These have been hard times.  My in-laws continue to have employment issues, and they seem destined NOT to return to NOLA although they (and I) want it so badly.  News of death and serious sickness hitting very close to my own employment has made the office a less than cheery place of late.  On the home front, the projects afoot seem to be of the one-step-forward-two-steps-back variety.

And when I pull myself away from the still-sagging economy, my funereal office, my work-in-progress home and step out of my own little world, that DAMN OIL SPILL is still spewing and impacting further our lives here in Louisiana.

Yes, these have been hard times.

I struggle to sleep, to relax, to knit or cook.  I’m not depressed or even anxious.  Rather, there’s just a heaviness that is in the air now that has become a part of my  current existence.  It’s as if the terrible New Orleans’ heat is personifying itself  and permeating into the corners of my life to give no relief.

In other words, it’s all lemons and little lemonade.

I had a dream over the weekend, the kind that when you wake up you are pissed at your spouse over.  You know the type, right?

I dreamed it was the day of our wedding and we were at his house getting ready.  All sorts of family and friends were roaming around.  The house was not what our house really looks like, but that damn pool we need to have dug up was in the backyard, so I *knew* it was in fact his house.  The friends were commenting about a neighbor that too had a pool that needed to be dug up.

Anywho, I was in a spare bedroom getting dressed and went into the master bedroom.  It was familiar but not overly so.  On the far wall was a door to the master bathroom.  And near that was a door I had, yanno, never noticed before.  It was opened, and CS was in the next room.  I walked into the new room and was pleasantly surprised.  We need this space!  “What’s this room?” I asked CS.  “It will be my darkroom,” he answered.  I was pissed.  A DARKROOM?  We need space and he’s going to keep this whole room for himself? Errrg.

Then I see ANOTHER door leading to another new room from the darkroom.  I step into that room.  It is smaller, with a low ceiling near the window.  “And this room?” I asked.  CS responded, “My office.”  More of me being pissed. At CS.

*     *     *

Okay.   I was out of sorts Sunday when I woke up and tried to make sense of this dream.  But then I let it go.  Then it kept nibbling at my memory.   So last night I took out my Gayle Delaney dream materials to interpret my dream.  I had recalled she had mentioned that new rooms was a common theme in dreams.

So it went something like this.

Q. Do the rooms have a specific purpose?

A. Yes, Darkroom and office.

Q. Is there anything new going on in your life that has that purpose?

A. Dark.  Officey? Hmm.  Dark officey? Dark office. DARK OFFICE.

Me to self: ARE YOU FRIGGIN’ KIDDING ME?  Then I laughed at my psyche for being so OBVIOUS yet I couldn’t see it without SAYING IT OUT LOUD.

I started five days in the office yesterday.  And I may not be all that excited about it.  Guess you could say I may have even been a little mopey or dark about it. And maybe I wish my husband’s job was enough such that I didn’t need to work at all.  And that maybe I am feeling sort of that I may have reached the apex of my career.

YA THINK?

So what do I do with this information? What any sensible girl would do.  I took today off. Day Two.

Sigh.

(There’s actually other elements in this dream that could have more meaning, but this seemed right so I stopped.)

My mentor is retiring at the end of this week.  He’s been with the Firm his entire 40-some-odd year career.  I’ve been with him for 12 years.  Before joining the Firm, I had no mentor; I was rudderless.

He has all the qualities that make a sage mentor: steadfast, adroit, generous, exacting.  His work habits are disciplined; his writing and thought process, fastidious and orderly.  He never screams or loses his temper.  The worst you can do is disappoint him.

Under his tutelage, I began to pick up his habits without me always realizing it.  These many years later, I am still nowhere near as disciplined, orderly, or as calm as him.  But I am on that path.  And it is, in large part, because of him.  Had I tied my cart to another mentor, a less judicious mentor, I unwittingly would have walked down a sloppier path with only my own instincts to have pushed me to be better.

I will miss his advice, his opinion on a file, his interpretation of a statute.  I will miss his amazing sense of humor, his joie de vivre, even with regard to his time in the office.  I will especially miss his quintessentially Southern manners: he says good morning to everyone in the office that he passes (sad that not all of us do that), he holds doors, wears a coat for cocktails in the afternoon, and thinks horse racing is tawdry.

