Author: Vee

Thank You For Serving (#NaBloPoMo Day 11)

On By VeeIn Family, Marriage1 Comment

It’s the eleventh day of my NaBloPoMo, friends, and today I’ve decided to write about Veterans.  Sexy topic, much? Don’t miss yesterday’s post, where I took a deep and emotional dive on my relationship with my dad.

Today is Veterans Day in the U.S.

When I was a little kid, Veterans Day was just a day off from school, and I gave it no more thought than that.  And I am ashamed to admit that as a juvenile, I was a bit of a jerk towards veterans, or at least the idea of them.  I was a liberal, hotheaded little teenager when the U.S. first engaged in military operations in Afghanistan and Iraq.  And I just couldn’t appreciate the difference between supporting the troops and supporting the war.

I remember one time I was riding a Greyhound bus back up to college after visiting my ex-boyfriend, and I found myself sitting next to a guy who was in the Army.  And I was a bona fide asshole to him, basically telling him that I wasn’t impressed with his being in the Army because I didn’t support the war.  Major props to that guy for not punching me right in my spoiled little face.

I wish I could say that I came to an academic enlightenment about appreciating veterans because it was the right thing to do.  Unfortunately, I’m not that good of a person.  Instead, I only came around when things became personal for me.

You see, when I first introduced Hubby in my inaugural post, and then later dished on his annoying toilet habits, I left out kind of an important detail.  Hubby is a veteran who served in both Iraq and Afghanistan.

As I’ve mentioned, Hubby and I met in high school, but we weren’t dating at the time.  When we reconnected on AOL (R.I.P.) a few years later, I couldn’t believe my ears when Hubby told me that he was currently in Iraq, at war.  I honestly thought he was joking for several days.  As we chatted day in and day out, things started to get more romantic, and before I knew it I was officially dating a man in uniform.

When Hubby came back from Iraq, he visited me at college and we started dating in the flesh.  Which, I gotta tell you, was way better than dating over Instant Messenger.  But he was only stateside for a bit before he was shipped back out to Afghanistan for another year of deployment.  And my god was it agonizing sitting at home, hoping he was ok, wondering when I would hear from him next.  So shout out to all of those who stayed strong at home while their significant others, children, parents, siblings, and friends volunteered overseas.

It’s embarrassing to admit that it wasn’t until I started dating Hubby that I realized my vitriol for military members was shameful and incredibly misplaced.  That whether we agreed on politics or not (and sometimes we actually did agree), these were people who were doing something that I would never in a million years be brave enough to do.  And that they were volunteering to do it.*  It actually makes me teary-eyed with pride.  How could I ever have disrespected this population, regardless of their motivation for joining?

There is no denying that our veterans have made unbelievable sacrifices, including the ultimate sacrifice, too many times.  And it is heartbreaking that, after everything they’ve done, so many of them struggle with reintegrating into society after deployment.  Something like 40,000 U.S. veterans are homeless on any given night.  Somewhere between 11-20% of U.S. veterans struggle with PTSD in any given year.  And something like 22 U.S. veterans take their own lives on any given day.  Twenty-two.  That is a staggeringly sad number.

 

In light of all of these sacrifices, both overseas and back at home, I just want to say Thank You to everyone who has served.  And sorry for taking so long to come around.

Until next time,

Vee

 

*To be clear, I have no less respect for those who served in the past without volunteering.

 

#NaBloPoMo Day 10: A Former Daddy’s Girl

On By VeeIn Family, Parenting, Upstate New York3 Comments

I’m still here blogging my way through November, NaBloPoMo style.  We’re in the double digits with Day 10, and today’s theme is Fathers.  Yesterday, I blogged about my experiences at boarding school, which my own father was nice enough to pay for.

Shout out to my dad, who is another member of the November birthday club.  When I think about it, it makes perfect sense that my dad and I would have birthdays so close together.  We’ve always been kind of in sync.

Now if you ask my dad about me, the very first thing he will tell you is that he held me first.  You see, he and my mom kept having all these babies together, and it was starting to annoy him that she always got to hold the babies first thing after they were born.  (I mean, I think she kind of earned that right, but whatever).  Anyway, when I was born, my dad allegedly insisted that he get to hold me before I was passed over to my mom.  And thus a special bond was formed.  You can guess how much my siblings love hearing that story.

