Lawyer Mama

Typhoid Mary Hits Mardi Gras (With Child)

By now I should be in New Orleans sipping a beverage and relaxing. In actuality, I'm probably fighting rush hour traffic to get to my aunt's house in Metairie, but we can all dream, can't we? I'm in New Orleans to celebrate Mardi Gras with my family and The Queen of the Mayhem and all her little subjects.

I won't be posting much (if any) while I'm gone. Mainly because it's a bad idea to blog while drunk. I might end up that scary NaBloPoYe, or whatever, where you promise to post every day for a year in return for ...? Sorry, I'm not sure what you get other than a mandatory 48 hour stay at the mental institution of your choice.

My stay in the Crescent City will be marred a bit, unfortunately. You see I seem to have developed tuberculosis or something this slight cough and it won't go away. I've been bitching to T about how I never got sick before we had kids. Of course he had to remind me, "But remember that time you infected Tobago?" And no, he didn't misspeak, he meant the entire island of Tobago, not simply one or two people in Tobago.

You see, we went with friends to Tobago for the whole year 2000 New Years thing. We figured if the world ended and planes fell from the sky, a beach would be a good place to be. Over Christmas, my parents visited and every one of us got sick. Even T, who rarely gets sick. (Damn him.) I must have better immunity because I was the last to fall. Consequently, when we boarded a plane in Washington, D.C., shortly before December 31st, I was still hacking everywhere.

It was so bad our fellow passengers on the American Airlines flight from Miami to Trinidad were giving me that look. You know the one where they're wondering if the customs officials in Trinidad will be insane enough to let this obvious petri dish into their country. I swear I saw money changing hands when I came back from the plane bathroom. I think T was accepting bribes to stay away from certain hotels and beaches. Bastard.

Anyway, we were there with friends, who introduced us to some Tobago island friends they'd met last time they were there. Our new second hand friends took us to a party with yet more friends and even had us over for dinner. We had the island specialty, a yummy curried crab with dumplings.

We were supposed to meet up with our new friends again but heard that the man of the house had gotten sick. And then their kids. And then the wife. And then the neighbors. One by one, they fell like dominoes. We hot footed it out of the country before they demanded the CDC come pick me up in hazmat gear.

But I'm sure my trip to New Orleans won't be like that. Nooooooooo!

Heather, forget everything you read here.

Musical Memories

In memory, everything seems to happen to music.

- Tennessee Williams

My parents sent me to a preschool attached to a Lutheran church. We knew the teacher, although I can't recall her name now. She babysat me at times, drove me home from preschool on occasion and taught my Sunday school class. From what I recall, she was a nice, grandmotherly sort of person. (Although I now suspect she wasn't that much older than my parents. At the age of 4, everyone seems old.) For some reason, several of my most memorable, and undoubtedly character shaping, early childhood memories involved her.

Memory 1:

One day, my preschool teacher was bringing me home and we stopped at the grocery store to pick up a few things she needed. I, always the obedient child, followed her around the store and smiled shyly at all the people who told her how cute I was or tried to talk to me. I remember the muzak playing in the store, tinny and sweet. Very different from the music my father listened to.

When we were standing in the check out aisle it happened. While my teacher chatted with the cashier, I looked at all the gum and candy. And I picked one up, turned it over in my hand, and put it in my pocket. Not to keep, just to have for a minute. It made sense in my 4 year old mind. As we left the store, the cashier smiled at me and told me to have a good day. I smiled shyly back and was led away by the hand, the candy in my pocket forgotten.

I climbed into the car and put my hand in my pocket. What was this? As I pulled out the candy with some surprise, my teacher noticed. She asked me where I'd gotten the candy. I didn't answer. She knew anyway. She asked me if I'd taken it from the store. I didn't answer. She knew anyway.

She brought me back to the store, made me give the candy back to the cashier who'd beamed at me earlier, and apologize. I did. Mortified and in tears.

In the car, I quietly sobbed on the way home, listening to a lecture about stealing. I'm sure it was nothing more than a quick and serious conversation about why we don't take things without paying for them, but in my 4 year old mind it was so much more than that.

