lawmummy

So, we finalized our insurance policies today. We decided that some increased insurance was in order, what with the increased number of kids and all…

Our physicals were last month and went really well. They took blood and urine, plus measured our blood pressure along with our resting and active heart rates.

The good news? I received a Preferred Elite rating, the highest that you can get, which means, in simple terms, I got a decent amount of insurance for little money. The annoying news? Chris received a mere Preferred rating. After teasing him about this for awhile, I decided to ask our agent why the big difference. And get this - it’s because Chris smoked a cigar last year. Yes, you read that correctly. A cigar. Last year.

We are not smokers. I used to be a social smoker, which means I had an occasional cigarette when out for a drink or two. I was (thankfully) never addicted and I gave it up altogether when the girls came along. It is a nasty habit and I didn’t want the girls to ever see me doing it.

Chris has never smoked a cigarette, I don’t think. He has, however, been known to enjoy an occasional cigar. And by occasional, I mean maybe four a year in our pre-kid years. And one last year.

I was the one who encouraged the full disclosure. As an estates lawyer, I have witnessed many an insurance company who managed to wiggle out of payment based on a discrepancy characterized later as a willful lie. As I told Chris, there is probably a picture of him smoking a cigar floating around somewhere (perhaps taken by my crazy neighbor in a fit of her trying to prove that we’re giving her cancer - more on her some other day) and that’s the last thing we need, to lose a claim based on some goofy interpretation of the question “Do you smoke tobacco products?” So, we told the nurse who gave us our physicals about our respective histories. And I came back as “no problem” but Chris is on par, practically, with a smoker - which cost us some money. All because of one lousy cigar.

There’s a Clinton joke in there somewhere but I’m just too tired to think of it… Insert your own political humour here.

So, we get points for honesty. But we lose some dollars. As Chris is fond of saying, it’s getting more and more difficult to tell our children that honesty is the best policy. In today’s society, lying seems to get you everywhere - including the White House - whereas honesty costs you.

Sigh.

But it’s still the right thing to do… isn’t it?

I came home from work this afternoon to my healthy and (mostly - there was a nap issue) happy little girls. The sun is shining, it is remarkably mild for a January day. All things tolled, it’s a good day.

I sat down to grab a bite to eat and glanced over the paper. There, in the Inquirer, was this remarkably sad story. And as I sat there, reading, wondering what I could do to help, I decided what today’s Top Ten list would be… My Top Ten Things that you can easily and cheaply do to make the world a better place. As always, in no particular order:

1. Become an organ donor. And agree that your children can be, too. In addition to the story linked above, I have a personal story involving a friend whose young daughter needed (and thankfully, received) a new liver. Notwithstanding the level of personal sadness involved in such a decision, it is the greatest gift you can give.

2. Recycle.

3. Vote.

4. Donate blood. The Red Cross won’t let me donate anymore now that I’ve lived in the UK for a year (damn mad cow disease) but until they decided that, I gave every eight weeks (and I hate needles). Donate as often as you can.

5. Clean out your closets. And donate the good stuff to organizations like Salvation Army and The Career Wardrobe.

6. Pick up garbage when you see it on the sidewalk or street.

7. Teach someone to read.

8. Turn your garden into something wonderful by donating vegetables to the hungry.

9. Knit a cap for a cancer patient or make something (crochet, sew, knit) for a child in need.

10. Plant a tree.

There are so many things that we can do every day - from simple to more elaborate - to make the world a better place. I don’t know every detail about every charity linked here, but I hope that the list inspires you to think about how you can do your part.

This is the kind of post I know I shouldn’t write and yet, I am going to do it anyway.  I never learn.

While at my first ‘big firm’ law job, I shared a secretary with another attorney.  Actually, I shared a series of secretaries with another attorney.  He and I were the combined "Murphy Brown" of lawyers, being subject to every crazed secretary and/or temp in Philadelphia.

I had a secretary who was hoping to break into stand up comedy, and she followed me all over the office trying out her jokes.

Another would type only one or two sentences and leave a Post It on my letters that said "Is this what you want to say here?"  Why yes, that’s why I wrote it down.

While reviewing a Power of Attorney one day, I noted that the agents had been replaced with other people’s names.  When I asked the new secretary what happened, she advised me that she had thought about it and she thought the client would prefer to have her sons serve.  Right, um, you didn’t meet the client.  Just type what I write down, please.

Another collected too many trolls on her desk - yes, it’s possible to have too many trolls.

