Getting Away

Way back when I used to be a world traveler.  When I had kids, I figured it was something I would need to give up, for a variety of reasons - some financial, but mostly practical.  It's just not so fun to jet set with a toddler.

Then, when Braden was 15 months old, a good friend in Australia proposed that we meet in London, where we both had mutual friends.  My gut reaction was to say of course not, but then I reconsidered.

Why not?

So I did it.  I flew out on a Wednesday night and was back on Sunday.  It was exhausting, it was fun, it was refreshing.  I felt like I found me again, if only for a few days.  The me who wasn't a wife, wasn't a mother, wasn't a lawyer.  The me who was just a fun loving, laid back, globetrotter up for anything.  And I really love that me.

It's not everyday that you pound on your bladder for 20 minutes

In general, I consider myself to be an up for anything, open-minded kind of person.  In particular, since leaving my career, I have been committed to trying new things, meeting new people, and being receptive for whatever comes my way.  As part of this whole self renewal thing, I have been wanting to start doing yoga again.

Right before I got pregnant with Braden, I was going through a really stressful period in my life (during which time my jaw was locked shut for two months, but that's a whole other story!).  I took up yoga, and actually really enjoyed it.  After a few months, I ended up on pregnancy bedrest, and my yoga mat has been collecting dust in my closet ever since.

But now?  There really is no reason I can't do a yoga class here and there.  I've been trying out a couple of different yoga centers in the area, and this weekend, I cashed in a Groupon I had purchased for 10 yoga classes at Dahn Yoga.

As I approached the studio, I noticed that it said on the sign "Yoga and Healing Center."  Hmmm, healing center.  This should have been my first red flag that this was not going to be your typical cafe latte drinking, Colorado exile yoga crowd, but hey, whatever.  I walked into the main reception area, with yoga mat and Groupon coupon in hand.

Bah, Humbug!

I've never been a huge fan of Valentine's Day.

The whole thing is just so contrived.  The flowers.  The set price dinners.  The gross Russell Stover chocolates.  My husband and I go through the motions and do cards and perhaps a dinner (on a different night, to avoid the aforementioned set price meals).  But between wedding anniversaries and dating anniversaries and birthdays and Christian and Jewish holidays, I think we're both kind of over it.  

But this Valentine's Day?  This Valentine's Day REALLY sucks.  For a couple of reasons:

First, I was inspired by some of my fellow bloggers (check out this and this) to do something crafty with Braden for Valentine's Day.  Why?  I have no idea.  We all know I don't have a crafty bone in my body, and by all indications, neither does Braden.   But for some reason, when we were at a specialty toy store last week, I thought this might be a good idea.

Over the past few days, I have tried to get Braden excited about it.  I've given him full access to the glue stick.  I've attempted to entice him with hearts and stickers and a bic pen.  But no.  Out of 18 Valentine's cards we had to make, do you know how many Braden made?

One.

So what am I doing tonight, on the eve of the sacred preschool Valentine's' Day party?

Making stupid homemade Valentine's Day cards.

And trust me, they ain't pretty.

If I seem overly bitter, it's also because I'll be flying solo on Valentine's Day evening, as my husband must answer to work demands.

Sigh.

At least I can look forward to the Teen Mom 2 finale.  It's the little things, you know?

A Year Out

In the past few weeks, I have picked up some additional freelance work.  I love that I am making a bit of extra money, and I especially love that the work doesn't require a law degree.  There's just something strangely satisfying about getting paid for work involving no legal skills.

It's been almost one year since I left my job.  And the longer I am out of the workforce, the more I am realizing that I may never be a lawyer again.

I don't know what I thought when I quit.  I guess part of me always assumed I would go back to a law firm after this little break at home with the kids - as if I was on another leave of absence, or maternity leave.  I even found myself researching law firms which did in fact have sabbatical programs for women (Skadden's Sidebar program being one of them), and casually mentioning it to my former supervisors, as if they would form a special program just for me.  Ha!

But now, one year out, the idea of going back to a law firm, or even being a practicing lawyer again, is scary as hell to me.  When you're in it, you accept it, because it's your life.  But having the opportunity to step away - I get anxiety just thinking about it.  The pressure, the hours, the politics.  I just don't have the energy or the passion for it anymore, and I don't think I ever will again.

So maybe my law career really is over.

The Era of Casey

For all of Casey's life, he has essentially been a tag along - dragged to his big brother's playdates, to preschool pickups, to parks he was too little to navigate.  The poor kid has taken it in stride.

But now?  At 15 months, Casey is coming into his own.  As of this weekend, his morning naps officially ceased.  So on Monday, when my husband left to take Braden to school, we bid them farewell as we usually do and waved until they drove out of sight.  And when 9:00 am rolled around, instead of putting him back to bed, we just looked at each other.

Now what do we do?  

Casey's lack of morning slumber left us with 4.5 hours to kill.

4.5 hours.  That is a long, long time to hang with a wandering 15 month old who is determined to engage in continuous suicide drops from stairs, coffee tables, couches, anything above six inches, etc.

Bringing Vacation Home

My internal pep talk began on the second to last day of my vacation.

See this, Shannon?  See how relaxed you feel?  How happy?  How at ease?  You can carry this on beyond your vacation.  You don't have to be depressed about going home.  Vacation is a state of mind!

Two days later I was on the plane ride home, with my head between my legs, assuming crash position, during a particularly turbulent patch of clouds.  The xanax hadn't worked.

Who am I kidding?  I don't want to go home!  Get me off of this mother !*?ing plane, and take me back to the Caymans!

And it's been a bit downhill from there.