Drag Shows, Football, & Pumpkins

Phew. It's already Wednesday and I'm still kicking myself trying to figure out where the weekend went. We were very busy. Insanely busy. But it was mostly all good stuff.

On Friday, I met up with my former coworker and friend and we had a mini girl's night. We went to a gay bar to get a drink and showed up just in time for a surprise drag show. Glad I can finally cross that off the bucket list. The drag show was seriously entertaining. I really enjoyed it, in a way that made me feel a little perverse. I'm just not used to being jealous of other MEN'S bodies. Everything was over the top. It was perfect.

Jacob had a buddy over on Saturday. I naively assumed that the two boys would run off and entertain themselves. But, phew, these boys were busy busy. They each insisted that I draw them Batman paraphernalia. So I quickly became the resident Batman illustrator. I drew Bat Caves, Batmobiles, Bat Motorcycles, Batplanes, and even Batman himself. Even with all that practice, I don't think Marvel will be knocking on my door any time soon. Then the boys wanted to build houses out of scrap wood. Are you kidding me? Just my luck these boys would refuse to play Legos or cars or other simple games. Sheesh. Upside: I used up all those extra hot glue sticks taking up valuable space in my junk drawer. 

Let's see...what else? Ryan enjoyed an entire cookie dough ice cream cone.

And a gigantic Costco hot dog. 

Since my recent interest in the Seahawks has officially morphed into obsession, Sundays in fall are officially football days (I like to imagine that God is proud to share his day of with Russell Wilson). As someone who has never really liked football until now, it was a very unfamilar and surreal experience when I woke up on Sunday to discover that our cable wasn't working and my body went into an uncontrollable anxiety about missing the Seahawks game. Just the thought sent me into a strange, feverish panic. My body was feeling things I had never felt before....about football of all things! My husband looked at me in horror when I insisted that we go across town to watch the game with friends. I saw the question in his eyes: "who IS this person?!"

There is definitely Seahawk hysteria in our house. We are all a little Hawk-crazy right now (which is totally being fueled by me and my gigantic crush on the Hawk QB). Jacob fell asleep in his eyeblack tonight. I was so proud.

This weekend was a milestone for Ryan as vocabulary has grown exponentially. Ryan has been taking his sweet time learning to say new words. At this age, Jacob was talking in sentences but, as a second born with a big brother to look out for him at all times, Ryan has not really had a need to talk for himself. However, his vocabulary has grown four-fold, seemingly overnight. My new favorite words that Ryan says are butterfly (sounds like "fly-fly"), basket (which used to sound like "basko" and now, sadly sounds perfectly accurate), and pumpkin. He is no longer shy about trying new words for the first time and his first attempts at new words can be downright hilarious. 

When I ask Ryan to say a new word, he gives a sly smile as if he knows something that we do not. He will then put together random consonants and vowels in an unrecognizable form. Jacob and I say, "yay!" and clap encouragingly. Ryan's sly smile creeps further across his face, as if he has secretly known how to say the word for months and is playing coy with us. His second attempt is much more accurate, and we cheer louder, with Ryan joining in.

Ryan is obsessed with waving. He waves to strangers at McDonalds. He waves to checkers at Costco. He waves to squirrels. He waves to the moon. When he waves, his hand is limp and his arm snaps back and forth at the wrist and elbow. It cracks me up every time. 

Ryan driving at the mall. Clearly we need to have a talk about distracted driving.

On Monday after I picked up the kids, we stopped at the grocery store and, in a moment of festivity, I let the kids each pick out a tiny pumpkin. Little did I know, that Jacob would have great plans for his pumpkin. We got home and he insisted on carving, despite my repeated coaxign that he just color it with a marker. Turns out, you CAN carve a tiny pumpkin. 

Meet Pirate Patch, very appropriately named by Jacob:

He insisted that the pumpkin have an eye patch and pointy teeth. Jacob also wanted me to draw drips of blood hanging from the teeth but....ew, I drew the line right there! He is strangely fascinated by all things "creepy." As someone who has never watched a single horror movie (the parody Scary Movie films gave me nightmares for days!), I do not understand this interest one single bit. I prefer smiling witches and cute pumpkins and innocuous black kittens. 

