From Poop to Nuts

I think I'm finally getting over the stigma of working from home and the fear that somehow I'll be found out. But it's taken several years of insecurity to get to this point. When I was researching my book, interviewing experts and arranging for interviews on the phone, I was always terrified that my children would cry, howl, or somehow loudly make themselves known while I was trying to sound professional even as I was secretly making calls from my bedroom. In fact, because of this legitimate fear, I wound up conducting most my business from my cell phone at Starbucks. I preferred the roar of the espresso machine to the seemingly embarrassing shrieks of small children.

This summer while I've been freelance producing and on a flexible schedule I've been taking work calls at home. Last week, in the middle of a conference call with a client who happens to be one of the largest financial institutions in the country, my 4-year-old son, Jonah, started shouting from the living room, where he had been quietly watching "Blues Clues," that he had to poop on the potty. This would not necessarily be a big deal except that my son, who is a rigid creature of habit, insists that he can only poop if I'm telling him a story while he sits on the potty.

So in the middle of the conference call chatter, I press MUTE on my phone praying that the button actually works, and I quietly start telling Jonah the story of "Jack and the Beanstalk" as he noisily grunts and groans and poops. This, of course, is the genius of telecommuting and working virtually. I can be on the phone with a Fortune 500 executive in Seattle while helping my son on his potty in New Jersey.

It seems lots of people are catching on to this technological phenomenon -- especially moms. This morning as I was sitting in my OB/GYN's office waiting to be seen for a general check-up so I can refill my birth control, my cell phone rings. It's a business reporter from a Milwaukee paper who wants to set up an interview with me to discuss a working mom event I'll be speaking at next week. "Let's talk in 45 minutes," I say assuming my exam will be over and my babysitter will still be on the clock so I can have an uninterrupted phone call. "Hmm, that's actually not going to work for me because I'm calling you from the beauty salon and I think I'll be under a hair drier then," she says without a hint of embarrassment. When we start strategizing other times we can talk (she writes from home and also has two children) we both agree that 9 pm is probably the best time for an interview after my kids go to sleep and she has picked up her kids from soccer practice.

Maybe because it's the dog days of summer and many parents find themselves at home with their kids between camp, school and vacation that I'm starting to feel less embarrassed about acknowledging that I may not be able to talk or focus because my children are with me. Or maybe it's because I have no other choice. But either way, it's starting to feel liberating.