (I'm always multi-tasking), I dropped a sock in the toilet.

And on Sunday during dinner I bumped my plate and voila!

Hot dog and baked bean remnants

I think I should have taken some time off, as directed.

Now, because you all desperately want to learn more about my internal wiring, here are some highlights from the substantial number of things I learned while at CCDM:

• I am an ISTJ: Introvert, Sensing (vs. Intuition), Thinking (vs. Feeling), Judging (vs. Perceiving)
• Being an introvert justifies my going to bed before my party guests leave.
• Though I am an introvert, I'm off the charts in the Expressive category. This means I will gladly share my entire life story, but then I need to be alone for a while.
• Under "Thinking" I am a 5 out of 5 in the Critical category. I know everyone is surprised to hear this.
• I am highly sensitive to being left-out, left-behind, or ignored (like Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction)
• I want to receive love and affection more than I want to give it.
• I don't tell others what to do (at the workplace, anyway), but I don't want to be told what to do either.
• I use passive-aggressive methods of rebelling, rather than openly hostile ones.
• My current job uses about about 95% of my strongest skills and 90% of my motivating values.
• But Marketing Manager is really, really low on the list of careers best-suited for me.
• Speaking of best careers for me:
• Paralegal
• Broadcast Journalist (ironic since this was my career goal until my junior year of college)
• Librarian
• Parks & Recreation Manager (???)
• Least appropriate careers for me:
• Architect
• Mathematician
• Religous/Spiritual Leader (and to think I briefly considered seminary)

The really good news is that I'm neither psychotic, schizophrenic, or bi-polar.  And according to the myriad of tests I took, I am living up to my potential.

So that's that. My future's clear as mud. Time to get back to work!

My Future's Calling; Wish Me Luck

As I write, I'm on an Amtrak train to Boston. It's my first long train ride; I don't think I've gone farther (further?) than Philadelphia to New York City before tonight. I decided on the train because I figured it would give me several hours of uninterrupted “me” time. Time to read, work, write, reflect. And five and a half hours later, I can say I did all of the above, plus a little Words with Friends when I had a decent wireless connection.

It's been a stormy night, both outside my window and in my soul. I can hear the rain battering the windows and once in a while the lightening illuminates the darkness. I particularly like it when the train generators temporarily go down, taking out the noisy fan and ugly lights, leaving a dark, peaceful quiet during which I close my eyes for just a moment. I've forced myself to stay awake for the whole trip, knowing if I fall asleep now, I'll never fall asleep when I arrive at my hotel. I'm still struggling with the west coast/east coast time difference and it's wrecking havoc with my shut-eye.

Maybe the lack of sleep is contributing to my somber mood this evening. Or maybe I can attribute it to the purpose of my trip. See I'm headed for the Center for Career Development and Ministry in Dedham, MA. I know I should be excited about this opportunity, and until today I really was looking forward to it. I think I've just had too much time to think and reflect on what brought me to this place.

A few months back I wrote about my internal struggle as it relates to my life's work and purpose. I was asking myself those difficult questions: Am I living up to my potential? What am I being called to do with my life? Is this all there is? What's next? At the time, I talked with my friend Emily who attempted to bolster my self-esteem, telling me I could do anything I put my mind to, that she felt I wasn't giving myself enough credit, nor challenging myself enough. She let me know, in Stuart Smalley-style, that “I'm Good Enough, I'm Smart Enough, and Doggone It, People Like Me!” Our little therapy session left me feeling both inspired and slightly desperate for answers and insight. Naturally, being the “say whatever you're thinking” kind of fool that I am, I went in to work the very next day and proceeded to tearfully tell my boss everything that was on my mind. It's times like that that I'm incredibly thankful I work for a Christian organization that accepts all of me, tears and smiles, strengths and weaknesses, highs and lows. Heck, some folks don't even have family and friends who are that supportive.

