equilibrium-girl.com

One for the books

Sometimes, you fly halfway around the world and end up in hotel rooms or on beaches that look like the ones you have in your neck of the woods.

But other times, you can drive 20 miles, sit in a lawn chair by a blazing fire (one too hot for marshmallow roasting), and feel so removed from the life you know.

Stuff Girl and her husband (Stuff Boy? Man?) hosted a wonderful party under the stars on Saturday and despite the fact that some folks may be missing eyebrows and some dogs may be temporarily confused about their gender, it was probably one of the best starts that a summer could have. Try racing with your child downhill in near-pitch black darkness under a blanket of stars and try and tell me any differently. Or holding an adorable baby while the breeze tickles your toes for that matter.

To me, it was one of those "yardstick" moments that you measure other instances in your life against--definitely one for the books. Arriving home, I practically rolled His Honor into bed, did the same for myself, and then fast asleep, the sound of crickets still chirping in my brain.

I Will Crush You With Super Kung Fu Powers

You know why the Evil Governors in Old Kung Fu Movies are so omipotent?

It's because their long white beards are really guinea pigs, that's why.

Molly may be a daddy's girl. She loves to cuddle on his chest. It's a pretty comfy place, if you ask me.

Enter Allia

It's great when you can make a pun via your blog entry title. Anyway, it's April already tomorrow and I am curious as to when my Allium will show up, what they will look like, and how long they will last. I have the urge to work "I'm growing onions in my front yard, and..." into conversation.

I planted the bulbs in the fall--mid-October, I believe. They are nestled between some ornamental grasses so I'm hoping that they break up the wheaty color with some pretty purple globes. If it's warm this weekend, I'm going to spend some time in the front yard thinning out my crazy ground cover.

I forced my husband to turn the TV off and have an honest-to-goodness conversation. I think my guinea pig is thankful for the silence-poor girl has been subject to hammering all day for the past couple of weeks since we started the basement finishing project.

I cater to her every whim. You would too if your guinea pig looked like this:

My Blog Posts Bring All the Boys to The Yard

Between you and me, it's not a good idea to go and stand outside in sub-freezing temperatures for an hour immediately after spin class. "So," you say, "don't go to spin class." To which I say, "Neither you nor Conan wants to deal with a grumpy, grabby person who didn't get the chance to expend her Saturday morning energy and pent-up stress for the remainder of the weekend." I'll admit it--I'm a sucker for THAT kind of pain.

Anyway, yesterday's noontime hour found me freezing at the sidelines of a first grade boys' soccer game with no energy in reserves to warm myself. While it royally sucked, it was worthwhile to see His Honor bonding with some of this classmates for next year. We beat a hasty retreat home afterwards, and then I proceeded to stand in the shower for no less than twenty minutes, just letting the warm water warm my frozen-inside-out bones.

And this all hit me a couple of hours later. I found myself completely immobile on the couch watching the third-in-a-row episode of Spongebob (which I probably would have done, anyway). There were dishes to wash, laundry items to fold, and countertops in need of maple syrup removal. However, when you're semi-comatose those things just don't seem to get done, you know? I stumbled through the rest of the evening, and I'm not really sure how.

By the way, did I tell you that His Honor taught me to play chess a couple of weeks ago? I've only beaten him once.

Obviously, I am puffed-chest proud of him for wanting to do activities that involve thinking, but I think perhaps one of the things he likes about it is that he gets to spend time with us. We try and not be too pushy about things like that and let him take the lead. But while he does love the little boy things like cars and Pokemon, I think he also likes those little "windows" of activity that let him be even with us old folks on certain levels. We certainly enjoy it as well.

Is there a blogging rule that forgives the lack of a witty sentence at the end of any entry if you post a cute picture? If so, I'm invoking it.

Five Things

Things I can do that I wasn't able to do day before yesterday:

-Buy cheap sunglasses
-Comfortably wear a racing helmet (this is for future reference)
-Wear long dangly earrings without having to worry about them distracting my face
-Wear a baseball cap comfortably
-Wake up in the morning and be able to see clearly without having to race around for the last place I put my glasses.

Words, for a change

Maybe it's time I posted an entry that is something else besides a bunch of pictures I've taken. I do like pretty pictures, though. A thousand words, and all that jazz.

So far, we are getting through the holidays with a medium level of stress. This is a good thing. In our house, you simply can't go a day through this month without some drama about gifts purchased for this family or that family, or Christmas trees that were decorated in a delayed fashion. I guess it's just a bunch of small details here and there...but the catch is that I am a "small details" person.

Case in point: His Honor's classroom holiday party. Once again, I was one of three or four assigned "mom helpers" for the party. I'll confess to agonizing over the holiday activity--should it be a sedate sit-at-the-table-and-decorate affair? Or should there be some moving about involved? If we decorate foam trees with stickers, should I separate the stickers in individual piles for each child? Or should it be a free-for-all to spur interaction?

In the end, everything turned out just fine and the kids had a blast. It was a party, after all.

Hey, how did that pesky picture sneak its way into my post? That's the beauty of pictures--sometimes they say the things you simply can't put into words.

T-minus hours, days, and weeks

Just a handful of hours until pumpkin party time. 'Tis the hour of hand-wringing and last minute list-making. I think we're mostly set, except the last minute cleaning and some assorted tasks.

November will be the month of scrimping and saving. It's not that we have gone ballistic with spending wads of cash, but between the party, Conan's trip to the track (and purchase of a firesuit), and completing our living room and foyer area we have spent more money than I'm really comfortable with. But then again, my mom was the queen of frugality--washing out plastic bags, reminding us that there are perfectly good leftovers in the fridge, asking us to please use what we have. So some of that mentality has leaked into my brain. A good thing, to be sure. I predict a lot of knitted and handmade Christmas gifts this year, and so I have started early with a Branching Out for my MIL. My brother's wife will get a Shetland Triangle but other than that I need to list out and do some planning.

The issue is that I'm not sure when/if I'll have time. A month ago, I was concerned about my career development but over the past week I have been asked to do two presentations this upcoming month...all on top of an already-busy month work-wise. Again, a good thing to be sure but one of those things where you just need to take a deep breath and plunge into it.

Retrospective

2:15 on a Saturday found me in the process of rounding a very sharp curve at around 70 mph, but that's ok because it was an "officially sanctioned" thing and I was in the passenger seat. I was thrilled, slightly scared, but none the worse for wear. Conan saw me afterwards and asked "How was it?" I didn't answer, grinned from ear to ear, and asked, "Where do I sign up?"

At one point, the car topped over 100 mph, and I only knew this because I glanced at the speedometer very surreptitiously.

Have I ever told you how much I love my mom? I love her because she is not afraid to try new things. She doesn't care if it's outside of her comfort zone. She will play soccer with His Honor, sit at a table and put parallelogram pieces together, play a steel drum, drink a new flavor of beer, almost whatever. When you grow up half a world away in a very poor country and honest-to-Betsy walked to school in your bare feet, not a whole lot seems to faze you. I love her stories and her strength and her pointed criticism (although with the latter, I don't love it well until after it has been dispensed). I wish everyone had a mum like mine.

Bookends

So begins the planning for The Gov's Yoshi Halloween costume. Why couldn't he be Mario? That's an easy one. The only thing I'd really have to make with that one is enlarged foam hands and handyman's hat. But Yoshi is a different story. The body for the costume and the red scales would not be a problem, but it's that huge honking nose and the big eyes I'm going to have to worry about. I might paper-mache and cover it with green fabric--but then would it be too heavy to attach to the hood of a costume? Or do I just need The Gov. to wear a big green boulbous nose? Will he be ok with that? Will I be ok with that?

We spent today outside most of the day. With a neighborhood garage sale and Conan finishing up His Honor's playset, it wasn't a proactive choice. But I got the gardening bug when I got home from bringing the younger boy to a classmate's birthday party, so being in front of my house in the cool autumn weather was both an 8 a.m. thing and an 8 p.m. thing. Not too shabby. But really, it's all a show-I got to at least make my neighbors believe I'm making some effort on my yard. :\

Expectations

Maybe I need to change my expectations of myself. I'm not the perfect lawyer, but then what I do is as much an art as it is a science. I can be expected to have my head spin and feel completely deflated many times because I'll probably make mistakes. I guess it's like bumper cars--you find your way path by bumping through, and can often get whiplash often in the process.

I'm not the perfect mother who keeps her carpet stain-free and her child preservative-free , but then again perhaps the definition of a "perfect mother" is that you care enough to know when it all drives you too crazy to see straight.

I'm not the perfect wife. But then again, I've lasted over 8 years with the same man, and I see many, many more. I hold my ground with him when something is important to me.

Hey, it looks great written out-do you think I can hold myself to it?

Bubbles Away

I could have written most of this post du THB except for the bathroom part. Going in-house really never involves sitting back and letting outside counsel do the work. It's a juggling act and a half. Even when you are walking on the way back from getting your skim latte and pondering why the barista felt the need to bemoan the lack of milk canister cleaning to you, you're still trying to piece your way mentally through a client issue.