Another didn’t like to answer the phone.  Ever.

And yet another faxed over my colleague’s legal strategy, outlining our potential arguments, to opposing counsel rather than to the client.

And so, each day we complained.  And each day we had a new secretary.

One day, Kathy was at the secretary’s desk.  Kathy was (gasp) pleasant and cheerful.  She answered the phone and was able to, get this, transfer calls without disconnecting the caller.  She took messages and wrote down the correct phone numbers!  She typed what we asked her to type.  It was all so wonderful.

I saw the senior partner about a week after Kathy started.  He asked how she was working out.  I said, "Terrific!  She just couldn’t be better!"  I should have noticed the black cloud that appeared at that moment with a clap of thunder and lightning bolt.  But I didn’t.

The next day, Kathy was not at her desk.  My colleague asked me if I knew anything.  I said, "No, in fact, I was just telling our senior partner how much I loved her on yesterday."  My colleague’s eyes grew wide.  "NOOOOOO!"  You see, you can never tell anyone senior to you at a law firm that you like anything.  Or anyone.  They will take it (or her) from you.  And that’s exactly what happened.  My colleague and I flew down the hallway to the senior partner’s office and there, at the desk in front, sat Kathy.

So, because of that experience, I am not going to say much about my nanny - except that she might be working out nicely and my girls may just love her.  And it’s possible, though I won’t confirm it, that she’s so honest and flexible that when we discussed making her long-term after our trial run and explained that we had to pay her legitimately with taxes withheld and everything, she was totally okay with that.  And it could perhaps be the case that we found out that her graduate degree is, in short hand, "Playing with children."  And in addition to the chance that my children might say nice things about her, my husband may have wandered into the house last week to find her dancing with the girls in the living room, which is just about Katie’s favorite thing in the world.

So, we might just be over the moon about our new nanny.  But I’ll never tell.  I’ve learned my lesson…

I just took the MASH quiz from APL’s site… Tee-hee, I feel so junior high. My results aren’t all that bad (but I am guessing from the shack part that Jon’s Academy Awards gig didn’t go so well):

Your husband’s name is Jon Stewart and you have 2 children. You’re a Journalist who drives to work every day in a Black Mini Cooper.

It’s truly a wonderful life when you consider the countless romantic nights you have spent with Jon Stewart in your shack in Maine.

Hmm, a serious theological post from me. What is the world coming to?

But I have something that I need to get off my chest. It’s about prayer.

I believe in God. I think that’s an important context for my post. I was raised Southern Baptist. I resigned from the Southern Baptist Convention, a decision I didn’t make lightly, having been very involved in my church - I was even a Sunday School teacher (!). But I couldn’t stay a part of the Convention, not after a good friend was railroaded out of town for (gasp) being gay and then, rather than focus on local problems that affect us profoundly, like the homeless and hungry in our towns, the Convention felt the need to squander our dollars planning protests against Disney for airing “Ellen.” So I quit. My minister refused to drop me from the rolls, explaining that I needed time to think. The following year confirmed my beliefs, when the Convention wasted more time and money, explaining why women, including my mother were no longer recognized as Deacons. How dare the “Church” arbitrarily decide that women can’t be effective ministers. My mother, as a Deacon, probably spent more time and energy visiting the sick and elderly than most preachers. When we had no money growing up, my mother still insisted that we give our money to those who needed it more. She spearheaded efforts to raise funds for needy children at Christmastime, she collected school supplies for children each August. She made dinners for the homeless. She traveled around teaching Vacation Bible Schools and tutored illiterate adults in our home. My mom is the kind of person that people of God should aspire to be. Yet, the Southern Baptist Convention, rather than encourage this action, told her and women like her, that they were no longer wanted in the ministry. That, easily, reinforced my decision to not be associated with Southern Baptist Convention.

I was, for years, a girl without religion. I now occasionally visit our local Episcopal Church. I find their tolerance refreshing. My daughter was baptized as Lutheran, in the same church where Chris and I were married.

So, I say all this to say that I do believe in God. I do consider myself a religious person, though, these days, disenchanted with much of organized religion, I am not an active church-goer. And I do respect the religious beliefs of others, as I hope that they respect mine.

And herein lies the problem.

My family, and many of my friends, are far more religious than me. I am fine with that notion. I happily accept the illustrated Bibles for my children, the “angel” coloring books and the Advent calendars. My parents bought Katie a small creche for Christmas and she was thrilled. I explained the story of Christmas to her and she listened very intently, though clearly she missed part of it since later, Diego, Dora and Baby Jaguar were all hanging out with the Magi.