My dad was amazing when we were growing up.  He devoted a lot of time and energy to raising us, and he was always around.  He encouraged our imagination, our education, our physical prowess.  He invented fun games that we played for years and years.  He made up characters and told us stories on long car rides.  He was the perfect tutor and the perfect coach.  He was a shoulder to cry on, always.

He was so good at his job as a dad that I didn’t realize how rough things were for him sometimes behind the scenes.  Not only were finances extremely tight in the early years, but he was also suffering from a dangerous depression.  I was oblivious to all of it; he was my hero and I thought I was the luckiest girl in the world.  So I really think that’s a testament to him.

Of course, as most people do, I grew up and realized my parents aren’t perfect.  As I moved away and was able to analyze our relationship with a little more objectivity, I discovered that my dad was just as flawed as everybody else.  He was emotionally manipulative, belligerently opinionated, overly critical of others.  I found myself having to take a step back from the close bond.  It was important to preserve my own independence, and I couldn’t do that if I regarded his opinions above my own.

And in the midst of all those adult realizations, my parents went through a heartbreaking divorce.  Heartbreaking for me, anyway.   It put a huge crack in the foundation of my relationship with my dad because I couldn’t help but feel like it was his fault.  You see, my parents got married really young, after only a few months of dating.  And my whole life, it was uncomfortably obvious that my mom loved my dad more than he loved her.  He was the center of her universe, but you couldn’t help but feel like he was just staying together for the kids.  So my mom walked away from the marriage heartbroken, and my dad walked away relieved.

And as I was healing my heart, trying to accept that this lifelong bedrock was gone, my dad moved to a new country and married another woman.  Someone he only knew for a few months beforehand.  It didn’t help that he married her secretly, without telling us when it happened.  And then a few months later, she was pregnant with his child.  Just in time for him to bring her to my own wedding with a full baby-bump on display.  My poor mom.

I could forgive that my dad moved on with another woman and had another kid, though I would have loved for him to wait a little longer before doing it.  What I can’t forgive, though, is that he made himself miserable all over again.  If he would have paused for a second before marrying this new woman, he would have learned that she is certifiably crazy.  Instead, he just made the same mistakes all over again.  Met a woman, fell passionately in love in a matter of months, got married, had a child, and then was stuck in another relationship he wanted out of.  He is still hurting.  Which makes me hurt.  Which makes me mad.  I know that sounds self-centered, but it’s how I feel.

So here we are in present day, working to mend a relationship that was never explicitly broken, though I think we both know we fell pretty far from the paradigm.  Luckily, our hearts are open and we both want the same thing.  And what’s really helping bring us back together is the common ground we share in my own kids.  One thing I couldn’t appreciate more is that my dad is an excellent Grandpa. Of course, he doesn’t like to be called  Grandpa, he thinks he’s too young for that.  Haha, time to face the music, old man.

Until next time,

Vee

#NaBloPoMo Day 9: A Tale of Two High Schools

On By VeeIn Family, Uncategorized6 Comments

We’re 9 days into NaBloPoMo already, wow!  Today’s theme is High School, because who doesn’t want to relive those glory days?

What is the one thing you’ve done that you are most proud of? You know, excluding marriage and kids and all that obligatory stuff?

I think my proudest moment came in high school.  I started off attending my local public school in my home state in the American southwest.  And I hated it.  There was this girl, Katie, who I was friends with already through extracurricular soccer.  She was pretty much the only person I knew when I showed up Day 1 of Freshman year, so I think we became better friends than we should have been.  She introduced me to these two other girls, and we became this little alternative clique.  You know, dark eye make-up, wanna-be skater clothes, ditching class, drinking on the weekends.

And I was so uncomfortable, because that wasn’t me.  But how do you switch social groups in high school?  I felt really stuck, and I was depressed because I just wasn’t having the high school experience that I wanted.

So I did something drastic.  Junior year, I enrolled in a prep boarding school in New England.  I picked myself up and moved clear across the country; away from my parents, my siblings, my friends, every one and everything I ever knew, all because I really wanted to start over.

And it was everything I wanted it to be.  I took full advantage of the opportunity:  I made the varsity soccer team, joined the a capella group, and even auditioned for the hand-bell choir! (But I didn’t actually join the hand-bell choir because that’s social suicide.)