Man am I tired. I got a fleeting taste of what it's like to have a balanced work life last week when half of my clients were out of the office. Boy, is it catching up to me. Sometimes I wish every day was like this:

Bubbles are awesome. Even the most devoted Sup3r M@rio devotee takes time out of his busy schedule to blow humongous bubbles. I can't decide what I like better--the bright iridescent bubble skin, or the brief thought of what it would be like to actually be a bubble and float away.

It's Been a while

Conan thought it was quite odd that I took pictures of my Sunday breakfast a couple of weeks ago. I'm sure it seemed quite ordinary to him, but it was simply the epitome of all that you could wish for--created with care as a group effort and simply delicious. Conan was responsible for the strawberry pancakes, and I was the creator of the egg casserole with the puff pastry crust.

I've been managing a work-related fire drill this evening. Right now, I'm strangely at peace with it since it involves an "escalated" level of involvement. I think tomorrow will be a simple madhouse, but for now I feel so distended. Between now and tomorrow morning, there isn't much to do except have a drink, relax, check on His Honor, and try and rest. When I wake up in the morning, I will be a year older.

Aww!

Do you feel like crying in the good way? Then read this most wonderful story. *sniff*

It Does a World of Good

What are our plans this weekend?, Conan wrote in an email to me yesterday morning. I clicked the reply button and typed in Do nothing, get some sleep and relax, and sent my response over the packet-switched wires.

If by "nothing," we mean working out, grocery shopping, roasting and collectively devouring a chicken, cleaning up our house, and putting together patio furniture--then I suppose we have succeeded. We're not lollygaggers, and perhaps that's a real flaw. His Honor has even helped Conan with his patio furniture assemblage and has even picked up the never-ending collection of toy cars. Right now, we're all in that afternoon fuzzy state where the expenditure of energy has all caught up to us. I'm sitting in my bathrobe, my hair still wet from the shower and my skin tight from lack of moisturizer.

A full night's sleep can do a world of good. Two week's worth of chores, ferrying The Gov from place to place, constant escalations at work, and life caught up to me last night at around 7 p.m. The downside of being in-house counsel is that you're the frontline in the endless battle of making your client's actions legally compliant. You're asked to make calls on the spot, and sometimes you get escalated on. There's no time to hit the books, so you have to either know your stuff... or find a way to make people believe that you do.

So after a long two weeks of difficult work scenarios and life at home being very busy as well, I've got a little bit of breathing room. If by breathing, we mean "sitting in front of a computer typing a blog entry while my hair dries," then I guess I'm spot on.

She Keeps on Passin' Me By

When your life comes hurling at you at a frentic pace, you hardly get time to do things like congratulate Ms. THB on her secret decoder ring (congrats!). You also completely forgot that you never posted about the completion of probably your favorite knitted item to date:

It's this beautiful blue color and it's super snuggly!

Messy

I feel sorta pervy that I've been oogling Alan Thicke's son, but sweet Jesus, is he not just totally adorable?

Lots of things I could say, but I'm just going to say that I'm pensive tonight. Last week was busy, this past weekend was busy, and this week looks like it's going to shape up as more of the same. Sometimes in the frentic swirl of things, I find myself forcing myself to once again rationalize something that can't be rationalized. It's the type of thing you're bursting at the seams to talk about, but doing so will basically not really do much except possibly be hurtful. In the end, it amounts to nothing except me being silly little me. For now, however, it's just a big mass of emotion that I carry around with me.

Breathe and Stop/for real/ and give it what you got

After the teeth are brushed and the face is washed, settling in for the night has become similar to walking in Times Square. In an effort to process everything, my mind scrolls through thought after thought like the marquee outside of a second floor network studio. Occasionally, I’ll get stuck on some glaring idea, one that’s hard to ignore like that big flashing LED board right smack dab in the middle of the square. And it always feels crowded.

Work is…well, it is what it is. I took my job because I didn’t want to compete for billable hours, but it sometimes feels like I’m being dragged into a chest-beating contest. Take note: competition festers in pretty much every nook and cranny in this esteemed profession. Sometimes you need to step back, regroup, and refocus. Side-step the drama and put your energy to better use. I personally need to wallow for a while before I get to that stage. I wallow, watch a little bit of Kenny on Dancelife, and then start the process of redirecting my energy. That’s actually where I am right now.

On the knitting tip, I’m no longer a dpn v1rg1n:

It’s the hat portion of the adorable bunny beanie in Bernat Cottontots.

Something tells me I might be considering a ballwinder soon.

Camuy Caverns, Puerto Rico

Snowy Sunday Mornings

I feel like we are swimming just under the surface--we have a general awareness of things and we push forward through work, school, and the weather but we have all been slightly sick and fuzzy-headed. This morning, we all got up before 7 a.m. (this is on a Sunday morning, mind you) and made our way on slushy highways to drop Conan off at the airport for a flight back to our old stomping grounds. For the next couple of days, it's just me and the children--one furry and one funny, but both wonderfully cute.

Life right now is overwhelming. I cringe slightly when I log in to my work email due to the amount of stuff that is usually in there. I think of all of the knitting projects that I probably should start for all of the girls in my group with new and soon-to-be-arriving babies. I worry about the fact that I'm not getting enough sleep. I worry about The Governor's health or Conan's health or my health for that matter. Lately, I've just become more anxious, and that's not necessarily a good thing.

The snow has stopped, and The Gov is lovingly watching the NFL Sunday Countdown, so perhaps it's just time to get on with life.

First Thoughts on a Sunday morning

Something needs to change with my job-either my taking it all so personally or perhaps even sloughing a great chunk off to a colleague. The problem is that 1/2 of my team is either on maternity leave or (knock on wood) going to be leaving for it within the next half year. So if I shove something off, it comes back to me. It's a lot like true love.

There is nothing quite like finding yourself procrastinating on a Sunday morning--on a holiday weekend nonetheless--having to go into work to retrieve your laptop for a little bit of a last minute work-related thing that needs to be more or less completed by Tuesday morning, signed/sealed/on its way. But I'm not going to let it ruin the last two days of my holiday vacation-I'm pushing through, not getting too worked up because it's not worth it. It'll be finished because I can finish it. Go me!

Doing What Needed to Be Done

In the car home from my parents' house two days ago, The Gov. put his fingers together, moved them around a bit, and then made a motion where he circled his pointer finger on his left hand around the one on his right. What are you doing, pumpkin, I asked.

I'm knitting, mommy--he said and smiled.

I thought the exchange was very interesting because as of the past couple of weeks, I've been practicing my knitting. There are a couple of immemorable hats and scarves already knit, and on that car ride home, I finished a mobius shoulder wrap in brushed baby alpaca (which I wore to work today). They say she moved to Kansas and took up knitting, some will say. And that's pretty much exactly what happened.

The Thanksgiving holidays were great. I ran a 5-mile Turkey Trot on Thursday and made a decent pace. It ended up being a lot of fun. I loved the sound of everyone's feet hitting the pavement at the beginning when we began the race-it really was like rain. And I loved running the race with Conan, even though he had to briefly walk at around 100 yards from the finish line due to a side stitch.

This morning, I hung my number in my office as a small reminder that I did what I'd set out to do, which sometimes gets lost in the everyday.

How Can This Be Good for Me?

My mind is exhausted and crabby, after having spent the past two days traveling rapidly from thought to thought. Last night, I lay awake at 1 p.m., turning a single thought over and over in my head like a shiny wide pebble. I kept it beside me for most of the day, and then finally pitched it to a client at four in the afternoon. I'm sure it's going to come back at me, only larger. I was fixated on that one thought, but it could be a number of different ones that are jangling around in my brain these days. I'm carrying a pocket full of rocks.

I never expected in-house to be this busy. It's like treading in whitewater rapids, and it might get even busier in spite of it never really having slowed down. It sort of makes me worry about my mental health because I sure am exhausted, and I'm the type of person who takes things quite seriously work-wise, because in many ways it's one of the few things that I've been able to call my own. I try to have faith, but sometimes it gets really hard.

Threads Too Chill

If I was in law school again, I would totally rock this Glarkware to my next final exam. I think you could mess up your peers' mindset enough to put yourself further along the grading Bell Curve.

Alas, but I have my J.D., and I'm not in the medical malpractice practice, so I wouldn't be able to rock the shirt with the full force that it deserves.

Playing House

I had some weird blog glitch last night that I don't have the energy to explain. It's like when I send out an email and use the word "compliant" instead of "compliance." You send it out there, the internet takes it, and not only doesn't let you get it back, but plasters it all over the place.

I prefer Saturday mornings when I have been able to get a decent amount of sleep. This morning does not rank up their in my favorites list, particularly since I'm a single mom until Monday and The Gov exhibited signs of extreme crankiness at IHOP this morning. I know what the people next to me were thinking when The Gov asked if he could watch TV today, and I said "no" and he let out an extended whimper. An arthritic Midwestern couple now thinks I'm one of those moms who lets TV babysit her child.

I should probably try to care less about complete strangers' half-formed opinions of me. I'd like to think that I'm a decent mom, but even if I am, I'm a mom with a string of doubts trailing behind her that tangles itself around her feet when she's trying to get things done. Part of it is due to being away from The Gov for most of the day, and part of it is due to always feeling as if I'm a little girl who is playing make believe with her dollhouse, puppy dog, and plastic baby-and-husband playset. It often feels a bit more surreal than real.