My not-so-little-stop-growing-up boys:

At Peace With It All

The other day I was talking to my mom and she mentioned that one of my cousins who had a baby six months ago has returned to work full time. To that, she added, "You're not the bad guy anymore!"

"Huh? What do you mean I'm not the bad guy anymore?"

"You're not the only working mom in the family now."

When I went to work after graduating from law school and having a baby, I just assumed working was expected of me. Ever since I can remember, my entire family has encouraged all of us to obtain the best education possible. Education became not just the top priority, it was the ONLY priority. My parents. My grandparents. My teachers. My adult role models. The same chant rang through my ear, "All that matters is getting a good education."

Well. I did. I did what everyone freaking told me. I tossed away my application to that film school in Montana (which was pretty much my dream and, in addition to my fondness for hot men in kilts, explains why I saw Gladiator seven times in the movie theater) and sent in applications to the highest ranking liberal arts schools that I thought I could get into.

And then guess what? I did pretty well. And I loved it. And I wasn't ready to be done when I graduated in three years. I spent a year interning for a local government agency and then I applied to law school. My parents LOVED to tell their friends that their daughter was in law school. I didn't know if I was on the right track, but I loved to be the source of their smiles.

"Cool," I thought. "I must be doing something right."

But then something strange happened. I had a baby in my last year of law school. Then I graduated. Then I got a job. Full time. As an attorney. "Hey proud family! You must be REALLY proud now!"

SILENCE.

What? Didn't you hear me? I'm finally USING that education you guys wanted me to get so badly. I'm finally working in the field that you all were so proud of me to study in. Isn't that fantastic?!

SILENCE.

One thing I didn't count on was a weird sort of mutated double standard. According to what my world was telling me, it seemed, women should be educated and smart. But how dare they want to use their education in a work environment once they became moms. Initially, most of the pressure I felt was from my own stay-at-home mom. She kept insisting that I didn't have to work. That I could find a way to stay home with my baby. Even though she was gracious enough to watch my baby while I was at work, she would very adamantly insist in overly-judgy gazes that my baby needed ME not her. When I would pick my son up from her house she would say, "I can't replace you. You're his mommy."

I can't tell you how many tears I cried over the immense guilt I felt that first year. It was nearly unbearable at times. The criticisms around me compounded with the own insecurities I felt. I loved being an attorney. But was I sacrificing my child's needs for my own career?

When my son was 3, I tried to wean him from his binky. But every time I tried, my mom would sabotage me. "He needs his binky. It's his security. Because you're not there." Ouch. It was a struggle. Those first couple years. There are a handful of very vivid memories I have of me staying late after work, trying to catch up on my billable hours, sitting in front of my computer, gazing at the picture of my baby, and letting fat, wet, warm tears spring from my eyes. I cried silently. Alone. In my office. Wondering if I wasn't making the biggest mistake of my life.

Then one day, I overheard my grandma and my mom talking. My grandma (also a stay-at-home mom) was giving my mom an earful about how horrible it was that I would leave my baby to work all day. How horrible it was that my mom was raising my son.

Listening to my grandma talk, I couldn't help but succumb to the wave of self-pity that washed over me. But at the same time, I started to understand a little bit of what my own mom was up against. When she was criticizing my choice to go to work, she was projecting a little bit of the harsh judgment of the world in which she, herself, was raised. She was reflecting on all the broken homes that my childhood friends grew up in, a cause of which she always attributed to the fact that there was not a parent at home. She was projecting the voice and concerns of her own mother (my grandmother). This was new territory for her. This was a world she did not understand.

As my mom was about to respond to my grandma's harsh criticism, I expected another heavy blow. But when she opened her mouth to the telephone, I didn't hear what I expected. She told my grandma how proud she was of me. How well I'm doing juggling everything. How much I love my baby. How hard I am working for my family. How well my husband and I work together. The breath that had been squeezed out of my body just moments before, returned and filled my lungs once again. I felt hopeful.

