365 Nights (11 page)

Since this personal and professional epiphany, I am now on a mission to tell the younger women in my office about the Big Lie. I am encouraging them to think about what they want their lives to look like before they get married or have kids. I advise them not to settle for what they think they deserve or what they think they should do, but what they really want. In fact, I think there is a whole new business seminar category out there—“The Big Lie: How to Merge the Professional and the Personal with Grace and Style.” And I'll tell you what else, I'll be telling my daughter and the daughters of my friends the same story. I certainly don't have all the answers and that's really the point, isn't it? No one does. There is no textbook scenario for this—after all, my idea of balance might not be the same as yours. But I do know this . . . A successful career? A functional family? A happy husband? Pick two, I will tell them. And we'll work from there. After all, isn't there a season for everything?

At first, I picked a functional family and a successful career . . . that wasn't working out that well, as you know, with me leaving cars running all day in the parking garage and all. Then I realized that to make my life work, my marriage had to work first, and that required from me even more work. So in a seismic shift, I aspired to have a happy husband and a functional family. Work, while it's still very important to me, for now has taken a backseat. Currently, managing life outside the office is rarely Brad's responsibility. Brad loves our children and our family and is quite helpful (although not handy) around the house. But he really never has to worry about managing the nanny, signing permission slips, or staying home when a child has to miss school. And if I'm scheduled to be in Rochester for a giant new-client meeting? Well, I'm the one calling a mother-in-law, a neighbor, or a best friend to make it work. In some ways, I was okay with that lopsided distribution of work. It helped me assuage my guilt as a working mom. And the hours I spent
at work
signing up for soccer, coordinating ballet carpool, and managing school paperwork? Well, my boss would be appalled and my husband would never do it.

One of the most brutal parts of getting out of the fast lane at work, and taking a part-time role, was that I had to check my ego at the door. It was tough. After a career spent working my way to a killer corner office, I had to hire and train my replacement, and move into a position, and office, more suitable for a part-timer. I was no longer invited to high-level meetings . . . they were often late in the day or on days I wasn't in the office. I was no longer the go-to person for a team of young executives that I had hired, trained, and mentored. I thought it would be so easy to give up control, give up a window office, give up a team of bright people, give up the fast track. After all, I was giving up all this power and control for a really good thing . . . the slow track. But dang, sometimes it really stank. Because working was something I knew how to do. Being at home, even part of the time? Well, that was new territory.

Now I am in the trenches of family life, managing the minutiae of daily life—dishes, laundry, groceries, cleaning, cooking, putting stuff away, matching socks, sorting paperwork. Alternate that with putting on my Career Girl hat at the office and some days I feel positively dizzy about who I am supposed to be. While this is what I wanted, the details of running a family and working don't always play to the strengths of Big Picture Girl. On occasion, this has resulted in me having a standoff with things like my dishwasher, to see if I could possibly go another day without unloading it. Yes, I know my dishwasher is an inanimate object, but sometimes I swear it's laughing at me as I bend over to unload it for the umpteenth day in a row.

So it's a good thing that Brad has been pretty supportive. He's good about not bringing work home with him and helping out when he's home in the evenings. Since he's employed by the World's Greatest Company, he has a remarkable—and probably unusual—work/life balance. Up until five years ago, Brad worked with me at an ad agency. But what Brad saw in his new company was not only a great career advance for him, but a wonderful attitude that would allow him to participate in family life: They actually believe that wonderful old cliché—people work to live, not live to work. Brad heads out early—he's at his desk typically by 7:30 A.M.—and he does travel more. But when he's in town, he's usually home by 6. He can take over with homework time, help with dinner, and get the kids bathed and in bed. Getting that help from him made it possible for me to have the energy to deliver on The Gift.

