The Agreement and Compromise

Somewhere in the first week of law school, I learned that a legal agreement (contract) requires, among other things, an offer and acceptance. In life, most agreements are too complex to be limited to mere elements--thus the reason for lawyers, I suppose. A lot of things can go wrong in an agreement; we call it a lack of mutuality. We say there's no meeting of the minds.

Somewhere in my first month of motherhood, someone bypassed the usual new mom compliments of  "You look great!"; "He's such a handsome little guy!"; and "He looks just like you!" I appreciated those compliments, but of everything that was said in those first weeks, the compliment I remember most is this: "Motherhood really agrees with you." Motherhood agrees with me? Motherhood agrees with me?

I never knew I wanted to be a lawyer until I was one. I always knew I wanted to be a mother, and then I became one. I slept no more than an hour and a half at a time for the first six months. I smelled of spit-up and baby poo. I went more than six weeks without touching up my roots.

This? This is what other people think agrees with me? What about what I agreed to? Absolutely. Yes. This is what agrees with me. It's not a legal agreement. There certainly wasn't a typical offer and acceptance, but as any seasoned family lawyer could tell you, motherhood certainly can require good counsel now and again.

I spent my first week away from contracts since 2001. And I'm surprised to find that motherhood does agree with me. So does housework (except loading and unloading the dishwasher--gah, the tedium!). I decorated and dusted. I ran four miles--at one time--without stopping. My house looks lovely. My children are rested and at peace. So am I.

This is how I spent my first agreeable week away from private practice:

My big boy started kindergarten. His thoughts on the matter? "Well, I don't really like it. We don't get to play trucks in the morning when we arrive." 

Things got better. It only takes that one special friend, and RJ has found his. Because there can only be two five-year-old boys in this world who are this concerned about their shoes: "Me and C don't play in the sand as much anymore 'cause we don't want to get our new shoes dirty. We take the short way around. You understand me? It's complicated." (His friend talks as much as he does; we have to separate them on the soccer fields to avoid mid-field discussions about school lunches.). 

He made some other friends too. I think. He told me, "My friend is going on vacation tomorrow!" "Where?" I asked. "To Africa," he replied. "Well, who is it?" I persisted. "Oh, some friend I don't know but who I know." 

She's ready to go too; she stole a Hello Kitty backpack off the kindergarten cubby hooks and tried to head to class. 

He looks so small, but for such a small little person, he has some big thoughts. On Friday, he told me, "It's a strange thing about weeks, Mom. They move very quickly." Indeed they do. 

GiGi and I spent more time together this week than we have since I was on maternity leave trying to determine if being a mother of two agreed with me. 

We had our moments. We didn't always agree. 

And she voiced her opinions loudly. "No!" "I no wanna swing! Wanna slide!" 

She wasn't kidding. 

The slide was her happy place. 

We explored. She found some super powers for her bubby. (He firmly believes that his super powers reside in rocks aligning the sidewalks and paths that we walk.). 

We visited and got to know each other again on our own time. And we reached a few agreements. 

We agreed that lunch is best served on the patio. 

We did not, however, agree on this outfit. There was no meeting of the minds; in my mind, her pink ruffle butts made her t-shirt pop far more brightly than her bubby's train PJ's. But, with any master agreement, there are some compromises on the minor terms. Motherhood agrees with me, and I am confident in my ability to make the right compromises on the minor terms.