At first, my mom was my harshest critic. But over time, she became my biggest fan. Even though I lived a life very different from hers and was trying to survive in a world that she could not even imagine, she learned to support me. This year on my birthday, she stuck a handwritten letter in the diaper bag. I found it after I pulled up to the house and parked the car. I sat there and poured over every single word. It was so uplifting. As I read each sentiment, I felt, for the first time that she finally understood. She finally appreciated. It was incredible how accurately she described my personal challenges and worries and addressed them head on with encouragement and support.

The other day when my mom said, "You're not the bad guy anymore." My family's long-lasting criticism made sense. I've been fighting a lonely uphill battle. Until then I didn't realize that, out of a very large family with 50+ cousins on both sides, the majority of whom are married, that I was the ONLY full-time working mom. Up until this summer, when my cousin returned to work after having her baby girl, I was it. Taking the criticism on my own. (Some of my aunts were working moms but I don't remember my grandparents ever criticizing them- I haven't figured that one out yet).

All this time I was the only one trying to change my family's very traditional definition of the term "mom." I wish I had worried less about what they thought and focused more on being happy with my own decisions. It's easy to feel unsure about your mothering choices, to let the feelings of the outside world chip away at you, when you yourself won't come to peace with your own insecurities. Ultimately, for me, finding a job that was a good fit for my family and having my mom on my side was the key to feeling secure about my choices.

While I've slowly come to terms with my own insecurities and developed a small little support team (my mom and my husband), my jobs have played a very critical factor in how I feel about my choice to be a working mom. And yes, it is cliche, but everything really does come down to balance.

My first job offered a great career but was bad for family. The second job was great for family but boring and a waste of my lawyer skills. The third job was a part time (30 hours) version of my first job. That still didn't work. The private law firm atmosphere plus my commute was just not family friendly, even for part time (omg, the stress! the billable hours, the commute!). My new job, and where I hope to stay for quite some time, combines the best of all my prior jobs- interesting and challenging work, without the crazy private law firm environment. My commute is amazingly short and I have just the right amount of family time. For the first time since I have embarked on my law career, there is not the faintest hint of mommy guilt associated with working.

On top of all that, I feel like my own kids are showing me that having a working mom is not a black mark. It turns out that having a working mom is just one of a series of possible positive and healthy experiences. The way Jacob gregariously approaches new people in an effort to turn every stranger into a friend, the way he bravely tries new things, and showers us all with hugs, smiles, and his laughter; the way Ryan is a brave and tough little bulldozer who is selective about his "friends" but showers those select lucky souls with boundless cuddles and loves, the way Ryan wants to sit at the big boy table like his brother, carry the grocery basket at the store, and bravely climbs the big toys to frightening (for his mama) heights. My boys are like any other boys. They are smart, adjusted, secure, loved and loving. They, above all else, are proof that this whole thing is working. And they are the best reward after a long hard day at the office.

Children: Highs and Lows

High: Walking into the boys' room first thing in the morning to be greeted by gigantic, groggy smiles and high-pitched giggles.

Low: Sitting on the bedroom floor in front of my mirror (the outlets in our only bathroom have not worked for five years) trying to apply eyeliner while Ryan repeatedly hops in and out of my lap, yanking my hair to stabilize himself in the process (causing my head to bobble as if I were a dashboard toy) while Jacob is dangling dirty socks in front of my face (and blocking my mirror view) begging me over and over to smell them. It's a miracle any eyeliner comes within a millimeter of my eyes.

High: Kissing my two sweet boys goodbye and sniffing in one last whiff of their baby-shampooed heads as I rush off to work.

High: Walking in the door after work to be greeted by loud happy cries of "Mama! Mama! Mama!" With two pairs of arms bear hugging my legs and torso before I can even get my shoes off.

