Shelley's Case

Not like the others

Every time I'm at some law school alumni function and someone asks me what I do (represent victims of sex abuse/rape/child molestation in civil cases) people pause and say, "Oh, wow.  I am so glad you do that because I couldn't."   Or they make a face, or they do both. This always annoys me, because what they invariably do - family law or criminal defense or environmental regulatory something or other - would make me want to poke my eyes out with sticks. 

Because I'm a civil litigator. I think in terms of motions to dismiss and summary judgments and the discovery avalanche that goes with any civil case.  It's just that my subject matter is a lot more, well, lurid than most other stuff that gets litigated.  And I can't talk about my cases in polite company (which, fortunately, I don't spend much time in) or in front of my toddler (where I do spend a lot of time).  Still, what I talk about at work all day, every day, is pretty nasty stuff.  I just...forget that sometimes.  

Case in point?  I was asked my favorite hat movie while hat shopping.  The first thing that popped into my head was M, because of the great men's hats.  I started to explain the film - directed by Fritz Lang, stars Peter Lorre, fabulous film...about a child murderer/pedophile being pursued by a group of beggars and the cops. I went on and on until I realized what I was talking about and I stopped.  (The other person's favorite hat movie?  The original Thomas Crowne movie.  I felt about three inches tall for imposing my weird world on her, even briefly.)

But it really is a great film.  Heck, come on over, and we can watch it together - I have a special anniversary DVD version.  We'll just have to wait 'til after Peach has gone to bed.

Snippets of conversation

Upset Client: "You just can't understand what it's like to have a rapist call you out of the blue!"
Me:  "Um, actually it happens to me almost every day."
UC: ....
Me: "And murderers.  The murderers are nicer on the phone, though."

Check and mate

• Wake up late?  Check.
• Look like idiot in court?  Check. 
• Set next court date for my birthday?  Check.
• Give pep talks to clients?  Check.
• Have to stop by pharmacy twice to get Matthew's prescription? Check.
• Explain statute of limitations and why there is no case to pursue to prospective client?  Check.
• Park on seventh floor of parking garage and wait forever for elevator?  Check. 
• Gouge hunk of flesh from finger with staple?  Check. 
• Stop at Burgerville to get kid smoothie for long commute home?  Check. 
• Eat dinner cooked by husband?  Check.
• Get kid to eat asparagus for first time?  Check! (OK, with ketchup)
• Realize kid is almost big enough to sit at the dinner table unaided (and, in fact, does do so through dinner, albeit with some gymnastic moves thrown in for good measure)?  Check THIS out:

And that's the gratuitous sports bottle of milk - she still loves milk above all drinks, except maybe Diet 7 Up. But I still can't believe that I have a kid this big.  Sure, Matthew is 6'2, but the tallest woman my family has produced to date is, I think, my sister - at 5'4. As soon as I can find the yardstick or the tape measure, I'm going to have to figure out how tall she is.

The Invisible Attorney Rant

If I ever do a quasi-anonymous blog, it'll be called the Invisible Attorney - because that's what I am.  It doesn't matter if I'm the one who writes the powerhouse brief or discovers the magic bullet buried in the thousands of pages of discovery - and points it out.  I'm invisible.  Other attorneys talk over my head to my boss (OK, that's physically easy - I'm 5'1 and he's 6'5) or completely ignore my presence entirely.  Frequently attorneys don't even bother to address me at all, even when it's just them, me, and the boss in the room. 

There are a couple of advantages: first, when people don't realize you exist, they say all sorts of things in front of you that they oughtn't. Second, it is usually temporary: once they figure out I do have a brain, the invisibility starts to wear off.  And third, often when people underestimate me, I can get a lot of work done without them realizing I'm doing it. 

But still, it pisses me off.  Is it that I'm short?  Female?  Do I look and/or sound stupid?   I'm not exactly an unassertive person, so surely it's not that I'm mousy. 

Anyway, back to work.  Drives.me.crazy.

And that was before eleven

This morning, after battling traffic to get to work, I did the following:

1.  Went to federal courthouse to see if Assistant US Attorney would let me know charges against boss's new criminal defense client. 

