This week, you guys. This. Week.

Posted on May 18th, 2013

I usually don’t have a bunch of draft posts in WordPress, because I either write what I’m thinking or I write it, decide it’s crap, and I trash it.

There are four almost-posts in the draft folder right now, because I can’t tell if I’m reporting what’s going on or I’m just kvetching or if it even matters.

To sum up:

There was the ID theft nonsense.

There were 5 days with $11 in the checking account. (But look, no overdrafts!)

I haven’t wanted to go out and do anything, mainly because I was worried about whether I’d have enough gas to make it through the week. (I made it.)

Yesterday I took Pea to the zoo and we arrived at the same time as 5,000 school kids. Not a typo. I probably should have turned around and gone elsewhere, especially since I ended up with food poisoning from lunch at the zoo restaurant afterward. (I took every anti-emetic in the house, felt like I wanted to die, but didn’t.)

I accomplished nothing of note, professionally. (OK, that’s not true. I’ve done a lot of research, but it’s not like you can look at a stack of research and feel a sense of accomplishment. Also, I don’t have anyone to discuss the 1820s US Navy with.)

I have managed to teach Pea a lot of academics (this really is a joy, no joke), but she’s experiencing some sort of teenage preview angst that has made her a bitch and a half to work with. (I’ll leave it to you to decide which one of us is the bitch and which is the half.) Quotes: “Anything is more fun than you.” “I don’t want you to kiss me anymore.” “I like Daddy better than you.” “When is Daddy coming home?” “You’re just trying to make me to do your work.” (That one was when I was directing her to pick up her room. HA!)

In any event, I have been feeling ill-used.

I am completely stressed about medical bills. And when I mean “completely stressed,” I mean panic attacks.

I dealt with the stress by cleaning the house, washing all of the clothes, and organizing what I could organize. I rearranged Pea’s room and my office.

It took a day for the house to look like a disaster again.

Mother’s Day was good, though. And because of you guys, I got some free clothes from Twice (actually, Pea helped me pick a skirt and top and she did pretty well). The weather turned cold and rainy, which makes me happy, because I get to go back to wearing wool and I don’t have to run the a/c.

Categories: Disasters

Timing is everything

Posted on May 15th, 2013

This morning, rather early, M woke me up with 1) the last Pepsi MAX in the house and 2) news that someone tried to use my credit card (well, a facsimile thereof) at a Wal-Mart. The good news is the bank caught the fraud straight away (no, I don’t shop at Wal-Mart, not even going to a different state to do it), and the bad actors did not get their cheaply made goods on our dime.

The other good news is that particular account is running on fumes until payday. Even if the fraud folks hadn’t caught the error, well, yay for being broke.

Now, the neurotic and OCD part of my brain that can’t stand an unsolved mystery? Going nuts over how this was obtained in the first place. That’s the gift that keeps on giving. I’m running virus software. I’m wondering about a dodgy coffee shop’s Square reader. I’m thinking of which online merchants I mistrust the most. The reality is I’ll never know…but it won’t stop me from trying.

Categories: Not crazy...yet, WTF

You should go: Tomorrow at Powell’s (Cedar Crossing)

Posted on May 13th, 2013

Alert for those of you on the west side! (Oh, even if you’re on the east side of town, too. Hop the MAX.)

Tomorrow evening at 7 PM at Powell’s Cedar Crossing, Robyn Parnell will be reading from her brand new, being-released-tomorrow middle-grade novel The Mighty Quinn.

Really, you should go. Not only because of the new book (just being released tomorrow), but because Robyn is hilarious and it’s bound to be a good time. Plus, Pea and I will be there with hats on.

And if you can’t make it, then order the book, anyway!

Categories: Portlandia, Reading

Happy Mother’s Day, or: kicking my guilt down the shame spiral staircase

Posted on May 11th, 2013

For all of you who had good mothers–imperfect, to be sure, but women who loved and nurtured and set good examples for you–I envy you. I don’t know what that’s like. For years I struggled with the dissonance of a narcissistic, sociopathic mother who occasionally did things that seemed like caring–that maybe even were caring, as much as she could–and tried to reconcile it with the years of verbal abuse, the coldness, the years when I was the bad one, barely tolerated, unjustly accused.