Low: Exactly 45 seconds after the bear hugs end, Ryan angrily empties an entire bag of fish crackers on the floor because I refuse to give him a sucker, Jacob is pouting and stomping his feet loudly across the floor screaming, "I WANT TO WATCH JEOPARDY!," neither child will finish his dinner, Ryan's tantrum turns into major diva drama as he flings his pathetic body on the floor and cries loudly into the fake hardwood, and at that precise moment, I walk into my room to discover that SOMEONE has emptied the contents of my make-up bag and colored all over my walls with eyeliner.

Low: I fall into the toilet trying to take a pee because SOMEONE forgot to close the toilet lid.

Low: A sticky, half-sucked-on sucker has wrapped itself in my favorite sweater.

Low: Poop. On. The. Floor. (Not mine.)

High: Ending the night with a much-needed Naked Dance Party

Missing: Two Babies And A Huge Chunk Of My Heart

We had a crazy busy weekend and, although my children seriously drive me insane sometimes, when I get to spend so much time with them, I realize all over again how much they are the center of my world. Right now I'm feeling the weight of transiency. A friend of mine came over on Saturday and I gave her a pair of Ryan's old shoes. I desperately wanted to keep those shoes. I wasn't ready to give them up and accept that my baby is not a baby. But I knew she could really use them and she was so thankful for them.

But, a part of me still died. That set the undertone for the rest of the weekend. I kept going back to the thought that my children are slipping away much too quickly. Photos of Jacob just one year ago reveal a totally different person. He does not have an ounce of baby to his face. He is saying "like" every other word, much to our dismay and frustration. He is using big words and is in the pre-reading phase. He is so independent and is developing an engineer's mind. Today he tried to invent a contraption that would pull his box of blocks across the floor. Who is this kid?!

One Year Ago Today:

One minutes he'll stomp his feet and shout at me (in true teenage fashion). The next minute he will grab my hand as we walk down the sidewalk and say, "I'm holding the hand of a beautiful lady. I love you mama." While it is sweet and adorable, it also makes me want to melt into a puddle of sadness on the floor. Stop talking! Stop having your own thoughts. Stop using science. Stop learning to read. You're MY BABY. Where is the boy who used to keep me up at night? Who could fit into a Baby Bjorn? Who used to line up my high heels and try each one on in turn. Where is the boy who used to crawl all over the floor with a baloon tied to his wrist? Where is the boy who spent hours playing with wooden trains on the kitchen floor? Because I really miss that guy sometimes.

And then, there is Ryan. He is my broken heart walking on two feet. He learns new words every day and mimics everything he sees. Thanks to his brother, he gets to do big boy things much earlier than I would like. His new favorite words are "me" and "mine." When I ask the boys, "who wants a sandwich (or any other item of food), Ryan will throw both hands in the air and yell, "ME!" Today I asked him, "Do you want some cheese?" and he replied, "ME!" in the same fashion.

Today I took the boys to the grocery store and Ryan insisted on carrying his own shopping basket. He kept trying to hold mine so I asked him, "Do you want a basket?" He enthusiastically replied, "bako!" I handed him his own basket, he beamed and shouted, "bako!" as he pointed to it. He put the handles in his hands and followed behind me importantly as we walked aisle by aisle. He loves to walk in the grocery store. This way he gets to explore, and see all the items on the shelf. He loves to point to new things so that I will tell him what they are.

As I witnessed Ryan learning his new word ("bako") in real time today, I was very proud of my big boy. But also devastated. Where is my second born baby? The one who is protected from the world by his bodyguard of a brother but not protected from tormented by that same bodyguard. Where is my baby who took his time learning to walk and used to scoot on one knee? The baby that had holes in the right knee of every pair of pants as a result? Where is my baby who used to scrunch up his forehead in a grumpy scowl but would gift us frequently with broad smiles? Where is the baby who simply wanted to be in my arms at all moments of the day? Where is the baby who would take my fingers and make wobbly steps across the room? Where is my baby.

WHERE ARE MY BABIES?!

