I Mourned, and Then I Marched

The last time I wrote a post on my blog it was three days after the election.  I was depressed and angry and in a general funk and it was rainy all damn week.  I stopped watching the news.  I drank too much wine.  And I broke down crying in a Whole Foods parking lot for no apparent reason other than the depressing state of the world.

And then life returned to normal, with school pick ups and swim practices and the holidays.  I subscribed to all sorts of Facebook pages that gave me numbers to call, movements to join, and checklists to go through to take a stand, send a message, and affect some kind of change.  And I did do some of those things, which made me feel better.  My depression lifted and turned to a solemn acceptance.  I still refused to watch the news, but would click on the occasional news clip on my Facebook feed, in between reading narratives from Pantsuit Nation.  Watching Saturday Night Live each week became a religious, cathartic experience (and it still is - did you see Aziz Ansari's monologue this week?).

I had heard about the Women's March from its inception, and I always had plans to attend.  It seemed like a simple thing to do to get more involved, and it happens to be in the city I call home. But as the march approached, and I started thinking about logistics, I have to say I had some second thoughts.  I worried about the crowds.  I worried about how I would get downtown, and how I would get home.  I worried about terrorism.  I wondered if it was worth any kind of risk to go, because after all, I am only one person.  What difference would it make if I went or not?

Ultimately I put those fears aside and on Saturday morning, I dressed up in my gear.  Maybe it was because of peer pressure, or of shame of not going.  Maybe it was because my father still glows with pride when he recalls when he participated in the March on Washington in 1963. But mostly, it's because I wanted my children to know that I went.  That there are things bigger than us, and that there are times in life where we have to take a stand.  They don't yet understand what is going on in our country right now, but when they do, I want them to remember that their mother knew that is was not okay.

I had made plans to meet up with a few friends as part of the Moms Demand Action Group, a group that advocates for gun sense and gun control.  We met at the Woodley Park Metro at 8:30 am, and I could tell already that this was going to be a big day.  There was a buzz, a sense of excitement, and I even got a cool hat that made me look a bit like Waldo.

There was also a crowd.  A huge crowd.  So huge, that by the time we got downstairs to get on the metro, it was closed.  It was at full capacity.  At that point, we started weighing our options.  Bus? Uber? Walk?  We did a combination, and ultimately made it downtown by around 10am when the speakers were scheduled to start.

I don't know what I expected.  I truly don't.  I guess I thought it would be similar to an outdoor concert venue?

It wasn't.

It. Was. Jam. Packed.

This was my view when we first joined the crowd, and it doesn't do it justice:

So let me poach from CNN for a much better photo:

It was so crowded it was hard to orient myself.  What street was I on (still not sure)?  Where was the stage (I never saw it)?  Where was the screen (I managed to see the smallest slice of one eventually, obstructed by a tree)?  Where were the porta potties (I never used one)?  Where was the exit, should I want to get out (good luck with that)?

I'm not going to lie - I had an internal fight with my mild claustrophobia for a few minutes there.

But then I relaxed into it, and took it all in.  And I started to get intermittent chills - not from the cold, but from the energy, the love, and the power of it all.

One thing that struck me almost immediately was how nice everyone was.  Everyone was so nice. If this was a concert or sports event or any other crowd, and people were trying to weave in and out, stepping on toes and rubbing elbows, you can bet that there would be curse words flying around. Or at least some dirty looks.  But not so - people were kind, helpful, and friendly.  We struck up conversations with people around us in each corner we ended up in, and learned that most people came from far away. We met people that flew in from California, from Ohio, from New York, from Florida.

There were old people and young people.  There were women and men.  There were black people and transgendered people and Muslims and people in wheelchairs and privileged white women like myself and we all just hung there together.  We all applauded for the same things - for acceptance, for Planned Parenthood, for immigrants, for our environment, for black lives, for health care, for religious freedom, for free speech, and for each other.

There was such a camaraderie, and it wasn't about anger.  Sure, there were some boo's when our current President, and his policy agenda, were mentioned.  But it was more about love.  About cheering.  About a movement of people who are going to look out for each other.  About peaceful protest - I never once felt unsafe, not once.  And how incredible that with all of those people - estimates are at over 500,000 people at the DC march- not a single person was arrested.

Saying that this is what democracy is all about is a cliche, but I felt it, especially at the most surreal moment of the day.  After not eating or drinking for about 6 hours (note to self, pack lunch next time), my friends and I stopped in the Willard Hotel hoping to get something to eat and a glass of bubbly.  Unfortunately it was packed to capacity and they weren't allowing anyone into the restaurant, so my friends and I found a couch to sit on in the lobby to rest for a brief moment. Sitting with us on the couch was an older man with a "Make America Great Again" hat.

