In which I throw myself into the fire and somehow survive

It's kind of a running joke between my mother and me - except one that isn't all that funny - that I am the world's worst shopper.

Not in the sense that I don't know how to do it - I am physically and intellectually capable of going to pick out clothes for myself.  Sort of.

Rather, it's that I despise it more than just about any activity I can think of. Like, I would rather clean the toilet, clean the cat box, or snake the hair out of the drain than go to the mall.

My mother is totally the opposite. Before she retired and was traveling around the world all the time, she would always have free time scheduled on her trips for seeing the sights, or, more often, supporting the local economies by shopping. She has an infinite capacity for it.

When she and I shop together, it generally consists of her saying, "there's a huge sale, just take a look," and then I take a look and try on one thing and immediately feeling like the walls are closing in and I need to get out of there immediately.

And when we're not in the moment, we can kind of laugh about it. But it is truly an anxiety-producing event for me. I walk into a mall and I immediately feel fat, ugly, and poor. I get agitated and panicky. The choices overwhelm me and I am paralyzed. It's awful.

So when it came to buy myself a new suit, I knew I was in trouble.

I have an important oral argument coming up in a case in federal court. It's a big deal. There's a lot on the line, and I feel a huge amount of pressure to do well.

And I don't have anything to wear.

I haven't had to wear suits to work in forever, so I have a uniform of black, navy and beige pants that I wear with a solid color shirt and a cardigan. The pants are all the same brand and style. The shirts are all the same brand and size. I have a bunch of cardigans that I swap out. I buy all of it online. It's super easy. But it's not formal enough for federal court.

Like I said, this is a really important case. I'm going to be well prepared and I'm confident I can handle it. I'm good at oral argument. But I also want to go into battle looking like a boss.

I tried finding something online. I bought a beautiful red dress with a matching jacket. I was excited.

But when it arrived, the dress, while gorgeous, fit in the body but was so tight in the boobs I couldn't get it over my shoulders or zip it. Story of my fucking life.

So I steeled myself and headed over to the mall today.

I was already having a shitty day. I was tired and super stressed out and upset about a number of things. I spent the morning lying in bed and feeling weepy. I was pathetic.

Eventually I reached my limit of wallowing and decided I needed to get up and act like a functioning human being. I washed my puffy face, put on some makeup, and went to buy a suit.

It went about as badly as I anticipated.

First of all, there was nothing that I liked. I really didn't want to go the institutional black or grey route - I wanted red or purple or something similarly dynamic. But there was nothing. I went to Macy's, Ann Taylor, Brooks Brothers, White House Black Market, Talbot's, Banana Republic, and Nordstrom (where, for the first time at that store, I got truly shitty service). Everything was black or gray, or an ugly color or pattern, or weirdly cut, or festooned with random features like dumb-ass bell sleeves.

I called my mother.

"I can't find anything. There's nothing."

"Did you try Nordstrom?"

"They had nothing. And the service was awful."

"Really? At Nordstrom?"

"Yes. I went everywhere. I can't believe how little selection there is."

"What about one of the little boutique-y shops in Cherry Creek?"

"You know I can't do that."

"Go to Neiman's."

"Ugh. I'm not going to fucking Neiman's. I hate that place. Plus their prices are ridiculous."

"Well, then you're going to have a hard time finding a fucking decent suit."

Touche.

My dad picked up the phone offered me to buy me any exorbitantly expensive suit I wanted. He was in a good mood because Virginia's men's basketball team had just beaten Duke, at Duke. He likes to give his children and grandchildren gifts. He's super generous and lovely.

When he got off the phone, my mom and I went back to our conversation. She suggested some online options. She said she'd mail me three of her suits that I could get tailored. I felt my anxiety level continue to rise.

Finally, I went back to Macy's. I found some suit separates in black. Sleek, no bell sleeves, no flounces or other bullshit that I hate. Very Alicia Florrick from The Good Wife. So I bought it. Done.

I came home completely exhausted and worn out. I had something to eat, did some laundry. and went back to bed.

And that was my day.

Talk to me so you can see, oh, what's going on...

"Hello... [tap tap tap] ... is this thing on?"

It's been a weird month or so.  For a while I felt very fragmented and unfocused, largely because of depression cycle that I went through.  But I powered through it and it passed, followed by a period of great clarity.

was 

Like Thorough at Walden Pond, I'm trying to live deliberately.  Which is great, in terms of my desire to focus on my goals and tackle them, and in particular build my coaching business.

But kind of boring in terms of any interesting resulting blog posts.  I go through periods when every little thing that happens to me brings to mind a funny (I hope) or engaging way to tell a funny story in this space I'm occupying here.  But right now is not one of those periods.  

I did have a kickass ski day up at Copper Mountain last Friday.  I was 10 minutes away from the mountain when I realized I had forgotten my ski boots.  

"Fuck it, I guess I'm renting today."

Then I thought about the fact that my skis are 8 or 9 years old -- dinosaurs, in terms of the advances that have been made in ski design and technology lately.  "Hell, if I'm going to rent, I might as well demo some new skis and see what all the fuss is about."

