Rich Tobin works in sales for our Workplace Solutions team. He has two daughters who he wanted to connect with more. I love this post because it has a "Lean In" message too – how can we raise confident, female leaders? Rich has some ideas.

My daughter used to be attached at my side. She would sit in my lap, eat from my plate, cuddle with me on the couch. All she wanted to do was spend time with me. Now, at age 9, we had a great relationship but I realized that there was an entire side of her life that I knew very little about. Everyday she went off to school and had a life all her own that I did not get to see. How did she respond to her friends? What was she like on the playground and in class?

She was growing up so fast.

So when the town needed a lacrosse coach for her team, I decided this was my chance. I would coach my daughter and her friends in a game I played 20 years ago. I also saw this as a chance to build her competitive spirit. As someone in business, and a father of two girls, I want to make sure I’m raising strong leaders. Women who won’t back down to a more aggressive classmate, or colleague. Women who will stand up for their ideas and figure out ways to work with teams. I wanted to help build this next generation of working women – one girls’ lax team at a time.

So there they stood. The girls’ third and fourth grade lacrosse team. Some with tags still on their sticks. All looking at me as if I knew what I was doing. My only hope was that my daughter was proud of her new team’s coach.

Now, my background is in sales. I can talk to anyone and genuinely enjoy people. But forget managing teams or dealing with fussy customers -- getting 25, eight and nine year old girls to learn a new sport should be a requirement for every MBA program.

My goal: Get each one to love being part of a team and playing lacrosse. Forget about winning. Work together, but challenge each other. Have no fear of being aggressive. Have no qualms about leading I wanted to find a way each one of these ladies could take charge of a single moment – forget who they are trying to be – and just be. Yes, I wanted to see my daughter shine. But I realized I wanted to see all of these girls take off in some way.

When we started, these 25 girls barely knew how to throw a ball, let alone pick one up with their sticks. Some didn’t look me in the eyes. Some took charge when I wished they wouldn’t. But I had to keep in mind: This wasn’t about a game, it was about them. So two days a week we would spend time at practice together. We ran sprints. We did drills. We talked and shared game plans. Over and over again. Some days they glared at me. But most days they rallied. I loved seeing kids who did not hang out together at school come together on the field. And as the weeks progressed, I saw real skills develop. And I saw the timid became stronger and more confident.

But the biggest changes I could see were with my daughter. On the way home she’d talk about the game. She strategized with me. Discussing her day was no longer pulling teeth. It was fascinating to hear her thoughts. See the team in her eyes. We’d share what the team did right and what needed to be fixed. We discussed line changes and improvements we saw.

I was connecting with my amazing little girl again. And she really understood how much her opinion mattered to me.

In the end, we had some wins and some losses. I’ll never forget the first time our team won a face-off, completed three passes without dropping the ball and scored a goal. That day, I came home thinking I was the world’s best coach. But the truth was, it was never about the games, it was about getting to know my daughter at this new age. Knowing her friends, seeing her interact, learning that her world is way more complex than I knew, watching her fall in love with a sport, and bonding with her on a new level. And I could only hope the parents of the other kids were seeing something new in their daughters' eyes. I hoped they were seeing their daughters take charge of more at home, being more confident in their decisions, opening up to them as a team – and I hoped they were encouraging it.

One coach and one season isn’t going to make a world of difference. But it’s a start. I saw my daughter grow from kid to budding leader, from silliness to decision maker. And for her, I know she sees that I made an effort. An effort to get to know her and to grow closer to her. But it was even more than that. She and I became our own team. And that was the only win I needed.

I’ve already signed up for next year.

In honor of Mother’s Day, I want to show you a beautiful letter a Care.com employee, Gina wrote to her mom. Gina works on our Member Care team and manages our employees (mostly moms) who work from home. As a working mother myself, I hope my children feel the same way as Gina one day!

My Dearest Momma,

One day doesn’t seem like enough. One letter, words on a page, doesn’t seem enough. How can I express the gratitude for a lifetime of nurturing love you have invested -- that has literally made me all that I am today? And all that I want my own child to feel one day as well.