Until that moment, I had forgotten that there had actually been an inauguration the day before, and that many people staying at the Willard Hotel were there for the event.  This particular man was waiting for a car to arrive to take him to the airport to go home.  We exchanged some niceties ("Do you mind if we sit here?"  "How is it outside?"), and then we were on our way.

I didn't feel any hostility towards that man, and I didn't feel any coming from him, notwithstanding how differently we felt about the state of our country.  He cared enough to fly into town for the inauguration.  And I cared enough to spend my day in a massive crowd on the National Mall.

But at the end of the day, don't we have more in common than not?  Don't we all just want to be happy, to be healthy, to be respected, to protect our families, and to live in peace?  We disagree on how to get there.  But I have to believe that if we can come together with an open mind, we can all march together with a unified goal.

One of best speakers of the day was Van Jones (can someone please convince him to run for office?).  When talking about reconciling our differences, he said:

When it gets harder to love, let's love harder.

And that's what the march left me with - a whole lot of love.  And hope.  I watched the news yesterday, albeit briefly.  And I didn't get angry.  I looked at the aerial views of the hundreds of cities around the world participating in the march, and I felt a solidarity with strangers, which is a pretty awesome feeling.

In the meantime, I return to my normal suburban life, but I'm spicing it up a bit and getting more involved.  The People's Climate March is on April 29th here in DC.  Who's with me?

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Hello Out There

You know how when a friend calls you, and you keep meaning to call them back, but then the longer it gets you almost get too embarrassed to call them back because so much time has passed, and then you are filled with shame and question whether to just end the friendship because you've left it too long and you're just a shitty person?

That's how I've been with this blog.

It's been over two months since I have written, which is stark given that I used to write every day.

Here's the honest truth - over the past year, this blog has felt more like a chore than a joy.  I've been feeling so much pressure to deliver unique posts, with good writing and deep thoughts and wry humor.  I'll start writing and then realize that it's crap and then not want to open my computer again, because it's just another thing on my list to do.

Then, this morning, sitting in a coffee shop listening to my "writing music" list on Spotify and finishing up a freelance project, I got the urge to write.  Even though I don't really have anything to write and I only have 28 minutes to do it, here I am.  This won't be an insightful, witty post you forward around to your friends.  But, I'm writing it anyway.

The truth is, life has been overwhelmingly busy lately.  Having three kids has caught up with me. There's always a swim practice to attend, a camp pick up, an illness, a deadline, a house to clean, a barbecue to buy food for, 3 pounds to lose, gym classes to go to in order to lose said 3 pounds, three meals to prepare, numerous trips to Johns Hopkins with two kids now in peanut allergy trials, essays to write for writing classes I'm taking, mammograms to schedule, books I keep meaning to read, friends to call back (see above), assignments to grade for online classes I teach, school PA meetings, skin care regimes to stick to, sunscreen to apply (on 4 bodies), and a thousand other things including daily bathing and sleeping.

I'm not complaining, really.  These things are necessary, and some I've brought on myself.  And in fact, I've been happier in the past 6 months than I have been in a long time.  I've been going out a lot with friends (stay tuned for a post on the best night ever at a bar with a 90's cover band) - more than I ever have since having children.  I suppose in some ways, after 8 years I am coming up for air a bit and rediscovering a semblance of a social life.  I've also taken two writing classes now, where I've met some of the most incredible people, and I've actually published one piece, inspired by a blog I wrote on here in what seems like forever ago.  I've planned a bunch of vacations and trips (look out Napa Valley, my husband and I will take you by storm in September).  I've had a ton of visitors to our Bethesda abode, including my childhood best friend last month, and my best friend from London arrives on Sunday.  I've gone to Philadelphia to see the Zack Brown Band with my best friend from college, and my husband and I saw Richard Marx at the Birchmere last month (you read that right).  In between all of this, I've managed to get pretty good at yoga.  I can do a headstand and the crow pose and I am so freaking proud of myself.

But I also struggle... daily.  Parenting has gotten harder and harder, and the physical challenges of toddlerhood have turned into emotional ones as my kids enter grade school.  Two nights ago, after losing my shit on multiple occasions, I went to bed telling myself what a horrible mother I was, and envisioning what my kids will say about me in therapy someday.  It was a low point, with an internal voice saying - You're fucking your kids up.  You're failing.  You aren't cut out for this.  You suck.

The next morning, I took a deep breath and forgave myself and started a new day.

But shit, this is hard.  In between all of the sun and fun and good stuff, it's still really hard.

I worry.  I cry.  I try to stay in the present and get angry at myself when my mind wanders to those places that are painful and don't do anyone any good.

I'm not ready to stop writing this blog.  I've got so much more to say.  I'm going to try to say it more often.

Thanks for sticking with me.

