Loaded Dice

Monday Late Night Haiku...

Burn the midnight oil
Can't wait for f^%$#! deal to close
I'll write then i swear

Loo-ism of the Week and Kali-Kans

It (was) getting warmer and then *wham* we get hit today with and dark and dreary day.  Which goes hand in hand with the fact that I've been getting slammed at work for the last 2 weeks and, guess what, today we come in and find out that the deal is dead, done for, kaput.  All that work down the drain.  As a new lawyer, I'm still finding the death of deals rather depressing.  And I know I shouldn't take it personally, cuz it's not like we're not going to get paid or anything like that.

Anyways, because it's been warming up, I've been doing my traditional spring reorg - you know, putting away the too heavy jackets, hats and mittens, storing away the winter weight comforters.  I also started putting away our three space heaters (we keep one in the living room, one in the bathroom, and one in the girl's room).  The bathroom heater is a tiny one - it sits on top of the toilet, and I had taken it out of the bathroom and (temporarily) put it in the living room next to Loo's chair, where I promptly forgot about it for a week.  Loo had, during the week, pointed it out to me once or twice, asking why it wasn't in the bathroom and why it was there, next to her chair.

Last night, when we were playing in the living room, Loo accidentally stepped on the prongs of the power cord, which probably caused her some pain (though there was no puncturing of skin).  She put her little fists on her hips and said to me, "Mama, that's why I keep tell you to put it away."

I always thought I would start sounding like my mom when I became a mom, but I wasn't expecting my daughter to sound like my mom. 

***

Kalina is the ultimate can-do second child.  Or at least she is in her mind.  Truth is, she was a late bloomer (compared to Loo): whereas Loo was walking by her 10th month, Kalina didn't start walking until her 14th month.  So even at this point, where she has more or less mastered the art of toddlering, she is no where near as competent as her older sister.

But this weekend, I was watching the girls from the front steps of our apartment building as Loo zoomed down the street on her tricycle (no worries, dad was following behind), while Kali, distraught at the idea of being left behind, followed seconds later, half running, half stumbling, yelling plaintively, "me too, me too."

Her other favorite phrase is "one mo' time," which she reserves for only the interactions she loves very best, like being raspberried on her tummy, and getting superman time from mommy.

She also likes one particular page in Todd Parr's Reading Makes You Feel Good, which shows a woman soaring over a city, a map in one hand and what looks to be the Himalayas in the distance.  Kali returns to the page over and over, points to the woman and says "you can fly."

Now this is going to both show my age and show my uncoolness, but on of the Baby Talk movies (you know, with Kirsty Allen and John Travolta before he was the comeback kid), there was this toddler girl who was obsessed with Michael Jordan because she thought he could fly.  Well, Kali's newfound interest in this flying girl has me a bit worried, and I'm looking at the tall bookshelves in our apartment with newfound discomfort, hoping that Kali does not, as the movie girl did, one day take matters into her own hands to find high grounds from which to execute some sort of takeoff maneuver.

Third Post from the Sun...

Yeah, whatev... I'm still at work (look at the time, people, it's almost friggin' 2AM) and I'm bored because I'm waiting for shit.

But...

and...

and OH MY GOD...

*drool*

This is the first time that I and BGB (my Best Gay Boyfriend) have ever had crushes on the same guy.  And I told my hubs last night that Jamie Bamber is on my "freebie-list" (so is O'Boyfriend).  Hubs told me that he denies the existence of the freebie-list.  Whatev.  It so totally exists.

I'm Not Worthy...

I've de-linked the "my net worth" gidget off this blog.

This is a sad sad day for me, and I think this may get me drummed out of the PF tribe.

My reasons:

(1) with the recent tax/mortgage fiasco, my net worth has become even more tighly interwoven with hubster's.  So without revealing his net worth, my net worth is not as useful a gauge as it had been.

(2) I've revealed my "true identity" to a few bloggers recently.  That means, among other things, that I'll probably be dooced soon.  It also leads to my preemptively removing my net worth so as to stave off the divorce that will happen if my husband finds out that I'm revealing our financial secrets in such detail on this blog.

(3) but, all that being said, I will still continue to reveal my good/bad financial decisions and keep the PF aspect to this blog.  Just not to the level of detail that my net worth allowed.

If there are any PF bloggers around, I'm deeply apologetic.  I know that this is like some sort of Scarlet A that I've now slapped on my blog.  I hope you will still allow me among your midst.

Sinking Down to His Level...

