Wednesday, June 20, 2007

Chapter 11-Forgetting to Remember

“MOM. HOW COULD YOU forget twice?” Rich moaned into the phone.
“Oh honey. I’m so sorry,” I begged back, “I just got so wrapped up in this order, I completely forgot.”
Unfortunately, I had far too many conversations like that with my son. With the advent of the Manheim’s account, our business was really exploding and there were so many things to accomplish every day. I was so absorbed in it that I would completely forget to pick up the kids from school, or an upcoming recital, or a soccer match—the list is practically endless.
That particular day, I had promised my son Rich I would pick him up after soccer practice at 3:00 sharp. At 2:45, I was totally immersed in some new designs and at the same time I was trying to figure out several screwed up invoices.
I knew from my days as an interior designer, that when you love what you’re doing, you become oblivious to the world around you. That’s the nature of the feeling. It’s very much like when we’re children, playing with dolls or toy soldiers, creating our own world or characters and dialogue, and Mom calls out that it’s time for dinner. But you never hear her and after the third time, she comes storming into the bedroom and berates you for not listening. You simply did not hear her, or anything else going on around you.
Unfortunately, as we grow into adults, we lose that ability to get lost in play. Everything becomes serious and important. However, for those of us who are blessed to be able to make a living at the thing that is play for us, we can still enjoy those feelings and like the grown boys who are paid well to play baseball or football or what¬ever game it is they enjoy—we can have fun doing it.
That’s why I’ve told my two children, and I know Jude has told her three, that one of the most important things in life is to find out what it is you love. My daughter loves animals. She might become a veterinarian, but then again, she might just open her own shelter for the unwanted and take care of them and find them good homes and never make more than a rudimentary living—but she’ll be loving every minute of it.
At any rate, not to make excuses, but that day, and many others, when I told Rich I’d pick him up at three, I meant it. Then, when he called at 3:25 wondering where I was, I was mortified. I’d fallen into the hypnosis of my play. I apologized profusely and told him I’d be there in five minutes. Then I hung up the phone and with every intention of putting up the files and closing the sketch pad, I had to just take one last moment to tweak this one drawing and before I knew it, it was 4:00 and the phone was ringing again.
“Mo-o-o-o-o-o-m!”
And that was on a quiet day.
Jude always tells me not to call her between 3:00 and 5:00 because that’s peak cell phone time, and I don’t mean going over her allotted plan minutes. It’s because the phone becomes an addi¬tional appendage during those hours just after the kids get out of school. It never ends, a constant ringing. Either it’s to pick one of them up, drop two of them off, one of them is going to be late, can this one stay at a friend’s house, where are you, what’s for dinner, and on, and on.
I know most moms know what I’m talking about. We aren’t special because we are raising families and working. Most of the adult population does the same things. It’s an energy thing with Jude and me—maintaining the energy to work long hard days and to give that same level of intensity to our families.
Both of us are naturally high-energy people, so that’s an obvious plus; but we also eat right, exercise and, most of the time, get enough sleep. If your activities involve love or, and passion, as in love for your children, love for your work, then it isn’t difficult to keep your energy levels high. The work is what energizes you.
Now that we’ve told you what wonderful parents we are, let me share some more of our disasters with you.
I used to be ashamed to admit this. Now, I’m just embarrassed. When we were first starting to thrive as a business, there were times when I actually forgot to feed Charlotte and Rich.
Technically, they didn’t go hungry; each of them was old enough to open a can of soup, there were always plenty of snacks in the cupboard, and usually there was a housekeeper or a friend to look after them—but I always took pride in making a home¬cooked meal and having us share dinner together. At least that way, we always had one hour out of the day where I could listen to what they were doing in school, what their day was like, or what they were doing in soccer.
After a while however, and after I’d been forgiven many times by my kids, I just resolved that as a parent and a businesswoman, I was going to suffer guilt. I just had to learn to deal with it because as a mother, I knew it wasn’t going to go away.
There were times, after we’d landed the Manheim’s account that both families sat down together in the living room and filled and wrapped boxes together for Fed Ex shipments. It was, and still is, a very small business enterprise, despite our growing success.
The kids would be wrapping packages and Jude and I would be putting press kits together on the dining room table, while answering phones and fixing dinner for all seven of us.
One incident that has stayed with me, was just such an evening, or rather a weekend that began with that kind of evening. The children had stayed up until midnight with us, wrapping boxes and putting Fed Ex labels on them. We’d finished our press kits and fixed dinner and at about 2:00 a.m., Jude and I collapsed, me in my bed, she on the couch. We had an early morning flight to visit two of the Manheim’s stores over the weekend—one in Dallas, the other in Chicago.
We knew we had to be back by Monday to see my daughter’s performance, her first in a school play. She had the lead and she was petrified. I had promised her that nothing would keep me away—nothing, that’d I’d be right there front row center to boost her confidence and courage. She clung to those words like a sailor thrown overboard in the North Atlantic clings to a life raft.
Our early morning flight from Chicago stopped in Phoenix en route back to Orange County airport and we had to switch planes, but there was a two-hour wait for the second plane. Just before that flight was about to start boarding, I reached into my purse to get my driver’s license and my wallet was gone again.
There was no way I was going to get on a plane without ID, so although I was frantic, I figured it must have fallen out on the previous plane. I asked the ticket agent to call America West in Phoenix where the previous plane was returning. Sure enough, one of the attendants had found it and was kind enough to put it on yet another flight coming to Orange County. The time it took that final plane to return meant it would impossible to get home on time.
When I finally got home, it was past 8:00 and there was Charlotte sitting at the dining room table. The moment I saw her, my heart filled my chest. I dropped my bags and begged for for¬giveness.
“Oh, honey. I am so sorry. So very, very sorry. I lost my wallet,” I began and before I could catch the words and take them back, they’d already flown out of my mouth—irretrievable. What a feeble excuse, I thought.
She turned her head to me slowly and I could see her eyes filled with these enormous tears that were cascading down her cheeks. She simply said, “Again?” Then she turned and ran out of the room.
I will never live long enough to forget that failure. More guilt. Tons and tons of guilt. I wanted to run into my bathroom and cry.
The one good thing that came out of that was my promise not to make promises I couldn’t keep. From that point on, if there was a chance we’d be late or stuck somewhere, which was always a dis¬tinct possibility, I let them know ahead of time. In fact, every time we travel, I tell them that as a matter of course we might not catch a return flight and be home on schedule. That way, they’re not sur¬prised and not so disappointed. I always get a backup in the wings, just in case. I tell them that Mary or the housekeeper, Estelle, is going to pick them up instead of me if I’m late.
I know it sounds simple, but believe me my kids feel much safer and are not as disappointed when they already know the score. If they know what to expect, even if that means Aunt Mary’s coming instead of Mom, they’re okay with it, for the most part. At least, they’re not surprised.
In addition, we began to plan our trips as much as possible around the kids’ schedules instead of the other way around. I don’t mean that we plan business trips around a soccer match, just the really important stuff.
That was the beginning of a whole new relationship with our children. And I realized it was all about respect—respect for their time and feelings as much as for ours.
It wasn’t easy. Part of our exclusive with Manheim’s was our responsibility to visit every one of their stores, where we had our merchandise, twice a year. At the time, that was 20 trips around the country, in addition to the trade shows we attended every year, some more than once.