Grab Bag Of Topics

Oh man, you guys are awesome. There were so many times I wanted to delete the last post. I would start to hyperventilate about what I just did and then a second later I would be convinced that it was no big deal. I know I'm bigger than it. I just need to prove it to myself. And admitting my problem is the first in a long series of steps. The next will likely be telling my husband (he knows about my blog but doesn't read it). I know I should have told him first. I tried. So many times. But it's just so much harder to put everything into words than in text.

On a lighter note, work is crazy this week. Our office manager is out for her honeymoon (I went to my first Muslim wedding, in a mosque, which is a whole 'nother post in itself!). And we are down a paralegal. So those of us remaining slightly resemble headless chickens and have been reduced to doing a lot of unusual admin work.

My days lately are filled with writing and responding to motions, probably my favorite thing about litigation because it includes both legal research and crafting/organizing argument. I was never a very argumentative person and could never have imagined myself in debate club but I increasingly find myself having to argue positions that I don't actually think are that strong. Sometimes I love these challenges the most.

I even get to argue two summary judgment motions, the first one this Friday. We estimate our chance of success at 15%....so yeah, no real pressure there. My boss has insisted that he will come and observe "just in case" and this completely rattles my nerves. It's hard enough to argue in front of a judge and opposing counsel. By noon on Friday, I will feel 100 pounds lighter.

My job requires me to tear apart and criticize statements of other people, craft a retelling of history that is favorable to our side, and put together responsive arguments. It's almost second nature now for me to want to respond critically to everything I hear. My poor kids hear me argue with news radio all the time. Today I even started to dip my toes into a couple of ridiclous Facebook debates (which I usually ignore like the plague- why the heck didn't I just keep scrolling?!). In the middle of one debate about teacher salary (why? oh why? I'm not even a teacher!) I accidentally boarded the wrong ferry boat. I walked onto the boat headed for my home instead of the boat to pick up my children. Luckily I caught the mistake in time and was able to board the correct ferry with 20 seconds to spare. We all made it home somehow.

Because we've been short-staffed this week, I was asked to come into the office everyday rather than my usual three days out of the week. At first I didn't think it would be a big deal. I did it everyday for a year and a half out of lawschool. But halfway through the week, my new schedule is already taking its toll. Mostly, I miss having the extra time with my kids.

When I have to go into the office, I leave my house at 7am in order to get to work at 9am. Then I leave my office at 4:45pm in order to pick up the kids at 6:30pm and get home at 7:30pm (or, if it is my husband's turn to pick up the kids, I take a different ferry and get home at 7pm). Either way, I get only one hour (of non-commute time) with my kids each day. This is not sustainable and I'm suddenly very apprecirative of the flexible arrangment that I worked out with my boss that I usually get to enjoy. This is going to be a very long week. I just need to survive until the three-day weekend...

Step One: I Have An Eating Disorder

I've been hiding a part of me for nearly a decade. Ten years of struggling. I'm terrified to share it now. I haven't told a single soul. But the deeper this secret lies, the easier it is to pretend that everything is normal.

I've spent ten years going out of my way to hide this. So it's very hard to finally share it. For that reason, I've hesistated pushing the "publish" button on this post. I'm afraid for people to know. Afraid of what they will think. I'm also ashamed. And afraid of disgust. All these years I've shrouded myself in a falseness. And all I really want now is to be the person that people think I am. If you know me in real life, please keep my not-so-secret as I slowly come to terms with this whole thing.

I have an eating disorder. It took me ten years to admit that because, until recently, I had convinced myself that it was no big deal. I'm not anorexic. I'm not bulemic. I do something much more disgusting. It's so absolutely ridiculous that it's hard to even type.

I chew food and spit it out. Like, lots of food. Candy mostly. Chocolate. Cookies. I've perfected this skill. Even worse, I've perfected the art of hiding this skill. I can do this in pure daylight. In the middle of a public space. In one sitting, I can spit my way through 36 granola bars, an incredibly large bag of chocolate, or an entire box of cookies. Or, on particularly bad days, all three. I do it until my tongue is raw and my jaw is sore. I fill plastic bags full of spit-up food and then go out of my way to hide them until I can dispose of them in secret. I do this nearly every day. Sometimes multiple times a day. For almost ten years.

