I Can't Complain

Rainy Days and Mondays

It rained pretty much all day today.  I know the song says "rainy days and Mondays always get me down," but we actually had a great rainy day.  After H-bomb woke up, we all hung out in bed together this morning, and then Larry took him down for breakfast and gave me a chance to get extra sleepies. We hung around in our fuzzy pants all morning drinking coffee (the adults) and watching Little Einsteins (the kid). I knitted, Larry surfed the 'net and H-bomb did puzzles.  

We ate snacks and lunch, and then we all took a long nap. More snuggles in bed, followed by a quick dash to Baby Crap City, and then we spent the rest of the afternoon playing Little Leaps.  Dinner was homemade (well, homemade by my MIL and sent down in a care package with my nephew) meatballs, sausage and pasta sauce with Italian bread. I danced around the kitchen to Neil Diamond (thanks CarolineFB!) while I prepared it, and then we all had a wonderful time eating it together.

Some Thomas and a bath and some stories for the kiddo before night-nights, and now Larry and I have the rest of the evening for just the three of us - him, me and a bottle of good red wine. Days like this remind me to be grateful for everything we have, and also help recharge my patience and understanding, which sometimes run short of supply.  I can't guarantee I still won't let Mondays get me down sometimes, but with a rainy day like this, hopefully it won't be as often.

Thursday, er... Friday Thirteen: America's Pastime

So, I finally remembered what I was going to write about yesterday.  Baseball season is underway!  Pitchers and catchers reported several weeks ago, and spring training games started on Wednesday. I know some people thing baseball is boring or old fashioned, and players like Alex Rodriguez and Roger Clemens certainly haven't done much to help the game's image recently, but I think baseball is an amazing game.  There's a lot more to it than a bunch of guys standing around waiting for some other guy to hit a ball to them. 

And so I give you my Thursday... er... Friday Thirteen: Thirteen Things I Love About Baseball:

1. The history.  People have been playing the game of baseball informally for more than 200 years, and professionally for over 100.

2. The length of the season.  With 162 games, there's plenty of time for the front runners to choke and a dark horse to come out of nowhere. And that's what makes every game exciting.

3. The unassisted triple play.  The rarest of individual feats; since 1909, there have been only 14.

4. Baseball movies.  Bull Durham. The Natural. Field of Dreams. A League of Their Own. Major League. Need I say more?

5. The suicide squeeze. That just sounds exciting, doesn't it?

6. The balk. Most of the time, these are pretty subtle. Spotting one without the announcers telling you is what separates a real baseball fan from the casual observer.

7. Statistics. Baseball statisticians keep track of EVERYTHING. Want to know who had the most strike outs in their rookie season in away games played in April? Someone can tell you.

8. The double switch.  I  started out as a Yankees fan, so the designated hitter doesn't bother me, but I admire the elegant strategy required for making a double switch.

9. Cute butts in tight pants. Surely I don't need to explain this one.

10. The 6-4-3 double play.  Essentially a nice game of catch between three players, it's the most common double play formula in the game. It's also the basis for the Chicago Cubs' famous Tinker to Evers to Chance combination.

11. Nicknames.  The Sultan of Swat, the Yankee Clipper and the Iron Horse are classics, but don't forget the the Big Hurt, El Guapo, the Crime Dog and the Secretary of Defense.

12. The perfect game. Every game starts out as a potential perfect game. Some perfect games end quickly, while others linger into the late innings.  The longer one lasts, the more thrilling it gets, even if it gets broken up before the end. And I love that the players won't talk about it while it's going on. Which brings me to..

13. The superstitions.  Baseball players are superstitious lot - from the Curse of the Bambino to not stepping on the foul line, baseball is full of superstitions, both big and small.

Plus, a Stinky Diapers post.

I'm No Perry Mason

I don't talk that much here about my job, partly because as an attorney, the really interesting stuff is generally confidential, and the non-confidential stuff tends to be pretty boring. Today I'm going to, mostly because the blog post I had half-composed in my head this morning was blown all to bits when I got to work and got roped into an ongoing case that had a situation brewing. I normally don't do litigation, but the attorney who was handling it is out of town, and I did do it for seven years, so I guess I'm sort of the fall-back position.  I spent most of the morning getting up to speed on the file, and doing legal research, and then I started banging out the papers, which needed to be filed by the end of the day.  About 3/4 of the way through, my boss called and told me he had settled the issue with counsel for the other side without my even having finished writing the motion.