Coming Full Circle

When I was in 5th grade, I decided I wanted to be a writer.  I was obsessed with Judy Blume and became equally obsessed in writing my own young adult novel.  I began writing first drafts of first chapters of various books, never progressing beyond that.  After a couple of years, I gave up and moved onto poetry, mainly focusing on my junior high crush at the time who wanted nothing to do with me.

By 9th grade, it was clear none of my books were ever going to be completed, and my poetry wasn't all that great (and by then, my crush was over).  I moved onto politics, became obsessed with the 1992 presidential elections, and ultimately convinced myself that I should go into the legal field.

Yada yada yada, now I'm in my late 30's, a retired lawyer at home with three kids, contemplating what I eventually want to do with my life.  Continue staying home full time? Focus on volunteering? Go back to a full time job?  Do something completely different?  What I do know, that I didn't back in the 90's, is that I don't want to go back to the legal field.

To Run

This past weekend I ran a half marathon.

It isn't so odd to hear that these days.  It seems anyone and everyone has hopped on the marathon band wagon.  Young people, old people, skinny people, heavy people....  everyone and their mother has run a marathon (sometimes together).

But for me, this was a really, really big deal.

Running a marathon (or a half of one) used to be something I joked about whilst tipsy over cocktails. Yeah, lets run a marathon!  I would proclaim, full well knowing it wasn't true and finding the whole thing a bit humorous.  Running a long distance was not something I was interested in doing, and certainly not something I would enjoy.  Besides, isn't it arbitrary?  13.1 miles, 26.2 miles - why? Why not just run a mile or two and call it a day?  It seemed cultish almost - why engage in an activity that hurts your joints and your knees and makes you exhausted?  Surely there are better ways to spend one's time.

But then something weird happened last spring.  I was starting to get into shape, while at the same time going through an existential crisis of sorts.  We had moved into a new house.  My baby wasn't so much a baby anymore, and we knew there were no more kids to come.  For the first time in a long time, I started to think about myself again and who I was and what I wanted to do when I grow up.  I also was not getting any younger, and for the first time in my life I was starting to see it - in gray hairs, in fine lines, in sheer exhaustion.

I needed to shake things up.

The Healthiest 18 Days of My Life

This summer was one of excess.  Too much food, too much drinking, and too much fun.

It was absolutely fabulous.

We took trip after trip after trip, to see family, to go to the beach, to celebrate good weather and childhood and the freedom to be carefree.  I consciously decided to let go, and then some.  I didn't use my hair dryer once between Memorial Day and Labor Day (summer hair, don't care).  How freeing is that?

Freedom doesn't necessary lend itself to a healthy lifestyle, however.  My summer of leisure and nightly ice cream runs and daily cocktail hours left me feeling like a lazy blob.  I noticed the flab coming on, but I didn't really care.   I shall trash my body for the next six weeks, and then clean it up in September!

Trash my body I did.  And then September came.

After three months of creating bad habits, I needed something drastic.  Weight loss was not the only priority - though it would be nice.  What I needed was a complete cleanse.  A reset, if you will.   I wanted to be healthy.

Enter the Whole 30.

I had heard of the Whole 30 before, and was intrigued by it.  It's 30 days of clean eating.  There's no calorie counting, and you aren't supposed to weigh yourself at all (weight loss isn't the goal).  The idea is to eat clean, whole food, and see how your body changes.  The book makes the grandiose claim that this diet "will change your life."

As September approached, I started to prepare.  I bought the book "It Starts With Food," along with the corresponding recipe book.  As I read, I got nervous.  Turns out clean eating cuts out pretty much everything I like to eat.

There would be NO: sugar (of any kind, aka honey, stevia, vanilla, agave nectar, etc.), alcohol (AAAAAA!), grains, legumes, or dairy.  To break this down a bit, that means no butter.  Soy sauce. Most any salad dressing.  Cheese.  Corn.  Rice.  Bread.  Beans.  Yogurt.  Wine.  Did I mention wine? And did you know sugar is in pretty much everything? EVERYTHING?

That leaves: meat, fish, vegetables, and fruit.

This would be hard for anyone, but it was especially daunting for me for the following reasons - 1) It is basically impossible to go out to eat.  2) We always go out to eat.  3) I hate to cook.  4) Now I have to cook.  5) Did I mention wine?

But I was bound and determined.  I made a commitment, and when I commit to something, I'm all in.

The weekend of August 28th, I started planning.  I researched recipes and made a meal plan and went to Whole Foods and spent an embarrassing amount of money on foods I had never even heard of, like ghee and rutabaga.  On the evening of August 31st - my last "normal" night, I opened up a bottle of wine, ordered in Indian food, and spent the night cooking food for the upcoming week.