Clearly, it made quite an impression.

When I got home, my teacher didn't tell my mother. Neither did I. I knew my mother would be disappointed in me. If my teacher had been, I knew my mother would be. Even as a toddler I was already desperate to please. When my mother asked me what was wrong, I don't remember what I said. Perhaps I said I didn't feel well. But I know I didn't tell her the truth. That would have been impossible.

Memory 2:

My teacher had come to pick me up for Sunday School. I'm not sure why my parents weren't coming. Perhaps my brother, an infant, was sick. It seemed to my young mind that my father was always gone. (He was in the Air Force.) I was wearing a nice dress and shoes, my hair in carefully blow dried waves. In my memory it was my yellow dress with the white patent leather shoes, but that could be just because I've seen pictures of myself wearing that dress at about the age of 4.

We were in the driveway but I wouldn't get in the car. I was screaming and kicking and crying. I remember that they tried to physically put me in the car but I braced myself on the outside of the car and refused.

You don't understand what an event this was for me. I was an unusually well behaved and compliant infant and toddler. I didn't do public tantrums like that. Perhaps that's why my mother gave in. Faced with such a strangely violent reaction from me, it probably seemed best that I stay home.

I don't remember ever attending Sunday School again.

I don't remember much from immediately after the event. All I know is that I think of my Sunday School tantrum whenever I hear the song, "Jesus loves me." Perhaps I learned it for the first time from my preschool teacher. Maybe I did attend Sunday School again after that day, but in my memory tantrum day ended my formal relationship with "church," leaving a faint imprint of cardboard doves, the smell of thick school paste, and the faded sounds of children's songs on my mind.

The pain and recrimination of disappointing people. The triumph at having my voice heard. Both of these memories are quite vivid.

What do I take from these memories now? I'll leave that to you to speculate. I'm sure that those of you who know me well, or even read my blog regularly, can guess.

I still can't stand Seventies muzak.

This was part of Julie's Hump Day Hmmm. Our task for the week was to write about key childhood memories and how and why we still carry them.

************
If you want to know the MOMocrats thoughts on John Edwards' recent departure from the race for the Democratic presidential nomination, head on over today or tomorrow. We're not going away. We're going to be reminding Senators Obama and Clinton about the promises they've made and, hopefully, asking some tough questions. They're going to need to earn our votes.

Driving Public Policy

Edited: Well, it seems that the AP is reporting that John Edwards is dropping out of the race. So much for my steadfast loyalty. I still think that he's played an important role in this campaign. I know he says he won't be the vice-presidential nominee, but a girl can hope, right?

I know you want to know who I'm supporting now. I don't think I'm going to decide yet. Virginia's primary is a week after Super Tuesday, so I don't have to decide until then. I know which way I'm leaning, but I want to see where HRC and Obama's policies lead me.

One of the bloggers over at Chicago Mom's Blog drafted an open letter to the Democratic Presidential candidates. You can see it on all of the sister sites, including the D.C. Metro Moms Blog that I contribute to. Veronica's letter is a wonderful idea. Several of the D.C. Metro Moms have been trying to get through to the presidential candidates for awhile. We even started topic days on all the sister sites to increase awareness of the political motivations of parent bloggers.

To a certain extent, it worked a bit. We had a wonderful meeting/teleconference with Elizabeth Edwards. We had some feelers from Senator Dodd's campaign. The Obamas basically told us, "thanks but no thanks," and I don't think we ever even heard from the HRC camp or anyone else. As for the Republican candidates? Bubkus. (Granted, I could really care less, but I do understand that not every mom who blogs is a Democrat.)

The problem I have with Veronica's letter is that it ignores my candidate, John Edwards. People can say whatever they want about his campaign being essentially over, but he is still in the game. CNN can pull him from their polls, but that doesn't change the fact that John Edwards has been driving policy in the Democratic primaries.

Even if Senator Edwards doesn't have a chance at the nomination any more, he's staying in the race to hold the nominee's feet to the fire. To make sure that Senators Obama and Clinton don't kill each other in a toddler temper tantrum, to make sure they don't forget about poverty, and health insurance, and economic reform, and environmental policy, and all those other things that we care about.