And although he is moving forward to the next, more relaxing, chapter of his life, my not seeing him regularly, knowing he won’t be in the office every day, not having him as my steady rock that always had the ability to calm me, set me straight, and guide me so ardently, will be a great loss, a loss that is merely the measure of the greatness that was his mentoring.  He’s taught me all I need to carry on in his absence.  And I will carry on, having become a better lawyer, a better person, for having his example be the beacon to which I strove.

He’ll never know the true depth of my gratitude nor my love.

Swollen, red eyes

The ego threatened.

Or can it be

that it is not the ego

at all

but a real threat

to your very livelihood?

And does it matter

either way

when the answer is the same:

Tis time.

Time to move, grow, fear.

Time to be the best

you ever dreamed possible.

I returned again this year to the Open House of the grammar school we want Sun ultimately to attend.  I walked away confident in our decision to send her there for grammar school but prefer where she is now for preschool.  However, I have since learned that her current school does not offer a 3-day-per-week program like it does for toddlers. Soooo, either school, we’ll be paying for her to attend five days a week.  And since her current school would then cost TWICE as much as her new school, the decision has been made to make the switch in the Fall.

Every time I even think about that last sentence, the air surrounding me evaporates.  I am not ready.  I fear she isn’t ready.  Ok, I think she’ll do fine. Me? Not so much.

I’ve been living these past couple of days wrapping my head around returning to work five days a week; of losing my two weekdays not in the office; of not being with my daughter two full weekdays every week.  Alas.

Since Sun will be going to school five days a week and all of three years old, we feel strongly that she not attend after-care and turn her days into 10-hour ones.  And since her class will start at 8am, 3pm seems a long enough day.  With no after-care as the goal, CS and I plan to rotate picking her up from school, leaving our jobs early on alternating days to get her and do what work we can from home once we get her.  I expect I’ll be picking her up three days a week.

I am currently in the office about 24 hours a week.  Give or take.  This new regime will have me arriving earlier, but every day, and leaving early three times a week.  I expect it’ll get me in the office about 30 hours a week.

Going from 24 to 30 hours in the office, I know, seems like nothing.  And I KNOW many moms work 40 hour weeks away from home and I should be grateful. And I AM.  I AM.  But I still will miss those two golden days I have now that are mine spent at home.  I do laundry, play with Sun, garden, cook, clean, work, nap with Sun; I do whatever Sun and I are up to, and that’s usually just puzzles and dolls and tv and housework.

I fear going into the office every weekday will stifle the decadent golden time I’ve had these two-plus years spent in my garden, in my kitchen, with my young daughter, with time to burn.  I fear it will be a struggle to get into the office an hour or more earlier each day (I HATE mornings) and to get out of the office around 3pm (my afternoons are so productive!).  Can I shift things around and really make the hours mean that more time in the office will equate to more hours being billed?

I have voluntarily worked a reduced load since Sun was born, and it has worked on all levels (well, that reduced income wasn’t wonderful, but, oh, so worth it).  I know I am not good with change, even with change that is good. But I’d expected this three-day a week routine to continue with Sun until kindergarten, and then maybe even beyond for me.  And this sudden about-face has shaken me up.

Our choices, though far more than many families, are not unlimited, and this isn’t the ideal choice for me.  But really?  I KNOW it’s the right choice:  For Sun, our family, my career, and me.  But oh is it gonna be a hard adjustment!

It’s never good when my posts are named for Police songs that are 15 years old.

And therein lies the whole of man’s plight. Human time does not run in a circle; it runs ahead in a straight line. That is why man cannot be happy: happiness is the longing for repetition.

~Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being.

The Police and Kundera? This post may be a tad maudlin. And rambling. Feel free to abort now. Oh, you’re going to read more? Kind reader, you’ve been warned.

Last week, discovering I had miscarried and was pregnant on the same day, and having the hormonal roller coaster that such a thing brings upon a woman, I’ve given this “do I have another child” question YET ANOTHER good hard look. Same result. Not the point of my post.

I mentioned one day to my mother-in-law that having another child would mean less resources (time, money, energy) would go to Sun and to my relationship with CS. This was one of many reasons I was espousing.

The next day, she picked up this thread and said, “When I was thinking about having another baby after my first, I didn’t think of it as less time with the first or less time with my husband. I saw it as an opportunity for us to come together even more.” She wasn’t criticizing my logic. Not at all. She was showing how my logic, which is right for me, leads to a far different answer on the family-size issue than her logic lead her.

