Continuing Legal (Life) Ed

I just returned from two full days away from R.J. while Brian and I went to Las Vegas. I knocked out my continuing education requirements while Brian played poker with a colleague's husband. A good weekend with many lessons learned.

One: I worry about the kind of woman my son will find to marry. I'm serious about this. I saw way too many young girls, too drunk with not enough clothing. But then again, it was Vegas--not the school picnic. 

Two: margaritas can make the second night away from my baby far more tolerable. But, I still missed his chirpy "Yake UP mama!"  (and on that note, a light-up margarita glass can make a terrific toddler ice cream bowl).

Three: a two-year old can gain an entirely new vocabulary in just a few short days. R.J. has taken to telling us, "I slept well," when he wakes up. Last night, we saw another toddler pitching a fit in Target. R.J.'s first response: "She need blanket." (empathy). My question to him, "Do you really think she needs a blanket?"  His response, thoughtfully watching her, "No, she need timeout." (self righteous--he is my child, after all).

Four: judges do not like name calling among attorneys (I really did go to my classes).

Five: an iPhone isn't just for entertaining bored toddlers.

Six: there is no substitute for peace of mind when it comes to your child. A loving grandma who bakes cookies, plays cars, and generally keeps the peace at home can make for a restful vacation. I am very grateful for my mom. Always have been. Always will be. But now that I'm a mom, I'm grateful in a different way. Not only does she want the best for me, she wants the best for my baby. There's no substitute for that.

Seven: (lucky seven, how 'bout that?)  Poker tournaments are cheaper than blackjack, and you get hours of entertainment instead of minutes.

Priorities

1, 2, 3. A, B, C. Red, orange, yellow. Priorities. I have them. Most days, I try to keep them in order: family, work, everything else.  Last night, I mixed them up. I broke a new hard and fast rule: no e-mail after supper. It protects me from sleepless nights and distracted evenings with Ryan.

I checked my e-mail last night. I received one of “those” e-mails: that ominous “objection” to service. I was distracted during bath time. No cheerful conversations with Ryan’s seahorse or whale. No discussions of “bottom bubbles” (toots) in the tub. (He is a boy, after all).  Bed time came….and went. Ryan snuggled in my lap, comforting in his baby ways.  Eventually, exhausted, he fell asleep with no stories, and no songs. Priorities.

Hours later, I found myself awake. I wasn’t tossing and turning lest I wake the sleeping two-year old in bed beside me. Instead, I lay there, sweating, panic-stricken. Did we send the defendant notice? How had I let it go?

I wanted to quit my job. Really, I did. I was overwhelmed and exhausted. My immediate solution is always, I’ll quit my job and stay home. I love being a mom--more than anything in this world-- I love being a mom. I’ve surprised myself by enjoying diaper change chattering and wiping sticky fingers. I actually like that wet-puppy smell of a little boy who has played too hard outside. I’m unendingly patient: I realized this two nights ago when I helped Ryan James carefully tuck in his trains and kiss each of them good night. Nights like these, I find myself thinking that I really could do this mommy-thing full time.

This morning, I checked my endless e-mail files and discovered that yes, of course, we had served the defendant. Yes, of course, the defendant was lying (they all lie). I vented. I nearly cried. I cleaned my desk. And, with new vigor, I made a solemn vow: Priorities. Family. Work. Everything else.

An update to the balance beam...he does so love his 'nastics class. Here, he waits his turn for the zip line.

Always Be Prepared

I’m organized. A list maker. A note taker. A bag packer extraordinaire. But none of that matters when it’s supper time, and you’re at the mall with a two-year old.  Yesterday after working from home most of the day, I took RJ on an adventure to my office. He had been asking all week, and ever the doting mommy, I promised him we’d go.

As “biglaw” law offices go, ours is pretty relaxed and darn child-friendly. People smile when they see a toddler coming; they leave their doors open and candy dishes within reach. A politician-to-be, Ryan James loves to visit. “I’m Ryan,” he says to everyone. “I have juice.” A flawless opening line; I'm sure he'll be president. 

Loaded up on candy bars from my assistant’s candy dish and full of stories about the cranes he saw working on the new Devon tower, little man climbed into the backseat. We were off to Babies-R-Us--a store specially designed to make every mother feel just a little inferior. I mean, I never bought a pre-natal education system for RJ so that he could listen to classical music in-utero. But I bought him a heated wipe warmer, so it all evens out, right?

A collapsible potty seat later (yes, updates to come), and we were on our way to Quail Springs Mall. It was payday. And Friday. And date night for every awkward 15-year old in the greater Oklahoma City area.  Worlds were colliding, but we forged ahead.