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Even though I was the weird new Junior from really far away, other students welcomed me with open arms, and I made a really nice group of diverse friends.  I won’t go so far as to say I was majorly popular, because that would be a bold-faced lie.  But I never felt lonely or dissatisfied with the people I surrounded myself with.

I also really loved living in New England.  It was a welcome change from the desert where I grew up, even if I didn’t know how to dress for the cold.  (Flip flops in the snow, anyone?)

Of course, moving across the country came at a high cost.  Quite literally, because boarding school was not cheap.  I have to acknowledge how incredibly lucky I was to be able to take advantage of the opportunity.  It was certainly a financial stretch for my parents to send me for those two years, but they made it work so I could realize my dream.  Beyond the financial cost, the move was also emotionally taxing: I missed my family A LOT.  But I absolutely do not regret doing it, and I am still so proud of myself for taking control of my life when it wasn’t going my way.  I think that’s a pretty bad-assed thing for a 15-year-old to do.

Until next time,

Vee

 

 

#NaBloPoMo Day 8: A Good Girl

On By VeeIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

It’s Day 8 of NaBloPoMo, and my theme of choice is Police Encounters.  Yesterday I dished all about my mother-in-law, and how I wish someone would lock her up for criminal gift giving.

I couldn’t tell you what on Earth possessed me to pick Police Encounters as one of my NaBloPoMo themes.  To write about something, you usually have to experience it first, and I’m basically a police virgin.

I guess there’s the time I went on a police ride-a-long for my Criminal Law class in law school.  Does that count as an encounter? I was trying to make conversation with the officer, so I asked casually whether there were certain types of cars they tend to pull over more than others.  You know, the theory that red cars get more speeding tickets?  Well,  turns out he was really offended by that question.  Oops.

Truthfully, I’ve almost never even been pulled over.  I have no idea how I’ve escaped a lifetime of speeding tickets, since I’ve always had a bit of a lead foot.  Apparently it has nothing to do with the fact that I was driving a super un-sexy tan Toyota Corolla most of my formative years.

So I was 29 the first time I was ever pulled over.  It was right after K-Man was born, and my dad was in the car with me.  Super embarrassing.  I didn’t even know what to do, I had to be coached on where to pull over, how to turn on my hazards, etc.  The officer had stopped me because one of my headlights was out.  But then I got reamed for having an out-of-state license when I had been living in the new state for almost three years.  I guess you’re supposed to get an updated license within 30 days of moving.  Oops.

The second and last time I was ever pulled over was, hilariously, only a few days after the first time.  It was night time and I was driving home from Panera Bread with dinner for Hubby and I.  I was exhausted, and I was literally 100 feet away from my house when I saw the flashing lights in my rear view mirror.  Again? What? This time, I had forgotten to turn on my headlights.  Face palm!  Gotta love when the officer asked me if I had been drinking.  I must have looked like shit.  I remember thinking, I CAN’T DRINK ,YOU IDIOT, DON’T YOU KNOW I’M BREASTFEEDING?  Yeah, I don’t know why he would have known that.  Driving while exhausted should be illegal, though, that’s for sure.

So that’s it.  Those are my police encounters.  I guess I’m not the bad ass I thought I was when I dreamed up today’s theme.  I guess I’m just a good girl.  How boring!

Until next time,

Vee

 

 

My Mother-in-Law Gives the Worst Gifts (#NaBloPoMo Day 7)

On By VeeIn Family21 Comments

Today is NaBloPoMo Day 7, and my theme of choice is In-Laws.  You know, because my blood pressure didn’t take enough of a beating from yesterday’s birthday-inspired pizza extravaganza.

Like many of us, I struggle with my mother-in-law.  She is an absolutely ridiculous woman, and I’m sure this won’t be the last time she’s featured in this space.  At the risk of sounding incredibly petty and ungrateful, today I’d like to roast her for being 100% awful at gift-giving.

Now I want to be very clear up front that my beef isn’t with how much money she spends on the gifts she gives.  I can appreciate an inexpensive gift.  The problem is that her gifts are sometimes impersonal, sometimes categorically hideous, and almost always unbelievably inconvenient (in that we have to find a way to dispose of them).  It’s gotten to the point where I will go to great lengths to avoid spending Christmas with this woman, because her gifts just make me so disappointed and worked up.