But, with this increased awareness of religion has come lots and lots of talk about prayer - mostly from my family. At first, it was harmless enough. My parents insisted on Grace before every meal with the girls. Fine. And every time Katie had a sniffle, it made the Prayer Chain at my parents’ church. Also fine. The more prayers, the better. And then, when Amy’s hair was slow to come in - and thin - that made the Prayer Chain. My weight has been on the Prayer Chain. My job. My marriage. You name it. While my mother would shudder at how “public” my life is on my blog, she has no qualms about putting my “female problems” on the Prayer Chain. And I have learned, over the years, that I can live with that.

It’s now gone a little further than the Prayer Chain. All cards - birthday or otherwise - now have handwritten Bible verses and reasons to pray. And emails from home have become exhortations to prayer.

It has gotten to the point where I literally feel like Dolly Parton’s character, Truvy, in “Steel Magnolias” who watches Daryl Hannah’s character, Annelle, go through a bizarre change of behavior where she prays all of the time. When M’Lynn asks what Annelle is praying about, Truvy responds “Maybe she’s praying for Drew and Belle. Maybe she’s praying for us because we’re gossiping. Maybe she’s praying because the elastic is shot in her pantyhose! Who knows! She prays at the drop of a hat these days.”

I’ve been asked to pray for the new baby, for my brother who is out to sea, for my older brother’s new house, for my Dad’s job. You name it. My favorite was recently, my Dad told me to pray for my mother who, having a diabetic episode, passed out in the parking lot of the shopping center. Dad says to me that she was “real bad” for thirty minutes and that I needed to “lift her up in prayer.” When I asked Dad if he took her to the doctor, he said no, that there was nothing that the doctor could do. Umm, yeah, there is. Cause diabetes is a real life condition - and maybe they could adjust her insulin again.

Everything, it seems, is like this. No real action is taken except a nice, long prayer.

I actually told Dad at Thanksgiving that if the prayers for the food were going to be that long in the future, I was going to start eating in the middle of them. Of course, I also noted that this Thanksgiving, he didn’t thank God for President Bush - as he has in the past. I think Dad realizes that even God doesn’t want to take credit for the last election…

Again, I respect the right to individual religious beliefs. I just don’t want so much of it in my own life. I would love to get an email from my family that doesn’t involve prayer - just one - though I will exempt any that mention God and ACC basketball together.

I know that my family just worries that I need to find some religion. Trust me, I don’t need to look - it isn’t lost (and neither am I). I just choose to honor God a little differently. I don’t leave “everything” up to God because I believe I have some personal responsibility, too. God, despite his omnipotence, isn’t, on his own, keeping me away from the Cadbury’s chocolate in the cupboard or healing my mother without some guidance from her doctor.

Sigh. All that said, in the grand scheme of things, I know this post, if my parents see it, will land me on the prayer chain. Again. If Blogger goes down as a result, you’ll know why.

There is no “mommy porn” on this site. I repeat, there is no “mommy porn” on this site.

So, whoever you are that keeps searching for it… um, one, gross, and two, go away. Just go.

There, I feel so much better now.

There was an article in The Guardian this weekend about fatherhood (or something like it), penned by Peter Morris.

I highly recommend taking a peep at it, if only so that you, too, can both be horrified and amazed that someone would actually put his name to such gems as this:

I am envious of men today who know from an early scan what sex their child will be, and have several months to reconcile themselves to the idea that a girl is on the way.

Yeah, he’s a great guy, that Peter Morris. And I especially love how he blames children for the demise of his two marriages. Hey Mr. Morris, besides children, I can help you figure out what else the demise of your marriages had in common: you.

Now, I am not the posterchild for Super Mom of the year. I have freely admitted both all over my blog and in real life (just ask anyone who knows me) that while I love and adore my children, I have found myself making a lot of adjustments to my lifestyle that I am not always thrilled about. It bothers me that Chris is leaning towards a minivan for our next vehicle (shudder) instead of a Mini. I wasn’t excited to wait twenty minutes yesterday to use our one toilet (yeah, that’s changing, too) while Katie played potty roulette. I don’t love not sleeping some nights (like tonight) because kids attract germs with approximately the same veracity as Paris Hilton collects bad shoes. So, yes, my life has changed. And yes, sometimes, and I don’t mind saying so, I resent those changes. But then, just as I’m on the edge, I remember why I love my kids so much… How a quick, “Mommy, I love you” from Katie or a smile from Amy can make my whole day better.

