lawmummy

So in keeping with the tradition of bloggers everywhere, I submit my birthday list of random facts about myself. There are 33 (yeah, cause I am 33 today).

Some of them are the answers to my quiz, as promised!

1. When I was little, I wanted to be a baseball player until an unfortunate incident involving my cat. My older brother, well-meaning though misguided, attempted to teach me how to hit with his new Louisville Slugger bat – only I was too little to lift it completely. He propped it up on my shoulder and I swung. Downwards. And my cat happened to be standing by. You can fill in the details. I quit baseball that day. My cat lived another 13 years. He had some scars.

2. Despite my being keloid and being paranoid about scars, I got two tattoos. One is a daisy. The other was supposed to say “Angel” in Chinese, but I was later told that it really says “Man on a Mountain.”

3. I think the most beautiful place on earth are the North Carolina Mountains.

4. I am from North Carolina originally, the middle child of three children.

5. I was named after the Lance cracker man in our neighborhood. Dad was hoping for another boy so I got a boy’s name.

6. My brother once convinced me that my parents would have named me Elmer after the cow on the glue bottle had I been a boy. I was really mad about it for some bizarre reason. And my brother used to make it worse by chasing me around the room with an Elmer’s glue bottle.

7. I used to bottle my own wine. My secret ambition is to own a winery.

8. I love wine and food. My favorite food is cole slaw.

9. Hailing from the coast of North Carolina, one of my favorite meals was cole slaw, hush puppies and fried shrimp – years later, I would develop a terrible allergy to seafood.

10. Chris diagnosed my allergy after a particularly violent attack following a meal in Puerto Rico.

11. I love to travel, but was not on a plane until I was 16 years old.

12. My fantasy travel destination is Machu Picchu.

13. I travel vicariously through “The Amazing Race.” I don’t think I have ever missed an episode.

14. I used to want to be certain TV and movie characters – so much so that my prom dress for the senior prom was based on the dress that Anne Shirley wore in “Anne of Green Gables.”

15. My mom used to make all of my dresses (including my prom dress). I didn’t realize that it wasn’t the norm until I was about 8 years old and snotty Joye Highsmith rudely said to me that “You can’t win a pageant without a store bought dress.” Chris swears that would make a great country song.

16. I love country music and my first live concert ever was George Jones.

17. My last live concert was the Dixie Chicks.

18. The song I am most embarrassed to have on my iTunes is Carrie Underwood’s “Inside my Heaven” from American Idol. It was a terrible song. But somehow she made it work.

19. Speaking of work, I used to tell people that my parents owned the Phillips 76 gas stations. We didn’t even buy gas there.

20. The first car that I remember my parents having was a Ford Grenada with vinyl seats.

21. When we would go to have the Grenada serviced, I would drool over the car that I really wanted: a metallic green LTD Crown Victoria.

22. I used to name my dolls after British royalty. I can’t help it. I’m Welsh.

23. I can’t stand Catherine Zeta Jones (also Welsh).

24. I have never seen the movie “E.T” He scared me.

25. I scare easily. I once refused to go down the stairs in my house after an episode of “Remington Steele” because I was convinced that my mother would push me down the stairs for my money. I had no money.

26. I was almost evicted from my second apartment.

27. When I moved out of my first apartment, my refrigerator was full of maggots. I spent the summer in Europe and my landlord accidentally shut off the power (thinking it was for another apartment) for the entire summer. I can’t explain how bad it was. Plastic melted from the bacteria. And I, being a good girl and far too gullible, cleaned out the whole thing, believing that it was somehow my responsibility.

28. Bugs don’t scare me but mice do. In the book version of “Little House on the Prairie”, Pa dreamed someone was cutting his hair – and he woke up to find a rat chewing on it. That completely freaked me out.

29. I once cried so much at a hair salon that my mother couldn’t take me back. Ever. And there were only two salons in my town. The salon owner, Norma, cut my hair super short and gave me a perm. I was a chubby girl with glasses. It was not a good look.

30. Despite my tantrum, I had always wanted curly hair. I once infamously said in Germany that I wanted to marry someone who would ensure that I had children with blue eyes and curly hair.

31. My husband has blue eyes and curly hair (my daughters do not have both).

32. My husband is my biggest supporter.

33. I am writing a book, at his suggestion.

Okay, now I feel kind of guilty whining about some previous birthdays gone awry, only to discover that, in fact, Chris has (gasp) actually planned something for my birthday this year. As in really planned. And guys, that means a reservation.

This has been the thing I have noticed about men and special events, be it birthdays, anniversaries or holidays. They remember. And they plan. But they don’t follow through. And they confuse having a plan with actually doing something.