2.  Went to county jail and visited client.  I'd been there once before, but this was my first solo visit with someone in custody.  I managed not to hyperventilate when stuck in the elevator for 15 minutes before the deputies saw fit to let me out.  (Visitors have no control over the elevator and while it's possible to push the button and go in, they have to wait until someone moves the elevator for them.)

3.  Went to county courthouse to watch a young man (our guy) plead guilty by reason of insanity to the aggravated murder of another young man. 

So it was something of a draining morning.  On a positive note (I guess), of the four metal detectors I walked through today (the last being picking Peach up from daycare - the daycare is in a federal building), I only set one off.  (At the jail...I knew in advance this would happen - my over-engineered bra sets this off.)

And right now?  I feel like I'm getting sick.   Lovely. 

Times are changing

It used to be that when Matthew and I drove past a church, we'd first play "guess the denomination" by the outside appearance, then crane our necks to look at the sign to see who guessed closest.  Last week, we drove past a church on the east side of Portland, not far from Matthew's work, and I squealed at the sign, "Oh!  That's the first church I helped sue for sex abuse!" 

First week recap

I've really enjoyed my first week so far.  (And I suspect the boss has, too - he was able to take two days off with me in the shop.)   Right now I'm the only one in, and I'm blasting some German heavy metal, because, well, I can. 

The work rocks. I'm doing pretty much what I'd done as a contractor - research and writing, mostly, with some face time and a lot of furniture angst.  (Where to put the bookcase? What to do with six Herman Miller conference room chairs?  I've farmed three of them out, but still have three left.  I still have the shredder in here with me, too.)  It's nice to have a mentor who introduces me around and who knows the back history on just about everyone. 

The Pearl is taking a bit of adjustment - I think I was more comfortable when I worked in downtown.  Here it's just so...upwardly mobile, with lots of people my age or younger who apparently don't have to work during the day and who can shop wherever they want.  It makes me self-conscious about what I'm wearing, kind of like high school did.  The shops are outrageously priced.  The food is spendy.  And Jay-sus - you would not believe all the California license plates! 

I've really enjoyed commuting in with Matthew.  A couple of days, we came in VERY early, and there was almost no traffic.  The down side is that because Matthew works very long days, I work very long days even when I could leave a lot earlier (like today).  I am getting more Peach time, in the car, and hear her talking to herself and playing (and occasionally crying, but she is usually pretty good in the car). 

It took several days for the Peach trots to slow down, but she seems to be "regular" again.  Whew.

Lots of good stuff

This time, this day, last year, I insisted that a nurse wheel me down to the NICU to visit my new baby - all 4 lbs, 12 oz of her.  (Because I was still on the magnesium sulfate to prevent seizures, due to my ultra high blood pressure, I had to be accompanied by an RN.  And can you believe they didn't let Matthew count?)  I was so shaky that the only thing I could manage to do was touch her foot, but even then, I was entranced.  They would bring her to me another 24 hours later, after I had been taken off the magnesium sulfate. 

We actually celebrated her birthday Sunday with a low-key event with neighbors.  My sense of her is that a big celebration would throw her off, and besides, I am trying to keep her *stuff* down to a minimum.  (I did decide that if I had a full-blown party, I was just going to ask people to bring an old pot or wooden spoon for her to bang together.)  And I was pretty restrictive with the cake - although I needn't have worried.  The chocolate was a bit too rich for her, anyway. 

Here she is Sunday:

And here she is today.  You can't tell, but she managed to mix white cupcake in with her whole wheat pasta.  It was a mess! She was listening to Auntie Sarah and Uncle Rob sing Happy Birthday (Cha-cha-cha) to her. 

In other news -- and this is my big news -- I've joined a Portland solo practitioner as his associate.  I've actually been working for him for a year and a half as a contract attorney -- doing the plaintiff sex abuse work -- but it's now formal.  I met him at Dania last night and we picked out office furniture, even.  I start Monday!  I'll be in the Pearl, if anyone wants to meet for lunch.  There is the *best* bento place nearby. 

Maybe a bit childish

I just can't seem to get over enjoying saying how stupid the other side is.  To be sure, I use different language, like:

"[Opponent] has moved for summary judgment on a cause of action which Plaintiff did not plead. However, even if [Opponent] had moved for summary judgment on the proper cause of action, [Opponent's] motion should still be denied because..."