This Mother’s Day, I guess all I can do is try. I can try to illustrate just how meaningful all of your hard work has been. Hard Work. Words I know well. So do you. As I mother now, I only have small glimpses into how challenging your life has been. With five mouths to feed. When being a woman mainly meant being domestic. You were determined to contribute to the household - yet you still managed to give us all so much comfort and attention. How?

Now, as a working mother with 1/5 the workload (my gorgeous little 2 year old girl), I think back to when you first started teaching art classes in our home. Eventually, we had a living room packed with your students two to three nights a week. Women from all over came. My friends’ moms came. And you made them feel like true artists. Then you helped them sell their art and make money for their families – from their budding new talent.

Now, I realize why you did this. Now, I see the timing of your art shows lined up perfectly with wanting to buy us back to school clothes and supplies – and wanting to put Christmas presents under our tree.

There may have been times when I wondered why you worked so hard. Why you had to take a call or meet with a student. Why you had to work late. But I get it now.

When I struggle with my own journey as a working mother today, I think back on what you showed me. You knew that you were a fantastic mom and an excellent entrepreneur. You wanted to share your passion for art, and you inspired so many other women around you. You supported our family. And in the end, you showed your children what it means to be a strong, successful working mom.

I hope I can show my daughter the same thing. I work because I love it. I’ve found something that challenges me, fulfills me, and that I know I’m good at. I love that I help to support my family. And this is on top of the love I feel being a Mom. Yes, it’s tough. I miss my amazing, ever-changing sweet girl each and every day. I hate walking out that door. But I love walking into my role here. I love the person I am at home – and at my job. I only hope I can be the role model to my baby that you were to me.

I hope that she feels like she always comes first in my life. I hope she grows up knowing that she can ask for my help with anything. No, I might not have the time to make lunches, go sledding, attend parent-teacher meetings, and help solve homework problems. But I’ll make the time. (How did you do that Mom?) I hope she’ll always feel safe knowing that nothing will come between us, even if I have to travel for work or take a trip to visit girlfriends who live far away. I hope she grows up proud of her Momma for trying to juggle it all, for being a good friend, a hard-working employee, and the best boo-boo kisser on the planet.

But I hope she sees my flaws too. Mom, I know you aren’t perfect. But that was your charm. You worked at being better, and that was perfect to me.

I hope my daughter never accuses me of loving my job more than her. But if she does, I will have to say: Baby, you are my world the way I was my Momma’s world. But you were given a gift, the way I was given a gift. And that gift is your drive to succeed, your compassion for people, your leadership skills. I’ve seen this from the time you were a year old. I work because I love it, but Sweet Girl, there is a difference between the love I have for my projects and the love I have for you. The love I have for work is in my brain and in my paycheck. But the love I have for you is felt deep down in my core. It is who I am – who I became the moment you entered my world. I will always define myself as your Momma first and an employee second. We are connected at the core. And one day, I know you will feel this too.

Happy Mother’s Day, Momma. Thank you for giving me the gifts of being passionate for my work and my family. Thank you for being the role model I needed when I was young – and helping me blaze a trail for what I know my daughter can become. Thank you.

Tell me, what do you appreciate your Mom for this Mother’s Day? What do you hope you pass down to your children one day?


P.S. Here's a fun Mother's Day video for your amusement!

 

Last week, the panic around Boston was felt on a local, national and international level. And as parents of young children, we are faced with an important decision: Do we tell our innocent, happy children this tragic news? Chris Duchesne, our VP of Workplace Solutions discusses the choice he made – and why this was so hard on a personal level.


My kids are lucky.  They don’t really know about ‘bad’ things yet.  They don’t know that bad things happen on bright, beautiful days.  They happen unexpectedly on downright nice days – to nice people.  September 11, 2001 was sunny and clear – by all accounts a gorgeous day.  April 15, 2013, the day of the Boston Marathon was much the same.  It was a great day for a run.

As events of last week’s bombing unfolded I was faced with the same choice as so many other parents – do I tell the kids?  Do I let them watch the news with me?  Listen to the radio?  Would I share with them the sickening feeling the bombings had created in me when I heard about them?  Could I explain that scary things happen while still making them feel safe?  Why would the 3-year-old need to know about it?  Would the 5-year-old even understand, and did she need to?  What was the benefit in that? How many people and places was the 7-year-old going to hear about it from and did I need to preempt them?

