He flipped from stomach to back and focused on the book we were reading (Ramona the Pest, for the interested). "Oh nothing, I'm just lookin' at my trophies," he grinned up at me.
His trophies are comprised of four M & M Olympic gymnastic trophies--metallic blue, red, and gold, three of which proudly display a golden male gymnast, and one of which proudly displays a golden female gymnast, because it's his sister's, and he stole it.
He also has three soccer medals and a tee-ball medal. They start 'em early here.
Periodically, he'll come downstairs with a medal around his neck, or a trophy in his hand. He'll watch Rescue Bots with his golden gymnast balanced beside him on the couch; he'll mangle his lunch with a medal around his neck. (My child doesn't eat; if he eats a whole meal, I feel like he has earned another trophy. Someday, when he's old enough to know how crazy his mother is, I may give him a gold nugget to wear on a chain. He'll think it's something sparkly and valuable, but really, it will be his golden chicken nugget--an award for one day finishing a meal. I have faith it will happen.).
He's five; and, his trophies make him feel important. They're his way of bragging about himself without specifically bragging. His trophies remind him of all the things he's accomplished, and the make him feel special. They tell the world that he's on top of his world.
I have trophies too. When I was younger, I collected swimming ribbons. The ultimate goal, always, was to finish in the top three. Because, a top three finish earned a medal, or at the really important meets, a rosette ribbon--it was like winning the Kentucky Derby!
When I was ten, I earned a gold satin jacket with a special embroidered patch that told the world, "I'm a golden swimmer! I earned an A time! I'm on top of my world!" I still have that jacket. And when winter is coming, I might just slip it on and see if it still makes me feel like I'm on top of my world.
My trophies aren't fancy anymore, and I can't wear them to school (for the car pool line--I'm not going back to school!). But, they remind me of my accomplishments. And, they make me feel important.
I worked hard for three college degrees. I won't pretend that I put myself through school and worked a full time job all while raising three kids, a dog, and a rabid hamster. My college years were about as easy as it gets, thanks to my parents and the kind generosity of scholarship donors. I did work hard. I never missed an orchestra rehearsal or violin lesson--even with walking pneumonia. I worked in computer labs during my free time. I had boxes and boxes of homemade flash cards, and I pulled more than one all nighter.
My trophies will tell you, without bragging, that I graduated with honors. That I was once first in my class. That I took not one technical writing class, but a whole bunch of technical writing classes--and survived!
I gave four weeks notice, and I knew weeks before then that I ultimately would be stepping away from private practice. I tell myself that I'll go back in a few years; that the courthouse doors aren't closing on me; that I haven't taken my last deposition or fought my last fight. Last week, I took a deposition, because I wanted to remember what my last one was--just in case I don't go back. (The witness didn't disappoint. He had four answers: "No." "I don't know." "I don't recall." "I have no idea." These answers applied to all questions, including the one asking for his address.).
This weekend, I began slowly tearing off the bandage that has been holding my heart together as I transition out of private practice, slowly, slowly, slowly. I lifted my diplomas off their hooks, leaving behind nails, dust, and a hollow echo.
RJ and GiGi helped (and so did my husband). And I was grateful for their snuggles and demands for lemonade from the kitchen, because it kept me from dashing off an email or two saying, "Just kidding! I didn't mean it! Let's put my trophies back on the wall and pretend this never happened!"
GiGi almost sent the emails for me, but then she realized that this means I'll have time to take her to library story time and make sure she has clean ruffled pants to wear.
I know I've made the right decision. My children are little only once. My husband's job is more demanding than any ordinary lawyer could comprehend (those aviation guys are some crazy cookies). I need to be full time somewhere, be it home or work. In my practice, part time just didn't fit.
So for now, my trophies are resting quietly under my bed, protected from toddler tantrums. A friend recently joked with me about what to do with all of my framed diplomas and certificates: "you mean, you aren't going to hang them in the living room and invite people in? Welcome to my Proud Room!" I laughed. It was funny.
But then again, I'm sure some afternoon, RJ will find me peering under the bed skirt and ask, "Mommy, what are you doin?"
"Oh nothing," I'll reply, "Just lookin' at my trophies."
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