So let's not leave John Edwards out because, based on past experience, he's the candidate most likely to listen to us. Edwards does still have a role in this election. If I didn't truly believe that, I wouldn't still be beating the John Edwards drum over at MOMocrats.

For all we've heard about the presidential candidates *cough*OBAMA*cough* being socially media savvy, moms who blog have been pretty much ignored, except by the Edwards campaign. While companies and PR people can't wait to market to us or hear what we think about the latest mop or kid video on the market, nobody besides Edwards seems to give a flying fart what we think about public policy.

And it's not that no one cares what bloggers think. Hop on over the Daily Kos or the Huffington Post. Oh, the politicians care. They just don't care unless they can directly see a result in terms of political support or money. It's not so clear cut with us, the mothers who blog about anything and everything. But make no mistake, we vote, we're well educated, and we talk and write about politics in a personal way. People read our blogs. Some people actually do care what we think.

So, here's what I say:

Take heed, politicians. The internet is viral. If one of our fellow mom bloggers can get thousands of women across the country heading to the gym in an attempt to replicate her Big O on the treadmill, just think what we could do for your ideas and your campaign.

Ignore us at your peril.

Sincerely,

One Pissed Off Mommy Blogger

***********

As usual, I have new photos up at Lawyer Mama Dabbles. Is anyone other than my mother even reading that site? Give a gal some love, would you? Mwah!

Edited to add: Nancy, babe. I added an O link just for you! I meant to link it, so thanks for reminding me.

Can I Get A Drum Roll Please....?

I have a blogger to introduce.

I know. I see you nodding and thinking, "Yeah, yeah, Steph, but my Google Reader is already about to explode. I just can't give any more." I promise you, you'll want to make an exception.

I am a bit biased. You see, this new "Mommy Blogger" is my cousin. I wrote her a "welcome to motherhood" post shortly before her adorable daughter burst into her world and many of you have seen her comment here on my blog. You may even have followed her link, only to find an empty blog.

Well, it isn't empty anymore.

If you're looking for a new blog that talks about how wonderful life is and how fulfilling and exciting motherhood is, hers is not the blog for you. But chances are, if you're a regular reader here, you'd vomit all over the floor if someone insisted to you that crayons and play doh are more fulfilling to you than any career, dreams, or aspirations you had before becoming a parent.

DM doesn't do puppy dogs, rainbows, and perfect Christmas newsletters. She's a member of my family. We teach sarcasm and pessimism in the womb. Hell, my aunts and uncles even have an informal competition to see who can send out the most twisted Christmas card each year. (For the record, no one has yet topped D&D's card sent out after Hurricane Katrina. It featured my cousin, holding a rifle, in front of the garage spray painted with "Looters will be shot on sight." I'll scan it in some time.)

Oh, and in case you were wondering, DM is not the cousin who was arrested at my grandmother's funeral. No, DM is more likely to get arrested at a protest rally. Or at least she was pre-baby. DM is the person we all wished we could be. She's done everything, from massage therapy to modeling. She was the only bridesmaid in my wedding with purple hair. She's traveled everywhere. (I will never be able to erase that photo of her eating the huge spider from my mind.) She's an incredibly talented photographer and a great writer.

Now, she'll be a great blogger.

If the thought of a minivan and "mom jeans" are enough to make you throw up a little in your mouth, go read Defiant Muse.

Now DM is thinking, "Dear God, WHY did I tell her about the blog?" Just be glad I don't have a scanner at home, DM. It could be worse. This is the only photo I have of you on my computer right now and at least you're not the one wearing a hideously poofy dress that you picked out.

DM is anonymous, or I'd post a more current picture of her modeling. Or if she'll let me lift a picture she's got on her My Space or Facebook pages.... (I got permission, so it's there up at the top!)

********
If that photo doesn't intrigue you, I have new ones up on Lawyer Mama Dabbles. I know you're all dying to see my homework from my photography class. It's almost as exciting as bark. In fact it is bark.