Shall we go back to the beginning?  I started to suspect that MIL lacked the gift of giving when she shipped me something right after Hubby and  I started dating.  It was a pair of pillows. Fleece and pea green, with fringes just kind of cut right in to some extra fabric on the sides.  Not the most offensive thing ever, but so unbelievably ugly.  I found out later she saw the pillows at a church sale and “thought of me.” Wow, ok.  I didn’t know I was giving off a pea green fleece vibe, but whatever.

Things went downhill from there.  For example, Christmas 2013.  Hubby and I got really into it, like we usually do, and went overboard with gifts, like we usually do.  And I’m not asking for full-scale reciprocation or anything, but something more than one gift for the two of us to share would have been nice.  Especially when that one gift was a bottle of wine stationed inside a tacky AF Santa Claus wine bag.  Now maybe you’re thinking, a bottle of wine is a perfectly acceptable gift, and I don’t disagree! The problem is, we were asked to surrender that bottle of wine at dinner, as it was in fact intended to accompany the meal.  Turns out our gift was actually the Santa Claus wine bag, not the wine inside.  And you better believe I left that wine bag on the dresser in the guest room when we skipped town.  I can be a little passive aggressive I guess.

And then there was the time she made K-Man and his cousin matching outfits.  Beautiful, adorable idea.  Completely garbage execution.   You see, she was dead set on using some extra fabric that she happened to have in excess, rather than buying something (literally anything) more appropriate.  So my poor son had to spend his first Thanksgiving in a three-sizes-too-big romper, with thin black-and-white checkered linen for the body, and purple velvet for the sleeves.

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Yes, that is a butterfly clasp.  But why tho?

Last Christmas, she trolled me good.  I opened a box from her and pulled out what looked to be a family set of matching Christmas pajamas.  I die for matching Christmas jammies, and I was stoked!  But upon closer inspection, there were only two pairs of pajamas in there.  One pair in K-Man’s size, and then another pair that was a women’s Medium.  Nothing for Ell-Bell, and seemingly nothing for Hubby.  She later explained that the women’s Medium was actually for Hubby and I to share, because she thought that he could wear the bottoms, and I could wear the top.  I think I’ve said enough about that.

She’s always sending us random boxes full of junk (aka “presents”) that she doesn’t want in her house anymore.  News flash, we don’t need the literal garbage you found while cleaning out your attic.  A box of broken white chalk?  A deck of 51 playing cards?  A fucking pine cone?  Please god, please stop sending it to us.

And she’s always trying to give me her old clothes. Hard pass.

 

Honestly, when it comes to gift exchanges with my MIL, I’d really rather get nothing at all.  Maybe she could save up the small fortune she spends shipping us those damned  boxes, and donate it to a good cause.  Ugh.

Until next time,

Vee

#NaBloPoMo Day 6: Birthday Month

On By VeeIn Family, Marriage, Parenting, Upstate New York12 Comments

Welcome to NaBloPoMo Day 6, where the theme du jour is Birthdays!  Don’t forget to read yesterday’s post, where I talk about how jealous I am of my sister-in-law’s very ripe cervix.  How’s that for a non-sequitur?

November is my Birthday Month — no wonder I love it so much.  (And yes, forget birthday weeks, I’m all about birthday months).

This year I am turning 32, which sounds just so old to me.  But then I think about the year I turned 12, when I ugly cried because I was sad about how ancient I was.  So maybe with a little perspective, I can appreciate that when I turn 52, I’ll also feel like that sounds pretty old.  And I’ll laugh back at my 32-year-old self because I was actually so young back then.

Honestly, I’m quite tempted to feel sorry for myself on my birthday this year.  Because I’m going to be spending it so very, very alone.  I’m introverted, and shy, and awkward, and most of the time, I don’t even care.  But there’s something about birthdays, at least for me.  As much as I don’t want to be noticed in general, I do secretly always hope people will make a big deal on my birthday.

But alas, I’m alone in a new city, taking my sweet introverted time making new friends.  No extended family within hundreds of miles in any direction.  So all of my birthday hopes fall on my husband.  My poor husband who is in the throes of his intern year.  My poor husband who is working six or seven days a week.  Who leaves the house every day at 5:00 a.m. and doesn’t get home until 7:00 or 8:00 p.m.  Yeah, that husband.  I don’t expect much from him, but it’s a bit of a bummer that we won’t really get to spend any time together.  Maybe I can I count on my two-year-old and my 11-month-old for some birthday love?

