In the past few weeks, I have found myself counseling two different friends who are about to return to work from maternity leave. The irony of this is not lost on me. I probably don't carry much credibility telling someone that it all will be okay, when I couldn't hack it myself.
Neither of my friends are as lucky as I was, though. As a biglaw associate at the time, I enjoyed an 18 week fully paid maternity leave for both of my kids. When I tell people this, they are shocked. 18 weeks! Most people, including my two friends, only get a twelve week maternity leave, only part of which is paid. Some don't even get that much. Because other people had it so much worse, I was programmed to carry a huge sense of gratitude about my own maternity leave benefit. I felt that I couldn't complain, and for the most part, I didn't.
But you know what? 18 weeks sucks too.
At 18 weeks, your baby is just starting to "wake up." They are smiling. They recognize you. They are bonded with you. They are becoming little people with preferences and quirks and distinctive sounds. And as for you? You are tired. You may still be breastfeeding. You still aren't completely back to your normal self. But you are getting used to this new person, this new life, and this new routine. You are finally starting to enjoy things. And just as you are getting into the groove, BAM. Go back to work and find a stranger to take your child. After the second maternity leave, I couldn't do it.
Wouldn't a bit more time be nice?
It got me thinking about what other countries do. It's common knowledge that the U.S. leave policy sucks, but how much does it suck? I was inspired to go to a trusted resource (aka, the internet) to do a brief multi-country survey of government mandated maternity leave. Here are the results:
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Pic of the Week - Oh the Memories
Irene may not have knocked out our power, but it sure did knock down a lot of trees. Three days later, I'm still seeing uprooted trees along the side of the road, and on some unfortunate houses.
It brings back memories of a tree that once stood in our front yard...
Rest in Peace big tree from our front yard.
It brings back memories of a tree that once stood in our front yard...
 | ||
| January 2010 |
Monday, August 29, 2011
Hunkering In
Can I make a confession?
I was kind of excited for the hurricane.
For one, I love me a good thunderstorm. Especially at night. It usually wakes me up, but I don't care. I love the sound of the thunder, the lightning, the wind, and the rain on the roof. For some reason, it calms me. So I was ready for the noise and commotion that Irene was threatening to bring.
More than that though, I was looking forward to hunkering in with my family. Since the kids and I returned from our ten day trip to North Carolina last week, time with my husband has been scarce. Some deal that was an emergency and life would end if conference calls were not conducted and drafts were not revised. Blah blah blah, same old, same old. Not his fault, but still. We miss him.
My husband had mentioned that there was a chance that he would have to go into the office this weekend. Ugh. But then.... Irene! I obviously would not wish a hurricane on anyone, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't excited at the prospect of my husband being stuck in the house with us instead of back at the office on a weekend.
I was kind of excited for the hurricane.
For one, I love me a good thunderstorm. Especially at night. It usually wakes me up, but I don't care. I love the sound of the thunder, the lightning, the wind, and the rain on the roof. For some reason, it calms me. So I was ready for the noise and commotion that Irene was threatening to bring.
More than that though, I was looking forward to hunkering in with my family. Since the kids and I returned from our ten day trip to North Carolina last week, time with my husband has been scarce. Some deal that was an emergency and life would end if conference calls were not conducted and drafts were not revised. Blah blah blah, same old, same old. Not his fault, but still. We miss him.
My husband had mentioned that there was a chance that he would have to go into the office this weekend. Ugh. But then.... Irene! I obviously would not wish a hurricane on anyone, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't excited at the prospect of my husband being stuck in the house with us instead of back at the office on a weekend.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Stop It
It's another travel day - we are headed out of hurricane country and back into the earthquake zone.
How do I maintain my cool amidst all of these natural disasters, with two demanding passengers in the back seat?
I take the advice from this old Mad TV video clip below, featuring Bob Newhart. My dad, who is a professor of social work and psychology, shows it to all of his classes on the first day.
Best therapy ever.
How do I maintain my cool amidst all of these natural disasters, with two demanding passengers in the back seat?
I take the advice from this old Mad TV video clip below, featuring Bob Newhart. My dad, who is a professor of social work and psychology, shows it to all of his classes on the first day.
Best therapy ever.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
The Sky is Falling!
My kids and I missed the great DC earthquake. And no, we did not feel it down here in North Carolina.
Oh, the drama of it all! We came back from the pool, and my step-father met us at the door.
"Did you feel it?"
"Um no. Feel what?"
"The earthquake. [Your husband] called. He's okay."