********
I know many of you have noticed that I haven't been visiting blogs lately. I feel like I need to apologize for having such a one way conversation lately.

Do you ever have times where you're really trying to get out of the house to go to the store, but you have two small children and it takes 30 minutes to get them dressed and ready to go. And then when you're strapping them into the car, one insists he has to go potty, so you unstrap them and let him go potty and when you catch them both and begin restrapping them, the other one has to go potty, and then one of them wants a juice and the other one wants a snack, and the other one must find the annoying $.20 Happy Meal gingerbread man toy that says "Not my gumdrop buttons," over and over again, and then the other one has to go potty again, and then the cat barfs on the rug, and then you have to go pee, and all you want to do is sit on the rug with your Resolve and paper towels and cry? But instead you call your husband and tell him to pick up milk on the way home and then everyone takes a 3 hour nap?

That's me lately with the blogging.

I have the best of intentions and sometimes I even get the car out of the garage. But at best I've been driving by the store and not stopping because the kids have fallen asleep in the backseat and I don't want to wake them up.

So please, please don't think I've forsaken you or unsubscribed from your blog, or even stopped thinking about you. To the contrary, I think about you all the time and wonder what's going on with you and you and you and you and you and all the rest of you. (You know who you are, even if I can't possibly link you all.)

When Did I Become The Adult?

I have a new review of The Ultimate Tea Diet up on Lawyer Mama Review. I was skeptical going in, but it really works. Go check it out.

I also have new photos up on Lawyer Mama Dabbles. Well, they're not exactly new, but what I did to them is! Want to see a vintage Holden? How about a chocolate and lilac Hollis?

Finally, I have to thank everyone for your emails, comments, and hugs since Pandy got sick. Hell, I have to thank all y'all for your unflagging support all the time. I neglect your blogs for weeks at a time. I post sporadically or post only nonsense and you keep coming back just to let me know you're listening. You open up your homes to me (yeah, I'm looking at you, Joanne and Heather!). You call me and send me your phone numbers. Or you just let me know that you're there.

You have no idea how much all of this means to me. Or maybe you do. Either way, there's a house next door to me for sale if anyone wants to buy it. I'd be thrilled to have any of you as neighbors. And for me, that says a lot!

************
Last night was the culmination of weeks of dread. Ever since we got that little slip of paper from Hollis's preschool, I've been nervous as hell. The reason for my anxiety?

Parent Teacher Conferences

That's right. For 3 year olds.

As a child, I was never worried about conferences. I was a nerd model student. Even if I hadn't been, I can usually handle criticism. (Cognitive dissonance works great. You should try it.) But the thought of listening to someone tell me what my baby is doing wrong makes my heart race and my brow break out in a sweat.

It's not that I think Hollis is perfect. To the contrary, I know he's not. I know he's the youngest in his class and that he's probably behind most of them. I know that he's an introvert but he tends to get pumped up and rowdy (and stop listening) when he's in a comfortable environment. I don't know which option frightened me more, hearing that he was completely comfortable to the point of disobedience and insolence or hearing that he was too shy to fully participate.

Well, having actually been in his classroom and witnessed The Toddler in his native habitat, I knew it was more likely we'd be hearing about behavior techniques to get him to listen. I just don't want to be the mom to "That Child." Not that I think we couldn't handle it, but knowing that Holden is far, far worse than his brother, I would be completely freaked out to discover that Hollis is a behavior problem in school!

Plus, every time I go into school as Hollis's "mother" I feel like a teenager masquerading as a parent. Does anyone else feel like this or is this some bizarre personal psychological reaction to schools and bulletin boards?

Hollis's teacher also keeps asking me to call her by her first name and I, stupidly, keep calling her Mrs. N and writing "Mrs. N" on notes to her. I probably make her feel like a grandmother masquerading as a teacher, but really, when did I become the adult? I still feel like I'm not allowed to call a teacher by her first name!