Days 1 and 2 were fine.  What's the big deal?  I thought.  I got this! I can't believe people think this is hard!

Six Things I've Learned from Six Months at the Gym

This past January, I decided I would do something all original and join the gym.

I hadn't worked out regularly since the year 2005, and even at that, the only time I worked out regularly was the 9 month period before my wedding.  I'd never been what you'd call, "athletic."  Or "muscular."  Or "coordinated."  Or "well rounded."   Or "interested in bettering myself."  The gym, and all that health stuff, just hadn't been "my thing."

But that all had to change, because after baby #3, it was now or never.  No more excuses.  If the flab was going to go, it was going to now.  

And so I embarked on my gym journey.  

It's been 6 months, and much to my surprise, I have completely embraced it.  I don't go everyday, but I would if I could - I generally make it there five days a week.  The gym has become my place of respite - one of the only "no kid" zones that I get to enjoy in my life, and without the guilt.  I really love to work out.  Which is really, really weird. 

In my six months at the gym, I have gained tone, muscle, and confidence, but I've also been enlightened as to the gym culture.  It's a mini cult society in and of itself.  There are unspoken rules, unexpected truths, and a stringent dress code.  Oh and judgment.  Judgment abound.  

I was so naive when I walked through those gym doors in January.  So, so naive.  

I feel the need to pass my wisdom on to other gym novices.  To other stay at home moms like myself, who feel its their duty to get into shape, because really, we all have so much time on our hands. 

Sigh. 

In any event, if you are considering jumping on the gym bandwagon, please consider the following tips.  After all, knowledge is power.  

A Documentary About... Motherhood

I'm a huge documentary film fan.  So when my friend Valerie told me that she knew of someone who was making a documentary film about motherhood, and who was looking for mothers to interview, I jumped at the opportunity.

Truth be told, I didn't know much about the documentary when they showed up at my door with the camera crew a few weeks back, but I did know what it was called:  Mom is a Dirty Word.  I also had watched a fundraising trailer, which was intriguing in and of itself.



The tag line for the short stated:  "Mom is a Dirty Word" feature-documentary explores how damaging public policy and media depictions impact Mothers and their families.  

Sure, I can talk about that!

I used a hair dryer and put on make up and cleaned like crazy and got rid of the kids and the dog so that we could have a calm, peaceful ambiance for the interview.  I think I was so busy getting prepared for the interview that I actually never thought about what I was actually going to say in the interview.

I kind of choked.

Not completely.  I mean, the conversation was casual and covered a wide range of issues, many of which I've written about in this blog - the sad state of maternity leave in this country, the reasons why mothers are leaving professional careers in droves, the difficulties women face when trying to reenter the workforce, the adjustment to being a stay at home mom, the regrets we face, the things we gain, and learning to let it all go, among other things.

It was nice and informal and the conversation flowed naturally.

But at the end, the interviewer asked me if I had one thing to say about motherhood, what would it be?  And could I please look in the camera and say it?

Um.... my mind raced.  Surely, I needed to come up with something really deep, really poignant, really meaningful here.  But the pressure, my God, the pressure!  How to narrow it down?  How to word it?  What was it, anyway?

I rambled a few things, and I honestly can't remember what exactly is I said.  But I do know I said the following:

Being a mother is the best job in the world.  

REALLY?  THAT'S THE BEST I COULD COME UP WITH?  THE MOST RIDICULOUS CLICHE EVER THAT EVERYONE SAYS AND EVERYONE'S HEARD BEFORE AND REALLY CONVEYS NOTHING DEEP OR EMOTIONAL OR REAL ABOUT MOTHERHOOD?

Yup, I choked.  (And this isn't the first time this has happened to me on television - see my interview on the British version of candid camera where I absolutely BOMBED by clicking here).

Hence, there is a very real chance I won't appear in the documentary, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't support the documentary!  Because it is timely and poignant and generally needed.  There's simply not enough out there by mothers, about mothers, for mothers.

There is currently a fundraising effort underway - please support the documentary by donating here.

There's also a new trailer (featuring my dear friend and mentor, Valerie Young - there are no words to describe how awesome she is).




You can like the documentary on Facebook by clicking here.

You can follow the documentary on Twitter by clicking here.

You can find more information on the documentary's website here.

And you can tell all your friends about it.  (There's no click for that).

The director hopes to get the film finished by election season.  I for one can't wait to see it (whether I am in it or not!).

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Surprising Myself

There have been three times in life that I've really surprised myself.

The first was when I studied abroad in London for the first time, as a junior in college.  Two years prior, I scoffed at the idea, and even changed my initial major since a semester abroad was a requirement.  I was timid and risk averse and joined at the hip to my high school/college boyfriend, and living abroad was definitely not for me.  Then, after two years something made me change my mind.  I took the leap and spent a few months in London, and I haven't been the same person since. Not only did I return to live in London for two years, but travel became my passion, and it still is (even though I don't get out and about like I once did- that second trip to Vietnam will have to wait a decade or two).  The further out of my comfort zone I get, the better.  