Mother’s Day is the worst day of the year when you have a bad mother. There, writ large on every card and every oversized balloon and in every sermon and every floral arrangement, I saw how I was supposed to feel about my mother–gratitude, appreciation, love–when I really felt angry, resentful, betrayed.

I’d like to say I’m past all that, but those wounds never really heal. There is part of me that will always believe that it’s my fault, that I wasn’t smart enough, accomplished enough, nice enough, good enough to be loved the way I was supposed to be loved by my mother.

This year, though, I’m not doing the shame spiral. The most important mother-daughter relationship in my life has nothing to do with my mother.

For almost six years, I’ve been the mother to a maddening, demanding, relentless, inquisitive, stubborn, willful, sensitive, emotional child. She is what is euphemistically called “not an easy child.” She’s just like I was.

And yet, I don’t berate her. I don’t hit her. I don’t spank her. I don’t dig my nails into her legs until she bleeds. I don’t drink myself into oblivion. I don’t withhold affection to get my way. I don’t undermine her friendships. (When the time comes, I sure as hell won’t try to flirt with her boyfriends.)

Those are things my mother did. My mother sucked at parenting.

I don’t. I am a good mother to my daughter.

I am a good mother.

Imperfect, to be sure, but a woman who loves and nurtures and sets a good example for her child.

I could spend the rest of my life resentful about my mother (a part of me probably will). But not on Mother’s Day, not again. This holiday will no longer be about my mother and the years I spent trying to fit the square peg of her abuse into the round hole of Hallmark cards. I’m done with that.

Happy Mother’s Day. We all deserved good moms. Some of us didn’t get them. But it doesn’t mean we have to spend the rest of our lives eaten up over it.

Categories: Epiphanies, General Parenting

Ms. Pea goes to law school

Posted on May 7th, 2013

After her piano lesson, instead of hitting OMSI like we usually do, I took Pea to the state park by the law school. It was a lovely day, and after three days of not going anywhere, I wanted to be OUT. (Also, because of the condo painting schedule, I’m stuck home waiting for someone to paint our door…and they gave a two-day window, for Wednesday and Thursday. Really, couldn’t nail that down?)

So we were going to enjoy nature today, damn it. It was a good hike for her. Getting there was a lot of up and down hiking in lush forest, for about 1.20 miles. We saw three banana slugs, which prompted no screaming (two flies and a spider, on the other hand, did). She also became an expert trillium* spotter. She went from being highly skeptical of a small suspension bridge to madly jumping up and down with me to make it bounce.

I took her the long way to the school (the school became part of the plan when I realized that doing this without water or other prep was stupid and thus started using “I will feed you/buy you juice at the law school” as a carrot to keep us both moving). There was much whining and asking me to carry her (at sixty pounds!) but she made it.

Pea ate my standby (grilled cheese on sourdough) at the LRC, even made by one of the same guys who used to make my sandwiches. I cheated the dairy restriction and ate a bit of it. She met one of my favorite professors (who was grumpy). She climbed up and down the “big steps” (she called them) several times.

She hung out in the air conditioned glory of Wood Hall while I talked to people who hadn’t seen her since she was teeny tiny (or ever). She hugged pretty much everyone I spoke with, which is unusual for even her (the love of libraries runs deep in this one, and apparently extends to librarians). She filched chocolate from one of the Civ Pro professors (not mine) who asked her if she was going to go to law school. Like a good lawyer, she sidestepped. Let’s hope the market looks better in twenty years.

We took the easy walk back to the car (.43 miles, paved, downhill). There was somewhat less whining, and only one request to be carried. It was amusing to witness the realization that we could have gone the short way there, too. But where’s the fun in that?

*I had no idea trillium seeds were spread by ants until I read the linked Wikipedia entry.

