Category Archives: Just me

Coming up for air…

gasp

It has been a crazy month. It turns out owning two businesses is alot like being owned by two businesses. Owning two businesses while raising children… well let’s just say I have a new affinity for the phrase “hair on fire.”

Things are going well. Business is increasing, my children still remember who the hell I am, I occassionally manage to have sex with my husband, and none of my pets have died of starvation. I am so tired by the end of each day I start dreaming about going to bed around nine. Around ten I go about making it a reality. Sleep is a completely dreamless state of non-existence right now. I am too tired to dream anything interesting. My head hits the pillow and I am down until morning. If Otter wasn’t in my face shaking me and yelling “wake up mama!” at seven I would sleep until ten every damn day. I love sleep, I crave it, it haunts me during the day.

I am trying to find the time for excercise. Otter and I went to the park the other day and I tried barefoot running while he chased me and warned me that a wolf was coming. (He has not heard of the boy who cried wolf because he is the boy who cried wolf. He cries it all the time!) I really enjoyed the sense of my feet hitting the track and my body seemed to view the experience in a rejuvenating way. I still have to start developing the willpower to wake up early enough to run before I start my day, but baby steps.

Someday y’all will have to come see me at my new office. Someday I will hopefully have one. We keep looking for space we like, but there are several highly opinionated personalities involved so it’s hard to find something we all love and agree on. Until then I am crammed into my space under the stairs to my bedroom, daily shuffling the family and work detritus around so I can find a pen.

Well look at that. 9:23. That is close to ten…. I could go to sleep now without feeling like a complete lame-o.

Second skin…

I seem to accept my new roles in life a long time after I fill them. I spent years feeling like a fake mother, someone who was going to be caught doing it all wrong by all the “real parents” out there. I spent years feeling as though I was acting the part of spouse, certain the requirements of the role weren’t quite a perfect fit for me and doing my best to fill them anyway. I spent years feeling uncertain and tentative as a professional, certain I would jump to quickly to answer something and end up making a fool out of myself.

Today I feel like me.

Today all my roles fit snugly against me, like a second skin. Motherhood is me. Marriage is me. Lawyer is me.

It’s nice to meet me.

My jealous mistress…

The law firm is really getting off the ground. We have paying clients and everything! It is very hard and very rewarding work. It does take me away from my children during the day, and occasionally at night. Otter started school a couple of days a week last week and that helps me carve more time out of the day for the office but I need more. A lot more. I need time for a full time job plus some.

They say law is a jealous mistress. I always thought that phrase was really intended to describe the amount of time the practice of law carves out of one’s personal life but I realize now that it more accurately describes the nigh-all consuming passion one can feel for the practice of law. During law school I remember living the law. I dreamt it, studied it all my waking hours, and never stopped thinking about it (even sometimes during sex). Suddenly I find myself in a similar position. This new firm is pulling my mind away from everything else in my life. I am obsessed with it, much like I imagine one could be obsessed with their partner in an illicit affair.

I have to pull my mind away from all the little to-do lists, the elements of the claims we are making in various cases, the complaints I am drafting in order to participate in motherhood, my spousal relationship, and with my friends. I was out at a bar last night with no other lawyers and still ended up discussing the legal aspects to developing a 501(c)(3) non-profit with another bar patron. I couldn’t stop myself from diving into the law the moment the topic was released.

The most interesting/disturbing/wonderful thing about this is that I am having so much fun! I am immersed in this corner of my world and loving every minute I spend there. I long for my networking events so I can talk to other lawyers, I feel more comfortable around other lawyers than I do virtually anyone else, and all I want to do is study, work, and live the law. It’s like waking up in the middle of third year of law school again, excited to see what new techniques and rules I discover and what rights I can wrong. Best of all, this time comes with a paycheck.

My name is Scylla, and I am a workaholic…

I have decided to stop fighting it though. I am firmly ensconced in the time of life I am going to refer to as “The Sad and Sober Part” in deference to Louisa May Alcott. Since I get more peace and enjoyment out of working, networking, and being with my family than I do out of almost anything else I am allowing myself to focus on working for a while. Maybe I am a workaholic but I seem to be self medicating so I better not interfere.

For the third weekend in a row I will be spending my Saturday night at a networking event. I am excited and looking forward to meeting a lot of people who can help me guide my way to a successful practice. I am thrilled to have a shiny new Le Suit hanging in my closet waiting to turn me from a jammie clad super mom into a sleek and successful attorney. I even have a sexy, yet professional, hairstyle to try out. I will wander the halls of the Nature and Science Museum with lawyers and judges dedicated to helping people.

I am so lucky to be involved in a professional community with so many people interested in making the world a better place. I know everyone thinks lawyers are scum and that our system would be better off without them but I have rarely met more dedicated activists outside my profession.

True superheros carry a briefcase.

Your ingenious marketing ploy makes me feel fat…

After having children clothes don’t fit my body the way they used to. I recognize part of this is due to the extra pounds I carry around as a result of a sedentary job and a love of all things bread. However, part of it is due to the fact that certain muscles stretched out beyond their normal capacity and may never return to their previously gorgeous ultra flat condition.

In other words, I have a pooch.

Jean shopping since the advent of the ultra-low-rise-guaranteed-to-give-you-plumber-butt-or-a-horrid-muffintop-no-matter-how-much-you-starve-yourself jean has been fairly impossible. None of the low rise jeans fit me in any flattering way and all of the “traditional fit” jeans are made of flimsy denim, cost 10 bucks and make me feel categorically uncool.

I have been touring the jean rack at Ross for months now. My only awesome pair of ultra luxurious designer french jeans came from Ross and I have stalked their jean aisle religiously ever since in the hope of finding another pair like them. (Especially now that I have worn that one luxurious pair for years now and must retire it due to huge rips, tears, and thin spots.)

While touring the jean aisle this time my fingers happened upon a thick and luxurious denim in my size. Soft deep blue fabric rested heavily in my arms as I carried them to the fitting room. The jeans fit beautifully. My ass looked great, I didn’t have a muffin top, and I could move around in all positions without feeling any restriction. Perfect! I removed the jeans feeling damn sexy and pleased to once again own a pair of jeans that made me feel really good wearing them.

Then I saw the tag. I am sure the marketing geniuses who came up with the brand name and web address thought they were appealing to my sense of outrage at the ridiculous rail thin models shoved in front of my face at every fashion turn. I am positive they were trying to create a sense of female solidarity and tell me they were taking the time to make jeans that really fit real women really well. What they did was drain the pleasure from my shopping experience.

“Not My Daughter’s Jeans” may as well read “Mom Pants” or “Uncool and dated jeans” or “Too busy parenting to bother with looking good denim”. Seriously. I don’t want to be buying jeans marketed to mothers even though I recognize I need jeans designed for women who have had babies. I want to wear jeans marketed to Catherine Zeta Jones or Angelina Jolie or to women who are traveling to exotic places and dancing in fancy nightclubs. I want to buy jeans that tell me I am still hot and desirable even if my kids will ultimately use them as a kleenex.

My previous sense of self satisfaction gone I reminded myself that they looked damn good on me and the tag, NMDJ, was both discreet and located on the inside of my waistband.

Then I found the tag with their web address on it. http://www.tummytuckjeans.com.

Fuck you NMDJ’s. Fuck you.