Archive for February, 2008

Money See, Money Do

Wednesday, February 27th, 2008

Oren’s behavior is influenced a great deal by what Siena says and does. A recurring example happens at nap time. Siena jumps on her bed and says proudly, “My bed.” In mimicry, Oren climbs up to join her. “Mybed,” he says.

“No, it’s my bed,” she insists.
He replies, “No. Mybed.”
“No, Oren, it’s my bed.”
“Nomybed.”
No, my bed!
“Mybed.”

For Valentine’s Day, Siena received a Hello Kitty pocketbook and a small zipper change purse. I explained how she could use these to store her money. So, when she opened a card with a five dollar bill in it, she immediately unzipped the Kitty and put the bill in there for safekeeping. For several minutes she repetitively checked the contents of her purse, until that became boring. So she approached me. “Daddy?” she said. ”I need more money.”

Oren, too, was excited to have money. Valentine’s Day was over a month ago, and still he talks about money. Even tonight, for his bedtime story he wants to hear about money. He used to ask for “Daddy and Mommy” stories. Now it’s “Money” and “Lots Money.”

And he loves that gold-colored dollar coin, too, perhaps because it’s so big. He puts it in his pocket, then cries when he can’t get it out. He plays with it, too, throwing that dollar coin onto the couch so it bounces back to him. Now, Siena copies him. They can play this game of “coin fetch” for what seems like a very long time.

My kids and money. She demands it, he fantasizes about it, and both of them just love throwing it around.

Driven to Disruption

Thursday, February 21st, 2008

When you work in an office, having a sick child means staying home. Probably you can’t get any work done at all, even if you wanted to, because everything and everyone you need is someplace else, where you can’t go. When the child is quietly eating Saltines, you join him. It’s like having a mobile phone with no connection. You might pick up the phone and look at it, but it has no bars, so you put it down. Simple but frustrating.

When you work at home, having a sick child means, well, working at home with a sick child. You might have to take care of the child throughout the day, but your work is … right … over … there … and within reach. If you can get away with it, you can work. When the child is quietly eating Saltines, you make a quick phone call, do some research, or lick an envelope. These oasis moments are far too brief to be satisfying or productive, and so you feel forced to leave yet another half-finished task in your wake. It’s like having a mobile phone with a lousy connection. You pick up the phone and see one bar, and so you risk making the call, only to get disconnected in mid-sentence.

We who work at home can cope with disconnection. We accept distraction as a job choice. Disruption is an integral part of our career path.

Men who work in offices definitely hear the Siren song of successful telecommuters, but even those without children suspect working at home is practically impossible. They visualize getting nothing done, admitting the house itself would be a distraction: the refrigerator, the television, the laundry, the lawn. Yeah, maybe these guys could close the door and pretend they’re in a tiny quiet cubicle, but remember: I’m raising kids. Raise kids, raise the stakes. I have a moral and biological obligation to attend to these “distractions.”

In the end, for me it’s all logistics. Can I grade papers during nap time? Can I type with one hand and bottle-feed with the other? Can I seal deals while sealing Ziplocs? The work-at-home dad performs superhuman feats of imperfect balance, providing everything and anything, all at the same time, while being bombarded with utter unpredictability. My wife sympathizes with me when the kids don’t nap, barf on my iPod, and hide my shoes, but my clients aren’t nearly that sympathetic. No, I have no choice but to make it ALL work.

The only sure-fire way to disrupt a work-at-home dad is to make him an out-of-house dad for the day.

To the Bank

Wednesday, February 13th, 2008

I brought Siena to the bank. She had received a check for the holiday, and so we went to the bank where I kept her passbook account. We entered the bank, stood in line, and passed the signed check and passbook to the teller.

“Why are you giving my money to the woman?” my daughter asked me.

Knowing the complete answer was complicated — and concerned she’d get upset at the idea of giving up her present — I answered, “This check is like a note. It represents money. I’m giving it to the woman so she can turn it into your money.” And when Siena wasn’t looking, I handed the teller a dollar bill, asking for quarters. At the end of the transaction, I was able to give my daughter some quarters (for each pocket), as well as candy suckers for both her and Oren. Everyone seemed satisfied.

A week later, Siena was talking about being grown up. “When I’m big, I’ll be able to get money, and then I can go to the bank, and then I can go into the bank and give the money to the bank, and then I’ll get suckers. That’s why I want to be grown up.”

I admire her priorities. She thinks work is for suckers.

Behind the Trap Door

Tuesday, February 5th, 2008

My kids don’t know what I do, nor would I expect them to. After all, I work with words, and they can’t read.

But they do notice when I disappear through the “trap door” at the back of the living room. What does Daddy do? Siena thinks I “do email.” Oren says, “Daddy. Work.” I worry that I don’t have a reason to go to my office that I can explain to my kids, to justify my regular disappearances from their living rooms and lives.

Once in a while, I carry one of them through the obstacle course of my office space. I want to demystify it. I show them the computer, and we surf kids’ sites on the Web, look at animal pictures, and even practice typing on the keyboard. I let them play with my desk gadgets or draw on paper from my recycling basket. And then, when I need to keep them busy so I can write an e-mail message, I pull a box of toys off the shelf.

A friend once explained why her dog seems so depressed every time she leaves her alone in the house. “When we take the dog outside, she plays. In fact, as far as the dog can tell, the only thing anyone does outside is play.”

Here’s what my work looks like to Siena and Oren: Disney.com, animals, drawings, and toys. When I’m in my office, do they think I’m playing without them?