I guess the good news is, no adults will be around to witness my annual birthday face-stuffing.  I’m going to shot-gun an entire pizza, Liz Lemon-style.

And as I’m eating my way through my feelings, I’ll try to remember that a birthday is just one day in a year full of other days.  And that year is just one year in a lifetime full of other years.  So what if  the actual Day Of is kind of underwhelming? It’s been a good year, and it’s been a great life.

Until next time,

Vee

Birth Story Jealousy (#NaBloPoMo Day 5)

On By VeeIn Family, Parenting, Pregnancy5 Comments

It’s Day 5 of my NaBloPoMo, which means we’re already 1/6th of the way through November, folks.  I’m having a blast exploring topics like how my husband is a doofus and how working for biglaw is like working for the devil.  Today’s NaBloPoMo theme is Jealousy, that beautiful green-eyed monster.  Ugh, why does she have to be so beautiful?

Confession time: I struggle with birth story jealousy.  Is it just me, or do people classify birth stories based only the the level of perceived bad-assery?  If you had a vaginal birth after 105 hours of drug-free, doctor-free labor, you are a warrior.  And if you had a c-section after 2 hours of laboring on the good stuff, you are a wimp.

Well I think that dichotomy is really fucking stupid, but I still can’t help but feel jealous of women whose birth stories resemble the former rather than the latter.  I guess I want to be regarded as a warrior, too?

My birth story jealousy started before I even gave birth to my first kid.  I had a “we’ll see” mentality about the epidural, and I was most definitely planning to have my son in the hospital.  But, I was surrounded by women who had the most natural of natural births.  Both my mom and my sister — six children between them — birthed at home without epidurals or doctors.  I mean, my sister freaking squat-pushed her first baby out onto her living room floor.  Even if I didn’t want to do that, I felt incredibly inadequate because I wasn’t willing to try.

As much as I yearned to tell an epic, amazonian birth story, I was actually terrified of —  and grossed out by — the idea of childbirth.  Maybe even a little bit hopeful that I would end up with a c-section? Is that awful?

So you can probably guess from the preamble that both of my children were born via c-section.  With K-Man, I developed hypertension and suspected pre-eclampsia at 37 weeks.  I was induced with pitocin, but failed to ever progress past 1 cm after about 20 hours.  So when K-Man started having decelerations, I was taken in for a somewhat emergent c-section.  With Ell-Bell, though I was hoping for a VBAC, I developed that darned hypertension again at 37 weeks.  My OBs didn’t really want to induce me for a VBAC when I was not even a little bit dilated, so back to the OR I went.

In case you were wondering, both of my c-sections were actually great.  I was awake and lucid, I experienced overwhelming love when my children came into the world, and my recovery was A+.  But I couldn’t help but feel embarrassed that I was “just” a c-section momma — like I had copped out somehow.  (Why did I feel like that? I was fricking cut in half, is that not badass?)

It didn’t help that my sister-in-law (SIL) had both of her children at the same time I had both of my children, and that both of her births were, well, warrior status.

A few weeks after after I had K-Man, SIL was overdue with her first born and developed actual eclampsia.  When her doctor prescribed her magnesium sulfate — the supposed death knell for any natural birth plan — her midwife reportedly cried.  (Major eye roll.)  But of course, SIL powered through, labored forever, refused the epidural, and had a vaginal birth.  Of course.

And a few months after I had Ell-Bell, SIL accidentally had her baby at home.  Like, she didn’t make it to the hospital. I guess her cervix was just too ripe (why even is that a thing that I am jealous of?)  But seriously, how gross is it that when I heard my precious niece was born, my first reaction was a jealous “ugh, of course.”  I’m a bad person.

 

But anyways, I know — I know — it’s time to let this jealousy go.  There is a much bigger picture here, which is that that I am so incredibly lucky to have two beautiful, healthy children.  Who cares whether they came out of my vagina, or my abdomen, or some other woman’s body?