Anyway, it turns out that my fears were groundless. Hollis's teacher told us that, yes, he is young and has a few problems with things a few of the kids have mastered, but he's constantly showing improvement. Hollis is happy and cheerful and obedient (for the most part) and plays well with the other kids. Whew! I mean, we knew Hollis was happy, but it's nice to hear confirmation from his teacher. And to hear that she likes him. We all want our children to be liked, don't we?

At the end of the conference, Mrs. N shared something with us that she calls the "Tell Me" sheet. It's a list of questions she asks the kids and then she records the answers. It starts with basic things like name, age, favorite color, etc.... (By the way, Hollis is still insisting that he's 5. At least he's consistent.) Then she asked him things like, "What makes you happy or sad?" and, "What do you want to be when you grow up?"

Hollis, to his credit, didn't answer the, "What do you want to be?" question. Honestly, I wouldn't know how to answer if you asked me and I'm 35. How do you answer a question like that? "I want to be happy/thin/tall/a princess/a fireman?" I don't know. On the way home, I decided to ask Hollis the question again, worded a bit differently. Being a creative genius, I asked Hollis, "What do you want to do when you grow up?" My literal-minded toddler answered without missing a beat, "Drink coffee and soda."

That's my boy!

There were a few answers on Hollis's "Tell Me" sheet that cracked us up. For the question, "What do daddies do?" Hollis answered, "Go to work and eat chocolate. I went to Daddy's office and he gave me some chocolate and it was yummy and crunchy." Clearly the kitchen in T's office has made an impression.

In response to, "What do Mommies do," Hollis replied, "Take baths and eat popsicles." Oy. It's time to start indoctrinating the toddler. Does anyone have a copy of The Feminine Mystique that I could borrow? Or maybe I should start out with some Wollstonecraft? Do they publish A Vindication of the Rights of Woman in a picture book?

Hollis redeemed himself towards the end though. His answer to, "What is pretty?" was "Mommy and her smile." Say it with me now, everyone, "Awwwwwwwwww!" When his teacher followed up with, "What makes her pretty?" Hollis's response was, "Her hair and her hair clip."

T was a little disturbed about Hollis's public acknowledgement of his obsession with my accessories. The kid loves to wear my necklaces, hair clips and headbands, and shoes. Clearly, there's hope for my boy!

Sleep Well, Sweet Kitty

It's over.

We brought Pandy home on Friday morning after her blood tests were a little better. She did really well on Saturday and then on Sunday became lethargic again.

She stopped eating and drinking. Yesterday we discovered that she could no longer walk. I caught her trying to drag herself across the floor to her litter box.

I made an appointment to go see the vet on Tuesday morning, but we won't be needing it.

I sat up with Pandy after everyone went to bed because she was breathing pretty heavily. I put her in the living room to sleep in front of the fireplace on a bed of soft towels. About 20 minutes ago, I heard her choking and ran in to see that Pandy had dragged herself off of the carpet and thrown up all of her medication.

While I was wiping everything up and cleaning her paws, she stopped breathing.

Pandora

Our "Jellicle" cat

March 2000 - January 22, 2007

Tomorrow

We're always making plans for the future, aren't we?

Tomorrow I'll start organizing the closets.

Tomorrow I'll start my diet.

Tomorrow I'll stick to my budget.

Tomorrow I'll get out of bed.

For some perspective, I'll remember that Why Mommy's Tomorrow truly is a new beginning. Tomorrow is her long awaited surgery and, hopefully, the beginning of her long life without cancer.

Go wish her luck, won't you? And think of her tomorrow.

A World Without Art

I can't remember when I first became aware of "art" as a medium for emotional expression. It's just always been there. So putting thoughts about that emotional expression into words is always difficult for me.

Julie's Hump Day Hmmm for this week (yes, I'm late) tackles this tough subject:

Tell us about what the arts (music, dance, art, etc.) mean to you and what you think the effect of de-emphasizing it in schools means for the kids, the community, the culture and the future.

Art has always been important to my life, even though I am not an artist. I earn my livelihood with the left side of my brain. Reason and logic are my touchstones.