I don't even know what to do with all this mommy emotion I feel right now. I'm so overwhelmed with the transient nature of babyhood that I have no idea where to put my emotions. Do I just cry all the tears out? Do I tuck the sadness into the back of my mind? How am I expected to function on a daily basis? How is it that when my boss comes into my office tomorrow to ask me a question about trial preparation, I'm not supposed to say, "Wait! Hold it! My babies are growing up this very second and you expect me to discuss trial strategy?! MY BABIES. This very moment they are one SECOND closer to leaving me. How am I supposed to think about this case?! How am I supposed to think about ANY case?! How am I supposed to function?!"

For some reason, I feel like that would not be a good idea.

So what am I supposed to do?

The magnitude of life makes me feel really small and helpless sometimes. This is why I bawl like a baby every time I hear John Mayer's song "Stop This Train."

Stop this train

I want to get off and go home again

I can't take the speed it's moving in

I know I can't but honestly won't someone stop this train

Facebook Makes Me Rage-y

Warning: This post contains high levels of extreme, unprovoked bitchiness.

I cannot stand to be on Facebook lately. I can't even stand to look at it. There are a handful of people whose posts I actually enjoy. The rest of the posts are so obnoxious that it takes everything I have to not be rude in the comments. I've had this problem for some time. But no matter how much I try, I can't quit Facebook. I'm addicted. It's like a car crash. I have to see the horribleness and yet, at the same time, I have to shield my eyes.

I know I'm not the perfect Facebook patron. I'm sure my post annoy a lot of people. I'm just going to admit that right now. I post a lot of pictures of my kids. But this is my blog. So welcome to my rant (feel free to leave anytime). Plus, it's ok to do these things once in a while. But if your FB wall is dominated by these types of posts...omg, why are we still friends? Oh yeah, because I can't kick the stalking habit!

First, there are the parents who always post about how their kid/kids are the cutest kids ever. Really? What do you expect from the rest of us? You want us to agree? Because everyone thinks their own kids are the cutest ever. We can't all be right. Chances are, your kid is just as weird looking as the kid down the street. You are just too mom-blind to see it. (OMG. Am I'm going to hell for saying that?) By the way, the same goes for all the furry babies out there.

Then there is the friend who got married months ago and refuses to land the honeymoon plane. She is stuck in her self-obsessed bridal world. Her wedding is the most important event of the century and she is going to talk about it/post pictures of it everyday for probably the next ten years. I know it's hard to accept that the world actually doesn't revolve around your most perfect wedding. But dude, it's time to check into the real world. If you post one more picture of your Most Perfect Bouquet Arrangement, I'm going to shove baby's breath into my eyeballs.

Then there's the grotesquely dependent couple who are way too loving that their posts can only be a deliberate attempt to hide the fact that they are hateful serial killers. Hey, if you really love your husband/boyfriend, you wouldn't tell him on Facebook, you'd walk three feet to where he is standing and tell him to his face. There is no way that you two are always as perfect as you try to seem on FB. And there is no way anyone on the planet actually cares about the time your husband was so sweet that he bought you tampons at the supermarket. Also, you live in the SAME HOUSE. You see each other every day. Why do you feel compelled to post your love-notes on FB for the entire word to see? Unless you hate me so much that you are TRYING to make me barf in my mouth. Obviously I am not really in love because I only show my affection in person.

Then there is the gym rat. Can I just say... my day is not complete until you post your daily workouts on Facebook. I live in a world of constant suspense until you post that daily pic of you looking hot/sexy in your workout clothes. Earth to human, workout clothes are for sweating. NOT FOR PLAYBOY POSES. Also, how do you have the guts to stand in the middle of a busy gym floor to snap a selfy? If you look that good at the gym, you are obviously doing something wrong.