Until next time,

Vee

#NaBloPoMo Day 4: Embarrassed at the Pediatrician

On By VeeIn Family, Parenting6 Comments

It’s Day 4 of my NaBloPoMo November, and I’m having a blast!  Speaking of fun, today’s theme is Embarrassing*.  Speaking of not fun, be sure to catch yesterday’s post about how much I hated being a lawyer.

I knew when I decided to have kids that they would embarrass me from time to time.  So far so good though, for the most part.  Ell-Bell is too young to be embarrassing (except when she’s pulling down my shirt and exposing me in public), and K-Man tends to save his truly horrifying antics for inside the home.

But I have to say, K-Man got me good at the pediatrician the other day.  You see, Hubby and I have decided not to mess around with cute names for the more private parts of the human anatomy.  We’ve taught K-Man that a butt is a butt, and a penis is a penis.  And now that Ell-Bell is in the picture, he knows all about vaginas too!  Every night during bath time, K-Man is encouraged to wash his butt and his penis, and he likes to talk about it as he does it.  “I need wash my butt and I need wash my pee-nis!”  Perfectly normal, I think.  That is, perfectly normal in the privacy of our own home!

So we were at the pediatrician the other day for flu shots, and K-Man was getting a quick check-up beforehand.  He’s a really cute patient. He told the pediatrician what the otoscope was for, and then he leaned in helpfully as she looked in his ear.

But things got weird when the pediatrician pulled out the stethoscope.  After first listening to his chest, she then leaned over him and said, “I’m just going to listen to your back now, ok?”

And for god knows what reason, Keegan responded quietly, “Tha’s my back.  Aaaand tha’s my butt, aaand tha’s my pee-nis!” And words weren’t enough, no, he also gestured with his little finger in the direction of first his butt, and then his penis.  And then he looked up at the pediatrician expectantly, with a super odd little smile on his face.  What? Why? Why did he need to identify his butt and penis for her when she merely indicated that she was going to listen to his back? What was going on in that weird little brain?

I, of course, devolved into a fit of uncontrollable giggles, and didn’t come up for air for probably half a minute.  Uncomfortable laughter, much?  The pediatrician smiled gently and kept working through the check-up.  I’m sure she hears weirder shit multiple times a day.

I don’t know why I was so embarrassed.  I mean, I should be proud, right? My son knows his anatomy! But for whatever reason, I was totally mortified, and I think my face was red for the rest of the visit.  I guess I’m not as down with potty language as I thought.

It’s ok though, K-man can embarrass me all he wants right now.  I’m going to get him back so fricking good when he’s a teenager.

 

Until next time,

Vee

*Embarrassing is spelled with two Rs? Really? Since when?

 

 

#NaBloPoMo Day 3: Will I Ever Lawyer Again?

On By VeeIn Family, Parenting5 Comments

Today’s theme in my self-designed NaBloPoMo is Career.  Don’t forget to read yesterday’s  post, where I reminisced about my stupid ex-boyfriend.

This week, I have to shell out $375 big ones to renew my biannual attorney registration in New York.  Blurgh.  It’s giving me a lot of heartburn, not just because my old firm used to cover this cost, but also because I don’t know if I’ll ever lawyer again.  Am I wasting my money?*

As much as I’m enjoying it, I don’t plan to be a stay-at-home-mom indefinitely.  I expect to re-enter the out-of-home work force again someday, probably once the kids are in school.  But that is about as solid as my plans get.  In a few years, will I be ready to return to lawyering? I’m really not sure.

Lawyering and I — we knew each other for seven years.  And after all that time, I’m still not sure I would call us friends.  Most of the time, I hated my old job at a big corporate law firm.  It really boiled down to two things:

  • They treated associates like garbage.  Partners had zero respect for personal time, a life outside of the office, family commitments, etc.  Even when I was very pregnant, I was being asked to pull unnecessary all-nighters.  And after I had K-man, I was given a talking to because my hours took a hit. That left a bad taste.
  • They treated clients like garbage.  Clients were billed by the hour, and partners went to great effort to conjure up extraneous work that needed doing so that those hours really racked up.  (And as you can imagine, associates who were creative with their billing were rewarded).  We worked for some of the least sympathetic corporate clients you could imagine, but I still felt icky when we sent them bills for shit they never asked us to do.

