Author: jenzug

The Mom and The Mogul: a new kind of job offer

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I bet you’re wondering what I’ve been up to, lately, amiright?

You may recall I did an Ignite talk in April called The Sanity Hacks of a Stay at Home Mom. I love public speaking, and aside from a breakdown or two in the preparatory stage, I had a total blast doing it.

Who knew that six months later I’d have a new blog in the Cheezburger Empire?

Yeah, the back story is definitely needed at this point. I agree.

So after I did my talk I sashayed up to the bar (because that’s what you do after you deliver a KILLER Ignite talk – you sashay.)

I’m standing there with my gin & tonic and a friend named Beth when a vaguely familiar face appears next to me, and this vaguely familiar face is attached to a fail blog tshirt (not this one exactly, but you get the idea).

I HEART the fail blog, and at this point I realize I’m talking to the creator of the fail blog. And at this same time I also realize I used a photo in my talk from the fail blog which I did not attribute, and I’m all, crap.

Thanks for the photo, I say, pointing my drink at him.

Yeah, he said. I wouldn’t have minded seeing the fail blog watermark on it, he says.

*jen laughs nervously*

*jen points drink at him again as if to say, good one!*

The awkward moment ends, and Mr. Fail Blog Creator starts talking to me about Mommy Blogs. On the outside I’m nodding and making eye contact and moving my mouth in such a way as to form words. But the fan girl on the inside is like, OMG THE FAIL BLOG GUY IS TALKING TO ME!

Two weeks after that night I happen to catch this tweet from Ben Huh, Mr. Fail Blog Creator:

Since I’m a compulsive twitter refresher, I saw this right after it was posted and casually responded that I’d be interested in hearing about his project. But on the inside I was all, OMG THE FAIL BLOG GUY IS TWITTERING ME.

We exchanged a couple DM’s. We had a phone meeting while I lunched in the park with my kids. I sent him some writing samples.

After a few rounds of writing samples his ideas were clarified, but I wasn’t sure it was the project for me. I was faced with the question many creatives face at some point: Do I take on a project for opportunity over love? Or do I hold out for twoo wuv?

In the end I held out for true love, and gracefully bowed out of the opportunity. Please keep me in mind for future projects, I wrote. I’d love the opportunity to work with you.

More than two months later I see this in my twitter stream:

We exchanged a couple DM’s. We had a phone meeting while I lounged at the beach with my kids. I sent him some writing samples.

This time the project was a great fit for me – WIN! And we launched the new site last week: Babysaur – So Cute, It’s Scary!

Did I mention all this happened via email and twitter? And that the only face to face conversation I had with Ben Huh was that first night at the bar? These are crazy times with these Interwebs, I tell ya.

I’m proud of this site, and having a blast. Please add it to your reader. Please follow @babysaur on twitter. Please become a Facebook fan. Please give us lots of Babysaur love!

So in a nutshell, that’s what I’m up to.

First World Problems

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Today technology is not bowing down to me. In fact, it is quite certainly giving me The Finger. My trick to getting work done in the afternoon is for Thomas to watch a movie, but guess what? The DVD player is crapping out, and for an unknown reason movies won’t play from the laptop.

No problem! I’ll just put the movie on Bryan’s computer in the office and wear headphones to keep The Clone Wars from distracting me. Right?

Of course not. You knew that wouldn’t work, though, didn’t you?

For some reason iTunes can’t find my music library. And I can’t plug the headphones into my iPhone because of that stupid jack issue with first generation phones.

So here I sit half an hour later, wearing headphones that won’t play music but will at least muffle the distractions.

Oh who are we kidding – they’re just keeping my ears warm.

The Day My Source of Heat Died (repost)

I woke up Sunday morning to a 59 degree house – the coldest it’s been since the seasons changed – so I finally decided to turn on the furnace. What used to be a simple flip of the switch is now a ceremony of sorts – I pause to remember, acknowledge, sometimes shed a tear. Turning on the heat is never the same anymore, because I remember so clearly the day it died. In honor of the man who was the source of so much warmth in my life – my stepfather – I now repost this essay from four years ago.