On a related note, there are the health nuts who believe they have achieved elite goddess status just because they think they are eating the same way less evolved humans ate thousands of years ago. What is so good about being like a caveman? What if I told you I was on the paleo hygiene plan. Would that be equally impressive? I'm not impressed by your ability to substitute all carbs with cauliflower. Gross. I don't need a play by play on what you are eating for every meal. Seeing your ridiculously self-serving posts about how much better you are than us lowly carb-eaters makes me want to eat five consecutive Snickers bars and drink a gallon of black-listed soy sauce. Maybe if you LIVED like a caveman it might be prudent to eat like one. But none of us in America rely upon physical prowess to stay alive. We don't have to fight for our lives on a daily basis. Your goal to achieve bodily perfection is just about as practical as my goal to obtain a copy of a Gladiator movie poster signed by Russell Crowe.

This segues perfectly into Overly Nutritious Mom. Your kid only eats the finest of organic fruits and foods made painstakingly from scratch. This is totally fine. For the record, I support moms who want to feed their kids healthy foods. My problem is when your obsession with healthy food turns into a militant tirade on FB. These are usually the same people who post things like, "Responsible parents use cloth diapers" and link to articles about how kids who were cloth-diapered generally achieved a 20 point advantage on SAT scores over the poor, disadvantaged kids who were forced into the physical abuse of disposable diapers. Stop trying to convert me already. Unless of course, YOU want to come to my house and make all my baby food from scratch and scrape the shit out of my kids' cloth diapers. Then by all means, convert away!

I can't end this list without mentioning the "woe is me" vague-booker. Statuses like, "something horrible just happened and I'm going to publicize it to the world but don't ask me for details because it is super private!" Clearly, these people need to be ignored. Forever. If you open the door on a topic, FBland should be allowed to cross-examine you!

If you will excuse me please, I  have to cut this post short so that I can check FB before bedtime.

Almost Perfect...But Not Quite

Bonus points if you know the reference behind the title of this post!

Warning: this post contains a highly concentrated amount of sunshine and rainbows which may be damaging to optimism-sensitive readers. Read at your own risk.

Life in Dreamland continues. As I'm getting used to my new schedule, I'm realizing just how much my new commute has transformed every aspect my life. Everyday I feel like I'm discovering new ways that life is more amazing without a 5 hour commute.

For example, I used to loath the fact that we don't have a dishwasher. Every time I stepped up to the sink (usually at 10:30pm after a long, exhausting day), my heart scowled at the large tub full of disgusting, dirty dishes and I wished many plagues on all the previous owners who were too lazy (or poor) to install one. And I'd vow to eat hotdogs on paper plates for the rest of the month (a horror I wouldn't normally wish on anyone, much less my entire family).

But now that I have 5 extra hours in my day and have the luxury of coming home at 5:15pm and taking a 30 minute nap (like I did today!), suddenly washing every piece of silverware by hand (every single tong of every single fork) has lost it's heinousness. In fact, I put on my favorite playlist and sing to the spaghetti-caked dishware (boy are THEY lucky) as if I am in my favorite bar on karaoke night. (Sidenote: someday, I'm actually going to figure out a way to eat snacks while doing the dishes without having to comingle soapy, dirty hands with my Cheezits).

That is just one example of how my life seems brilliantly better now. I've always considered myself to be an optimistic, happy person. Now, with so much more time and less stress, I'm so happy that people are going to stop wanting to be my friend. For some odd reason, people do not like to be inundated with sunshine and rainbows on a chronic basis.

Obviously, things aren't perfect. Our schedules are still hectic. It's not easy getting the kids out the door at 7:00 every morning, there is usually a lot of whining and repeated requests for the kids to get ready. Then, by the time I pick them up in the afternoon (on my days), they are usually beyond tired and very crabby. Yesterday, I did not let Jacob have a smoothie because he was back-talking. The entire 15 minute drive home he was kicking his feet, flailing his arms, and scream-crying "I WANT A SMOOTHIE!" It sucked balls. Dude, I'm trying to help you not grow up to be a spoiled brat. A little more appreciation is in order! He should be thanking me for not letting him have a smoothie. Psssh, so ungrateful.

But that's the weird thing. When you have the benefit of a complete 180, the little imperfections are actually quaint and tolerable. I mean, nothing can be perfect. But things are pretty darn close. So close that it seems petty to complain about anything.