I originally captioned this pic "Practicing the Kate Moss Technique," but then I though that wasn't right, because she kicks people, no?

Just a little request for help

A member of one of the online communities to which I belong recently found out that her 4 year old daughter has aplastic anemia, which is a rare bone marrow condition. Anything people can do to help would be appreciated. Please see this site for more information.

Floating on the Groggy Surface

"I thought we were done with this whole insomnia bit," I asked myself silently as I looked at my reflection this morning when I shoved my hair into an unruly bun. "I thought you gave that up in law school." There have been a handful of times in the past seven years where I couldn't get to sleep one night, but sheer exhaustion submerged me under the next night. Those infrequent episodes are pretty scarce these days. Seven years ago, however, was a different story. I'd gone to the hospital right before finals in my third year of law school because I could not drive due to a stress headache on top of a migraine. After that time, I was always very careful to watch my stress level, exercise frequently, and try and achieve some sense of balance. I've even built up a healthy defense mechanism that generally shuts down my stress level when it reaches a certain point.

Over the past few days, however, things have gone slightly awry. It's the combination of next week becoming extremely stressful, the in-laws coming into town on Thursday for five days, and just trying to keep a lid on the sheer amount of clutter in my house. Everyone tells me that my in-laws are just going to have to accept that our house is not immaculate since we have been her for less than a month and a half. But you see, my mother in law has unreasonable expectations in general, and while she'll put on an accepting face, she will privately make a snide remark here and there followed up with a passive aggressive action. Sounds like the mother-in-law M.O., n'est pas? What I am scared of is that the lack of a dining room table in my house will result in her sending either money or some sort of--I don't know, something random. She's the queen of random unnecessary objects and while I've tried my best to talk to her about it, she simply won't listen.

With the exception of my husband, my mother-in-law has never had to let her children live their own lives. Surprisingly, Conan is the youngest of three. I have very serious issues with the choices that she has made and I don't respect her for them. I have learned to accept that she and I will never be close, and I am currently in the process of accepting that for certain things she is too goddamn stubborn to even consider another's opinion. When she comes to my house--my territory--it changes my emotional landscape temporarily because in the flow of my daily life, I need to temporarily navigate around a huge impasse. I medicate myself with wine and withdrawl during those days when she is around.

So her looming arrival in conjunction with my impossibly difficult work week has been keeping me up. Wish me sleep vibes tonight-I'll need them.

Postings from a side office

The wind hits the broad sides of my house unbuffered. Last night was just like this one, with lots of cracks of thunder to rouse us from fitful sleep. I checked on the boy, who was astonishingly fast asleep. Above us right now, there is light and noise that breaks the dark. I find it hard to believe that four hours ago, I walked to the community pool to find Conan and The Gov. happily diving after plastic torpedos.

Sometimes, it feels like I'm not really here. It's like a dream. A house where the rooms are big enough to turn cartwheels. Beautiful hardwood floors that feel just right against bare morning feet. A place where I can craft away, relatively undisturbed. A cool room for Quincy to rest his head. When he stayed at Nana's house, he informed her of his "private bathroom," but he is fond of bathing in our large tub (it has jets). We still haven't bought furniture for our living room, and it is difficult to find pieces we actually like.

Work is fine, but busy. My first IM to my co-worker this morning said "omg, I'm getting slaughtered today." That was at 9:12 this morning. I am happy to be where I am. I would like to stay there.

Perfect Outside--Inside, Not So Much

His Honor and I took a short walk down to the mailbox station yesterday evening to mail 2 UPC symbols and a redemption form for one of those smartly-marketed cereal box offers. It was absolutely beautiful, and many of the neighbors were out walking dogs, taking last minute dips in the community pool, and enjoying the neighborhood. This area has a somewhat plastic-y feel, since it's newly developed and every other lawn is tended by commercial landscaping companies. Even the children are all perfect looking, with serene faces, their limbs carmel brown from a full summer of playing outside. But right now, after over 7 years of non-stop activity, I think that's what we need.

Make no mistake about it--we are still overwhelmed. I just delved into a 37 page application two days ago, for which I have many, many questions. It needs to be completed, but I struggle with exactly how it's going to get done. Why they make these things difficult, I'm not so sure. To top it off, it's become clear that we moved without much of our needed storage options-bookcases, cabinets for fine china, etc. So we have boxes and boxes of things in our garage that really have no home within our home. If I wanted to do things perfectly, I would write down distinctly what is needed, measure shelves, and purchase the relevant storage compartments as needed. Do I have the ability to be this picky? Probably not.

But I want to focus on the basics today-nice house, happier boys (all three of them-husband, child, and dog)--happier me.

Postings from a 20th Floor Hotel Room

I’m in a different town for the night-tomorrow morning I have a mid-morning meeting and then lunch with a new colleague. We’re supposed to coordinate on work plans, but neither my boss nor I have drafted an agenda or put together materials to bring along.

However, since my little sister lives in this particular town, I flew in a little early and together we dined on exquisite sushi and then an hour later consumed chocolate martinis and crème brulee on an outdoor patio as the evening turned the color of used bathwater. I’d lived in this town before for a handful of years, but in my opinion, it’s much nicer to be a visitor.

Business trips bring a much needed perspective. I come home from them with my heart aching and arms open, having not seen either The Governor or Conan for over 24 hours. No matter how poorly I slept in my hotel bed or how rumbly my stomach has become due to the inadequacy of mid-flight snacks, I sneak into The Governor’s room after he has been tucked into bed and I cuddle with him. If it late and he is asleep, I listen to the sound of his breaths and gaze at his long eyelashes resting on his now-slender cheeks. If he is still awake, I receive a waterfall of hugs and persistent cries not to go, which inevitably become too hard to resist.

Earlier this afternoon, I’m in the air, looking outside my window at clouds. I always want to reach out and grab handfuls of clouds, wondering if they feel grainy to the touch like cotton candy. I always buy books from the airport bookstore-this trip was no exception. My choice was a good one even though it wasn’t my standard, evenly-ended story containing a heroine who gains a holistic life perspective, promotion, and a boyfriend all at the same time. It made me pensive for the last five minutes of my flight. The stories were incredible to me-I can't fathom that they are real but they are. Lately, I've become acutely cognizant about the fact that I can never fully protect my son from "what's out there." I know that it's my job to raise and at some point let go, but I haven't been able to emotionally commit myself to that future sacrifice. Will I ever be? And if I try and prepare myself now, will it still be as painful when it happens?

We need to talk about your TPS reports

From time to time, my current boss and I compare the amount and type of flair that we each have in our offices. One of the benefits of going in-house is that you don't have to worry about decorating your office--either clients and internal communications or HR does that for you. From time to time, some innocuous person you've never seen before comes by with a poster or "top 10 list of things we think you need to know about your company" brochure for your bulletin board. Sometimes, it's a company logo pen. In very rare instances, you'll get an award/paperweight recognizing your contributions to some company endeavor.

The only private practice areas I can tell where you get flair are M&A (stock certificates encased in acrylic to be used as paperweights), entertainment (movie or other-related toys), and maybe IP (items used as exhibits). In my last firm job, we shared the building with an IP firm, and the associates would enter and exit the elevators with molecular models. Sure, they looked extremely tired (which was actually a good thing, since they were billing), but at least they were carrying something else besides fully-expanded Redwells stocked to the gills with paper, right?

Woman get busy /just shake that booty

I am scared of my inbox.

Every morning, when I walk into work, I instinctively take a deep breath and hold it as I log into the server and launch Outlo0k. After a few seconds, the blue number in parentheses right after "Inbox" gives me a split second indicator of how my morning looks. The average number is somewhere between 20 and 40 and has been known to be 75, meaning I received 75 emails from the time I left (well after the standard quittin' time) and when I arrived in the morning. It was not after a vacation, and it was not after a weekend either.

I guess I should stop kidding myself by thinking that sometime--maybe soon--my workdays will become less hectic. I've got to admit to myself that I'm more than just a little burnt out. There is really going to be no stop to the have-to-have-it right now requests from the clients because their products rely on others...who rely on others.

I'm hoping that perhaps things will calm down in a while, but I thought that at the beginning of the year. But I have faith and I have commitment to what I do, I like a great deal of my clients, and I really like my colleagues.

Maybe that's enough.

I hope that someone gets my...message in a bottle

The M.O. in my family for extending occasion-related wishes: text messaging.

Those of you who have been doing this thing for ages will scoff and roll your eyes, but please consider that is my 63 year old father who headed up this mini-movement. Apparently, texting is the main way to communicate in the Philippines, and so his nieces and nephews got him started on it. Right now on my phone are a couple of birthday greetings from yesterday.

Ironically, I'M supposed to have been the one to tell my parents, saying to "hey, did you know you can key in short messages on your cell phone...and send them to other people's cell phones?"

I will tell you secretly, however, that between my mom and my dad...my mom is the better message writer.

Coming Full Circle

It's hard not to snicker when your client attempts to give you a "Blogging 101" lesson: "EG, I don't know how familiar with weblogs, or "blogs," but it's this way of updating your website with items that post in reverse chronological order. The really neat thing is that people can comment on your posts. You can even use these things called "tags" to organize your entries into custom categories."