Translation: "Opponent is a big fat idiot who is burning billable hours!  Nyah! Nyah! Nyah!"

 

It is just so fun. 

Just another schizoid Sunday

Yes, it's sunny and beautiful, with a projected high of 70 degrees.  And I'm inside a climate-controlled law library writing about the craziness that is child sex abuse.  Whee. 

Contracting Work Dissected

One of the ways I've earned money since law school is by doing contract research and writing.  Almost all of my contracting work has come from solo practitioners, and the rest from small firms, so I can't speak to the big-firm contracting experiences (mostly negative) I've read about online, where the contractors are in sweatshop-like conditions.  (I'm assuming the bloggers were exaggerating -- at least, I hope so.) 

I get asked a lot about contact work from law students and new grads who are looking for work or who aren't sure what they want to do yet, and who think contracting may be a good way to tide them over until they get a "real" job (or open a solo practice) or figure out what it is they really want to do.

Basically, a contract attorney in my position gets called at the last (or nearly last) minute to perform some research and writing task that the principal attorney doesn't have the time or motivation to do.  Occasionally (though more often for me recently), the contract attorney will get a call from an attorney who just wants to bounce ideas off of the contractor and discuss strategy.  The most common place I'll get called in, though, is to respond to motions for summary judgment. 

I get asked a lot about how I find work.  Just about every contract job I have is through word of mouth, from classmates and from other practitioners.  I've responded to a few ads, but only one of them netted anything. 

I enjoy contract work, for the most part.  I love going through discovery (though I'd probably hate it if it was my primary function) and digging for useful facts.  I love reading depositions.  I love making legal arguments, and I love working on complex litigation.  I really love rinding out that it's my memo or brief that kept the case from being tossed.  Another plus?  Attorneys pay more regularly than clients, and usually quite promptly.

Contract work will also give you great exposure to other areas of law that you might never have even thought existed.  (Often the questions I'm asked to research are novel -- the easy issues lawyers handle themselves.)  There's a lot of room for creativity.  And if you didn't know your jurisdictions rules for civil procedure or local rules, you will learn them in a hurry with contract work.  You'll get used to saying, "Sure, that sounds interesting!"

But there are drawbacks. It's not something you're likely to make a terrific living from in the beginning.  Sometimes you have more work than you can handle, but most of the time you don't, and it's impossible to predict when the lean times will come.  (December 2006 I was crazy busy, but December 2007 was almost completely dry.) 

And how do you know what to charge?  Sometimes the local law school career services office can point you at a range, but it's still an art form.  Attorneys (like clients, or anyone else) tend to put a value on services, and if you charge too little, you may be perceived as downmarket.  If you charge too much, you may price yourself out of a job. (Even though they will likely triple what you bill and pass that on to the client.)

And attorneys can be difficult to work for.  Some solos are difficult personalities, or at least very particular people.  Some micromanage and want constant updates.  Some want a yes person -- basically, someone to rubber stamp or verify what they want to do.  When this happens to me, I try to explain why something will probably not work, but also try to point out areas where an argument might be strengthened.   (In this way, contract lawyering is like any other job I've ever had: I am a good "no" person.)

Another consideration is office culture -- is the attorney the controlling type, who doles out information in dribs and drabs and always leaves you guessing about the rest of the case?  It's frustrating, because while they may have all the facts about the case in their head, I don't -- and I can't do my best work product without reading the file, top to bottom.  Sometimes I'll spot something that I can use.   So always try to get as much of the client file as you can before you work on a project -- insist on reading the depositions, even if the attorney tells you not to bother.  (They may not want to pay your hourly rate for you to do the extra file review, but you've gotta do it -- even if they do act as though you're pulling the food from their children's mouths.)   

Sometimes it's hard being in the background.  Only one attorney I regularly work for will trumpet my involvement to both his clients and to other attorneys -- usually I don't get any credit at all.  Sometimes it's a bit strange writing something that someone else will sign his or her name to -- there's no dishonesty (although bar associations have been jumping all over attorneys who draft paperwork for pro ses to file), but it's just...odd.  Often I never know how things turn out after I finish the assignment and email an invoice.  One attorney I do work for a few times a year, so months will go by without my hearing from him, and I'll wonder if I did a good job or if he hated it.  The only way I'll know is when the next job from him goes in. 

