A Broken Record and a Conversation

I wanted to post about regular stuff today.  About motherhood or lawyer stuff or some other random musing of mine.  But I can't.  

I can't shake Newtown.  

I was on my way home from a lawyer networking event on Friday when I heard the news on the radio.  When I first heard there was a shooting, my ears peaked, but I wasn't that surprised.  I mean, we're all immune to this stuff now, right?  It seems there is a random shooting on a weekly basis.  What a sad state of acceptance and resulting numbness.  

But when I heard it was children - young children - at an elementary school, I let out an audible "Oh God," despite the fact that I was in the car all by myself.   I could feel a pit in my stomach forming that I knew wasn't going to go away.  I actually felt sick.  I turned off the radio and vowed that when I got home I wasn't going to turn on the TV or computer.  I couldn't deal with it emotionally, and didn't want to.  I didn't want to see crying relatives, scared children, or gurneys. Maybe if I ignored it, that pit in my stomach would go away and I could resume my normal afternoon.  

How

I am sick and heartbroken.

There really are no words.

Five minutes ago I went to the Brady Campaign website and donated.  It was hard to get on the site - it crashed a few times, presumably because so many people have my same idea.

Here's the link if you want to do the same:  http://www.bradycampaign.org/

Things need to change.  NOW.  What's it going to take?

The Era of the Wedding

For me, 2004 was the year of the wedding.  I was 25.  I haven't counted specifically, but I would bet that my husband and I attended at least 15 weddings that year, all over the east coast and midwest.  It was an expensive year, but a fun year.  We were constantly seeing friends, constantly getting dressed up, constantly celebrating the next happy couple.  There have been a few weddings scattered in the years since, but overall the era of the wedding, for us at least, is over.

Now I am in my (almost) mid-thirties, and the divorces have started.  Not a lot, but definitely more divorces than weddings.  And if you would have told me eight years ago that things would end that way, I would have laughed in your face.

If my twenties was the era of weddings, then my thirties so far has been the era of rude awakenings.  And that's probably because my twenties were based on some pretty faulty assumptions:

Snips and Snails and Puppy Dog Tails

Braden loves all things boy, almost innately.  He loves cars, trucks, superheroes, tools, trains, etc. It amazed me how he was attracted to these things, without me even trying to force it.  Of course, once we realized his interests, we reinforced it by buying even more cars, trucks, superheroes, tools, trains, etc.  But our den/playroom didn't start off as a car-park.  It just evolved into one.

But you know what else he likes?

He loves dolls.  He loves dollhouses.  He loves pink (his current favorite color).  He loves watching me put on my make up and then trying to put it on himself.  He loves my jewelry and wearing bracelets and blow drying my hair.  He frequently asks me if I can paint his nails (pink, of course).

For a while I didn't encourage these behaviors.  I don't know, I didn't know what the "right" thing to do was.  I mean, he's a boy, right?  So if he asks me to put on make up, then shouldn't I say no? Shouldn't I tell him that "make up is for girls?"

What I Should Be Doing Right Now

- Folding laundry.
- Wrapping presents.
- Ordering presents.
- Watering the Christmas tree.
- Cleaning the kitchen, the living room, the bedroom, the den, and my disgustingly messy car.
- Taking out the garbage, which is overflowing and has resulted in me putting a bag on the counter to house the excess.
- Contacting someone at my son's preschool regarding the upcoming auction.
- Taking a shower.
- Updating baby books.
- Putting photos in photo albums.
- Ordering photos still stuck on our camera.
- Following up about this summer's Cape Cod rental with the realtor who seems to refuse to call me back.
- Rolling over my two separate 401ks into an IRA (I have been meaning to do this for two years and am beginning to think I might just never do it).
- Figuring out how to get my kindle books onto our Ipad (thanks, Jodifur, for the tip!)
- Updating our address spreadsheet for holiday cards.
- Printing out address labels for holiday cards.
- Filling out Casey's paperwork for school (which he is starting January 2, aaaaaaa!).
- Scheduling an appointment for Braden to get his Hepatitis A vaccine, which I apparently never got for him and now the Board of Health says he can't come back to school in January unless he gets it.  Oops.
- Paying bills.
- Opening a week's worth of mail, which probably includes more bills.
- Taking my calcium pills, which I just realized I forgot to take this morning, but it would involve me getting up to get a glass of water, and I'm thinking it's not going to happen.
- Probably a thousand other things I can't even think of.

So what am I doing instead?

I am laying in bed, in my pajamas, with a computer on my lap, typing this post.  Real Housewives of Beverly Hills is on in the background.  And once I'm done with this, I plan to read Behind the Beautiful Forevers, a book about street life in Mumbai which I started last February but lost interest in and am now resurrecting because the New York Times says it is one of the best books of 2012 and I figure I should give it another chance.

Life at home isn't always so bad, you know?  T minus 62 minutes until Casey wakes up...

Great Expectations

A friend of mine had a baby last week.  I offered to bring her food and visit her in the hospital.  I obviously wanted to see her, but I'm not going to lie - I was ecstatic at the sight of seeing a newborn.

When I saw her I could tell she wasn't having the most fantastic time.  She had been two weeks overdue.  She got induced, got an epidural that didn't fully work, pushed for almost three hours, and then ended up with a c-section.  She spiked a fever right before delivery, so both she and her baby had to stay longer in the hospital to finish a course of IV antibiotic.  

I could see it in her face that she was struggling internally - wanting to be happy that her baby was with her, that she had a healthy, beautiful baby - but feeling overwhelmed, overtired, and disappointed that the birth didn't go as she had envisioned, that she was still in pain, and that she wasn't brimming with joy.  

I wanted to embrace her, tell her that it was okay, that she doesn't have to feel overjoyed, that she will feel better, that it will pass.  But I resisted the opportunity to lecture, and instead just listened, and tried to tell her gently that I completely understood. That despite popular sentiment, this really isn't the best time of your life.  That I related to how she was feeling.  That I struggled too. 

Kids bring great expectations that rarely come to fruition.  

A Beat Down and a Christmas Tree

Yesterday was one of those days where I just felt beat down.  Beat down from ALL sides - from my personal life, from my professional life, from random mean blog commenters...  It was one of those days where you just have to laugh out loud at some point and say,  Really?  Really?  The universe wants to pile on something else? 

I had the urge to assume fetal position and tuck my head down to keep all the spears from hitting me.  Kind of like this:

That's a pangolin, by the way.  Taken from http://wisecreatures.blogspot.com/2010/07/tale-of-tails.html

It was just one of those days where I felt defeated. 

Around 6pm I was sitting with the kids at dinner (for icing on the cake, hubby was working late), and brainstorming what I could do to turn this funk around.  And then, the inspiration came: 

"Real" Lawyers

When you are an attorney at a large law firm, you are worked hard.  You are stressed.  You are pulled in a thousand different directions.  But, you are also pampered. 

I'm not talking about the large salaries (though those are nice).  I'm talking about the support - the paralegals, the copy center, the cite checkers, the research librarians, the e-discovery experts, the graphics team, and I could go on and on and on.  At my first law firm, I could drop off the draft of a brief at 11pm, and by 8am, it was back underneath my office door - fully cite checked and proofed and formatted.  And when that brief had to be filed?  I didn't have to do it.  Someone else went to the courthouse or filed it electronically or served it or whatever else it is you do with a brief.  I couldn't really tell you what exactly has to be done. 

It is a huge help, and in an environment where time is at an ultimate premium, is almost a necessity.  But it results in a learned ignorance. 

Biglaw attorneys are smart, no doubt about it.  But they aren't necessarily skilled in the practical stuff.  They never learn the elementary nuts and bolts, and then when it comes to real litigation experience - the kind where you stand up in court and actually speak - they have to wait a decade or so for that.  (But they can write really well.  And use Westlaw.) 

The Lies I Tell

I like to think I'm an honest person.  At least, I try to be.  That's kind of what this blog is about - being honest, sincere, getting it all out there.  It's refreshing, it's cathartic, it's restorative. 

But God, I'm a huge hypocrite.  Because I lie to my kids all the time. 

These aren't big lies, mind you.  They are lies for their own benefit - for their health, their discipline, their state of mind.  Everyone does this, right?  Right? 

