I Don’t Want to be Superwoman

“You are superwoman!” I hear it all the time. We all hear it, us working moms. And it’s nice, right? I mean think of all we do.

We not only bring home the money to buy the bacon, but we actually buy the bacon, fry it up, feed it to our families, clean up afterwards and wipe our children’s asses when they’ve, um, eliminated it. All while checking our email, taking conference calls, tending to booboos and shuttling the kids to and from school, sports, music lessons and whatever else they do after school and baking, crafting and doing whatever else our schools demand of us for bake sales, class parties and the like. Phew! That was a run-on sentence. Kind of like our lives. I’m tired just writing about it all.

We really are superwoman! But, wait a minute. Is this really a compliment? How many of us really wants this? How many of us would rather take some of that time to read a book or getting a pedicure or reading a book while getting a pedicure? How many of us would rather get a little more than 3 or 4 or 5 hours of sleep a night? I know I would.

To be honest the only time people every call me superwoman is when they require me to be more super, and I think it reeks of flattery. I don’t want to be superwoman. I want some damn help. I want someone to stop themselves from uttering the phrase and replace it with an offer to pitch in or take something off my plate. And even though my plate is overflowing, I resolve to do this the next time I see a woman being a little too super to also be sane.

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zahra, March 4th 2013 | Posted in Categorizable Rantings, Parenthood + Childhood, Short + Sweet

Love, Loss and the Village

I think one of the most universal truths of life is that humans cannot help but take on situations that we know will one day bring us pain if only to experience short-term happiness. It’s a thing we cannot help. A person who falls in love with someone in the military knows that the price they pay for the joy of this love is the pain of separation and possibly loss. In my life I have typically made decisions with the goal of avoiding this kind of emotional pain.

And then I had children.

Parenthood is perhaps the most universal of these situations. From the moment the cord is cut, the separation begins. And the remainder of a parent’s life is filled with so many of these little moments where the band-aid is pulled from your skin so slowly, ripping each hair one by one. It’s so hard to handle at times. And so hard to not give in to it. I was determined for so many years to avoid the pains of parenthood, but eventually the pull was too strong.

Don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t give it up, even when my children are testing the limits of my love. It is such an amazing thing, being a mother.

Later this year my little Atoosa will start preschool. That first day will be so hard for so many reasons, and already I am dreading the next little bit of separation that milestone will bring between her and me. It happened with Azita, but with Atoosa it will be a little harder. Not because I love her any more, but because it will also result in a separation from the woman who has cared for both of my children for the past 3 years.

I am so lucky that we found Parveen. I was in a desperate situation, suddenly finding myself with no daycare, and I called every licensed home daycare in Arlington looking for a place where Azita could start immediately. The very last place I visited on that fateful Thursday was Parveen’s daycare, and I knew instantly this was the place. And it was. She didn’t just feed Azita, change her diapers, care for her, potty train her, put her down for naps. She loved her. She still does. She loves all of the children she cares for. I was so lucky that a space opened up in time for Atoosa to start a few months after she was born.

My children love Parveen so much. And they love her husband, too. Atoosa calls him “grandpa,” and there is no one else she would rather read her a story. And I love them too. It is strange how much a working mother comes to love the village that helps raise her children — the family members, the daycare providers, the teachers. As our children grow up and grow apart from us, it is the separations from some of the more transient members of the village that really amplify the pain of losing our babies.

Of course, when we lose something, we often gain something in return. While we may lose our babies, we can eventually gain the closest friend in our adult children. As I think ahead to the sad day when I will pick Atoosa up from Parveen’s house for the very last time, I hope the relationship between our families is not a complete separation. But even if it is, these happy three years we had was worth it.

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zahra, February 27th 2013 | Posted in Parenthood + Childhood

Marissa Mayer: Not Just Bad for Women

Last year, Marissa Mayer was named CEO of Yahoo! She was the youngest CEO of a Fortune 500 company, she was about to be a mother, she was a SHE. It was amazing to a lot of us women who are making a career in the male-dominated world of technology and doing so while also raising families. Finally! Our time was coming. People would see that women could do the job, and “kids” is not a 4-letter word.

And then she slowly set about unraveling the progress made by working women over the past several decades.

She would only take a 2 week maternity leave, and she would be accessible and working as much as she could during those 2 weeks. Then she had the baby, and in a subsequent interview stated that motherhood is easy. It’s all about ruthless prioritization. In fact, she was working within hours of having the baby and back at the office full-time 2 weeks later. To quote my little Atoosa, “WHHAAAAAAAT?”

