It’s Performance Review season at my company again.  I’ve always hated performance reviews.  Not because the reviews are bad - in fact, I’ve never received a poor review.  Something about getting a corporate report card has always bothered me.  Of course people need to know how they are doing, how they can improve, and get recognition for their accomplishments.  But I stand to reason that most performance reviews, in practice, are pointless. 

For years, I have practically received the same evaluation.  I am a top-rated employee.  I have solid judgment and am known to always get the job done.  I am highly respected in the organization.  But… (isn’t there always a “but” in performance reviews) I am too tough.

Typical working woman dilemma - be nice and get called “too soft.”  Be tough and get named a “bitch.” 

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When I was a little girl I dreamed about growing up and having a job.  I would get up in the morning and put on my power suit, hop on a train and head to the office. At the end of the day I would pack up my briefcase, put on my very professional coat and head out for an evening of adult activities.

Now that I’m all grown up, I have a relatively important (in the sense that it pays the bills) job.  I carry a laptop bag instead of a briefcase, and I own a very flattering black trench coat.

What I also have, which I never in a million years imagined, is a soul sucking commute.

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Do you ever feel like you are keeping score of your performance as a working mother?  I know, I know… the game of life is not a competitive sport.  Still at the end of every day, I know the score of that day’s juggle.  And whether it was a win, a loss, or a draw.  Sure, these games will never be played on ESPN and there is no fancy Superbowl Ring being handed out for a job well done.  But the announcer in my head is keeping score of how I am doing as a working mother.

“Mom starts the day strong with a 3-point bonus: she manages to pack her kid’s lunch AND pull out the leftovers for Dad and herself.  Everybody eats today!  In fact, it looks like she scored an additional point for extra difficulty; each family member received a fruit, a veggie, a protein, and a whole wheat grain.  Mom is clearly taking control today.”

 “Oh no, Mom lost 4 points for not using her hands-free device on a conference call in the car.  Nervously looking for any cops who can dole out a hefty fine clearly shows that she is not on top of her game.  Can she recover, folks?”

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Voting Day is a pressure-filled day for working parents.  Not only do you have to manage drop-off, pick-up and a busy working day, now you have to throw voting into the mix.  In history-making elections like this one, more people turn out to vote making long lines… and even more stress for the working mom.  I’m sure if I had asked my boss for time to vote, she would have approved the time off.  But then I’d be feeling pangs of guilt since my polling place is open for hours before I get to work and hours after I return home.  And I know that many employers are not willing to allow employees to leave early or come in late so that they can fulfill their civic duty.  I even heard of bosses sending out emails to their team telling them to “vote on their own time.”

For the last two years, I almost always voted via absentee ballot.  For me, it was the only way to manage the juggle.  There are days were I barely manage daycare drop off and pick-up with work meetings.  And I’ve already admitted that I often don’t take a lunch.  So voting was just one more thing to do on the list.  Switching to voting by absentee ballot meant that I had plenty of time to research the candidates, measures, and propositions.  Voting day no longer had to be the day of the election - but whatever day was convenient for me.

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As I watched my predecessor, Karen, write about her exit from her corporate job and, therefore, her role as Working Mom, I felt the familiar twinges of guilt tug at me.  Here was a woman who was reassessing her values and priorities and making changes that reflected those life decisions.

And here, on the other hand, am I.

I have two small children - a son in third grade and a three year old daughter.  I work full time at a job that keeps me (and as a result, them) out of the house from 7 in the morning until 6 at night.  I spend as much time commuting as I do going over homework.  I send checks for lunch instead of sandwiches and avoid the PTA robocalls like a bad case of head lice.

What life choices am I reflecting by working outside the home?

Why do I, and millions of other mothers, choose to work full time?

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Using an old cell phone that has been converted into a toy, my son pretended to email people on his “blackberry” yesterday evening.  He sat there for 10 minutes, thumbing the keys in remarkable similarity to my own style.  When I asked him to come to the dinner table, he casually responded “I’ll be there in a minute after I finish this email.”  In fact, he didn’t even look away from his “blackberry” when he responded.

I wonder where he learned that one?

I am living in a virtual avalanche of email.  Too much, too often, and too many accounts are bogging me down.  Between all of my email accounts, I easily read over 250 emails per day. 

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A friend of mine once told me that he couldn’t believe how I managed to leave jobs without burning bridges, even the ones for whom bridges would probably be better burned.  I’m a firm believer that nothing good comes from leaving any relationship, business or otherwise, bitterly, or angrily, or with hurt feelings.   Obviously, there are situations where work relationships are unsalvageable; however, in the event that you’re planning on leaving employment with a company voluntarily, here’s my advice on how to do it with grace, dignity, and perhaps even a few contacts and references in hand.

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Last week one of the managers at my company was terminated.  His exit was swift.  One day he was here the next day he was noticeably absent.  After a long investigation, the company terminated his employment due to Sexual Harassment.  Allegedly he harassed multiple women at the company, including at least one of his direct reports.  While his team is protecting the woman he harassed, they have been very vocal about their pleasure in the company’s actions and his termination of employment here.

I’m willing to put money on it that, if asked, nearly every working woman could cite an experience of being harassed in the workplace.  Whether it was the creepy guy who always started at your breasts, or the drunken co-worker who tried to take things to another level at the company holiday party, or the man who thought that keeping a calendar of scantily-clad women on his desk was perfectly acceptable.  With the lines of what is unlawful sexual harassment and what is just inappropriate workplace behavior, what defines sexual harassment remains blurred between black and white.
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Last week Friday, the second day after my last day at work, I did something that I’d been dying to do, but hadn’t been able to find the time:  I visited the exhibit entitled The Black List Project at the Houston Museum of Fine Arts.  The exhibit features large format portraits of 24 prominent African-African Americans, and the accompanying documentary included their views of what it means to them to be African-American in 21st century America.

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For years, I have asked my dad to make Pumpkin Soup in the fall.  I never had the recipe (and my dad didn’t seem all that open to sharing).  My entire family loved the soup so much that my dad had to start making triple batches.  Finally he relented and gave up the recipe.  Boy, was I shocked to find out that the recipe is simple.  Easy ingredients and done in record time - definitely my kinda soup.  I’ve never made a soup that is as delicious or as quick as this one.

I always serve the soup as the main course for dinner. Along with a hearty salad and lots of freshly sliced baguette, this is a meal that warms the soul. And gets to the table in under 20 minutes.

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