Categories: Good day, Law, Portlandia

Mothers in the Legal Profession Roundup No. 302

Posted on May 7th, 2013

The weekly Mothers In the Legal Profession Roundup is hosted on a rotating basis at theAttorney at Large, Butterflyfish, PT Law Mom, Attorney Work Product, BJJ, Law, and Living, Reluctant Grownup, and Magic Cookie blogs.

This Roundup covers April 29-May 5, 2013.

Alice has a real life police procedural on her hands.
But I Do goes to Disney World.
Butterflyfish has three kids and a T. Rex. Thankfully, she she has a dinosaur wrangler, too!
Cee and her boys enjoy the sun.
CM has brunch wrapped up and considers her options.
Daisy translates Craigslist.
Frenchie is injured.
Grace celebrates beginnings and mourns endings.
Hard Boiled Egg goes dairy-free.
Izzy has a baby down!
Kate leaps the last 2L hurdles.
LC is dealing with stupid teenagers.
LL took her kids to work.
Mominsanity went on the first hike of the season.
Portia shares the secret of the Plains.
ProtoAttorney’s girls love making and listening to music.
RG celebrates Jack’s fifth birthday.

Categories: MILP

Ill

Posted on May 5th, 2013

I dropped my migraine pill on the carpeted hallway floor at the children’s hospital on Friday. My copay on that one pill is $11, so I picked it up and took it anyway.

That’s not how I ended up sick. That came from M and Pea, who were gracious enough to share their stomach bug…but not before I smugly thought to myself how nice it was I didn’t get it. Of course.

In any case, we missed a planned Cinco de Mayo gathering (although not without my Sunday morning “we won’t be making it because blerg” email not making it). Right as I learned my message didn’t make it to my hosts and I picked up the phone to call, I looked at my email and saw someone had died.

It was a coworker from my job before law school. I hated, really hated, this person. He was a sociopath. He sexually harassed me on the job, physically hurt me (e.g., pinched my arm and left marks) and undermined me at work. Sometimes I would sit in the car and I’d cry before going in, because it was so bad. I didn’t tell M much of what went on at that job until about 6 months after I’d quit, because I was afraid he’d go kill this person.

(These events comprised a large part of my law school application essay. I’d like to say I’m grateful for that, but I’m not. Also, not that anyone would, but please don’t anyone do the “why didn’t you do X?” victim blame game. It was insidious and I was young.)

After I processed the news and my memories, all I could come up with was an entirely uncharitable, “Karma’s a bitch, isn’t it?” I’m sorry for the guy’s wife and family, if, in fact, he was good to them, but all I can think is the world is a better place now.

Good riddance.

Categories: Hard days, Sick Mom

Presidential Pets

Posted on May 3rd, 2013

We could not escape the gift shop as we left the teaching hospital. We were there for Pea’s dermatology appointment, which was fine, although it was a little awkward when the guy made a lawyer joke to the resident and fourth year medical student in reference to Pea’s chatter, as in, “She talks so much she’ll probably be a lawyer.”

I felt compelled to say, “It’s possible. Mom is a lawyer.”

(Because really? He seemed like a great guy and a competent dermatologist…but he liked the sound of his own voice pretty well. Also, to those of you without kids, you will start referring to yourself in the third person as Mom or Dad when dealing with professionals. For real.)

Pea: “But Daddy is NOT a lawyer.”

M: “No, Daddy is NOT a lawyer.” (See? He did that third person thing, too.)

At the gift shop, I acquiesced to a coloring book. Not just any coloring book, you guys. The Presidential Pets coloring book. M, who was taking work calls while Pea and I were in the store (which is partially why we detoured there), was informed of this in the car on the way home.

“Presidential Pets?” he asked.

“Yep. I tried to convince her to get the Presidents coloring book, but no go.”

“Why?”

“Listen. Pea, who’s the President?”

“Um…” Pea said.

“Pea, what kind of dog does the President have?”

Without a missed beat, she said, “A Portuguese Water Dog.”

“That’s why,” I said to M.