I’ll admit that my maternity leave was very similar to Marissa Mayer’s, mostly out of necessity. I won’t go into the reasons now, but I will say that I felt guilty. Not just about what I was missing with my children in those early days, but also for the precedent I was setting for the women that followed me.

I count myself to be a feminist. I believe that women are as capable and strong and smart as men. I believe we can just about anything men can do, except maybe pee while standing (although I saw these paper cone thingies…actually, let’s not go there). Mostly, I want to make help make things better for women. I want my daughters to have the resources and the flexibility to have the career and the family, and not struggle so much to have it. Because no matter what Marissa Mayer says, motherhood is a struggle. I’ll admit it. I am insanely organized and ruthless at prioritizing my to-do list, and balancing it all is a struggle.

I have fought pretty hard to get a little bit of this flexibility for myself in the past few years. I get it in the form of remote work. Two days a week, I work from home. Three days a week, I go in to the office, but I leave at a very reasonable hour, so my children spend a good chunk of their day with me every day. I am back at my computer as soon as their heads hit the pillow, but it’s not so bad. Yes, I’m tired all the time, but I have the flexibility to spend time with my children and still be a major contributor at the office.

This week, Marissa Mayer announced that remote work would no longer be allowed at Yahoo! “Speed and quality are often sacrificed when we work from home,” she said. Oh really? That’s news to me. Because those are two things that have improved for me since I started a partial telework schedule. Anecdotal evidence, I know, but I call bullshit on this one.

I’m not sure what she is thinking, but in making this announcement, Marissa Mayer is not just setting back women but all parents. See, men need flexibility also. One of the best things we can do for women is give men some flexibility in the workplace, so they can be equal contributors in the home.

Marissa Mayer clearly subscribes to the idea that women must learn to function like men in the workplace. I say the old way of doing things is unfair, not just for women but also for men, and for all of us to get ahead we should change the rules. With this new policy, she has set us all back. I hope she sees the error of her ways and retracts this policy. If not, something tells me there will be a lot of high quality programmers, product designers and other IT workers in the market for new jobs. Which is a good thing for my company, because we’re hiring.

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zahra, February 23rd 2013 | Posted in Parenthood + Childhood

Remember Me?

When I was pregnant with Azita, I signed up for those BabyCenter emails that compare your fetus to a different vegetable every week. They are corny, I know, but I couldn’t resist signing up again for Atoosa. And since I’m too lazy to ever unsubscribe to emails once I sign up — even if they always go directly to trash — I am still getting them. Well this morning I got one reminding me that Atoosa is 20 months and 4 weeks. Wait, what?!!! My baby is just a few months shy of 2. How did that happen?

Specifically, how did I resolve almost 2 years ago to get back to blogging more often and not write a single post in all that time?

I’m going to plead busyness. I know we are all busy, but I swear I am busier than most. Or at least some. I work all the time. Weekends, evenings, holidays…if my kids are asleep, chances are I’m working. It sucks at times, but honestly, I’m trying to do something important in my career. I really feel like I’ve finally arrived at a job where I am making a difference. I’m not just going through the motions to get paid. I am creating something that could change educational outcomes, and therefore life outcomes, for so many people.

Recently, I’ve been reading a book, Creating Innovators: Raising Young People Who Will Change the World, and last night I read that an important aspect to innovation is this quality of trying to do good in the world and make a difference in society. That really struck a cord for me, because I finally feel like I’ve found that in a job and I’m therefore producing some of the best ideas I have in a long time. So I work, and I work some more.

And while I am working all the time, I am trying to create a couple innovators of my own. And I’m trying to keep a sparkling, clean household, because I’m afraid of germs. So, I have a lot of waking hours (because, really, I never sleep), and they are all filled up with things I do for other people. And very little for me. I do take some time for myself. I exercise every day for an hour, sometimes more (albeit usually with at least one child asking me questions or getting in the way while attempting to join the fun) but I have neglected my mental health a bit. I haven’t written a thing other than functional requirements specifications and product documentation and email blasts about critical software defects and release notes and lots of other things that would bore most people other than me.

I miss writing about other, but it’s hard. It’s hard to find the time, and when I make the time, interruptions abound. In fact, while attempting to write this blog post, Azita and Atoosa have interrupted me no fewer than 20 times. In less than 5 minutes. And now Azita is yelling for me to come put her to bed because she literally cannot lie down in bed and wait for me for longer than 10 seconds…..