Let me give you an example. Chris always remembers my birthday ahead of time. And he’ll think to himself, “Boy, I’ll bet Kelly would really like to go to Bistro St. Tropez.” And then, inevitably, on the day of, he’ll call down to Bistro St. Tropez around noon and surprise! There is no availability. And hence no plan.

Or he’ll make a plan for dinner and forget to arrange for babysitting. Again, not a real plan.

It’s totally a guy thing. I was chatting about it this morning at breakfast and my friend, Wil, confirmed it. He said he does the same thing - he has great ideas and he forgets the details until the last minute. Apparently, he was going to take his girlfriend to Rockefeller Center for Christmas (how romantic!) and waited until too late and then they couldn’t go.

Once more guys, not an actual plan in that event.

Let me give you an analogy. I’ll use sports since guys profess to understand that. McNabb is in the huddle. He’s thinking he’s going to try a long ball to T.O. Only he doesn’t tell T.O. And he doesn’t call that play in the huddle. But he was thinking about it. And then T.O. doesn’t run the correct route, and thus, no play. Incomplete. As in not fully executed (no actual plan and follow through).

Sigh.

But all of this whining is just out of place today because Chris not only had a plan, he made reservations. He gets big points for that. We’re going out to eat (yes, sitters arranged!) and then we’re staying overnight in Center City.

Yeah, I am a little nervous about being away from the girls. I have only spent one night away from Katie and never away from Amy. (Insert nervous twitching here.)

But I am excited to have some quality time with Chris. I am thinking I want Chinese food. Good Chinese food from Chinatown in Center City. Sang Kee. Mmm… I think I just drooled on the keyboard. And maybe drinks at the Continental after.

Of course, the sad truth is that the last time I was without kiddies (actually, without kid, it was just Katie at the time), I made all kinds of wild plans out on the town. And as I was sitting in the bar, drinking a beer and watching preseason football, it hit me: boy, was I tired. And so, we went home and I went to bed early. Seriously. It was the most boring night ever. And I loved it.

And as I force myself to drink decaf this morning to avoid a repeat of yesterday’s jitters (coffee all freaking day to stay awake), I am excited about my evening out. And already thinking that I may just want to eat Chinese food, watch TV (What? An evening with no Caillou! That’s the best birthday ever!) and rely on room service (ooh, did I mention we’re staying at an inn?).

And yes, it’s a plan.

My birthday is this week, so I am offering both a birthday story and a birthday top ten.

First, the story. Katie is currently obsessed with birthdays. Especially mine. This is due, largely in part, to the Dora story which she insists on hearing every night. And I mean every night. It’s the Dora story where Dora goes on a trip to gather the ingredients for a recipe for her Mami’s birthday cake. She gets nuts, bananas and chocolate - the chocolate from a chocolate tree which, quite frankly, I want to know the whereabouts of.

So, anyway, Katie is obsessed with my birthday. Our neighbors were strolling down the street the other day and we were chatting when Katie announces that it’s “my mommy’s birthday!” And I say, well, not today, but soon. Frankie, our neighbor’s oldest child who is five, looks at me and asks me how old I am. And I say, very dramatically, “I’m going to be a HUNDRED years old!” And both Frankie and Zoe get very quiet. At which point their mother whispers to me, “That’s how old we tell them people are when they go to heaven.” Doh! So in honor of my birthday, I’ve traumatized the neighbor’s children.

And also speaking of birthdays, I’ve decided that today’s top ten is my top ten memorable birthdays. As usual, in no particular order.

1. 19. I was in England. We had just arrived for a year abroad. My dad was hanging out for the week to make sure that Michelle, Anne and I got settled. And it was my birthday. I was legal in the UK but not in the US. And not in the Phillips household. We went to the pub anyway, but spent the whole night convinced we were going to run into my father. I dressed in a long burgundy sweater with sunflowers embroidered on it, a blue skirt and cowboy boots. I ordered a white wine spritzer. I was fairly certain that we were going to be thrown out… Fortunately, Anne saved the day by ordering a lager.

2. 22. The week of my 22nd birthday, I was involved in a terrible automobile accident. My friend, Amanda, was driving too fast and lost control of the car, hurtling us into the concrete overpass. She broke her thigh bone and has a rod in her leg to this day. I broke my foot in several places, dislocated my arm and the hospital thought, for a few days, that I had bruised my heart. I was casted from shoulder to fingertip on my right arm and was on crutches for my left foot. It was not particularly easy getting around and I was new to the City (it was my first month at law school). Mom had to come up to take care of me for a few days. I spent my 22nd birthday in my studio apartment in Philly with my mother, who doesn’t care for the City. She made me pink cupcakes. And my brothers were fighting on the phone (they called Mom to tell her their respective sides of the story). THAT was memorable.