And this reminded me why I don't do litigation any more. This kind of stuff used to happen to me on an almost-invariable basis. Oh, I know, settling is good, and it's always better to make amicable arrangements than argue in front of a judge. But to be an effective litigator, I have to get my blood flowing and my adrenalin surging in order to write good papers or make a successful court appearance. And having it become moot in the middle of all that is a little like getting interrupted in the middle of sex - it leaves you with all this adrenalin and nothing to do with it. And once the rush has subsided, it leaves you without the ability to think about anything else for the rest of the day. 

At least, that's how it is for me. I suspect others are better suited to the life  - when that stuff happened to my boss in NYC, he'd just laugh, grab another cup of coffee and yell "okay, what's next!".  I've always been like this, too - the first week at my first job as a law student, I was asked to write a reply brief to the Third Circuit Court of Appeals. (This is a pretty big deal.)  Approximately 30 seconds after I'd put the finishing touches on the document I'd labored several days over, the attorney handling it came over and told me not to bother; they'd decided not to file a reply. I promptly burst into tears.  And not just a little sniffling and some watery eyes.  The full on blubbering, sobbing thing. "Kid," my boss said, "you're never going to make it."

And I guess he was right.  But I love my current work, and I know I'm much better at what I do now, having had that experience. So if this isn't making it, I think I'm okay with that.

Another new Stinky Diapers.

Wordless Wednesday: An Unexpected Day Off

Stinky Diapers also updated!

Popcorn for Dinner

Larry is once again headed out of town for a couple of days, starting tomorrow. His travel schedule seems like it's getting more and more hectic, and while he has tried to cut back some since the Bomber arrived, he's still away overnight somewhere between 6 and 8 times a year. I miss him, the house feels terribly lonely without him, and dealing with a toddler solo when you're used to having backup is no picnic, but I have to admit there are some things I do like about being on my own. The top five, In no particular order:

1) Staying up way too late. I'm SO not a morning person, though I've been forced to become one due to the constraints of the business world and the early riser I birthed.  Given the opportunity (and without someone nagging me to come to bed), I tend to stay up far later than I normally would.  Of course, morning (and "Mommy, I had a good sleep!") comes at the same time even when Larry's not here, but I still enjoy my late nights.

2) Watching whatever I want on the TV.  I freely admit, I adore cheesy natural disaster movies. When I'm home by myself I can watch The Day After Tomorrow (I just love that part where Dennis Quaid draws the line across the map - you know, the line that South Carolina is BELOW - so SUCK IT people from NY who mocked when I moved here) or Reign of Fire (mmm... Christian Bale... mmm...I'm sorry... what was I saying?) until my eyeballs bleed and brain turns to oatmeal, without anyone saying "there's two hours you'll wish you had back someday."

3) The cat.  I'm the one that wanted the cat, and I'm the one that arranged to get her, despite Larry's foot-dragging and hemming and hawing. So I'm a little bitter that she loves him best. The only time I get her to sleep with me is when he's gone. I'm really looking forward to getting a little... kitty. (What did you *think* I was going to say?)

4. The driveway. We have what I like to call a tandem driveway. What that means is that some sucker (i.e. me) gets stuck parking at the bottom of it (a/k/a "in the hole") and climbing over the bushes to get out, while the other person parks behind that person and gets free access to his or her car.   He takes his car to the airport, so the driveway's mine, mine, ALL MINE while he's gone, and I can park smack in the middle of it.

5. Dinner. I love to cook, but I hate cooking just for myself, and I can't be bothered doing the protein/starch/vegetable thing Larry likes when it's just me, anyway. I like the ease of rummaging around in the cabinets and freezer and coming up with meals like popcorn and pierogis or baked potatoes with cheddar cheese and bacon bits. Which, of course, I can eat while staying up way too late to watch Dante's Peak (mmm... Pierce Brosnan) on TV.