My boss's response to my mentally and emotionally battered state was to offer me this opportunity for some career/life counseling. I had a whole bunch of homework to prepare for the visit, including strengths finders, skill assessments, personality profiles, autobiographical insights, and more. And tomorrow, when my visit begins, I believe I'll be tied up to a lie dectector and brain wave monitor. Or maybe they'll just give me some psychological tests. It should be fascinating.

I think maybe I'm a little sad, anxious, stressed, concerned, and somber because it feels like there's a whole lot riding on the next two days. I've been in a fairly dark place the last few months and I'm praying this visit sheds some light on where I go from here. And I know that's a lot to ask.

Something else I know is that many of you don't appreciate my more melancholy moments, and tomorrow morning I should probably reconsider this post, however, I imagine I'll go ahead and share. See even though some might give me a hard time for being a “downer” (and you know who you are), there are other Freakin' Angel readers who have told me they can relate and take comfort in knowing they're not alone with their fear, depression, or uncertainty. And I figure that, every once in a while, that's worth just as much as giving you a laugh.

My future's calling. Wish me luck.

What are Your 25 Greatest Achievements?

You're probably saying to yourself, Kim's really been in a mood lately. No fun to be with. Increasingly snide and sarcastic posts. A bad attitude all around. You're right; I know you're right. Given the lack of a more legitimate explanation for the state I'm in, I believe that I may be in the throes of a mid-life crisis. Several signs would seem to confirm this diagnosis:

1. My daily search for the perfect convertible
2. A subscription to Botox Injection of the Month Club
3. An increasing tendency to wear skinny jeans whether they look good or not
4. Surprising maternal angst because my daughter is leaving elementary school and my son is headed to high school

In addition to these outward indicators of the approach of a mid-40s meltdown, I am also finding myself in the desert of vocational wandering. Translated, this means I have no idea what I'm doing with my career. Am I in the right job at the right place and should I hunker down and wait for retirement, or is it time to shake things up? I've always wanted to own a marina. Or maybe I should pursue stardom in Hollywood. Or perhaps the circus is calling.

If you find yourself in the desert of vocational wandering, I pray that you are blessed with an employer like mine. One you can go to in tears, crying "what am I here for??" without fear that they will put you on the list for the next round of pink slips. Of course, it's possible I'm on the list and just don't know it yet, but in the meantime, they're appearing very supportive. So supportive, in fact, that they're giving me the opportunity to visit the Center for Career Development and Ministry outside Boston.

Before my August visit to CCDM, there's lots of homework to complete. Some of it is fun, personality and skill assessment kinda stuff, but one assignment has put a serious damper on the good time I was having:

List Your 25 Greatest Achievements

You can't believe how difficult this is proving to be. I can think of a list of maybe 10-12 things, including:

• Learning to ride a bike
• Successfully narrating the 5th grade spring concert 
• Winning a few Forensic competitions in high school
• Singing a solo in a high school musical 
• Going to Girls State and some other leadership conference while in high school
• Writing a master's thesis
• Scoring a couple black belts (also have a couple brown ones; depends on what I'm wearing)
• Marrying well
• Having good kids 

A close look at these accomplishments reveals that all but one of my achievements was pre-kids. And that black belt was merely a means for handling the stress of having said kids.

As I work on this assignment, it occurs to me that it would be much easier to make a list of 25 things I haven't done that I consider to be true feats. For instance, I haven't:

• Run away from home
• Strangled either of my children
• Smothered my snoring husband with a pillow
• Quit my job on a bad day
• Rented my own apartment
• Told everyone what I really think of them
• Quit every volunteer position I have
• Succumbed to my desire to eat nothing but soft pretzels and mini powdered donuts, and drink nothing but fountain cokes
• Fire bombed the kids' rooms when they are beyond trashed (the rooms, not the kids)
• Kidnapped my sister and brought her home from Colorado

See how much easier that was?

If ever there was a blog post deserving of your contribution/comments, this is it. Go ahead and share your achievements, whether they be the "I did it!" kind or in the "I wanted to, but you're lucky I didn't" category. Have fun!