J is a slob.  Don't know if I've mentioned that before, but he is.  Some of his more "attractive" traits:

• He does the guy sniff test.  At the end of each day, his clothes go on the floor in a pile by his bed.  When he runs out of clothes, or can't find something he likes to wear, he "sniffs" his clothes to decide if any are still wearable (eewww...)  And he hasn't done a load of laundry by himself since 2000, when we started living together.
• He collects pieces of paper.  Literally.  He writes his thoughts down on the backs of receipts, paper napkins, on the margins of papers and magazines.  Then he leaves those pieces of paper lying all around the house.  If I try to clean up and throw away things I think are garbage, he will rummage through and accuse me of various unsavory acts if he finds one of these scraps of paper with his scribbles on it.
• He won't do the dishes.  Or he will, but only when they are threatening to declare statehood for the kitchen.  And we have a small kitchen.  A tiny kitchen.  And no dishwasher.
• And forget about mopping/vaccuming/ dusting and that ilk.  He still doesn't know what a swiffer is.

I know that he's not the worst slob in the world (his brother is.  No seriously.  Just disgusting... double ewwww.)  For example, despite the clothing example above, he's actually quite neat in the bathroom.  He cleans the shower and the sink after he uses them, he hangs up his towel, he puts away his toiletries, there has never been a "out-of-bowl" situation in my bathroom.  And he's meticulous about making the bed every morning (which is so weirdly OCD of him).

I also know that there are millions of women around the world in exactly the same predicament as I.  Thus, the recent spate of blog-ticles about the sexiness of husbands doing house chores.  I don't have the statistics, but it is clear that even as women catch up to their husband in number of hours spent working outside the home, there remains a great disparity in the number of hours women spend doing family/home related chores compared to their husbands.

We encourage the men in our lives to rise to our level.  To share in the burden.  To participate.

But my neanderthal of a husband insists that it's my choice to be neat.  That my proposition of shared duty is based on a fundamentally flawed assumption that cleanliness is next to godliness.  (I'm grateful that he does not have the same view of childcare and that he is, in fact, very much a partner when it comes to Loo and Kali.)

In other words, he refuses to share in these chores and insists that I sink to his level.

As a woman, I feel like this is the anthem of our time.  That for me to succeed, at home, at work, at anything, I have to sink to the boys' level.  At work, we have to sacrifice our family, we have to play dirty, CYA, lie and cheat, we have to be ready to cut people loose, and we have to win at all cost.  In relationships, we have to settle, we have to play games, we have to be both sexually inexperienced and sexually adventurous.  And at home, we have to be wife, mom, therapist, cook and maid while being grateful for any hand lent to us.

Even as we make strides in the world, we are still playing by their rules.

I know that things are changing.  Every day, I meet couples where the man has taken on a disproportionate (i.e. more than 50%) of home/family related work.  It is becoming more acceptable to be a stay-at-home dad, to have the man be the cook of the house, for the woman to be the primary earner.  Similarly, there are more and more touchy feely companies (though still a minority, but look at Patagonia) that encourage things like paternity leave, volunteerism, have subsidized childcare and afterschool care.  But on the whole, we still live in a society where machismo is king (well, duh!).

But the real question is, is one mode better the other?  Is the traditionally feminine better than the traditionally masculine?

Hannah Montana and the Politics of Desensitizing America

Last week, while the Momocrats were here celebrating our no small victory of getting a substantive blog-terview with Senator Obama, the rest of the interwebs were a twitter with the latest incident of inappropriate celebehavior, namely Miley Cyrus disrobing for Annie Lebowitz in Vanity Fair.

Now, I’m as avid a participant (though closeted, must maintain my brainy Clark Kent disguise) in the celeb-culture as the next gal. Though I would not dream of filling my home or my daily commute with any of the dozens of celeb-rags that cover newsstands in techni-colored rainbow splendor, let’s face it, there’s little as satisfying as doing the treadmill or the elliptical while voraciously snarfing down a Star or an Ok! or even a Life & Style (you can pretend to workout, and get some culture too!) So I know about Hannah Montana and Heidi Montag (except for why she’s famous?) and Gossip Girls and of course Ms. Brittney.

So when the Miley Cyrus brouhaha erupted, I was tempted to dismiss it with the usual sleight of hand that I reserve for news that isn’t news. But then this most appalling thought stopped me short: how could I, a mother of two girls, be so non-plussed about a 15 year old “role model” cavorting half-naked in a theoretically “reputable” general interest magazine? When did I become so desensitized that it no longer phased me that a girl that I could imagine my own daughters emulating was basically set up to seduce the entire world with her tousled hair, lacquered lips and bedroom eyes?

Because every day, in this life we lead, our values are getting chipped away, one little nick at a time, by those who profit by doing so.

In this case, a magazine that I believe(d) to be of substantial quality, Vanity Fair, decided to profit by profiling the teen superstar, in a way that was inevitably going to draw ire and controversy. And controversy = $cha-ching$. As a profit-dependent corporation, Vanity Fair has simply decided to take its cut. It follows a long progression of for-profit corporations chipping away at our sense of modesty and sexual responsibility: from the topless models in Abercrombie and Fitch, to the sexually precocious high-schoolers on Gossip Girl and the OC, to Bratz dolls with their bare navels and crotch skimmers.

