I started my own business 11 years ago for one simple reason: I had two toddlers who needed me more than they were getting me because I had a job that had me more than it deserved me. So I quit the job, started my own business, and for the last decade I've practiced the gentle art of attempting to balance my work and my family.
Sure, it's easier when you're your own boss to take an hour or two off to attend an awards ceremony or party during the day at school. And sure, it's easier when you're self-employed to rearrange your schedule in the summer to accommodate the needs of kids who are all of a sudden under foot.
But when you work out of your home like I do, summer comes and work is a little harder to do. Parents who have to leave the house for work -- like most people do -- face their own set of summer challenges. I realize those are probably far worse than my own, but then again, they get to leave home.
At my house the scales pretty quickly shifted to the "life" side of the equation as early as two hours into "summertime." In fact, by 3 p.m. Friday (the kids got out at 1), I had four boys in the pool, which happens to be directly outside my office windows. Because of their ages, I no longer feel the need to supervise swimming, but it's a little hard to ignore the splashing and noise of four teenagers in a pool who are wound up from the last day of school.
Thankfully, as an independent business person I learned a long time ago about the value of technology. Quickly on Friday, with noodle smacking and jumping and splashing going on right outside my windows, I grabbed on to what just might be the best technological advance the independent, work-from-home professional ever had -- it's the gadget that is going to help me survive the summer of 2007: my new ipod.
My ipod was a gift for Mother's Day. It is not a fancy one, but it is the one I wanted -- the hot pink shuffle. I can only remember how to load music on it about every other time, so my play lists are still a little thin. But I really like it. Best of all, I discovered on Friday that when those buds are in my ears I am oblivious to everyone and everything outside of myself. It's me and Celine or Sarah or Barry, sitting at my computer, writing articles about outdoor lighting and pitching media via the internet.
Not only will I not hear the splashing this summer, but I also won't hear the front door and refrigerator door slamming every few minutes, and I won't hear the door bell or the beeping from the arrival of non-stop text messages. I won't hear the roar of the video games or the fights --- or even the laughter.
Yep, productivity is going to go through the roof for me this summer. I'm going to be in the zone! So if you've got some work to do, give me a call. Hopefully you won't mind the slight inconvenience of leaving a message. I no longer can hear the phone ring.
Monday, May 28, 2007
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
It's all that matters
There have been a few instances in the past week or so that have brought me back to a basic discussion I had in 1986 while working at the College for Financial Planning in Denver as a writer. Back during the "ME Generation" I was having this discussion with an editor, who had taken it upon herself not only to correct my copy, but give me a lesson in grammar to boot.
At the ripe old age of --- let's just say REALLY young, I was annoyed by this woman's insistance that she not only reprimand me for causing her to (in my opinion) do her job and "fix my stuff," but she also felt the need to teach me about dangling participles, split infinitives and run on sentences.
"I never really did learn my grammar real well. It's a creative process for me. I write naturally by putting a comma in where it sounds like you need a pause. 90 percent of the time it works," I had said with a classic "I'm 22 and you can't tell me anything, ya old hag," attitude.
My editor had looked at me with a mixture of amazement and pure hatred. "A world without grammar is a world without order. It's essential to the very foundation of our language. In a sense, it's the only thing that's really important," she had said, before waddling back into her cubicle and her collection of grammar books.
"Whatever," I had replied before retreating to my office to begin work on draft 12 of my current project, which I recall had started to be really annoying.
Flash forward 20 plus years and I find myself in a similar situation. I've written a 600 word article for national distribution, constructed a hypothesis, researched the topic, crafted a nice story that was actually interesting to read, and when my client reviews it his only comment was, "Please upper case the VP's title."
Now the title had been down-cased by the editor at the wire service, so to have the VP ask, via the marketing kid, to change it back cracked me up.
"So I swiveled in my chair and pulled my Associated Press Style Book off the shelf. I don't have to use it often, but it's always comforting to know it's there. I opened the AP Style Book and looked up TITLES.
"Lower case unless it's the Pope or President and it comes before their name." AP had spoken.
So I picked up the phone, called the marketing kid, and told him we couldn't upper case his title.
"It's the rule. It's the way it has to be," I had said.
"Rules are meant to be broken," he had snapped back.
"Grammar is the very foundation of our language, you can't break the rules. In some ways its the only thing that really matters," I heard someone who looks like a more wrinkled version of me say.
"What are you talking about?" my young client had asked with a bit of a snivel and "here she goes again" attitude in his voice.
"I'm talking about rules that you can't break. Grammar. AP Style. It's like the law in my business. You just can't mess with it."
"That's a drag," he had said, before adding, "I always just stick the comma where it sounds like it belongs."
I felt a chill run up my spine. The call ended and suddenly week-kneed I half limped half waddled back to my desk, put my AP Style Book in its revered spot on the crowded shelf, sat down, and said a little prayer for the next generation. Hopefully it will all work out.
At the ripe old age of --- let's just say REALLY young, I was annoyed by this woman's insistance that she not only reprimand me for causing her to (in my opinion) do her job and "fix my stuff," but she also felt the need to teach me about dangling participles, split infinitives and run on sentences.