So, I’m leaving this post unfinished. And unedited. But you know what? I wrote something. And hopefully, tomorrow, I will write something else. And it won’t be witty or all that interesting for now, but I’ll be writing something. And if I remember one thing from all those writing classes I took in college, the act of writing every day does wonderful things for the quality of your writing and your creativity and thought process after a while. I look forward to remembering what those things are.

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zahra, February 18th 2013 | Posted in Parenthood + Childhood, Uncategorizable Ramblings, Uncategorized

The Precious

When Azita was a newborn I used to stare at her and murmur “the precioussssssss….maman loves the preciousssss” in my best Gollum voice. I’m sure that had no ill effects on her whatsoever. Roger, on the other hand, was completely freaked out, but this isn’t about him. This is about my baby girl, who is now 2 years old as of, well 3 months ago (yes, this is a very-belated birthday post for my daughter).

Two years ago I had no idea just how much more precious she could be. I stared at her in amazement, mostly because when a person gives birth to a child it is so hard to believe that this little human was once the thing that kicked your insides just days before. It is so hard to fathom that you made this person — a living thing that breathes and moves and thinks and does so much more than anything else you will ever make in your life.

Over time things change. While I was one of those lucky mothers who had an instantaneous, deep love for my daughter when she was born, it was a very different love. Now I love Azita not just for what she is but also for who she is and who she is becoming.

My little girl is one of the most strong-willed people I’ve ever met, and that’s saying a lot coming from me because not only am I annoyingly stubborn, Roger is ten times more so. While this character trait frustrates me to no end it also makes me inordinately proud of her, because I know nobody will ever push her around. And, this is just the tip of the iceberg.

Azita is so smart and brimming with personality. At only 2 years of age, she has a sense of humor that surpasses that of many adults I know. She amazes me daily with her observations of the world and the connections she makes between the theoretical and the tangible. She loves letters and numbers and almost always has a book on hand. She loves music and is always singing, not just songs she has heard, but also songs she makes up.

And she doesn’t just have brains. She is nimble and fearless and already shows some athletic abilities of which surely neither Roger nor I can claim to be the source. She can kick a soccer ball the way it should be kicked and throw a ball to someone with actual aim.

In my eyes, my little girl is a marvel and the most beautiful person in the world to me. I stare at her sometimes and wonder how she could possibly be as amazing as she is. The best thing is that when I stare at Azita, she looks back. And when my precious looks at me I can tell that she loves me as much as I love her.

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zahra, April 12th 2011 | Posted in Parenthood + Childhood

What a Difference a Year Makes

I hate to admit it, but I think this year’s picture is so much cuter. There’s something about the forlorn look on her face and the way she is wringing her hands that melts my heart and makes me want to giggle all at once. I just love her to pieces.

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zahra, December 8th 2010 | Posted in Parenthood + Childhood

The Magic of Halloween

Halloween is magic for so many reasons. It’s not just the night that all the ghosts and goblins and other spooky residents of this or some other world are supposed to come out and play with us mere mortals, but it is a night that we can all be goofy and experience a little bit of the fun of childhood. I love it.

When I was a child I looked forward to Halloween so much, and not just because I loved candy so much I wanted to marry it when I grew up. As someone who frequently felt like an outsider, it was the one night of the year that I felt like part of a community.

I knew all of the neighborhood kids. It was the type of neighborhood we lived in. We all played all the time, and our mothers policed us from their kitchen windows. Once I snuck out of the house when I was recovering from the chicken pox so I could take a little gander around the neighborhood and see what was going on. I was exploding with stir craziness after a whole week of confinement to my bed, and I just needed 5 minutes of exploration of our community yard sale that was occurring that very day. It wasn’t more than 5 seconds before Mrs. SanMartin called my mother to inform me that her pock-faced daughter had escaped quarantine.

A kid couldn’t get away with anything there. I hated it. But a kid also felt safe and part of a greater whole. I loved it.

Somehow the world seemed a little less scary at Queens Gate. But, the world was still a scary place, and very lonely for a girl like me. Even when playing with my neighbors, whom I loved dearly, I felt different and just a little bit excluded. Halloween was different. Everyone was in costume. And even though you knew who everyone was under all the latex and plastic and face paint, that night we were all somebody totally different. And the same. We were all part of “the group.”

This year was Azita’s first official Halloween. Last year we dressed her up and walked her around a little, but she was just starting to walk and was definitely not talking. It was pleasant and nice, but this year was completely different.