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At precisely 5:30pm on Thursday afternoon, on the eve of a three-day holiday weekend in which all things were closed the next day, our furnace began making a screeching grinding sound that echoed in the vents throughout the house.

As Bryan and I stood in the kitchen assessing the nature of the sound, we both had That Look on our face. It is That Look that recognized the time of day on that particular holiday weekend, during that particular week where temperatures were at a record low for the Puget Sound Area. It was That Look that recognized how OBVIOUS it would be that a furnace would begin making such grinding noises at this particular moment in time.

A few minutes later the grinding stopped, and we went about our business of the evening.

Off and on all weekend we stopped and held our breath as the grinding came and went. We waited. We hoped. We crossed our fingers. We prayed the furnace would last through the weekend.

On Saturday afternoon – New Year’s Day – I got a call from my sister, Jody, who reported that Gordy seemed to be slipping away, letting go. She said I should think about coming home soon, and that his daughter, Pam, was already on an airplane.

Even though Gordy had been diagnosed eight months ago, this plunge still took me by surprise. Just a week earlier at Christmastime he was up and about, visiting family and eating lutefisk. It seemed we might get another month with him at least.

Upon hearing this news I did what I always to do cope… I started doing things. I cleaned, I packed, I researched airline ticket prices, I rearranged plans, I organized the kitchen cabinets. I kept moving.

Meanwhile, the grinding furnace got so bad that on Sunday afternoon we shut it down from the circuit breaker.

It was cold that weekend. Seattle was experiencing record-breaking low temperatures. We borrowed space heaters from friends and shuffled them around the house with us. We slept in ski hats and wools socks.

Monday morning, January 3rd, was a regular morning. I woke up, I took a shower, I fed Ruthie breakfast, I called someone to fix the furnace. Around 11am the phone rang.

I recently read an excerpt of Carole Radziwill’s memoir, “What Remains,” in which she describes what happens between the moment an event happens and when you find out about it, how she was sipping a glass of wine and reading Pride and Prejudice as her friend’s airplane spiraled downward into the ocean.

I was sleeping when Gordy died. While he drifted off into the peacefulness of the early dawn in his own bedroom, I was completely unaware that something significant was transpiring in my life, that I was losing the man who had anchored me throughout the confusing years of my childhood.

In the morning when I awoke, when I fed Ruthie breakfast and called the furnace repair guy, I had no idea that I had just experienced a loss.

At 11:00 a.m. when I picked up the phone, my mom was crying on the other end. Through her sobs I heard her say, “Gordy is walking the streets of gold.”

I was standing in the laundry room where I had been loading the washing machine. I was crying, and the doorbell rang.

Almost every significant event throughout Gordy’s illness is somehow tied to a major home maintenance project. When I first received the news that Gordy had cancer, Bryan and I were meeting with contractors who were bidding out the remodel of our basement. And now, as the news of his passing was still sinking in I walked a sales representative through my house pointing out air vents and faulty duct work.

People die. Life goes on.

Never before in my life – and probably never again – will that fact be made more clear to me.

Yesterday we finally turned on our new furnace for the winter season. It purred ever so quietly, and the air blew through the vents with a force of confidence.

I felt warm, and I remembered.

No spouses were harmed in the making of this post. Well, maybe just one.

At some point during every major project I take on, I have a nervous breakdown. It comes shortly after I’ve committed, laid my reputation on the line, and pulled on my hip-waders.

Take pregnancy, for example. Around the seven month mark is probably a little too late to panic about what kind of Mommy Dearest you may turn out to be, amiright?

Last Spring as I prepped for my Ignite Seattle talk, I spent a few dark hours yelling at my husband about what an idiot I was for getting myself into this mess. NO ONE WANTS TO HEAR ABOUT MY STUPID BORING LIFE, I yelled in desperation.

I was a ratty looking squirrel trapped in the bottom of a well, clawing away at the dirt walls of insecurity.