So the nice young hippie working at the ski shop fitted me out in a pair of brand new K2 Superburnins.  And I proceeded to have the time of my life, while realizing what the fuss is indeed all about.

It's about precision and control.  

I am a good athlete, and I am a decent skier, particularly given that I didn't learn how to do it until I was 28.  And what I really like to do is go really fast down steep inclines.  But I've always felt that notwithstanding my willingness to let myself fall down the mountain the way I do, I haven't been exactly safe -- I've had the sense of skirting a very fine line between fast, fun skiing and crashing horribly out of control.  

No longer.  On these skis, I was still really fast, but totally in control and carving turns in a way I've never been able to before.  It was a totally different skiing experience.

I obsessed about the skis all day Saturday, doing Google searches and finding last year's model (which is essentially the same ski) for sale at a number of different places.  Including one retailer in Seattle that was having a close-out on the skis in my size, which I guess isn't that popular a seller because I'm such a shrimp.  What started out as a $850 pair of skis was eventually marked down to $370, by the time they took all the discounts at checkout.

So I bought them.  

And was able to afford them because of my new-found focus on building my coaching business.  I'm really, really determined to grow it to the point that in two years, I will be able to pay off all debts, fix up my million-year-old house, and no longer have to work full time if I don't want to.  I've signed a bunch of new coaches recently and am very excited about helping them build *their* businesses so they can achieve their goals as well.  It's pretty cool.  And it's working - every month I earn more than the previous month, so I'm chipping away at my target, bit by bit.

You can read more about it here.

So that's what's going on with me lately.

Flex

Yesterday one of my co-workers stopped by my cubicle to say good-bye as she was heading out.

"Are you flexing tomorrow?"*

It always so funny when people talking about their day off as "flexing."  It brings to mind standing around my house assuming various body-building poses.

"Yep," I said, as I raised my arms to show her my biceps.

My bi- weekly days aren't necessarily to flex my body, though I will use some of the free time to exercise.  Mostly, I use it to flex my sanity.

Weekends are not relaxing for me right now.  The kids are still so young and needy and demanding, so we spend our time Doing Things.  The zoo, the science museum, the park, the pool, in between getting the house cleaned and running weekend errands.  So I often get to work on Monday exhausted and relieved to be able to sit quietly in my cube and work without noise or requests for milk or announcements of "I got poopies."

So my flex days are sacred.  I get to spend time in my quiet house, paint my nails, do some cleaning.  Maybe take a nap.

I'll meet with my contractor about doing some painting and finish work.  This afternoon I'm getting a 90-minute massage (from the same kid whose face I managed to avoid tooting in last time -- I'm hopeful I'll be equally successful today).  I've got a couple of errands to run.

Mostly, I'll just revel in the silence and the solitude and steel myself for the noise and craziness of the next couple of days.
_______________________
*In every two week period, I work a "flex" schedule consisting of 8 9-hour days, 1 8-hour day and then have every second Friday off.

Freedom!

It's kind of sad that these days I look forward to being at work more than I look forward to weekends.

Well, sort of. 

If I could spend my weekends doing whatever I wanted, or doing nothing at my leisure, weekends would be awesome.  But these days, when I already get no down time to myself as it is (except for the random morning off to ski, but that hasn't happened in a while), weekends are just more time to clean up after short people* and argue with said short people about their need to take a nap or change one of the short people's diapers (the other is finally potty-trained).

And it's not that I don't love the short people.  I adore them.  They're hilarious and sweet.  I laugh even when they do things like come out of the bathroom announcing that they went pee not in the potty, but rather in the drain.  Problem is, we don't have a drain in the downstairs bathroom.  Only a heating vent. 

I know, it's gross.  But it's still funny. 

This past weekend, Short Person No. 2, i.e., Josie, developed some kind of stomach bug.  We were supposed to go skiing on Saturday with my cousins, but only made it to Idaho Springs before Little J started puking all over the car.  So we went home.

And I spent the entire 3-day weekend with her on me.  All.  The.  Time.  Because all she wanted was to be cuddled and held.  Which I understand -- she's a little peanut who wanted her mommy because she felt like shit.  But it meant that I was pretty much chained to the house for 3 days.

Plus, Zeke is going through a major Oedipal phase right now.  It's like he wants to consume me.  He's always on me, caressing me, kissing me, even licking me.  Which is made even creepier by the fact that he's (still) in the little boy stage when he likes to be naked if he's in the house.  I finally told him that if he wanted me to hold him or cuddle him, he needs to at least put on underpants.  Jeez.

So I am not exaggerating in the slightest when I say that I could not wait to come back to work.  To sit in my cube and work on my stuff without anyone touching me.  Or bothering me.  Or asking me for chocolate milk.  Or throwing up on me.

Yesterday Josie seemed to be doing better.  She was keeping down fluids and had even eaten a little bit.  She hadn't puked in a long time.  She slept well.  So I was all excited to drop the kids off at daycare and head off to work.

But then as we were getting ready to leave, she stood in the middle of the living room, coughed ominously, and then puked all over the rug.