For weeks before Halloween, I coached her to say “Trick or Treat.” Not once did she utter the words. I had little hope for any trick or treating, but just dressing her up and walking around would be fun enough.

Then the night arrived and we began our walk. Just as everything was covered with darkness and the candles were lit and the spooky soundtracks began playing, we made it to the the block at the end of the street, where we would focus the night’s fun. We walked up the street slowly, Azita marveling at the decorations. The kids began to come out of their houses, readying themselves for the night’s festivities, shouting to their neighborhood buddies down the street. The parents gathered on front stoops, beer or coffee in hand, catching up on life, preparing to hand out candy and escort the children.

Everyone seemed so close-knit, so friendly, so much a part of a community. I was filled with the same warm and fuzzy feeling, the same sense of belonging, that I felt as a child. And now I was sharing it with a child of my own. My face was plastered with a smile for the entire night.

When we finally made it to the end of the street and crossed to walk up the other side, Azita suddenly stopped in front a driveway. After an hour of watching other kids run up to doors she finally tugged at my arm, pulling me towards the front door of the house, where a friendly fellow with glasses and white hair manned his post. We walked slowly, cautiously, finally making it up to the bottom step. The kindly old man bent over to eye level. “What do we have here? Aren’t you a cute little pumpkin,” he said.

Azita stared at him not saying a word. Then he held out the bowl of candy. And, softly, just slightly louder than a whisper, Azita said, “Trick or treat.” The thing I tried, unsuccessfully, to get her to say for so many weeks. Halloween really is magic.

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zahra, November 2nd 2010 | Tags: , ,
Posted in Parenthood + Childhood

The Food Issue

Like many other children of my generation,  I was forced to eat everything on my plate as a child. But, times have changed since the 70s, so I thought this practice was a thing of the past, a remnant of those who grew up in really lean times  as my parents did in the 30s, 40s and 50s. Since becoming a parent myself, however, I’ve noticed many mother’s taking the same approach my parents did. I’ve read blog posts and discussion forum posts and heard conversations from other mothers, about getting their kids to clean their plates and punishing them when they don’t do so. It gives me flashbacks to when I was a child.

Parenting my daughter when it comes to food is an important issue to me. Partly because obesity and eating disorders are more and more common these days, and I do believe that weight-related illnesses will be the health crisis of our childrens’ generation. And partly because I think a lot of my eating habits stem from my parents’ stance on finishing the food that was put in front of me, and I know just how hard this can be to overcome .

While I tend to be an uber-healthy eater, there’s no doubt that I have a propensity to overeat. At times I am compelled to eat everything on my plate, even when I’m not hungry, and I know my sister deals with this very same compulsion. It’s hard to maintain a healthy weight and, more importantly, to set a good example for my daughter when I struggle with this daily.

Azita has always been a light eater. I’ve shared before my feelings as I, at one point, found her weight had dropped by 15 percentile points to the very lowest end of the growth chart spectrum. I admit that my first instinct was to force feed her. Today, I’m glad I fought that instinct and kept my worries to myself. Because it really was a phase. I was patient and presented Azita with healthy options. If she didn’t want to eat, I asked one more time then removed the food, saving it for a later time when she was hungry. I never forced the issue. And this is still my policy today.

Recently, Azita went through a particularly long hunger strike. For over a month she did not eat dinner or breakfast. I’m pretty sure she ate very little at daycare also since she had nary a stain on her clothing when she came home every day. Her daycare providers are fastidiously clean, but this was odd even for them. It was hard to be patient and have faith that this would blow over, that she would return to her usual light, but healthy, eating regimen.

After a month of this I did begin to worry, however, and I purchased a book on Amazon that came highly recommended — How to Get Your Child to Eat…But Not Too Much by Ellyn Satter. It seemed like the very act of purchasing a book to help me navigate this situation did the trick, because that very night Azita ate a a hearty dinner of broccoli  and black beans. The very next morning, she ate an entire mini bagel with almond butter and honey and a whole orange. This has continued for over a week now.

This weekend, the book finally arrived in the mail. I opened it and eagerly read the first chapter. Imagine my surprise to find out that my approach has been the right one all along. My job as a mother is to present my daughter with healthy choices and to leave up to her whether she will eat and how much. I am not to outwardly express concern or anger or fear, because these expressions are what build in our children a contentious relationship with food.