That conversation opened my eyes to how so many women (and men) view having children (plural). But really it showed how, well, I am not sure if “skewed” is the word, but it showed me how skewed my outlook is. Truth is, I couldn’t handle another child. On any level. And that’s hard to admit. It leaves me feeling a bit broken. To know I am so very different (and, in my mind, deficient) from the majority of people walking the earth.

Coupled with this irritant is that my workload is currently light. Again. And although this was a blessing last week, this week it feels like a curse. Something about “idle hands” but in my case it’s an idle mind.

And that brings me to the Kundera quote. I’ve asked this before (oh, how ironic), but why can’t I just find peace and happiness in having all I ever wanted? Dammit. I’ve got two advanced degrees being put to good use, a wonderful husband and child, and even a mother-in-law who I adore. (Mostly) Satisfying Job: check. Health: check. Good Relationships with Friends and Family: check. (Mostly) Financially Secure: check.

Kundera would say that it’s the human condition to “have it all” and not be happy because human time runs in a straight line and happiness is the desire for repetition. Having it all is NOT repetitious. Once you’ve got it, you’ve got it. There’s no more challenge, no more striving, no strife or struggle even. That’s all in the past, on that straight line. But so too are the moments of joy that accompany the attaining of it all.

I don’t know the answer for my own situation. I don’t know how to allow my straight line of time to hold on to the joy of the accomplishments my struggles in life have given me. I just know that, at least for now, my life is lacking pizazz. Or something.

Sun cried in the middle of the night. We called her to our bed and all three of us went back to sleep. A few hours later, I awoke with Sun in my arms. There was peace. And I thought, “what was that bothering me yesterday?” Then I remembered. And the obligation of guilt kicked in.

Morning rolled in, we all rose a bit later than usual. I returned to the hospital to have more blood drawn then drove in to work for the first time since. I knew I had to get two sets of documents drafted and have lunch with a peer that I’d postponed on Tuesday. I couldn’t face the challenges of the day. Or so I thought. I finagled in my mind how to get things done in the office without my presence. The first step was postponing lunch. Again.

I turned on my computer and the email was already in my in-box: “I’m still on for lunch. Are you?” And I couldn’t bring myself to be weak and say no. Again. So I said yes. And then I got busy drafting my documents.

And work was my saving grace. The time zipped along. It was lunch time already. I met my new friend. We exchanged the married with kids info. He asked, “Just one? Are you going to have another?” And the pang to be honest beat in my chest — tell this stranger about your week, thought I. “Nope, just the one is enough for us,” I answered, not revealing too much to this unsuspecting stranger. “I think that’s great. My mother was an only child. And all the only children I knew did quite well. I am not sure why folks make such a big deal about only children.”

And just like that. My train was put back on its tracks. I felt normal. I wasn’t thinking about what had happened. I was sipping a glass of wine and enjoying the talk of family, law, nice weather in NOLA.

This “it” affected me, is affecting me, in ways I never could have imagined it would. But time is doing its job. And my train is on the track again, chugging along, even if slowly.

Things DO work out. Heh. What a wild ride this week has been.

With this recession going on, and what we me gardening and all, oh, and having a terrible two on our hands, we decided to STOP eating out.  We’ve cut eating out down by about 90%.  Seriously.  I’ve been cooking a lot more, and so has my husband.  We’ve been so thrifty!  I even lost a decent amount of weight on this new plan.

But it was all pretend.

We were play-acting being thrifty.  We were spending less and reallocating money to other sources (like Sun’s college plan).  We didn’t NEED to be thrifty.  And you know what?  It’s kinda fun to pretend to be thrifty.

Then the sluggish economy finally caught up with the businesses of both my husband and me.  And we are each tied financially to what “we bring in the door.”  And although we aren’t eating Spam yet or cutting cable out of our lives, we are facing thriftiness FOR REAL.  We now need to think twice about dropping $5o on a meal.  On occasion, we still do it.  But it’s rare.  And quite the occassion.

And now that I know I need to cut back on spending, I am suddenly on eBay buying crap (mostly nickel and dime stuff for Sun), and buying NOLA books.  And CRAVING eating in a restaurant.  Of course, I KNOW this is my psyche rebeling against this current financial tightening. But I am losing sleep and finding reasons that I need the crap and cannot possible cook yet again.

*Sigh*

In the end, my career (as are most legal careers) is ebbs and flows. I am an expert at being in a Flow and preparing for an Ebb.  There’s always squirreled away something, somehow, to help when that Ebb arrives.  And I KNOW we will ride this recession out, adjusting our work lives and personal lives accordingly, and come out whole and in tact.