3. 16. Okay, everybody thinks their 16th is memorable and mine was, but not for the reasons that people think. I didn’t get my license or have a sweet sixteen. I was at NCSSM in my senior year. My friends, Roxy, Ginny and Agnes took me out for our traditional “birthday rice” at the Vietnamese restaurant on 9th Street in Durham. Afterwards, we had Dorm Council elections. I gave my speech - and it was awesome - for dorm governor and promptly threw up afterwards (too much birthday rice?). Roxy gave her speech, too, and she played part of Sting’s “Roxanne.” The result? It was a “Third Beall sweep” with Roxy, Becke, Debbie and I taking 4 of 6 seats on Council.

4. 24. For my 24th birthday, I was dating Chris. He is not particularly, um, good about birthdays (sorry sweetie!). He and Madeline planned a night out to Villa di Roma in Philly, complete with tiara. But the plans went awry. Madeline bought a birthday banner, but they were trying to throw it from the third floor and it got caught in a tree. He forgot to pick up the dessert. And Villa di Roma was too crowded.

5. 25. So, Chris made up for it the next year. I was very homesick. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do about staying in Philly - Mom wanted me to come home. And I had no money, I was working three jobs. I hadn’t received my bar results back and I was worried - unlike my friends, I couldn’t afford the bar course and had to work full time through summer (I passed anyway, hooray!). So, I was bummed. And after the prior year birthday fiasco, I was not expecting anything cool. And so when my phone rang, and it was my friend Courtney from NC, I was excited to hear from her. And I remember saying, “Where are you? Because your voice sounds weird. It’s almost like you’re downstairs on the intercom.” And she was! And so was Bren! Chris had arranged for them to come up for the weekend. That year, he done good.

6. 26. Yes, three in a row. My 20s were very exciting years. At 26, Chris and I had just moved into our new house. I remember the first day in the house - four days before my birthday. We had fried chicken on the floor of what was to be the dining room. A few days later, it was my birthday. We had no plans. Chris suggested that we go out to Main Street, Manayunk, and I agreed. We left our empty house (there was no furniture on the first floor because the wood floors were being refinished) and went out to eat. We went to Sonoma. It was horrible. The service stunk and it was far too loud. We were crammed into a tiny space. I was NOT having a good time. I told Chris I wanted to leave, so we did. We moved onto Arroyo Grille, which wasn’t nearly as crowded or as loud. The food was passable. I was still not having a good time. We decided to go home early. On the way home, I realized that I had no keys to the house. I had apparently lost them. I called Sonoma and Arroyo, nothing. And this was the one day of the year that Chris didn’t bring his keys with him. Since we were brand new to the neighborhood, we hadn’t given any of the neighbors our keys. So, we sat on the front porch for awhile, wondering what to do. I decided to call a locksmith but none would come for like a hundred hours. I called the local police, since that’s what I would have done in NC. They said that they didn’t have time to come. So, I sat some more. And I fumed. And then I decided to break in. It was at that moment that the police decided to come after all - with me hanging out of the window of our “vacant” house. And all of my ID had my old address on it. I started to cry that “this was the WORST birthday ever.” The police officer apparently decided that nobody could have made up something that awful, and helped us into our house.

7. 13. Windi and I were supposed to have a joint 13th birthday party. The plan was a co-ed party with a sleepover for the girls after. I was excited. And then Linda decided to have a party that same night. And her party was going to have beer and no parents. Windi ditched me in favor of the beer party. I was so distraught. I thought about canceling my party but decided not to after all. I’m glad. My friends and I ate hotdogs and cake, danced outside on the deck. It was good, clean fun. When the boys went home, we girls went upstairs and watched videos and ate snacks all night. I had a good time. At Linda’s party, the cool kids didn’t have as much fun after all. Linda drank too much and performed oral sex on Chris (not my Chris, but Christina’s boyfriend), earning her an unfortunate nickname for the rest of the year. Melanie drank too much and puked over the side of the dock. Rumor has it that she also slept with a senior that night. Windi had an awful time because Linda was trashed. I was a good girl yet again that night. But it was the right thing to do. I had fun and all of my friends still talked to me the following week. I can’t say the same thing about the folks at the other party…

8. 21. My mom had some serious health issues right before I went to law school. She almost died the year after I graduated from college. So, when Dad went to Singapore for work for the year, I stayed home to keep mom company, and make sure she was okay. My 21st birthday was while I was home in NC. I had always pictured a wild and crazy 21st birthday party. Instead, I went out to eat with my brother and my mom, ordering a lone margarita. Surprisingly, it was really nice.