Such as:  

Lie:
It is very important to eat your vegetables. If you don't eat your vegetables, you won't grow big and strong.
Truth:
Mommy never eats the vegetables that she makes for you every night. Ever. Not to mention, when Mommy was a kid, she used to hide her vegetables in her underwear and dispose of them after mealtime, and she turned out just fine (arguably).
 
Lie
If you don't stop that behavior, there will be no television for the rest of the night. 
Truth
Mommy will never follow through with this consequence.  Because above all else, this only hurts Mommy. 

Lie
We don't need to be afraid of airplanes.  Airplanes are so much fun!  We love airplanes!
Truth
Airplanes are flying fireballs and if ignited, will plummet you to your death.  Your mommy must be significantly drugged to step upon one, and that is why she smiles so much during the flight. 

On Birthdays

Today I am 34. 

Crazy. 

I've never been one to stress about getting older, but for some reason this birthday is hitting home.  Not because I think 34 is so old, but because a 24 year old is a decade younger than me. 

A DECADE. 

The thing is, I still feel 24.  Not when I'm home with my kids or when I am doing preschool pick up.  But when I happen to be out to dinner with my husband.  Or having a drink with friends.  Or driving in a car by myself with the music blaring.   

I still feel young.   I just happened to have two kids and a husband and a mortgage.  That's the only thing that separates me from a 24 year old, really. 

"Have a Rotten Thanksgiving" - An Homage to New York

It's not a popular sentiment to have, but I generally dislike New York City.  I didn't like it when I lived there, and I don't really like it when I go back to visit.  It's busy, it's dirty, it's hectic, it's expensive, it's unfriendly.  I can appreciate the restaurants and the shopping and the culture, but it isn't enough to overcome the general disdain I feel when I am on the New Jersey Turnpike and catch that first glimpse of the New York skyline. 

But this past weekend?  This past weekend I loved New York City.  Because it involved a conglomerate of a few of my favorite people in the world, a cheap mani/pedi, amazing food, and the best homeless person ever. 

The whole fam made the trek to the Empire State last Friday afternoon, as there were a couple of family events going on that weekend.  The trip was pretty seamless, save for Braden having a panic attack at a rest stop bathroom because the toilets "didn't have a handle" (aka, the automatic flushers, the inventor of which I would like to curse).  I dropped my husband and kids off at my in-laws' house in Long Island and then there it was.  The exhale.  The amazement.  THE FREEDOM!  I drove into the city and didn't even care that it was New York, and oh yeah, I'm not supposed to like it.

The fact is, New York smiled on me this weekend. 

The Memo Heard 'Round the (Legal) World

Every now and then a "leaving memo" makes legal news.  Occasionally they involve cursing, a big F-you to the partners, or an F-you to the legal industry generally.  I myself, have tired of these.  Good for you, you have the balls to really give it to them.  Your memo went viral.  You're legal career is over.  Worth it?  Who's to say. 

But last week, a different kind of leaving memo made its rounds on the internet, written by a departing Clifford Chance associate.  You probably have read about it already, but if you haven't, here's an excerpt, taken from Above the Law: 

Pic of the Week - The Best One Yet

I haven't done a pic of the week in ages.  I thought perhaps the whole idea was extinct.  But no, no I say.  Because today's pic is just AWESOME!

Braden has fine motor issues.  What that means in the simplest sense is that he goes to OT once a week, he doesn't hold a crayon correctly, he hates holding a crayon, and we've purchased all sorts of finger strengthening devices so that he can ultimately hold said crayon properly and do things with it. 

So for Braden to write his name is a BIG deal. 

Look at that "e"!  Best "e" I've ever seen. 

I'm so proud of my boy. 

My Political Reawakening

There was a time when I was really into politics. 

It all started with the presidential election of 1992.  Bush/Quayle v. Clinton/Gore (v. Perot/Stockdale).  I was in 9th grade.  I like to think I was cool, but the evidence points otherwise.  Because I became OBSESSED with that election.  I would tape the debates on my VHS tape recorder, and rewatch them.  I would watch the news incessantly (from 5pm on).  I collected articles and newspaper clippings.  And when Clinton won, I took the covers of all the major magazines (Time, Newsweek, whatever else there was back then), and pinned them up on my wall.  Yes, some teenagers my age had posters of Johnny Depp on their wall.  Bill Clinton graced the spot above my bed. 

In some ways, my future goals were shaped by that election.  It was the first time I had really been interested in something outside of my high school, my town, myself.  I would go into politics, I thought.  It was my calling.

Sure enough, I ended up majoring in Political Science at Penn State.  I worked at an internship in the House of Commons during my semester abroad in London and loved it.  I volunteered for campaigns.  And then, I landed the golden ticket - an internship in the Clinton White House. 

A Moment in Time

Hurricane Sandy graciously spared us from an electrical outage, but it still meant long days inside.  Which meant much more TV than usual.  Which meant we dug into DVDs we hadn't watched in ages.  Which somehow led to us watching our wedding video. 

Braden was the inspiration for it, really.  He has been obsessed with the concept of marriage as of late, frequently wrapping a sheet around himself and saying, "Look, Mommy, married!"  When asked who he wants to marry, he always says "Mommy," not willing to accept the fact that Mommy is already married to Daddy.  We thought maybe the wedding video would set him straight.

The year after our wedding we used to watch this video all the time, but by all counts it had been close to five years since we had seen it when we put it in the DVD player on Monday.  I didn't expect it to be emotional, it was all for play with Braden, you see.  But for some reason, I found myself choking back tears. 

It was one of those occasions where the passage of time smacked me across the face. 

House Arrest

There's this hurricane coming through town today, you may have heard of it. 

Photo from George Takei/Facebook

It's FRANKENSTORM!!!!

Which, by the way, is the dumbest name ever.  Who comes up with this crap???

Of course, before the storm even arrived, school had already been cancelled for two days, Federal Government workers were ordered to stay home, mass transit shut down, and most shockingly, my husband's office is closed.  If corporate lawyers aren't showing up for work, you know it's serious. 

48 Hours of Pregnancy

It was almost an afterthought that I bought the pregnancy test.  I was at CVS, letting the boys run up and down the aisles, when Casey ran into the "Family Planning" section.  As I bent down to pick him up, my nose nearly hit the "First Response" box.  It was then that I thought to myself, Hmmm, my period is a bit late, isn't it?  Without really thinking, I grabbed the box and purchased it along with two matchbox cars. 

Later that afternoon the water was boiling on the stove when I escaped for a rare moment to myself in the bathroom.  I unwrapped the box, did the deed, and left the test to sit for a bit while I finished making pasta.  A half hour later I went to check it and my knees nearly buckled. 

Positive. 

Positive. 

Positive. 

Apart from the huge implications that this had,  I have to say I was a bit satisfied.  After all, who likes to fail a test?  Even when you really want to fail a test?  Yes, the Type A part of me was very pleased. 

Two

Two legs, two arms, two eyes, two ears (ten fingers, ten toes).

Two proud, sleepy parents. 

The High Road

I've been working really hard lately on taking the high road.  You know, when someone angers me or I feel a grave injustice has been done to me, I am trying to react calmly.  Maturely.  I am trying to weigh the proper way to respond or consider if any response is even necessary.  The latter is the hardest - not responding. 

I think I've been pretty successful at this, thank you very much.  I've kept my mouth shut a LOT.  I've tried to be a better person and not take things personally.  I've tried to remind myself that everyone has trials and hardships, so if someone takes the low road and lashes out at me or about me, it may not really be about me at all. 

But sometimes?  SOMETIMES IT WOULD FEEL SO FREAKING GOOD TO TAKE THE LOW ROAD.   

Yesterday Braden came home from school and told me that one of his friends told him to "go away."  I prodded about the details surrounding this banishment, and got none.  Braden usually shrugs this stuff off (as he did with the park incident last week), but this time he looked legitimately sad.  Which made me sad.  I decided this was a parenting moment.  I needed to advise him on how to respond. 

High road - Braden, if your friend ever says that to you again, you tell him that it's not nice and that it hurts your feelings. 

Low road- Braden, if your friend ever says that to you again, you tell him to shut the fuck up and that you can and will play wherever the hell you like. 

Braden is 4, so I went with the high road. 

But isn't the low road so much more satisfying?