The second was when I walked away from my law firm career.  I've written various blog posts about this, so I won't rehash what I've already said multiple times, but if someone would have told me during my law school days (or any other days, for that matter), that I would quit my job as an attorney to stay home with my kids - three BOYS no less, I would have laughed in their face.  I was as ambitious as one gets at one point in my life, and I had a stellar resume to prove it.  I was on a trajectory upward - getting off was not an option.  But yet, here I am - I got off and then some.  And I am embracing it, enjoying it, and not looking back.

And now, I'm experiencing another unexpected surprise in my life.  I'm embarrassed to admit what it is, because it's such a cliche.  

Six Years in the Making

The only time in my life that I regularly went to the gym was during my 18 month stint as an attorney at Skadden in New York.  Say what you want about Skadden, but it has a great gym, that happens to be onsite, complete with uniforms, classes, and trainers.  I would go almost every day, not so much to lose weight or get in shape, but to regain my sanity.  The gym served as my refuge whenever I needed a mental break.  I generally went in the early afternoon, and would then return to my desk to continue work and order dinner.

Then I left New York and moved to DC and started having babies.  And I hadn't entered another gym since.  

Until two weeks ago.  

On my first day back at the gym, I had a session with a personal trainer (complimentary for all new members).  Before we started our workout, she had me fill out a cheesy survey that asked about my eating habits, fitness level, and goals.  I told her my number one goal was to get some tone and build muscle.  

And how long have you had this goal?  

Six years.  I replied.  

I didn't think there was anything wrong with this response, but she looked visibly shocked.  She seemed to realize her response wasn't appropriate, so she gave me a nervous laugh and set the clipboard aside.  

I got defensive.  I have three kids!  Six and under!  I was pregnant for 27 months!  I was breastfeeding for 27 more!  I've been tired!  Really tired!  

She didn't care.  She was pushing 21 and probably thought I was a complete weirdo.  Okay, lady, that hasn't been able to tone a muscle in 6 years.  Just shut up and do a plank.  We did a 30 minute session and I couldn't walk for three days.  

A New Thing to Obsess Over, and It's Oh So Much Fun

It's no wonder I was a litigator.  I LOVE to research.  It gets borderline obsessive, actually.  I will dig deeper and deeper and deeper and scour all available resources until I have reached near expert status.  Then I feel satisfied, abandon, and move on to the next thing to obsess over.

I go on kicks - research for vacation planning, research on local real estate listings, etc. and now.... interior design.

Yes, we have this nice new big house and nothing to put in it.  We must buy a coffee table, kitchen table, bar stools, wall hangings, knick knacks, and who knows what else.  Many, many things!  At first it was daunting, and I was dreading it actually.  After all, I'm not really a shopper, and I'm completely lacking in taste.  But slowly but surely, I have gotten into it.  Big time.

There's all sorts of blogs on the topic.  I never knew that!  Apartment Therapy has become a daily read.  And Houzz.  Have you seen Houzz?  Endless hours of fun!  I also peruse Overstock and West Elm and Joss & Main and One Kings Lane and CB2 and other websites I never knew existed. And Pinterest!  I finally understand the purpose of Pinterest!  (You can follow me by clicking here).

After all of this perusing, I have discovered I have modern taste.  Or is it called contemporary?  Who knows?  But I all of a sudden care what my house looks like, whereas before it was.... well, disheveled is a kind word.  It actually was a large piece of shit we inhabited.  So much so that we ditched pretty much all of our family room furniture prior to moving because it was just that disgusting.  But now we don't live in a piece of shit anymore - we actually like our new house (for now anyway).  And we have space!  Actual space!  So my challenge?  To fill said space as cheaply and as stylishly as possible.  (Who doesn't love a challenge?)

Don't fear - this will not become a design blog.  Because this is a momentary obsession and I'm not artistic enough to become a design expert.  But indulge me.  Just for a minute.  Because this is oh so fun.  

Here's what we have purchased for our new house so far:

Deep Thoughts on a (Bizarre) Solo Car Trip

Long car trips by myself used to make me anxious.  I would do them, but I would dread them.  They were boring and monotonous and stressful and every once in a while I would have a really bad one, where I would get lost (Mapquest, anyone?) or run out of gas (just once, pre-cell phone), or have to pull over on the side of a highway during a blinding rain storm.  

In a former life, having a companion for a long car trip was definitely preferable.  

