The Mompreneur
Who ever thought there would be a gold mine in diapers?
Emily Sandberg is a mommy turned visionary. In the spirit of full disclosure I have to add she is also my adorable, ingenious, wonderful cousin. But more importantly, she's one of those moms who not only had a great idea, but actually did something about it.
As a mompreneur, she started "Tushygear." It's a diaper changing pad that has pockets for diapers and wipes. If you're going through menopause, it may not be on the top of your list. Even if you're not constantly on the hunt for interesting baby gifts, you've got to admire her entrepreneurial spirit.
Em started thinking about this because she says she got sick of lugging a huge diaper bag around everywhere, but she still had a child in diapers. (An adorable one at that!) She couldn't find any product that combined a pad and a case. What's the saying, "Necessity is the mother of invention?" When she started conceptualizing, she realized she also wanted interesting fabrics that could be conversation pieces. On a more practical level, she said she wanted to be sure if a mom wasn't carrying her diaper bag, she had a clean place to plop that baby down.
What I want to know is how can a mother of two young boys think about anything besides laundry, dinner and, oh yeah, her other job tutoring 25 kids a week?
In retrospect, her business venture shouldn't be a huge surprise to me. From the time she was little, Emily was special. No matter how old she was, Emily was always doing something creative.
Her mom, my wonderful cousin Sybil Stern, says she could never get her to clean her room but she was artistic. She'd spend hours in her room even at two, with playdough, crayons and paint. I love visiting her family in Chicago. But as I think back to the many many times we have freeloaded, I do recall we always got to admire the latest art projects. We'd get to see her ceramics, or pictures, or whatever she was working on.
Fast forward to adulthood when Emily leaves Indiana University to teach science and math in middle school. Talk about a woman who loves a challenge. I don't even want to walk through a middle school. But Em has a facility for communicating and engaging people. She even got my boys to open up and they work for the CIA. Eventually, she met her equally intelligent and handsome husband, they settled down and had two boys. She traded her classroom for private tutoring, and then decided she could take on another challenge.
When she told me about it, I was incredulous, not because I didn't think she could do it, but because I knew what it took for me to work full time and be the mother of two boys. Emily says it took about a year to set up the business, as well as looking for a sewing factory, and hunt for fabrics.
As she looked back on starting the business, she said she had been longing for something different. I have to marvel at that. For many moms that longing translates into a trip to Baskin Robbins or maybe the Galleria. I'm not sure how often that desire morphs into a second career, but frankly it can't be all that often. Many moms are just too darned tired.
Yet Emily told me she was motivated because she thought there was a need for that kind of product. Now she's added burp cloths, blankets and covers for changing tables at home.
On the nights when I actually open the mail or shift the piles of paper from the dining room table to my desk in my home office, I feel accomplished. Emily, however, used her down time when the kids were taking naps, or at school, to work on her business. Now that it's up and running she said she manages her time depending on how many orders she's filling. The post office has a 24 hour automated teller, she added, so she doesn't have to rush off at any specific time. I can just see her trooping off at midnight when everything else is done. I'd only leave the house at midnight if it was on fire, and even then it would have to be spreading to the kitchen.
Her plan for expanding "Tushygear" includes adding organic hooded towels. Frankly, I was exhausted just by reading about it.
I realize this is shameless promotion for my smart and savvy cousin. But she's also a mom, who has juggled way beyond any capacity I think I would have, for an idea she believed in. On that basis, mom to mom, you might want to visit
www.tushygear.com.
Emily told me if you type in the coupon code TGC1, you get the family discount.
Nina Day
Last Sunday was one of my favorite days of the year, Nina Day. You won't find it on any calendar. Hallmark never makes cards for it. Nina Day is actually my invention. It doesn't get a lot of publicity.
Nina Leah is my 13 year old niece, named for my late parents. She is remarkable. She's smart, kind, athletic, and, of course, adorable. She has compassion and sensitivity that I find rare in a young woman her age. I'm biased. She's my only St. Louis based niece and clearly my favorite. The fact she's named for both my parents only makes me love her more.
At any rate, ever since she was old enough to get it, we have been celebrating Nina Day. It's a day long tribute to Nina, scheduled roughly somewhere around her birthday. My entire family naturally attends her birthday parties, but Nina Day is much more private. The day is usually reserved for Nina and me, with a limited appearance from my younger son, who also really loves her. He will come for the dining out portion and usually the movie.