A Personal Therapy History (And why I want to invite my therapist over for dinner)

You'd think that because both of my parents are therapists that I always would have been open to the idea of going to therapy.  But I wasn't. 

It wasn't that I was against it per se, it was just that I saw it as an emergency measure.  I went to my first therapist when I was in law school.  I was having random panic attacks in the middle of class for no apparent reason.  Nothing I would ever let on to anyone else, but that feeling of your face going white, your heart racing, and the walls caving in - standard anxiety stuff.  After a few weeks of this I ended up in some twenty-something's office at student health begging for xanax.  Instead, she recommended some SSRI's and weekly therapy sessions.  I never took the pills, and I never went back. 

Fast forward three years and I found myself in another therapist's office on the twentieth floor of a high rise in Central Park West.  I was working at Skadden at the time, and was in such a state of flux that by 10am I was on the phone searching for someone, anyone, who would see me that day - the sooner the better.  By 2pm I was in this random therapist's office crying about how stressed I was and how I just couldn't finish this brief - I just couldn't.  I still remember his words:  "Fuck the brief."  But I didn't.  I went back to work and finished it.  It was my 28th birthday.  I never went back to him again. 

I Lost My Shit Yesterday

Let me first set the stage. 

It's gray out. 

It's chilly.

It's muddy. 

It's not good park weather. 

But it is the second consecutive day that Braden has not had school and the three of us are going a bit crazy in the house. 

"Do you all want to go to a park?"

YES!  YES!  PARK!  PARK!  PARK!

We went to a park. 

It looks like other people had the same idea I did, because the park was packed with obnoxious rambunctious kids everywhere. 

Speaking of obnoxious rambunctious, I quickly noticed a group of 4 or 5 little boys - probably around 7 or 8- who were screaming, jumping, pushing, running, basically channelling a a balloon rapidly deflating - all over the place, unpredictable, loud.   

I made a mental note to steer clear.

In the Washington Post!

So this little blog of mine, as well as Montage, the company I'm working with (see post below), are mentioned in the Washington Post today. 

Which I think is pretty awesome! 

Special thanks to Janice D'Arcy, who writes the Washington Post blog "On Parenting", for the shout out. 

You can read the article here.

Happy Monday, everyone!

Linked Out

So due to this new endeavor of mine, I joined Linked In last week.  I figured it would be good for networking, getting the word out about my new job, and I don't know, just what I should do.  Isn't that what professional people do? 

I didn't really get Linked In at first (and still kind of don't).  Is it like Facebook for professionals?  Minus the drunk pictures and wall posts and birthday announcements?  I started out with zero connections, and it was daunting.  So I started off by  "friending," or "linking," my husband, and going through all of his connections to see who I knew.

Turns out, I knew a lot of people, mostly from law school.  And then, instead of building my own Linked In account, I got caught in the wormhole of looking at all of my former classmates' profiles.  Like Facebook spying, only looking at resumes instead of baby photos. 

Let me tell you, I am humbled.  Hugely. 

A Break

When you are with your kids 24/7, every day, the idea of having a full weekend without them sounds enticing. 

Is that awful to say?  It's true. 

While I huff and puff about how much I will miss them, the fact is that whenever I pull out of the driveway bound for a weekend away, I breathe a huge sigh of relief.  No diapers to change.  No meals to prepare.  No one to wake me up in the morning or chase around or put in time out or entertain.  It's a freedom I once had but didn't fully appreciate.  So yes, I look forward to it.  A lot. 

This past weekend I went away with my husband for his law firm's bi-annual family retreat.  This year's venue was the Greenbrier in White Sulphur Springs, West Virginia.  I didn't know quite what to expect, since I had missed the previous two (pregnancies #1 and #2), but I knew it would involve good food, flowing wine, and a massage.  A MASSAGE.  There seems no better contrast to the nightly 7pm witching hour than a massage.

Back to Work

It's funny how life works out sometimes.   

Remember way back when, when I mentioned this awesome company called Montage Legal Group?  It was in a post where I was lamenting the lack of part time/flexible/freelance options for stay at home attorney moms.  Actually, what I wrote, way back in November 2011, was:

"Speaking of freelance work, through Twitter I have come across some companies that provide freelance legal services and primarily employ female attorneys with children.  Check out Montage Legal - the company's website states that it is 'a network of experienced freelance attorneys who left law firms to achieve a work-life balance.'  Um, hello?  You speaking to me?  Sign me up!"

Guess what.  They read it.  And they signed me up. 

In fact, I'm the lead attorney for the DC branch of the company, launching this week.  Here's the press release.  And here's the blog post (written by yours truly) announcing the launch on the Montage blog. 

How cool is that? 

To me the whole thing is genius.  There are so many moms out there, particularly in DC, with ivy league educations and experience at some of the largest law firms in the country.  Most of these women DO want to keep their foot in the door, but lack the opportunities.  Through Montage, these women are banding together, legitimizing their skills, and becoming the ultimate talent pool for law firms that need to hire lawyers on a contract basis. 

To say I'm excited puts it mildly.  This is a job, and hopefully I will make some money at it.  But more than that, I really believe in it - what it offers to women, what it offers to law firms, and what it stands for. 

In the meantime, if any law firms out there are in need of some experienced attorneys to do some freelance or contract work, shoot me an email at shannonf@montagelegal.com.  Or, if there are any ex-big-law stay at home mom attorneys in the DC area that are interested in joining, let's talk.

Here's to new endeavors. 

Worst Mom Ever Moments

I've had several of these.  I'm not going to describe each one, as I try to erase them from memory.  But a really, really bad one happened yesterday. 

So Braden is really scared of lawn mowers.  Like PHOBIC.  Which is weird, because he's actually obsessed with lawn mowers from a distance - in books, tv shows, lawns that are at least a quarter of a mile away.  But if we're ever near one, it's major freak out mode.  Major.  I've learned this, and we've adapted.  Not a big deal. 

Yesterday, when we got home from picking up Braden from school, our lawn service was here mowing our lawn.  So of course Braden starts panicking.  I pulled into our driveway, trying to talk rationally to him - Braden, isn't that lawn mower cool?  Yes, it's a little bit loud.  But it doesn't hurt you.  It won't touch you.  No, I promise, it is not coming in the car. 

A Diaper in My Purse

One of my mantras to Braden is that "no matter how old you get, you'll always be my baby."  It's one I find myself saying more and more to him lately, as he starts riding a bike and dressing himself and being embarrassed to hug me in public.  Being the adorable kid he is, he often repeats it back to me, saying, "Mommy, you'll always be my baby too." 

It melts my heart.  Because it's true.  He'll always be my baby. 

But in reality, I don't have a baby anymore. 

Somehow, just like that, my kids have graduated from babyhood.  With Braden I didn't really have time to think about it.  When he was officially becoming a toddler, I was pregnant and already preparing for the next baby - buying another crib, stocking up on 3-6 month clothing, and re-sterilizing bottles.  We never sold or stored the baby toys or the changing pads or the diaper champs - they barely had dust on them by the time Casey was born. 

And then there was the whirlwind of Casey - a joy, but also a shock.  We were thrown back into the madness of having an infant, on top of a toddler, and for a long while, we just managed to survive.  And then came my departure from my job and Braden starting school and life generally, and somehow time went by and both of my babies are no longer babies.  And for some reason, I am really mourning that.

For four years, I have had a diaper in my purse. 

What a Difference Two Hours Can Make

This school year has brought a new schedule and it's freaking amazing.  What it boils down to is that I have two free hours a day, between the hours of 1 and 3.  TWO FREE HOURS!

Well, I should clarify, they aren't completely free.  Casey naps during this time, so I am homebound.  But Casey is a master napper these days (oh bless you, angel child).  These two hours are pretty much guaranteed. 

It's not that I haven't had free time in the past.  Ever since staying at home, my boys have (usually) napped.  But their schedules would conflict, or one would rouse early.  And then Braden started his napping strike.  As a result, if I was lucky enough to get any free time,  I could never completely enjoy it because there was a constant threat of it being cut abruptly short.

But now?  These two hours are bliss.  For one, I eat lunch alone everyday.  Alone!  I wait to eat until Casey falls asleep, and then I take my time.  I sit on the couch and put my food on the coffee table.  I WATCH TV.  I eat oreos.  I don't have to tend to anyone or share my food with anyone or interrupt my lunch to wipe someone's ass. 

