Moldow

Photo Courtesy Charles Moldow

Last spring, my husband, Charles Moldow (MBA ’93), and I attended our 15th HBS reunion. Suffice it to say, it was rather different from our 5th. At that time, I was newly married; had a fabulous job investing in Internet stocks with an office overlooking San Francisco Bay; dressed in Prada and Manolo’s; and had the token perfect child at home with a nanny. How times have changed in ten years.

I now sheepishly drive a grimy, carbon-coughing Suburban and shop at Target. My primary professional duties entail siphoning away most of the revenue from our family income statement. My office is now my closet, a haven where I hide from my four kids and the cleaning ladies who run my house. My suits are nothing but a dusty memento of my former life, occupying the black hole behind my maternity clothes and sweats. Thus, I was a bit anxious to return to the hallowed halls of Aldrich to face the inevitable, “Hi! What are you doing these days?”

I spent the entire plane ride to Boston blissfully reading instead of juggling apple juice, thumping dead DVD players, and brokering peace among my progeny. I tried to devise some imaginary brilliant career for myself, like I was curing cancer, or I had come up with Viagra for women or some other revolutionary product essential to our economy. But no — by the trip’s end, I was still stuck with the fact that I was a stay-at-home mom.

As I met more and more of my eager, not-so-young-anymore capitalists, this simple admission of my real career elicited the greatest conversations. Gone were the pretense and the ego. Many of my classmates — even some men — had also put their careers on hold to raise their children. I reveled in the intimate discussions we delved into that centered on matters of import, not just asset value. We discussed the triumphs and tragedies of raising children and how difficult it really is to make decisions amid a maelstrom of imperfect information. I found sectionmates had become intimate soul mates as I shared my recent challenges in raising our severely handicapped daughter, Madeline. I took great solace in talking to other classmates with disabled children, and cried with another who had lost his daughter.

It certainly doesn’t mean our time at HBS was wasted. I still employ TOM skills while building with Legos. I utilize NPV stats when considering allowance allocation, and I often just throw out the option of performing a regression analysis on complex PTA decisions just to shut up the opposition. But for the most part, HBS taught me to think for myself, a very handy skill when debating with my six-year-old as to why he should not flush my one-year-old down the toilet.

I think the intensity and pursuit of perfection that brought me to HBS is also what ultimately convinced me to focus solely on my children for now. I don’t like to do anything halfway. Why settle for a 3 when you can get a 1? For some, working is an admirable necessity, but because I have a choice, I have taken the bumpy road. I traded in the suits for the sweats, and prayed to God that I don’t screw up my kids in the process. I guess there is some comfort in knowing I can go back when I want to, maybe not to the same type of job, but to something that I love. For now, this ambition is tucked comfortably away in my closet until my most valuable living assets, my children, emerge into their own selves.

So here’s to all you wage earners and the devoted ones who spend it all. We’ve come a long way in fifteen years, building companies as well as building loving families. It may be a more complex balancing act than we ever managed before, but I am grateful to be a part of such a vibrant group of individuals who are facing life on life’s terms. It was a great reunion, and I can’t wait until our kids are all teenagers. Then we will really have stories to share!

— Liesl Pike Moldow (MBA '93)

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