Naturally, Nina gets to do whatever she wants on Nina Day. We haven't branched out a lot from movies, lunch or dinner and of course shopping. Some years, depending on how much junk food we've had, there is the possibility of ice cream. In the spirit of full disclosure, I often eat mine and part of hers.
As she gets older, I'd like us to consider other activities. A Broadway play. Maybe a visit to Max when he goes to college.
This year, we shopped for accessories, since she was good on clothes.
With two sons I don't get to do the girly thing real often, except when my sister invites me along on a shopping trip. So, unlike the mothers of teenage girls, I'm thrilled to troop through a mall, looking at virtually every dress, jeans or sweater
on any rack.
Nina Day keeps me in touch with that part of the culture, which truly should be part of my job. Besides the obvious bonding, I get to find out what's hot at Claire's or some other teenaged mecca. I find out what's going on at school and what her camp friends and school friends are up to. We cover everything- news about her brothers, her cousins, our entire family, as well as the latest hot topic at school. We make plans for the next trip we may be going on together with the rest of the family and generally, as our my son would say, just chill.
We have pretty much the same taste in movies. (After working in a newsroom, sad, deep and depressing are usually off my list.)
The movie excursion includes a logistics option. We always hope to sit in the first row of the stadium seating in the theatre because then you can put your feet on the rail.
Nina Day always includes lots of junkfood and some kid friendly dining. Possibly ice cream following.
I try to see Nina a lot otherwise. I love watching her play basketball. Our families have the tradition of Sunday night dinner more often than not.
But this time, the yearly Nina Day, is different. We really talk. I feel I know her a little bit better each year.
Being the aunt isn't being the mom. It's a different relationship in different dimensions. It's often all the fun stuff without the worrying. With a kid like Nina, it couldn't be a bigger joy.
As we were driving along on this Nina Day, I told her no matter where she went to college I would fly there for Nina Day.
"You don't have to, Aunt Rave," she told me.
( That's my treasured nickname which is a long story for another time.)
"I'll come home."
Not a chance, Nina Leah. I'm getting quality time no matter where you are. And a movie. And shopping. Dinner. And possibly ice cream.
Family
My boys see each other very rarely, since one lives at the other end of the earth.
Actually, he lives in California, but it might as well be Mars for as often as we see him.
In the times everyone is home, it's heartwarming to see our two sons together, huddled on the couch with so little space between them. I think our younger son wants as much face time as possible with his big brother. I had been so worried that their huge age difference would be a detriment. As it turns out almost six years separates them and its been an advantage in many ways. They have each found identities that suit them, without competition. At least that's my read, without having been a child development specialist.
But in the time our older son was home very recently, they did a lot together, even though our younger son could have easily been with friends.
The part that had me worried, though, was what I couldn't remember. Seeing them together I tried to recall day to day when they were small. The times when they went tearing through the house, playing ball or pretending they were World Federation Wrestlers, have gone by in a blur. I can remember isolated incidents, prompted by photographs or, back then, videotape.
But what about every day?
Granted, I've worked many bizarre shifts, having signed on for a career in tv news. When I was the Executive Producer for the early dayparts, I was going to bed before the boys. But still, shouldn't I be able to remember what it was like on a daily basis?
Maybe that's the way a mom keeps her sanity, only remembering the highlights, the snapshots we carry around in our memories, of the baseball banquet, the
fifth grade play, the Halloween parade.
I don't know if it's survival or just the way life works. But as those boys sat on the couch, watching the 93rd consecutive sporting event, I made it a point to remember the moment.
I need to remember how lucky I was that my husband and I could give them each other. I hope I can keep the sights and sounds of their bond preserved in my head.
Happy Birthday!
We gave Max his birthday present this morning, as well as a breakfast totally devoid of nutrition. I figure he's entitled to that at least one day a year.
When he was walking out the door, so positive and cheerful, so grateful for his gift,I couldn't help but smile and think about what a blessing this child has been.
I remember what I was doing 17 years ago today. Of course, every mother can remember the details of giving birth. What amazes me is how clearly I can remember so much of it, even though I didn't even start going into labor until I was watching "Sports Plus" so late on a freezing Sunday December night.