9. 17. During my first year of college, I was assigned a horrible, terrible roommate. Her name was Wendy and she was freaking weird. She was in a triple with me and Tamara. We couldn’t stand her. She took half of the room and her goofy parents moved my closet out into the hall because they thought it offered us more space (my dad flipped out when he saw it, moved it back in and then went to find the resident advisor). She marked off her section of the room by a border of Pound Puppies (yes, this was college and not grade school). She put up lots of Christian rock posters and told us that we couldn’t listen to any secular music (wha-ha?). She wanted to be a singer - and let’s just say she had no prayer. It was terrible. A few weeks into the semester, she and I had a royal blowout. She had switched off my electric typewriter (yes, before computers, remember these?) while I was writing my paper and then locked me out of the room. I screamed at her, she cried and took her Bible to go pray for me. I went, with Tamara, to see the Dean. We told the Dean we wanted her out. Unfortunately, the policy at Meredith was that the complainers are the ones that go. I was heartsick. I had just been voted hall rep for dorm council. I had lots of friends on my floor - Trin, Sam, Court, Jeanne, Jenny, DeAnna. I didn’t want to go. But I knew I couldn’t stay. So, I started interviewing for a new room. A few days later, I was called into the Dean’s office. Wendy had apparently also been looking to leave (who knew?) and alleged that I had told people NOT to take her as a roommate. I told the Dean that was nonsensical - why would I tell people not to take her when I desperately wanted her gone. I surmised that everyone else thought she was crazy, too. I think I was right. On my birthday, I got the news. Wendy was leaving. The Dean had converted a broom closet (I am not making this up) into a single for her. She was gone! I was so excited. I got to stay on my hall. And to make matters even better, my new roommate turned out to be Bren, who has been one of my nearest and dearest friends ever since…

10. 29. This was not my favorite year. Two weeks before my birthday, we experienced the national tragedy of 9/11. I knew a number of people who were affected. We had problems with the business (one of our biggest clients was arrested for embezzlement, which would explain why he wasn’t paying us). And I was frustrated because I had been trying to get pregnant for a number of months. Unlike our friends who were very public about their efforts, Chris and I were keeping it on the down low. But it was becoming frustrating. It had been about nine months and it wasn’t looking promising. Things just weren’t going the way that I had hoped. I think Chris felt that I needed a nice night out. So, for my birthday, we went to the Continental for drinks, then to Le Castagne for dinner and then to the Union League for more drinks. It was a nice evening. And nine months later… Katie!

So, those are my most memorable birthdays to date. Here’s hoping for many more…

Yuck.

Another female attorney pisses me off within the week.  What’s going on in legal America?

I don’t even know her.  A friend of mine sent me an email with a link to an article that Christine Flowers, a Philadelphia attorney, printed as an Op-ed piece in the Daily News.  I almost don’t want to waste the blogspace to print her name, but I do want to correctly attribute her blatherings.

If you read the piece, it’s a rant against public breastfeeding.  She refers to feeding your baby as exercising "militant preferences."  She compares a woman breastfeeding in public to a man urinating in public.  Or someone smoking.  Or playing loud music.  Jeez, I hope she’s not a trial lawyer if those are the kinds of analogies she feels are effective.

I understand that she might feel uncomfortable around a breastfeeding mother.  It’s the antithesis of what she’s about.  After all, she is very opposed to babies…  Oh, wait.  No, she’s a raving pro-lifer.  So, no, I don’t get it.

And clearly she doesn’t either.  Or maybe she’d know that it is the law (something I’m guessing she’s halfway familiar with) in Philadelphia that makes it illegal for anyone to prohibit you from breastfeeding in public.  For her edification (and yours), here’s the info: 

City Ordinance 1996 Amends Section 9-1105 of the Fair Practices Code entitled "Unlawful Public Accommodations Practice" to prohibit a breastfeeding mother from or segregate a breastfeeding mother within any public accommodation where she would otherwise be authorized to be irrespective of whether or not the nipple of the mother’s breast is covered during or incidental to breastfeeding.

Actually, I understand in theory that breastfeeding is not something that all people have been exposed to (pun intended).  And I do think most mothers try their best to be discreet.  I was raised Southern Baptist, so there isn’t a bone in my formerly ultraconservative body that wants to expose my boobs to complete strangers (unless it’s Luke Wilson, but that’s a different story - take that, Madgirl!).  And any nursing mother will tell you that your breasts aren’t necessarily at their "prettiest" while nursing.

I wasn’t a breastfed baby - nor were either of my brothers.  But I wanted to breastfeed both of my girls because I was encouraged by the studies by medical profesionals all over the world that show that breastfed babies are healthier and smarter.  Trust me, any edge that I can pass along to my girls, I will.  In a heartbeat.