Four

It was birthday time again this past week - Braden turned 4.  (Or, "a little bit 4," as he would say). 

I love celebrating my kids' birthdays - I love all the excitement and joy and cake and presents.  All the stuff that adults don't indulge in anymore for themselves.  I don't know when birthdays lose their luster (I suppose around the age of 21), but there's something about celebrating your childrens' birthdays that brings that excitement back to you too. 

But apart from all the festivities, I love my kids' birthdays for what they mean.

It means that four years ago, I became a mother.  I changed, overnight, just like that.  It wasn't a conscious change, or one I was aware of at the time, but it was stark.  From the moment I laid eyes on Braden, I was a mother first and foremost.  Sure, I was still a wife, a daughter, a lawyer, a sister, a friend... but not in the same way I once was.  All of those roles became secondary to the purpose thrust upon me four years ago - to be a mom. 

I love this role - I love who I am in it.  I love that I am completely selfless when it comes to my kids.  Despite trying my darndest, I don't know that I've been able to truly do that with anyone else in my life.  I love my husband, but the fact is, if there's only one cupcake left, and we both want it, we'll fight each other for it.  Or maybe we'll offer it to the other, but deep down, we both want it.  I think that's just human nature.  But with my kids?  There's that weird thing called altruism.  Where you want what is best for them at any cost, even if at your expense.  I feel that big time.  And I LOVE that feeling. 

Frazzled

I try hard not to be that frazzled mom.  You know the one - always late, hair all disheveled, with a kid on one hip and another trailing closely behind with mismatched clothing.  No, I try to keep organized, arrive early, speak politely, and maintain a relative sense of calm. 

Not happening today. 

It started out as an ordinary day.  We had breakfast, watched Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, and played downstairs.  We left the house around 9:45am for Braden's OT appointment.  I told his OT that I wanted to pick him up ten minutes early (at 10:50), so I could get him to school early.  After all, it was his first day eating lunch at school, and I wanted to arrive with ample time to get him settled. 

I had tracked my route ahead of time, accounting for traffic, construction, and traffic lights.  If I timed it right, I would get there ten minutes early  - at 11:20 - enough time to park, take him to the bathroom, and find the classroom. 

All was going swimmingly until I got on the Beltway and realized that the exit for Connecticut Avenue had a major back up.  After sitting practically still for 10 minutes, I started panicking.  It didn't help that the woman in front of me (in her sixties driving a BMW) was texting on her phone, didn't see traffic moving when it was, and kept letting people get in in front of her.  I finally ended up honking, at which point she opened her door, got out of her car, and told me to "Fuck off." 

Fog Lifting

I have been feeling oddly happy lately. 

Not that I don't have reasons to be happy - I have countless reasons.  But I have also had some reasons to be sad.  And angry.  And then add in an emotional breakdown and an acute anxiety episode and I've been hanging on by a thread a lot of the time. 

But for the past few weeks, I've just been calm. 

In early July my insomnia came back with a vengeance and I have been back on sleeping pills ever since.  I HATE this.  I HATE taking a pill to go to sleep.  I have accepted having to take other medications in my life, but these sleeping pills just make me angry.  The ones I take aren't technically "addicting," but for me, I think they are mentally addicting because I start to feel like I can't sleep without them.  So each night becomes a challenge - can I do it?  Which inevitably means no, I can't, because when you think about sleep, it doesn't come. 

Changes Are A'Coming

The end of the summer is nearing.  Pools are closing, vacations are ending, and the sun is setting a bit earlier every day.  But with every ending comes new beginnings, right?

I've got a whole slew of changes going on.

My baby boy will embark on his fourth year in a little over a week, which was commemorated this weekend with the fourth birthday party we have thrown in his honor.

This same baby boy is starting his new preschool on Wednesday.  I am far more petrified than he is. But he will be fine.

His new preschool is an afternoon program which means a new schedule for all of us.  It means lazy mornings and hectic afternoons and the official end of Braden's naps.  

And in just a few months, my other baby boy - my oh my god how are you almost two, you were only crawling yesterday baby boy - will be starting a 2's program in the mornings.  This means tears for him, tears for me, and the prospect of a few hours a week without any children. 

Which only makes me feel like I should have another child for some reason.  Luckily common sense and rationality are winning out on that one, for now.

And there are some major changes on the horizon for me.

Your Turn - Diane's Story

"Your Turn" is a series of posts where readers share their stories of parenthood, work, the struggle for a balance, or just life generally.  If you are interested in contributing a story, please email me at butidohavealawdegree@gmail.com or click here.

All through high school I assumed, and told my family and friends, that I planned to attend the University of British Columbia to become a lawyer.  At the time, I assumed that I would be a full-fledged lawyer by the time I was about 25 years old.  My time frame was a bit off.  I actually was called to the bar when I was 46.

As planned, I finished first-year University at 18. As not planned, I married and was five months pregnant at the end of that year.  I then dropped out of school and had four more children in the next six years.  My children ranged in age from three to 11 when my marriage fell apart.

Sadly, but fortunately for me, my father’s elderly bookkeeper died and I inherited the job.  I worked for my father for the next 10 years until he retired.  I could have looked for another bookkeeping job, but I was so bored that I actually hoped that the books would not balance so I would have the challenge of looking for the error.

It was time for a change.  After discussing it with my children, I decided to make an enormous change and go back to school.  It was not an easy decision. When I was going over the pros and cons, I said to my oldest son, “I will be 45 when I graduate.”  His response, “You will be 45 whether or not you go back to school,” helped me make the decision to give it a go.

Squeezing the Last Bit Out of Summer

Last month I looked at our calendar and saw a bunch of blank dates in August.  Blank meaning no travel, no family obligations, and the most frightening of all, no camp.  That's right.  I was facing two weeks of long days with both boys, where all activities would need to be planned by me.  

I really was not into it.  

So I filled the calendar up quickly, and for the past two weeks, I have been on the move.  In fact, by the time the week is up, I will have been through five states in ten days.  

The first stop on my east coast road trip was State College, Pennsylvania, for a weekend away with friends.  This was a seven hour round trip car ride, solo, which I actually enjoyed.  Three and a half hour blocks of time with no one's mouth to feed or ass to wipe doesn't happen for me often.  So I actually relished the journey, and had an amazing time.  

After my weekend of debauchery, I swung back to DC to pick up the kids and head out the next morning for another joyous seven hour car trip to destination number 2: Wilmington, NC.  My husband had to work (the nerve!), so I did this trip solo.  It was painful, no doubt about it.  I had to pull over every time Braden wanted a new DVD, had to pee, or just generally whined to the point that I couldn't take it anymore.  Casey was relatively calm, as long as I flung goldfish over my head towards him and broke out in song upon demand.

The Ocean Ate My Glasses

The title pretty much says it all.  But since I have my own little space here on the internet to bitch about whatever it is I want, allow me to vent.

The ocean ate my fucking glasses.

Two days ago my dad, Braden, Casey and I headed to Carolina beach to take in some waves. The water was warm, the sun was shining, and I had this warm, fuzzy, oh, isn't this a beautiful day kind of feeling.

The waves were crashing close to the shore, so I decided to be daring and carry Braden out a bit deeper so we could glide over the waves like a slide right before they broke.  He loved it, I loved it, and I'm thinking, oh, this is just so invigorating, I am so glad I am alive and young and

BAM.

Old Ladies

I'm not one to get all hung up on getting older.  Age is just a number, right?  And besides, I feel young.  I still get IDed occasionally.  I can (sometimes) fit into clothes I wore in college.  I read US magazine and watch Jersey Shore.

But last weekend?  Man, did I feel old.

I should preface by saying that this past weekend was one of the best I've had in a while, notwithstanding my middle-aged-ness.  I went to Penn State for a long overdue girls weekend with four of my best friends from college.  I had been looking forward to this weekend for a LONG time. I couldn't wait to be with old friends, take a break from reality, and pretend that I was a carefree, happy go-lucky, college student whose greatest stress was where to get my next drink.  After the year I have had, I needed this.

Just the sight of it was refreshing.  Arriving in State College that first night felt like coming home. Sure, it has changed a little.  But looking at my friends and looking at the campus and breathing in the air - it was easy to pretend no time had passed.  I was back there again.  And it felt so, so good.

