My response to Dr. Phil and the mommy wars

TV is about stories based on conflict.  Daytime TV is based on conflict, real or imagined, but mainly manufactured!

So Dr. Phil's show on moms vs moms has made blogging history as EVERYONE has an opinion. The debate centers around which was better: stay-at-home moms or working moms.  Can you imagine the call for blood on both sides?

This polarization of women makes my skin crawl. But then women have always been at each others throats over who has what. "Thank God the grass is always worse on the other side." they say under their breaths. 

This time out, I find this argument deeply troubling. OMG I need a glass of wine before I scream out to all these women - you are missing the point!

I mean really, how spoiled are we as American women?  Talk to your housekeeper if you want to see the no-choice woman in action.  Talk to the woman in a third world country who has NO options to work to put food on the table.Talk to the women of the world who know, deep inside, that womens work is work no matter where you stand in this debate.

I want to know why we women cannot take our tremendous talents and energies into focusing on our commonalities: children.  

Public schools are failing and need us to prod the state into making them the best in the world. Everyday, everywhere on our blogs, newsletters, letters to our gov't officials should reflect our deep concern for our children, not our resentment of each others life circumstances. 

The health care system for children is a horror story that getting worse.  Where are the mothers of America in making a big stink about this one? 

If American women (working or stay-at-home) have enough energy to complain, then I say take that energy and move it to complaining loudly about our schools and health care system!

In the words of Eunice Shriver to her daughter Maria, "Quit your gipping!"

Shut It Down - Part Two

They say humans learn through repetition. I think that nothing is learned between the ages of 14 and 20. Well after Friday night let's include the age range of 45 and 60 as well.

D#1 gave us the heads up she was driving to an "after party" held between 11PM and 2AM. As any parent knows, this raises alarm bells deep inside the belly of our bear selves. The expression "NO WAY-JOSE" leapt to our lips simultaneously. I immediately thought of the party we had had at our house. See blog "Shut it Down."

The discussion raged around the dinner table for a week. Father and D#1 made the decision that it was OK for her to drive home alone in the middle of the night. I dead stopped the idea as I was raised in LA and I KNOW the types of trouble the exist at 2AM. Thus sides were taken and the debate was on.

D#1 is exceptionally good at convincing her parents. "Mom," she says in all seriousness, "This is a private party, with tickets and a shuttle from the parking lot to the house. See, here is my ticket." I envision a well-organized transportation system similar to what we go through for non-profit events. The discussion raged on .....

One thing I am particularly good at is coming up with a solution in the middle of a heated argument. Training from my Telecom Corporate days created a "leadership under fire" set of skills and low and behold, they emerged fully engaged.

I suggested D#1 go concentrate on homework and while Hubby and I worked out our differences. I listened as Hubby gave his point of view and then let the silence fall. Silence is good as it lets the body calm down and the logical brain engage. It's one of my favorite techniques on getting Hubby to listen to me.

I committed to driving her myself if it meant staying up to all hours to make sure she was accompanied by an adult at 2AM. Hubby suggested I drop him off at the location of the after party and he would drive D#1 home.

"That's an even better idea, dude-man!" As I thought of my wonderful bed I would tumble into as soon as I got home around 1:30AM. And Hubby was once again my hero!

But - the best laid plans of mice and teenagers do go awry. This was no exception.

D#1 never made it to the after party. D#1 never made it as the traffic was so bad up Sunset Plaza and she couldn't find parking, kids were walking in the middle of the street saying "it's shut down," someone was vandalizing the parked cars and the neighbors were up in arms. 911 was called to help the passed-out-from-too-much-liquor girl. So once again the cry of "Shut It Down" was heard for miles.

"What does not kill you makes you stronger" says Friedrich Nietzsche. Any person will tell you that this is true. Especially when you are 16.

D#1 was pulled over twice by the cops as the car had a broken headlight. She handled it with honesty and aplomb. She drove carefully out of the crowded streets without mishap and drove home while her friend kept us updated with progress reports. That's my girl!

As we debriefed this morning, we wondered who was this parent that signed and paid for the party house? Who was in charge of the shuttles and parking? Why did they not figure out that 388 teenagers via FB, texting, etc. meant an average of 1000 kids showing up, tickets or no tickets. Why did they not think that liquor would flow, some teenager would be too inebriated to function and mayhem would ensue?

Well I think it's true - humans never learn, even between the ages of 45 to 60!