There's more, certainly, but this is a start.  I composed this between moving furniture, dealing with the Direct TV guy and a barking dog and crying baby, attending a baby shower, and moving more furniture.  I'm beat.   On the plus side?  The Peach's nursery is almost complete!

One...step...at...a...time...

I'm becoming one of those bloggers -- you know, the type that only posts once in a blue moon, and when she does, it's all whining about how busy she is. 

What do I do, you ask? As you can see from previous posts, I feed the baby, change the baby, play with the baby, repeat, try to get a couple of things done before the cycle starts all over again.  If I'm lucky, I might get to pee without interruption. It takes me until Friday to finish the Sunday Times crossword - and that's on a good week.  (OK, at least a part of that is because I am a mediocre crossworder.) 

Taking care of the Peach and watching her grow has been fabulous, wonderful - but exhausting and mind-numbing, too.  I feel incredibly guilty about her going into day care, primarily because I'm looking forward to it so much.  I think I'm finally understanding the push-pull of the Mommy Wars, and that's with going into this knowing that I would absolutely not be the one taking care of her full time.  But I'm also looking forward to the fact the time I spend with her will be time I desperately want to spend with her, as opposed to not having any other choice. 

Now, affording  day care is another matter, but of course, the presumption is that I will be working full time again.  I love my contract work, but it's feast or famine and right now times are lean.  I'm torn between wanting to aggressively market myself as a contractor versus seeking full-time regular lawyer work.   The contract work is so flexible and fun -- research problems and persuasive writing are the best part of what I do as a lawyer, plus, I can work on wildly diverse areas of law.  But the money isn't regular, there are no sick or vacation days, and I'm not a girl who handles uncertainty well.  (This is probably why I am a good researcher: I WILL find the answer.)

As for working at a firm...

...crap.  I'd finish this post, but the Peach just woke up -- twenty minutes before I have a telephone meeting scheduled with a client.  Gotta run.   

A day in the life, redux

Yesterday was amazing, crazy, and wonderfully productive.  Peach and I worked our tails off, and she was a trooper, up to and including going to the courthouse.  (She had her usual reaction to the courthouse.  She pooped.)  I did a bit of everything and felt wonderful about the day - I crossed more off my to-do list than I have in a long while. 

Today was amazing, crazy, and not wonderfully productive.  Today's work-at-home-mother-attorney's action items:

• Wake up at 5:30 because baby is making sounds on baby monitor.  Realize husband slept through alarm; wake him.  Go downstairs for clean bottle.  Baby is asleep again.  Go back to sleep, wake when husband asks where the razors are; go back to sleep.
• Wake up at 6:30 because baby is very much awake. Eat Luna bar.
• Feed baby.  Baby falls asleep; watch Trading Spaces (fast forwarding the boring bits) until arms hurt.   Put baby down.
• Get dressed.
• Make bottle.
• Dress baby. Baby barfs on outfit number one, and we move onto outfit number two. 
• Go to Saturn dealership for very late 41,000 service. Discover must now have more expensive service.  Discover front brakes must be replaced.  Authorize replacement of brakes.  Entertain child while brakes are being replaced, change three diapers in three hours, down a triple venti non-fat peppermint mocha with no whipped cream and a Diet Dr. Pepper.  Eat two Luna bars.  Endure changing blown-out poopy diaper in dealership bathroom, where they are kind enough to have a Diaper Genie -- without liners.  Discover this the hard way.
• Home.  Baby screaming.  Put dog out, change baby into outfit number three.  Let dog in.  Feed baby.  Put baby in swing (she's almost too big for it, but it still works).   
• Downstairs: call opposing counsel, who provided draft judgment after business hours on Monday.  Naturally, it's due Friday, and I can't get ahold of my client.  Opposing has no objections to extension for entry of judgment.  Whew.
• Organize desk. 
• Start to draft motion.  Realize I'm getting a migraine and decide it's a toss-up between seven and eight on the pain scale.  Hunt down Frova, pop one and close eyes.
• Baby wakes up. 
• Change, feed, play, change, play with baby. Call Matthew and weakly demand that he not work late tonight, and that he returns forthwith with dinner.
• Consider doing laundry, but head is throbbing.  Close eyes and lean against sofa; pull baby out of basket full of (clean) diapers. 
• Put baby in swing again - she falls asleep.
• Put dog outside.  He immediately starts to bark at obnoxious neighbor dogs.  I consider going out in the rain to stop him, then close the door instead and put my hands to my temples.
• Matthew walks in the door with food. Fast food.  And I'm not feeling guilty about it, no.
• Three bites into dinner, baby wakes up.