Then I had kids.  And my car trip companions tend to make the car journeys rather difficult.  There are vomiting incidents, multiple bathroom breaks, malfunctioning DVD players, thrown food, breastfeeding stops, tantrums, yelling, crying, and just generally noise.  Really, really loud noise.  

All of a sudden, the idea of a solo car trip became enticing.  And lucky for me, I took one such solo trip last weekend, to New York City for a bachelorette party.

I was really looking forward to this trip for a number of reasons.  I was able to see my sister.  I was able to celebrate my good friend (the bachelorette herself).  I was able to get my nails done. I was able to order a bloody mary at a bar at 1pm and then order another one after that.  I was able (by the grace of God) to stay out until 2am dancing.  At a real life bar!

But I also was able to get a little over of 7 hours to myself in the car.   SEVEN HOURS with no one to bother me!  SEVEN HOURS of me and my own thoughts!  

This rarely happens.  The thinking that is.  I am generally always doing.  Feeding, cleaning, carpooling, refereeing, cooking, talking, yelling, organizing, internet surfing, planning, going, going, going, and then when that's all done, I usually watch some crappy reality television just so I don't have to think.  And then I sleep.  For as long as I possibly can.  

But in a car, all you can do is think.  And I thought a lot.  For example, I decided that: 

Best Of

As we leave 2013 behind, my friend and fellow blogger Darcy had the great idea to come up with a "Best of 2013" list.  She got several bloggers on board, and we are all linking to each other (so go to Darcy's blog to see her list, and she'll link to another blogger, etc.).  This normally isn't my kind of thing, so at first I was a little nervous, but as I drafted the list, I realized it was almost therapeutic. It brought back memories and really made me reflect on the year that was - so thank you, Darcy!

Without further adieu...

Best book - It is shameful how little I read in 2013.  The problem is I discovered Netflix (see below). However, I was lucky enough to read one of the best books I've read in a long time  - Monkey Mind - A Memoir of Anxiety.  If you've ever had any bout of anxiety (or even if you haven't), you will love this book.  It examines anxiety in a humorous way, while at the same time imparting the seriousness of the condition.  It is brave and honest.  I laughed out loud multiple times, and in some ways, it made me understand myself a little bit more.  I highly recommend it!

Best TV series - It is shameful how much I watched on Netflix/HBOGo, etc. in 2013.  Mad Men, Breaking Bad, The Walking Dead, Game of Thrones, Homeland, the Wire, and House of Cards, among others.  Yes, I watched every single episode of ALL of them!  They were all great, but Breaking Bad is by far the best show that has ever been on television.  If you haven't seen it, I'm jealous.  There's nothing like experiencing it the first time around.

Best vacation - In 2013 we traveled to Cincinnati, Disney World, Cape Cod, and Washington, VA. They were all great, but first prize goes to Washington, VA - the home of the Inn at Little Washington - a destination in and of itself.  We took our time getting there, stopping at Virginia wineries on the way (not the best wine, but hey, it's wine, who cares?) and cozying up at a B&B before going to the Inn for dinner.  It was only one night, and it was snowing and cold, but it was heaven.  We hope to go back in 2014.

Best meal - My pregnancy interfered a bit with my foodie tendencies, so unsurprisingly my best meals were enjoyed before and after.  It's a toss up between The Inn at Little Washington (see above - in February) and Minibar (in December).  Both of these meals were ridiculously overpriced, but to me, it was worth it.  Wine flights and multiple courses (over 20 at Minibar!) - sign me up!

Best movie - I don't get out to the movies much these days.  But I did thoroughly enjoy This is the End this past summer, so much so that I devoted an entire blog post to it.  It was weird.  And stupid.  But I laughed out loud in a theater by myself, so that says something.

Best day - November 13, 2013.  Duh!  I got to meet this guy:

Second best day - October 5, 2013 - my sister's wedding.  Beautiful!

Best girl's night out - December 12, 2013.  Some of my friends took me out to Rosa Mexicano to celebrate my 35th birthday, the arrival of Colin, and the termination of my nine month sobriety.  It was a fabulous night, with some fabulous women - including fellow bloggers Valerie and Darcy, a good friend from high school, a good friend from college, and three of my best friends from DC.  Worlds collided, and it was awesome.  How could it not be when there is tequila involved? (You can even see a picture of me getting a shot disguised as a cake on Darcy's blog - scroll to the bottom).

Best kids excursion - To the National Zoo, in August.  I actually usually hate the zoo, but it was raining that day - who knew the best time to visit the zoo is in the rain?  It was empty, and for the first time, I felt like I could handle my two kids in a public place without yelling or running or losing my shit.  It was a good day.

Best Blog Post on My Blog - My favorite ones are never the most popular ones, but I think my best of the year is this one:  I'm in Love with a Boy.  The most popular one this year, by far, is this one:  Why are Lawyers so Miserable?