My husband has always referred to Max as our "post transplant baby." Through sheer bad luck, my husband was saddled with kidney disease more than 25 years ago. After medical opinions, and second opinions and thirds, Barry endured dialysis and then ultimately underwent a kidney transplant, with the organ donated from his mother.
It's hard to write a thank you note for that gift.
When Barry got sick, we already, thankfully, had one healthy son. I'd read enough about dialysis and fertility to think Alex was destined to be an only child. But I was wrong. A few years after Barry's transplant, when it appeared this kidney could be a keeper for a good while, we tried again.
Of course every baby is a blessing and a miracle. But Max signified so much more. He was our affirmation and our hope.
That December night before Max was born, I woke Barry from a dead sleep. He ran over two curbs on the way to St. Luke's, in the aftermath of an ice storm. It was the stuff episodes of "I Love Lucy" are made of. When we arrived at the emergency room entrance I wasn't the only emergency. Our car was smoking and we had two flat tires. We're the only expectant family I knew who had their car towed from the delivery room.
Despite those auspicious beginnings, Max's birth was textbook.
Since then, he has never let us down. From that day 17 years ago, it's been a privilege to raise him. While I can't take credit for any of it, he has an ease with people and an openess that's completely joyful. His sensitivity and sense of humor have added so much to my life, not just today, but every day.
It may be Max's birthday, but I'm the one with the present.
Moms in the Bleachers
I miss them, those moms I've met in baseball.
We're winding up the third baseball league for the year. My younger son is an avid player. We have coaches. Our coaches have coaches. There are lessons and camps and clinics. I'm thrilled he's so passionate about it, but, frankly, my husband and I could have used the same amount of money for a house in the Hamptons. I would have considered that trade, if it weren't so great to go the games for reasons I would have expected and some I never would have anticipated.
Since March, I've been sitting with various groups of moms on his teams. Seeing him smash a ball to the outfield is fantastic. But the collective wisdom I'm getting from baseball moms, as they say in the commercials, is priceless.
Last spring I spent time with the varsity moms whose sons play on the Clayton High School Greyhounds. Our son was the only sophomore. Initially, I wasn't looking forward to it, not because I wasn't thrilled he was on the team, but because I hardly knew anyone. As a working mom, it's often difficult to connect with other parents. Because of my job I see far more mug shots of people who have committed crimes than I see Clayton parents. High school only makes it more difficult. Kids drive. Sons don't need their mothers to make social arrangements. I've always depended on the handful of mothers I knew well, whose sons were friends with my sons, to learn what was going on.
Last spring, though, my wonderful nephew, a senior, decided to play baseball for one more year, so gratefully my sister would be at the games. She made sure I knew everyone since she had many years of watching Greyhound baseball, with two sons who had played for the team, behind her. It's not that I exactly ditched work to watch him play. (I am writing for the KSDK website after all.) But I moved my schedule around artfully so I could cheer him on as the second baseman or d.h. That means designated hitter. I have learned something in 15 years of watching sons run around a diamond.
Don't get me wrong. The only thing as interesting to me as watching one son play baseball is listening to the other one call the games. However, during the high school season I tried to use my time wisely, finding out from the moms on the bleachers about what was going on at school, or how difficult it had been to apply to a raft of colleges, or who was taking whom to prom.
You can learn a lot through seven innings. You can get a lot of great advice. Or commiserate. Or just laugh at how incredibly amazing, fun and sometimes downright stupid high school boys can be. I miss those moms of the graduating Greyhounds. They were clever and funny and full of wisdom.
In the summer our son was on a select team, the Tigers, in the St. Louis Amateur Baseball Association. It was a challenging experience for both of us. Our son got to step up his game in a compressed season, surrounded by other very skilled teammates and competitors. The boys were from various communities. I anticipated another bleacher filled with strangers.
Once we got our roster, though, we got an e-mail from another parent. She was reminding us our boys had been close friends in daycare. We'd lost touch and both of us had moved.
Bingo! Another great mom on the horizon with whom to watch baseball.
Running to games all over the metropolitan area, Tiger moms were a loyal group. We always had a handful watching, and exchanging information about teenage boys.
Like the Greyhound moms, they, too, were articulate, funny and smart.
(Just to be fair, the dads were wonderful, too.)