I tried calling my husband at work, but all circuits were busy, of course. In the meantime, I turned on the TV, where there was non-stop coverage of the "Quake of 2011." It only took a couple of minutes to decipher that this meant no casualties and minimal damage. When I finally did get through to my husband, he was a bit shaken up. He told me he had hid under his desk during the 30 seconds of shaking.
I'm sorry, but that just cracks me up.
Oh, the drama of it all! We came back from the pool, and my step-father met us at the door.
"Did you feel it?"
"Um no. Feel what?"
"The earthquake. [Your husband] called. He's okay."
I tried calling my husband at work, but all circuits were busy, of course. In the meantime, I turned on the TV, where there was non-stop coverage of the "Quake of 2011." It only took a couple of minutes to decipher that this meant no casualties and minimal damage. When I finally did get through to my husband, he was a bit shaken up. He told me he had hid under his desk during the 30 seconds of shaking.
I'm sorry, but that just cracks me up.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Pic of the Week - Serenity at Grandpa's House
By now you are all probably very sick of the beach pictures. I recognize I've posted a lot of them. But it's summer! And I'm at the beach! So bear with me as I post one last summer water scene.
This is the view from my Dad's balcony, and those two little figures on the dock are Braden and his Grandpa.
This is the view from my Dad's balcony, and those two little figures on the dock are Braden and his Grandpa.
Monday, August 22, 2011
I Got Mad Skills
My husband had his "mid-year" review at his firm last week. Of course, he got the highest quantification possible, which is something like an A or a descriptive adjective or a numerical rank or maybe a special sticker. I forget.
It got me thinking about my own skills, and all the ones I'm wasting, for lack of a better word. There's a lot I used to be able to do, you know. Have a legal research question? I am a master of Westlaw and, given enough time, I will get you an answer, or tell you your question is full of shit. Need thousands of documents reviewed in an electronic database? I can code ever damn one. While we're at it, I can also draft all sorts of documents that are incomprehensible to the general public, including motions, briefs, interrogatories, document requests, and deposition outlines. I can read boring, lengthy legal opinions and make some sense of them (unless they involve patents, then forget it). And I can get along with anyone, including cocky pricks from the Department of Justice or crotchety old partners.
I don't necessarily want to be doing these things, but it doesn't mean it doesn't make me a bit sad that all of these specialized skills are going to waste. And it won't be long until those skills start fading. Maybe they already have.
But fret ye not. I have acquired some new skills in the last six months, thank you very much. And since this new career of mine does not involve any formalized review process, I will engage in a self assessment which highlights my top 5 new areas of expertise:
It got me thinking about my own skills, and all the ones I'm wasting, for lack of a better word. There's a lot I used to be able to do, you know. Have a legal research question? I am a master of Westlaw and, given enough time, I will get you an answer, or tell you your question is full of shit. Need thousands of documents reviewed in an electronic database? I can code ever damn one. While we're at it, I can also draft all sorts of documents that are incomprehensible to the general public, including motions, briefs, interrogatories, document requests, and deposition outlines. I can read boring, lengthy legal opinions and make some sense of them (unless they involve patents, then forget it). And I can get along with anyone, including cocky pricks from the Department of Justice or crotchety old partners.
I don't necessarily want to be doing these things, but it doesn't mean it doesn't make me a bit sad that all of these specialized skills are going to waste. And it won't be long until those skills start fading. Maybe they already have.
But fret ye not. I have acquired some new skills in the last six months, thank you very much. And since this new career of mine does not involve any formalized review process, I will engage in a self assessment which highlights my top 5 new areas of expertise:
Friday, August 19, 2011
Easy Tonight
Sometimes life has a way of leading you to where you need to be.
The summer of 2000 was a somewhat tumultuous one for me. I had graduated from college. I was anticipating heading to London, all by myself, for graduate school. And I was living at home for a few months - for the first time in four years. It was a time of major transitions.
A huge part of that major transition was a break up with my high school, and college, boyfriend. We had been together for six years, gone to the high school prom together, and stayed together through four years at Penn State. But as of that summer, our break up was inevitable. While I was headed to graduate school in England, he was moving to LA to pursue his dreams in the film industry. We were going to be more than just bi-coastal. We knew it was going to be over.
The summer of 2000 was a somewhat tumultuous one for me. I had graduated from college. I was anticipating heading to London, all by myself, for graduate school. And I was living at home for a few months - for the first time in four years. It was a time of major transitions.