It’s all about balance. And I think part of what Mr. Morris was missing in his life (besides, clearly, part of his brain that allows him to walk upright) was balance.

I’ve said before that I am not all about my children. I was me long before I was Mommy. And I have known my husband for more than 12 years now - my oldest daughter is just 3 - 1/2. Chris and I had a relationship long before these little wonders made their appearance into our lives. We have learned, over the years, that having children definitely changes your lives, but that ultimately how much is up to you.

Mr. Morris apparently didn’t “get” this. He decided that the better way to handle his personal inadequacies and unhappiness was to have an affair. And he got his mistress pregnant. Clearly, he didn’t learn the first time.

But there’s something else about the article that bothers me - more than Mr. Morris’ caveman attitude about children, pregnancy and relationships: his blatant disappointment he felt at having a girl. In fact, he says:

When my wife told me she was pregnant, my first thought was: “Hurrah - a boy.”

And later:

I sat beside my wife when our child was born and when I realised it was a girl, my feeling of disappointment was acute. Of course, I hid it from everybody around me with false joviality and exaggerated pride, but nevertheless it was there, and coincided with a growing feeling that the sands were shifting.

As the mother of two girls, and a new baby on the way (yes, gender still undetermined, that’s the way we’ve wanted it to be for all of our babies), I can’t fathom feeling that way towards my children. But I can say, all too painfully, that I know what it is like.

In the rural South in the US, there is still a decided preference for boys. And I won’t apologize for saying it because I know that it is true.

I am not disparaging the South. In addition to growing up in a poor rural area in North Carolina, I’ve lived in such wonderful cities as Raleigh and Durham. There is a world of difference between growing up in the poor rural South and growing up in a city in the South - and attitudes about gender are very different. I love where I came from and there are a lot of good things about being from my hometown. But growing up as a girl was not one of them.

My father still says, to this day, to whoever will ask, that he always wanted three boys. He jokes that he got “two and a half.” After my brother, he wanted another son, so much so that I was named Kelly, a boy’s name in the South, after a friend of the family, even though I was a girl.

My grandfather and I never had a good relationship, based solely on my gender. He, too, was disappointed that I wasn’t a boy. He treated my brothers so much more differently. He routinely criticized my choices to do well in school, to go on to college and to law school. He regularly assailed women in education as a burden on taxpayers.

His stereotypes, and my father’s stereotypes, were not new or different. Nor were they as antiquated as you’d like to think. When my nephew was born, it was practically the second coming. In contrast, when my second daughter was born, there were no flowers and no trips to the hospital. Following a difficult labor, my father said to me on the phone, “So when are you trying for a boy?” to which I replied, “I am hanging up now.” He was not joking. And when I became pregnant this last time, it was assumed (and wrongly so) that we were “trying” for a boy. My family refuses to believe that we weren’t “trying” for anything.

I think that men like the idea of boys for very selfish reasons: this notion that someone who looks like them will carry on their names offers a chance at a sort of immortality.

And girls? Many times, as was the case where I grew up, girls were just little China dolls to dress up and be admired. Girls didn’t really do anything. And if and when they did do anything to stand out beyond just being pretty (yes, I was a pageant girl, and I have the pictures to prove it) - like getting As on a report card - they were chastised for wanting to be “different.” Yeah, I regularly got the comments from women in my family like Aunt Debbie and Aunt Angie that women who pursued non-traditional careers like firefighters or police officers (and I’m sure, law, but we never got that far) just wanted to “wear pants and be men.”

I refuse to raise my girls that way. My girls are amazing. And there is very little that a boy can do that my girls can’t. In fact, on a recent camping trip, we watched as Katie scampered over rocks at Boulder Field with blinding speed and absolutely no fear - while bigger boys crept along with trepidation.

Katie is now at that age where she is beginning to note gender differences. She regularly tells us things like “Madeline is a girl” and “Sam is a boy” - and I don’t think she quite “gets” what that means. She knows that she has a sister who is a girl, and lately, she has an imaginary brother, Roger, who is a boy (we have absolutely no idea where that came from or what it’s about). She uses boy and girl as identifying features rather than determinative of personality - and isn’t that what we all should do?