I burst into tears.

But, I managed to keep it together, took Zeke to school, went to the store to get Pedialite and saltines and some other stuff we needed, and then took Josie home.  We colored for awhile, watched last night's episode of Hawaii 5-0 (such a guilty pleasure, that show), and then she went to sleep.  I cleaned the living room and did the dishes. 

And then, thankfully, Jcame home.  He was able to get off work early and knew I needed some relief, not just because I was fried, but because it's not fair that every time the kids get sick or have to stay home, it's my job that suffers. 

Tonight I will be working late.  The thought of it makes me so happy.
_____________________________
*TM my friend Elizabeth.

Cold-bound

There are definite upsides and downsides to being married to a tradesman.

The upside is that he knows how to do shit.  Got a new dryer requiring a different kind of outlet on non-standard voltage?  J can run a wire from the circuit box, run it through pipe that conforms to code, and get the whole thing set up in about 45 minutes.  He knows how to use tools that scare me, like sawz-alls.  He can frame a bed headboard and teach me how to put up sheet-rock.

He's definitely a handy guy to have around.

The downside is that when he's gainfully employed -- which he now is, thank goodness -- he works in an industry that is notoriously shitty to its employees.

When I started my new job, I immediately started accruing paid leave at the rate of 14 hours per month, not to mention the state and federal holidays I already get off.  If something happens like I get sick or my kid gets sick or there's some emergency, my employers understand and I can deal with my life without worrying about getting fired.

When J started his new job, he was informed that he would accrue a paid week off each year after he had worked for a year (mighty white of them, I say). And it's basically understood that unless you or a close relative is on the verge of death, don't bother calling in sick unless you're no longer interested in having a job at all.

It infuriates me, but it's a job.  They've got us by the short hairs for sure.

Supercrazycold.  Photo by Andy Cross for The Denver Post.

The past two days it's been what Zeke and I have referred to as supercrazycold.  Yesterday the high was about 3 degrees, with a low of about -15, plus it snowed all day Monday, so everything iced up and got sketchy.  Schools closed, including the kids' preschool.

Of course, J had to report to work at 6 in the morning at a job up in Fort Collins, which is about an hour away (assuming decent conditions).

So I stayed home with the kids.  I was going to work from home anyway, but with the kids around, I couldn't get any work done.  So we played and went to Monkey Bizness and watched movies. I comforted myself with the fact that the roads were decent and even though it was scheduled to be supercrazycold today as well, conditions were OK for travel so the kids would be able to go to school and I'd be able to go to work today.

Then last night at about 9, our pipes out in the laundry room (which is essentially an uninsulated wooden porch with a washer and dryer) froze and burst, sending water everywhere, including into the cellar.  J managed to locate the main shut-off valve for the water and stop the flow of water and I called a plumber and scheduled an appointment for this morning.  And when I was up working at 2 in the morning, I checked my email and saw a message from the preschool director announcing that even though Denver Public Schools did not announce a closure for today, she was going to close today as well, "for the safety of our children and her staff."

While I'm certainly a fan of safety, the kids are in a heated building.  And they don't have to wait at cold bus stops because they are driven to school by their parents.  You'll have to forgive me if I didn't consider taking them to school to be putting them in any kind of risk.

So I'm a little annoyed today.  I'm tired of being the one whose schedule always has to accommodate every emergency, simply because I work for reasonable people.

But then I'm brought back to earth listening to Zeke flush the toilet and yell "Bye, Zekey's pee!" at his work product.  Or by Josie walking around saying "WOW!"  She just figured out how to say it and does it in a very exaggerated way that's hilarious.  It's nice having time with the kids.

But it will be in the mid-30s tomorrow.  School and work will definitely be open.

Thank God.

Life in the cube

As I mentioned yesterday, I don't have an office, just a cube.  It's tucked in the back of the room, fairly secluded, roomy and comfortable, but it's still a cube.  Everyone is very sensitive to the noise issue and makes every effort to be courteous, but you can hear e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g. 

Some people listen to music over a radio or whatever, on very low volume.  But I have super-sensitive hearing, so I can still hear it. 

I think the lady across the "hall" from me listens to a station (via internet radio?  I have no idea) that features nothing but TV theme songs.

Because there I was, reading about the legal requirements school districts have involving disabled kids placed in private schools, when all of a sudden I was totally distracted by the theme to Charlie's Angels.  I never even watched the show -- I think it was on while we were living overseas -- but about 3 cell phones ago, I used the song as my ring tone because I worked for a guy named Charlie and we (his female employees) jokingly referred to ourselves as Charlie's Angels and wasn't it all hilarious. 

Anyway.

So even though it's only playing at about half a decibel, I can totally hear it with my bionic ears, and then given my propensity to develop ear-worms, I'm walking around going "daaaaah dah daaaaaaaahhh, dah dah dah daaaaaaaaah da daaaaaaaaahhhhh."

Until that ear-worm is replaced by the theme song to -- and I am totally not making this up -- All In The Family. 

"Thoooose were the daaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyys!!"