That said, I think a lot of ignorance towards breastfeeding is just that.  Ignorance.  Speaking as a mom, it’s tough, it’s exhausting and it’s not fun.  Newborns eat every two hours - for about half an hour each time - so, at some point, you become a feeding machine.  The frequency makes it difficult to always be as "hidden" as you (or others) might like.  The reality is that when the baby is hungry, he or she needs to be fed.  And if you’ve been around babies, you know that a baby doesn’t quite understand that he or she needs to wait until you can find a spot or position that makes others "comfortable."

I am cognizant of the fact that not everyone wants to see my boobs (though most of the people in the office have now) and I try to use a blanket, etc.  It’s much, much easier to do with an older baby (over 2 months old) that can hold his or her own head up, but it’s really tough with a newborn who can barely find the nipple to latch on to, much less hold a pose for any length of time.  There’s a lot of fighting under the blanket…  So this notion of just hunkering down quietly under a blanket cracks me up.  And, all babies have their own eating styles.  My first baby was a slurper.  A few minutes and she was done.  And she hated to be covered.  She squirmed.  My second was a sipper.  Like everything else about her personality, she would lounge about, eating a little, resting a little. 

I have nursed everywhere - Central Park, McGillins Pub, the Union League of Philadelphia (here more than anywhere probably, other than home or work, surprising to those of you who would have pegged it as a bastion of conservatism - but more on that later), NY Athletic Club, Fairmount Park, Pastorius Park, the airplane, etc.  I try to be aware of my surroundings and know that not everyone is comfortable with the idea of nursing in the first place (hailing from the South, I find this to be especially true).  I do, however, find Americans’ view of this to be curious - we are awfully nutty about these sort of things.  We don’t mind watching folks blow each other away on TV or seeing someone half dressed at the Emmys, but we’re wildly offended by a woman feeding her baby…

While I do appreciate that there are some people who are offended by public nursing, I am amazed at those who go out of their way to be offended. I was once feeding my oldest girl (just a month old at the time) in the back seat of my car in the parking lot of Shady Maple Grocery.  We had parked at the back to be out of the spotlight.  People actually CAME OVER TO MY CAR and LOOKED IN THE WINDOW and then proceeded to become offended.  I think some folks just don’t have anything better to do with their time than find things to be offended about…  And I place Ms. Flowers solidly in that category.

As to Ms. Flowers suggesting that nursing mothers just switch to a bottle, I will assume a few things, not the least of which is that she has never breastfed an infant.  Switching from breast to bottle can be confusing for an infant and for some babies, actually decreases the chance of successful breastfeeding.  Even for those who don’t, expressing milk isn’t always as easy as it sounds (again, I’m guessing ignorance on the part of Ms. Flowers).

I expressed when I could early on for my first baby, but I couldn’t for my second baby - it just wasn’t happening.  I tried three different pumps, no luck.  I just wasn’t producing as much as I did with my first, which was a lot (which I must say, with a warped sense of pride even impressed the lactation folks at Hospital of University of Penn).  So that meant, with my second, my only option was nursing when we were out.

Trust me, I got no joy out of it.  In fact, I cried a lot when I couldn’t express because it was emotionally really trying.  It’s not as cold and mechanical and I guess Ms. Flowers is.  I mean, as Ms. Flowers imagines.

Additionally, breast milk has a limited shelf life, so you usually end up freezing it.  That means, we parents do a little dance when we go out to a restaurant.  You  know the drill.  You ask the server for a bottle of hot water so that you can defrost the frozen milk (you can’t microwave it).  Child screams the whole time.  Inevitably the milks gets too hot and then you must then wait for it to cool.  Child continues to scream.  Folks around you do not appreciate this - ironically, quite possibly the same folks who are opposed to your breastfeeding in public, which is exactly why you brought the bottle in the first place.

Our society is simply not a society which promotes nursing.  Some companies in the US, like Ikea, actually offer nursing rooms, but they are few and far between.  In Europe, they have them everywhere - I learned the German word "Wickelraum" (changing room) while touring in December because almost every shop in Munich (no matter the size) offered an area to change and feed your baby.  Discreetly.

The alternatives in the US are few. And you certainly don’t want to nurse in a bathroom stall, as Ms. Flowers suggests.  I’ve done it and it’s gross.  I won’t subject my baby to it just to make someone else feel better.  Would YOU want to eat in a public restroom? 

