Because it's been way too long since I posted pictures

These are from September, when we FINALLY did our first-ever professional family photo shoot.

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Corporate law practice lesson: Call the client for context

During my first year at The Firm, I would occasionally write about a lesson I had learned about practicing law. For instance, read and pay attention to every word (and don't skip over the appendix, the bottom of the email that you think only contains a signature, or the sections of the statute that probably don't apply); point out things you think are confusing or wrong (and don't assume that there must be some reason you don't understand, or that if it were important somebody more experienced would have already fixed it); and one I still repeat to myself: if you screw up, admit it and try to fix it immediately. The coverup is worse than the crime! (Not that I've covered anything up. But somehow the first thought that runs through my head after I get that pit in my stomach, realizing I've made a mistake, is that if I'm lucky nobody will ever find out. And then I have to be stern with myself and deal with it like a grown-up.) Another one I didn't write about, but that I think counts, is: Don't be afraid of recycling paper. Print, print, print. My eyes would fall out if I stared at a screen even more than I do now, I'm a more accurate reviewer when I'm looking at paper, and having an almost-correct version of a document is not good enough when I need the correct version in front of me.

Now that I'm experienced enough that clients often contact me directly, or partners ask me to handle matters for unfamiliar clients without giving me context first, I've learned a new lesson: to be more proactive about calling clients and getting context from them before tackling an assignment. Before I can draft an agreement, for instance, I need to understand who the client is, including their business and their corporate structure; who the other party is and the client's relationship with them; what the course of negotiations has been like; what the business deal is; what open issues exist; what the client's concerns and goals are; and what they anticipate may happen in the future. Sometimes I'm reluctant to call the client for context, for a variety of reasons. I assume that the client or the partner would have given me the context I need when making the request. I don't want to waste time and money by calling the client, especially if it's a simple contract or they want it back very quickly. If my contact at the client is the CEO or other high-level executive, I feel like an unscheduled phone call is intrusive unless I know it's a key deal for them, and scheduling a call may take a while. If I don't know the client very well, I don't want them to feel like they have to start from scratch with me when someone else from my firm should already know this stuff about them.

What I've realized is that none of those reasons matter. It doesn't even matter whether they're valid or silly. I need that context to do my job. Preparing a draft first and then talking to the client about it does not save time or money. It results in unnecessary back and forth with the client, as I inevitably learn something important during the conversation that needs to be folded into the agreement. Clients typically don't think about how much context is necessary. It's my job to follow up with them as needed, and part of that may mean resetting their expectations about how quickly I can get them the agreement.

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Chaotic Christmas

We're down south at my sister-in-law's for Christmas. She has two babies, an almost-2-year old aptly nicknamed "The Hurricane" and a 1-year old who lets out an ear-splitting shriek whenever she is happy, sad, excited, angry, wants attention, or feels like shrieking. Neither sleeps through the night. The TV is constantly blaring (or at night, lullabies are blaring from the babies' room on infinite repeat). The kids have all taken turns being sick. X developed a hacking cough, K threw up last night before passing out. So, while it's been nice spending time with the family, it hasn't been a relaxing vacation.

Yesterday K and I were out for a walk, looking at the Christmas decorations in the neighborhood. I pointed out a Nativity scene. He asked what it was, and I explained that it showed baby Jesus being born. "Who's Jesus?" he asked. (This time I had an answer prepared, unlike the last time he asked me this and I passed the buck to Grandma.) "Jesus lived a long time ago," I said. "He taught everyone to love each other and to treat other people the way you would want them to treat you. People thought what he said was so important that they wrote it down and still remember it and talk about it. Christmas is Jesus's birthday, so people put up pictures of baby Jesus at Christmastime." "If baby Jesus comes," declared K, "I'm running away." "What?? What are you talking about?" "If baby Jesus comes I'm RUNNING AWAY," insisted K. "Why?" "Because then we'll have FOUR BABIES." I explained that baby Jesus wasn't going to come live with us and  be his new little brother, he was born a long time ago and this was just his birthday. But K was still suspicious.

We had K christened in the Catholic church, in accordance with our pre-marriage agreement that we'd raise the kids Catholic. I told JW I'd cooperate, but he was in charge of the kids' religious upbringing. My only stipulation was that they be taught to respect other people's beliefs, and my un-Catholic hope was that they would also question the idea that what they heard in church was the capital-T Truth. (Partly because I think it's dangerous to blindly believe what you're told, and partly because I don't think you can honestly respect other people's beliefs if you're not willing to allow that they might be true.) But with one lapsed Catholic parent and one atheist parent, K has so far grown up in a religious vacuum. I tried dragging him to the local UU church a few times, but gave up because he was so resistant (and JW wouldn't come, so I spent the whole time running after K trying to coax him to cooperate), and I can count on one hand the number of times he's attended church (all holidays, plus his own christening). When he comes across a reference to prayer in a book, or God, he has no idea what it means. He asked me what "pray" means once and I told him it meant being grateful for what you have and wishing for good things to happen, especially for other people. But we haven't had a real conversation about God yet. I feel like telling him "some people believe this, other people don't" diminishes genuine faith, and I don't want to sow the seeds of disbelief so early. At the same time, I don't want to be a hypocrite. I don't believe in God and dislike many things about established religions. I guess we'll cross that bridge when we come to it, and hopefully he won't be proselytized as much as I was as a kid. There are a lot more dark-skinned people around where we live than where I grew up.