And then the opening instrumental number from Dallas.  Which I did watch when we lived in Israel because back in the early 80s before the era of global satellite television, it was one of 3 American shows that you could watch on Israeli TV (the others were Little House on the Prairie and Diff'rent Strokes), so we were glued to them religiously just to get a little dose of home.

Needless to say, it was a bit distracting.  But being the new kid, still trying to feel my way and figure out who's who and who's nice and who is not to be fucked with, no way was I going to say anything. 

But just to be safe, today I brought in my iPod, which I listened to with one earbud in (so I could still hear the phone and whatnot).  Because otherwise, I'll get nothing done, and constantly be living with images of George and Weezy Jefferson or B.A. Baracus and Face running through my brain, via my ears.

The Wordle

We have monthly staff meetings at my office, and everyone rotates the hosting duties. A couple of weeks ago, the guy that was hosting this month's meeting sent out an email asking everyone to come up with three positive words to describe everyone else in the office. He then compiled everyone's responses, fed them into an online program (www.wordle.net), and framed the resulting "word cloud"* so that everyone had a reminder of how much they are valued in the office. In these tough times, when every day contains more bad news about how shitty the budget forecast is for school districts (and school district-supported associations, as we are), it was lovely and thoughtful gift.

Some of the words people used to describe me are so flattering. I'm glad my coworkers think that I'm smart and funny.

But some of the words left me scratching my head. "Business-oriented"? Nothing could be further from the truth. "Researcher"? Um, thanks, I guess.

"Willing"? Someone has been talking to my husband.

"Frank." "Competitive." "Boisterous."

My guess is that thesaurus.com was getting a bunch of hits from folks trying to come up with nice ways of saying "mouthy, obnoxious asshole."

_________________________

*The bigger the word, the more people came up with it. So I guess I'm wicked smaht, according to my coworkers.

Womb With A View 2.0

Jason and I went in for the 36 week ultrasound today. It's the last one before giving birth, the one that sort of lets you know how big the baby is and to do one last check to make sure all is well. For me, it was a way of ascertaining whether this insanely restricted diet I'm on -- I've basically been living on eggs, veggie sausage patties, veggie burgers, chicken, carrots and sugar snap peas, with the occasional bit of steak or salad thrown in for good measure -- has worked and kept The Joey's size in check.

Once or twice I've cheated. I had some of Rich's outrageously good peach cobbler, and have eaten a bite of canteloupe from time to time while fixing Zeke's lunch, but for the most part I've been really good.*

The good news -- and there was only good news -- is that The Joey is smack-dab in the 50th percentile for size, meaning she's exactly where she should be. She's about 6 1/2 pounds right now, so assuming she holds out on making her appearance until my induction date (September 29), she could still be a solid 8 pounds. But my efforts appear to have paid off and she doesn't have any indicia of being too big as a result of the gestational diabetes.

The ultrasound itself was, as ever, totally trippy. I never get over the miracle of being able to see inside my own body to look at the development of my unborn child.

Usually at this point in the pregnancy, when the baby is firmly head-down and dropping, which she is, it's very difficult to get a face shot because in order to position the ultrasound scanner thingy to see the face, you'd basically have to have it lodged in your vajayjay.

But I guess Joey has her head slightly turned to the side or something, because as the ultrasound tech was doing her thing and measuring various parts and looking at how much amniotic fluid I've got going on, all of a sudden an astoundingly clear shot of The Joey's face popped up. I was so stunned that I blurted out, "HI SWEETIE!!" Then I burst into tears.

She looks just like Zeke, but slightly more girly (or maybe I'm projecting). Pouty lips. Pretty little bone structure. Hands by her chin.

Above and below are the same shot. I've labelled parts of her face below, because I recognize that sometimes it takes a little bit of orientation to figure out what's going on in an ultrasound photo. Also, don't ask me why they have my name on the printout as "Amy Armstrong." I have no idea.

I also found out yesterday that I'm starting to dilate. I know that this can mean anything and nothing. I know so many women who were 1 or 2 centimeters dilated for weeks before going into labor. But I never dilated with Zeke in advance, so maybe it's a sign that she's coming a little early. Who knows. Again, maybe I'm projecting.

But it's all very exciting. Kathleen and I finished our massive project at work, the one that is going to help us rule the special education world in Colorado. It was a bitch to finish - I joked that The Joey is the second baby I'm giving birth to in September, but it's done and the client is happy. My dad came out this week to help out with Zeke-care, which was so incredible. He took care of pick-up and drop-off for daycare, took Zeke to the park, to the zoo, to the ice cream store, for walks. Zeke was in heaven hanging out with his Papa, and I was able to get my work done and know that things on the home front were taken care of. Jason had a chance to study for his big licensing exam (which he should be finishing up as I type this).

I love my parents. I can't say it enough.

So now I've got 3 weeks to go (at the most). I'm trying to get organized, take care of myself physically, and enjoy these last few weeks of Zeke as an only child. And then everything changes.

So scary, but so wonderful.

_______________________________
*And I've lost about 7 or 8 pounds, which doesn't suck for purposes of dealing with the baby weight, post-partem.