I'm not sugar coating anything. It's as disgusting as it sounds. And there are no excuses.

Why? I don't know. I'm not depressed or anxious. I am happy about my life. I am generally happy about my appearance, although a little frustrated about the permanent squish hovering around my belly button (thank you my beautiful children, you are well worth it). I don't have any other eating disorders. I eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I eat plenty. I eat anything. Although I maintain a general idea of my daily calorie consumption I don't count calories or obsess over them. I enjoy cake at parties. I drink beer and wine during happy hour. I don't make myself throw up if I think I eat too much. I don't over exercise. The rest of me is generally healthy.

So why this? Why? I don't know. I think I do it because, well, I LIKE to. In the past ten years, I've never really wanted to stop. Well maybe I've tried to stop here or there. But in the span of just two hours I would convince myself that I need it and I like it and it's not bad. I always tell myself that I can stop if I want to, it's just a matter of wanting to. But maybe that's the problem. I can't stop because I can't convince myself I want to stop.

This is why I'm afraid of people finding out about my secret. If people know I do this, then it will be harder to hide it and then I won't be able to do it. My worst nightmare is the fear of not having any candy or chocolate in the house when an attack hits me. And so I stock pile it. And when junk food is in the house, I cannot help myself. It's a self-fulfilling cycle.

I never started thinking about how serious this was until recently. One day I was listening to an ad on the radio for substance abuse/addiction counseling. The description of the alcoholic portrayed in the ad fit me perfectly. Excuses. Shame. Secretive behavior. Inability to control both my actions and what I desire. It was a wake up a call. I am an alcoholic. Just with food. I have a problem. It controls my life.

Why am I telling everyone this? I dont know. What will people think? I don't know that either. I know what I would think: What makes an apparently fully functioning person who is a wife, a mom, and a lawyer, engage in this type of crazy behavior. How can someone who is supposed to be educated and a role model and make good life decisions constantly choose to do someting like this?

It's scary to let go of a secret you've kept and fought to hide for nearly ten years. And I'm pretty sure that most people don't even know about this type of eating disorder. I didn't even know it was an actual thing until I Googled it tonight- it is called, not so shockingly, Chewing and Spitting or CHSP. Where do I go from here? Will I ever have the courage to tell people who are close to me face to face. Those closest to me and who do not read this blog (i.e. most people in my life) still will not know about it.

All I know is that this really is an illness and that I have a long road ahead of me. This post is just Step One. And it's time to really do something.

Screaming All Night Long

Last night, Ryan woke up at midnight right as I was about to fall asleep. He didn't just wake up crying. He was screaming. And he proceeded to scream until he finally passed out on my bed, his cheek pressed against mine, his tense body perched up against me and his hand clutching desperately to my phone, which had distracted him for the last five minutes before he finally concked out.

Those 2.5 hours were HORRIBLE. He screamed and screamed and writhed around uncomfortably. He refused to eat. He didn't have a fever. He didn't puke. Nothing calmed him down. Not a bath (which made him scream harder). Not a bottle. Not being rocked continuously around the house for an hour. When I picked him up, he bend his body and kicked his legs out at me until I thought he would fall out of my arms. When I put him down, he tossed his body violently around the bed/sofa/floor OR he sat up, placed his blanky over his head, and screamed bloody murder.

It was frustrating, tiring, and terrifying. I felt so angry at him and so sorry for him at the same time. Then at precisely 4:30, he woke up and did it again. The rest of  the morning is a blur.  A blur of screaming (on Ryan's part) and crying (both Ryan and myself) and falling in and out of slumber for five minutes at a time. His screaming was so violent, so long, so ear piercing, I only thought of the worst, most serious scenarios.

