My husband and my daughter are spending some quality time together lately as I travel a bit for work. I always enjoyed the times I had my dad to myself and have always been fortunate to have a dad (and a dad-in-law) who are so supportive of me as a mom, a working mom and a daughter.

Some friends have mentioned to me over the years that their dads are, let’s just say, not so supportive. One working mom friend even told me that her father has made no bones about the fact that he thinks she should be staying home with her young children. This, she says, from the guy who paid for her to go to college.

It’s perplexing, and these dads who raised us in the seventies and eighties are probably in a funny place. Many of them have wives who stayed at home. No doubt nearly all of their mothers stayed at home. And yet, as women rose in the workplace they worked alongside them and eventually, had daughters.

What does your dad think of you, as a working mom? Has he always been supportive and encouraging? If your dad doesn’t approve of the path you’ve chosen, how do you feel about that? Does it bother you?

Dads, what do you hope for your daughters?

As I write this, a Gooey Butter Cake is baking in my oven. St. Louis fans of this blog know the stuff well and can bake it blind or simply pick one up at their neighborhood Schnuck’s or Dierberg’s. In Virginia, Gooey Butter Cake doesn’t exist, unless we make it ourselves. We’ve delighted the neighborhood with random gifts of Gooey Butter Cake and till now, kept the recipe a secret. You will be horrified by this recipe, full of fat and sugar, it’s just heaven on earth. Make it for a special occasion, or if you want to break your diet in style.

GOOEY BUTTER CAKE

One box yellow cake mix
1/2 cup melted butter (don’t cheat — use real butter)
One egg

Mix these ingredients and press into an ungreased 9″ x 13″ pan.

One small package cream cheese
Two eggs
One box powdered sugar (reserve a small amount to sprinkle on the top when done)

Mix thoroughly and pour over the top of the cake crust. Bake at 325 for 35 minutes.

THE CURE FOR PMS
If you’re REALLY having a tough day, substitute the yellow cake mix for chocolate and add 1/4 cup of cocoa to the powdered sugar mix.

You’re welcome. Let me know if you try it.

I arrived in London at 7am local time after not having slept the entire night. I was yearning for a venti latte and quick escape from the London Heathrow airport. I’d made friends on the plane with a young couple who were hanging out near the restroom, three sheets to the wind and headed for a safari in Africa. I met up with them again as we headed for the exit and the woman said to me, “Did you see who was behind us in Customs? Dr. Kovac from ER!” We joked, briefly about not even knowing if he was still on the show.

Admittedly, I hung back a bit to catch a glimpse, but also realizing I needed some local currency if I was going to get out of the airport and into London, I started searching for an ATM. By the way, 100 British pounds = $184. Ouch.

So I was standing at the ATM when I saw him: Dr. Kovac. And I had that moment of dang, how sad is it that I don’t even know his real name – I can’t very well say, “Hi Dr. Kovac! I love you on ER.” That would be dorky, even for me. So I smiled at him as he walked past in the way people do when they think they might recognize you but they’re not quite sure where they know you from. He smiled back in the same way, obviously because he was thinking, “Is that Geena Davis?”

Now, if it had only been the former Dr. Ross.

A quote from a book I’m reading; “Memory works as a constructive process that not only reproduces, but filters, changes, and interprets the past.” (The Year of Fog by Michelle Richmond.)

I’m filtering through my memories of my trip to India and London, choosing the stories to share and those to keep to myself. My camera broke at the beginning of the trip, so what I saw lives in my memory alone.

Some impressions: I really enjoyed India and was aware of how quickly I felt comfortable there. The cities I saw are beautiful despite crumbling buildings, overcrowded conditions with many people living on sidewalks and in shanty towns. I was surprised by a few unexpected sights: stray dogs everywhere (they all looked the same), the way even the poorest people wore clothes that were clean and mended and chipmunks that were plentiful and had the run of the Gandhi ashram.The women are some of the most beautiful in the world — truly stunning, and my colleague and I decided that the sari and the salwar kameez are the most perfect garments; flattering and made with gorgeous fabrics — if we were Indian, we would wear them all the time.