Mommy War and Peace: It's personal by Darrlye Pollack

Made the supreme mistake of watching a episode of Dr. Phil on the topic of working moms versus stay-at-home moms. The debate centered around which was better.  Can you imagine the call to arms for blood on both sides?

Here is a blog I thought said it so well.....

Can we please declare a moratorium on the mommy war?  The one where the mommies are fighting about whether to stay at home or work?  The war that's almost halfway to the Hundred Year's War?  Can someone please muzzle Dr. Phil and all the people who fan the flames?

Enough already.Most mommies don’t have a choice about fighting this war---they’re drafted.Even for those who have choices, it surprises me that today's mommies are so sure about where they stand.Because I could never choose a side. In fact that’s my point: that the most intense mommy war takes place not  BETWEEN mommies but INSIDE mommies. I had never yearned to be a mommy; had not a single domestic bone in my body; no stirrings when I saw a baby.In fact, what stirred in me was doubt. In my thirties the body clock ticked loudly enough to wake me up and the alarm went off and suddenly I was pregnant.

At the same time, I knew, deep in my soul, I was not meant to stay home.  So I hired a nanny before giving birth.

I fired her before she ever got started.

Because I was in love.

So began the  mommy war within myself.   Maybe it was due to my age---growing up with one foot in the fifties and one foot in feminism.  Or maybe just because I’m basically an indecisive person.
Fortunately (or unfortunately), thanks to other choices in husbands and career,  I had options, making me luckier than most women.

When my first baby was 3 months old, I took a writing job.   Only I wasn’t as ready as I thought I was.  After days of agonizing and soul searching, I backed out of the job and stayed home for months that turned into years.

By the time my second child was born 4 years later, I had switched sides.   I took business calls in my hospital room; and took my two-week old son to a business meeting, even nursing him there (hey, it’s Hollywood.)

Back and forth.  For years, the conflict continued on the battlefield of my brain.

Would it matter to them if I brought team snacks made at Costco rather than in our kitchen?  Would they be traumatized by the succession of babysitters who came through one year like a revolving door?  Would they feel cheated that someone else fed them milk and cookies after school or supervised homework?

Would I feel cheated being out of town when the first chicken pox appeared or a tooth fell out?  Was I wasting my time, my brain power and my education? And then the standard question-- what would I say when someone asked what I did at a cocktail party?

The easiest times---in terms of angst ---were when the choices were made for me.

During the time I was a single working mom,   I was so stressed and guilty, I forgot (more than once) to pick up the carpool.  At least I wasn’t as frazzled as another single mom who was so distracted in the carpool line, she drove her car into the wall of the school.

The internal mommy war grew particularly bitter when I was diagnosed with cancer.  I looked back--- and agonized over past choices.  Looking forward was no better---I didn’t think I would be around long enough to rebuild all the bridges I had broken.
To my readers:  I made
The war ends when the kids leave home---leaving, like in any war, the survivors--me and my two fully- functional adult children.  Also leaving me convinced that internal conflict is reflected in the conversation between mommies.

The truth is there is no right answer---for mommies as a group or even for an individual.  There is only the best answer for any person at any time.  Most mommies---whether they work or not---try their best and want the best on behalf of their kids---all the time.

Looking back, I wish I could have avoided the emotional whiplash that tormented me ---because  when you consider the costs of fighting, it's just like a real war---nobody wins.

Although maybe we deserve a Nobel peace prize for trying.

Darrlye Pollack

Demise of Print, Part 2

Previously on Innerwealthspeakers blog, I covered my love of books and absolute rebellion towards the e-book concept.  The gist was that the e-book will dominate the printed book and how sad it will be for those of us who love them. That is until someone turns off the electricity.


Electricity powers our ability to read e-books, use cell phone, computers, and any modern invention that somehow fuels our lives. Without it, life comes to a stand still. Remember the movie, "The Day the Earth Stood Still?" (version from the 50s) when the aliens shut off all electricity and mayhem ensued?

Electricity is the new gold.  Where once governments funded teams of adventurers to find natural resources of wood, water, gold, fertile land and cheap labor,  electricity is the new replacement as the "most precious commodity" on earth.  Now the solar/wind scientists are racing each other to increase our electrical output.

Reading is the first of skills that you need to function in the electro-literate world. The second is learning new commands and navigation of the electricity-fueld organization of information.   Every time I log on to a new web site, I have to learn a new software. AHHH.....it is fueling my resistance to change greater than my natural resistance to change.

