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.”