I have to preface my recommendations with "Based on my experience in advising on online content related matters..." since I'm not sure I want my clients to know that I blog. Or use the term "blog" as a verb, for that matter. It's sort of neat to have to provide blog-related legal advice, but there really is no case law on the specific subjects on which I'm asked to advise. This is where the legal profession becomes somewhat of an art form that is involves a certain amount of divination--cast your stones out and see what the pattern yields.

It's True about A Mother's Work Not Ever Being Done

Happy Mom's day to all of the mommies out there. My mom's day morning consisted of being woken up early and being presented with handmade cards (from both The Gov and Conan), breakfast bagels and white chocolate mocha, and now I'm allowed time to laze around on teh intarweb.

Ack! I spoke too soon. I heard Conan say "I'm going to take a little break." "From what?" you might ask. From occupying His Honor, of course. It'll be about 1.4 minutes until the latter comes upstairs, beginning an earnest plea with "Mommy, mommy, MOMMY!" *sigh*

Speed Counseling

There was a 2-hour stretch this afternoon where I felt like I was doing that speed dating thing, only instead of trying to impress someone of the opposite sex, I was trying to give the best legal advice I could give within 25.4 minute increments of time. Dial one conference call number, wait for everyone to join, listen to the scenario, provide advice, make sure everyone understands the implications of not following said advice. Repeat. Repeat again. Not sure how I managed to do it, but I called my boss somewhere during that 2-hour time frame and asked him a question.

It's such a stark contrast to my work experience from 2 years ago, where I could sit in my office amid stacks of file folders, 10-Ks, and memo drafts and not talk to anyone the entire day. There would be days when my phone would not ring at all--because I wasn't the person to whom the clients were directed to talk. And actually speaking to the clients was such a big production--it was the time of the pre-meeting meeting (billed, of course, to the client account). So strange indeed.

I got my copy of Keri Smith's Living Out Loud and have started reading it. I want to be able to consider my work play and to enjoy it. I know there's so much potential for me in the job-I just need to give myself direction. Still working on that.

Things You Don't Want to Hear In the Hallway of a Law Firm or Legal Department

A woman on her cellphone: (gasp) "That's illegal! You could go to jail for that!"

Sun on Skin

The sun on skin in the springtime is just too hard to resist, so I had to take a quick jaunt to Trader j0e's at lunch today. I wish I had more natural sunlight in my office, but that's the downside of going in-house. Window spots are reserved for revenue generators, and not cost centers.

There's something about the springtime that's just delicious. Leaving for work today, I spotted a cardinal and 2 robins livin' it up on the fenceposts in my front yard. I bought some daffodil buds at the store. Stretched my legs, which now end at heeled-sandal clad feet. Some good stuff.

Inhouse/Outhouse

For my friends contemplating post-law school careers, this "article" by a prominent attorney search firm was recently linked on the in-house board in the Greedy Associates boards. I'm posting it not necessarily because the rationale for choosing a Biglaw firm over an in-house gig is valid--in fact, there are a significant number of assertions that are wrong based on my experience this past year. However, at the very least it gives you pause to consider whether going in-house is right for you. After working in-house for over a year, I can say that the choice has been a really good one.

The point of the article is to take all of the widely-touted benefits of going in-house and refuting them one by one based on anecdotal information. Frankly, I am very surprised that the article's writers did not assume that when speaking to an audience composed of lawyers, something stated as a "fact" should be supported as one in the form of solid evidence. The article contains certain "estimations" that are not explained or attributed in any manner to any data set, and so I personally find them very difficult to explain.

There are some interesting points in the article that made me think about what recommendations I would make to folks considering switching from private practice to in-house. They would be the following:

1. Don't go in-house until you are confident that you have either the level of knowledge about your practice area to make an accurate rapid risk or legal assessment. May times, clients will call you with urgent requests and you will be expected to advise on the spot or within a few hours' time. It's true that you can give an initial assessment and then follow up after speaking to colleagues or confirming your advice, but you need to have things wrapped up in a very short period of time.

2. In the alternative, if you are planning on using your existing skills to leverage to a different practice area (or to a position that will require you to become more of a generalist), firm up the resources that you need to get things done comprehensively and quickly. Gather up your sources and having them immediately accessible or rely heavily on new and old colleagues.

3. Accept that you will make a lot of mistakes initially as you learn how to advise clients in the in-house context. Learn from them. Try not to dwell on them. Move on.

4. Learn to say "no." Not in the sense of "no, you can't do this," but rather "no, I can't get to this tonight. I want to think it over and provide a better assessment tomorrow morning when my brain isn't so fried from the constant flow of requests from you and the other 40 clients that called or emailed me today."

5. Think about what it means to "counsel" in the corporate context. You are part of a service organization, and your role is to help the business meet its objectives in a legal, ethical, and responsible manner. Your advice might consist of legal advice one minute, and a combination of business and legal advice another. You balance legal and business interests and you should be cognizant of what your client is trying to accomplish, and why.

6. Be realistic about what your experiences will be as an in-house attorney. I can tell you that it's not the panacea for all that might ail mid-level Biglaw associates. You are not going to leave at 5 p.m. every day. Your day may be just as stressful, but in a different way. You will have clients that constantly push back on your advice. And lastly, you may not be the final word when it comes to the eventual decision. True, you're a pretty important piece of the puzzle, but again, your role is to counsel, to advise, and to help.

There's a lot more that I can say, but it's not particularly formulated. I've been at this job for just a little while, and maybe my perspective will change as I go through this experience, but in taking all of the above in mind, I'd say I'm pretty happy.

Space

What is it about space that's so cravable? Space to spread out your things. Space to run through. Space between you and the significant other after you have a fight. Space above your head in the form of a cathedral foyer setting. Space punctuated by rich, medium stain hardwood floors. Space, space, space.

Is it enough to make one move halfway across the country, where more space can be had for the same mortgage payment? When you're an introvert who craves space around herself just to recharge, it can be a particularly important thing to have.

Upside Down

Go see Curious George. It's a great movie--simple, sweet, and fun. You're not going to leave the theater being any wiser or have the secret of life spelled out in the rocks by your feet, but you'll feel good. I recommend buying the soundtrack-bought it last night and played it 3 times in my office today.

Also recommended: my etsy shop. Only 8 items right now and shorter on pictures than I would like, but you owe it to yourself to at least look.

A couple of interesting developments at work-I'm still digesting them mentally, and I'll write a little later about them when I've come to terms with them.

From this Side of The Content-O-Meter

PJ posted about personal discontent in the legal profession, so I thought I would offer my thoughts as a biglaw "refugee" and see if it adds anything to the discussion.

I've seen a couple of colleagues transform from people who led very happy, fulfilling careers to people who are basically powerless to move from bad, professional situations. I also have a really great former colleague who is happy as a clam and up to his ears in work. I think it is very difficult to have something that resembles a sane "work-life balance" if you are a mom and in private practice, and among other things, that's the reason I left.

There were times when private practice was exceedingly fulfilling. I had a great boss who placed a very heavy emphasis on family balance and often worked from home when it suited him. He had great relationships with his daughters and his wife, but was also pretty well respected. He also wanted really cared about professional development. However, I made a choice to follow a different boss to a different law firm, and without going into more, he had a different set of priorities.

Billable Hour drives the law firm economy, and with it one's myopic sense of self-respect and respect for others: "He just billed my first 80 hour week." "I billed 300 hours in November, and can actually take a vacation around Christmas and not feel guilty about it." Within the first week of arriving at a firm, you pretty much know which associates bill in a "healthy range."

Being down on billable work makes people resort to some pretty underhanded tactics. I've seen people twist realities around-not merely overbilling, but other, more serious tactics. It seems so silly and a little sad when I think about these things, but at the time it was pretty serious. Ironically, when people from the private side ask me how my work is going, I often inadvertently end up saying something like "If I wanted to, I could probably "bill" a 14-hour day." That is true, but I don't want to. Not anymore.

I admire the biglaw attorneys who have these great interests outside of their jobs-the ones who play in symphonies and show up on game shows or manage to write things other than rebuttal briefs. I think it's necessary because these things remind you that you're not a set of numbers (client file, annual billable hour total, .10 of an hour).

I honestly think that happiness can be achieved, but you have to not invest your self-worth in the Billable Hour concept. Whether that means having a boss and colleagues that don't, or being able to distance yourself from it when you go home at night is really up to you.

The One Where She Visualizes

The Governor has really taken to watching Project Runway with me. In fact, I had to immediately cease watching my DVR'ed "On Thin Ice" episode after I had put him to bed-he had come down and caught me in the act. He knows my favorite is Nick, and was simply pleased to be sitting on my lap at the PC this morning, watching along with me as I streamed the designers' audition videos.

How I've gotten along for 6 years as a practicing attorney without the staple whiteboard in my office, I can't imagine. Of all the people I know, I am the most visual. People say a random smattering of words and a vivid picture forms in my mind. You know how parents of high schoolers always have to have a window sticker in on their cars advertising their kids' activities? You know, the window stickers that run across the bottom of the SUV back window, advertising "Knights Football" or "Tiger Rugby," or "Blowfish Lacrose" or whatever in all caps? Last year, we were following a van that had a "Bulldog Cheerleading" and I burst out laughing. The thought of those pudgy, squat doggies in skimpy polyester pleated skirts, their rolls of fat spilling out the top still follows me wherever I go.