In which I start the new job off with an overshare

Even though my official start date at the new job isn't for another week, today was the association's monthly staff meeting, so Kathleen invited me to attend so I could meet everyone. The monthly meetings are a fairly big deal -- every month someone hosts and serves breakfast and there are little icebreaker quizzes or similar fun games to get everyone chatting.

Because St. Patrick's Day is next week, the theme was St. Paddy's Day/Ireland. Kathleen and Cathy, another coworker, were hosting, and served potatoes and Irish cheese and had St. Patrick's Day plates and napkins and tossed shamrock confetti all over the buffet.

The morning "ice breaker" wasn't a quiz, but as part of my introduction to the crew, everyone went around the room, told me who they were, and told something about themselves that related to Ireland or to St. Patrick's Day. Some people talked about having Irish ancestors, some talked about trips they had taken to Ireland, some just expressed a taste for Irish whiskey or beer. One of the women told a story of celebrating St. Patrick's Day in a bar, and everyone ended up doing beer slides down the bar.

Which reminded me of a crazy night I had in college, one summer in between second and third years. We started off hanging out at some guy's house, proceeded to traipse around Charlottesville skinny-dipping in half the apartment complex pools near the University, and ended up at one of the fraternity houses with half a keg of beer, the keys to the stereo closet, and a mini-trampoline. By the end of the night, we were doing beer slides across the floor in various states of semi-dress (some people did it on their naked butts, I stayed in my underwear).

So to a room of future co-workers (plus my boss), 90% of whom I've never met before, I get caught up in the hilarity of the story and blurt out, "beer slides are so fun. A bunch of us did those one night in college. But most of us were naked."

Everyone laughed, and some eyebrows shot up, particularly those of the men in the room.

Jesus, what is my problem?

Later in the meeting, my boss was talking about how happy he is with the staff and saying what a great team we have and how happy he is that I'm coming on board. "Though I'm having a hard time getting the image of the naked beer slides out of my head," he added.

And before I could stop myself, I said, "Oh, don't worry, I wasn't one of the naked ones. I kept my underwear on."

He laughed and said, "I'm not sure that helps me much."

Seriously. What is my problem??

Done and done

Jason's back from his bike trip in Colorado. Big fun was had by all.

And he's sold on moving to Denver. Not only did he really love the city, but he (unprompted by me) started echoing the sentiments about getting off this island that I have been feeling all along.

That it will be wonderful to have close friends and family in the same city. Being able to head over to Kathleen's house on a whim to have a glass of wine and a chat, or to watch Project Runway or some other stupid reality TV show. Jason and Rich being able to plan a last minute bike ride or ski/snowboard session, or decide to get together to watch a football game on the Fiddy.* Getting together with my cousins and their children. Having Zeke grow up with his cousins and with the children of my best friend -- children whom I love as if they were my own.

He also marveled at the ability to drive for 5 hours out in the country and be in such beautiful, open land.

"I didn't realize how much I was suffering from island fever," he remarked.

The mainland is so huge and diverse. Hawaii is beautiful, but it's small, and limited (and limiting) in so many ways -- culturally, intellectually, geographically. It's hard being so isolated.

And then there's the cost of living. Kathleen and Rich's last electric/gas bill was about $70. Ours was $520. I can find good work in Denver, that utilizes the expertise that I've been developing for the last 9 years. I can't do that here. So not only is the cost of living here choking us, but we've got almost no money coming in.

I can't deal with the stress of it anymore. And neither can Jason.

So last night we were talking, sort of dancing around the issue of, "should we make a definite plan? Should we wait a few months to make a decision?"

And we decided to make a definite plan.

My law school course ends in May. Exams are in mid-May, so I'm assuming I'll have to get the finals graded and the grades turned in within a week or so of that. Jason finishes his union course around the same time. So it looks like the end of May/early June is our departure date.

There's so much to do. I'm still terrified about not being able to make it financially until then. But we'll figure it out.

I can't wait.


____________________________________
* Our obscene 50-inch flat-screen TV.

It's a mystery

Philip Henslow: Mr. Fennyman, allow me to explain about the theater business. The natural condition is one of insurmountable obstacles on the road to imminent disaster.
Hugh Fennyman: So what do we do?
Henslow: Nothing. Strangely enough, it all turns out well.
Fennyman: How?
Henslow: I don't know. It's a mystery.

-- Shakespeare in Love

It's the strangest thing.

Just when I think that things are dire and that failure is on the brink, something happens, completely unexpectedly, to pull me back from the precipice.

Yesterday I was lamenting the fact that, upon finishing a final brief for Former BossMan, I'm out of legal work. I had been trying to network and get my name out there, but nothing had come of it.

So I'm plugging away, and I pick up the home phone to call someone, and there's a message. From a guy who found my profile on FindLaw.com, saw that I have experience in administrative law, and called because he needs a lawyer to help him with an administrative appeal. Which is pretty much the type of litigation I've been doing my entire 14 year career.