Of course, I assumed that everyone else would assume we were college students.  I mean, we could blend right in, right?

Um, no.

Some Days

Some days at home are HARD.  Really hard.  I go through the motions and try to get out of the house, but really I am tired and hungry and bored.  I make meals the kids don't eat and put the TV on more often than I should.   The days are long and my husband works late and I put the kids to bed and then turn on crappy television and start the whole thing over again the next day.  On those days, I sometimes fantasize of another life - one I used to have, or one I could have had. Not that I want that life per se, but it's one that seems so out of reach that it is interesting to ponder.

But some days are completely awesome.

Some days I have to pinch myself that I am so lucky to be spending my life, my time, with these two amazing little boys.  I take pictures and videos and email them out to family.  I literally billow over with happiness when Braden makes Casey laugh, and we do crazy things like all pile in my bed and watch TV or go out for ice cream or take a trip to the pool at 7pm.  Because why not?

Conquering the Pool

We are lucky enough to have our community pool about four houses down from us.  Super convenient, right?  A luxury!  But to be honest, this summer I was dreading it.

I was SCARED.  No other way to put it.  I knew we would have to go to the pool because, come on, it's right there, and what kind of parent would I be if I denied my children of their summer of leisure?  But I had major doubts about my ability to watch both kids simultaneously by myself.

Casey is a runner.  He has no fear and will basically run face first into the pool if left to his own devices. And Braden?  At 3.5 he has a healthy dose of fear, but that doesn't seem to stop him from jumping, running, and drinking pool water.  Between the two of them, it seemed I would be facing a constant game of Sophie's choice.

At the beginning of the summer, I only went to the pool when I had someone else with me - my husband, a friend, a visiting relative.  But then I realized that was ridiculous.  I saw other women alone with two plus children - if they could do it, why not me?  I resolved to tackle the pool solo.

A Small World

The older I get, the more I realize what a small world it is.

My former boss from London now lives a mile away from me in suburban Maryland.  The father of a child at Braden's new preschool went to high school with my husband in New York.  And my favorite - when my husband and I were staying at a B&B in Byron Bay, Australia, we ran into two friends from law school - staying in the room next to us.

I could go on and on.  It seems to be happening more and more as I get older, and it always gives me a happy feeling when it does.  I don't know why.

It happened again this morning.

Life in Olympic Increments

When one Olympics starts, it's hard not to think about what you were doing during the last Olympics.  You remember - Beijing, 2008?

I don't remember what I did for the entire 17 day span, but I do remember one evening watching Michael Phelps from my hospital bed.  I was about 35 weeks pregnant with Braden, on bedrest, and was admitted to the hospital after a minor bleed.  I spent the night in angst, thinking about lung development and NICUs and steroid shots.  I was discharged the next day, and I gave birth 5 weeks later, the day before my due date.

And the Olympics before that?  That was Athens, 2004.  I actually don't remember watching that Olympics.  I was a summer associate at Skadden, living with my boyfriend (soon to be husband), with one year of law school remaining. I was too busy enjoying Manhattan to watch the Olympics.

Me and the Nannies

A reality of living in suburban DC as a stay at home mom is that you are outnumbered.  By the nannies.

They are everywhere.  Parks, pools, mall play areas, gym classes, preschool pick ups.  It's usually easy to tell who they are.  They are often too young or too old to be a mom.  Or look nothing like the children.  Or speak a different language than the children.  Obviously this is not a foolproof method, as there are some older moms, bilingual moms, etc.  But overall, it's generally easy to tell.

I remember when I first started staying at home I was worried that it would be hard for me to find other stay at home mom friends, since all I seemed to be meeting was nannies.  That didn't turn out to the case.  If anything, stay at home moms tend to gravitate towards each other because there are so many nannies.  We're the minority out there, so we stick together.

If this "us" and "them" notion sounds silly, that's because it is.  Why such a nanny/mom distinction? The answer is, I'm not quite sure.  But it's there.  Maybe because of a language barrier.  Maybe because of the age differences.  Maybe because of the notion that their presence is inherently temporary - their time with any given family will end at some point.

But I think there's something more.

I Love Me a Random Night Out

Especially on a Monday night.

It started out as an ordinary excursion in to DC, to meet my drinking/eating/blogging/we-just-want-out-of-the-house-every-once-in-a-while partner in crime, Darcy.   I took public transportation all the way downtown (walk to bus stop, bus to metro, then metro), and felt all city-ish non-suburban-like.

We went to  to Zaytinya, a Jose Andres staple, which I hadn't been to since 2006.  We were seated quickly, and got down to business.  Drinks.  The drink of evening?  A "Clean Monday" - cucumber and mint infused Plymouth Gin with St. Germain, Cava.

Clean.  On a Monday.

We both ordered one, but I retained the wine list, thinking I would switch to wine for my second drink.  It wasn't to be.

A Letter to My Anxiety

Dear Anxiety,

It had been a while since I had seen you.  Over 18 months, in fact, since you paid me an unwelcome visit right after Casey was born.  I thought I had bid you good riddance.  But unfortunately, you decided to stop in a few weeks ago.

You came out of nowhere, but that's what you tend to do.  You reared your ugly head on my first day of vacation.  You laughed in my face at the timing.

And oh, you were so familiar.  You started in slow, with some uneasy thoughts.  You got my heart racing.  And then you hit me hard the same way you did last time - you didn't let me go to sleep.

You said some pretty crappy things to me.  Things like, "See what's happening, Shannon?  You're slipping back into a postpartum episode.  This one is going to be worse than last time."  And "You thought you were off your medication?  That you were in the clear?  Ha!"  And "I so am going to ruin your vacation."

Ultimately, you gave me the all familiar mantra - your favorite: "You'll never sleep normally again. In fact, you won't sleep at all.  And the lack of sleep will make you crazy.  And once you are crazy, you will live the rest of your life strapped to a gurney in a mental institution and your children will never know you."

Pale and Proud

Dear Random Acquaintance,

Yes, I have just gotten back from two weeks of vacation.  And yes, as you have pointed out, I am not tan.

No, I never get tan.

Ever.

Yes, I put on SPF 50 and hide under trees and stand in the shade unless absolutely necessary.

Yes, my kids are pale too.  And they also are doused in SPF 50 and forced under trees.

No, I don't have any desire to lie on a towel under the sun with my eyes closed for hours on end.

That seems kind of boring to me, actually.

Besides, haven't you heard, pale is the new tan?

And didn't you know that in Asia, being pale is the cool thing?  As well as being tall and having a big nose?  I fit right in there.

You've heard of skin cancer, right?

And wrinkles? Lots and lots of wrinkles?

What's that you say?  You are asking if I ever consider spray tans?

Why, yes.  I've done that before.  (It was a weak, hypocritical moment.)

But overall, I am not envious of your bronze tan lines.

I am pale and proud.

And I will be all summer.

SO GET USED TO IT!

Love,

Me.

Breaking All My Rules

Today is one of the most depressing days of my year.  It's the first full day home after our Cape Cod vacation.

I should know this is coming.  Every year it's the same.  It is dread.  It is sadness.  It is oh my god, I have to wait twelve more months to go back ?

My two weeks in Wellfleet are always the highlight of my year.

There's the fact that it's beautiful.  Pristine.  Untouched by McDonalds or Walmart or in-ground swimming pools. There's the fact that there's no humidity and it averages around 75 degrees this time of year. There's the fact that there's always family around and I get at least a week of uninterrupted time with my husband.  There's the fact that I've been going there every summer for my entire life and so in many ways, it feels like coming home.

But more than any of that, it's the highlight of my year because I get to break the rules when I go there - all of the stupid rules I make for myself in everyday life because I want to be healthy and responsible and accountable.

In Honor of Best Friends

July 5th is a special day.

Because this girl was born today:

March 2012

That girl on the left is Dana, my best friend.

Dana and I met in seventh grade science class, with Mr. Ross.  I can't remember exactly how it happened, but we became fast friends.  And then best friends.  We had a "notebook" and even one of those BFF friendship necklaces.  (You remember those right, with the two halves that each person wears?  Oh junior high, how I don't miss thee.).

Circa 1992.  Oh dear. 