The demise of print does not stop with books. Newspapers, magazines, reviews, brochures, flyers, pamphlets, leaflets, treatise, yellow and white phone book pages filled with names, numbers and addresses, are all becoming obsolete. So how do you know you exist?


Can you really count yourself among the citizens as bona fide because you are stored electronically somewhere?  Will you be able to vote just because you have a chip in your birth certificate or passport or neck?

Will an electronic profile a server somewhere produce the kind of outburst similar to Steve Martin's in "The Jerk?" While holding the white pages he starts jumping around yelling "I am somebody! I'm in the PHONE BOOK!"

I ponder these questions as I am the last generation that bridges the gap between fully electronic and paper-based for the verification of my existence.


I never battle my kids time spent on the computer as I know they are developing their "electronic literacy" that prepares them for a future of 100% electronically based information of all types.

But as for me, I plan on becoming the dinosaur of my generation, comfortably installed in my little house lined with books that I can read at any time, rain or shine, electric lamp or candlelight and without the need to push a button to create a deeply ingrained joy!

Hubby and the teenage girl thing

We have two daughters, aged 16 and 13.  You can imagine the amount "female" energy that flies around this house on a weekday evening. Hubby is in the minority.  There is Jake the cat, but he does not count much as a "guy" cat.


Teenage girls are a big mystery to everyone, but where this train goes off the tracks is Hubby thinks he has it down. They gleefully or brutally tell him he doesn't.

Homework:  Whenever one of them needs help with homework, they avoid him like the plague.

If D#2 asks him, he launches into a complicated course of self-study (that includes the internet)  while she waits for him to "get it." Twenty minutes later he is ready to answer said question with a history of information.

Lots of eye-rolling and frustrated arguments ensue which end up with D#2 slamming bedroom door and husband coming to me to ask for "a little backup here."

Personal looks:  Hubby has a great eye for hair and makeup and dress.  Training on these matters was acquired during his tenure as a director in Hollywood for oh say... 2 movies. When he comments on my hair, dress, looks, I'm good with it as I must concede that the man has great taste and dresses me well.

But he doesn't quite get the tinderbox of emotions (associated with looks) that sits just below the surface of teenagers.

He commented on D#2's hair twice in two weeks.  First comment was delivered with his glasses off his face and positioned two inches from D#2, "What color did you die your hair?  It's too dark." The wailing was so loud, my neighbor called to see what was wrong.

The second comment was delivered from 5 feet across the dinner table and eyes in a squinting mode. "D#2, you need a hair cut.  Your hair needs better styling."  D#1 jumped to her sister's defense by pummeling her father verbally ( I must admit it was a good pummel).  But too late, the damage was done.  D#2 objected loudly at first and then swiftly walked to her bedroom and slammed the door.  

He tried a retraction (he is in PR and thought it could work) but that went nowhere.  Pretty funny to watch a 6 ft guy speaking to a slammed angry door, trying to appease D#2.

Car sharing:  D#1 drives.  She drives Hubby's car as it is a tank.  But now she and Hubby are negotiating, er battling it out, on who gets the car when.  D#1 feels it's hers to use as she pleases over the weekend.

Interesting conversations that sounds a bit like this:

D#1: Dad, Friday night, car.
H:  Where are you going?
D#1:  With friends

H: How are you paying for gas?
D#1: OMG you want me to do well in school to get into a good college so I have to study every night of the week with no time to have a job so I can pay for my own gas? This is a joke, right?
H: Well you need to spend some money on gas, kiddo.
D#1: I can't.  I have to buy an outfit for the night.  Remember, you guys don't buy my clothes any more.

And on and on it goes until he relents and he is excusing himself from weekend golf games so she can have the car.

We have had discussions about his thinking towards the D#1 & D#2, but I prefer not to upset that apple cart too much.  The girls need to know how to argue with a man and WIN.  Makes them fearless for the future.

Gosh I do love my family - better than TV.

Habitat for Humanity Walk

Today I did something unusual for me - I contributed my time and effort to help raise money for Habitat for Humanity, San Fernando Valley/Santa Clarita Valley.

I signed up less than a week before the event and via the social sites I belong to, managed to help raise a whopping $100.00.  My little bit in the bucket contributed to buying - say - a package of nails.  I like that idea very much.