Bryan managed to talk me down off the ledge within a couple hours, bumps and bruises notwithstanding, and I went on to give a killer presentation.

Well wouldn’t you know it, but my first client as a freelance whatever-I-am purchased the fully loaded Cadillac option from my list of services, launching me headlong into the deep end of the pool ocean galaxy.

Around 10:15 tonight, after forty-five minutes of research fueled by the absolute certainty I have no fucking idea what I’m doing, I started yelling.

I DON’T KNOW WHAT I’M EVEN LOOKING FOR! Is one example of what I started yelling. There were many other things yelled, but as is the case with most panic moments, not much is remembered. I do know that Bryan yelled back at me, and we spent a few moments trying to out-panic each other (he has his own deadlines), but in the end he sent me a magic link that made everything better.

And now I am fine. I will likely go on to produce the best work I’ve ever done in my whole life for this client, but for some reason I must pass through this creative rite of passage.

Poor Bryan. Poor, poor, Bryan. You can pray for him – he married a crazy lady.

38 Today

Tonight on the phone Ruthie wished me a happy birthday, and in the background I heard Thomas channel his inner Scooby Doo – “Your BIRTHDAY?!”

He gets on the phone and says, all indignant, “Why weren’t we invited to your birthday?”

“Uh… there’s nothing to be invited to, I’m down here working.”

“But why didn’t you invite us to your birthday?”

“No, honey. I didn’t have a party.”

“But Libby said it was your birthday!”

“Uh, well, it IS my birthday, but we didn’t have a party.”

“You didn’t have a party?”

“No, it’s my birthday, but I didn’t have a party. Do you understand?”

“It’s your birthday but you didn’t have a party.”

“Right.”

(pause)

“But why wasn’t I invited to your birthday?”

Beverly Hills, prepared for disaster!

Beverly Hills, prepared for disaster!We are in Los Angeles this week, helping with video at the 140 Twitter Conference. And by we, this time I really do mean WE – I’m the second camera operator. But since that sounds boring, and I can’t have a cool title like gaffer or key grip or best boy, I plan to call myself Director of Photography this week.

It may be a slightly elevated title, but that’s what L.A. is all about, isn’t it?

Speaking of what L.A. is all about, we had a chuckle over these decorative flags along Wilshire Boulevard in Beverly Hills, because what could be more welcoming to a community visitor than pictures of fire and bomb explosions?

Somewhere between limitless possibilities & certain painful death.

God, your God, has blessed you in everything you have done. He has guarded you in your travels through this immense wilderness. For forty years now, God, your God, has been right here with you. You haven’t lacked one thing (Deuteronomy 2:7, The Message).

I think the tricky part to the Daily Grind is not drowning in the details. It’s easy for us to stare at the empty refrigerator we may or may not be able to fill next week or a full schedule that doesn’t allow us to breathe, and think to ourselves: Shit, we should have kept the day job.

But that would be too near sighted.

Every morning at six Bryan and I have coffee together and set our plan for the day. We are bloodshot and tense and running on five hours of sleep (well, at least I am), but thoroughly enjoying ourselves. Still, enjoying yourself doesn’t always pay the bills or add an extra two hours to the day.

So yeah, the emotional ratio of limitless possibilities to going down in a blaze of glory is constantly fluctuating.

But when I read this the other day I was all, “YES! HE HAS! HE IS! I HAVEN’T!”

And mentally – not literally, as I was still drinking my morning cup of coffee – I jumped to my feet, pumped my fists in the air, and did a few grunting body builder poses. I karate chopped the air, let out a WOO-HOO! and ran a lap around the dining room table – all still mentally, mind you, as I’m not this energetic that early in the morning.

But still, that’s how encouraged my inner Eeyore was after reading this passage in Deuteronomy.

Contextually, it’s a sermon Moses preached before he died and before God led the Israelites across the river into their promised land, the land that was just within their reach for forty long years.

Think of it like a product launch party, or a ribbon cutting ceremony, or a toast at someone’s milestone birthday party. So much led to this moment – joy, tears, sweat, uncertainty – but here we are! We arrived!