We had sleepovers.  We went on each other's family vacations.  We grew out of our awkward stage (thank God).  We tried alcohol for the first time (do you remember Zima?  With jolly ranchers?).  We had crushes and first loves and first heartbreaks.  I went with her to the front step of a girl's house to confront her for hooking up with Dana's boyfriend.  We made each other mix tapes.  We double dated for prom.  We stuck together all through high school.

The Good, the Bad

Lets start with the good...

- I am in Cape Cod.
- I have already eaten at Rookies, Box Lunch, and Mac's Shack.  (Not all glamorous, but the best food ever).
- I also went here yesterday during naptime for oysters and a beer.
- The weather is perfect.
- The timing is perfect (aka, I am not without power in 100 degree heat back at home.  I can't say the same for my husband. I have a knack for avoiding these sorts of things).
- I found via a Facebook status that a friend of mine that I haven't seen in years is in Cape Cod too, and we are having lunch tomorrow.
- My husband, sister, aunt, and cousins will be here later this week.
- I'M ON VACATION.

And then the bad...

- Casey has a 102 fever and I'm not quite sure what to do with him.
- The trip here was LONG and sucked and unpacking everything sans a husband is the worst.
- My insomnia has come back in full force. It started last week for no explicable reason and it's causing me to spiral downward a bit. My psychiatrist thinks it may be a second post partum episode, which apparently can happen anytime in the first two years.  I'm kind of struggling to be honest.

But overall, I'd say the good outweighs the bad.  I am trying to remind myself that.

Blogging is a Funny Thing Sometimes

On Monday I took Casey to Cabin John Park.  It's not our local park, but it has a miniature train ride that kills about 20 minutes, so I am always up for making the trip.

After our wild train excursion, I let Casey play on the playground for a while when I saw a child I swore I recognized.  He looked about 4 or so, so I started going through the mental checklist. Braden's school?  No.  Pool?  No.  Child of some acquaintance I am about to run into and not remember their name?  No.

Then it came to me.

This child, as well as his two other brothers in tow, are the stars of one of my favorite blogs - Amalah.  This blog rocks.  The author, Amy, is hysterical.  It is on my reading list and I read every single post.

In a weird way, I was starstruck.  I know so much about her kids, and they are adorable.  Three boys.  All there.  I wanted to run up and hug them, ask them about their recent vacation, and make Casey befriend them.  I soon realized that if they were there, then maybe Amy would be there too, and I frantically started scanning the playground (boo, she wasn't).

Regrets

You know what the best thing is about children?

They erase all past regrets.  All of them.

How can you have regrets?  If my life hadn't gone in exactly the way it had, with the timing to a T, I wouldn't have my two children.  Maybe I'd have different children, but they wouldn't be the ones I know.  And those are the only ones I want, and can imagine having.

It makes everything worth it.  All the bad decisions.  All the missteps.  All the broken relationships. In a sense, upon the birth of both of my children, the slate was wiped clean.

But you know what the scariest thing is about having children?

There are so many potential future regrets.

Mommy's Juice

It's no secret that I'm a wine-o.  I just plain old love wine.  The taste, the buzz, the connotation of relaxation that I have enabled it to represent.   I try to limit myself to one weeknight per week, and oh, how I look forward to it.

The pouring of the wine usually happens right after my kids go to bed (can we all say a collective Aaaaaaaaaaaah), but on occasion, particularly at restaurants, Braden has seen me with a glass of wine.  I can't remember when we came up with this name, but he now calls it "Mommy's juice." Braden knows that "Mommy's juice" is just for mommies, but he always asks to smell it.  I admit that we all get a kick out of this and think it's kind of cute.

I never really thought much of it, to be honest.

Idle Time

When I was in biglaw, I used to complain (all the time) about the amount of work.  There were never enough hours in a day for the job itself, let alone trying to fit in hours for me or my kids or (gasp) some form of leisure activity.

When I became a stay at home mom, Braden was already 2 and I had an infant, so I knew that it was not going to be a cake walk.  Like biglaw, it has proved to be hard and all consuming, and my God, there are SO many hours in the day - hours that have to be filled with activities and entertainment and refreshments.  Hours that are devoted to my children, with not much left over for me.

Admittedly, things have gotten easier from the early days of my SAHM-hood, with Braden now in school and Casey on a regular nap schedule.  But oh no, I musn't relax.  I must blog!  And blog some more!  And then perhaps take on some freelance work!  Ah yes, if I've got a spare hour, best put it to good use!  Think of the opportunity cost of just sitting around!

It begs the question.  Why can't I just chill out every now and again?

A Toot

Last night as I was putting Braden to bed we were having a moment.  We were cuddling, I was stroking his hair, telling him the last of our goodnight's, and then he did it.

A toot (as we like to call them).

And he thought this was just HYSTERICAL.  He's never really laughed so hard at his own flatulence, perhaps because it's never really occurred in so peaceful of a moment - in the soft darkness with me caressing his face professing my undying love for him.

It was the kind of laughter that made me laugh hysterically, so I just went with it.  As I left him in bed and closed the door for the night, he was still cracking up.

It dawned on me that one day soon I'm going to have to start telling him that he can't do those sort of things in public.  Along with a whole host of other behaviors, like sucking his thumb and burping and wiping his nose with his t-shirt and telling people they have a "boo boo" (aka, a zit) on their cheek.  There's a lot a kid has to learn about being "appropriate" in social environments.  About being polite.

But for Braden, not yet.

Not yet.

I'm going to let him laugh at his own toots for now.  Wherever he is.  And there's something refreshing in that, you know?

***And yes, this is what this blog has come to.  To think that I at times consider it a "legal blog"?***

A Weekend of Extremes

This past weekend I went to Columbus, Ohio.  It was part of an overall life resolution to take trips I have been meaning to take, and see friends I have been meaning to see.  So I flew out solo on Saturday morning ready for a weekend of catching up, Skyline Chili, and a much needed break.

Stop 1 was to see one of my best friend's from college.  Kristen and I don't see each other that often anymore, and our lives in many ways couldn't be more different.  She is engaged, childless, has an exciting career that involves extensive international travel, and goes to the occasional Friday night happy hour.  Notwithstanding my recent Scotland trip, my jet setting and wedding planning days are long gone, and my life revolves around preschool pick ups, birthday parties, and nap time.  But when we see each other, it's like no time has passed, and we re-bond over our memories and one shared common interest that has sustained all the years - a love of wine.

Saturday consisted of a lot of chatting on her outdoor patio, and a lot of white wine consumption. And oh, how glorious it was to sit outside on a sunny day, with a nice cold glass of Sauvignon Blanc, and NO CHILDREN TO BOTHER ME!  We talked for hours, and then changed into nice clothes to go to a restaurant in downtown Columbus, where there were also NO CHILDREN TO BOTHER ME.  Then we returned to her patio, where we switched to champagne and chatted some more late into the evening, where there were also NO CHILDREN TO BOTHER ME.

24 Hours of Spills

I have survived two major spills in the last 24 hours.

They were merely liquid spills, but dramatic all the same.

Here it goes.

Spill #1
Spill #1 occurred yesterday at approximately 4:00pm, in Columbus, Ohio.  I was sitting with my dear friend Kim, who was in town from Israel, and whom I hadn't seen in years.  In the midst of our catch up conversation on her parent's back porch, I heard the distant sound of my phone ringing. My instinct was to ignore it - I was engrossed in conversation, and the phone could wait.  But then I realized - hmmmm, does that ring sound a bit weird?  A bit muffled?  A bit broken-recordish?

I excused myself and reached into my purse to feel a puddle.  And floating in said puddle was none other than my I-phone.  Apparently, my water bottle had leaked and turned my purse into a cesspool of I-phone, goldfish crackers, and spare change.

I tried to call my husband.  It went through, but I couldn't hear a thing.  This is not the first time this has happened (yeah, I know, I have a problem), so I resigned myself to just be phone-less for a day until I could hit up the Apple Store this afternoon.

But then my phone started FREAKING THE EFF OUT.

Summertime

Summertime officially started for me yesterday.  Why?  It was Braden's last day of school.  And when you're a kid, that's when it really starts, right?  Summer = lack of school.  And since my life revolves around my kids these days, I've adopted that definition once again.

I have always loved summer.  There's something so carefree about it.  The unscheduled afternoons.  The mornings at the pool.  The vacations.  The sun staying out past bedtime and eating dinner outside and being able to go out at night without a jacket.  I anticipated and embraced this easygoing season for twenty six long years until...

