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.
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.
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!
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.
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:
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.
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.)
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!
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
I must be in the law library.
And I'm responding via email to a client who is upset with me, pretty much for doing exactly what she asked me to do on Sunday.
Ah, the practice of law. Good times.
At quarter past 10 this morning, I brought a legal pad, some pens, and a large file to review upstairs. I put it on the ottoman in front of the couch and sat down.
I hadn't even reached for the file when Eden cried. She's still sick and is so unhappy. She hates having her nasal passages aspirated, so she writhes around and makes it impossible for me to safely do it. So when I feed her, she can't breathe well and thus can't create a good seal, so she gulps a lot of air. She hates to be burped this week, so she screams and writhes more when I try. But because she's got bubbles, she ends up spitting up -- sometimes spectacularly, as in down (and inside) my shirt.
Yes, a long day. And now it's after 11 pm -- and I'm just now sitting down with the file again. Wish me luck.
Thursday and Friday are my guaranteed work days because GT is here to watch Eden. The weird bit is I don't think I've ever been so excited about working -- it's something like a vacation. (Only one thing to think about at a time.) And the pressure of knowing I have to pay someone to watch Eden actually makes me work quite a bit harder than I ordinarily do. I'm not sure what that's like for the work/life balance in the long term, but for now, I'll take it.
There is an inverse relationship between your baby's mood and the importance of a project and the immediacy of its deadline. This is represented by the following equation:
I * D = 1/M
Where I=Importance, D=Deadline, and M=Mood of Baby.
This equation can be complicated by the volume of barking dogs:
I * D = 1/M * B
Where B=Barking dog volume
***************
Yes. One of those mornings.
OK, she smiles a lot at me, too. It just seemed like I wasn't getting much this weekend. A nice play session made up for it.
Now I'm off to Office Depot and the law library -- yay me.
I'm starting to really love Saturdays and Sundays, because those are the days I get to (really) act like a member of the adult world. Matthew's in charge of baby care, and I'm (mostly) left to my own devices to work or garden or organize. Don't get me wrong, I love caring for Eden...but I love it more when it's not the only thing I do in a week.
This weekend it's a mixture of projects:
On the "fun" side of life, I'm continuing to purge the house of duplicates -- bedding, dishes, utensils, cookware -- you name it, it's getting purged. Cookbooks I don't use but maybe will come in handy someday? Gone. Books I'll never read again? Gone to Powells if they'll sell, to Goodwill if they won't. My goal is to have a room for Eden to move into by the end of September. She'll still continue to be in our room at night, but having that as a short-term goal has been a powerful motivator.
[I'm also tossing around the idea of getting rid of our dressers. We never purchased matching dressers for our bed and are using one of my baby brother's old dressers (me) and my old lingerie chest (Matthew) instead. Ethan Allen is frigging expensive -- we were pushing it buying the bed when we did! Anyway, my idea would be to get a 6' x 6' x 1' sort of cube system that would fit along a wall that would be otherwise useless for storage, but is the closest to the walk-in closet. It'd also free up a huge amount of useable space in the bedroom. But not today, no.]
The night before four documents (requiring drafting from mostly scratch, but at least easy to draft) are due, your husband will go to bed early. Your baby will refuse to go to bed at all. You will be lucky if, gulping down Pepsi Max and cold Round Table Pizza, you will get the documents drafted before 1 AM.**
*We all know WAHM, but I made WAHMA up -- work-at-home-mother-attorney.
**I remember when staying up til 1 AM wasn't a big deal. However, this has been a full week and I'm averaging 4 hours of sleep (trying to shield Matthew as much as I can from sleep deprivation -- he already has not one, but two sleep disorders). A nap sounds nice.
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