This Has Nothing to Do With the Name of Love

Anyone who knows me, whether in real life or on the internet, and anyone who has ever spoken to me for more than 42 consecutive seconds, and pretty much anyone in earshot of my office or my front yard, knows that there is a three way stop in front of my house which is the source of untold aggravation to me. 

In case there's some confusion (people of Columbia, I'm talking to YOU), let me make clear right at the outset, this is a stop sign:

When you encounter this sign while operating a vehicle, you are required to stop your vehicle.  To some of you this may seem like a blinding flash of the blatantly obvious, since the only instruction on the sign is, in fact, STOP, but apparently there are quite a few of you (yes, people of Columbia, I'm talking to YOU) who do not understand this directive.

The word stop is defined as follows:

1.	to cease from, leave off, or discontinue: to stop running.

2.	to cause to cease; put an end to: to stop noise in the street.

3.	to interrupt, arrest, or check (a course, proceeding, process, etc.): Stop your work just a minute.

4.	to cut off, intercept, or withhold: to stop supplies.

5.	to restrain, hinder, or prevent (usually fol. by from): I couldn't stop him from going.

6.	to prevent from proceeding, acting, operating, continuing, etc.: to stop a speaker; to stop a car.

The more savvy readers will, perhaps, notice a common theme in the above definitions - they all suggest cessation of action.  It's possible, however, that some people (yes, YOU, Columbia) aren't great with completely clear, utterly cogent definitions like this. Perhaps some concrete examples of what stopping DOESN'T mean would be helpful. Stop does not mean:

1) slow down to the actual speed limit, check to see if that *#&^!%@ cop is there today and then speed up again;

2) blow through the intersection without pausing, while simultaneously pretending not to see the sign; 

3) slow down to some speed above zero that you deem acceptable;

4) speed up and proceed into the intersection without pausing in an attempt to make a right turn before the person trying to back out of her driveway directly across from the intersection can get in front of you; or

5) scream up to the sign at full speed and make a hideously executed K turn (though can it technically be considered a K turn if it takes you 6 cuts to make it?) in the center of the road without pausing at the stop sign, but coming to a complete stop cross-wise across the intersection.

And in case even these explanations are not sufficient to help you determine whether you have actually stopped your vehicle, I offer one final clue. If you see a crazed homeowner standing in her yard shaking her fist and yelling "it's a GODDAMN STOP SIGN," possibly accompanied by a two and half year old doing the same (and now you all know where he got it from), you may not have done it right.

Sunday, Sunday, Sunday!

It's Sunday at 10 PM (do YOU know where your children are?) and I still haven't thought of a single thing to write today.  It seems like Sundays are my hardest days for thinking up interesting blog topics.  I suspect it has something to do with the contrast between my days Monday through Friday, as a lawyer, supervisor, colleague and employee, along with wife and mother, and my weekends, which are devoted entirely to my family. And because Monday through Friday I do have those other roles, on Saturdays and Sundays I tend to immerse myself in wife and mother. 

Don't get me wrong - the weekends are my favorite part of any week, and Larry and the Bomber are the greatest things that ever happened to me. But there's a reason that by Sunday the mental tally of blog topics I generally having running around in my head sounds something like this:

1) The cute song H-bomb made up today. ("Barack Obama, Barack Obama needs something to eaaaatttt")

2) The giant bag I just ordered so I could finally retire my extremely-fashionable-but-still-a diaper-bag, and whether the fold-up potty seat will fit in it. (It's Roxy Sweet & Tender in Scuba Blue): 

3) Whether I remembered to fill out the forms to reserve H's spot at school next year and sign up for the trip to the circus next month (I didn't, but I don't think they're late yet).

4) If Larry really liked the sausage and peppers or just ate them to be polite. (I think he really liked them.)

I swear that two days I ago I had a bunch of other stuff on that mental list, but I guess there's only so much space in my brain, so they had to give way to make room for my musings on whether H-bomb enjoyed his playdate today and how bummed I am that Larry had to spend the day at work instead of with us. It's hard sometimes, to go back and forth like that - it's almost like being two different people sometimes - but it's totally worth it. Even if it means my Sunday blogs are pretty boring.