Categories: General Parenting

Advice for the young women of land-grant universities, or thoughts about Susan Patton and marriage

Posted on April 5th, 2013

Disclaimer: My undergraduate school is a land-grant university west of the Mississippi.

In case you missed it, Susan Patton is the Princeton alumna and mother of two Princeton students (male) who wrote a letter to the young women of Princeton about how they would do well to get married to someone they met while at Princeton. It wasn’t tongue in cheek. Women fell over themselves to excoriate her.

I cringed.

If there’s anything I hate, it’s constant media women-vs-women “my way is best/most feminist” churn. The Mommy Wars are nothing but a gimmick to sell shit to women already contorted by the Twister game of “work-life balance.” (Because work-life balance, like utopia, doesn’t exist.)

This is all you need to know about my take on the Mommy Wars: you don’t know me or why I made the decisions to do what I do unless I choose to enlighten you, so it’s none of your business if I’m married or single, gay or straight, work, stay home, work at home, breast feed, bottle feed, day care or nanny. Really, truly: none of your business. I have enough guilt and don’t need to buy a book to develop more. Thanks, though.

Susan Patton, in addressing marriage and family life prospectively, just feeds the sharks…and you know? I feel sorry for her. Based only on the two snippets of her writing that I’ve seen, I think she’s a culturally tone-deaf, unhappy snob.

But I agree with her.

“…identifying the right partner is critical. One of the criteria by which I am defining the right partner is someone with shared educational and intellectual appreciation. Yes, that can be found after college and outside of Princeton, but the concentration of outstanding men (and women) will never be greater than it is as a student.”

After removing the snoot, we’re left with the statement that there isn’t a place you’ll meet more prospective mates with whom you have things in common than in undergrad.

Sure. That’s true. The one thing that she’s missing (this is the cultural tone deafness) is a realization that many of those potential male mates are not looking for a long term relationship in undergrad, and there’s evidence that neither are most women–but undergrad is where you’ll meet most of them. (So I suppose my advice to the land-grant crowd would be meet them, be friends, and stay in contact. Maybe Facebook does have its uses.)

I have been married a long time, and I don’t even pretend to understand how dating works, because all of my dating was done before I could vote. I married young–to someone who graduated from the same land-grant university west of the Mississippi, to someone with the same interests and hobbies–and while it raises eyebrows when I’m talking to anyone who isn’t LDS (note: I am not LDS, but the other people I have met who married at my age usually are), I’m glad I did. I was settled and boring when most of the people around me were unsettled and high drama. When people react to how young I married (everything from”Wow” to “I would kill my daughter if she did that”), I usually just say I was fortunate enough to meet the right person with the same values and interests at a young age.

But that’s the other piece: the right person. Also, luck. In my opinion, it is a huge predictor of a woman’s happiness–not just in the traditional home sense, but in her professional life as well–to have someone who is supportive and understanding and cheerleading. You may find that person in undergrad…or you may not. You may find that person in graduate school…or you may not. You may find that person on match.com…or you may not.

I got married very young because I was lucky and because I realized when I’d found the right person and the person was the right person.

The key, the take home bit, is to be open to the possibility at whatever stage of life you’re in, wherever you’re at, whether in school or out of school. Undergrad is when you will be surrounded by age peers almost all the time and can join clubs and do extracurriculars that are tailored to your interests–and you will have an insane amount of free time, relative to any other stage of your adulthood (excepting retirement, I guess, but who wants to wait that long?). Once you are in graduate school or working, that all goes away.

So, young women of land-grant universities, go forth and know this is the time you will find the most potential mates.

And then do whatever the hell you want to, because it’s none of my business.

Categories: Advice, Epiphanies

There are no girl toys or boy toys, McDonald’s.

Posted on March 15th, 2013

Dear McDonald’s:

When I order a happy meal, don’t ask me if I want a “girl toy” or a “boy toy.”

Because I know it’s coming, I try to avoid the question. So I’ll order this way: “I’d like a hamburger happy meal with the HEXBUG toy.” It doesn’t matter. Inevitably, the next question is: “Oh, so it’s for a boy?”