So. Back to Christmas. We woke up and snuggled in bed together. K kept mentioning that as one of his favorite parts of the day, and JW and I were happy that he would rather snuggle with us than run downstairs and tear open his presents. K got a remote-controlled car, a remote-controlled helicopter, and ten little Matchbox cars. I gave him a bunch of new books, which he has declined to read. Santa gave him a toy Mater (from the Cars movie, which he refuses to watch because it's too scary, and yet asks for the toys by name) and a Batman book. Santa also left him a little scavenger hunt around the living room and kitchen. After initially being annoyed that he had to read on Christmas, he loved it and said he hoped Santa would do that every year. (The scavenger hunt literally took me five minutes to put together. For that effort-to-delight ratio, I'll definitely do it again next year.) X got a new toy to chew on and a gift card to Carter's for some non-hand-me-down clothes. I made sweet potato cinnamon rolls, but as usual I didn't put enough goo in them or enough glaze on top. Next year I swear I will follow the recipe. K and I played outside by the creek.

JW repeatedly tried and failed to get K to watch "Emmet Otter's Jug Band Christmas," to the point where it moved beyond just K annoying Daddy and became a running joke. Earlier today K turned to me and said, "You know what I like?" "What?" "You," he replied, giving me a kiss. "You know what I don't like?" he continued. I grinned and we both said at once, "Emmet Otter's Jug Band Christmas!" "Seriously, though," I told him, "how do you know you don't like it if you won't even try watching it? Why won't you watch it? It would make Daddy so happy." "If I see Emmet Otter's Jug Band Christmas," he replied, "I will DELETE IT." Seems to me that the logical next step is to repeatedly tell him that baby Jesus wants him to watch Emmet Otter's Jug Band Christmas.

The trip down here went amazingly smoothly. So smoothly that we're bracing for disaster on our return home tomorrow. I will be a little surprised if we don't stagger in the door soaked in our children's bodily fluids. Maybe it'll be a Christmas miracle.

Next year I'm pushing for a family holiday cruise. No cleaning, no cooking, we'll hand the kids off and drink margaritas by the pool. Now that sounds like a vacation.

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X and K update

X had a doctor's appointment last week. He weighs 21 pounds! He shot up from 15th percentile in height and 30th in weight at his last appointment, three months ago, to 50th in height and 70th in weight. No wonder he outgrew his 9 month clothes so quickly.

 

X is now honest-to-goodness crawling, belly up off the floor. True to form, though, he does not crawl unless he has to. Instead, he wants to walk, walk, walk (holding my hands). Yesterday as we walked around and around the house, we kicked a red ball in front of us and he laughed every time it went rolling away.

 

K is enjoying the pre-holiday festivities (especially his chocolate Advent calendar). We went to a friend's cookie-decorating party over the weekend and he created Technicolor cookies drowned in so much frosting you couldn't pick them up without getting covered in it.

 

I proudly reported to my parents that K is reading everything in sight, from signs to cereal boxes. K overheard and said, with a perfect Yogi Bear inflection, "You are totally right, Mommy. I read everything I see!" He never liked to flip through books on his own for fun, and he never pretended he was reading when he had actually memorized the book. I thought all little kids did that. But now he sits there and reads on his own, and since he whispers the words to himself I can tell he's actually understanding what he reads. Often, after sounding out the words, he'll go back and read the sentence again ("Happy... birthday... shout... shouted... Pooh. 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY,' shouted Pooh!") I love that.

 

Recently I was part of a conversation with two older women who were talking about how things are so much harder when your kids are teenagers. They both agreed that their kids went through a phase where they seemed like they hated the parents and were so difficult to be around. One woman whose kids are grown now reassured the other, whose kids are currently teens, that it's all worth it when they come back in their twenties and thank you. The whole conversation made me grateful for my two cute little guys. Once in a while I tell K I have to get lots of hugs in now, because in ten years he won't want me to hug him so much. He always says, "Don't worry, Mommy. I'll still want lots of hugs!" I would put it in writing, but we all know that 4-year olds don't have the capacity to enter into a contract. Because in ten years he'll be a different person.

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Brass ring around your neck

Last night I emailed a partner around midnight with a document he had asked me to review. He wrote back five minutes later. This morning he responded to the usual hi-how-are-you with his usual grin, as he replied, "Exhausted! I feel terrible." Not that midnight is an atypical time for us to be working. I'm guessing it wasn't his first late night this week and it won't be his last.

This is an impolitic thing to say, but with the exception of one person who doesn't have kids, all the junior partners I know often seem like they're about to snap from stress or keel over from exhaustion. I have a hard time seeing how I'm supposed to aspire to be them.

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Playdate

At K's playdate yesterday, he emerged from the closet where he had been hiding and wailed, "Kaden scratched my ear!" His friend's response was to run away to the corner, yelling, "I didn't! I didn't do anything!" K came to me, crying, and I led him out of the room while Kaden's mom talked to him in the closet.

K's ear was fine. He was mostly upset because of his friend's reaction. "What if you were playing and your friend suddenly said you hurt them? How would you feel?" He considered this. "Bad," he replied. Ordinarily I would go farther with this and ask him why. But I know what K would say. He would feel bad that he hurt his friend. Instead I replied, "Maybe that's how Kaden feels. Sometimes when we do something wrong by accident, we feel bad about what we did, and we also feel scared that people will be mad at us." He understood, stopped crying, and started playing by himself, occasionally trying to get his friend to join in. His friend took a long time to calm down, but K was patient and eventually the two boys were running around laughing again.

Later, K's grandmother told me that she had been pretending to cry about something silly, and K laughed at first but then got worried and said, "Grandma, you're joking, right? Are you really sad?"

Sometimes I wish K weren't so sensitive. I see so much of myself in him and that was not a trait that served me well during my childhood. But I also love how caring he is. He'll need that emotional maturity when his friends are making fun of him for refusing to watch the terrifying Cars movie.

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