At first I thought it was teething. But he has never had a problem with teething. EVER. Not even when he got four top teeth in the same day. And his crying and fussiness continued well into the day. The only thing I could fathom was some kind of stomach upset. Jacob had just gotten over someting weird (a four day sickness with only two episodes of puking and mostly just feeling ill). My husband is also getting over the tail end of a similar ailment. Whatever weird flu this is, it is creeping me out.

For the rest of the day Ryan was whinny and couldn't figure out what he wanted. Bottle. No bottle. Food. No food. To be held. To be put down. To play. To rest. Today was a complete disaster and one of the worst parenting days that I remember in a long, LONG time.

And of course it just happened to be a day jam-packed with a birthday party and a wedding. Somehow, with only four hours of sleep, I managed to survive both. But holy geez, things sure were miserable!

What I Learned This Weekend

When it comes to parades, my children simply cannot contain their excitement.

 

I guess I'll clap. But just this ONE time.

Even when you you show up to a public event in yoga pants and a dirty sweatshirt in my city, there will be stiff competition for the title of Worst Dressed. (People of WalMart, move over). My competition:

A one-yeard old child can entertain himself for 20 minutes by playing with a box of nursing pads.

When you hear your son yelling, "it's raining popsicles," in the next room, the chances are against you encountering something pleasant. No picture available. The image was just too traumatizing.

It is possible to win a summary judgment motion from your home while you are wearing yoga pants and when neither side showed up for the hearing because it was supposedly continued by the opposing party. (yay!!)

Running is addicting. This is something I knew but had forgotten. I've been running 5 miles every other day for the past couple weeks but now I just to run all the time.

Don't let your husband take your child to a festival without you. There will be consequences:

(There is a fish in there. Ugh. )

My one-year old son is showing great promise in the sport of "carrying random household objects in one's mouth."

It's hard to watch your baby grow up.

I'm totally ready for another baby (but someone else is very much NOT ready and is very protective of his Mommy).

Yoga Pants And Ape Suits

Last night, mother's day evening, because my boss had promised a client that we would hand over a deliverable by Monday morning (and because I am nothing if not a procrastinator) I plopped down in front of my computer at precisely 8:30 p.m. and worked furiously. I researched and scoured case law and strung together semi-coherent sentences about complicated issues of law until my eyeballs literally lost their ability to focus. Two hours into my work I took a ten minute break to rest my eyes. After that, I didn't look up again until my project was completed, at 2 a.m.

I went to bed and dreamed about the memo I had just written. My dream self told me that I needed to take out the entire statement of facts because no one wants to read facts. Then I dreamed that my boss had a heart attack and this meant that I had a day off. I wonder if that is a sign that the mere five hours of sleep I get each night are catching up to me?

Today, after I handed in my project, the boss asked me to lead a conference call with the client to go over my research. It felt amazing. I knew the cases inside and out and when the client asked what year a specific case was published, I was able to rattle it off out of thin air, much to my own surprise. I felt so on fire and competent. The client would have never known that I was wearing yoga pants (working from home today).

As I was about to punch out for the day, my phone rang. It was a number I did not recognize. On the other line was the owner of a law firm near my house asking if I could interview today. I had completely forgotten that last week, after another long work night which ended at 1 a.m. I had whimsically sent my resume and a cover letter in response to a job posting I found on the internet. It was so close to my home, I figured that I had to apply.

"Can you be here in 40 minutes?" He asked.

I think the normal response would have been, "Heck yeah, I'll be there in 40 minutes" as a normal person would have proceeded to go to a clothing store and purchase something other than yoga pants for the interview. I, on the other hand, very uncooly admitted that I was wearing yoga pants. However, the interviewer was not able to reschedule anytime soon. 40 minutes from then was the only time he was free this week.

"We are a very casual firm." He prodded. "It won't bother me." No matter how casual of a firm it might have been, I doubted that they had ever conducted an interview in yoga pants.

He finally talked me into stopping by. I figured I would stop at a store on my way in and purchase any kind of pants in something close to my size that was anything but yoga pants. But the man on the other end of the line must have read my mind. He said, "Don't go buy clothing just for this interview. Honestly, just come as you are, it won't bother me."