Please stop. Don’t ask me about my child’s gender.

Because my daughter is listening. My daughter is wearing Supergirl underwear. My daughter likes comic books. My daughter likes many things that are not pink and sparkly.

“Oh, so it’s for a boy?” suggests it’s the only logical conclusion to make after requesting a toy that is not Barbie. I’m here to tell you that it’s not.

“Oh, so it’s for a boy?” means I have to take a stand. I have to defend my daughter and every other girl like her. If I’m in a drive-thru, I’m tired and stressed and busy and just want to give my kid a burger so I can go on and do the next thing. But instead, I have to fight another fucking skirmish in the war of sexism.

I have to say, in my girl-lawyer, girl-gamemaster, girl-webmaster, girl-networking tech voice, “No, it’s for a girl.”

(As if there is something wrong with wanting a HEXBUG instead of a Barbie. As if any woman in her right mind in 2013 would want her daughter to have Barbie anything.)

I’ve been at this a long time. I’m tired. So McDonald’s, if you want me to come back the next time I’m stressed and busy and just want to give my kid a burger so I can do the next thing?

Lay off the gender stereotyping in the drive-thru.

Sincerely yours,
The Attorney at Large, BA, JD, GG (Girl Geek)

Categories: Eating, General Parenting, Too much to ask?

Accidentally or on purpose

Posted on May 2nd, 2013

I’m working with Pea on taking ownership of her misdeeds. Generally this isn’t a problem, because she self-reported from about the time she could talk. It’s only recently she’s tried to invent stories, but they quickly unravel without much work on my part.

This morning it went like this:

“Mama, can you come here? Some toilet paper fell into the tub.”

“By itself?” I asked.

“Yes. In pieces–I mean, I–I–I accidentally–” Big sigh. “No, I did it on purpose. Can you help?”

Which is great. I mean, if she’s anything like me, she’ll be lying convincingly about fake sleepovers and states of inebriation in ten years. Some TP in the tub is no big deal. That said, I’m still bitter about the red Sharpie on one leg of our kitchen table (she was four, I think).

In other news:

We have not been evicted. Yay for that!
Our insurer approved a procedure for me that will probably do a lot to help with back and neck pain (and tension headaches and, hopefully, migraines). Um, I’m suddenly shy and I’m not telling you what it is, but you can probably guess what would, say, pull my shoulders and neck forward and cause all sorts of neck/back issues. That’s scheduled for June, so I have plenty of time to become neurotically nervous and update my will.
My gallbladder is great, which means I’ll have a giant copay on a procedure that shows…nothing. I ought to be relieved there’s nothing wrong with it, except I’m back to not knowing why I’m queasy all the time.
Related: I’m going to start eliminating foods from my diet. It’s not a huge leap in logic to imagine I have additional food allergies/intolerances. Step 1 is the rest of dairy. I’m hoping there’s no Step 2, but it would be wheat.

And that’s all I’ve got for now. I have to read a book about insects to Pea. I love that she loves reference books, but I really can’t wait until she can read them on her own.

Categories: Epiphanies, General Parenting, Sick Mom, TMI

Monday fuckery, the FCC, and ID crisis

Posted on April 29th, 2013

So the HIDA scan this morning wasn’t so bad; I slept through most of it. Pro tip: make your appointment at nuclear medicine for 6:45 AM. The second part wasn’t pleasant (when they give you the drug that makes your gallbladder do its bile-dispensing thing), but despite the uncomfortable feeling, I dozed through it, too, and I managed to eat afterward.

The mast drama continues. To make a long story short, M read the FCC regs and realized that the HOA board (and our landlords) were full of shit as to requiring him to take it down. He went to talk to them a few weeks ago, and one of them said, “Really, this is just about saving money?” and offered to call the cable place to see if they could make a deal.