Best Blog Post on Any Blog- Kelle Hampton's birth story on the arrival of her son on her blog, Enjoying the Small Things, had me in tears.  (And if that one makes you cry, check out the birth story of Nella, her daughter born with down syndrome - have tissues ready).

Best Beauty Product - Ummmmmmmmmmmm.  This one is a joke, people.  I am lucky to get a shower every other day, let alone wear make up or use anything to preserve my aging skin.  I do use Pantene, by the way.  High quality stuff.

Now mosey on over to Darcy's blog, No Monsters in my Bed, to see her Best Of list!

What I Do All Morning

Since the beginning of September, I have had my mornings "free."  By "free," I mean that both of my kids are in school.  They leave the house with my husband at 8am, and I don't need to go pick up Casey until 11am.  That is three hours sans kids.  Free.

I was VERY much looking forward to this time.  It would be, after all, the first time in five years I would have no children to look after on a regular, consistent basis.  I also had the pregnancy card on my side.  I find that many times, when stay at home moms send their kids off to school, the first question they are asked is:  "So what are you going to do with all of that time?"  It's a stressful question, and one that comes with all sorts of expectations and judgments and stereotypes.  But my pregnancy allowed me to avoid this pressure, because my "free" time is obviously finite.  In fact, in approximately three short weeks, I'll have a newborn at home, and it will be another three years until I can look forward to any sort of "free" time.  

I had all sorts of visions for this time.  I envisioned perhaps sleeping - getting up to help the kids get ready, and then coming back to bed once they were out the door.  I could doze for an hour or so with the Today Show on in the background, or watch the DVRed shows from the night before.  

I envisioned getting housework done - the kind of thing I usually put off and then have to face at 4pm. I would empty the dishwasher, put in laundry, go grocery shopping, and perhaps even prep that night's meal.  Maybe I would even make the beds - something  I have not done in five years. Or maybe ever. Actually, now that I think of it, I have never, ever been a regular bedmaker.  Maybe I would turn into one.

A Solo Date

I've never been one to be self conscious about doing things alone.  I have no problem dining alone, and in fact, I actually relish the rare opportunity I get to sit at a bar with a book, an appetizer and a glass of wine.  I also really enjoy going to movies solo, if not for any other reason than my husband hates going, and I am a hard core lover of buttered popcorn.

As you can imagine, solo dates don't come often for me anymore.  And of course, that makes them all the more appealing.  The fact is, I am generally constantly in the company of someone (my kids, predominantly).  And while I'd hardly call myself a loner, the idea of some time to myself - just by myself, for just a little bit - is somewhat of a luxury.

For the past week I have been with my kids in Wilmington, North Carolina, visiting the grandparents.  It's fun and great, but also exhausting and stressful to be out of our fully childproofed environment.  My parents are always offering to give me some time to get out by myself, but I usually decline.  To be honest, I'm usually just so exhausted I don't have the energy to venture out of the house when I have the opportunity.

But last night I mustered the energy, and I indulged.

A few days ago I had read a movie review on CNN of the movie, This is the End.  I had never heard of the movie, but the review was stellar.  I mean, in the I can't remember the last time I've read such a good review of a movie stellar.  It stars Seth Rogen, Jonah Hill, and James Franco. Given the great review and the weird connection I have with James Franco, I had a sudden urge to see it.  (I should clarify - I don't directly have a weird connection with James Franco, but my sister does, so close enough.  See picture from TMZ below).

Stepping Out of My Comfort Zone

When I worked in big law I allowed stress to take over my life.  I was stressed about deadlines, stressed about pleasing the client, stressed about meeting the firm's expectations, stressed about defending depositions and giving presentations and finding the perfect case and making sure everything was always just right.  I felt like there was always someone counting on me, always some kind of performance to orchestrate, and a million opportunities to let everyone down. There was little rest from this pressure, particularly because so much of it was self inflicted.

Leaving my job was driven by my desire to be with my children, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't relieved to leave some of that responsibility behind.  It's not that all responsibility went away - obviously kids come with a whole new set of obligations, commitments, and burdens.  But my duties to them didn't intimidate me - I knew I could do it, that I WOULD do it.  I had a faith in myself as a parent that I never had in my myself as a lawyer.  

A trade off to being a stay at home mom, I always thought, was that any sort of professional satisfaction I had would cease to exist.  And despite the stress and the pressure of being a firm lawyer, I certainly did experience notions of achievement - particularly after I overcame an obstacle or a fear: getting through an oral argument, negotiating a settlement, making my colleagues proud, or just finishing a project that had hung over my head.  I figured those senses of accomplishment would be replaced by something even more profound - the joy of being with my children, every day.  