Now it's almost midnight - about the closest I ever get to me time.  I had a bowl of Cheerios (I like them, OK?  And they're good for my high cholesterol), watched an episode of Mission:Organization (insipid and full of people with high-class problems, but it has useful tips), and typed this post because I've forgotten the thoughtful post I came up with at the car dealership this morning.

A day in the life (or why I love four day weekends)

In the juggling act that is my work-at-home life, one of the things that has to give when I'm in crunch time is blogging -- for that, I'm sorry about the recent silence. I'm fine, health-wise, Matthew and the baby are healthy (although the Peach is now fond of making a weird sucking-in-breathing sound -- deliberately, Matthew determined -- which freaks me out every time I hear it, and I hope she forgets about it soon).   Life is pretty good. 

But the balancing -- well, did I ever mention how much I sucked at gymnastics?  I knew hitting the six month mark would mean she'd be much more demanding on my time, but didn't quite realize how much more.  Naps?  Maybe five minutes, maybe an hour.  Time to schedule a conference call?  I never bet on it.  Time to work on documents while she plays?  Only if I'm OK with drafting documents a sentence at a time. (Seriously: I drafted a response to a petition for review a sentence at a time.  It was maddening, but I did it and it didn't suck.  Why aren't there awards for that sort of thing?)  I absolutely love the clients and colleagues who communicate with me via email, because I dread phone calls -- the dog will bark, or the baby will cry, or UPS will appear at the door and then the dog will bark and wake up the baby who will cry.  It's the work-at-home trifecta.

Here's an example of an average day in the life:

5:00 am: Peach starts to fuss (in her papasan) or kick me (in our bed), signaling to me that meltdown is imminent, and I should start to prepare a bottle.  Matthew is awake and getting ready to go. 

5:30 am: Peach has been fed and I am falling asleep while holding her. Into her swing she goes.  Occasionally she fusses at me and so I'll sleep on the couch in her room (still partially our den - the TV and couch will be moving out of there in the next month).  Also, I will sleep on the couch if I lack the energy to get up and move into the bedroom.

8:00 am: Phone rings.  Matthew, client, colleague -- I don't know.  I answer and manage to sound awake and alert.  I write everything down, because otherwise I will forget it. 

8:05 am: Peach is awake and smiling at me.  I take her out of the swing and put her on her blanket on the floor.  She rolls around while I go in search of caffeine -- Diet Dr. Pepper or coffee.  Sometimes the coffee is a day old.  I microwave it and don't care. 

8:10 am: Water is running while I am changing Peach.  She's realized that she is hungry and her gums hurt, so she whines and sticks her fingers (or toes) in her mouth.  I hop up, wash hands, and make the bottle. 

8:10 am: While feeding Peach, I switch the Harmony remote to my left hand and turn on the TV (TiVo).  I mentally curse the American Pediatric Association for the guilt I live with as a result.  I angle Peach towards me, so that she can't see the TV.   

8:30 am: Thanks to a short attention span and the thirty-second skip hack for the TiVo, I finish a 30 minute program - currently BBC America favorites "You Are What You Eat" and "How Clean Is Your House?" (the latter has been marvelous for getting me to do things like clean the door shelves in my refrigerator in my few moments of free time). Peach goes back onto her blanket to play and roll around, and I grab some of her toys and books.  She's into eating her books, not being read to, but we try to do both. 

9:00 am: Peach is getting bored and fussy, but isn't ready to take a nap yet.  If she's spit up on herself, she takes a bath.  If not, I change her into a "daytime" outfit and skip the bath (although now that she's wearing mostly 12 month outfits, of which we have not been given a lot, there's a lot less pressure on me to make sure she wears everything).