Anyway, my assistant finally ordered me one. I'm excited. I get to flow chart my way through my days until my heart's content. Hopefully it'll help me organize my days-they're in desperate need of sorting.

Not a Player, I Just Crush A Lot

Apparently, you're never too young for your first crush.

Cupid has made an early visit to a certain four ("and a half!!") year old, which should give us an early start in bracing ourselves for the onslaught of teenage lust/angst that will hit our humble family like a maelstrom in just a couple handful of years. The Gov. apparently has the hots for one of his female classmates, and is happy just to be near her when she's using the computer in after care. He is reported to get perturbed when he cannot sit next to her at lunch. The boy does have good taste-the girl in question is quite cute and very sweet. I just wasn't prepared for affairs of the heart so early. But hey, if he's enjoying the tugs on his heartstrings, that's fine with me.

Also, you're never too old for crushes either. This is particularly evident if you work at a company whose office buildings are pretty much teeming with attractive twenty-ish/thirty-ish people. Some of these not-too-shabby folks happen to be my clients. One of my colleagues has actually commented on the various array of cute men that seem to visit my office for legal advice. I think really there are just a couple, but they do make the work environment quite, er, interesting.

I don't have a "work boyfriend" though. You know, that guy with whom you spend a substantial amount of your 8.76 workday hours. You have chemistry with this person, but would never admit it because you work with him/are married or in a relationship with someone else. But you would have to have chemistry, or you else wouldn't be able to spend the amount of time that you do with him without going absolutely bonkers. Your work worlds intersect frequently, and part of the reason that you accomplish a lot on those projects-is because you just plain like the guy.

I'm starting to think that folks who enjoy their work actually enjoy (in part) being around their co-workers. We value interaction and I think we as human hunger for relationships. Certainly, the work itself has to be fulfilling and enjoyable, but I'm not so sure that accomplishment by itself is enough to keep someone in the same job for over 10 years.

Burden of Persuasion

If it may please the court, I would like to enter into the record the following evidence intended to prove that a man's smile is by far his sexiest attribute:

Exhibit 1

I Go To Work

Business travel and the working mom-who knew it created this incredible, gaping, hungry void that you fall into and don't ever seem to escape? It's been two days since my Friday night flight back from the new "home office" and I can't seem to feel rested at all. Of course, I know I've got this mountain of work to return to and all of those neat follow-up tasks that result from business meetings brimming in the back of my mind (not helping).

The pros of business travel: don't have to cook. Don't have to walk the dog. Don't have to make breakfast for toddler. Don't have to try and wake up slumbering spouse four (4) times. Wake up in quiet, clean hotel room with newspaper outside your door. Can read 3/4 of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince on plane uninterrupted. Meet new clients and co-workers.

The cons of business travel: forget critical items (BlackBerry USB cord). Miss young child who gives fantastic hugs. Can't get evening hugs and kisses from cute husband. Dehydration from travel. Work piles up. Don't have jersey-knit sheets and pillowtop bed.

Close Your Eyes and...

Yesterday, I brought home to have framed a promotional poster given to me by one of my very dear clients. I knew what it generally looked like (seeing as I approved it) I hadn't really studied it too closely until now. Depicted on it is four vacationers jumping gleefully off of a steep rock into what should be sufficiently deep water (I hope).

It's the perfect poster for my office, since it depicts my approach to career development. I'm forever jumping into things, with mostly my intuition to guide me. I applied to jobs because I "liked" the description and the company. I made the switch to a different group because, after thinking about things, it simply "felt" like the best choice. I always depending on this quirky thing called faith when I try and pre-determine whether or not I'll land safely. You can have me draw out as many charts and pros-and-cons lists, but I'll only decide when I reach this innate comfort level. And then, whole-heartedly and with little to lose...I'll jump.

Feelin' So Gifted/Suga How'd You Get So Fly

I used to want closure and resolution as much as possible.

And then, I found out that the more I pursued those things...the less they seemed likely.

So I put to rest that particular quest for the most part, and began enjoying the uncertainty and the ambiguities that seem to make life fun and extremely enjoyable. I've become happier with myself and my life when I'm just plain trying not to worry to much about uncovering the "whys" and "hows."

These past couple of days, I've been going round in my head on coming to an internal "resolution" with certain feelings-and came to the conclusion that it is preferrable to leave certain questions unanswered. It's also just perfectly fine not to air those feelings and let the current situation continue. So here is me, just...continuing.

It's Not What She "Is"

I shouldn't feel too guilty about playing half-hooky tomorrow. I'd spent a good four hours this afternoon at the office cleaning off my "review" plate and emptying out my inbox, and there isn't a lot left, save long-term projects that I could pick up on Tuesday afternoon. But still, I subject myself to the completely irrational belief that my employer will fire me if I lag behind slightly to attend to my personal and family needs over the next couple of days.

I've become the girl whose job has engulfed her.

Make no mistake about it-I enjoy my job and I'm not half bad. But the sheer amount of work-related entries on this blog scares me. It is horribly out of balance to me. Perhaps my work is so important to me because I've been trying so hard for the past couple of years to slowly heal up the chip on my shoulder from my previous job-the one where my boss would whittle away at my self worth. Or perhaps it's because when I look at myself in the mirror, the reflection blurs itself-sometimes I see a beautiful girl, and sometimes I see someone whose plainness just subsumes her. And that ambiguity makes me turn to my job and my motherhood as things to be "good at," for I'm not "good at" looking any sort of striking.

But this is not good, and it causes me some amount of unnecessary stress. So tommorrow will be capped with a new resolution: tomorrow, save for a couple of phone calls, I'll spend the morning relaxing with Q, and then roll into work at 1 and wipe the slate semi-clean. And then on Tuesday, repeat. I won't let my job (regardless of how good it is) own me, at least not these next couple of days.

You May Find Yourself Behind The Wheel of a Large Automobile

That's two seasons on the The Apprentice where the "men's" team assumed they would win the ad-campaign-promoting-the-sports-car challenge...but failed miserably. It irks me that men assume they have the capacity to know more about cars just because they are men. It's just like football to me-cars are a vehicle for male bonding, and men have the tendency to learn more about cars because they sit around talking about horsepower. But just because you are male doesn't give you the right to be elitist about the capacity to actually know more about cars. I've found this attitude to be one that persist, and it pisses me off.

I used to moderate a car forum, and when I'd say stuff, it took a long time for the men there to give me some credibility. It often took other members chiding a newbie by saying "[insert my user name here] knows more than 90% you guys, so shut it."

The partners at my law firm would talk raw horsepower, but when I chided in to factor in weight-to-power ratios, they'd go on talking. These days, I bore my clients half to death when I tell them how excited I am about my brake pad and springs install that's hopefully going to take place soon. Believe me, I'm not as knowledgeable as some, and I "married into" the car enthusiast realm, but I know some of my shit. But still, I get the same treatment if I jump in when men around me are talking cars. So why is it that men are still so uncomfortable about women knowing something about cars? The only answer I can come up with is the simplest one: Ego.

Perplexing

Coming home completely mortified and collapsing into complete sobs is simply not a good look for me. I will have to change that. But hey, when a senior VP who doesn't know you points you out to a crowd full of your clients, it can be extremely perplexing. If I wasn't so tan, I would have been purple for a couple of hours. After that happened yesterday, I cruised under the radar screen today and tried not to stir too much shit.

The Governor is making a good cross-examiner of daily situations I'd never really thought about until asked. "Why does your car only carry 4 people? Do dogs have blood under their skin? Does your car go faster than an SUV?," so on and so forth. I think Conan is a little exasperated by the constant questioning, although he has been known to deal in the interrogation technique quite handily. His own medicine (see "piece of"), indeed.

Present Location

I'm in this weird in-between land at work, and it's making me a bit lonely. I think people are a little reticient to approach me about some things, and when that happens, I start to ponder through all of the reasons why. I never realized just how much baggage I carry around with me until one of my mentors pointed out to me that I sound overwhelmed and under the gun a lot. I think perhaps I put myself there. I semi-obsessed about a comma that wasn't supposed to be in an email I sent last night, but that was left over from a sentence fragment long-deleted in my quest for legal precision. Ah, the irony. Hits you like a wet washcloth, making you feel droopy and unfresh.

Work is quite busy-if I wanted to, I could just put my blinders on and concentrate on just getting things taken care of and keeping my head above water. And I could do "just fine." But I don't want to do "just fine." I want to be a rock star, like the Remote Boss. I want to be known for clarity, creativity, and dependability. They don't call my position "counsel" for nothing. I'm supposed to counsel people, to provide assistance and knowledge and help them iron out their problems. But I can't counsel when I feel doubtful about my analysis. And I find myself doubting myself too often than should be necessary. I have to proactively start working my way out of this bog, because it's sucking me into ineffectiveness.

Shall I Pick Up Your Dry Cleaning On The Way Home?

Having clients with the same first name as your husband can sometimes create confusion.

When most clients call me at work, they do not usually like greeted with "Hi, honey." Er, at least they shouldn't. They really shouldn't.