Now, the crazy thing is -- other than the sheer poetry of the timing -- I didn't even know that my FindLaw profile was even up yet. I have been working with my customer service rep, but the last I heard from him, he was going to draft a profile and send it to me for my approval before posting anything. So imagine my surprise when my prospective client tells me that he found me on the internet.

So, it looks like I may have a new paying client. We'll see what happens. But it's certainly encouraging.

If you hear me start to sing "I'm every woman," you'll know I've gone completely off the deep end.

Yesterday I went to the International Women's Leadership Conference, hosted by Linda Lingle, the Governor of Hawaii. I didn't even know about it until a friend clued me in, but it's actually a really big deal. Amazing accomplished women from all over the world come and talk about their lives and their successes and how they overcame unbelievable odds to achieve those successes.

Like the woman who became the first woman to be appointed chief of the Washington, D.C., police force. She dropped out of 9th grade and had a baby at 14, but went on to get her GED, graduate from college, and get two master's degrees from Johns Hopkins, all while working her way up the D.C. police promotional ladder.

Or the woman from Sudan who lived in an Ethiopian refugee camp for 10 years and hasn't seen her parents since she was 6, but who came to the United States, graduated from Brandeis, is going to law school, founded an organization to help bring education to young Sudanese girls, and refers to her life as a blessing.

Or the woman who is currently an inmate at a local women's correctional facility, who attended the conference because the Governor and her warden allowed her and a group of her fellow inmates to do so. She was all scrubbed up and inspired and nervous, asking questions about how to keep her focus, correct her mistakes, and make something of her life.

Now, I'm not a kumbaya, touchy-feely, Tony Robbins kind of chick. Stuff like that tends to leave me a little cold. But I'd be lying if I said that hearing the stories of these women succeeding against overwhelming odds didn't move me and inspire me.

I still don't have any new billable work beyond what I'm finishing up for BossMan. I'm still terrified about being able to make everything work. But I'm feeling on top of the world today, nonetheless.

The real me

One of my most pronounced personality traits or characteristics or whatever is my ability to project supreme confidence in myself and competence in what I'm doing. In fact, to characterize it as an "ability" is misleading because it suggests that it's something that I can turn off and on. In reality, it's just how I apparently present to the outside world.

And it's something of a blessing and a curse.

On the one hand, if I'm in some kind of confrontation with someone, it tends to give me the upper hand because I always sound like I know what I'm talking about and people get intimidated. That obviously benefits me as a lawyer, too.

But on the other hand, people tend to assume that I actually feel as competent and confident as I seem.

And the truth is, I rarely, if ever, do. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Which is why, in the face of so many well-wishes and expressions of "atta girl! you're gonna kill it!" from my family and friends -- and I so appreciate it, I really do -- I spent last night unable to sleep and sobbing on the phone with my mother at 1:30 in the morning. In fact, just typing those words makes me choke up all over again.

Because for the first time in my life, I'm really and truly terrified about my ability to succeed.

And I feel like the choices I've made in the past couple of years have been colossal mistakes, because I went from having a good job and no debt and living in a house with incredibly reasonable mortgage payments to being out in the middle of the fucking Pacific Ocean with my family and friends a million miles away, with a mortgage payment that I'm choking on and daycare expenses that I'm choking on and a $500 monthly electric bill, a mountain of debt, and no steady income. I want to have another baby, but don't feel like I can afford it. I've got two businesses, one of which (Baby Boot Camp) I know I can make successful, but which won't cover all of my expenses, and a solo law practice that, if I could get a steady client base, I could be fine, but I'm kind of flummoxed as to how I'm going to actually get that steady client base that will provide a consistent stream of billable work.

I'm trying to take lots of deep breaths and make lots of "to do" lists and stay positive. I talked to a guy from an online law portal (www.Findlaw.com) to see about getting my name in a directory so that if people are doing an online search for a lawyer, my name will come up. And there's an opening for administrative law judges at one of the state agencies, so I'll submit an application. And I'm trying to let everyone I know that I'm here and available to work.

But my stomach is killing me and I can't sleep and I feel anxious all the time.

The one positive point is that when I'm really nervous, I totally lose my appetite, so this could be an opportunity to get really skinny.

Brain un-freeze

What a difference a week makes.

Last week, after receiving the news that I had two weeks to set up my own shop, I was completely flailing. My brain was in overdrive as I tried to come up with a list of what I needed to do, and more importantly, how I was going to do it. The result was a state of semi-paralysis. As soon as I started researching this billing software or that small business accounting program, I would think of something else, like how I was going to save for retirement or what kind of website I needed to set up or how to get my own online research account or, most fundamentally, how I would get clients and be able to continue paying my mortgage. I was in a near-constant state of anxiety, I didn't sleep, and I accomplished very little.

But slowly but surely, I figured out what needed to be done now (finding a 401K I can participate in, setting up billing and accounting systems, and getting a small business loan) and what could wait (the website, signing up for short terms disability insurance, designing stationary). And slowly but surely, I started checking things off the list.

I figured out that as a member of the Hawaii bar, I'm eligible to participate in a 401K plan run by the American Bar Association. So I called and the guy was super-nice and he's sending me all the paperwork and that's done.

