Mommy Tracks » Lawyer Life

Lessons in the Law

Leo — Mon, 28 Sep 2009 12:56:24 +0000

A few years ago, I found that my legal education came in really handy for those times when I needed to cross-examine my whiny kids. Lately, I’ve discovered a new use: providing honest answers to all kinds of tough questions. Some examples:

***
KID: Mom, how come we talked about Jesus at pre-school, but we don’t talk about him at school?”
ME: Because of the Constitution.

***
KID: Why do I have to sit in a booster seat?
ME: Minn. Stat. Sect. 169.685, subd.5(a) (2009) - you have to sit in one until you’re 8 years old or 4′9″ tall.
KID: None of my friends sit in a booster seat.
ME: I have read the whole statute; it does not have a “but my friends aren’t doing it” defense.

***
KID: Can girls marry other girls, and boys marry other boys?
ME: In Iowa.

I’m still not sure if it justifies the six figure debt, but it is a nice perk. Feel free to add your own suggestions in the comments.

I’m only on a 1/4-vacation, but do not call me.

Leo — Tue, 24 Jun 2008 02:30:15 +0000

Every once in awhile I get a reminder about what life was like back on that BigLaw partnership track. Today I received the following out-of-office auto reply from a lawyer:

I’ll be on semi-vacation until June 30. If I don’t respond right away to your email, please call me on my cell phone: ###-###-####.

Believe me, I understand that constant-availability and rapid-response is fast becoming necessary for client-retention and advancement in most careers. But isn’t there any time that’s sacred any more?

I’m Now a Former Employee of a Former Firm.

Leo — Wed, 11 Apr 2007 17:04:23 +0000

The law firm whose partnership track I left – as noted in this blog’s sidebar - announced yesterday it’s closing up shop. As a colleague put it – “It’s kind of like hearing your high school closed down. You don’t want to go back, but you like knowing it’s still there.”

Practically speaking, and related to blog purposes, I wonder how it looks for a Mommy Tracker when the bulk of her former career was at a firm that no longer exists…

It’s a man’s world… unless it’s a woman’s world.

Leo — Fri, 27 Oct 2006 17:07:00 +0000

I remember my first deposition like it was yesterday. Commissioned by his insurance company, my law firm represented the defendant, a landlord, in a slip and fall case.

The Plaintiff, Mary, had fallen on the slippery, ice-covered front steps at her friend’s apartment building. She was suing my client because she had some ‘soft tissue’ injuries (translation – she had difficult-to-pinpoint back pain) and insisted that my client could have done a better job clearing the ice from the step.The deposition would be at Mary’s lawyer’s office: a small, tattered, yellow-brick building in the parking lot of one of the local supermarkets.

I would ask Mary all kinds of questions about every time she’d ever fallen down. And I was positively giddy to inquire of Mary whether she knew that she lived in Minnesota – a place where from October to May it’s a safe bet that everywhere you walk is covered with a sheet of glare ice. I was ready. I had reviewed all the records, donned my most grown-up suit, and I couldn’t wait to take a stab at Mary.

I arrived at the “office in the parking lot” ready for blood. I checked in with the receptionist. She was a woman of about 40 with darkly died brown hair, bright red lipstick, matching fiery fingernails and a raspy voice indicating she might actually just be on break from her real job – chain smoking in the parking lot.

“Can I Help You,” Smoky barked with little interest. She’d fixed one eyeball on computer solitaire and glanced up at me with the other.
“I’m here for the Johnson deposition,” I proudly declared.
She looked up, grinned a yellow smile of fake pleasantry, picked up the phone, and punched in an extension.
“Hi Bob,” she announced. “Yeah, I just wanted to let you know the court reporter is here for the Johnson deposition – do you want me to send her in to the conference room to set up?”I wish I could report that more than seven years later, in a world where ½ of law students are women, the receptionists of the world started anticipating the possibility that a young woman might be a lawyer, but it hasn’t happened. My women lawyer friends and I have been known to gripe at great length, constantly analyzing the collective expectations founded on a basic assumption that our work is man’s work, and the work of the court reporter is a woman’s work.