It was school vacation week and my 7-year-old was supposed to spend the last half of the week with his grandparents in Boston.  They had plans to go to the circus, the park, breakfast with Papa.  How could I explain to him that he wasn’t going to be able to go to the circus because they hadn’t caught the bombers and I didn’t want to take a chance that the arena would be their next target? He worries.  A lot.  How could I tell him that and feel like he wouldn’t worry about it for weeks, and each time we go into Boston?

I like to run.  My wife and I often run races together, and we always have someone bring the kids to watch us.  When there’s a race in town and we’re not running, we all sit on the sidelines and cheer the runners on.  The kids love to give everyone high-fives as they run by.  I’ve long been hoping that the kids will like to run too – that it will be something we can do together.  So I was excited when my 7-year-old recently announced that he was going to run a 5K and that he wanted to start training.  The day before the marathon, we took him to the track to run a mile.  How was I going to explain to him the next day that someone killed people at a race?  That terrible people had targeted innocent people at a running event.

So I didn’t tell him. I didn’t want to take the chance that he would turn away from running.  That he’d be fearful and worry at each road race.  I didn’t want to ruin it for him.

But I am torn. While I don’t want them to know about the terrible and scary things that bad people can do. I do want them to recognize that what matters, what’s most important, is how we, Americans, react.  We’re people of action.  We help those in need.  We refuse to let bad people scare us.  In fact, bad people make us angry.  We have no tolerance for people that hurt others.  We don’t stand for them.  We pursue them relentlessly, wherever they are and we bring them to justice.  And we don’t let them change what we do. We announce the next day that we will run again next year, in bigger numbers, with even more purpose, louder, prouder.   I want them to know that setbacks happen.  That we – Americans – push on and push through .

As a parent, we’re constantly faced with decisions, and it’s sometimes hard to know whether you’re getting it right.  Maybe it’s because I want to keep my house a "safe-zone" of sadness, panic and worry. Maybe I want to preserve Boston as a safe family destination. Maybe I’m protecting my kids – and myself. But in the end, I chose not to tell my kids.  There will be other opportunities, another time.  For now, I will take pride in our response to the bombings and help my son train for his first 5K.  I have visions that someday he’ll run the Boston Marathon and I’ll be there, proud and unafraid, to meet him at the finish line.

But if one of them hears from a friend – and I realize that I do need to tell them -- I will bring it on their level. I will explain that there were two bad men who hurt people at the Boston Marathon. And they were caught. But that our job is to not let bad people stop us from living our lives – and from doing what we love, which is running. And then I will use the London Marathon as an example of a runner’s unbeaten spirit.

Tell me, did you tell your kids about the Boston Marathon? If so, what did you say? How did they react? Or, are you like me and hoping to keep them innocent and worry-free for as long as possible?

And if you need help talking to your kids about the events, here is an article from Care.com on talking to kids about violent acts.

Valerie is the Director of Service Delivery here at Care.com. She is working on our new senior care product, HomeBase Senior Solutions, in which we try to help seniors age in their homes safely. But she is also a mom of three and the oldest boy just started babysitting-which led to this interesting blog…

My 16-year old son couldn’t clean his room if his life depended on it. He can raid a refrigerator in a blink of an eye. And don’t even get me started on his sweaty, smelly basketball clothes and sneakers.

So I was a little surprised when a close friend recently asked if he could babysit for her 7-year-old son, Matthew.

"Really?" I asked her, almost laughing. "Better have your pantry stocked!" I wanted to add – but held back.

But then in a flash, I saw my son, Justis the way my friend saw him. He’s fun and playful. He’s CPR certified and choke-saver trained. And most importantly, he cares for his 12-year old sister who has special needs and frequent medical challenges that take a toll on all of us. He is patient with her, attentive, loving and capable of crises. He also cares and plays with his 5-year old autistic brother, often creating forts out of living room furniture, or teaching him basketball skills while he practices.