Things I Learned at CLE

Yesterday I attended an all-day Continuing Legal Education class.  All attorneys in this state are required to take a certain number of these in order to keep their law licenses current and active.  The one I took yesterday was a year in review type thing, with a number of speakers from different types of practices.  Overall, it was pretty good, and I think I learned some important things:

1. From the ethics speaker - our rules of ethics sometimes create a "Catch-21."  I have no idea whether this is better or worse than a Catch-22.  It gave me the movie-quote equivalent of an ear worm, though, and I spent the rest of day thinking "220, 221, whatever it takes.*"

2. From the family law speakers - being fondled under your panties by a man not your husband is sufficient to be considered adultery, even if your "deeply religious" background (or possibly the fact that you were in the back seat of a parked car) prevented you from going all the way.  The word "panties" was bandied about quite a bit in that segment, causing quite a bit of giggling and sniggering in the by-then-exhausted audience.

3. From the real estate and probate speakers - I can actually sleep sitting up, with my eyes open. 

4. From one of the criminal law speakers - it's easy to be a "Monday night quarterback."  Personally, I think it'd be really hard to be a Monday night quarterback (which is why I always prefer being a Monday morning quarterback), but she had a far more impressive resume than I do, so what do I know?

* Extra points to anyone who can identify this reference. :)

So, Do You Think I Should Post This?

You know what bugs me?  When people ask for "opinions" on things they've already decided.  You know, it's okay for you to make decisions about your personal life without polling your friends and achieving a quorum.  Really.  In fact, it's probably better, since even your closest friends probably don't understand the situation exactly the way you do. 

And if you do insist on getting opinions from 20 or 30 of your closest friends, and not all of them agree with you, why not actually consider some of the opposing opinions? Why turn around and give them 87 reason why they're wrong and you're right.  I mean, you asked their opinion; they might just have useful information to offer.  And if they truly don't understand the situation well enough to be offering you an opposing opinion, well... see above.

Oy, What a Day

Have you ever had one of those days? You know the ones - where nothing major goes wrong, but a million little things conspire against you to make you miserable?  I had one of them yesterday.  

It started first thing in the morning when L asked me if we could swap drop-off and pick-up duty.  Normally this would be no problem, but Ringo's gas tank was on empty and I skipped stopping at the gas station the night before, since I figured I could do it in the morning on my way to work.  To get H to school on time and without missing second breakfast, we'd have to leave a little early so I could stop. Of course, in the contrary way of two and half year olds, H dragged his feet every step of the way, and we ended up getting out of the house a whopping two minutes "early."  When we got to the gas station, I tried to get two different pumps to take either my credit or ATM card, but both said "see attendant for assistance."  The attendant was no assistance at all - he was too busy talking on his cell phone to acknowledge me.

Now close to missing breakfast time, I decided to rely on Ringo's excellent fuel efficiency and hope there was at least a 1/3 gallon left in the tank, which would get me around 10 miles.  I got H to school in time for second breakfast, but it turned out to be something he didn't want anyway. When he was finished eating he insisted on throwing out his mostly full cup of orange juice and in the process spilled it on himself, the floor, the sink and the step-stool. Oh, and on me, too.

I finally headed toward work and hit literally every single light between daycare and the nearest gas station. By this time the gas gauge was as low as I've seen it - it actually looked like it was below the E line. I made it to the gas station and stopped at the nearest pump.  Which, it turned out, was the only one not under the roof covering the station. Did I mention it was pouring rain?  I had so little gas that I was afraid starting the car again would suck up all the sludge from the bottom of the gas tank, so I just stood out in the rain and filled up.

When I got my bedraggled self to work, I turned my computer on and immediately had an error message relating to a recurring issue with my printer that caused the whole thing to freeze up. A few restarts and some registry editing later, I finally got to do some work. The day was relatively uneventful, probably because I was holed up in my office all day, but when I got home H had a potty accident, I spilled my glass of red wine all over the place and I broke a drinking glass while trying to take it out of the cabinet. At the point, my husband moved all of the breakables and sharp objects out of my reach and poured me a new, larger glass of wine. And then I went to bed early and closed the book on one of those days.

Today is already a better day - the sun is shining, my gas tank is full and I have good hair.   And really, what more can you ask for?