Great. If I didn't show up in yoga pants he would know that I had bought something just for the interview against his instructions. If I DID show up in yoga pants....well, I was showing up in YOGA PANTS for heaven's sake! In the end I showed up in yoga pants. In doing so, I had just created the best interview story I have ever heard (well, aside from the one time I was interviewed by a lawyer who was chewing tobacco and spitting it into a chocolate milk container during the enitre interview).

As the interview began, the man went on and on about the position. It was for an associate attorney job in a successful practice in a niche and impressive area of law. It was a job that would require extensive travel and a hectic work schedule. It was a job that carried some degree of prestige. One that would challenge and satisfy. One that could take over my life, lead to an amazing career, and really suck me in.

Sitting there in that church-converted law office with an open floor plan filled with classic wooden desks and fancy woven rugs, clothed in my beloved yoga pants, I had a crazy realization. I couldn't help but notice how much different I am now from the me that went to lawschool.

The me that went to lawschool would have put on an ape costume and done cartwheels for this job (which is kind of funny considering that the current me hadn't even dressed for the interview and was sitting there in yoga pants). The old me would have drooled over the long hours, extensive travel, and challenging topics. The old me (the me that was a student athlete who worked every week day and babysat every week night pretty much from highschool through lawschool) would have loved this opportunity and would have worn this job on my sleeve like a fancy badge. That me was a highly motivated overachiever.

But the new me kept trying to feign interest. I actually had to force myself to sound excited and eager. While a tiny little peice of old me wanted to emerge from the murky depths of my apathy, it kept getting shut down. The overachiever that I once was has died. It didn't die overnight. It kind of fizzled away slowly. Somewhere between burning out in lawschool, having kids, and entering the dark side of my twenties, I lost that drive. When someone says, "long hours" I no longer think of an opportunity to prove myself, gain valuable experience, or work my way up the ladder of success. Now, all I can think of are the moments that I will not experience with my children. A half day of work on Saturday no longer equals a half day of extra experience and praise. It means one less trip to the zoo. One less ice cream cone enjoyed in the park. Two less meals as a family. Five less hours filled with hide and seek, bike riding, or reading stories.

Oh God. Who AM I? Who is this person who would prefer to change poopy diapers and be verbally assaulted by children than to craft clever arguments and develop litigation strategies. What in the world happened to me? Why the heck am I sitting in a prestigous law firm in two-day old YOGA PANTS?

Sadly, the longer I sat in that chair, the less I wanted that job. The Medusa-like call of success and prestige and money no longer held any power over me. As the interviewer rambled on about the 200 depositions he had taken last year, I grew sad. I had just given up an hour of rare weekday time with my kids for this?

The interview finally ended and as I walked out the door, I didn't even care whether he would call me back for round two. I was suddenly overcome with gratitude for my current job situation. Sure, my paycheck is kind of depressing but I get to spend two extra weekday mornings and afternoons with my children on the days I work from home.

I'm pretty dang lucky. Even if the old me would not have agreed.

Love & Hate: Lawyer Edition...Brain Overheating

I hate working plaintiff cases. Probably because I'm cynical about most people and being an advocate for plaintiffs is a huge challenge for me. Also, dealing with medical providers gives me an ulcer. What? I can't just pay someone to give the medical opinion I want?

I love insurance defense. I like being on the "dark side." I love poking holes in arguments and claims. I like working with insurance companies. Not only is it repeat business but you get to deal with professionals who actually understand the system. There is also the challenge of representing a defendant while an insurance company pays your bills. Added bonus: coverage issues. If cases are like men's accessories, the typical personal injury lawsuit is a tie and a declaratory judgment insurance coverage lawsuit is a bow-tie. It's the nerdy, confusing, awkwardly sexy cousin. Maybe medical malpractice claims are ascots? Wow, anyway....sorry for that.

I love legal research.

I hate billable hours.

I both love and hate court appearances. The crazy mix of exhilaration and terror is fabulous. I am looking forward to my first summary judgment hearing next week.