This is equally true for my job. I love my work. I love my benefits. I love my office. I love my commute. I love my clients. I love my community. But, there are always going to be some little things that keep it real.

For example, while people are very, very nice, not many people in my office are overly friendly. I can go most days without talking to anyone if I don't purposefully go out of my way to find people. This is mostly due to the way the office is configured and how we are all tucked away in private little corners. This can be a little lonely. (It doesn't help that I am the youngest person in the entire office).

I don't expect everyone to be my friend (although, that would be nice- I like people to like me), but I kind of hoped more people would put forth an effort on a personal level to get to know me (not just at the welcome pizza lunch we had last week). At first, I took it upon myself to reach out and make friends. But, I think I was trying a little TOO hard and mostly things were just awkward. Lesson learned: you cannot pursue friendship, you have to let them happen naturally.

I also have the most uncomfortable chair in the entire world. It's the opposite of ergonomic. It was designed to make people crippled from spinal pain. But I may only be here 6 months. Do I go out of my way to complain when I'm technically a temp? Do I bring in my own chair? Is that a little presumptuous?

When it comes down to the work itself, everything is awesome. It's the perfect mix of litigation and general counsel projects. Due to my trial preparation background, I'm assisting in a big case that is going to trial in December. I've been told that I'll actually get to participate and co-chair the trial! I've jumped right into this case, which is really fascinating and has become my life. I was asked to get started on opposing the other party's summary judgment motion. In two days, I cranked out a very tight  27 page opposition. The attorney I'm assisting (with 20+ years of trial experience) told me she could not have done better which made all my inane legal research and headaches and criss-crossed eyeball stares totally worth it!

In addition to this case, I'm been doing the legwork on an insurance coverage case. I have a weird love for insurance law. It's my passion. I drool when I get to discuss tender issues and indemnification and insurance bad faith. This kind of stuff is a drug to me. If I could take insurance case law and regulations and make them into something tangible, I'd inject that stuff right into my veins.

I also get to help on a lot of general counsel stuff. One of our clients is the local sheriff's office. I spent 10 hours last week researching state and federal gun control laws and how they interplay and overlap so that we can advise on the issuance of gun licenses. Last week, I knew nothing about gun control laws, aside from what I've heard on news radio. Now, I feel like I could lecture on this stuff.

I think my fellow lawyers will agree that this phenomenon is probably one of the best things about being a lawyer. You are constantly exposed to new issues and topics. And within the course of a week, you can go from blundering idiot to bona-fide expert on any given topic.

So, things are very good around here. Throw in the fact that the office has an automatic hot and cold water dispenser (unlimited tea- yay!), and things are....almost perfect :)

The Happiness Guru Says

In high school, I knew a lot of kids who knew exactly what they wanted to do when they grew up. They had amazing concrete life plans. I, on the other hand, couldn't make up my mind. I wanted to be a pilot. An astronaut. A rancher. A film maker. A diplomat. Operator of third world orphanage. I was indecisive. Looking back, I realize that if I had just known what I had wanted to do, it would have been incredibly helpful to creating a road map for my life.

Instead, I've blindly stumbled through life. No goal, unsure of the end game, and without the luxury of a lot of viable options. I went to law school on a whim, mostly because I had no other idea what to do with my life and because I realized it was really hard to get an entry level job with just a political science degree. (I DID discover in college that political science, political ideology, and political philosophy were my intellectual passions...but yeah, try translating THAT into a paycheck!)

I stumbled blindly into lawschool. Which led me haphazardly into the only summer associate position I could get (insurance defense). Which led to my first real job (insurance defense). I thought I had hit the jackpot when I discovered litigation. I never saw myself as a trial attorney but, surprisingly, I loved everything about it. Oh wait. No I didn't. After my 3 year long litigation honeymoon phase ended, I discovered a LOT of things I didn't like about practice in a private firm. I didn't like the crazy billable hours. I didn't like the pressure to bill more and more and bring in more and more clients. I didn't like the stupid schmoozing. I didn't like that you had to sell your soul to get and keep business. I didn't like working for insurance companies who were doing their best to pay you as little as possible. I didn't really like my clients either: unsophisticated and, mostly, irresponsible (some criminals, others just bad people).