A huge part of that major transition was a break up with my high school, and college, boyfriend. We had been together for six years, gone to the high school prom together, and stayed together through four years at Penn State. But as of that summer, our break up was inevitable. While I was headed to graduate school in England, he was moving to LA to pursue his dreams in the film industry. We were going to be more than just bi-coastal. We knew it was going to be over.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Un-wined of the Week - A Bit of Bubbly
I know my un-wineds are typically wine reviews, but a bit of champagne never hurt anyone, right?
My dad likes to call himself a "champagne connoisseur." Connoisseur is probably a strong word, but the guy enjoys champagne. Generally when we come to visit, he'll uncork one nice bottle. For this trip, the bottle was:
Taittinger Champagne Brut
France
This bottle retails for about $40, which is outside of my general weekly bottle price range. But, for a special occasion, I would definitely splurge. The champagne was fabulous! Refreshing and crisp, with a clean finish. It was easy to drink quickly, so I had to pace myself. Though I admittedly don't have the most discerning champagne palate, this was just yummy. Perfect for a summer evening on the porch overlooking the ocean. Just perfect.
Overall rating - 9/10
My dad likes to call himself a "champagne connoisseur." Connoisseur is probably a strong word, but the guy enjoys champagne. Generally when we come to visit, he'll uncork one nice bottle. For this trip, the bottle was:
Taittinger Champagne Brut
France
This bottle retails for about $40, which is outside of my general weekly bottle price range. But, for a special occasion, I would definitely splurge. The champagne was fabulous! Refreshing and crisp, with a clean finish. It was easy to drink quickly, so I had to pace myself. Though I admittedly don't have the most discerning champagne palate, this was just yummy. Perfect for a summer evening on the porch overlooking the ocean. Just perfect.
Overall rating - 9/10
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Potty Mouth
Since having kids, I have tried really hard to curb my potty mouth. I can curse like the best of them, and most of the time I don't even realize it. So I make a conscious effort, and I am usually successful. There are two general exceptions:
1) Road rage - If someone cuts me off, or stops short, or otherwise does something idiotic on the road, I can't help but blurt out: "Asshole!" Yes, I'm aware that the other driver can't hear me - only my children can. I am working on this, though I cannot say the same for my husband. So far, Braden hasn't picked up this term. Perhaps because he is so engrossed with looking for trucks, backhoes, and sirens, or the fact that the country music station is probably turned up a bit too loud.
2) Diaper changing incidents - Just last week, I took Casey into his room to change his diaper, with Braden following close behind. I opened up the diaper to find a yucky, runny surprise. Casey was wriggling about, reaching down with his hands, and was just a few moments away from reaching down and rubbing it all over his face (yes, this has happened before). I quickly reached for the wipes, only to realize there were none left. What else was there to do than emphatically yell: "Fuck!" I mean, would anyone have reacted differently? This time, Braden caught on, and began dancing about and repeating after me. I tried to save myself - "Braden, Casey's diaper is stuck. It's stuck!" So far, he hasn't repeated it again.
Instead of latching onto my curse words, Braden has developed his own toddler version of potty mouth. I suppose with potty training this is inevitable. Because somehow, if you add the word "poop" to any sentence or song, it is hysterical. Like, drop on the floor laughing hysterical. So if he were to sing:
1) Road rage - If someone cuts me off, or stops short, or otherwise does something idiotic on the road, I can't help but blurt out: "Asshole!" Yes, I'm aware that the other driver can't hear me - only my children can. I am working on this, though I cannot say the same for my husband. So far, Braden hasn't picked up this term. Perhaps because he is so engrossed with looking for trucks, backhoes, and sirens, or the fact that the country music station is probably turned up a bit too loud.
2) Diaper changing incidents - Just last week, I took Casey into his room to change his diaper, with Braden following close behind. I opened up the diaper to find a yucky, runny surprise. Casey was wriggling about, reaching down with his hands, and was just a few moments away from reaching down and rubbing it all over his face (yes, this has happened before). I quickly reached for the wipes, only to realize there were none left. What else was there to do than emphatically yell: "Fuck!" I mean, would anyone have reacted differently? This time, Braden caught on, and began dancing about and repeating after me. I tried to save myself - "Braden, Casey's diaper is stuck. It's stuck!" So far, he hasn't repeated it again.
Instead of latching onto my curse words, Braden has developed his own toddler version of potty mouth. I suppose with potty training this is inevitable. Because somehow, if you add the word "poop" to any sentence or song, it is hysterical. Like, drop on the floor laughing hysterical. So if he were to sing:
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