I also both love and hate dealing with pro-se plaintiffs. Their letters are drenched in hyperbole and conspiracy theories. They are so dramatic and they take everything so personally. Their analysis of the law is usually very entertaining, especially when they get a lawstudent friend to write a letter for them. But they don't speak the language and are hard to reason with. The deck is so stacked againt pro-se plaintiffs that victories don't feel as good as they should.

I love yoga pants. Quality, durable, skin-tight yoga pants. It took me a while to come around but now I practically live in them. In fact, I just came back from a last-minute trip to Target during which I was wearing yoga pants with flats, my work-blouse, and a sequined hip-length cardigan. It was like elegance up top and comfort down low. I probably looked ridiculous. But I felt totally amazing.

Yoga pants for life! (I'm slightly deranged right now from lack of sleep and an abundance of work).

Legalese and Spouses

The problem with being a lawyer is that most people (non-lawyers) don't understand what you do. My dad is a lawyer. Whenever I showed any curiosity in his career or had to interview him for "career day" I left the conversation feeling more confused than ever. "I have no idea what my dad does," I thought to myself. Why couldn't my daddy just be a firefighter or a teacher or a doctor?

When I was in lawschool, the parents of the children I babysat always seemed so impressed. "Our babysitter is going to be a lawyer," I heard them brag on one or two occassions. I remember feeling very important. Then one day, a little girl that I babysat for asked me, "What is a lawyer?" The four year old had a very clear picture of what her daddy (a doctor) did at work, "he makes people feel better!" I tried to explain to the four year old the excitement and challenges of litigation and representing people who have been sued. It didn't quite translate into child-speak.

"When people are in car accidents, they have doctors to help them get better and tow trucks to tow their cars and lawyers to help them....um...to protect their....uhhhhh.....to help make sure people don't take all their money."

"Oh, like the police? Where's your gun? Do you have a badge? Have you been to JAIL?"

When you really boil it down, being a lawyer is a very abstract concept. Lawyers get paid to use their brains, think up ideas and arguments, and talk in a language that only the Courts understand. So yeah. That's what I do all day. Think, argue, and interpret.

The other night, I went to happy hour with my boss, his wife, and a mediator. When my boss' wife joined us she asked, "How did your summary judgment hearing go? Did you win your argument about circumstantial evidence? Did you file your motion in limine?"

My eyes bugged straight out of my head. My mouth might have hinged open, like a robot with a malfunctioning jaw. I looked like I had just seen a cat drive a car down a highway. My boss' spouse is one of Them. She's a non-lawyer. How is she conversing so easily about summary judgment motions and circumstanital evidence and motions in limine? I was thoroughly impressed.

My husband likes to talk to me about his work. And I always try my best to sound interested and give the appropriate amount of good feedback and praises. But I have been increasingly frustrated by his lack of ability to know what the heck I do all day. When I try to tell him about a really great ruling we got on a motion, his eyes kind of glaze over. After I explain how excited I am to have found an important case to use in a motion, he turns back to his computer and lets out closed-mouth "huh" sound (oddly, it's the same sound that he often gives me when I ask him if he likes what I made for dinner).

So, I kind of stopped telling him about my day or talking to him about my cases. He has also stopped asking. I've reached the point where I've given up hope of having someone at home to talk to about my days at work. It's a bit isolating and it's very frustrating. Especially when I have an uncontrollable urge to vent about something crazy opposing counsel did or an achievement that we accomplished.

I never wanted to marry a lawyer but I do miss the companionship of someone who can related to my work experiences. I guess this is where a network of lawyer friends come in handy. Maybe someday I will have time for a social life. But honestly, as lame as it sounds, I really like the company of my children right now (which is a good thing because it's often the only company outside of work that I get to enjoy). I never worry about them not laughing at my jokes (all I have to do is throw a fart sound in at the end). Or judging me when I have seconds of cake. Or thinking that I am weird when I throw all caution to the wind and act like a child. I will be so sad when they suddenly become too cool to hang out with mom. Darn, then I will have to go out and find some real friends.