But there’s no denying I will miss sushi in the interim.

As I was driving to work yesterday, I was tuned to WTIX and heard an old Chicago song (I can’t now for the life of me recall which song it was).  Then I switched to NPR and heard Garrison Keallor read this poem by Michael Blumenthal.  And in the span of that six or seven minutes, this topsy turvy world of mine made sense.

We can worry, fret, and consternate.  And I do, way too often.  But life continues to move forward.

Things are not as they seem: the innuendo of everything makes
itself felt and trembles towards meanings we never intuited
or dreamed.

Take, for example, how the warbler, perched on a
mere branch, can kidnap the day from its tediums and send us
heavenwards. . . .

Each year, days swivel and diminish along their inscrutable
axes, then lengthen again until we are bathed in light we were not
prepared for. . . .

When I was that kid hearing that Chicago song (whichever song it was), I had no fear my future would be secure.  I read a lot, played with my dolls, and my friends, we played kickball in the street, and the girls curled each others’ hair.  Our job was to do well in school and to tend to the few household chores we were assigned.  Oh, the free time we had!

And in the background was the music of Chicago and Supertramp and The Rolling Stones and Genesis and The Who (my older brothers controlled the radio dial back then).  All those songs of growing up, falling in love, becoming a member of adulthood.  It was all so alluring.  We couldn’t wait to arrive!

But my reality of adulthood has been about 65% worry.  Worry about money, about job security, about my future, now Sun’s future.

And yesterday, hearing a song that took me back to my youth, and hearing a poem about the simplicity of a bird distracting one’s entire day in such a lovely way, well, it made me laugh.  Can it be that life really is that simple?  Have I made it more serious than it deserves?

I graduated from high school over 20 years ago.  And I’ve accomplished a lot.  And I’ve NEVER been homeless or without money.  I’ve been involuntarily jobless for less than 30 days in that entire 20 year span.

It’s silly of me to waste my time, my nerves, on worrying about this terrible shoe that I fear may one day fall.  Even if it ever does fall, things work out.  I’ve seen it. Work out.  Things always do work out, even if in ways one could never, ever have predicted.  So why worry?

Now, how do I manage to hold on to this clarity for more than 48 hours?

Summer’s over.  How do I know?  I am returning to my “normal” work schedule.  Since returning from maternity leave 2+ years ago, I’ve worked in the office Monday, Wednesday and Friday of each week.  For the summer, we started Sun in official daycare twice a week–Tuesdays and Thursdays, the days I usually watched her.  So I worked in the office Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays all summer.  Starting next week (Sun’s “school” is closed this week), I return to my MWF in the office/TTh home with Sun routine.

I never got used to my summer schedule, nor did the folks in my office.  So I think we are all glad to return to normal.

Sun LOVES her daycare, and so do we.  Aside from the first-six-months-expect-her-and-us-to-be-sick, we are all very pleased with daycare entering our lives.  So much so, in fact, that I’ve begun to consider returning to a five-day-a-week-in-the-office schedule come January.

Except every time I get serious about it, I get a stomachache.

I LOVE my time spent with Sun on T-Th.  I love that my work life is able to handle this flexibility.  And I want to believe that even if I return to five days a week, I’ll leave early each day so that Sun’s not in school from 9 til 6. That way, I’d be giving more to my office-time than I am now, but still not 40 hours a week.

I hate that money is a part of this equation.  But it is.  A part. Not the entire decision.  Yes, I’ll earn more, but it will also cost more to have her in daycare every day.  But my increased earnings should more than make up for that.  We need work done around the house: we’ve put off several big necessary projects because of money.  And when our water heater broke this week, it mattered how we’d pay for it.

As it is, I see no vacations for the next 16+ months, or at least none that will require airfare and a hotel.  Because I’d rather get things done around the house than travel. And that’s whether I return full time to the office or not.

Money aside, I feel it’s my duty to “hit the pavement” more to bolster my practice.  To transition into a senior partner, one that provides herself and at least one associate attorney with enough work for each to earn well and be consistently busy.  Somewhere in me, this IS my professional goal.  I am not completely content where I am, capable of not being in the office more than I am now.

I stand here today ostensibly having it all–the perfect balance of a work life and a personal life with very healthy relationships in each.  And yet there is a quiet rumbling within.  A rumbling that is rising to the surface, getting a wee bit louder each month.

Maybe that stomachache is fear.  Is that weird?