Choices

"It's nice to have choices," they murmur when there is nothing left to say. I feel like I'm rubbing smooth a two-sided stone, looking at one side, and then the other, flipping it back and forth between my hands. There's only so much rubbing that can be done, and eventually I must choose what side I like best-and leave it alone.

The result of the nine-month project on which I'd been working, this two-sided stone is what I carry around in my pocket at work. I show it to my husband, and try my best to describe it to my son. "Look," I say, "and tell me what side you like best." My loving husband, calm and rational yet biased in his perspective, tells me what side he likes and provides an exposition as to why one side's smoothness and calmness appeals to him. My son, while he does not understand, shrugs and picks one, just because.

I made my choice, and I am comfortable with it. It isn't without some sadness that I opted for change. Not an overwhelming move, and not necessarily one that may end up making a huge difference in the long run, but it's definitely a change. I feel happy about it, but I can also hear doubt in people's voices. Still, I think there is room to grow. I like my new bosses. And I think I also have much to teach them as well.

I ain't saying she a gold digger...

Conan has been spending a couple of hours each night doing research to help his cousin, who last weekend found out that his wife put their family in debt to the tune of half a cool mil. That's right, 500K-at least that's the figure for now. Apparently, she had falsified savings and checking account statements, never paid off their sons' tuition, bought new cars and furniture, and refinanced their new house at least a couple of times.

She was able to dupe friends that were notaries into attesting to her fakes of his signature. There is are a handful of federal felonies of which she is guilty. But the worst crime in my opinion isn't something that is contained in any federal or state criminal code--it's the taking of money from her three sons. She apparently dug into their savings accounts too--which to me makes her sad, pathetic individual and completely unfit to parent. She checked herself into a hospital, and I think she is perhaps hoping to dupe everyone into sympathizing with her. But how can you sympathize with someone who falsifies financial information, commits mail fraud, and steals from their own children?

Rambling Train-of-Thought Things

Excuse the lack of entries-between Katrina, happenings in Conan's side of the family, and finally having a little down time I've been on the introspective side these days. That's supposed to lead to journal ponderings on life subjects, a la life's true meaning and whatnot, right?

The big problem is that there's so much swirling around in this head of mine that I can't get it untangled enough to even start a consistent enough train of thought to even compel me to write it down. It's sort of like when you don't sort out your jewelry and your necklaces become this tangled mass of gold and silver chain studded with daisy charms and beads. You spy the perfect necklace twisted in with the rest, and while you start trying to pick it out with a toothpick inserted into the mess, you end up getting frustrated with the whole thing and pick out that standard pair of neutral go-with-everything earrings instead. Then, you just shrug your shoulders, look in the mirror and think "it'll go," and head out the door.

It's been like that, except I haven't felt entirely that great about my looks. I shouldn't have tried on that end-of-summer-sale bikini last night. I didn't look atrocious in it, but my body image issues took over in that sparse dressing room. Most days, I'm happy with my body, its post partum stretchmarks and all. Honestly, I could pull off a bikini-but when I look at myself in the mirror, the "I could stand to be a little more toned in certain areas," litany starts running. Don't love it, but it's been enough to start me being better at exercising lately.

More Ack

In the 10 minutes that I actually have free right now, I'm just posting to tell myself to remember to act like a mature, responsible adult-and not a little school girl or (in the alternative) teenager. There is currently some dirt-kicking amongst various people with whom I share my little corner of the playground, but politics (in the general sense) can be played various ways. I will not throw any tantrums.

I also will do my best to not act like a dork around cute office eye candy. But then again, I'm pretty much a hopeless case anyway on the "acting like a dork" front. Attempts to stop that train became fruitless a long time ago.

Off-Kilter

I've been walking around the past couple of days feeling concave. When there is something that resonates in your heart and makes you happy, you become hyperfocused, often to the point of distraction. But then, you know that reality makes things either impossible or not without consequences. That's when your defense mechanisms kick in, and start the process of removing that thing in bits and pieces. For a while, you start to miss that little resonance, and the rest of you dances around it and you feel odd and slightly out of place. Sure, over time you just get used to it, and that little space fills back up again. But before that, you feel like there's this little thing missing, making you feel a little off balance, at least for a little while until your wordl re-corrects itself. I should be used to it by now, but it always gets me, every time.

Subtle Shifts

I've been practicing a certain type of balanced assertiveness lately. I've stopped making apologies for my recommendations-out the window is the whole "sorry I have to do this, but..." business. I provide my advice, and if they don't like it, they can call me and discuss. I'm happy to account for business interests and revise my recommendations accordingly. The part of this in-house gig that takes getting used to is providing legal advice with very little turnaround time. I would love to hit the books and find comfort in case law these days, but that opportunity simply does not happen. In many ways, sometimes I feel like I went in-house too early-the transition from being the "hidden analyst" who performs the intricate machinations of dissecting fact patters to becoming the front-line respondent to client questions definitely takes some getting used to.

That Little Voice Inside Says...

I haven't been taking criticism very well at my job. My current boss does what he can to be constructive and helpful, but I still feel a twinge of embarassment for myself whenever my mistakes are pointed out to me. I don't have the best time swallowing my lumps. I do learn my lessons and listen to the things that people are saying-but it is only after I push my initial feelings of inadequacy out of the way.

After spending almost two years with a boss who watered the initial seeds of inadequacy, it's hard to pull out those overgrown weeds ever since I've switched to a new set of bosses and co-workers who really just want the best for me. It's a little pathetic, but now that a huge project has finished, I can turn my attention to actually feeling competent-for a change.

I'm guilty to the simple sin of doubting my own ability. My recommendations always end in a question mark-"is this okay with you?" I can sense my own reticience when providing advice. I got into this self-demeaning habit when working for Gecko. There was always someone-whether it was actual him or another associate-who questioned my work. Sometimes it was subtle. Sometimes it was outrageous. But always it hammered away at my own feelings of competence.

I think my current boss is trying to help me at least re-establish that competence, at least to our clients. I think he's hoping that the real deal will follow soon. I do too-and I've decided to just start acting like the attorney that M. and others have always told me I was, and stop the bullshit legacy and Gecko, C., and others have left planted in my brain. I led investigations when I was just 2 years out of law school-why shouldn't I leave my feelings of inadequacy behind?

In a Nutshell

Lunch today consisted of me coming home and bawling my eyes out, wiping them dry, re-applying my makeup, and eating a cold pasta salad.

I then returned to work.

Everyone tells me I need to "grow a thicker skin" and that I take my work too personally. The funny thing is that I am good at what I do because I put my heart into it. And it fulfills me and makes me an interesting person. Of course I take criticism personally. But I'm supposed to act like I don't because people take advantage of the "weak," whatever that means.

So I guess add that to the list of hypocritical standards that I'm supposed to meet.

Pre-weekend tally

Number of work-related calls after I left work this evening: 4

Number of items to review and comment on by Monday morning: 4

Folders with background information: 2

Tantrumy child: 1

Tantrumy husband: 1

Tantrumy self: 0-er, I mean 1.

The Only Thing Certain: Uncertainty

one of my mentors called me last week, and since he's been going through a transition at his job, i asked how things were going.

"Miserable," he said, after a pause of about 2.45 seconds. He then explained that they'd been quite busy, which I'd known already: most inside-the-Beltway practitioners in our area have a habit of already knowing things like this. We couldn't really talk, since he had to take a transatlantic call that he'd been expecting, but I've been wondering how he is doing.

Many of my former colleagues have been swamped to the gills, and I guess we're all dealing with some of the same types of things. But in many ways, I don't have a lot of people to talk to about my current work. There is a risk of confidentiality--everyone is extremely close-knit and if I inadvertently leak some bit of information, it gets passed along a chain of communications. They funny thing is that all of it is inadvertent: we all want to keep each other apprised of how our friends are doing, and the status of a particular project or sometimes even one's temporary mental state can be quite telling.

The other thing is that there are only a handful of peole who know about the specific balance between "everyday" work and "big project" work that I try to accomplish. And all of those people are managers or co-workers of mine. If I were to vent about it a bit, I would wonder if it would affect my reviews. Not that I need help in that area--sometimes I feel like I'm just bumbling along in my job, making mistake after mistake. Nobody ever tells you before "transitioning" that this form of practice is hard too: while there are none of stresses than those that accompany private practice, there are still stresses. Fucking up so that the lesson sticks with you like quality jasmine rice is really the only way to learn this job. I got thrown into the deep end since day 1, and I still can't tell if I've learned to tread water. The clients all seem to like me, regardless of the amount of times I'd forgotten to send the redlined document, so I think I may be doing something right. But deep in my gut, I feel that I'm really not quite sure.

I haven't felt the urge to make any jewelry lately, although there is a necklace that I need to photograph for PrincessJeanne. I haven't written much, and I haven't sewn in a very, very long time. The human experiement of creativity is not yielding very good results, but it's not one that I'm going to scrap just yet.

To Wit: Wit

I was asked last minute to give a quick-and-dirty presentation to about 35 executives this morning to help them kick of their meeting. I am such a nerd because one of the first things that I said was how much I loooved working at my company because everyone was fairly young, and therefore it "made things fun."

After I rolled my eyes and said, "likeomigod," I'm sure they were thrilled that I was one of their legal representatives.