Back in 2003, when I was working toward balance, Brad and I felt that we were losing out on achieving any sort of balance of responsibilities, and worse, battling through a never-ending power struggle. Flying home from California, where Brad had invited me along on a business trip, we were rehashing again some tired point about who was supposed to do what. There was nothing like sitting on a five-hour flight home stuffed in coach to get the bickering started: “If I have to remember and track every birthday in
your
family so that I can remind
you
to send a birthday card and gift, then why don't I just send the darn gift myself?” I asked.

“I told you I would take it off your plate—it's my family, I'll do it.”

“Well, if I have to tee you up every time‚ you're not really doing it, are you?” Back and forth, back and forth. Good times.

We were turning our airline-induced indigestion into major-league ulcers as we haggled about whose responsibility buying stupid birthday gifts for his family was. It was definitely a sore point between us, as we had gotten in trouble before about late gifts, delinquent birthday wishes, and the lot. And then I had a brilliant—and I mean blindingly brilliant—idea: Muller Family job descriptions. Yes, friends, I have added to my résumé being COO of the Muller House, while Brad is the CEO. We trade CFO responsibilities back and forth, but they've landed in Brad's court the last several years—which doesn't speak necessarily to his strong financial acumen, as he is only barely more competent than I, and I'm an utter money loser (figuratively and literally).

Stay-at-home mommyhood isn't a given once babies arrive, and husbands aren't always the main breadwinners. Nowadays you're supposed to be in a marriage of equals—splitting responsibilities. However, does everything really have to be equal? What if Brad and I decided to play to the strengths of each partner? No more tit for tat, no more: “I did this so now it's your turn to step up” and on and on and
on
. Instead, you get a say on those issues in which you have a vested interest, firsthand knowledge, or some sort of expertise. Case in point: Brad has no say in a new washing machine, except for how much it costs as he has an interest in our budget. But since he has no firsthand knowledge of how a washing machine works, nor any expertise in doing laundry, I get the final decision.

The job descriptions have served as a nice set of guardrails over the years—we don't have to nag each other about stuff and endure all that back-and-forth about “have you done this?” or “have you done that?” There are five key categories of our responsibilities—children, house/family, finances, spouse, and social, plus a general overview. These roles are not a tool to lord over the other in a prickly and picky kind of way. I know what you want to ask, and no, there is no category for intimacy. We made this plan three years ago, for goodness' sake—I wasn't the highly evolved and acutely tuned-in spouse that I am today! Sadly, it still never occurred to me that I was not focused on being a better wife to whasisname, you know that tall guy with the nice green eyes? That came later.

Reflecting back on this time when I was juggling everything and still dropping the ball on intimacy, I decided to ask Brad about it. He said that he didn't think he was being neglected on the days that he wasn't aiming for sex and it wasn't on my radar. He was raised by a single mom who worked full time, his dad was never around after the divorce, and they struggled financially to make ends meet.

“Since I didn't have the experience of being raised in a two-parent family, no one modeled affectionate spousal behavior for me. When I got married, it was all gravy. I was thrilled to be with you, and glad I was no longer a bachelor who had to fend for himself in the kitchen. Life had never been better for me. After the kids, the trade-off of little or no sex seemed like a sacrifice, but I was willing to make it in order to keep my wife happy (and sane) and to maintain the semblance of the good life I had come to know and enjoy. I had a great job, a healthy boy and girl, a fine home, and good friends and neighbors. The lack of sex that we had could be ignored. After all—there is a price to pay for everything.”

Ouch.

While Brad wasn't ready to throw out the baby with the bathwater, there was an undercurrent of tension, but I was too darned busy to notice it. It would be an interesting experiment if, in relationships, we could get recognized for a job well done.

Because when you're used to the highly structured world of work and reward, a lack of immediate payoff is a challenging transition. There are no promotions, no 360-degree reviews from your peers, no nice lunches or celebrations when you close the big deal or win the big account. And no one popping by your office to say, “You were on fire in that meeting! Great work!” I'm not even going to talk about motherhood as the most thankless job of all, as Hallmark and my grandmother have covered that sentiment quite well over the years, thanks.

