The Negligent Mommy

Axios!

Introducing the newly illumined servant of God, Raphael:

Named for this Raphael, not this one.  Also not this one.  And especially not this one.

And here we all are on Easter Sunday:

(N.B.  I do not know why Owen is holding a candle.  I am holding a candle because Andy refused to hold his.  Although I don't know why he had one in the first place.  I might be less mystified about this had I been operating on more than 3 hours' sleep at the time, but I wasn't, so there you go.)

In other news, Raphael/Chuck has decided to learn how to cook.*

Lord have mercy, Lord have mercy, Lord have mercy.**

**He may possibly have been spurred on in this decision by his wife having a teensy tiny little meltdown at lunch yesterday over how tired she was of being superwoman.  I'll never tell.

**Actually, I have great confidence in Chuck's ability learn how to cook.  I just couldn't resist the punchline.

Lookie Lookie!

My first Christmas present!  Actually, it's not a Christmas present.  It's an I-went-to-Hong-Kong-and-you-didn't-HAHAHAHAHA! present from my boss' wife.  Sorry the pic is a bit blurry--it's hard to take a photo left handed when one is emphatically right-handed.

It's a loverly bracelet--sterling silver jump rings around a central chain.  Quite heavy, but in a good way.  And very shiny.

I hope y'all had a good Thanksgiving.  I did.  The meal was quite tasty if I do say so myself (having cooked very morsel of it except the cranberry sauce, I think I'm entitled), my friend Marla came and brought her dog and her mom.  After dinner Chuck and I put the kids to bed and watched Grey's Anatomy.  Christina is so totally busted.  I feel kind of sorry for her, but really, it's her fault.  She started the whole thing.

On Saturday, I started officially studying for the bar exam.  From now until February 26, any time between 5:30 a.m. and 10:00 pm that is not spent working, parenting, wife-ing, or friend-ing will be spent studying.  Be glad you do not live with me--I am not going to be any fun.  I am in hyper-efficient mode, multitasking as if my life depended on it (when really, it's just my career).

Will I knit?  Eh, probably a bit here and there.  I've got a hat I'm working on for car knitting, and I've started my mother-in-law's afghan (again).  Cascade 220 this time.  I think it's going to work, but when it will get done is anybody's guess. 

Brilliant blog post of the day

From Erin:  You don't have to be pretty  Pure gold, every word of it.

I have found my people.

Y'all know, because I've been whining about it excessively, that I am looking for a new job.  As in, I'm leaving my cushy federal digs for the actual practice of law.  No thanks, I don't need another cup of crazy, I'm all full up.

One of the things I worry about is being able to be a good wife/mother/person while working full time as a lawyer.  And I worry a fair bit about no longer having time for the things that I enjoy, like knitting, gardening, etc.

While I think that my fear is rational--a law firm can totally suck your life away if you let it--I also think a lot of my current hysteria is media-driven.

Think about the magazines you see out there with content addressed to "working mothers" (a phrase I detest absolutely, but that's a rant for another day).  I'll bet you that every single bit of that content is written from the assumption that the reader is working outside the home but does not want to be and is really looking for advice on how to cut hours/work flextime/run a home business.  I feel sometimes like I am trying to make my way against a tidal wave.  I have often thought if I could find something, somewhere, from the perspective of some women actually *want* to work a full-time gig, and more power to them, I'd feel a lot better about what I'm doing.

Or at least, if I had some reason to believe that having an actually demanding job would not preclude me from ever knitting or stitching again.  I thought that would be nice, too.

Today, I was blog surfing and came across a blog written by a woman who is a doctor.  Who has kids and several knitting projects on the goal.  And get this--she was part of a web-ring of knitting doctors.  And I am not kidding you, it was like a light in the darkness.  Could it be, I wondered, that there is a webring out there for knitting lawyers?  Could it be that I am not as alone as I thought?

Yes indeedy there is, as the code in the left sidebar proves (only don't click it yet.  I've applied for membership, but I have not been admitted to the ring yet, so the links don't take you anywhere).  There people who are lawyers (or law students, the only thing that sucks more than being a lawyer), and who still have time to knit.  And some of them have children.  And they appear to have actual lives.

To which I say, Oh, thank God.  I may get through this after all.

One of these things is not like the other, part one

Two tales of customer service I have recently experienced.

Tale #1:  Recently, our year-old dishwasher quit working, out of the blue.  Just kaput.  Press the button, nothing happened.  So we called the repair people and they sent a guy out.  As it turns out, a power surge we had during a recent storm had fried the wires underneath the thing.  So the guy fixes it, and as I'm signing the bill, he points to a small pile of singed wires on the counter.  "I left those there for your husband to take a look at, so he'll know what I did.  Tell him to call if he has any questions."

Wow.  The casual sexism of that remark takes my breath away.  I mean, really.  I know my description of the problem was not a model of eloquence (I believe my exact words were, "It doesn't go when we push the button"), but when he told me his diagnosis I managed, despite the hindrance of that extra X cromosome, to ask a reasonably intelligent follow-up question.  It pisses me off that the guy not only assumed that I could know nothing about wiring (hmm, guess who's installing a new light fixture this weekend?), but also that my husband would know something about it (I love him dearly, but he doesn't even program the VCR).

Ugh.

Tale #2:  I went to a new hairstylist last week.  I adore Jodi, whom I've been seeing for years, but she is so popular now that I was having to book *at least* 12 weeks in advance, and her fee seemed to go up by $5 every time I saw her.  Plus, her salon is 30 minutes away, which makes a lunchtime appointment tricky.  So, I called over to a new, cool looking place for an appointment when I had a free lunch.  They had nothing that day, but they called the next day to say that an opening had come up, and did I want it.  I didn't, but I finally made it in last week.   Lovely experience at the salon, great haircut. 

On Monday, there was a thank you card in the mail from the owners of the salon.  Hand written.  Very nice.  And then today, Janet (the owner's wife) called to ask how I was liking my haircut, and were there any problems they could fix.  Dude.  *That* is looking after your customers.