And we are not the same as when we left.

My wilderness seems immense right now – though filled with mostly good things. Even so, God is right here with me, and I’m not lacking anything.

Touché!

LEE080114- 0086.jpgBryan is working from home today – one of the many benefits of our new flexible lifestyle. We all walked together to Ruthie’s bus stop this morning, and he played tag with the kids while I chatted with another mom. I can’t think of a better way to start the day, except maybe with room service in a five star hotel somewhere tropical.

I recently picked up some freelance work, so we are sharing the office this morning while Thomas is at preschool. Fun, right? Sort of.

When Bryan is on a call he talks really loud. Like, so loud even my ear buds can’t drown him out. And he gets out of his seat to go to the bathroom and stuff, which makes me think – Huh, I wonder what HE’S up to? – and then I forget what I was working on. And sometimes while I’m trying to write an essay about how INSANE it is to write with distractions all around me, he likes to brag about how awesome he is at Bringing In the Money – particularly when he gets off of one of his really loud phone calls.

So after the UMPTEENTH interruption this morning I let out a deep sigh, turned to him with my finger sticking straight at him and a good tongue-lashing on its way out of my mouth, and —

I paused.

“I do this to you all the time, don’t I? Is this why it bugs you so much when I call you at work to ask why my Twitter updates aren’t posting to Facebook?”

This, of course, made him laugh and feel very vindicated.

I vowed to never call him at the office ever again unless I’m bleeding or winning the lottery – provided he shut the fuck up.

Allow me to rant, if you will.

Did you hear? President Obama is brainwashing our kids today!

I don’t normally rant about politics in this space, but this issue gets me riled up at a foundational level.  Because for me, this is not really about politics, but about fear of Other, about thinking we’re in Control, and about PARENTING OUR CHILDREN.

So, allow me to back up and fill in the blanks in case you haven’t heard.

President Obama is giving a speech today directed at school children around the nation, encouraging them to work hard and stay in school. The uproar from conservative communities regarding this speech has, in my opinion, hit a tipping point into conspiracy theory.

“OUR CHILDREN WILL BE BRAINWASHED! OUR CHILDREN WILL BECOME SOCIALISTS!”

From a ten minute speech?

Because here’s where I have a simple solution for everyone who is protesting this:

HAVE A CONVERSATION WITH YOUR CHILD.

It’s that simple, really.

Ask your child what he or she heard in the speech. Reinforce what you agree with, and talk about the things you disagree with.

There. That wasn’t so hard, was it? It’s called CRITICAL THINKING.

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That’s about all the time I want to sacrifice on this topic. Though I could say more, here are other comments from around the web:

CNN –

A Baltimore, Maryland, teacher who asked not to be identified bemoaned the fact that the country has “become so polarized that we believe that our president is an enemy and not our leader.”

Former First Lady, Laura Bush –

“And I think it’s also really important for everyone to respect the president of the United States.”

Abraham Piper

If you can’t handle your kids listening to their president for 10 minutes, perhaps you should consider moving to a different country.

Albert Mohler

At this level, the controversy is a national embarrassment. Conservatives must avoid jumping on every conspiracy theory and labeling every action by the Obama administration as sinister or socialist. Our civic culture is debased when opposing parties and political alignments read every proposal by the other side as suspect on its face.

Furthermore, this controversy smacks of disrespect for the President and, by extension, disrespect for the presidency itself. Both fly in the face of Christian responsibility to pray for those in authority. Respect for our government, though never as an end in itself, is part of our Christian responsibility. This controversy threatens to sow seeds of permanent distrust and suspicion in the hearts of the young. In an age of rampant cynicism, this is inexcusable.

John Piper

This is the speech I expected the President to give to our children—excellent.

Given that he is not directing them to Christ, which would be the best counsel, his advice is a wonderful gift of common grace from God to the students of our land.

If you settle for the news headlines that say the president tells the kids to wash their hands and take care of the environment, you will miss the wisdom and courage in this speech. Within its spiritual limitations it is simply amazing.