A few days ago, Lawyer Mama made an impassioned plea on behalf of single payer universal health care. She too drew some ire and controversy (though, as far as I know, not for profit) in particular from one reader who believed that such a system would be antithetical to a bottom-up solution of realigning morals and re-establishing community. And to some extent, the reader is right.

The problem of 47 million Americans being uninsured should not, in an ideal world, be the problem of the government, which is, in the end, a soulless entity, and, just like any other soulless entity, flawed by bureaucracy. The fact that there are 47 million Americans who could be wiped out by a single health incident should appeal to the other 253 million American’s sense of humanity and collective responsibility.

Except, (chip, chip, chip) here comes the for-profit corporations, in this case, the insurance companies and HMOs, to chip away at our values, to desensitize us from the things happening around us.

Because my first reaction to Miley Cyrus’s photo was: she’s a star, she’s not my life, I can keep my children away from that kind of undue influence. In other words, the message being conveyed by Miley to millions of American children is not my problem because my children in particular would not be exposed to it. In exactly the same way that the 47 million uninsured Americans will not burden my particular wealthy and supportive community.

Just as we have now been conditioned to think that the sexualization of adolescents is alright as long as it is artfully done, done to a celebrity, or done to someone who, though visually underage, is factually over 18, we have also become conditioned to think that it's ok for health services to cost 30-50% more for the uninsured compared to the insured, for a person to be denied preventative health care because they are uninsured, or, even worse, that it a person is uninsured, they probably deserve it.

Desensitized. Just look around. How many ways have we been desensitized by corporations?

• We have allowed corporations to subsidize our school sport fields, our school lunches, our school field trips.
• We have allowed mortgage brokers to convince us that we can afford to buy houses with no down payment and on an adjustable rate mortgage that will reset in five years.
• We have replaced voluntary military service with contracted security.
• We have allowed credit card companies to rewrite the bankruptcy law so that it is harder to enter bankruptcy and harder to discharge debt.
• Billion with a "b" has become the millennium's million and we don't even blink until the letter (and number) turns into trillion with a "t".

We have basically entrusted our country to a few people whose net-worths are directly tied to the short term profits that they can generate. Short term profits, long term catastrophe.

The problem is, I am a capitalist. I *heart* capitalism and I don't want it to go away. I have no interest in tearing down the man. I embrace the man. I recognize that as a shareholder in these corporations, whether directly or indirectly through my retirement savings, I am sharing in the upside of their corporate decisions. These decisions have made America as a whole, and me in particular, more wealthy. And it is the spirit of competition that keeps America (and, apparently, *snark* the Democratic primary *roll eyes*) strong.

With the boom of capitalism, even in the non-democratic reaches of the world, we have to recognize that there has been an ancillary effect of decentralizing community. We don't work and live the way we used to. We are much more mobile, we connect with people (such as this pan-America political cooperative) across the world more than those down the road, we are multi-cultural and multi-faith. All of which present barriers to community based solutions.

When I took a mediation class in law school (by fluke, not by interest), the first thing we were taught was to look beyond the specific demands of the two parties and at the underlying desires. We forget how often people who appear to disagree in fact share the same intentions. Democrats want a strong country, a safe country, a country that will give their children a future. I'm pretty sure Republicans want the same thing.

I have even voiced my personal admiration for John McCain, or the McCain he used to be until he started to pander to the very voices that he used to disdain. Remember that McCain? The one of fiscal responsibility and small government?

And don't forget that when McCain used to talk about small government, he was talking about taking away government intervention in capitalism. He was talking about doing away with pork barrels (which, admittedly, after doing some research, is not apparently as big a problem as some make it out to be) and PACs (which are, in fact, bigger problems than many make it out to be).

Because we have a system of capitalism run amok. The market forces that so many Republicans are so eager to subject our education, health care and social security systems to are the very same market forces that apparently required the government's intervention after 9/11, the internet bubble burst, and the most recent credit crunch. If the government can step in to save companies in need, why did it become a crime to step in to save citizens in need?

Without a strong citizenry, we can have none of the things that we all want: a strong country, a safe country, and a country that offers a future for our children.

Cross-posted at Momocrats.

Things I need...

This class.

Her life.

These shoes.

Nuff said.

Extra! Extra! Read All About It!

This is my 100th post.

When I started the blog, I was just looking for an outlet for my frustrations at the lack of balance I perceived in my work/mommy life (and forget about my personal life).  It wasn't something I felt I could really talk to my husband about, and I was sounding a bit too whiny around friends, an attribute that even I found annoying.

But never in my wildest dreams did I think that I could somehow become affiliated with the rockin'-est, grrooviest, most deliciously politically-savvy women on the web.  And of course, I am speaking about the Momocrats.