Right, I guess my 16 year old "little boy" (who is also 6’4’’ I should add), is quite responsible and could actually be a really good babysitter. It suddenly made sense – he’d not on ly be a great playmate, but a wonderful mentor and role model.

So I asked him – and he was really interested. He thought it would be "cool" and "fun." Getting paid was an afterthought.

I have to admit that I was nervous on his first night there. I had to prep him: "Clean up after yourself," I prodded. "Make sure you put him to bed on time and don’t just watch TV!" He looked at me like I was crazy. "Mom, do you think I’m not going to take this seriously?!"

I also prepped my friend: "Tell him what you want him to do. Be exact. And write it down," I advised. I wanted her to feel comfortable giving him her own training. That’s what he was there to do: learn.

So on the Saturday night, he went over to their house and my friend showed him where everything was, went through Matthew’s bedtime routine, and reviewed the list of emergency phone numbers.  I, of course kept my cell phone next to me the entire time! (And I promised myself I would only text him once later in the evening to check in.)

They played with Army men. Then Justis fed Matthew dinner, got him ready for bed, read stories, and tucked him in. At one point, Matthew tried negotiating that didn’t need to brush his teeth before bed.  But Justis told him it wasn’t optional and that he would thank him in the future!

So, it was a success. Justis even did his homework until the parents came home. Amazing! And now he wants to try more babysitting jobs. We just launched Teen Care on Care.com where parents can monitor which jobs their teen applies to -- and I might just let him do it!

If only he would start cleaning his room.

Tell me, would you hire a teen to babysit your child? Would you let your teenager babysit?

This is a very funny tongue-in-cheek blog from a lovely friend and co-worker of mine who is being hilariously harsh on herself. Not that any of us need tips lying to our kids… but it’s a great read none the less!

Motherhood has made a liar out of me.

I remember the days when I couldn’t even tell a fib – but now, they just flow trippingly off my tongue.

It starts harmlessly enough: I said "I’ll think about it" when I had no intention of giving it one more thought. I said "You’ll ruin your dinner," to a (probably) harmless snack.

Then it became tricks to get better behavior like "Santa’s watching" and "Better clean up your toys or they’re going in the trash!"

I knew it was bad when I once described the Easter Bunny in elaborate detail to my son, right down to his little vest, glasses and pocket watch.

Don’t judge me, but with three kids I’ve kind of become a lying pro. I’m not proud of this "skill" but what helps me sleep at night is that they are (almost) always for their own good (or mine).  So in case your little ones are seeing through your fibs lately, here’s my tip sheet on how to lie your way to the teenage years (when they start seeing right through you!):

Step 1: Be casual, but specific. Lying is almost a job requirement at the grocery store. With junk food all around you, you’ll have to be inventive and quick on your feet. Those fun-looking cookies? They’re made out of Brussels sprouts. Read the ingredient list to make this seem more realistic. The ice cream truck jingle? That means he’s out of ice cream. Kids are smart, so put on a performance worthy of Anne Hathaway.

Step 2: Don’t be afraid to embellish. Somewhere around the time my son turned 5, broccoli stalks became tiny fairy trees that became magical when eaten.  I also had a crazy irrational fear of him opening the car door on the highway (I suppose I hadn’t heard of the Child Safety feature!). I’m not proud of this one but I told him that pushing random buttons in the car could eject him straight out through the sunroof.  That worked until one day he asked me, why would they put a button like that on the car? And I couldn’t answer. My son also grew up believing that appliances and machines were fickle and unpredictable and that we should all just learn to accept it. The TV only worked on the PBS station. The car only worked when everyone had their seatbelt on.  And batteries for noisy toys were impossibly hard to find.

Step 3: Use your power for good. My son went through a phase where he was afraid of the doctor. So I told him one day that the office needed our help to make a list of what not to do when the doctor came in. He started with the simple things, which I diligently wrote down: Don’t cry when you see the doctor; don’t hide when he comes in. And then we got silly: Don’t jump up and down like a monkey; don’t yank on his stethoscope… By the time the doctor came in we were both laughing and we dropped off the list at the front desk together when we left.