My favorite break-the-ice tactic is to acknowledge my own youthful appearance. Not in the "I drink from the fountain of youth" way--more the "don't ask me if I'm alone and where my parents are" way. I did the same this morning, and as expected they all laughed. But they may have been laughing because my words were an accurate description of what they were thinking.

Tasty

If I was the "missed connection" recipient/target in this craigslist MC post, I would be thinking "mmm....120 empanadas....how can I get them without him looking?"

Maybe she was being flirty as a distraction? What would you do for 120 empanadas? In my opinion, it's worth a little showing of the leg.

So She Ponders

Transmogriflaw is pondering the return to work after having been off due to the birth of her son. I posted a comment in it, but the entry has really made me think about how much success in the legal profession should really play in someone's life, particularly if that someone happens to be a mom.

"The private side isn't for everyone," I told my friend Junior today when he called. "If you are someone whose self-esteem hinges on things besides your job and money, you might have issues with working at a firm." I was lucky in some respects to find good mentors here and there--people who just wanted to be good lawyers and wanted me to be a good lawyer too. People that gave me chances, and knew my capabilities. People whose emails would appear at 10 p.m. on my BlackBerry screen, but did not expect an answer until later that week, but got them from me the next morning.

For the longest time, I clung desperately to the notion that I could conquer firm life with competence. For a while, it worked because I had great bosses, and because my past experience provided me with additional background and credibility. But law firm partners are human, regardless of what mental promotions beyond this state they may accord themselves. Humans..they aren't always inclined to reward competence, particularly if they have other priorities. If this only happened occasionally, I could mentally assign it the "anomaly" label and move on. But it didn't happen occasionally-it happened frequently. I didn't want the stress of negotiating landmines with the complex weight of motherhood strapped to my back.

And so I made other arrangements. It took some time, energy, and blows to my ego, but I finally landed. I've begun the process of re-building my self-esteem, but I am a far way off from feeling right about myself. The problem with this current job is that mistakes must be made--that really is the only way to learn. But mistakes are the catalysts of endless internal dialogues concerning competence. I'm trying, really trying not to let it get to me--but invariably it does.

Slipping Through the Cracks

Conan notices at lunch today that I am distracted, much like yesterday. This weekend is one for re-focusing. A part of me has come to terms with being one of those typical professional women whose self-esteem is rooted very much in her job performance. It's become less so since The Governor waltzed his funny little round-and-round, frenzied polka into my life. However since my job is mine and mine alone, I've put so much stock in it.

Work is extremely busy. In addition to my regular tasks, I was asked to assist in a big project that was, from the beginning, a Very Big Deal. Lately, there has been an onslaught of tasks in that Very Big Deal. So many details, so many questions. And my "regular" work continues to pile on. Wednesday, I caught errors that I didn't catch before from the team that has continuously asked for very short deadlines. Thursday, I got some criticism that was really meant to be constructive. Friday, I spent most of the day humbled and quietly ashamed by my very own desire to be Miss Perfect. And yesterday and today I have been wondering how to reduce my error margins.

There are practical answers to the questions imposed during my self-inquisition to be sure. Even I know what they are: use my Task list more, give myself five more minutes to double check my reviews, and read through my emails one last time before transmittal. However, there is that nagging sense of being "terribly imperfect" that stems from the combination of the sacrifices my parents made for my education, and being put through the wringer during the time I spent working for Gordon Gekko. It makes this professional adolescence a little more painful for me.

We are all so busy at work, all so tired, and so things fall through the cracks when we are asked to do things on short notice. Yet strangely, this explanation I give to my clients just doesn't satisfy my disappointment with myself. Really, the only thing is to learn, press on, and try not to take it personally. Yet for me, the latter really can't be helped.

Lucky Girl

Looks like Zhang Ziyi got the coveted role of Nitta Sayuri in the film version of Memoirs of a Geisha. Mameha will be played by Michelle Yeoh.

Just A Boy

We sat down on the dusty steps of an East Village brownstone, and at 10:42 on a Tuesday night 10 years ago, he told that he loved me. As the taxis crawled by and folks began to walk in packs to Webster Hall, my insides felt like dancing, bursting to the sky. He loves me, he loves me-and not just because the song said so.

He told me this in the midst of him revealing his parents knowledge of my also being in New York for the summer. I’d followed this boy to the city after having graduated magna cum laude from a fine institution with Ivy League envy. I’d done something my mom had always told me never to do: I followed a boy.

A boy to whom I’d had no formal commitment, just really a terribly strong attraction that was mutual (for a change). He’d gotten an internship in the IT department of a top I-bank for the summer. I’d gotten a year-long fellowship to start in the fall, and I really didn’t have much to do that summer, except enjoy it. That last year of college, I’d become very good friends with a girl who lived there-among other tests of friendship, we’d broken into a frat boy’s room and drank his good champagne. I once thought she was kind of a slut, but then changed my mind—because you, see, I was kind of slut myself. Of course, not that I’d admit that to anyone else. And besides, I was only mildly slutty. So naturally, I’d wanted to also see hang out with her that summer too.

It’s a testament to my argumentative skills that my parents let me go, seeing as they knew the said boy was also going to be there. But they gave me a check to cover my expenses for my first couple of weeks, and set me on a plane to New York. I stayed with my friend for the first week, paid for coffee with the $100 bill my parents had given me (strange, I know), ate $4.95 pasta with a $30 bottle of wine, shopped for used jeans, rode the 6, and just got used to the smell of garbage on the street.

The boy arrived one week later. I met him at La Guardia, and we spent the next couple of days with our arms wrapped around each other, getting over the shock of negotiating human sidewalk traffic, buildings that extended to the sky, and steel and concrete that stretched out for miles. He was from a small, Midwestern town and so every observance was punctuated with slight disbelief.

One night, after we’d experienced the joy of waiting for a table at a trendy SoHo restaurant, we stopped on the walked back to his East Village digs. I forget what introduced the topic, we sat down on the step. “I’m pretty sure,” he began, “I love you.”

. Earlier, he’d sung “You Are My Sunshine,” faltering slightly at You’ll never know dear/how much I love you, and while I didn’t say anything, I’d wondered what he felt when he sang those words. But it was there, sitting on the dusty doorstep of someone else’s home, that I’d felt that it was worth the time and expense to indulge the expense and the risk of following.

I landed a great temporary job that tided me over for the entire summer. We discovered a format for a project that got him rock star intern status at his i-bank. We learned to rollerblade in Battery Park. I discovered that my body simply didn’t like nonoxynol-9. We discovered tiramisu in Little Italy and a small, out-of-the-way seafood café a block up from my rented room. We talked while his tightey-whites polka-danced with my cheap polyester panties in the front-loading washing machine at the Laundromat one block north from my place. We danced at Nell’s. And in the midst of it all, we had a relationship. We had fights, got jealous. We dropped off dry-cleaning, and picked it up 24 hours later. And of all things, I’d experienced my first taste of real life. Not the idealized, out-of-focus life of college (where there was always another boy to like, a class to get an A in by doing an extra project, or friends that you could substitute in and out of your life), but the basic hum-drum and rhythm of everyday work and everyday love.

We ended up going our separate ways after the summer ended-he back to school (he was a junior), and me to move forward with the rest of my life. There were many things to come, including finding the one who would actually become my husband, finding that I had space in my heart for two loves, wending my way through five years of possibly the best career I could imagine for myself, and finally coming to a place in my life where I know where I am. But yes, I was “weak” at one point in my life, and I followed a boy. But that was when I started to know what “real” life was about.

Imitation is to Flattery; as...

Everyone who comments on The Manolo's blog, they feel compelled to assume his writing style. Understandable, since it is quite infectious, no?

Oh Ye Of Some Amount of Faith

I’d always contended that things “always happen for a reason” whenever something unexpected and otherwise unexplained happened to me. Getting pregnant with The Governor was one thing. Meeting a certain person who had no other real purpose in my life but to give me a much needed ego boost was another. Finally, not getting that “perfect job” in a small, secluded lakeside town the Midwest town last September was the last significant unexplained happening to leave its indelible mark on these past four years of my life.

Yet, when it comes to actually identifying those reasons, one can never be too sure.

For instance, perhaps The Governor’s existence cemented mine and Conan’s relationship because he gave us a life which required us to dig in and commit ourselves to having something solid to the point of near-tangibility binding us. Or perhaps he came along because I need to grow past who I was five years ago, and to perhaps put my career goals into much needed perspective. Four years after his birth, is still too short of a time to be able to assess his mark on my life.

Now the Southern Gentlemen—I’m still mystified with this one. To be honest, I still think a bit about him, and the memories haven’t necessarily been buried away, and in fact they are still slightly implanted in my brain, much like the stretchmarks I have on my inner thighs from my pregnancy. To be sure, they are quite faint. For what its worth, he bears a certain resemblance to Jesse Brinkley on The Contender.

Which accounts for the very real fascination, on my part and the need to watch NBC on Sunday nights. Such sweet, pathetic fascination-so apparently strong that it has yet to just go away. But one could say that I needed his influence and its effects on my psyche, and allowed me to see that I was just too good to be treated so poorly by my workplace colleagues. Or that I was attractive to some.

