Briefcase Mommy's blog

I surprised myself tthe other day: I weeded the garden.

There I was, jabbing away with the hand rake with one hand and yanking at the stubborn dandelion roots with the other. Suddenly, the dirt gave away and out came the chunky white root - still wrapped with dark, moist soil. The top part didn't tear, the sticky sap didn't get all over my fingers, and it only took me one try. I felt very accomplished.

While that might signify the banality of my weekend life, those who know me will understand the irony about this picture: me in the garden. That's because I have a reputable black thumb. Every office plant my husband buys me seem to wither or yellow, no matter how regularly (I think) I water them or move them around the office. It's never the right thing for the plant. The bamboo turned yellow. My jungle plant got moldy from coffee grinds. And that jade plant wrinkled up like prunes. So the fact that I am actually working on my garden? Right.

• More research that drinking coffee is good for my health.
• Naps. Any time, any place.
• Not letting toddler out of the house again with two left shoes.

by Julie Chen Allen

So I have this idea… Some might call it attention deficit, but I call it maximizing time. Or rather, as I’d really like to call it, squeezing more into my life.

For instance, rather than joining a book club, I plan to host a magazine club instead. My magazine club meetings would take place during a 30-minute lunch break or coffee break. If you don’t work with me, I guess you can’t join.

by Julie Chen Allen

I admit, when I encounter a parenting dilemma, I often don’t call my mom. I don’t run to the library or reach for my dusty child development books. I don’t pull up my DVR-ed episodes of Nanny 911, or even call the pediatrician. And sometimes, I don’t even turn to my spouse.

When I am truly at a loss for parenting solutions, I turn to the Google search engine. Welcome to my parenting style: Google-parenting.

These days, I’ll just type in any combination of my feelings…my kids hate me!…and

by Julie Chen Allen

In keeping with the theme of getting more time out of the day, here are a few ideas not guaranteed to work very well - or at all:

by Julie Chen Allen

It should be no surprise that I obsess about time. I spend a lot of time I don’t have in order to figure out how to get more of it. And now that it’s February, a month where I not only lose the 31st, but also the 30th and, this year, even the 29th day, you can guess what I'll be obsessing about. Hint: it's not who's gonna be my Valentine. Yes, much to my dismay, Leap Year only comes once every 4 years, keeping that extra 24 hours torturously afar. As my 5 year old would put it, that is just soooooo unfair!

Fortunately, while I was wasting time sifting through the closet, I stumbled upon a really useful article from a May 2007 edition of Oprah Magazine that offered hints on how to get more time into your day. I hope it will help you, too.

by Julie Chen Allen

To me, PMS actually stands for polychronic-mother-syndrome. It is a hybrid between obsessive-compulsive disorder and pure genius. It is a modus operandi for working mothers like me who are trying to juggle full-time parenthood, marriage, professional advancement, community service, and personal growth. (And might I add, all of this without feeling like I have the traditional kind of “PMS!”)

What I learned recently at a mediation conference helped me understand a lot about my home life. The polychronic-monochronic concept was first developed by Edward Hall in 1959 in his anthropological studies of time use in different cultures. Polychronicity describes people who prefer to (or simply can) work on multiple activities at one time. In contrast, monochronicity describes people who prefer to do one thing at a time. It’s no surprise I am the polychronic one in the marriage. Although, I would not say that I prefer polychronicity. Polychronicity preferred me once I became a working mom.

by Julie Chen Allen

I am guilty of being a selective listener at times. My husband might add that’s a lot more times than he can stand. He says sometimes I listen like a man – which I think is a compliment of sorts since, as an attorney, I work mostly amongst men. (Must mean I am fitting in at work.) But, for an attorney who is constantly listening to the needs of my clients, I could not believe I was on trial at home for being a poor listener myself. Selfishly I rushed to my own defense.

Like the one in Steve Biddulph’s book, Raising Boys, where “selective hearing” was explained by the slower development of auditory canals in boys in contrast with those in girls. This physical process, thus, literally obstructs a boy’s ability to hear very well. I find that theory especially persuasive during bedtimes. When my kids can’t hear me (“It’s bedtime!”) I prefer to think they were just busy, er, developing. I actually think it is a lifelong kind of developmental process. When I “listen like a man,” my ear canals must be aging and changing – like sagging boobs.

by Julie Chen Allen

If parenting were as easy as advising my clients, I'd begin with a letter like this:

Dear Child of Ours,

As you may be aware, we represent your best interests in the lovely State of Texas until you turn 18 years old or graduate from high school. We regret to inform you that our relationship is governed by precedent heavily in our favor as parents. Therefore, all requests for privileges must be pre-approved and stamped with our official seal of approval. You may not leave the city limits without consent of all legal guardians.

Unlike the 9th Circuit parents, we 5th Circuit parents are unwilling to grant the same liberties. You have the right to move for a change in venue but it is highly unlikely we will find that your interests have been prejudiced. Moreover, our disciplinary measures have been upheld as constitutional in light of your allegations of cruel or unusual punishment.

by Julie Chen Allen

Just survived another Monday. I think. This time, it was a Mean Mom Monday.

I never recognized Mondays for what they were until my 5-year-old told me today, "Mom, you are mean on Mondays!" I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, or just spank his butt!

But in truth, Mondays can be pretty brutal for one main reason: we are all rushing.

I can understand my son's frustration. We rush him to get dressed by himself. We rush him to brush his teeth. We rush him to eat breakfast. And we rush him into the car. Once we arrive at the daycare, I rush him out of the car. I rush him into his little brother's class to drop the baby off. Then I rush him off to his.