If there was a Nobel Prize for multi-tasking, I’m positive a working mother would win every single year.  Hands-down.  We are the ultimate multi-taskers.  We aren’t necessarily naturals at the multi-tasking game, but learn how to do it well to survive.  It is technology that keeps us sane between corporate meetings, volunteering in classrooms, trying to be domestic goddesses and all that other stuff in between.

I am beyond lucky to be a 21st century working mother.  Technology allows me to juggle the demands of my profession while still spending plenty of time with my little guy.  My BlackBerry, laptop, and two dozen Wi-Fi spots around town make it possible to work from home, work from a coffee shop, even work during the carpool ride to home (no,  I’m not driving).

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Part of my job here is to write about topics that I think other working moms will relate to.

Often times, that means talking about the unique struggles that women who work full time jobs outside of the home face.

Women like to commiserate.  It’s part of who we are, and one of the ways we remind ourselves that we are not totally failing at this motherhood gig.  Because if someone else is having the same issues, maybe we can ease up on ourselves a bit.

Today I’d like to offer us an opportunity to share in the things we do not suck at.

Let us forget for a moment the times we forgot to bake cookies or return permission slips.  Let us not worry about the quality time we might be depriving our children of or the life lessons we might be handling poorly.

Let us, instead, bask in the glow of knowing - beyond a shadow of a doubt - that there are some things we do exceptionally well.

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I knew we were poor when I was growing up.

I knew the car we drove was beyond used.  I knew when the food I ate had come from a food bank.  I knew that we had to buy groceries from a list and that the type of juice we bought was dictated by government regulations.

And I knew better than to ask for things we couldn’t afford.

The reality of our circumstances could not have been concealed with even the most protective parenting.  I don’t, in any way, blame my mother for the fact that I knew more about money than most kids.  But at the same time, I’d always hoped to be able to protect my own children from that level of awareness.

Unfortunately, this sucktastic economy has put a swift end to those plans.

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Confession: I love business travel.  Now, I’m lucky that my need to travel for business is more rare (once or twice a quarter) and that nowadays it only requires a three hour drive.  But even when I traveled to lame places or had three hour layovers, I loved it.  And I didn’t feel guilty about it at all.

When I am traveling on company business, I’m not a mommy.  I am Robyn.  I am a highly-respected colleague.  I am a contributor to a team.  I am a problem-solver, a solution provider, and a subject matter expert. I feel like I’m Super-Woman instead of Super-Mom.  

The “Mom” in me is put on the shelf for a few days.  I don’t have to juggle. I don’t have to worry about what’s for dinner. I don’t have to wipe any butts.  Business travel is a luxurious break from my day-to-day reality.

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Boy, do we women love to talk about how we’re different.

And it takes about 30 seconds for those conversations to jump from “different” to “better” and “worse” and “harder” and “easier”.

The most recent example I’ve seen of this phenomenon is between the work-at-home-moms and the work-outside-the-home-moms.  Or the WAHMs vs WOHMs throwdown, as parental acronym experts call it.

For those of you who do not have to keep up with internet drama topical discussions on working mothers for the sake of a job, let me bring you up to speed.

Mother who works outside the home says working outside the home is different than working at home.  Possibly even harder.

Mother who works at home says working inside the home is real work, too.  Possibly even harder.

And mothers everywhere, once again, line up to take sides.

There.  You’re caught up.  Now, here’s my two cents.

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Maybe it’s because I was basically raised by a single mother.

Or maybe it’s just because I have a more dominant personality than my husband.

Whatever the reason, I’ve come to realize that I tend to think of my two children as my kids first, our kids second, and his kids when I am blaming their forgetfulness on his genes.

When it comes to making decisions about discipline, I am the long arm of the law in my house and I have final say on how poor behavior will be handled.  By the same token, when a child is sick or summer vacation leaves me with a 9 year old who needs child care during the day, it’s my job to figure out how to adjust work schedules and make new arrangements.

I’m not saying it’s fair - I’m just acknowledging that it’s how it is.

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I recently had the conversation with my boss about potentially going part-time.  With my son starting kindergarten in August, I’ve felt the overwhelming need to be at home.  It surely isn’t a desire to be a SAHM; I love and I need to work.  But there’s been this all-consuming feeling that I need to be home at least part-time. 

There are two people on our team that work part-time, so I know that my boss is open to the idea.  In fact, she herself has worked part-time in the past.  After the birth of her first daughter, she came back from maternity leave working three days a week and slowly moved back up to full-time.  She understands the need to work less hours.  But she also offered a very strong opinion on what it would do to my career.

Essentially, if I went part-time I would be giving up any and all opportunities to advance. 

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I am one of those women who struggles under the delusion that everything is my job.

And my responsibility.

And my fault.

I’ve never found that I can do everything, but that hasn’t stopped me from trying.  Or from feeling incredibly guilty when I fail.  Asking for help has been a last resort for me for as long as I can remember.

When my husband and I first started living together and sharing household expenses, I avoided asking him for money to pay bills.  I’d be down to my last dollar and in tears before I would bring up the uncomfortable topic of money and needing him to give me some of it.  He was always baffled that I hadn’t asked sooner.  We finally had to set up a joint checking account just to remove the option of me trying to handle everything on me own.

Issues.  I have them.

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In this week’s issue of Time magazine, the cover story details The Future of Work.  Specifically, the article takes a look at how the workforce will be (and has been) changing.  Not surprisingly, the article highlights the disappearance of employer paid benefits.

It’s not news to anyone who has worked - or looked for work - in the last 5 years that company sponsored health care is a rare gem in the job market.  Most employees these days are thrilled to have the opportunity to pay a portion of their health insurance premiums out of each paycheck.  An employer who invests any matching funds into a 401K is often thought to be going above and beyond the norm.  And a pension?  What is that? As a 29 year old worker, I have never worked for a company that offered a pension.

Insurance and retirement benefits used to be the perks that differentiated one job offer from another.  With those extra benefits being taken off the table, what are the perks that we’re working for now?

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Gruff, unreasonable, and known to once make a co-worker cry, my spouse has been trying to make changes in his demeanor.  He knows the way he acts could possibly get in the way of future advancement. In the past year, he’s become a very different guy.  He’s made friends with co-workers (we’ve even invited a few over for dinner), goes to a monthly poker night, and has softened his tough-guy image. 

Except in one arena: he hates going out to lunch with his co-workers.  His team goes out to lunch as one big group about every two weeks.  They pick a fancier restaurant than my spouse is comfortable with and tend to rack up a big bill that often includes alcohol.  At the end of the meal, each person is expected to split the bill equally regardless of whether they ordered only a small plate or had three martinis plus an appetizer. 

My penny-pinching partner is practically having bleeding ulcers over paying 30 bucks for a lunch that he didn’t really enjoy. 

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