I don’t think I’ll ever be the same again, I told him late in our friendship, right before his presence in my life reduced itself to mere memories.

Who really knows what all of these things “mean?” And why do I persist in having them mean something at all? Because I am someone who persists in having faith, but not merely faith in religion or any sort of idiomatic philosophy. I have faith in the general sense: I need to trust in the unseen and unproven. And I need that faith, particularly when it comes to me. I need to have faith many days just to continue working without collapsing at my desk in exasperation at the twentieth thing I did wrong. I need to have faith that I can do this whole mommy-thing, after The Governor has worked his way around my attempts to convince him to please go to bed (his logic is infallible these days). It is a necessary, critical factor in my daily survival.

Probably the only time I’ll truly get to discern the meaning of it may be when I’m old and arthritic and have the benefit of years and years of good old plain living. But for now, I think I’m okay with my little bucket of faith.

Musings from the Hallway Office

It's always a good idea to let vindaloo settle in your stomach before hopping on the treadmill, correct? I'm not procrastinating, I'm just...protecting my esophagus.

I've entered the uneasy, uncomfortable adolescent stage that comes after you've gotten situated in a new job and people start coming to you for advice and counseling. But as my boss says, the only real way that you can learn is to just start taking ownership and don't be afraid to make mistakes. But having come from a job where getting your self-esteem eroded on a daily basis, I'm more inclined to feel poorly about making mistakes.

I think that's the thing that's so hard about this whole gig. I analogized my daily doings to shepherding a running herd of cattle in a general direction, without knowing whether I'm sending them over a cliff into a dismal abyss of legally questionable activities. And to make matters more confusing, my legal "spidey senses" are not yet developed in this area, since it's a relatively new one for me. I have made some wrong calls lately, and I have to learn to be fine with that and learn from that. I do learn from it, it's just that it takes a while for me to be "fine with it."

It makes it easier, however, that I have nice eye candy to distract me. No specific eye candy in particular, it's just that as a whole, my company is relatively attractive. Some hotties up in herre. That also push the phat rides, judging from the view from the corridor outside my office. I really shouldn't complain.

Time to Read That Thread

Time to enlist those "coping strategies" that we all know and love, for the mother in-law will be swooping in to visit for a week starting on Friday. She comes armed to the gills with coma-inducing sugar, annoyingly high-pitched voices, and enough delusion to make you question your own grip on reality. I think that my greatest annoyance is that I cannot change her or her attitude towards what makes people happy, or perhaps get her to recognize that the things that make her "happy" are not what make me happy. I'm an introvert, having found my solace in a dark corner of my closet with a flashlight and Beverly Cleary at the age of twelve. And frankly, not much has changed about me. I simply don't "do" meaningless conversation because it stresses me the fuck out. Can't stand weather talk, and I think the how's-your sister/brother/parents questions (I prefer to answer all with "fine") are nosy.

So in summary, I do find her to be someone that I wouldn't want to be friends with on a personal level, let alone my mother-in-law. And I stress out for at least a week before she comes and visits because our house is so small and her presence is so big that it seems like she's EVERYWHERE. And she is. She can't be alone by herself. She needs to be where she can talk to people. Talk talk talk. I am little worried since they are going to be with Q during the day for 5 days, but they will get their fix and hopefully go home happy. But I have reservations about the easter basket filled to the sky with sugar and cheesy $1 gifts, but we'll see.

The Governor, in contrast, will probably have a blast. I think he'll be fine. He is so opinionated, even these days. He is starting to develop these "organizational" habits, like always putting his juice in the fridge, and having to turn the TV off ("I wanna doo eet!") when the DVR has finished playing his Dr@gon T@les, or putting all of his trains in neat rows. He asks for "Thirty Kisses," which is this thing we have developed to help him count to thirty. I kiss him thirty times, and he has to count. He picks up on numbers and quantities faster than sounds and letters, but he picks up singing and tunes very well (including the "Scooby-Doo" theme, which I believe he's only heard once or twice, maybe?).

So to summarize: deep. breaths.

Unsolicited Advice

The best lawyers and law students, in my very humble and unsolicited opinion, are the ones that do not take themselves too seriously. I think to really succeed in this profession, you have to want to realize that you don't know everything--and that you can always learn more. I think it's unfortunate that because getting into law school and surviving it, law students are often tempted to think that they are "more intelligent" than everyone else. And frankly, I've given into that temptation a few times, with "few" meaning "more times than I'd care to admit." However, when I think about the things I admire about my favorite current and former bosses, they all seem to possess a certain humility that compels them to want to continue learning, even as they become senior litigators, biglaw partners, and heads of government bureaus.

I enjoyed law school, and I enjoy being a lawyer. It took some experience and determining what really made me happy, but I am thrilled to walk into my company have people barrage me, asking for guidance and advice. I love it that I have only been there but three months, and people think of me first when they need to get something done. I like knowing what "price elasticity" means, and being able to joke with my supervisor about it. A litigation risk calculation tickles my fancy...well partially because I don't have to do the actual litigating itself. I'm just one of those people whose personality fits this little corner of the legal profession in which I sit.

So to those of you who have that question in the back of your minds: yes, it does happen. You can be a lawyer and be fairly happy.

Here, there & everywhere

I am feeling a tad guilty about having withheld posting about supermaggie's sample sale until I made my selections. I'm the proud owner of the Vertical Stripe Scarf in Beach and the Skinny in Stripes. The former is for fun, and the latter is...for fun too (but it also matches my red spring coat). Yess!

The internet is a very strange thing. You can get drawn into all sort of drama online that consumes your mental and emotional energy even when you're not posting on your blog or on a message board. I exchanged some brief heated words with one of the other moderators that I am very close to on a certain message board (not D_igs, since I'm not a Housesitter, natch), and just finally stepped away from visiting there on Thursday. Initially, I wanted to see how and why I'd contributed to the mess. However, since I've not been back for the past few days, I've had all of this emotional and mental energy that I can devote to other things. Such as work. And The Governor and Conan. And laundry (boy do we need it). I figure I'll come back when I am good and ready. I'm not sure when that will be, but since I operate by instinct, I figure those "spidey senses" will kick in whenever that time comes.

I came to the realization that it is time to close down dear-bean, save everything to disc and print it out, and give it to Q. We now talk about all of the things I want to tell him, and I figure I'll use this blog to document our lives together. My emotions and sense of balance hinge partially on my interactions with him, so it makes sense. That doesn't mean I don't experience a little pang of guilt or loss, but in a way, it's time to move on.

In Memory

This past Monday, I helped say good-bye to a friend and mentor in the legal profession. The bits and pieces of what exactly he "meant" in my life come out in dribs and drabs, but he, among other people, helped me focus on the practice as something to enjoy.

He was a one-time clerk for Judge Higginbotham of the Seventh Circuit, and an adept senior litigator for one of the two federal antitrust enforcement agencies. He was the lead attorney on an investigation that I staffed with my mentee. We had so much fun, and we enjoyed ourselves. We learned to research, write, and ask the tough questions, particularly during investigational interviews. I've never seen so many top industry executives excrete so much collective sweat in my entire life.

And he did it with a twinkle in his eye, and a love for teaching the younger attorneys.

I left that agency three years ago, and he continued to be a friend and mentor-and someone that I looked to for guidance. I saw him again at his retirement party, which he thoroughly enjoyed, and I'd heard he had a blast this past year.

We will miss him quite dearly. I hear the sound of The Governor's laughter in the next room, or get my point across to a client in the way she understands, and I understand why these things were so important to him. The best thing to do to honor his memory is to practice law with enthusiasm and integrity, which I am more than happy to do.

What makes us happy

I think as you get older, it becomes the simple things that make you the happiest. Here is a list of things that have been making me happy this past week:

1. New office supplies
2. The Governor's laughter, and his constant insistence that he "won't open the candy" at 7:45 a.m., even though he has been peeling back the wrappers and looking longingly at the contents.
3. Cute boys (e.g., new internet friends that i co-moderate a car forum with).
4. Hearing Conan excited about a new business opportunity that is right up his alley.
5. When someone you respect sticks up for you.
6. When you child asks you for "a lot a lot of kisses."
7. A telephone call from a loved one.
8. Project Runway

Subtext

good old-fashioned Catholic guilt can sometimes work in your favor. if managed properly, it can tend to mitigate potentially bad situations. observe the subtext conversation which actually didn't occur (except inside my head):

EG: Hi Remote Boss-I'm contacting you under a valid pretext, but morbid curiosity and the aforementioned crush is compelling me to send you random communication.

RB: That's okay. I think I'll pretend that I don't see it and get back to you in my extremely lucid way (as always). By the way, your request was confusing, but because I'm smart I've figured it out anyway.

EG: (Face turns red). Oh.

RB: At any rate, I'm referring you to someone else who is also very competent and could probably be of help.

EG: Yeah, that's probably a good idea. I probably shouldn't have sent you that random request. Attraction-type stuff gets really confusing sometimes. Gotta concentrate on my work and family. Besides, nothing would come of it anyway.

RB: Agreed. But you have an asset that everyone wants. Regardless of whether I'd figured out what your actual motivation for contacting me was, I still have to preserve the notion for the both of us that your request was valid, as opposed to merely semi-valid.

EG: Yeah, wouldn't I be e