"I never really did learn my grammar real well. It's a creative process for me. I write naturally by putting a comma in where it sounds like you need a pause. 90 percent of the time it works," I had said with a classic "I'm 22 and you can't tell me anything, ya old hag," attitude.
My editor had looked at me with a mixture of amazement and pure hatred. "A world without grammar is a world without order. It's essential to the very foundation of our language. In a sense, it's the only thing that's really important," she had said, before waddling back into her cubicle and her collection of grammar books.
"Whatever," I had replied before retreating to my office to begin work on draft 12 of my current project, which I recall had started to be really annoying.
Flash forward 20 plus years and I find myself in a similar situation. I've written a 600 word article for national distribution, constructed a hypothesis, researched the topic, crafted a nice story that was actually interesting to read, and when my client reviews it his only comment was, "Please upper case the VP's title."
Now the title had been down-cased by the editor at the wire service, so to have the VP ask, via the marketing kid, to change it back cracked me up.
"So I swiveled in my chair and pulled my Associated Press Style Book off the shelf. I don't have to use it often, but it's always comforting to know it's there. I opened the AP Style Book and looked up TITLES.
"Lower case unless it's the Pope or President and it comes before their name." AP had spoken.
So I picked up the phone, called the marketing kid, and told him we couldn't upper case his title.
"It's the rule. It's the way it has to be," I had said.
"Rules are meant to be broken," he had snapped back.
"Grammar is the very foundation of our language, you can't break the rules. In some ways its the only thing that really matters," I heard someone who looks like a more wrinkled version of me say.
"What are you talking about?" my young client had asked with a bit of a snivel and "here she goes again" attitude in his voice.
"I'm talking about rules that you can't break. Grammar. AP Style. It's like the law in my business. You just can't mess with it."
"That's a drag," he had said, before adding, "I always just stick the comma where it sounds like it belongs."
I felt a chill run up my spine. The call ended and suddenly week-kneed I half limped half waddled back to my desk, put my AP Style Book in its revered spot on the crowded shelf, sat down, and said a little prayer for the next generation. Hopefully it will all work out.
Wednesday, May 2, 2007
Funny Like That
I live in a small town, and I've been here eight years. When I first arrived, I cried every day for six months, deciding it was the biggest mistake I'd ever made. I missed my friends -- people that I'd known for years. A small town is a hard place to meet people. They're funny like that.
But I've grown to love it here. It's a great place to live. The town has grown a lot too. There's a Blockbuster where the flea market used to be, and a Radio Shack and half a dozen new restaurants. We now have Lowes and Chilis. We have a movie theatre, a couple health clubs, several spas, and even a hospital. It's really neat how fast it's grown. This town has become a pretty nice place. I love knowing the people I see each day. In a small town, you can always find people when you want them. It's funny like that.
I love my coffee shop. When I don't stop for a few days there's always lots to catch up on. (And if you stay gone too long, you're sure to be the topic of conversation.) I love my UPS Store. The people who work there are a part of my team. They see my faxes before I do and call to congratulate me when signed agreements arrive. I even get calls when I get checks in the mail. I like that. People in a small town want to know everything about you, and if you tell anything, you better be willing for everyone to know. It's funny like that.
I love that I can do my banking by phone with a live human, and I like that they know me at the cleaners. I'm part of a village raising all our kids, with small town car pools and neighbors to call when I get stuck in traffic or my kid needs a ride. I love that my kids have known their friends since they were small. I like waving at people in their cars and having them wave back. I even like it that I get an e-mail from my pastor checking up on me if I miss church. It's funny like that.
I love my pilates class and my fabulous friends who are just as wonderful or even more so than the friends I cried over when I left Colorado. It's interesting how things change. Now I'd only cry if I had to leave this place. Life is definitely funny like that.
But I've grown to love it here. It's a great place to live. The town has grown a lot too. There's a Blockbuster where the flea market used to be, and a Radio Shack and half a dozen new restaurants. We now have Lowes and Chilis. We have a movie theatre, a couple health clubs, several spas, and even a hospital. It's really neat how fast it's grown. This town has become a pretty nice place. I love knowing the people I see each day. In a small town, you can always find people when you want them. It's funny like that.
I love my coffee shop. When I don't stop for a few days there's always lots to catch up on. (And if you stay gone too long, you're sure to be the topic of conversation.) I love my UPS Store. The people who work there are a part of my team. They see my faxes before I do and call to congratulate me when signed agreements arrive. I even get calls when I get checks in the mail. I like that. People in a small town want to know everything about you, and if you tell anything, you better be willing for everyone to know. It's funny like that.
I love that I can do my banking by phone with a live human, and I like that they know me at the cleaners. I'm part of a village raising all our kids, with small town car pools and neighbors to call when I get stuck in traffic or my kid needs a ride. I love that my kids have known their friends since they were small. I like waving at people in their cars and having them wave back. I even like it that I get an e-mail from my pastor checking up on me if I miss church. It's funny like that.
I love my pilates class and my fabulous friends who are just as wonderful or even more so than the friends I cried over when I left Colorado. It's interesting how things change. Now I'd only cry if I had to leave this place. Life is definitely funny like that.
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