REAL LIFE!

Food for Thought at the Finnish Embassy

Living my monotonous suburban housewife life, I sometimes forget that I live just outside of the nation's capital.  Sure, I take advantage of the parks and museums and restaurants on occasion. But I forget that there's action in DC.  Politics and interest groups and lobbyists and embassies and a big white house.  A lot happens here.  I just feel so far removed from it, despite being so physically close.

So when I was invited by fellow blogger and lobbyist Valerie Young to a reception at the Embassy of Finland for the Caring Economy Campaign, I jumped at the opportunity.  I wasn't really sure what the campaign was for, who would be there, or the nature of Finnish hors d'oeuvres, but, knowing Valerie, I knew it would be interesting.

I got a babysitter.  I wore business casual clothing (which I seriously had not done in over a year).   I ventured out in a torrential downpour.  And I looked forward to feeling like I was a part of real DC, if only for an afternoon.

Not You Too

Shortly after Casey was born, we jokingly started calling him our "angel child."  This was in comparison with our "mischievous" (I would never use the word devil) 2 year old who was learning the art of whining and tantruming and hitting and pushing our every nerve.

And of course Casey was an angel in comparison - he lied there.  He slept.  Well.  He smiled and coo-ed and was a laid back baby.  I really thought to myself - maybe he will be my easy one.

Hahahahahahahaha.

In the past six months or so, Casey has really started to assert himself.  And though he can't yet talk in complete sentences, if he could, he would probably say something like, "You thought I would be your easy one?  You thought wrong, beeyatch!"

Homecoming

My husband and I graduated from the University of Pennsylvania Law School in 2005.  We haven't been back since.

We have been in and out of Philadelphia over the years, but we just never made it back to the campus.  I'm not sure why.  To be sure, I definitely don't feel the affinity to UPenn that I do to my undergrad school, Penn State (not to be confused with UPenn. Even though most of America thinks it's the same place).  I only spent 3 years there.  I never lived on campus.  And though I made friends, they haven't been the lifelong friends I have from college.

But then of course, there is my husband.  It's where we met.  Where it all began.

Tiny Dancer

Back in December, Braden had his first "performance" at school.  It was a mix of holiday songs and some choreographed dancing.

It didn't go well.

He stood on his designated "X" for the first few bars of music, looking pale white.  He tapped his foot slightly, but otherwise stood there frozen, that is until he decided to collapse horizontally on the floor and cry hysterically.  His teacher scooped him off the stage and delivered him to my lap, where he silently cried for the remainder of the performance.

I've analyzed and analyzed and over analyzed the conditions under which this stage fright breakdown occurred.  He was a little sick that week.  He was overtired.  He had been going through an aggressive phase.  He was too young.  He was shy.  Or maybe he just doesn't like standing in front of a crowd.  I can't say I really blame him.

Out Out

I can't even remember the last time I've gone out two nights in a row on a weekend.  And I don't mean out to a restaurant, or to a park, or to the zoo.  I mean OUT OUT.

"Out out" = an excursion without children.  With other adults besides one's spouse.  With drinks.  And food.  At least 2 miles from your place of residence.

Perhaps some of you reading are childless, or single, and go "out out" all the time.  Perhaps you can't even imagine what it is like to come to a point in your life where you repeat the word "out" twice and put quotation marks around it to reflect the rarity of it all.

To you I say, you are familiar.  I used to be you.  I never thought I wouldn't be you.  But now, I am so not you.  Someday you could be me (shudder).

Perhaps some of you reading don't feel the need to go "out out" anymore.  To deal with crowded restaurants and reservations and taxis and babysitters and all the hassle.

To you I say, I get it.  But really, you need to get "out out" more.  Because going "out out" is fun.

Fine

In the past few months, I've gotten a lot of 'how are you's'?

And then their eyes lower, and they look at me seriously - No, really, how are you?  

I'm fine, I respond, automatically.

And then I give a smile and a little giggle, to really give the confidence that I am fine, and I notice the person relax a little bit, almost as to say, Oh good.  So we don't have to go there.  

Because do you really want to know?

Probably not.

You may want to know out of your own curiosity.  Wow, what is that like, when someone really is not fine?  Maybe to make yourself feel better about how fine you are, in comparison to my not fine-ness.

But you don't want to really deal with it.  Really face it down and feel it and revel in the brutal truth of it all.  That's too much.  There are things that people just don't want to hear.  So we all walk around acting like all is fine.  All is perfect.  With the job and the marriage and the house and the two kids and the dog and the vacations at the shore.  No, we don't want to let people into the non-fine-ness of our lives.  The trauma and hurt and messy kitchens and meltdowns.  That would just be shameful!

Your Turn - Laurie's Story

"Your Turn" is a series of posts where readers share their stories of parenthood, work, the struggle for a balance, or just life generally.  If you are interested in contributing a story, please email me at butidohavealawdegree@gmail.com, or click here.

On April 3rd, after three months of maternity leave, I eagerly returned to my law firm, filled with a sense of renewal and optimism.  On April 12th, I quit my job.  What I thought  would “never happen to me,” happened to me.   Quickly.  Painfully.  Surreally.  I am writing this so that other women might prepare for returning to work in ways that I didn’t, or at least spend more time thinking about what could happen when returning to work after a baby.

Some background.  I am (or was) a workaholic.  I must admit that a big part of my identity is (or was) my job. Yes, we all know that true happiness comes from lasting relationships with friends and family, but there’s something in my blood that makes me feel, I don’t know… Important?  Validated?  Alive?  when I’m working.   It cuts deeper than pride or the desire to buy things.  It has been an essential part of my being for a really long time.

A Good Day Is...

Sleeping in until 9:15 am.

9:15 am!!!!!

Awakening to this face:

And this face:

Eating 1300 calorie Fajita Nachos from Don Pablos for lunch.  (My choice for venue - I'm high class, you see).  

Mother's Day Battle Cry

Earlier this week Braden asked me what Mother's Day was.  After a long winded explanation, involving explicit instructions to not disturb me until after 10am on Sunday, he asked the quintessential little kid question:

When is kid's day?

To which I gave the quintessential adult answer:

Everyday is kid's day.

It's true isn't it?

And it got me thinking.  How is that fair?

Thanks

I really was a complete novice when I started this whole blogging thing.  SEO, sponsors, Babble Top 100 lists, Twitter - I didn't really get it (and I kind of still don't).

My blogging was more of a hobby - an outlet of sorts.  A way to connect.

But I wasn't a real blogger.  Not like Amalah and Kelle Hampton and Redneck Mommy and all those "famous," professional, bloggers I read.  And let's be honest - I'm still not there at all.  Far from it.

But today, I do feel a bit more legitimate.

Check me out - I made the Find Law Greedy Associates:  Top 5 Lawyer Mom Blogs.  And that's kind of cool!

Thank you so much, Find Law blog editors, powers that be!  You've made my day.  Perhaps I shall celebrate later tonight with a margarita.

Yes, that sounds quite nice.

Some Rare Facebook Gems

I'm the worst kind of Facebook user.

I have a profile, but I don't really use it - I rarely post pictures or status updates.  Instead, I quietly judge those that post pictures of food on a plate, status updates such as "Thank you for all the birthday wishes," and "like" campaigns that say if I don't participate, I want children with cancer to die.

But yet, I check it incessantly.

And sometimes, between all the Bejeweled Blitz statistics and sonogram photos and Spotify sharing (really, I don't care what song you are listening to) and comment soliciting status updates ("Having a bad day," "Got the best news!" "Sometimes I question humanity"), people post some good stuff.

Here are three of my favorites:

It doesn't get any better than this. 

The perfect anniversary card.

Oh, the innocence.

Thank you, Facebook friends!

My 33rd Year

I read an article a few weeks ago that said that a study found that 33 is the "happiest" age.

My first reaction?  Well, crap.  I'm 33.  And this year has pretty much sucked.  Am I wasting what is supposed to be the happiest year of my life?

It's just a stupid article.  But it got me thinking.

About myself.  About happiness.  About control.  About letting go.  About life.

(Warning, this is going to be a deep one.)

Your Turn - Kate's Story

"Your Turn" is a series of posts where readers share their stories of parenthood, work, the struggle for a balance, or just life generally.  If you are interested in contributing a story, please email me at butidohavealawdegree@gmail.com, or click here.