9:10 am: Peach goes into the jumperoo (in the computer room) and I make my to-do list, check my email, and try to do a little bit more on the Times Sunday crossword (it now takes me about five days to complete).  Look at blogs, maybe start a post, but then:

9:40 am: Peach starts the morning meltdown. I pick her up, change her, and put her in her swing. She's out before the music stops on the swing. 

9:45 am: I start working.  I'm still in my PJs, but I can't let a nap go to waste. 

10:45 am: The dog barks and wakes Peach.  Sometimes she'll go back to sleep, but mostly not.  We'll play for a little while. We play an elementary version of "Pat-a-Cake," which means I hold out both of my hands, palms facing her, say "Pat-a-Cake" and then she smiles and puts her hands against mine.  (We're nowhere near, say, the clapping bit.) 

11:15 am: The feeding-playing-changing cycle restarts.  While she's playing, I will try to work on my laptop - usually a sentence at a time.

1:00 pm: Peach goes down for a nap.  I check the email again and then take a quick shower and dress. 

1:30 pm: (Yes, I can go from shower to hair done/make-up done in 30 minutes.)  Work.  Maybe dishes and laundry. 

2:30 pm: Peach wakes up.  I feed her and watch TV - Flip That House, maybe, or What Not to Wear. 

4:00 pm: Maybe a nap for Peach, maybe not.  I am exhausted by this point.  I clean up the room while Peach plays and try to figure out what is for dinner.  If Peach takes a nap, I can usually put something together -- or I might just fall asleep, too, and not wake up until Matthew gets home.  Or, if Peach doesn't take a nap, send a text message to Matthew to bring something home. Think about "You Are What You Eat" and insist on salads. 

6:00 pm:  Matthew is home.  Peach is delighted to see him.  I run downstairs and grab my dinner. 

6:10 pm: I've gulped dinner and am out the door -- to get my mail, to go to the law library, to go to the store.  Will probably sneak in a trip to Starbucks for a triple non-fat mocha, no whipped cream. 

7:30 pm: Home. Coffee hasn't even touched the exhaustion, but there is work to do.  Matthew is taking care of Peach and playing a computer game.

8:30 pm: Matthew is winding down, and care of the Peach is returned to me.  By this point, she is as tired as I am, but (unlike me) has no desire to sleep.  I try to put her to bed, but it doesn't take.  I try not to think about my to-do list and the one or two checked items on it (out of, say, ten?).  We play. 

9:00 pm: Peach finally decides to go to sleep.  I get back to work, but am so tired I can barely concentrate.  I realize I have used the last of the clean bottles, and run downstairs to start the dishwasher. 

10:30 pm: Peach usually wakes up when I am transferring her into her (or my, depending on how things are going) bed. I change her, feed her, and then put her back to sleep.

10:50 pm: I try to work, but by this time I'm falling asleep while typing.  I will probably fight going to sleep myself until midnight.

12:00 am: Having given up the thought of getting anything else done, I go to bed. 

***
But on the weekends?  Matthew is primary.  I still do quite a bit with Peach, but I can leave the house guilt-free.  Watch TV guilt-free. And even work guilt free.   (But not yesterday - yesterday had all three of us staying in our PJs all day.) 

Would it kill him to say, "Great, thanks?"

For over a year, I've been involved in a case with prominent opposing counsel. This has been a great learning experience for me -- just not in the way I'd hoped.

The case is fine, by the way.  The problem is that the guy obviously dislikes me.  Oh, he's not a jerk as in calling and screaming at me (I have had that experience with other opposing counsel), but jerk as in treating me as if I don't exist.  Which, as you might expect, makes working with him difficult.  His reputation is not that of being a jerk, so I can only assume it has something to do with me, personally.

My philosophy is that the person with the older bar number should make an effort, even a small one, to be kind to the person with the younger bar number (in Oregon, our bar numbers begin with the last two digits of the year we are admitted - mine is 05315, for example).  I do it with the two years of admittees who've followed me, and it's not like I'm great shakes.  But it just seems the courteous thing to do. 