Then I remembered that I'm a still a member of the credit union for State Department employees (my mom helped me open an account there when I was in my teens). Credit unions tend to offer really competitive loan rates, so I dug through my old files and found my account number and called them and got a line of credit set up to help cover cash flow while the business gets up and running. I also got approved by a different bank for a personal loan, just in case.

I found an inexpensive time and billing software program that has all the features I would require, so I downloaded it and set up a rate table and client lists and all of that.

It turns out that Quicken's most basic small business accounting software is a free download from their website, so I'm already keeping track of expenses and taxes and invoices.

And most of that was in the last four hours.

And best of all, I got work. This past Friday, Kathleen, who works for an organization that represents school boards, was working on a brief that was due at midnight, and she was panicking because she didn't feel like she'd be able to finish it in time. So she called me, and she and I spend the rest of the day finishing the brief together. It was wonderful to work with Kathleen again -- we kept sending each other luurve notes about how much fun we were having -- and it was wonderful that, a week after finding out that I was going to be on my own, I had a paying gig.

I'm feeling empowered and capable. Still terrified, but empowered and capable nonetheless.

Nerves nerves nerves stomach ache

The big news around Excellent Adventure HQ is that as of September 15, I am hanging out my own shingle (well, not literally -- it violates our condo rules) and going into business for myself. I'll be doing pretty much the same thing -- special education law and consulting -- but instead of working for The Man I'll be working for The Woman. I.e., me.

On the one hand, I'm very excited. It presents lots of opportunities, not the least of which is the opportunity to make more money. I can work when I want, where I want, which I could sort of do before, but now I am truly beholden to no one but myself. I don't have to feel bad if the Boss Man calls and I'm not here to answer the phone because I was walking the dog or picking up Zeke from school. I can pursue other clients or even other areas of law, if the opportunity presents itself.

On the other hand, I'm fucking terrified. I already have one steady client and two potential clients, and I haven't even started marketing, but I still am having nightmares about the work drying up and not being able to pay my mortgage and being out on the street.

Realistically, I know this won't happen. I've got a husband who has a job and who has vowed that if need be, he can pick up extra work no trouble. Jason's been awesome, actually. He's been so supportive and encouraging and has been just wonderful. I also have parents who are fortunate enough to be able to help me out if I need it.

And I've got lots of contacts and ideas and marketable skills. So I should be fine.

But all I can think about is accounting software and how to set up my taxes and what am I going to do about a 401K and getting a Hawaii business license and blah blah blah. I know I can handle it, but I'm a nervous wreck.

The home office dilemma

This is why I need a job where I have to actually get up and get dressed and go to an office everyday.

Because right now, I have some work that I could be doing. But it's easy. It's just a minor revision to a document that I prepared yesterday, and if I started it, I could be done in about half an hour.

So there's no urgency to it.

And I have other big projects that I could be working on, but one of them isn't due until October and another isn't due until November.

So again, I could do them today, but there's no rush.

In the meantime, I desperately need to give myself a manicure and pedicure, because my polish is all patchy and gross looking.

And the laundry could use some folding.

And my office is a disaster, so it could stand some straightening up.

And I still haven't finished unpacking from the Detroit trip.

And the U.S. men's volleyball team is playing Serbia in an elimination round right now on NBC.

Gee, I wonder which I'll choose...

I may be looking a gift horse in the mouth, but that gift horse is zapping my mojo

My current job situation is seemingly ideal. I've been working for the same special education boutique law firm in Atlanta for 9 years. I love BossMan and he loves me. He respects my skills and my adoration of legal writing and appellate oral argument, and he lets me do it without making me do to much of the stuff I hate, like trials with unpredictable witnesses who give me stomachaches. BossMan is a smart, generous, sweet guy who has always been wonderful to me and whom I adore working with.

When Jason and I decided to try to move to Hawaii, being able to keep my job was essential because it let us move here with an income stream. And BossMan generously agreed to let me continue to work for him, essentially telecommuting to Atlanta from the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

Working from home has not been without its challenges -- I miss having somewhere to go (other than to drop Zeke off at daycare) when I get up in the morning, and I miss the camaraderie of the office. Being at home all day with nobody to talk to can be lonely. But the flexibility is also nice. If I need to run an errand, I can run it. If I feel like going for a surf in the middle of the day, I can do it. Basically, as long as I get the work done in time, I can do it whenever I want, at my convenience. Not a bad arrangement.

"So what's the problem?" you ask.

Well, the problem is that since January, when I came back from maternity leave, I have had a hell of a time getting back into the loop. Many of the cases I was working on before Zeke was born are finished, meaning that in order to have work to do, I'm reliant on BossMan and the other lawyers in the office to include me on the newer cases. And they haven't been great about doing that. It's not personal, and I'm not mad. They're not trying to freeze me out. But for all of his strengths as a lawyer, BossMan is a terrible administrator, and he has a hard time focusing on people that aren't right in front of his face. So the lawyers in the office get overloaded with work, while I'm sitting out here at my desk with nothing to do. At any other firm, my dismal billable hours from the last two months would have gotten me unceremoniously fired, and rightly so.

