Hyper Tasking: A Parental Invention

Once again the air waves are aflutter with smart people warnings about "multi-tasking".

Once again, I have to scoff (ok laugh) at these releases.

"Multi-tasking is unproductive."

Grin. Really?

How exactly to you think a working mommy or daddy gets through their caffeine-fueled, spastic day?

These studies and stories of peril are always solely business focused: the flummoxed executive checking email in an important meeting. The uber-bored employee sucked into web surfing during a 'critical' webinar. (let's face it, if something's critical, it should not be deployed by webinar. Ever. but I digress.)

These studies all seem to forget who actually invented the fine art of multi-tasking: mommies.

I guarantee you, somewhere in a forest, long, long ago, a mommy nursed a baby while gathering fire wood, swatting flies, and watching her rambunctious toddler out of the corner of her eye (to ensure he didn't chase the monkey up a tree again.) And she did not once consider if doing all of these things was unproductive. They were all required. And all required right now. So off she went.

I argue that the evolution of the working mommy (the wommy) has moved beyond multi-taking, to a new activity I like to call "hyper-tasking". It's that fun little game wommies (and waddies) play where you see if you can engage just one more appendage in a some productive task while not losing momentum with the other limbs (which are also currently employed in something "important'). Simply put, it's multi-tasking on steroids.

Example you say? Thought you'd never ask.

Shortly after my daughter was born I found myself needing to engage in a business meeting while my son was home sick. I also had a limited time to get some shelves put together before having work done on the carpets (babies and white carpet don't mix.) The result? My left hand comforted a sick and grumpy toddler. My right hand screwed the final pieces of the shelves tightly together. My left ear transmitted information about the financial negotions. My mouth (apparently) produced reasonable arguments on said negotiations. My right ear listened for wimpers from the sick toddler. The piece de resistance? All of this occured while I delicately balanced an infant between my knees so that she didn't unlatch, stop nursing and begin screaming.

Swear.

Can't check email while in a meeting? Psssht. Ameaturs.

I have not stopped to think how many body parts were engaged in meaningful tasks at that exact moment (partially because it would require naming all of them out loud in my head), but suffice to say..it's what the 'researchers' would say is waaaaay to many. Not even Olympic athletes employ that many at once.

But that's the beauty of being a wommy. What other job (or set of jobs) call on you to at all times have every physical, mental and emotional cylinder firing at once? How would I have even known what my mind, body and spirit were capable of without my job and my little humans?

So, to the 'researchers': instead of spending time researching new ways to tell us multi-tasking is BAD, spend time trying to tell me how to do it BETTER.

THEN, I would be listening.
(well, partially, at least.)

Ahh....flu-y

Forget Forest's Momma. Life of a wommy is not always a box of chocolates. In fact, I'd liken it more to an infant diaper sometimes: you never know when it's gonna stink. Apparently the immunity gods turned a proverbial blind eye upon my return to work. Concurrently every out-of-work sickbug this side of the Mississippi decided to seek gainful employment in our household. In the few weeks that I've been back to work we've all battled the stomach flu, baby girl has since had a bad cough/yucky diapers, toddler boy has had yucky tummy and lingering cough, and did I mention that in the midst of it all darling husband's appendix burst? yeah. you read it right. burst. like pinata at 8 year old birthday party. thankfully he's healing and we all seem to be on the upswing, but since the same timeframe has seen a 300% increase in my client case load, I'm thinking that all wommy's (and waddy's for that case) should be issued a "handicap" card, much like golf, so that you can flash it prior to any public engagement. Do I mind public speaking? Actually, not really (which I hear is quite unusual). At least not if the subject matter is in my wheelhouse. However, let's all be realistic, regardless of how easy the topic is, small the crowd is, or accomodating the technology set up tends to be, NO ONE wants to stand up in front of (a jury of?) our peers when we're less-than-on-our-game. Two week streches of 1-hour sleep binges coupled with a myriad of bodily fluids marring every black suit I own, coupled with (quite frankly) just being worried about my little humans, tends to make one a little less than "game ready". Oh well, as my friend's favorite quote goes "The key to success is to bite off more than you can chew and chew it anyway." . . .I'm guessing the quoter, however, was not changing a diaper while he was chewing. . . . peace out -wommymel

...and then it hit me. . .

I've often wondered what makes one think that their world is interesting enough to warrant a blog; today, as I ran down 4 flights of steps with a a pre-made veggie burger in my right hand, a client-laden mobile phone in my left ear, a bottle of expressed milk in the crook of my elbow, a purse/diaper bag/milk pump thrown over my shoulder (only to reach the car and realize I'd actually FORGOTTEN something)-- it hit me : The life and times of a working mommy is nothing, NOTHING, I say, if not interesting. In fact, it's actually, dare I say it, somewhat entertaining...a daily exploration into hyper-tasking and "bizarre trade offs I never thought I'd have to make."

Sooooo, if you've ever wiped newly discovered spittle from a garment just prior to a presentation, changed a toxic-level diaper while making a phone pitch, or actually contemplated passing the sound of the milk-pump off as "just construction outside" so that you could have a voice in that ever-important conference call (nooo, I didn't , but I thought it) . . . then welcome to my WOMMY world, please come along for the ride. Add a pinch of worker, a dash of mommy, a twist of sleep deprivation and, voila, you have a wommy. Shaken with a little sarcasm. . .never stirred please.