Pick your sliver well, my friend.

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Last night I escaped to my garden for a few minutes right before starting the kids’ bedtime routine. The sun was going down, the air was cool, and as soon as I reached for a tomato off my plants the anxiousness of our Days slipped away from me.

As I continued picking my Sun Golds and pruning branches and weeding weeds, I fell into a familiar rhythm of movement and thought – the same rhythm I get into when running or cleaning or cooking – my hands are busy so my mind can process.

It was a peaceful few moments that recharged me.

What I found myself processing through was how my gardens – both the vegetable and flower – were sorely neglected this summer. The water pressure issues with the automatic drip system and technical difficulties with the spigot didn’t help, but I was not as consistent in my love or care for the normally full and lush edgings around my yard.

Gardening had turned into a chore instead of a hobby this summer.

I took on some consulting work recently, which is a radical shift in how I spend my time. A few hours here and there spent on the computer or in a meeting displaces something else, though there were enough inefficiencies in my time management skilz to absorb a lot of this. But still, grocery shopping has been haphazard, meals thrown together, and I feel a general sense of disorientation with my schedule.

I know this will improve as I get into the rhythm of my days, and I realize August probably wasn’t the best time to take on new projects, but in the meantime I feel a little frazzled.

But as I tended to my sad little garden I felt the universe plop back into order. I remembered I’m slow to transition the Big Things in life – more like a semi-truck lumbering to a halt than a sports car screeching to a quick stop – and I needed to give myself time to find my way. I remembered that letting some things go doesn’t mean I’ve failed, but I’ve made choices and rearrange priorities.

And most importantly, I remembered my Identity is not rooted in being a stay-at-home mom, or a work-at-home mom, or a consultant, or a wife, and that tweaking any of these things does not change who I am at my core.

The cartoon pictured above – which is printed on the back of my business cards – was drawn by Hugh at Gaping Void, and it’s the matrix by which I make all decisions concerning home and work. Every time I take on something new, I have to decide where it’s going to fit and what gets shifted to the back burner. If I start to feel frazzled, I know I’m trying to do it all.

So if you happen to catch me freaking out, my friend, feel free to ask if I’ve picked my sliver well.

Stolen Moments

Bryan's road crew

I think we were all stretched a little tight last week when Bryan was out every night at events, bookended by working both weekends. It was one of those occasions where it did no good for me to complain about it – whether out loud or in my heart – so I simply embraced the flow and made it work.

That alone was a miracle of Jesus-proportions.

It was Friday morning when I realized we both needed the car that day, because for some reason when he said “I have a video shoot,” it didn’t occur to me he can’t haul all his gear on the bus. I considered leaving the kids at home with our new house mate while I drove him into the city, then realized the commute would be a perfect stolen moment for the kids to see their dad.

I should have known they’d end up being roadies.

The kids made two trips with Bryan into the Maritime Events Center, hauling tripods and gear boxes while in their jammies. They felt important and useful, and I think it’s a memory they’ll store away for a long time.

Not bad, for a few stolen moments.

bryan & my jitterbug

As for my own sanity, Bryan took me with him to an event on Wednesday. Friends kept the kids, I picked him up downtown, and we jetted across the lake to Mercer Island more than an hour before the event started – which was more than enough time to sit on the lazy veranda at Mercer Island’s Roanoke Inn, sipping cocktails and gazing into each others’ eyes.

I felt happy sitting there, relaxed despite the overwhelming week. Bryan had insisted I come with him, and I initially balked at the logistics of making this happen. But as I sat there, I realized it was his way of taking care of me, of loving me within the limitations of his schedule.

And I was glad I acquiesced.

bryan "in the zone"
Bryan with Kenji Onozawa and Adnan Mahmud.

And then we were off to our event, and I got to watch Bryan in action and meet the great folks at the Jolkona Foundation.

So now the question is, can we sustain this life pattern – these stolen moments – for the next few months as work and travel pick up? Can we make this work? Is an hour here and there enough?

