Now we were together almost every hour of the day. I went into work early; he'd get the kids to their day care. Later in the day I'd pick up the boys and start dinner. So the only time Phil and I weren't together was commuting time or when one of us was exercising.
I became president in 1986, around the time Jim left the company. Racing Strollers was in trouble. We were growing rapidly without knowing the fundamentals of accounting, and we were undercapitalized (not that we knew what that meant). My banker referred me to a business consultant. I jumped at the chance to learn, because now it was my job. Phil came to meetings for a while, but then he got bored. He liked getting press stories and working on stroller designs. Once I asked him to take over, but he said that this was where my talents were, in solving problems. He said he hated it when we came into the office in the morning and someone said that some part was breaking.
By 1988 the business had somehow slipped into profitability. Our family income was going up every year. We were considered the new wonder kids in our town. For a three-year period, we had an astonishing amount of free publicity from Phil's press releases. We moved into a bigger house. It should have been great, right? But we never sought each other's company. We were already saturated. We were both working hard, but I was in the worst mode of crisis management. Sometimes I couldn't get home until 7 or 8 p.m. Phil was carrying more of the load at home. We both joked about needing a wife.
There was a fundamental moment in this time when I chose the business over the marriage. I just didn't know it, and if I could go back in time, I would do it differently. I see this pattern with male entrepreneurs, but they are more likely to have a wife who is a full-time homemaker. The strain, the urgency to move the business forward, and the neglect of the family seem to be endemic to entrepreneurs. "I'll get it in balance next year, right?" "As soon as this current problem is over I'll cut back and spend more time with the family." "Hon, I just gotta get through this month."
Here's what I did, and sadly, this part was conscious. All day long I was at my business, and people there needed me. All those needy people. In every department, their work load was doubling at least once a year. The rapid growth made for a crazed environment, and I thought I was the anchor they clung to. Nothing fazed me, except that I was almost totally out of patience when I got home. Then my kids needed me. By that time -- 1988 -- we had our daughter, Marilyn, too. My conscience always bothered me about my kids, and so I tried to sit with them and hold them a lot. Then I needed some time to myself. I remember deciding one spring that I could have a clean house, work hard, and go nuts, or I could let the house go, work hard, and take the time to ride my horse. One little thing for me. But remember how I said I chose the business over my marriage? Where did Phil fit in? Right after work, I'd spend time with the kids, start dinner, ride my horse, read business books, and take a bath, exhausted. I wasn't doing a whole lot to nurture my husband. My rationale was, "Can't he see how hard I'm working so we'll succeed?"
For my part, I just wished that for once, someone would take care of me. I wanted to be held while I mumbled about what a hard day I'd had. But Phil wanted a life away from work. Because Racing Strollers was his workplace as well, he didn't want to hear about my problems there. He'd been there all day, too, and was frankly bored with it. He wanted a break from it all, for at least a few hours. We were always having little rules, like "No business talk after 6 p.m."
So on the one hand, we had a pattern of small instances of neglect, small criticisms, each one a brick in a wall. Then we came to the question, "Why are we working?" because pretty soon we were fielding offers from people who wanted to buy the company. Phil and I reacted in wildly different ways. Looking back, if I could have given up the company, if we had taken the money and run, we would probably still be married.
All Phil wanted was financial security. Is that so much? We had a winning lottery ticket, and I wouldn't let him cash it in. We could have avoided all that strain. For every bit of fun, for all the personal challenges, and for all the rewards of having known our mostly dear employees, there have also been teeth-rattling episodes. Dealing with managers on drugs, with losses (the Case of the Missing Equity), with strained bank relations -- you name it, we made every silly mistake a business owner can make and probably invented some new ones.
The difference between us goes like this: Phil would be eminently comfortable with a life of wealth, golf games, and the security of knowing that his finances weren't subject to the ups and downs of our little lifeboat, Racing Strollers. Me, I was hooked on the thrills!
About five years ago, when someone was trying to buy our company, I went off and thought about it. OK, I'd buy a few horses. We could have a little horse farm. But then, after a few months, what would I do? We were in a Camelot-like episode of our lives; we would probably never again find a synergy like the love affair our customers had with the strollers and the one we had with them. Also, I noticed a pattern. The men who inquired about our company had been very successful and had sold off the businesses they had founded, and now they were bored and wanted my business. "Hmm," I thought. "Could it be that they had regrets about leaving their own companies, about being needed?"
The oldest questions of all fascinate me. Why are we here? Why do we suffer? Is it worth it? Sometimes, when there is a magical moment at our office, it seems as if the answers are found in work. Do we do the right thing? Are we good to our customers, even the ones who are pains in the neck? Do we live by our principles, even when it hurts financially? The arts of business and of being a manager seem like the perfect chance to work on being awake. And some corny card comes in from a customer, and we pass it around the office, and it seems as if it's all worth it.
Phil and I are fundamentally different, and working together revealed it. He is a remarkable artist and the best designer I've ever known. And to him, it's very simple. A business's sole function is to make money. He would rather be painting in Hawaii. He once said to me when we were talking about business, "Hey, it's not a religion." And me, I'm hooked on the magic. I wait through bad times because the good times are so neat and I always want to see more. It is this business that our employees and I are painting; it is a picture that we draw, every day.
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Mary Baechler is cofounder and president of Racing Strollers, a 10-year-old $5-million company in Yakima, Wash.