Now that my oldest son is entering his teen years, I am conversely meticulously honest with him. After years of lying, I give it to him straight: The tough news, the hard choices, even the sometimes harsh news about what’s happening in the world. Lying was a way of protecting him from what I thought could harm him.

What worked at five, sadly doesn’t work at twelve. But that’s ok. He’d just see through me anyway.

But I have two 2-year old twins who still believe every word I say!

Tell me: What is the craziest/funniest white lie you’ve ever told your kids? Have you ever been caught? Or, are you completely honest with your toddlers – and how do you do it??

After having this openly honest conversation with my co-workers here, we created this hilarious video, "How to Lie like a Mother." I hope you will watch and share with all your friends!


 

A lot of the parents in our office are signing their kids up for kindergarten this month. But some have decided not to. Jenn, a Provider Specialist responsible for credentialing elder care service providers for our Senior Care Team. Jenn decided to "red shirt" her daughter – and this is why.

"But how does the sperm get to the egg?" my sweet little seven year old asked one recent Monday morning as I hurriedly applied my eye makeup.  "Well, Abby…" I began and carefully explained an extremely watered down version of the birds and the bees before shuffling her back to her bedroom to get ready for school. 

Abby has always been my inquisitive child. She is a smart, serious, and driven girl. She loves math, science, reading, and dreams of being a doctor and singer, as well as the next Gabby Douglas. She is also loving and kind and has a dimpled smile that will melt your heart.

A July baby, Abby was eligible for kindergarten in September 2010, soon after she turned five years old. And, we had every intention of sending her…until something just started to seem "not quite right." Really, it was more of a whisper that kept telling me over and over again that she just wasn’t ready. 

Abby was doing terrific in her second year of preschool. Academically, she was a star.  She followed directions, worked well with others, and was also quite independent. Socially and emotionally, however, a different picture emerged. At the playground with her friends, it seemed as though she didn’t always understand their type of play. Being the tiniest and youngest, her peers would constantly pick her up, as if she were a doll. When playing "house" she was always designated the role of the baby. Potty accidents were kept quiet from her teachers. And during class, her teachers were met with silence when asking her simple questions they were sure she knew the answer to.

I silently struggled with what I thought were typical issues of an introverted four year old and tried to brush them off as nervous chatter. But, when Abby’s teachers began gently questioning her readiness for kindergarten, I knew a decision needed to be made.

In my heart, I knew the right answer, but a slew of questions ran through my mind. How would I explain to Abby that her best friend, who is five days younger than her, is a grade ahead of her?  Would she be bored in kindergarten if she started a year later? What would she think when all of her preschool friends moved on to kindergarten? Would she be teased?

I remember her preschool teachers stressing three considerations which I found immensely helpful when making our decision:

1. They had never met a parent who regretted giving their child an extra year before starting kindergarten. However, they all knew parents who regretted NOT doing so.
2. Rather than being challenged both socially and academically in kindergarten, Abby would be able to focus more on her social and emotional needs her first year. 
3. If she’s socially lagging behind her peers at five years of age, think of how this will play out in middle school, high school and beyond.  

After much debate, many tears, and incredible advice from multiple sources, we decided on a third year of preschool. We have never looked back. A first grader now, Abby has excelled in more ways than one. Academically, she remains a star. She is confident as well as a role model. She leads her friends in play and exerts herself by sticking up for herself and others.  Older kids still like to pick her up, but she tells them to stop now.  

Once in a while, usually after hanging out with her BFF, Abby asks why Claudia is a grade ahead of her. For now, I tell her that different towns have different rules and leave it at that.  Someday, when she’s ready to know the real truth I plan to sit her down and say:

"Love Bug, you are one of the lucky few who got to have an extra year of preschool. Daddy and I feel that this year gave you a boost to become who you are today – a smart, strong, confident girl who will continue to chase your dreams of becoming the next Gabby Douglas or Adele. You might always be the tiniest in your class, my love, but your drive to succeed and your loveable spirit makes you shine brighter than fireworks on the 4^th of July. No, you’re not in the same grade as your best friend, but being one of the oldest in your class might just be the advantage you needed to make every one of your dreams come true."

Tell me, have you had to make this decision -- Or, are you in the process? What made you lean one way or the other?