Maybe corporate law isn’t in my future, but does that mean I have to walk away from the legal field entirely? I invested six figures and three years into getting my JD.  That’s a lot to leave on the table, and surely there are other areas of law that aren’t as wholly demoralizing.  But will anyone want to hire me for a specialty that I’m not trained in, especially after a 3+ year hiatus?

To be fair, I have paid off all my law school loans, and I was a lawyer for longer than I was a law student, so maybe it’s okay to move on?  The real problem with moving on is, I have zero — ZERO — clue what else I could do as a career.

I like sports . . . I could do something in sports? [There’s a little George Costanza Easter egg for you.]

More seriously, when I was having a rough day at my old job, you know what I dreamed about doing instead? Being a math tutor. Weird, right?

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Maybe I’ll get lucky and my dream job will fall into my lap.  Or who knows, maybe I’ll embrace the long-term SAHM-gig, go hard with the PTA, and coach the shit out of some little league.  I have a few years to figure it out.

Until next time,

Vee

*I can’t just let my registration lapse while I take some time off.  I mean, I could, but then if I ever wanted to go back to the lawyer world, I would have to apply to get reinstated with the bar, which would be a major bummer.

 

 

 

#NaBloPoMo Day 2: None of My Exes Live in Texas

On By VeeIn Uncategorized2 Comments

I’m blogging every single day in November, and I’m totally happy to share my list of amateur daily themes if you’re interested in joining me.  In yesterday’s inaugural NaBloPoMo post, I dished about how much I lurv my Hubby.  Out of the fire and back into the frying pan: today’s theme is Ex-Boyfriends.

Do you remember all of your break ups? I cannot for the life of me remember how or why I broke up with my first boyfriend.  At least I think I’m the one who did the breaking up …

Now, I’m calling him my first boyfriend, but technically, he was my second.  I guess I just don’t really count the guy who asked me to be his girlfriend in 9th Grade, since I had my friend break up with him for me the very next day.  (If you talk during the movie we’re watching, you’re gonna get the axe. Sorry.)

And maybe you’re thinking, if I don’t remember my first breakup, it must be because I’ve had so many I can’t keep them straight.  Hah, fooled you!  I am the proud owner of two whole ex-boyfriends (three if you count Mr. Movie Talker).

I do, however, remember the How and Why of my break up with my second boyfriend.  Let’s call him Preston.  As for the How, well, technically, Preston broke up with me.  But I like to think that I expertly drove him crazy on purpose, in the hopes that he would end things so I wouldn’t have to.  Because conflict is gross, and I consider myself a nice person. (Nice enough to drive someone crazy for sixth months in order to avoid an hour of discomfort).

I remember we were on the phone — we were long distance at the time — and somehow we had finally mustered the courage to discuss whether we should call it quits.  I told him I would let him decide, and as he sat there ruminating for a few minutes, I remember praying to myself: “Please, pleaaase, please just break up with me already.”  And he did.  Thank gawd.

As for the Why, well, the main thing was that Preston was a major douche.  (I mean, we did meet at a prep school in New England, so the douchery odds were never in his favor.)  He was super privileged and oblivious to hardship, and he said something once that offended me to my core.  During one of our many phone chats, he told me that he didn’t think he could ever be friends with someone who didn’t go to college.  Ew.  Ew! My skin still crawls when I think about it — so stuck up, so uninformed.  Honestly, when Preston said that, I knew we were done.  It sounds so trivial, but it just perfectly punctuated our entirely distinct world views.

Other than the fact that we were fundamentally completely different people, it was a young relationship and success just wasn’t in the cards.  We started dating when I was a senior in high school, and he was a year behind me.  We decided to stay together long-distance when I headed off to college, because we were stupid and that’s what stupid people do.  But Preston was really judgmental and mean every time I wanted to go out and have fun with my college friends.  And after a while, it got so bad that I just decided to stay home by myself in my dorm.  Major womp womp.  And then when Preston graduated and went off to a different college, he was completely respectful and never went out with friends or got blackout drunk or fell off the map for days.  Haha just kidding, he totally did all those things!  Hypocrite.

So yeah, things went sour and we broke up during his first year of college.  We stayed friends for a while, and chatted on the phone from time to time.  Then one day he changed his Facebook profile to a picture of him nuzzling the navel of a large-chested, bikini-clad co-ed, and we never spoke again. Oh well.

Until next time,

Vee