On top of that, I didn't like my 5 hour daily commute and a lot of other situations with my firm's organization and....certain, um, personalities. Basically, although I still enjoyed litigation. I hated everything else about my work. Once, again I made a rash and blind decision. After applying to several other jobs and going to a hand full of interviews, I only got one job offer. A job offer I didn't even want. But, I was so miserable that I took it. I decided that if I was going to dislike my job, I might as well dislike a job with a 20 minute round trip commute versus a job with a 5 hour round trip commute.

Turns out, this job that I didn't want is absolutely the most perfect job on the planet. If I had known that this job existed from the beginning and all that it entailed, I'm pretty sure I would have known right away that this is what I wanted to do. I sometimes regret that I didn't have this goal to zero-in on from the very beginning. I could have tailored my lawschool experience and my internships towards this goal. I could have focused a lot of energy and dedication to this goal. I probably could have skipped a lot of crap and I probably could have been much farther in a viable career. But, at the same time, I realize that the crap I dealt with and worked through and survived is a large part of the attorney I am today. Somehow, each sub-par experience gave me a little tool. Now, I have a collection of tools that I'm finding helpful and relevant.

I guess, in the end, I'm very lucky. Hindsight has shown me that every bad or less desirable experience has played an important role or learning opportunity that has become essential to where I am today: truly and wonderfully happy and standing in a great place from which to build the career of my dreams. Is this another career honeymoon phase? Maybe. But it feels different this time.

In kill-or-be-killed private practice, surrounded by predominantly overly-aggressive male attorneys, I always felt like a little girl trying to be someone I wish I could be but simply was not. In my new government position, work is still challenging and stressful, but the entire atmosphere is less intense and less testosterone-fueled. I feel like me. And no one expects me to be anyone else.

The experiences I have had in private versus government attorney work is amazingly stark. It's night and day! In private practice, I was afraid of being yelled at or chastised for everything and anything (I will never forget my former boss' email to the firm "WHOEVER JAMMED THE STAPLER AND LEFT IT THAT WAY, COME SEE ME IMMEDIATELY TO EXPLAIN YOURSELF!!!!"). I never felt like I was working hard enough. I never felt really appreciated, just a pawn for the partners to make more money. Everything came down to billable hours. You had to account for every six minutes of your day. This made every task stressful.

Now, I am still expected to keep track of my hours, but it is so much more laid back. I've found that since the billable hour noose has been loosened around my neck, I'm actually doing better and more thorough work. I'm taking my time and doing things right. I get to act like a normal human who does attorney work, rather than a spazzed out, over-worked attorney doing attorney work. Everyone leaves promptly at 4:30. People are not constantly on the verge of mental breakdowns due to stress. People have lives. People love their jobs. People stay at their jobs for 10, 15, 20+ years. People do NOT think they are God's gift to Earth. People are still a little (or a lot) weird. But they are nice. The short of it all: I am very, very happy.

Lately, even though I'm still only a baby attorney and not yet 30 years old, I feel like a happiness guru. I know what it's like to be unhappy, mildly unhappy, and apathetic about your job and life situations. The last four or so years have been short, but they have taught me a great deal about myself and about who I want to be. I know you can only be unhappy for so long before you are willing to make drastic and even rash decisions. But I also know that life is simply too short to waste it on being miserable.

In the beginning I stuck it out in situations that I did not like because I felt that was a necessary sacrifice. I learned that the exact opposite is true. Don't accept unhappiness as a necessary pre-requisite for eventually getting what you want. You may never get what you want, or what you want may constantly shift. If you are unhappy now, fix it. None of the other crap matters. Life and careers are both about your journey, not our destination. The destination of a life or a career is a purely abstract idea that may never come. So do everything you can to enjoy the journey. And if you don't enjoy your journey, CHANGE IT. IMMEDIATELY.