We talked about everything from driving, to dating or whatever it is teenagers do socially now, to studying, to college selections. I even actually saw a lot of what happened on the field. But if a Tiger mom ever missed a crucial play, someone always had enough information so she would be able to compliment her son accurately.
The summer season slipped away quickly and my opportunity to visit with those moms did, too. We went back to our hectic school and work schedules.
Fall brought "fall ball," less intense leagues populated by kids who want to keep up their baseball skills, but do their homework, too. It doesn't quite have the same magic or commitment, or nearly as many parents watching the games. The opportunities to connect with moms like the ones from the Greyhounds or Tigers just weren't there.
So, now our son will concentrate on getting ready for next spring on his high school team. In the meantime I'll be hoping for a new group of moms in spring and summer, who want to talk about the complexities of raising 16-and-17 year old boys.
Baseball is known as America's pastime. Who would have know it's about friendship and enduring wisdom from moms as well?
How I Spent My Summer Vacation
It was remarkable.
Our family vacation was in Victorville, California, in the Mojave Desert. It was at least 107 during the day, but I have a tendency to exaggerate.
It could have been 307, I would have been there.
Our older son, a true baseball junkie, is living his dream in the high desert region of California, between Las Vegas and Los Angeles, as a play by play announcer for the High Desert Mavericks, a Seattle Mariners farm club.
He's been a baseball fan all of his life, literally having learned to read on the back of baseball cards. His father must have stood over his crib ordering him to adore the St. Louis Cardinals. I never actually caught him murmurming the starting line ups to the baby, but whatever his method, it worked. Our son Alex loves, loves, loves sports, and most particularly baseball.
He studied broadcast journalism in college, even attending my beloved alma mater, the Medill School of Journalism at Northwestern University. But in the final analysis, he rejected his original career path as a reporter, and opted for play by play. We dutifully listened to WNUR-FM, the university station, as he covered the battling Wildcats.
A working mother and consumate multi tasker, I listened to Alex as he did football, women's softball, men's baseball, whatever the sport.
I would use the time to clip coupons, pay the bills or clean out the email account, while on the internet during his college years. I had long given up on being able to mold a reporter and instead hoped to learn something, anything, about the rules of the game he was covering.
What else would a mother do?
Alex had another job before he landed in the desert, but we couldn't hear him up north in International Falls, Minnesota. (That story is for another time.) Yet, through diligence, some talent, and just plain luck, he headed for Victorville in March. Old enough to get settled by himself, Alex had been doing just fine. He adored his job. He loved the team. He had found a home among the other 20 somethings who made up the staff of the "Mavs."
"You're only as happy as your unhappiest child," someone said to me recently in the KSDK elevator. So I guess the bottom line of this story is about the utter jubilation I felt that day in the desert, when I watched Alex behind the microphone, calling the game for the Mavericks.
He had reference books around him, his laptop on the Major League stats, information about the visiting team taped to the glass wall of his booth. He had binoculars for plays he may not see, a scorecard he was keeping in pencil and, most important, he was carrying on a one way conversation on the radio all at the same time.
Any mom out there would not be surprised to know I did not sit in the broadcast booth without a tear or two. His dad felt it, but I think held it together that first night. (His teenaged brother was just so amazed he really didn't know what to do, but jumped around from booth to booth, acting like he owned the place.)
This was Alex, confident and calm on the broadcast, who had made his way all alone to a town where he knew no one. He had found friends and colleagues among the front office staff. He had learned everything he humanly could about the Mavs, and was using that knowledge in every inning.
He is certainly not making the most money among his college buddies and high school friends. He's not the most successful I would guess, although he is absolutely making his way. But what he is doing is following the path that makes him most happy. He is taking all the lessons he somehow, hopefully, learned from his parents, his grandparents, his aunt and uncle and gaggle of cousins, his teachers, his mentors and our family friends, to build on a career about which he is truly passionate.
There are some points of clarity I think, that come with parenthood. There are times when something becomes so obvious, whether it's good or bad, that it almost takes your breath away.
This was one of them, in the desert, on my summer vacation. It is the time when I thought, somehow we have had a small part in giving our son one of the greatest gifts.
For me, in raising my two sons, it is often about a bat and ball. This time it was about full hearts. Alex's and mine.