Today, Momocrats is posting an exclusive blog-interview with Barack Obama, or as Bossy likes to call him, Barack O'Boyfriend.  After the let-down of the last few debates, where the MSM has apparently decided that the most important questions of the day are why Barack doesn't wear an American Flag on his lapel and how he is elitist and out of touch, the readers of Momocrats put together a list of serious, thoughtful, important questions reflecting the real concerns of Americans, and of moms, which was sent out to both the Obama and Clinton campaigns.  And, wouldnja know it?  Barack O'Boyfriend did not fail to live up to expectations.  My faith is restored! 

Senator Obama chose five answers to respond to, and, in all fairness, he threw in some political double speak, some pandering to the electorate, but also, surprisingly, some refreshing new thoughts.  I particularly liked his responses to the poverty question (#1) and the mortgage crisis question (#2).

Anyways, I'll let y'all make up your own minds.  Click here to read the full "bloggerview."

I couldn't ask for a better way to celebrate my 100th post.  Thanks, Momocrats.

Loo-ism of the week...

Me:  Ok, Loo, it's time for bed
Loo: Can you sleep with me, Mommy?
Me:  I can sit here for a little bit, but then I have work to do.
Loo: Mommy, you stay.  Many moons.

Loaded Dice Part the Un...

So, for the first time really today I was playing around with my stats counter and it turns out that a lot of people end up on my site because they are trying to buy loaded dice. Yeah, that wouldn't be here. Sorry, can't help you cheat.

I'm the most seriously devoid of imagination person on the planet. Probably why I'm a lawyer. Not to insult lawyers, per se, just that it doesn't take a lot of creativity to do my job. Unless you're a tax lawyer, which seems to me takes an awful lot of creativity to come up with all those clever ways to avoid taxes, n'est-ce pas? So when I started this blog, I was all, well I can't cook and I can't clean and I'm pretty crap at the childcare so… undomestic! Yeah!

And right after I registered that name with typepad, I though, shoot, whothefrig cares that I'm undomestic. I don't even care that I'm undomestic, what am I gonna write? Today I didn't do the laundry, today I fed my daughters pop-tarts for dinner, today I found a dust bunny the size of an actual bunny?

So two minutes of soul searching later (yup, that's about how long it takes me to soul search, deep well, shallow soul, what can I say?) I realized the only thing that I've been fixated on for the past few years was the lack of progress of anyone who even vaguely resembles middle class. It was weird, I had just passed the bar and should have been on top of the world, cruisin' my way to upper middle classdom, and all I could feel was the pressure on myself, the pressure on all those who had graduated with me, that we were all just two steps away from disaster, what with our ridiculous loans and our lack of job security and the insanity that firm life demands just so that they'll promise to keep paying us. And how I would now spend probably 10 years in indentured servitude so that I can give away 40% of what I earn so that the fat cats can pay only 15% on their carried interests and pass through partnerships and so I can watch health care blow up and social security blow up and the schools blow up and fuggettabout the environment. And how desperately I wanted to work in public service, but how unlikely that was going to be given the 18 years of public service I had just signed on to do.

And I thought about how there's just a world out there gambling away my future with their loaded dice. The fund managers and the board appointed CEOs and the investment bankers (and their bitches the lawyers - oh yeah, that's me) and the politicians that love them. The Hills with their Wall Street Boys and even my knight Obama, because can he let me down?  O, Yes. He. Can.

*****

That the bloggy-mommies who actually post their photos are all stone-cold foxes? (And the negative inference being…)

*****

Oh, today I miss Portland. I was telling J that I had spent 2 hours last night surfing the web looking at real estate in Portland. He kinda scowled at me. He knows that my dream dream is to go back to Portland (I lived there for about 1.5 years a while ago) but he says there aren't enough schools there and he couldn't find a teaching position there. And I probably couldn't find a job their either. It's weird, because the weather here is finally nice, sunny and warm and pitch perfect in fact, and all I can think about is Portland because it's just like this there in the summer, all summer long. It probably isn't this nice right now, this moment, though. Guess I could look it up, but I don't have the energy.

I'm on a deal that's about to close, and so I'm here waiting for documents to show up in my inbox: it's easy to dream about hiking in forest park when it's 11:23 at night and my muthafraking carpal tunnel is so bad that I'm trying to prop up my poor beleaguered forearm with the back of my chair.

*****

My officemate is so young, and so morose already. I think it's the city. Or this firm. Or both. A confluence of soul sucking. He's actually really nice, but I think he's desperately lonely. He's had a long string of bad luck with boyfriends and now he's just terrified that he'll be this miserable for the rest of his life. How can you be that miserable at 27? Oh, right, that would have been me too. Oopsie.

*****

Ok, I'm so done, I'm going to go home and watch Battlestar.