But
if we took some lessons from the business world and applied them to marriage, I think we'd all agree we're undervaluing our most important asset. And when it comes to intimacy, we're probably underutilizing a critical benefit. So along with specific job descriptions, Brad and I could be on a bonus structure based on performance. In the career world people get raises, promotions, luncheons, and cheesy plaques and/or desk ornaments. If we had a bonus structure attached to our spousal job descriptions, now that would be quite a game changer, wouldn't it? I mean, if someone told Brad that he would get paid $100,000 ( just to name a number) to be the best husband and spouse for a year, according to a job description determined by
moi
, I'll bet he (and every other red-blooded husband out there) would jump on it like white on rice. I would, too—Hawaii, anyone?

Putting a lot of stuff, including intimacy, out on the kitchen table for discussion and negotiation should be an evolving process in a relationship—one that is moving through family issues, changing jobs, and increasing responsibilities. Working at an office that teaches you all about office politics is a good primer for trying out some of these principles at home. Reward, praise, but don't forget to try to fix things that are broken. And when all else fails, try a PowerPoint presentation.

My good friend Teresa is negotiating through issues of power and control in her marriage. Apparently her current mode of communication wasn't working as John told her one night, “I'm just so tired of living in Nagland.” To which she nearly retorted, “Yeah, I know that place, it's across the river from ‘You Suck-ville.' ” But instead, she decided to try out some other tactics—not asking for help, not expecting help, and eventually not getting help. But that's a whole other chapter, isn't it? What really got me was how Teresa overcame the communications impasse—via PowerPoint. She developed a PowerPoint presentation entitled “How Teresa and John Can Get on the Same Page.” “I drove over to his office one day and presented it to him,” she said. How'd it go? “Well, I got through the presentation and then we started talking, so that's a good thing.”

Whether I've been at home avoiding the dishwasher, or at the office all day putting some fade in a PowerPoint presentation, I can't wait to go out with my girlfriends. Every working woman, whatever her life's situation—married, unmarried, mother or not—deserves a night out. That's why my Book Club of nearly fifteen years is sacred territory. Unlike other groups of the same name, we actually do read and discuss the book of the month. We also drink wine, dish, and hang out together. We've been through marriages, divorces, babies, jobs, and other assorted life changes with each other. A lot of women have this outlet, whether it's a bunco group, a dinner club, or a craft guild (I have to admit I don't know anyone who belongs to a crafting organization, however). But the net result is the same: a safe place to communicate about issues that drive us nuts when we're at home.

After about a hundred days into my special year with Brad, I decided to let my hair down and fill my girlfriends, some of whom I've known since college, in on things. Besides, my experiment was kind of new and exciting. Boy, did that go over like a lead balloon.

“What were you thinking?”

“You're not really going to do it the whole
year
, are you?”

“Whatever you do, do
not
tell my husband.”

“What will you do on special occasions?”

“Do you even like it? Having sex every day I mean?”

“Geez, I wonder if I could do it . . . for a week maybe.”

“Girl, were you
drunk
?”

And that is just a little pu pu platter of responses.

But overall, I was pleasantly surprised by some—if not all—of my support. In fact, one night as I excused myself from “Girls' Martini Night” at a neighborhood bar, I got a few winks, nods, and even a “You go, girl!” After the initial shock wore off, there didn't seem to be much judgment. If there was, I wasn't aware of it. After getting over the amazement of my birthday tale and the requisite jokes, the girls recognized I was putting forth an earnest effort, and to that end, my friends were offering toasts of support. In a world where we're bombarded with petty jealousies and mean-spirited gossip, where women get pitted against each other on so many things, it was a nice feeling. It could have been that my gal pals were just grateful it was me and not them, and kept their snarky comments to themselves. But in reality, I think it was because I was taking a shot at an admirable goal and they were secretly rooting for me. I don't think any of them aspired to be me, mind you, but I do think we all, in our nutty, overscheduled lives, aspire to have a better, closer connection with our spouse. And they thought I might be on to something.