We heard nothing. So today, since he was home because of the HIDA scan, M went to the landlords’ office, and the nephew of the guy who he’d talked to a couple of weeks ago WENT OFF on him. Landlord Boy flew into a rage: “You’re always causing trouble!” and ordered M out of the office. (But not before Landlord Boy said, “You are the most passive aggressive person I’ve ever met!” M replied, “You must not have very many life experiences.”)

This vitriol is a big WTF, because I might have mentioned before that M is the nicer of the two of us, and other than a couple of maintenance things, we never contact them and they never contact us. Always causing trouble, really? They didn’t even raise our rent at the end of our lease term. This is my definition of a perfect landlord/tenant relationship.

Next, M went to speak to the HOA board members individually, and they denied saying the things that were said.

So now M is pissed off because Landlord Boy was a jackass, and because they aren’t mad that he’s doing something wrong (M brought them the law to show he wasn’t) — he’s doing something that has caused old people to bother the landlords. And that makes work for them. (Suffice it to say, neither M nor I am impressed by people who don’t like doing their jobs.)

He wants to put the mast back up there and let them fight with the FCC over it. (That’s how that goes: the HOA or landlords would have to take it up with the FCC in US District Court.) But I’m terrified that even though reprisals for putting the thing up are illegal (per regs), it wouldn’t stop them from trying to evict us…and it wouldn’t be a fun appearance in our local court to defend against an eviction.

Also, eviction? At our age? Over an FCC reg? JESUS H. Please excuse me as I hyperventilate into a paper bag.

You’d have to look long and hard to find something that terrifies me more than an unplanned move. Most of my childhood involved uprooting every few years. Add in the fact we have no money for moving and that I might end up having to appear in court and have our situation laid bare to the world, or at least former colleagues, and you have recipe for one big effing panic attack.

Which I’m having right now. Where is that paper bag again?

The sad thing is that I hate this place. I want to move. I have always hated this place, but it was cheap and getting away from crazy loft landlord was priority one and the cheapness of this place made M feel better and I just wanted M to feel better so I said okay. And it was nice to have to not worry quite so much about money (we still do, but it isn’t nearly as bad as it was). But I hate the nasty old people (many of whom smoke–ugh) and I hate the crappy bathroom and dinky kitchen and the 1940s wiring. I hate that we gave up a superior elementary school cachement for an awful one.

But we can’t do the move without money and the market in Portland is extremely tight right now. Vacancies are low and in the 18 months (roughly) since we started looking, things have gotten much more expensive in town.

And here’s where I have my crisis. As time passes and I don’t work as a lawyer–and I don’t work and make money–I feel like more and more of a fraud. A couple of weeks ago, I had coffee with a woman from the organization that didn’t hire me. Which is nice, because I like her. But listening to her talk about her kids in private elementary/middle schools and how they’re going through the open houses of the private high schools where if you have to ask how much they cost, you can’t afford them, I just felt more and more like a screw up. I’d been enjoying coffee until that point, when I realized the only things we had in common were 1) vaginas, 2) JDs, and 3) faulty gallbladders. At that point, I just wanted to get to the safety of my car before I had breakdown about how badly I’ve managed my life these past three years.

It made me wonder how many of my classmates ever have a stack of medical bills four+ inches high and prioritize how to pay them. Do other people in my graduating class wonder, “The late charge on my car insurance is bigger than the late charge on my power bill, so I’ll pay the car insurance this paycheck and the power bill the next?” This is another thing I didn’t expect at my age.

I realize that even though I have this education, without a job, it’s worthless. Why did I bother? I can’t provide for my daughter. I don’t belong to the tribe of people who can put their kids in private schools and a gazillion lessons. I can’t even find a job. I’m going to get all poor pitiful me (at least more so) but I do so much for other people because I believe in helping other people out, and it gets me exactly nowhere.

Sure, I’m doing a really great job of not-homeschooling Pea. She’s jumped ahead in the last six weeks. I’m a good mom, and I can see it in Pea. I’m proud of that. I’m a good lawyer, and I’m proud of that, too.

I’m…just broke and terrified and wondering how the hell we pull out of this nosedive.

Categories: Hard days, TMI, WTF