We posed these questions to our faith community last night – friends from our church who love us, know us, and ask us the challenging questions. These are the folks to remind us of our vision as a family and as a lover of Jesus. They will celebrate our successes with us, and speak up when they see our priorities getting out of balance.

To us, Life is a group effort. Bryan can’t lead our family without the family’s support, and our family can’t thrive without our community’s support.

So as to the question of sustaining through the Stolen Moments? I have no idea how we’ll fare, or how long we can plug along at this rate, or even how long we’ll need to. But it’s fun being in this together, and it’s comforting to know we have Community to put things into perspective.

Friday Link Love

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Going Big – This American Life
I first heard of Geoffrey Canada last year when I was thinking a lot about education in the inner city, and found his “total life” approach to education fascinating. I am completely in love with his charter school concept, and totally heartbroken by the socio-economic divide in education.

Canada’s Harlem Children’s Zone has revolutionized a generation in Harlem by providing resources and education for inner city kids from birth to college. His program is fascinating.

Test results from the charter school’s third grade state-wide assessment tests just came in, and the results were astonishing. Reading scores were above New York City average, and 95% of the students met grade level in Math. This was the first group of kids to enter the charter school program before it was fully in place – most of them didn’t enter the pre-kindergarten program, and their parents did not participate in the parenting classes.

But the kids entering kindergarten now have been in the program since birth. Their whole lives. When these kids get to third grade, says Canada, look out.

Small donations having measurable impact – Jolkona Foundation
Friends recently launched this incredible foundation inspiring youth and young professionals to give back. Donations can be made on a small budget, and donors can choose specific projects to fund and see the impact of that gift.

For instance, $40 will pay for one girl in Afghanistan to go to school. If you choose this project, a picture of the sponsored student will be posted online along with her report card at the end of her school year. You can see where your money is going and how it’s impacting others.

Jolkona is involved with 50 projects in 25 countries around the world, with giving options as low as $5. I encourage you to check out the website, give, and spread the word.

14 Cows for America – The Story
Heard this interview on my local NPR station about a village in Kenya who broke generations of tradition to comfort America after the 9/11 attacks.

The 10 principles of economics – Ignite Seattle
HILARIOUS presentation by the “standup economist,” Yoram Bauman.

Why lie? I need beer.

Why lie? I need a beer.
Photo from Podcasting News.

The reality of being in start-up mode is settling in as we run out the final dregs of cash money and tap into our back-up reserves. One item in our budget that always seems to get cut is wine and liquor.

WHY I do this to myself every time money gets tight, I will never know, because when times are tough WE LIKE TO DRINK.

So after two weeks of living in a dry house, we are now buying three buck chuck from Trader Joes, and will try our darndest to make a bottle last.

When money is tight in your house, what do you cut? What must you absolutely hang on to, even when times are tough?

awesomeness of friends: 1, scheduling snafu: BIG FAT ZERO

it takes a village

It was beginning to look like I couldn’t participate in the Run for Children’s race today. Bryan had to be at an all day video shoot, which left me and the kids alone, and they’re too big to push in a stroller.

I thought of getting a babysitter, but quickly realized our one car would not get us both where we needed to go anyway. And then came the humbling reality that the $35 entrance fee was a tipping point in our start-up budget.

Things did not look promising.

On a whim I twittered what you see above. I figured, what could it hurt? It was one part joke, two parts hope, with a dash of low expectations. I mean, the chances of the right people reading it AND caring AND being able to help were slim, right?

Multiple people responded.

So now I have one friend loaning me her car, another friend watching my kids, and a third friend sponsoring my entrance fee. And even though I stepped out and asked for these things as if I were confident, I suddenly feel humbled by these acts of generosity.

Thank you, my friends.

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Even though the race is over you can still donate to the Children’s Hospital Uncompensated Care fund, which provides children who qualify – like my friend, Zoe – with free medical care.

Last year readers of this blog pulled through and funded a new laptop for this family to make hospital trips (and their life in general) easier. I know my readers can pull through again by donating here to keep this fund available for families in need.