As any other parent, I want the best for my daughter, but I know many things, including this very issue, are an uphill battle for me. My nature is to second-guess myself when parenting. This week, however, I realized I should have a little more faith in myself every once a while. Because in spite of my background and the difficulties I’ve faced in life, my parenting instincts are not so bad after all.

Eating Healthy, When She's Hungry

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zahra, November 1st 2010 | Posted in Food + Fitness, Parenthood + Childhood

The No-Good, Very Bad Day

Yesterday was a no-good, very bad day. I blame Christopher Columbus. After all, not only was he responsible for the death of millions of Native Americans, but he also causes the federal government to close on the second Monday of every October. This means that we don’t get mail, which actually doesn’t bother me any more since it’s mostly junk anyways. It also means that daycares and many schools are closed, even though most parents have to work.

If you live on a tight budget like many of us do, that means that backup daycare is not an option. This is how I ended up in my office trying to participate in a meeting while Azita vociferously exercised her lungs. And practiced her hitting and kicking skills. Oh, and attempted to experiment with electricity. It wasn’t long before it was clear she was being a disruption to, not just myself, but all of my coworkers, too. And we headed home, my head hung in shame, to continue our battle in private.

I admit that I was embarrassed by her behavior, even though it was fairly typical of any child her age. I also admit that I behaved in a way that overwhelms me with guilt as I think of it now. I didn’t hit her or hurt her. But I yelled. And I told her she was bad (one of the biggest no-nos in my book). And I yelled things in Farsi, even, like “Aberoom raft” and “khafeh shoh digeh.” Stuff my mother yelled at us on a regular basis.

I don’t know what came over me, but I was immediately shocked and dismayed by my behavior. And saddened. I looked at Azi’s sweet, little face, made even more sweet by her recent haircut. She didn’t deserve this from me.

I’ve spent so much of my adult life running away from the awful parenting legacy bequeathed to me. And when I finally stopped running, I do the very thing I was trying to avoid.

In recent months I recognized that I need to be able to talk through some of the baggage I carry around because of my mother and youngest sister. Cutting them out of my life was one of the things that came out of this. The other thing is reassurance that I am a good and nice person. Reassurance that the very fact that I feel upset when I lose my cool means that I am nothing like my mother.

Still, something needs to be done. It’s a hard thing for me to even think about, because work was everything to my father. It meant more to him than anyone. And he instilled this work ethic in me. When I am not consumed by work, I feel like a failure. This is pretty apparent to just about anyone with half a brain, and many people have taken advantage of this. But, it’s my own fault that I let it happen.

I need to learn how to relax and not let work get in the way of my life. Because in the scheme of things, while I love the work that I do, it is not the most important thing in my life. Azita is. And she deserves better.

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zahra, October 12th 2010 | Tags: ,
Posted in Parenthood + Childhood

Personality

Last night I was watching Azita play, babbling as she stacked her blocks, ran around the living room, and climbed on the furniture. She looked up at me studying on the couch and decided she wanted to join me with a book of her own.

Soon we were both sitting there reading together, and she talked the entire time, pointing to things in the book, asking me questions. I didn’t really understand everything she was saying, but there was cadence and inflection in her voice. She was clearly communicating. I asked her about things in the book and she pointed to them, adding commentary of her own. Occasionally, she would say something and laugh hysterically at what she said.

At that moment I realized that Azita has a personality. I mean, I know she has personality. That has always been obvious. But she has an actual personality now, as in, she is a person. Who is separate from me. With her own thoughts.

Somewhere along the way she stopped being a baby. When she was a baby we were so attached. Literally. She spent most of her time on my chest wrapped snugly in a sling.  It seemed as if she was still a part of me, like she had never left my womb.

Now she is a little girl who knows what she wants, what she likes, what she doesn’t like. She makes her opinion known, and not by crying or screaming, but by talking. I can’t remember the last time she slept on my chest.

I’m a little bit heartbroken, but proud at the same time. When I see her do and say amazing things, things I had no idea she could do or say, I can’t help but beam with pride, even as my eyes well up with tears. From the moment our babies are born, they start leaving us. I knew this, but I didn’t really know this I guess.

Before I know it she will be gone, but last night she reminded me that she is here for now, even if she is her own person. After she read her book, she climbed onto my lap, clasped the sides of my head in her hand, and mushed her face into mine. We looked into each others eyes and giggled as she slobbered on my cheek as she did when she was a baby.

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zahra, October 6th 2010 | Tags: , ,
Posted in Parenthood + Childhood
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