Posted tagged ‘working mothers’

Gritted (Pleasing) Teeth–Important Tool In the Kit for Women Seeking Raises and TIME.

May 14, 2010

Pretty Please

Although I really do try to keep my work life separate from my blog life, I wanted to weigh in on an interesting article by Tara Siegel Bernard in today’s New York Times, “A Toolkit for Women Seeking a Raise.”

I’ve never asked for a pay raise.  This reflects well on my employer, who I have always believed to be both generous and tolerant.  But it is also apparently typical of women, even more typical (I fear) of women of my age and  and generation (middle/end of baby boom, beginning of feminism).

On the other hand, I am someone who, years before it was fashionable, negotiated flexible work arrangements due to the different pulls of child care, creative life and work life.

I’m not sure if these factors truly equip me to comment on the article, but here I go:

Two things jump out at me: first, a new study conducted at Harvard’s Kennedy School of Government, which found that women “need to take a different approach” than men to requesting pay raises, an approach which is “more nuanced” and “avoids undermining their relationship with their boss.”

As Hannah Riley Bowles, an associate professor at Kennedy says, “we have found that if a man and a woman both attempt to negotiate for higher pay, people find a women who does this, compared to one who does not, significantly less attractive…. Whereas with the guy, it doesn’t seem to matter.”

Sorry, but, DUH!

Anyone who has followed Hillary Clinton’s political career knows how difficult it is for women to assert themselves in our culture and still be considered very likeable, (as opposed to “likeable enough”.)

The range of what is considered attractive, both on a physical and a behavioral level, is simply narrower for women than men.   This range does not allow women much leeway for self-assertion.

What Professor Bowles seems to say, in fact, is that in order to negotiate a pay raise and keep a boss’s good opinion, a woman needs to grit her teeth (but not visibly), and please.

To give Professor Bowles credit, her advice is based in pragmatism.  Still, there’s something awful about it.

Another point of the article that struck me discussed women’s negotiations on child care issues.  Bernard  here cites Paula Hogan, a Milwaukee based financial planner, who tells women to take responsibility for a need to be with children.  As Ms. Hogan points out, most companies are not going to say, “Gosh, I notice you have three kids now. Would you like Tuesdays off?”  Women need to think through what they want and then ask for it.

Of course, Ms. Hogan is right.  One additional piece of advice I would offer is that once you figure out a solution, and (if you are lucky), get your employer’s agreement, then you need to grit your teeth again, and stick to your agreement.

I cannot overemphasize the “gritting your teeth” part of this equation.   The fact is that employers may be fair-minded enough to agree to a certain amount of flexibility—but that doesn’t mean that they will be thrilled by your late arrival (because you took your kids to school), or assist you in meeting an early departure (so you can pick up your kids at school).   Nor will your employer feel particular sympathy for the fact that, even with the flex-time, you are still gasping for breath.

As a result, in order to keep this kind of split arrangement going you may have to give up on some of the pleasing, and just take the agreed flexibility.

One further piece of advice:  once you do leave the office, be very very sure that when you are with your child to enjoy that walk (or drive)  home from school.

Christmas Eve’s Eve

December 23, 2009

When I was a child growing up in suburban Maryland, it was somewhat unusual to have a working mother, or, as she might be called today, a mother who “worked outside the home.”

Just about all the mothers I knew stayed at home, though they also worked pretty hard—this was partly because the ones I knew best had more than six children a piece.  Still, there was something different about a mother who actually had a job.

On the good side, we seemed to have slightly more disposable income than many families on my block.  We took trips; we shopped at real department stores (and rarely at the “five and ten”); my brother and I had an assortment of private lessons (from tap dancing to piano).

On the less good side, our lives, without the attention of what was basically a full-time servant, were sometimes a bit chaotic; let’s say, rushed.

This chaos was most pronounced at holidays, because my mom usually did not get off from work until almost the last minute.   Christmas Eve Day was intense, the modern world’s post-Thanksgiving frenzy squeezed into about sixteen hours.  On Christmas Eve Day, a tree was bought (among those few remaining available), put up, decorated.  Traditional foods were purchased and prepared; presents were acquired.

The day was a bit like one long Iron Chef competition, except it involved stores rather than a kitchen.  Wrapping took place well after darkness fell.

Christmas morning was a joy to my mom partly because it meant the end of Christmas Eve.

I’m a working mother too.  And whether women become more like their mothers when they age, or the aging of children makes the planning for Christmas somewhat less of a priority than the payment of second semester college tuition, I find myself in a mom-like situation this Christmas Eve’s eve.

I have tried to stave off the panic and guilt by warning my family repeatedly that I’m really not doing a lot for Christmas this year, that I am just too busy, too pressured  (not mentioning the weird assortment of vampire novels I’ve managed to read.)   I’ve told myself too that my kids are old enough I should just take it a bit easy, let myself off the hook.

But I expect that by tomorrow, all those warnings, and even resolutions,  will go by the wayside.   Like a Christmas Eve’s Eve, burdened with the knowledge of good and evil–that is, of what good mothers are supposed to do for Christmas as opposed to bad mothers who don’t do all those wonderful things–I will frantically shop, buy, prepare.   I will get us to church, cook, wrap;  and when Christmas morning dawns, I will be very happy.

In Search Of Saddle Shoes, Catholicism, Advent Calendars,

December 9, 2009

Two things I dearly wished for as a child were (i) to be Catholic, and (ii) to have saddle shoes.

They both represented a certain organization in my mind.  (Not organization, as in the Church, or Thom McCann;  organization in the sense of order, structure, rhythm.)

Catholicism was represented  by the couple of Catholic families on my street.  These each had enough children to require regimentation.  Rooms were shared; chores were assigned; eating was done only at meals, which were also on a kind of rota.  Fish sticks, of course, on Friday—these were not a particular source of envy.  Spaghetti on Saturdays.  The smell of the sauce emanated from my Catholic neighbor’s kitchen for hours, an unseen tomatoey aura that seemed to heighten the heavy greens of our semi-rural suburbia.  My Catholic friend, Susie, came out afterwards with sunsetty orange stains around her mouth.

Saddle shoes seemed in my mind to be Episcopalian.  (At least, the two girls I knew who wore them were.)  The mothers of these girls, like the Catholic mothers, did not work outside the home.  Less stressed than the Catholic mothers  (fewer children),  they wore their hair with either a schoolgirlish flip or bound in braids, and, on their feet,  trim white anklets.  (Seriously, anklets.)   They organized Brownies, Girl Scouts, volunteer stuff.  This, plus the anklets, seemed to give them a clear edge in the saddle shoe department:  they knew where to buy them.

I had a working mother, a rarity back then.  Yes, she made spaghetti sauce, but not for hours.   She wore hose.  And was too busy, and guilty (like many working mothers), to maintain a clear structure of delegated tasks.

As I grew older, a working mother myself, my childhood envy of Catholicism and saddle shoes spread to Advent calendars.  Setting aside all religious elements, Advent calendars represented patience, organization. If you’re going to have an Advent Calendar for your kids, you need to keep it in a special place,  consult it every day, only allow one little square to be opened at a time.

I tried.  But some  of us veer towards the energetic rather than systematic.  We squeeze things in, eating when we are hungry,  reading a book all night long.  We can hardly wait to wrap a present before we give it, make spaghetti sauce from a jar.  And will likely never ever get to wear saddle shoes.

Awww…

ps – for anyone who doesn’t know (I find this hard to imagine), saddle shoes are those beautiful, cow-like, curvy, black and white, or brown and white oxfords.