A number of people have said to me, "Why is that bad? After all, you're still getting paid, right? Milk it! Enjoy the downtime!"

I can't. I like being busy, and I feel like an asshole when I'm not pulling my weight by maintaining my portion of the workload or, more fundamentally, justifying my salary. Because right now, BossMan is paying me alot of money to do nothing, and it makes me feel terribly guilty. Plus, it's boring. I've got mad lawyering skillz, and I like to use them.

And that combination of feeling like a dead weight to the law firm, and being bored out of my mind, is just bringing me down generally. I'm losing my motivation to stay active or organized in the rest of my life. The more I have to do, the more I tend to have my shit together in all facets of my life, and the converse is true as well.

Yesterday BossMan and I had a great conversation in which we agreed that he would try to delegate more work my way, but that I would also put feelers out into the job market to see what's out there. I asked him if it was time to call "time of death" on our arrangement and go our separate ways, and he said that the thought of it made him sick to his stomach and that he wasn't prepared to cut ties just yet. But realistically, he acknowledged that it wasn't a bad idea to at least see what the job market here is like. Maybe we'll be able to work out an arrangement where I can do something local on a part-time basis but still work for him on a contract basis.

I've sent out a bunch of cover letters and resumes and done some networking through some of the contacts I've made through the law school. I'm energized by having a plan of attack -- it just feels so much better knowing that I'm doing something productive. It would have been easy to just keep going the way I was going -- BossMan would never fire me -- but I can't do it and hold my head up.

If you have to be unemployed, you may as well be unemployed here

Even though he is temporarily laid off, Jason still has school twice a week at the union hall. Today he showed up in his board shorts, sunburned and with sand on his feet, because we spent the day surfing with some friends that are visiting the island.

"Unemployed" is such a scary word. I feel like it's obscene to be enjoying it so much. But given that he's getting paid while he's out of work, and that I woke up extra early to finish the brief I was writing, it's hard not to get out of bed, look at the surf report, and think "score!"

Good news and bad news

The bad news is that Jason is getting laid off at the end of the week. The good news is that his company is making it a temporary layoff, meaning they will still be employing him and will call him back to work as soon as another part of the job he's working on gets going, probably in about two weeks. And in the meantime, he'll continue to be paid, so it's not so bad.

I guess this is the down-side of falling in love with a blue collar guy. I'll never be a kept woman, that's for sure.

But on the other hand... ladies, remember that Diet Coke commercial in which the women in the office took their daily break to watch the hunky construction worker take his shirt off while he drank a Diet Coke? I'm married to that guy.* And he's awesome.



*I'm not literally married to Lucky Vanous, the actor from that commercial, but you get my point.

Creation

Maybe it's because I've been watching alot of Top Chef. Maybe it's the cooking blogs I've been reading -- particularly Annie's A Good American Wife, which has inspired me to branch out and expand my repertoire. Maybe I'm trying to improve Jason's palate so he develops a taste for good food that isn't covered in chili sauce. Most likely, it's because work is slow, and I've got all of this energy I'd normally use being productive at work and I need to direct it somewhere.

But whatever the reason, I've been completely obsessed with cooking lately.

In the past week or so, I've made:

- chicken & rice cooked with wine wine, tomatoes, saffron and peas (insanely delicious -- Jason and I couldn't even hold a conversation while we were eating because the taste of the food was zapping all of our brainpower);

- Indian chicken biryani

- red Thai curry chicken

- Greek potatoes, Greek green beans (sauteed with tomatoes and onions -- I'm not a big green bean fan, and I couldn't get enough) and spanakopita (spinach pie)

- about 3 or 4 different variations of homemade pasta sauce

Every day I wake up and think, "what new thing can I make today?" And the more complicated it is, the better.

Did you ever see the movie Big Night? It's about these two Italian brothers who are trying to maintain a successful Italian restaurant, and as a last ditch effort to keep the place open, they host a huge dinner party, making all of their best dishes, in the hopes that the singer Louis Prima will show up and make them famous and popular and successful. One of the dishes they make is called a timpano -- a giant pastry filled with layers of pasta and sausage and eggs and about a million other things, all baked together. When I saw it in the movie, I was so mesmerized that I was determined to make it. So I did. I found a recipe, and my friend Karen and I hosted a dinner party in which we made the timpano (it took us about 10 hours altogether) and served it with three different kinds of risotto in the colors of the Italian flag (also featured in the movie).

I get this way from time to time. I learn how to do something, or in the case of cooking, revisit it after a long hiatus, and I get crazy. I go on a knitting frenzy and I make fishermen's sweaters with 5 different kinds of cables and popcorn stitches and whatever else I can think of. I watch a couple of episodes of Trading Spaces and I go out and buy a sewing machine and start making curtains and pillow covers.

It could be that I have an overwhelming need to be productive and creative.

Or just further confirmation that I'm more than a little nuts.

Anyway, here's the wonderful scene from Big Night that inspired me. May it inspire you as well.