Ironically, some of the most "breastfeeding friendly" places in our country are also extremely conservative.  I’ve named two, the Union League of Philadelphia and the New York Athletic Club, both of which have been wildly accommodating while I nursed my girls.  And I will admit that I didn’t expect that at all.  But I do appreciate it - a great deal.  Maybe the cosmopolitan nature of both clubs exposes a sensitivity to differences that much of middle America ignores.  Who knows?  But anywhere that offers me a Syrah and a place to breastfeed deserves kudos.

I guess my point is that I agree that mothers should try to be sensitive to the sensitivities of those around them, but I think we all should understand that it’s not always possible.  It would be great if corporate and retail America offered a few more alternatives to nursing mothers.  But they don’t. 

When Ms. Flowers starts offering a dedicated "wickelraum" in her office, then we’ll talk.  But for now, I wish she’d keep her closed minded ramblings to herself.

So my crappy week continues - with a bright spot. Or two. Or three.

Okay, I’m being whiny.

It’s just not been a great week. But my girls are being terribly cute, which makes it a little less painful.

And thus, drawing the wrath of those everywhere who hate the “cute kid stories” on the blog, I offer one anyway.

Tonight, we went out for pizza. Chris ordered bottled drinks instead of fountain sodas. I asked why and couldn’t quite make out his answer. At any rate, we were drinking our beverages - Chris had lemonade - when Amy made a grab for Chris’ drink. He said to her, “Hey, watch it, you little punk!”

A few minutes later, Katie’s lemonade was slipping off the table. I grabbed for it. Katie looked at me, very seriously and said, “Hey, watch it, you little punk!”

Commence with the curled up lips now. But I thought it was fabulous.

So, if you’ve been reading my blog lately, you know it’s not been the best week. I’m going through some pretty serious personal stuff right now, and work has been, well, painful.

So, today’s top ten is a list of the ten places I’d like to be right now. As always, in no particular order:

1. San Juan, Puerto Rico. I can imagine lounging about with a cool drink in hand. Simply because it’s beautiful.
2. Castine, Maine. The weather is blissfully cool there tonight – and I love the isolation on the waterfront.
3. Munich, Germany. I’d love to be hanging out in a beer garden, good beer in hand, and some lively conversation.
4. New York, New York. It’s such a cosmopolitan city. A martini and a view of Central Park. Ahh, that’s relaxation.
5. Rome, Italy. Rome is my favorite city in the world. And I had some good lasagna today – I could deal with some good Italian food and a bottle of San Gimignano.
6. Charleston, South Carolina. What charm. I could use a little graciousness these days.
7. Barcelona, Spain. I’ve never been but it looks like a beautiful city. And I love tapas.
8. Singapore. Okay, it’s hot there (a big minus) but there’s air conditioning everywhere. And it’s so clean. I could deal with a Singapore Sling in Raffles.
9. Cardiff, Wales, Cardiff is just one of the best cities in the world. It has the nicest people, beautiful surroundings = and rugby!
10. That all said, to quote WC Fields, All in all, I’d rather be in Philadelphia.

I am about to break one of my Working Women Commandments: Thou shalt not judge other working women in public.

But I am invoking the “unless they give the rest of us a bad name” exception.

I do think that women are each other’s biggest critics. So I try hard not to bash other women, unless you’re Catherine Zeta Jones, in which case you’re fair game even though I’m Welsh, too. But I digress.

Anyhow, this week, I had the opportunity to meet someone that I had indirect experience with for a few years now, but had never actually met before. She is a senior partner at one of the biggest firms in the City. I had hoped that meeting her would be inspiring - it’s tough to make partner at the best of times, and I think that being a woman makes it’s extra tough. Actually, that’s not my “thinking” at all. It’s true. While women make up about half of the graduating class in law school, they make up about 15% of law firm partners.

There are a million reasons that folks cite: Women don’t want it enough. They don’t want to put in the hours. They’re not as tough as men. Having kids de facto reduces your billables (dontcha love the random inclusion of Latin for no reason? Very lawyerly of me). And, of course, there are allegations of discrimination. The “old boys network” is very real in the field of law - that part, I know to be true - I am one of a handful of women in the Tax Supper Club (yes, it’s real, I told you before that I was a tax geek) and there is a decided sense of order.

At the end of the day, I don’t know what the real reasons are. I just know that the numbers tell a story.

So, making partner at a big law firm as a woman is hard. And I question (yes, I am saying it out loud) what kinds of sacrifices one makes to do it. Because of the few that I have met, only a handful of them qualify as decent people. As Chris says, think of how crazy you have to be to be a man who makes partner - and then think of how crazy you have to be to be a woman who makes partner. It’s a scary thought.

And I echo this after meeting this particular lawyer.

I will say that her reputatation had preceded her. Despite her “recognition” in the legal world among “those in the know”, those who are really in the know don’t think kindly of her. And this week, I found out why.