As we waited in line for our seats at El Chico, I looked down at RJ. He braced his arms on the bench; his eyes rolled back in his head. “Oh No!” I thought. “He’s having a seizure!”

“Ry, baby, you okay?” I asked, with my hand reaching for my phone to call 911. “Oh,” he shouted, “I pooped! I feel better.” Sure enough, a quick sniff confirmed the dirty deed. Sheepishly, we sneaked past 10 pairs of eyes. Some sympathetic. Some disgusted. All hoping we'd be seated in another section.

A Huggie change in the backseat is always tricky--more so when you’re using the emergency Huggie and crossing fingers for a rogue Wal-Mart bag to turn up under a seat.  Thankfully, RJ can entertain himself. As soon as we reached the car, he found a book and relaxed in the backseat reading while mommy changed his pants. When he’s bringing a book to the change table, it’s time to start potty training.

Clean pants, a new found cowboy hat, and a Huggie tied up in a Wal-Mart bag (yes! score!), RJ was ready for supper. We stood outside the mall, and he told me, “Ry eat at home.” I should’ve listened. Service was slow. I still didn’t have a diaper bag, so there was no mommy-magic: no hot wheels pulled from no where; no books; no crayons. We made do. I’m not proud, but I can tell you that, properly mommy-marketed, a drink menu can be a fun-filled story about Margarita and her trusty sidekick Jose Cuervo.

I am prepared, most of the time. But last night served as a reminder that I may never be one of those Babies-R-Us moms with every cracker packaged, and every poop planned. But, I’m a pretty good improviser, and that makes all the difference.

Work Life Balance

Work life balance. As a lawyer, I hear that phrase all the time. More accurately, I’ve heard that there is no balance as a mommy lawyer--it’s an everyday juggling act. I think it’s somewhere in between.  There’s a prioritization that must be done, and at each step, something will be sacrificed.  

Before entering an appearance on the mommy docket, I did what some say are “outstanding” things in my life. I’ve been in an all-state orchestra; I’ve been number one in my law school class (temporarily at least); I graduated with honors with three college degrees. I learned last night, however, that there is no prouder moment in a mommy’s life than when her little boy wrestles the balance beam all by himself and wins!

Cheering alongside him, “You can do it, Boogie! Keep going!” I watched as RJ weebled and wobbled his way across the balance beam to the platform. “Ta-da!” he said, as he grinned his baby grin. “One, two three, look at me!”

I didn’t bill 8 hours at work yesterday, and I didn’t have any big wins. I did get home in time for dinner and gymnastics. So, yes, it was a good night. And, a good reminder of just how little the big things can become and how big the little things should be. I hope I remember to end my daily balancing act well too: “Ta-da!”

Tears, Traffic, and Toddler Time

A long, tedious day in the office spent analyzing literally hundreds of e-mails sent over five years ago. It was a relief to finally get on the road and make the drive home. Surprisingly, a forecast for severe weather during rush hour had cleared the roads, and the drive was quick.  I arrived home to find a toddler playing ball in the driveway with his daddy--a welcome sight.  Squealing hugs and slobbery kisses from a little boy who smells like a wet puppy are the perfect end to my workday and the perfect beginning to the family dinner hour.

Fortunately, I had cooked over the weekend: lasagna, always a hit with the family gallery. RJ ate like a man. I didn't know it was possible for this little boy, who can exist for days on two bites of waffle and a package of fruit snacks, to eat so much. Dinner ran late, and soon it was bath time.

While dinner was a roaring success, bath time involved roaring of another kind. RJ could be heard bellowing two doors down. On a normal night, a few minutes of collecting Hot Wheels to play car wash cures the travesty of a bath. Not tonight. Tears and wailing. Face screwed into a thousand grimaces, he screamed through hair washing, thrashed through bottom washing, and finally buried his tears in my shoulder as we made our way to pajama time.

Even his blanket couldn't cure this toddler's woes. So, at his sniffling request, we set off into the night time traffic of Edmond.  Cool air conditioning, chocolate milk, and blankie all tucked carefully into his car seat, we set out. We always head west, then north, as Jack Johnson plays on the stereo. Most nights, RJ doesn't learn anything about making banana pancakes (track 3 on the CD), but tonight, he made it through track 3. And 4. And 5. Defeated, I returned home with a very sad little boy.

We snuggled into the rocking chair where he finally admitted, "Ry scared." I can't imagine what could be so frightening to a two-year old, and I don't really want to know. Hearing whispered promises that mommy will be there when he awakens in the night,  an exhausted little boy snuggled into my shoulder and finally (finally) gave in to sleep.

And I eased my way back to the office for the final stop on the mommy docket: the e-mail traffic is slow tonight.