In London I was surprised that, despite the architecture, the currency, the accents and the left-side of the road driving, the city has much in common with New York city. There were moments when I felt like I could be in any big U.S. city with a Gap, several Starbucks, McDonald’s and other familiar U.S. sights. We went out of our way to experience London, though, touring about, visiting the National Gallery and eating fish and chips and shepherd’s pie for dinner.

I’m savoring my memories, now, and am ready for the next trip, eager for more adventure with new sights, sounds and surprises.

There were several surreal moments in India; I don’t even know where to start to share them, but here’s one that’s stuck with me and is relevant to this online space. We were having dinner in a Chinese restaurant (in India!) with our clients when suddenly one of them asked if I was still writing this blog.

My face turned red — I’m sure it did — as my brain scanned over the hundreds of posts here, thinking, what has he read? What have I written? I babbled something about my blogging history, not even doing justice to the time I’ve spent here, the committment to writing, the connections, friendships and real satisfaction I’ve gotten out of the creation and maintenance of this blog.

I finally recovered from the shock of realizing that yes, sometimes even clients google their consultants, (Hi Steve!) and learned that, this blog, after all is among the Top Ten most popular working mom blogs and that is not too shabby.

Now, if only I can return to unselfconsciously writing, all will be fine.

Since my last post, I’ve been to London, India and Frankfurt and not at Epcot either; the real deal. I left last Saturday afternoon and flew to London, arriving Sunday morning. I learned it’s best to, as my brother-in-law said, “gut it out” and stay awake; I did not sleep until Sunday night.

My colleague Jennifer and I had a great time touring about London during the day on Sunday and Monday met with our London-based client. That evening we flew, the three of us together, to Mumbai, India. We arrived Tuesday morning and went straight to a meeting at the client’s Mumbai office. That night we flew to Ahmedabad, India, where we spent the night and worked at two sites there Wednesday and Thursday, beginning our four-flight journey home Thursday evening.

It was an amazing trip — tiring but above all, fascinating. I’m working on stories to share from my travels and once I’ve rested up, readjusted to the time zone and caught up on work I will post them.

It’s nice to be home!

I went to the “mall.” I say “mall” because if you could see our mall in Charlottesville, you’d know those quotes are entirely justified. I had, however, my postcard telling me it was Clinique bonus time and a coupon for free panties at Victoria’s Secret. Yes, I’m cheap.

So I went to the mall to collect my free stuff and to review the vast menu of options to fulfill the $19.99 requirement that would earn me a nice bag filled with travel-sized samples of Clinique makeup and skincare products.

I was assailed by a skin technician. Is that what they’re called? I think so but I only loosely use that term. In my head I think, “makeup counter lady.” It’s the white lab coats that differentiate.

“When was the last time your skin was typed?” she asked.

I refrained from telling her about the time I worked so far into the night that I fell asleep on my keyboard. That was sort of like my face typing. I’m sure that’s not the same thing.

So the lab-coated one provided recommendations after applying this and that to my cheek and saying, “Oooh, you’ve got cross-hatching. You’re not exfoliating!”

Darn it. Busted.

“Did you know that applying moisturizer to unexfoliated skin is like wearing a raincoat in the shower?”

Why, no, I did not.

After recommending a list of products that would have easily totaled $200 and perhaps given me the fountain of youth, I made my $20 purchase and awaited my reward. As the salesgirl technician rung me up, my eyes strayed to the next makeup counter. How could they not — after all, right next door were the MAC girls.