It is joyful and rewarding and gratifying and worthwhile.  But generally, being a stay at home mom is predictable and routine.  It certainly is stressful at times, but it's a different kind of stress than the stress I felt as a lawyer.  As a parent, I rarely have to get out of my comfort zone like I did as a full time professional attorney.  

I think it was a matter of weeks into my role as a stay at home mom that I realized maybe I did need something more.  After all, isn't that what this blog was about?  About "professional" satisfaction? About feeling like I'm still adding something real, something thoughtful, outside the confines of my own home?  About putting myself out there?  About stepping out of my comfort zone?   

A few weeks ago I really put myself out there.  

A Thursday Night Out

Just a reminder for those locals reading this - tomorrow is the first DC area "Mommy Esquire" meet-up.  This group intends to promote fellowship, education, and networking for lawyers with young children.  

And it's a good excuse to get a drink.  

The event is downtown tomorrow night from 6:30-8:30pm, and appetizers will be provided courtesy of Montage Legal Group.  Email me at butidohavealawdegree@gmail.com if you are interested in coming and want details.  

Otherwise, happy Wednesday everyone!   

Breaking Bad Break

I tend to write blog posts in my head before I ever put them on paper.  Do other bloggers do this? Something will strike me in the car, or the shower, or just throughout the day, and I'll come up with a post in my head.  Occasionally I'll do this and later forget the idea, which is completely infuriating, so I have actually taken to writing ideas down.

All this to say that I have about ten posts with just the title drafted, with a few notes and ideas, but I'm not writing any of them today.  I can't - I just don't have the time.

I am totally obsessed with Breaking Bad.  

I Love Bed

I can still remember the appeal that my living room couch had when I was working full time at a law firm.  I would be in the office, exhausted, reviewing my thousandth document and wondering if I would ever get home.  I would daydream of that light green cushy beacon of comfort in my living room.  When would I get there?  What would I watch on TV?  What would I snack on?  What kind of red wine would I pour myself?  

My living room was my respite, my escape, my symbol of freedom.  I loved my living room.  I would sink into that couch and find my zen.

But now it's different.  Now my living room is my place of work.  It is my office.  

It's where I make meals (gotta love an open plan).  It's where I put on Nick Jr.  It's where my dog barks incessantly at passersby.  It's where my kids climb and fall and cry and fight and tantrum and scream.  It's where I clean up and then clean up again and then clean up some more.  It's where I do my professional work, when there is professional work to be done.

So I'm not loving it so much anymore.  It's not the respite it once was.  

Existential Exercise

One of my best friends always says that she doesn't trust someone who loves going to the gym.  I completely agree.

I get it - feeling fit and healthy is good.  But you know what's better?  Sitting on my couch, watching TV, and eating Ritz crackers with peanut butter.

I did go through this weird stage of gym going.  It was when I was working at Skadden.  The New York office actually has a really nice gym on site (complete with uniforms one has to wear to work out - I'm serious), and three times a week I would get up EARLY (yes, early) to go work out, and then I would shower there for the day.  On other days, if I was slow, I would pop in for an afternoon workout or class.  I even ran a 5K.

If you know me well, you may be saying, "WHAT????"

Yeah, I know.  I can't believe I did that either.

I'm not sure the cause of my fitness kick, but it was the year before my wedding.  And it was also my first year of professional work.  Maybe I felt like if I wasn't going to get in shape then, when would I?

I got married.  Then I went on a two week honeymoon.  And I haven't worked out with any regularity since.

I go through phases. When we moved to DC.  Right after Braden was born.  And then a year ago, I spent a a month in Jillian Michaels hell on Weight Watchers.  I hated every minute.

And here I am again, in January, having gained five pounds over the holidays.  And I have decided to take up diet and exercise.  How freaking original of me.

Old Ladies

I'm not one to get all hung up on getting older.  Age is just a number, right?  And besides, I feel young.  I still get IDed occasionally.  I can (sometimes) fit into clothes I wore in college.  I read US magazine and watch Jersey Shore.

But last weekend?  Man, did I feel old.

I should preface by saying that this past weekend was one of the best I've had in a while, notwithstanding my middle-aged-ness.  I went to Penn State for a long overdue girls weekend with four of my best friends from college.  I had been looking forward to this weekend for a LONG time. I couldn't wait to be with old friends, take a break from reality, and pretend that I was a carefree, happy go-lucky, college student whose greatest stress was where to get my next drink.  After the year I have had, I needed this.

Just the sight of it was refreshing.  Arriving in State College that first night felt like coming home. Sure, it has changed a little.  But looking at my friends and looking at the campus and breathing in the air - it was easy to pretend no time had passed.  I was back there again.  And it felt so, so good.

Of course, I assumed that everyone else would assume we were college students.  I mean, we could blend right in, right?

Um, no.