This is NOT what I would have expected:
- ignore attempts to communicate by letter
- not introduce self (or even say "hi") when at court before or after arguments
- in a group of three people, refuse to look at me or address comments to me

And this last bit made me laugh.  Yesterday, I sent an email saying basically, "hope you had a great holiday, blah, blah / I'll be requesting an extension of time / do you have any objection?"

To which he replied, "No." 

Admittedly, I might be too sensitive.  But I think the next time I see him in person I may gush, "Wow -- I just realized you were admitted to the bar when I was TWO!

Will this be me?

Maybe not the bit where I want to talk with Truman Capote, but it's interesting to wonder if I'll be here in ten or fifteen years.  Maybe I'm there now.

Attorney nightmares

Everyone I know has had the dream where they have to take a final and they can't find the room for it and they haven't gone to class all semester and... Right?  Stereotypically, for me it's always a math class.

So last night was a new one: I had a client and I'd negotiated a great settlement but it was on contingency and the professional rules say that every client agreement in a contingency case must be in writing and I was writing as fast as I could, but I kept screwing up and having to start over again and if I didn't get it done I wasn't going to get paid and....

I guess it was bound to happen sooner or later.

I so wish I could tell the story

In short: long, crazy week.  Not representing the below (posted) client any longer.  Woke up today feeling very exhausted and very drained -- but very happy. 

Whew.

No Exit

I am in crazy client hell.  To think that about a month ago I asked a psychiatrist friend, "What exactly *is* borderline, anyway?"  I could write a book on it now. 

Playing Catch-Up, or the dullest blog post ever (unless spit-up, edema, and firing clients count as interesting)

I know it's typical for new moms to feel harried, so I hate to keep whining about how I'm scrambling to keep on top of  up with the day-to-day.  But...that's my life right now. 

The Peach is doing quite well.  She's gorgeous; her hair is growing and she's  smiling or laughing all the time (except when the camera is out).  She loves sitting up in her Bumbo chair or in our laps, and she can keep her head steady for a long time.  On the down side, she bores easily and watches the TV if we're watching something while we're feeding her -- which means no more "What Not to Wear" while feeding the baby.  Or House.  (I do let her watch costume dramas with me...they're so slowly paced, surely the American Pediatric Association can't think there's anything wrong with Mansfield Park, can they?)

Health-wise, I'm in Norvasc hell.  Did you know it causes water retention?  So annoying -- I mean, I thought I took blood pressure meds to AVOID pitting edema.  But I'm stuck with it until the hematologist and the nephrologist are done with me.  I see the hematologist Tuesday afternoon, and am hoping that I can talk him into talking to the nephrologist ahead of schedule - I would love to take off trouser socks and not have huge indentations in my calves. 

Work-wise -- well, it's not hell.  It's busy, though -- my to-do lists are insane, and I'm constantly cramming 4 times the work into 1/4 the time. Last week was the worst -- I only had GT for half a work day, instead of two or three days.  Aiee!  At least I kept up with phone messages. 

I've pretty much had to fire a client who was not taking my advice, was accusing me of being disloyal for talking to opposing about settling, sending me rambling email messages, not giving me information about potential witnesses, and then started directly faxing opposing counsel and others.  (And not copying me on those faxes.)  Yeah.  I'm a glutton for punishment, but not that much. 

The big weekend positives: I did a couple of crosswords.  I organized my work area.  (This is huge!  Our house is pretty much a series of rooms with furniture conducive to reading and working on laptops.  Unfortunately, this means that when one area is chaotic, it's easy to move to another.)  I organized my past research, even -- separate folders for "respondeat superior," ORCP 47, "spousal support" and so on.  I'd been meaning to do that for so long - and now my life is already a lot easier.   Which is to say -- yes, I did work, too!

Another positive?  We've managed to eat real meals for three days in a row.  No take out!  And tonight I made a lasagna (fire roasted tomato sauce, whole wheat pasta, six cheeses, low fat ricotta, pepper, salt, parsley, and garlic) that should keep us going a couple of days more.

There's so much more I want to do before I go to bed -- but looking at the time, I don't think it's a good idea to stay up.  The weekends are so heavenly for me, in terms of sleeping: Matthew takes any odd-hour feedings and I can sleep in as late as I want (usually 10 or 11).  Monday mornings - well, they're not all that fun.