But... Some of the greatest analytical minds are also creative. Important inventions and new ideas are part of what psychologist David Perkins calls "breakthrough thinking." David Perkins' research supports the idea that the ability for your mind to have "eureka" or breakthrough moments in problem solving can be enhanced and developed through study of the arts. Something about art and music triggers creative thinking.

I've experienced this first hand. As a child I played the violin and took drama classes. My mother introduced me to famous artists. My parents took us to museums, the ballet, the symphony, and the theater. I didn't realize it at the time, but they were setting the groundwork for my later studies in math, science and computers. While my mind lends itself to the analytical fields, creativity is essential.

Take the law, for example. What most people don't realize is that a law suit is rarely won in front of a judge or jury. By the time a case gets to trial, there are very few surprises. There are rarely Perry Mason moments. An unexpected witness hardly ever appears. The important legal issues, those that determine whether a case can be supported based on statute or the common law, have already been determined.

The legal issues? This is where the case is usually decided. And it usually happens at the very beginning, when the lawyers involved develop a litigation strategy and the legal theory of the case. Once the strategy is developed, much of litigation involves the written word. Discovery is carefully crafted, the words in each motion deliberately drafted. Some of it is very routine.

But... While much of what I do is highly analytical, a touch of the genius never hurts. There are times when creativity is essential. The high points of my career, the moments I remember with pride, all involve creative arguments. Looking at a case, a contract, a legal theory in a different way can be the difference between losing and winning a motion for summary judgment and ultimately determine who wins or loses. What separates the brilliant lawyer from the good lawyer is this creative thinking and the ability to express it through words and language. Can anyone tell me that this isn't, in its own way, an art?

Schools have been cutting back arts education since I was a child. Do they even teach art appreciation in elementary schools anymore? These cuts are usually budget driven, with the idea that something must go and that art is less important than the three R's. But eliminating art and, consequently, the only outlet some children have for artistic and creative expression is short sighted.

I don't doubt that creativity, logic, analysis, and an appreciation of art are all related. Much in the way that mathematics and music have been shown to be inextricably linked, I am convinced that art can only help creative thinking.

Creative thinking.

Creative thinking is essential to the development of the human race and our society. The wheel, planting crops, developing the written word, the printing press, vaccines, the theory of relativity, trips to the moon, and computers. Our world is based on creative thinking, originality, and, yes, art.

Show Me Your ....

I swear the dead twig Christmas tree is coming down tomorrow. Although it is awfully cute that Holden yells out "Christmas!" every time he walks past the tree.



I also have a fun plan to get my butt out of the house and have some fun.

The wonderfully lovely and funny Queen of the Mayhem suggested that I bring the family down for Mardi Gras, Baton Rouge style. The husband isn't really down with driving 16 hours for a 2 day stay, so I've convinced him that I need to fly down for some cocktail mental health time. I'm going to bring Big H with me courtesy of United Airlines and bonus miles. (And United, if you screw me again, we're done. Just so we're clear.)

Now, the poor Queen is probably thinking, "Oh, shit! What have I done?" Well, Queeny, baby. That's what happens when you tempt Lawyer Mama with a good time when she desperately needs one. Now you can't back out. {Insert evil laughter here.}

So, if anyone happens to be in the New Orleans or Baton Rouge area on the weekend before Mardi Grad, let me know if you'd like to get together. Or if, say, some bloggers that I adore wanted to drag their butts over from Houston, I wouldn't be opposed. Nope. Not. at. all.

It looks like I'll be coming in to New Orleans mid day on Thursday, January 31st and hopefully crash with some family. (I suppose I should call and ask before I just show up with toddler in tow.) I'll spend the weekend with the Queen and the Mayhem in Baton Rouge and then head back to New Orleans until Tuesday, when I will reluctantly depart.

Yes, I will be flying out on Mardi Gras day. Bummer. But hey, it's a free flight. I can't complain.

I need to start practicing. "Show me your.... amygdalae!" That'll stop them in their tracks. (Yes, I am a nerd.)

It's Not Over Folks....

Check out this video from the John Edwards web site.



See more discussion about John Edwards and media bias at MOMocrats.

************

Pandy is coming home tomorrow!