Anyone familiar with MAC knows the scene; loud, pumping music, women with hair in shades named “Passion” and “Cardiac Arrest.” Their faces are suited for Cirque de Soleil, not the mall. I thought, I’ll bet the MAC girls never, ever hang out with the Clinique team. In fact, I bet there’s zero interaction between the two despite the fact that they’re mere feet apart from one another and probably make identical hourly wages.

I pondered whether I was ever a MAC girl. I pondered the idea that I’m not really a Clinique girl either, I’m just a sucker for a free gift with purchase.

Last year on this date, I learned that my daughter didn’t remember 9/11. What was more upsetting at the time was how she didn’t believe me when I showed her what I viewed as evidence of a great tragedy. Since then, we’ve referred to it more often, and in November of 2007, we took a trip to New York and stood at Ground Zero with our daughter, who now believes, although, like most of us, cannot accept what happened that day.

Reflecting upon our conversation a year ago, and the events since that day, and the way our daughter has grown up so much in the last year, I understand now why she questioned it. I understand why she couldn’t allow that possibility into her safe and protected universe. I get why it took months for her to wrap her mind around it, and a trip to gaze at what is, essentially the burial ground for so many who died that day in New York City.

I get it.

I don’t want to discuss Palin’s politics, her beliefs or her qualifications. My mind’s made up on this and I’m sure yours is as well. What I do want to discuss is Sarah Palin as a working mother.

I want to make sure this is clear: no matter your political position on this issue, we working moms should not criticize Sarah Palin for anything related to the fact that she’s a working mother. We’ve come too far for that.

I stand in awe of Palin and women like her; the superwomen who can do anything. Opportunity knocks and they answer, and figure out the rest later, often taking the family right along with them.  I admire the heck out of that and as a working mom, have tried to do the same.

People have criticized Palin for “going back to work the very next day” after her youngest child was born. Any mother of more than one child will tell you, WE ALL GO BACK TO WORK THE NEXT DAY. Going to an office, for some of us, would be a BREAK compared to the work some endure at home.

My best friend Carmela had her fourth child recently. We spoke a couple of days later as she was driving carpool for her older children. I marveled at how she’d picked up right where she’d left off and she dismissed it with, “It’s not like I can just STOP, right?”

Remember, for generations and across cultures there have been women who delivered babies in the rice paddy or the cotton field and just kept on working. Remember that there are women who must, to keep body and soul together for themselves and their children, hand their babies to someone else and return to the factory, the deployment, the street.

Of course we’re not talking about a woman who “has” to work. We’re talking about the working mom who is there because this is who she is, and this is what she wants to do. Palin is not a person bound by gender and we should not force that upon her.

If anything, I may be a little jealous (and I suspect other working moms, and moms in general) of this as well.  Palin has an incredible family support network and, it appears, a very involved and supportive husband. She has not used outside childcare for her kids — her extended family has been there to help her with that.  For those of us who have had to use babysitters, nannies and other childcare providers, that sounds wonderful. I’ve always been envious of people who had sisters, aunts, parents and other family members right there to hand the children to as they went off to save the world. Think about it: the working fathers of the world have had that all along.

Some working moms do what they have to do, some do what they’re DRIVEN to do. Clearly Palin is driven. And yes, I admire that — more than that, I IDENTIFY with it. (The similarities — aside from our hairstyles — stop there).

So go ahead — criticize Palin’s politics, her belief system, her style, her ruthlessness, her lack of experience and her track record — but don’t criticize her as a working mother. She’s got that part figured out.

On Tuesday, the boy asked if we would come get him and bring him home for the weekend.

Because we’re mean, we said no. Instead, we suggested on Wednesday that we come visit him (one round trip is better than two) at school.

On Thursday CNU canceled school for Friday and enacted a mandatory evacuation of the dorms, due to the oncoming tropical storm.

The boy was home by Thursday night, hitching a ride with friends who will also take him back to school on Sunday. As soon as he got home, he looked in the pantry. “Hey, there’s food in here. We never had food in here when I lived here.”

Um, why do you think that is?