I wish I could say this was my plan all along, that I could claim this as my own brand of wisdom—but I can’t. I do think I was guided along a plan that was best for me, a plan that would incorporate all the things I held to be important.

It was important to me to go on to graduate school and do something meaningful in my life. It was also important to me to be the best mother I could be to any children I might have. I had no idea how to reconcile those two aims.

I applied to the medical school of my choice . . .  and I was waitlisted. I became a police officer and a firefighter, and I volunteered on the side as an EMT. I met and married another police officer who had two children already. Medical school was put on a back burner as I immersed myself in sudden motherhood and cut back my work hours.

Then, my marriage fell apart, and I was a single mom of a very young child. If trying to balance a career is hard when you have a spouse to share the load, being a single mom borders on the brink of insanity. Going to graduate school was no longer even on the agenda. Instead, I worked as a medical transcriptionist from home as it seemed the best way to provide for us and to be a “stay-at-home mom.”

My Bum Toe

I am one of those people that always has random ailments.  Or maybe everyone does, they just aren't as big of a baby as I am and don't complain about it.  Or write blog posts about it.

A few months ago I started getting these weird shooting pains in my left big toe every time I exercised (which I did for three weeks or so.  Now that's done).  It probably didn't help that I was wearing the same sneakers I had worn when I went to Australia six and half years ago.  I AM SERIOUS.  That's how little I exercise - six years, same sneakers.

In any event, I noticed it was hurting, but then my life kind of fell apart.

I stopped thinking about my big toe.  And stopped thinking about my health generally.

Things just started to fall to the wayside.  Exercise (okay, I wasn't really doing that anyway).  Eating three meals a day.  Eating vegetables.   My one weeknight a week wine policy.  My no regular soda policy.  My no caffeine policy.  My vitamin intake.  My sleep schedule.  My leg shaving habits.

Would Have Been Me

One of the cases I worked on at one of my prior jobs is finally going to trial.  Years of discovery and research and depositions and settlement starts and stops and motions back and forth and Judge reassignments - my life for a long time - are finally coming to a head.  

And I'm not there.

Don't get me wrong, it's not like I'm pining to be there.  The trial is in another state, and is going to last weeks.  The preparation is brutal.  The nights are brutal.  Life, outside of the trial itself, screeches to a halt.  You live and breathe transcripts and documents and witness prep sessions.

How could I have done that?  Left my children and put my life on hold for months in preparation, and weeks in court?  I couldn't have.

But I'd be lying if I said that there wasn't a small part of me wanting to be there.

Pretty Bird

Assuming the weather isn't treacherous, I try to take the kids on a walk every night after dinner.  It breaks up the final "witching hours" of the day, and it's good to get outside.

Last week we were doing our general routine, and I was outside trying to get Casey strapped into his stroller.  He wasn't being cooperative and the straps were all tangled and in the midst of all this, I hear Braden: 

Mommy, look at this!

Hold on Braden, Mommy's busy trying to get Casey in his stroller.  

But Mommy, look now!

Braden, please be patient!

And so on and so forth until finally, after about 90 seconds or so, I could look at Braden.  

And then I screamed.  Loudly.

Humbled by a Shot (at Life)

Casey's 18 month birthday was last Friday.  And with it came pride, some bittersweet tears as I entered stats into the baby book, and then the dreaded well check up at the doctor's.

Why the dread?

It's the vaccines.  I always opt for them, but it always makes me nervous.  I can't pinpoint why. Perhaps it's a mistrust of all powers that be or modern medicine or memories of being held down for shots as a child myself.  Perhaps it's my autistic cousin and the big question mark that surrounds the why (and yes, I know there is no proven link).  Perhaps it's just the angst of being a mom and having something injected into my baby.

Casey was set to get the MMR this go round.  You know, the big one.  The one that's controversial and has all the side effects and potential for fevers, rash, etc.  I was stressing about it.

And then came Friday night.

I attended an event hosted by my friend and fellow blogger Monica Sakala, (if you haven't read her blog, Wired Mama, you should check it out) and UN Foundation Specialist Anastacia Dellacio. The event was  to benefit the UN Foundation's Shot@Life campaign, which aims to ensure that all children worldwide have access to vaccines.  It was held at Dolci Gelati headquarters, which Anastasia and her husband own (Yes, she's a do-gooder and owns a gelato company.  I wanted to hate her, but I couldn't.  She's just that awesome.)

Your Turn - "Alice's" Story

"Your Turn" is a series of posts where readers share their stories of parenthood, work, the struggle for a balance, or just life generally.  If you are interested in contributing a story, please email me at butidohavealawdegree@gmail.com, or click here.

So a lot of people have asked me what it’s like to be a working mom.

Actually, that’s not true.  No one has asked me that.

But you know, I bet people are somewhat curious.  Because when I was considering whether to go back to work after maternity leave, I desperately wanted to know. 

What is it like to leave your baby for hours at a time in a stranger’s care?  Will you feel sad for missing all the ‘firsts’?  Will it weaken the bond between the two of you?  Will you be replaced as the most important person in your baby’s eyes?

I especially wanted to know what it would be like for a corporate attorney working mom.  My job is notoriously unplannable.  We are on-call 24-7, 365 days a year, resulting in many cancelled vacations and telling my family every year--I might have to miss Christmas, start without me!  When a deal is on, it is ON and you work night and day like kids in a sweatshop until the deal is done.  If you need to fly out to another coast 3 weekends in a row to bash it out, you do it.  Heck, if you need to fly to another continent to bash it out, you do that too.

Stay at Home Survival

I've received a lot of emails from women who are considering staying home.  Women who are like I was - struggling with the balance between work and family in a stressful job, but who never considered or planned on becoming a stay at home mom.  These women aren't crafty.  Aren't good cooks.  Really have no desire to clean a house or do laundry or become a room parent.  But they, like I did, are considering throwing in the towel on a career nonetheless.

These women are nervous.  They ask me questions like, what do you do all day?  Does it get boring?  How do you keep from feeling completely isolated?  How do you meet people?  Do you still shower daily?  Am I about to make a huge mistake?

I am by no means a pro at this.  But after a year plus, I have learned some things.  So here is the post where I impart my survival techniques onto you:

SAHM Survival Tip #1 - Download "Words with Friends"
To answer one of the above questions, yes, it does get boring sometimes.  Very!  Days are long.  Yes, I play with the kids.  I engage.  But a person can only do so much for so long.  So what can one do to pass the time?

Words with Friends, people.  It has changed my life.  Just when I think I can't take another five minutes of listening to my kids fight over a matchbox car, I reach for my Iphone and there it is.   I have multiple games going at once, so there is always a play to be made.  It is the perfect distraction.  And it keeps the mind sharp, just like legal research!

Working Women

Maybe I'm getting overly sensitive.

But this comment by Democratic Strategist Hilary Rosen kind of pisses me off:

"What you have is Mitt Romney running around the country, saying, 'Well, you know, my wife tells me that what women really care about are economic issues, and when I listen to my wife, that's what I'm hearing.' Guess what?  His wife has actually never worked a day in her life,"  Rosen said.

Ann Romney's reaction?

"I made a choice to stay home and raise five boys," Romney tweeted.  "Believe me, it was hard work."

Amen.

(And in the interest of full disclosure, I am a Democrat myself).

My first reaction is to go all Ann Romney on here and to yell and scream and preach that yes, raising kids is HARD WORK.  Yes, work.  If I was not staying at home with my two children, I would be paying someone else to do so.  It's a job for them, it's a job for me.  I may not receive societal recognition for it - no 401ks or social security contributions - but it's work nonetheless.

But at the end of the day, that's all just semantics.

What's more concerning is the notion that women without paying jobs shouldn't have a voice in the debate when it comes to economic issues.

Women that stay at home with their children may not receive traditional monetary rewards, but many of these women manage finances.  Go grocery shopping.  Fill up a gas tank.  See firsthand the state of public schools.  Many of these women have advanced degrees and read the newspaper and know something about something.

I'm not saying that women with paying jobs don't do or have these things.

I'm simply saying that women without paying jobs do still have something to say.

And I think it's a sad state when those in politics think it's okay to insinuate otherwise.

Just sayin.