…who tells me my kid will lack essential social experiences by doing the last months of kindergarten. With me. At museums. And in the real world…?

Will get a poke in the eye with a sharp stick.

Those are my missing social skills, apparently.

I love seeing pictures of my friends’ growing families on their blogs and FB pages. Seriously, BABIES!  Almost everyone I know is on #2 or #3 right now, it seems.

And then I wonder….how? Not the mechanics, but the sanity how and the money how and the energy how. Because even if another pregnancy wasn’t a good bet at killing me, I don’t know how I could do it. What’s more, I don’t have any desire to do it, and didn’t, even when the perinatologist knowingly said, “You’ll be back as soon as she says ‘Mama’ for the first time.”

I said, “No, but thank you for all you’ve done.” Because we both made it out alive and that was enough.

Other MILPs have spoken of their deep desires to have another child recently, and I want to reiterate this is all about my hangups and I’m pretty sure that based on a survey of my acquaintance, I’m the weird one. Because again, don’t get me wrong: BABIES! But the caveat is other people’s BABIES!

Someone told me once that most kids are not as hard as mine. I don’t know if that’s true, but I cling to that. I am pretty sure that on a Richter scale of easy-goingness, Pea wouldn’t even register.

And the reality is that I’ve always wanted one child. Just one.

The annoying people do stop asking you, once your kid reaches a certain age, when you’re going to give her a sibling.

(I am so embarrassed to remember, years ago, I did ask friends this once–their answer was a lot like mine: another would kill the mom–but in in my defense, they are super LDS.)

Instead, the question is, “Where are her brothers/sisters?”  I’ve always said, “She’s a planned only child.”  And no, that isn’t enough to shut them up. Oh, she must want a sister or a brother. Yes, I say, sure. She also wants a puppy, and she doesn’t have one of those, either. (That, for the first few years, was another thing I was pretty sure I couldn’t manage at the same time as Pea without losing my sanity.)

Then they give me a look, the look that says I am an evil mother, and they either change the subject or tell me about how all ten of their children are best friends as adults.

Whatever. I could tell them stories about mine, but I don’t. The short answer is: Pea’s fine.

Mostly people tell me that my child is going to be selfish and unable to share because she lacks siblings. I’m not even going down that road. Suffice it to say she’s always been generous (to a point; don’t expect her to give you the last cupcake, although she might on a good day) and I’m not worried. Yes, I do wish she had someone else to play with when I’m trying to get things done.

But we still have that puppy card to play.

I’ve pulled myself out of last week’s abyss and have become productive again. (Go, Protestant work ethic, go. This is how I measure my worth, when I’m not measuring it by the state of my house, my age, education, or the behavior of my child in public situations.) Even though sequestration means I won’t have access to some of the archived materials I need, the public domain, Google books, Powell’s, and various digitization projects mean I’ve got enough primary and secondary material to work with until someone in federal governance decides to spend money on public services again.

The novel I should be pitching? I’m not. It’s done, as much as it’s going to be done before an editor works on it. I need to be pitching it, but it’s amazing how good I am at finding other things to do. Isn’t that absurd? Of all the things I’ve done in my life, writing letters, even letters that will result in rejection, doesn’t even make the top 10 in terms of generating fear or anxiety. The emotion is more like not wanting to sit down and do taxes.

Pea. Oh, Pea. She is at a delightfully annoying, maddening, advancing stage. (Things I have to say, Part 512: “You can sing your ‘I hate song’ after you put your clothes on and brush your hair and teeth.”) We went on a hike yesterday (maybe a mile loop, with some minor elevation) which involved freaking out about the (very few) insects, no fear of banana slugs, and Pea spotting a pileated woodpecker from a remarkable distance (clearly her eyes don’t come from me–or M, for that matter). Also yesterday? Refusal to go to sleep. This sort of thing usually accompanies a growth spurt. Let’s hope that’s it.

Today would have been an OMSI day, but for the refusal to sleep/waking me up early (she has a clock in her room, and in the event I’m not already up at 8, she is not to wake me up until 8).  Not only is she grounded from TV, but also the outing was postponed. (She gets to watch TV after M gets home; he gets to be the good guy, although whenever I break and let her watch, it’s spoken of in hushed tones usually reserved for seeing Virgin Mary on a piece of moldy toast.) I realize this is probably more punishment for me than for her, but the lack of sleep is a migraine trigger and OMSI with migraine and school field trip groups (it’s the end of the school year: oh, joy) might just break me.

There’s a possibility we may be able to move to a house in a better school district, although after crunching the numbers, I don’t know if we can swing it. (It would mean a much longer commute for M, though the rent alone is about right. Unfortunately, there are more utility costs than initially indicated.) In any event, nothing is happening soon. I’m okay with that for now, although I really, really would like to not live near old ladies who smoke. Because, gross.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.