So, while it’s a little disappointing that someone like Mr. Morris can spout off about his own inadequacies in such a public way to make himself feel a little better - and be paid to do it - I’m kind of glad that he did. It was a good reminder for me that chauvinism certainly isn’t dead and that we have to be ever diligent to raise our girls (and our boys) to remember that you are who you choose to become, and that’s not predicated on gender.

As seen on APL, if I were a super hero (as if I’m not already!), I’d be…
Spider-Man

Spider-Man 85% Green Lantern 55% Hulk 55% Robin 50% Iron Man 50% The Flash 50% Superman 50% Wonder Woman 38% Batman 30% Supergirl 28% Catwoman 25%

You are intelligent, witty, a bit geeky and have great power and responsibility.

Click here to take the Superhero Personality Test

So, last year, we bought a Bissell bagless vacuum. We will never again duplicate that mistake. I’ll totally admit that I was “sucked in” (bad pun unfortunate but intended) by their advertising.

At any rate, it didn’t last all that long. At some point, a couple of weeks ago, it still had suction and dog hair, etc., was missing from the floor but not inside the vacuum chamber. Hmm. A cursory glance revealed… nothing. And then, I was making an attempt to vacuum last week when POOF! All of the junk that had been removed from the floor made a new appearance. Great.

We finally decided to get a new vacuum. We had a gift card from Sears, so we decided to spend a little more than we normally would (hmm, sound familiar? Those darn gift cards!). We found a Kenmore upright with a bag - I had read that if you have a dog (check) or allergies in the house (check), you should shy away from the bagless. So, we got a vacuum that I was fairly happy with. And I decided to start vacuuming. Less than twenty minutes into life with the new vacuum, we see sparks. Yep, I managed to vacuum over the cord, thus breaking it in half. Wow, that’s some suction.

Hubby, who generally avoids fixing anything to do with electricity, but who hates going to the mall twice in one year more, managed to fix the cord. So, we are again “with vacuum” at the house - only I am now terrified of running over the cord again. I may have to break down and hire someone to occasionally clean the house, if only for the sake of my mental health.

And speaking of hiring someone, the new nanny arrived very promptly this morning. My plan had been to hang out for a few hours while she got acclimated before I went to the office. Less than an hour later, Katie took the nanny’s hand and asked her to do some crafts, yelling over her shoulder, “Bye mom!”

So, the hand off went well.

The girls were in great spirits when I came home today. Ames was napping (always a good thing) and Katie was crafting up a storm. Katie was pretty wired, hopefully she’ll calm down some as things progress.

Nanny trial #2 is tomorrow and I am yet again hopeful. Fingers crossed!

I had a whole pre-story to set up today’s Top Ten Monday, but I managed to lose it on Blogger and now I’m just too tired to write it again…  But, suffice it to say that it involved a nice moment at the end of the Steelers game when Ben Roethlisberger went to shake Jake Plummer’s hand.  And it made me think about this season, and the players and football.  Yeah, cause in addition to being a lawyer and a mom, I enjoy a good NFL game every now and again…

So, for today, you get a "double play" Top Ten Monday.  Based on absolutely nothing more than mere speculation, today’s top ten are the ten NFL players who I believe would be nice guys in real life, followed by the top ten that I’d never want to meet because they just seem like jerks.  Again, my opinion, nothing scientific, based solely on my own whims and some post-TV interviews.  I’m sure you’ll have some comments!

My Top Ten Good Guys in the NFL:
1.  Donovan McNabb (Philadelphia Eagles)
2.  Tom Brady (New England Patriots)
3.  Jerome Bettis (Pittsburgh Steelers)
4.  Koy Detmer (Philadelphia Eagles)
5.  Brett Favre (Green Bay Packers)
6.  Ben Roethlisberger (Pittsburgh Steelers)
7.  Kurt Warner (Arizona Cardinals)
8.  Matt Hasselbeck (Seattle Seahawks)
9.  Shaun Alexander (Seattle Seahawks)
10. LaDainian Tomlinson (San Diego Chargers)

My Top Ten Bad Guys in the NFL:
1.  Terrell Owens (Philadelphia Eagles)
2.  Jake Delhomme (Carolina Panthers)
3.  Eli Manning (New York Giants)
4.  Jake Plummer (Denver Broncos)
5.  Jeremy Shockey (New York Giants)
6.  Randy Moss (Oakland Raiders)
7.  Ricky Williams (Miami Dolphins)
8.  Michael Vick (Atlanta Falcons)
9.  Mike Vanderjagt (Indianapolis Colts)
10. Ray Lewis (Baltimore Ravens)