Don't Tell the Boss

There's something freaky about the cubicle pod where I sit in our newsroom. 

Everyone who sits here, either gets married or pregnant.

I swear, it's the weirdest thing.

My cubicle neighbors are Mick Trevey, Lauren Leamanczyk, Heather Shannon, Charles Benson, and a producer named Lacey.

Last year, our Mick announced he was engaged, and shortly thereafter, tied the knot. 

A few months after that, I found out I was pregnant, and had my gorgeous baby Noah.

Then guess what --- Lauren, Heather and Lacey all announced their engagements.

And the lovely brides all tied the knot in the last month.

Here's Lauren:

Here's Heather: 

And Lacey:

(Not sure what Charles' milestone was.  Bet he had one, but just didn't share.)

Now here's where it really gets weird...

Reporters Tom Murray and Jay Olstad also joined our pod during a mini shakeup in the newsroom.

Not long after moving in with our little group, they both announced their engagements to their sweeties.

It could be a mystical aura from the translucent lights above our cubicles... or maybe it's something in the dust that lines our desks...

More than likely , it may be that one person's happiness just has a way of rubbing off on others.

Whatever it is, we've all had a fantastic year.

So here's to the continued happiness for our milestone pod!

It's football season, and as many of you may have heard me mention on t.v., I'm married to a football fanatic.

My husband Taylor has set up our basement especially for Sunday afternoon splendor:  A 53-inch flatscreen, reclining couch, and microwave standing by on top of the bar for emergency re-popping of popcorn.

And it's looking like Taylor has added a new prop to his Sunday afternoon routine this year:  Our three-month-old son, Noah.

As Taylor packs up blankets, snacks and soda for his trek down into his "manhole",  I've noticed that he now scoops the boy up, throws him over his shoulder, and carts the baby off to the basement as well.

Which would be fine... except he never did this with our six-year-old daughter, Ashley.

In fact, last Sunday Ashley was hanging out in the den, playing with her dolls.  I watched from the kitchen as Taylor grabbed the baby boy from his bassinet, and left the girl behind. 

And then it dawned on me --- Taylor has never even attempted to watch football with Ashley. 

I mean, don't get me wrong --- he's an amazing dad.

He'll watch all the tween t.v. shows and movies with her.  Take her bike riding.  Take her to dance lessons, swimming class, birthday parties, playdates...

But when it comes to football, baby girl is on her own. 

And yet he grabs the three-month-old boy for football viewing.  Our sweet son who --- as adorably alert as he is --- doesn't even know that he's on planet Earth yet.

So I confronted my better half:  "Why haven't you ever watched football with Ashley?"

He looked at me.  "She doesn't like football."

"How do you know that?"  I pressed.

He smiled.  I simmered.  And then Ashley intervened:

"Because I don't like football, Mommy.  I want to be a cheerleader!"

Good grief.

So, whether Ashley likes football or not, I will be insisting Taylor take both children down to the basement this weekend for football viewing.  And she can practice her cheerleading between plays. 

Because l believe lessons on gender equality begins at home.  Even if the issue is only football...

I want my son and daughter to be on an equal playing field.

My son... like most babies.... adores breastmilk.

I personally think mother's milk is nature's perfection... a miracle.

But do I want it frozen, churned smooth, and scooped on to a cone for grownups to hork down? 

I dunno...

But --- believe it or not --- this is exactly what People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals is suggesting ice cream makers Ben Cohen  and Jerry Greenfield do. 

You know... Ben & Jerry's.

PETA wants Ben & Jerry's to replace the cow's milk they use in their ice cream with breastmilk.  

Somebody call La Leche!

PETA claims the use of breastmilk  would  "lessen the suffering of dariy cows and their babies on factory farms and benefit human health."

Aha. 

In the letter to Ben & Jerry's PETA claims dairy products have been linked to a number of illnesses including juvenile diabetes, obesity and ovarian cancer.  PETA cites a restaurant owner in Switzerland who plans on using breastmilk in the food he serves.  The group ends their letter by saying "The *** is best!"

I see.

The folks at Ben & Jerry's have gracefully declined PETA's request, saying "a mother's milk is best used for her child."

But I'm sure it won't be long before someone stateside starts trying out breastmilk in adult food. 

Which is fine, I guess.... as long as that's listed on the nutritional information label.

So my husband Taylor and I had this "animated discussion" the other day...

I was trying to explain to him why my job dropping our 4-month-old son off at the daycare is like, a trillion times more stressful than his job of picking the baby up.

Taylor thinks his job is much harder.  Thing is... he has to fly down the highway from his job in Mequon to the daycare in Oak Creek in order to get the kid before 6 p.m. 

Any later than that, and the daycare starts charging a $5/minute late fee.

You heard me.  $5 a minute!!!  My daycare doesn't play.

Taylor says on the days he has to pick up, he's completely stressed, as he prays for smooth sailing on the highway.

I get that... that is stressful.  But I have my own stresses to deal with as the parent who drops off.

Because I'm the one who has to make sure the kid is fed, dressed,  and in a relatively good mood by daycare time.  I also have to pack the daycare bag... which needs to include fresh bottles, formula, clothes and whatever other accoutrements junior needs on any given day.

And then there's the stress of the drop off...

The first day I cried so hard I think I actually embarassed my son.  He kind of looked around the room like he wanted to tell someone, "I have no idea who this crazy heffer is."

Things are dramatically better now.  I've mastered the art of handing off the boy to a staff that I adore and trust.  I wish him goodbye and good luck and can dart through the door fairly quickly.

But a show of hands working mommas: Isn't there still that little bit of guilt tugging at you as you head down the highway? 

Do I hear an amen?

Taylor on the other hand, is the parent who gets to swoop in and bring the boy home.  It's all smiles and laughter when Daddy shows up.  And Taylor usually just grabs the kid, throws whatever he finds into the diaper bag, then rolls on over to my daughter's school, and liberates her as well.

He's the hero.  And I feel like the enforcer.

So I will argue that we "drop off parents" have the tougher job. 

And it's another challenge of working motherhood, that I think I've finally mastered.