I had a client who produced 'fasteners.' Fasteners are the itty-bitty screws that hold an airplane together.  I mean they really do hold an airplane together.  If you don't believe me, look out your window, next time you are on a plane and start counting those little suckers.  There are approximately 8,000 fasteners per airplane.

Nails hold a house together. And when a house is held together, a family can hold together.  When the house is well-built, as these are, then the family has a chance to grow inside it's sturdy walls and flourish.

So I like very much the idea that walking 5 kilometers and raising $100.00 will help buy a box of nails that will hold a family together.

Demise of Print!

"See how light it is," says my friend Randy B.  "Just settle on the couch and you'll see it's lighter than a book. It's so easy to see the text on the screen and you push this button to move forward, this button to move up or down and this one for backwards!"  Randy is very proud of her Kindle.  It's changed her life when it comes to reading.

I thought about how a Kindle would better my reading life.  I think it would not. Why?  Well for starters, I'm a bit sick of all the button pushing that goes on in my life these days. 

And second....I love books.

I love the smell of a new book.  Some women like the smell of new shoes, but me, I like the smell of ink drying on paper.  I love bookstores.  I love wandering in bookstores,  getting lost in picture books and magazines.  I love perusing the pages of a book with an interesting cover only to discover that I am falling into the story as quickly as Harry Potter falls into the pensive.  My brain goes to zen in 6 seconds flat.

Upon exiting the book store with the new purchases under my arm, I am impatient to go home to pop some corn, grab the cat and settle down to read.  I can't wait to live in the world of the story.

At times I am so enthralled with a 'page turner' that I don't even hear my name called unless the person is two inches from my ear  - at full volume. That happened a lot in 8th grade algebra.


I guard my collection of signed first edition in a locked glass cabinet.  I STOOD IN LINE for those signatures! I had a brush with genius and walked away with a snippet of conversation and being able to say, "I met her at a book fair.  Great author!" Some signed books (by dead authors) are currently priced at $5,000.  Yes, $5,000 for a signed copy of "Riders of the Purple Sage," by Zane Grey, one of my favorites.


So the Kindle got me to thinking.  How does an author "sign" a downloaded version of their book? How does a collector collect "e-books" from favorite authors?  And how do you sell an "e-signed, e-book on eBay?"


I will grieve profoundly the day books go the way of gas-guzzlers. But for now I will continue wander the last book stores, smell the drying ink and plot my attendance at book fairs.

New Blog going up tomorrow. Stay tuned. "The Demise of Print" http://ping.fm/XeDnq

Turmeric Powder and a Little Subversion

My daughters are allergic to anything "mom" says or tries to impose when it comes to their health.  So the idea of taking vitamins, eating more fruits and veggies and laying off MY coffee in the morning is met with a resounding "NO!"  Feels like the terrible two's all over again. 

Subversion is the only tool left to me to insure their continued health. 

D#2 has decided not to take her asthma medicine.  "Ok," I say.  "Where are your inhalers?" Why-are-you-bothering-me roll of the eyes tells me she has no clue.  So I crush the pink pill and sprinkle it over a cup of "froyo," which she eats without an ounce of suspicion. 

D#1 has a great immune system.  All that breast-feeding really paid off.  But think she'd take calcium supplements to boost her bone strength? The eye rolling happens here too.  I bought good-tasting Tums - stuck them on her computer with a note stating that her password was changed and the consuming of 2 tabs a day will keep the computer humming in her hands.  Worked like a charm!

But the Hubby, he's another issue.  He's leery of anything promoted by his wife as "good for your health." He rarely gets sick except if he's been on a plane.  Then he is miserable with sneezing and coughing all over the house. 

I shared my frustration-Husband syndrome with a friend of mine from India.  Samir Doshi, of Telecomers, mentioned they use Turmeric powder as an anti-septic.  "How does it taste?" I ask.  My mind is busy flashing pictures of me sitting on the Husband whilst pouring this powder directly into his mouth.  "Of nothing," he replied.  "It just turns the food a bit yellow." 

Yellow?  I can do yellow!  I rushed off to the market, bought some turmeric powder, yellow squash, tomatoes and made a ratatouille.  I liberally sprinkled the Turmeric on the squash before drenching everything in garlic, caramelized onions and olive oil. 

I served the dish on a decorative platter and made it look FANTASTIC, key to getting the family to eat new dishes.  They ate it up and suggested we have this dish more often! 

Gosh, I love subversion.