I didn’t know what to expect, really. I had filled in for her before at a conference that she backed out of the night before because, as she explained, she didn’t have time to prepare, thus sending the organizers of the conference into a panicked tizzy. Excellent break for me because I met some nice people at the conference and it was one of my first public speaking engagements as an attorney - and I did well.

The next time this woman’s name came up was from an organization that asked me to speak and rewrite a manual which had been “prepared” by her. She literally wrote a bare bones outline and didn’t have time to complete the material. It went to press half finished.

So, you could say that I wasn’t expecting much when I met her. I wasn’t disappointed.

She was late for her speaking engagement. Not because of traffic or a family emergency. She had simply forgotten what time it started and apparently didn’t think enough of the organization to call and confirm.

I introduced myself in the breakroom, and as soon as she has ascertained in her patronizing manner that I wasn’t one of the “important people”, she cut me off and switched topics. And while talking to everyone else in the room, she kept doing that “look.” You know the one. The one where you keep looking around the person you’re talking to just in case there is someone else more important in the room. This went on for half an hour.

During our panel seminar, she felt the need to answer her Blackberry twelve times in two hours. Actually, that’s the minimum - after I started counting. I couldn’t help but notice because it kept buzzing - and she kept answering.

She cut me off again on the panel. Then she ignored my whole speech.

She failed to read my bio and then pretended, later, to be “interested” in where I practiced - after everyone else was gone.

The experience was painful.

But it was worse than painful, really. It was disheartening. This was a woman that I wanted to like. I wanted to find something in her that disproved the notions I had already conjured in my head. I wanted her to be funny and smart, or at least personable. But she wasn’t.

She was a stereotype. She was cold and patronizing. She was discourteous to her fellow attorneys - and even moreso (in my opinion) to her fellow women attorneys. She appeared bland and she dressed even more bland. She was everything that I don’t want to be. And that’s a little disappointing. I was hopeful that I would somehow be inspired by her, not disenchanted. But I really was more than disenchanted. I was disgusted.

I fired off an email to one of my colleagues when I got home, asking her whether she had heard of this woman. Maybe, I thought, I missed the mark. Nope. My colleague sent back a note saying that she interviewed with this woman and she found her to be “humorless” and “patronizing.”

And all of this made me think. What do women have to do or become to make partner, or otherwise achieve typically “male” milestones? Do we have to sacrifice ourselves? And does that mean trading in our human-ness? Or do are folks who achieve these goals inherently like that to begin with?

I was thinking of the women that come to mind when I think of success. One word women. Oprah. Madonna. Martha. And the adjectives that describe these women are not generally flattering.

In today’s society, we do not seem to honor women with success in the same manner as men. Successful men are… well… successful. Sucessful women are bitches.

And what I am trying to make sense of is whether, to be successful as a woman, you have to sacrifice who you are or does the notion of success define who you are to the exclusion of anything else? And is there actually a gender divide? Meaning, do women have to sacrifice more of themselve to achieve the same result? Would Martha be Martha if she were a man?

It’s a troubling question.

I will confess that I think I want to be a success, but I am not really sure what that means. My definition of success, though, is changing every day. I want to be proud of myself, but I also want to be a good person. And that means making myself available as a wife, a mom, a sister, a daughter, a friend… I don’t want people to ever say, well she was a damn good tax lawyer, but what a horrible person.

So I guess that is what I have taken from meeting this woman this week. It’s made me question what I think success means, and what I want from life. But I still don’t have the answers.

I am guessing nobody does. Or there would be just one self help book in the world. For now, I wonder if we all don’t dread success just a little. As George Bernard Shaw once famously said:

I dread success. To have succeeded is to have finished one’s business on earth, like the male spider, who is killed by the female the moment he has succeeded in his courtship. I like a state of continual becoming, with a goal in front and not behind.

This has been a really tough week for me. And no, not just because it’s been busy. And no, not because I had to deal with not one, but two jerk-y lawyers (the one is getting her own blog post over the weekend). But there’s been a lot of “stuff” going on.

Other, bigger stuff.

I’ve been thinking about my younger brother, who is in the Navy. He is out to sea. His son turns one on Monday. He’ll miss his son’s first birthday.

I’ve been thinking about my older brother. His wife, my sister-in-law, had to be rushed to hospital earlier in the week after passing out, she is home resting now.

I’ve been thinking about my parents, who have been subjected to Hurricane Ophelia now for a number of days. Today, it was finally better and mom says the clean up will begin tomorrow.

And then I’ve been thinking about my own family. We have a crisis, of sorts, of our own that we’re dealing with.

So, all in all, it’s not been the best week.

And I was sad that I couldn’t talk to my friend about it - the one that I’m growing apart from.

But a funny thing happened. My good friend, Michelle, who I have known for, gosh, over 15 years now, reminded me that not all friendships fade away. She sent me a lovely email this week and has helped talk me through a rather difficult time.

The thing is, Michelle and I could not be much more different. Our backgrounds are wildly different - even though we grew up about a half an hour away from each other. We chose totally different paths. She has no kids. She lives near DC (which, cough, cough, would drive me nuts). She wears far too much pink for my taste. She’s a vegetarian. I know those last two don’t sound like they match, but that’s Michelle.

I was thinking about it last night. How different we are, that is. And it reminded me that friendship isn’t about choosing the same paths or making the same decisions. But it is about sharing the same values.

And Michelle? Over the years, we’ve witnessed a lot of firsts. A lot of meaningful firsts. And we’ve both changed a lot - especially the year that she and I both lived in England. That year changed us both profoundly. And then we moved to different cities - me to Philly and she to Norfolk to go to school. We both struggled through paying the bills, neither of us come from money. We whined about bad relationships and terrible jobs. We compared dysfunctions in our families (she wins). We each got married to entirely different kinds of men and under entirely different circumstances (she was in my church wedding, she called to tell me about hers at City Hall).

Through it all, though we’ve changed a lot, our friendship has remained constant. And I guess that’s what I didn’t hold onto when I blogged earlier about people changing. People will always change. And that’s not a bad thing. I need to remember that.

I received a solicitation today for “Women’s Health” magazine. I was particularly charmed by the headlines:

• Easy Ways to a Flat Belly! The Abs Diet
• Are You Normal? Make sense of your strangest symptoms
• Bikini-Proof your Backside. 4 Ways to a Beautiful Butt
• Shop Yourself Skinny! Fashions that flatter you
• 6 Things That Kill Your Diet

And wait, it gets better. You get free gifts including “101 tips to banish your belly” and “Eat More, Weigh Less.”

Exactly how much of this magazine is about health? And how much is about making you feel bad about yourself?

I hate these kinds of magazines.

I hope this one fails. It would be so shameful if this succeeds while “Sports Illustrated for Women” was canceled.

Why are we, as women, so hung up on being skinny? Especially as opposed to simply being healthy? I simply don’t get it.

I remember reading an interview with Cindy Crawford years ago. She was asked what she liked most about herself. I was expecting “my legs” or something like that – all of the other models who were asked had those kind of answers. But Cindy said she liked the fact that she was strong. After that, I never thought of her as the same as the scary, skinny drugged up Kate Moss type models. Or as one of the goofy, shallow bimbo types. Of course, the fact that she was an engineering major on scholarship before becoming a supermodel should have tipped me off, too…

At any rate, I like that she valued strength over big boobs or a tight stomach. I found that really inspiring.

I will never be Cindy Crawford–like. And I’m okay with that. I like that I am strong. I can push two kids in a stroller up Manayunk hills – and that’s fairly remarkable if you’ve seen those hills. I don’t need a guy to open jars for me or carry my bags. I run when I can – not Carl Lewis time, but respectable. I hike all over the place – Acadia, the Alps, the Smoky Mountains and in my own backyard, the Wissahickon. I like to walk and do it as much as I can (especially since I do not like to drive). I enjoy a bike ride.

Those are the things that make us healthy: taking the time out to enjoy what it is we’re capable of. And that’s what I would like to see in a woman’s health magazine and not the crap that Fifth Avenue apparently feels we want to see. Cause I got news for them: bikini-proofing my backside wouldn’t make me healthy, it would make me crazy.

Hurricane Ophelia has made landfall - and unfortunately, it refuses to budge. While a small storm, it’s slow moving which means that it’s just dumping rain on the folks in North Carolina.

Dad had this to say:

It has been a rough day since early dawn. No sustained hurricane force winds officially reported, but you could have not told me otherwise. Many places got tons of rain, but we did get a lot of driving rain. The creek out back did not exceed the banks we dug out years ago. The level in the pond has risen but not like Bertha that flooded the north 40.
Lost 3 known trees, the oak near the living room, the poplar near the magnolia. It fell across the drive and will need to be removed so we can get out. I had removed the cherry tree several weeks ago, but it would have been crushed had it been there. The other is a hickory that is leaning near the pond. Lots of large limbs all over the yard.
No known damage to the house. I did find water dripping from a top water frame in the great room.
Power was on so far all the time however over 45,000 customers lost power in the area. Topsail beaches was hit hard with erosion and some structure damage.
Lots of flooded areas in New Hanover and surrounding counties.

I am glad that Mom and Dad are okay. It’s hard raising parents, you know?