It turns out that jumping tracks didn’t save me from this issue. I was reminded of those days and conversations when I dropped my son off at preschool this morning. I saw a sort of lost looking manI hadn’t seen before wandering the hall with a little girl from my son’s class.
“Is this the Pre-K room?” the young man inquired of the teacher.
“Yes, this is the pre-k room,” she replied, “ you must be Ellie’s dad – -“
“Actually, no” he interrupted, as we all started blankly at him. “I’m her new nanny.”

Where the Green Grass Grows…

Leo — Thu, 28 Sep 2006 23:16:00 +0000

On the Mommy Track it’s easy to spend a lot of time thinking about the things I miss about work. Sometimes my longing for a solo trip to the bathroom, an uninterrupted telephone conversation, or an assistant to file those important papers overwhelms me. In fact, there are days I’d trade the doctor’s appointment on the calendar for a losing motion before a cranky judge, just for a change of pace. After all, as they say, the grass is always greener on the other side.However, in my ongoing (and occasionally successful) quest to maintain an atmosphere of positivity, I took a minute today to jot down a few Things I Can Do At Home That I Couldn’t Do At Work…

Chase my assistant down the hall, throw him on the floor and blow kisses on his belly until his infectious giggling turns to near-hysterics.
Wear sweatpants and slippers to a picnic lunch in the middle of the lunchroom floor to watch a spontaneous afternoon showing of Barbie and the Magic of Pegasus.
Have all the lawyers on my floor line up to play Simon says, make them walk like penguins, growl like bears, spin like ballerinas and then send them shamefully back to their offices when “Simon didn’t say.”
Negotiate settlement in a big case merely by proffering the plaintiffs a bag of Scooby Doo fruit snacks and an apple juice cooler.
Wash opposing counsel’s mouth out with soap when he is rude, disrespectful or offensive.
Tear the cushions off the conference room chairs to build a fort, knock people over and stand up on the table chanting “I’m the King of the Castle, You’re the Dirty Rascal.”
Debate the finer points of whether Obi-Wan or Anakin is a superior wielder of the lightsaber and which is the preferred version of Gameboy. (Umm, actually I probably could have found some guys in IT for these conversations).
When I run out of good reasons why someone should stay late to help me finish that overdue brief resort to simply “because I said so.”
Get kisses and hugs for no reason at all except “just cuz I love you mommy.”

The Mommy AKA Perry Mason

Leo — Thu, 14 Sep 2006 11:24:00 +0000

Sometimes, usually when I am cleaning the kitchen floor AGAIN because my 18 month old, whom I call Kong (picture big brown eyes crashing through brother’s Lego towers with Polly Pocket clutched tightly in his grip), has dumped juice out on the floor AGAIN, you can hear me muttering under my breath. If you listen closely you’ll probably hear things like “seven years of [expletive] education, all that [expletive, expletive] debt, and here I am mopping up apple juice – AGAIN.”

Today, though, I found a fun, new, stay-at-home use for my legal education (or at least for my penchant for TV crime dramas). I was on about round three of scooping up miscellaneous little men and returning them to their habitats when I suggested to my five year old that he should help me pick up.

“Oh,” he sighed dramatically, “all I do is clean up.”
Yeah, right, I thought to myself staring at him.
“Why do we have to clean up?” he whined, adding this kicker: “we always do what you want to do.”

Then the mommy got an idea.

“Is that so?” I said. “What did we have for breakfast?”
“Waffles.”
“Isn’t it true that you chose waffles for breakfast this morning?”
“Yes.”
“After breakfast – who came over to our house?”
“Howard.”
“Howard came over because you invited him, isn’t that right?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Then you watched Star Wars – it’s fair to say that’s your favorite movie, right?”
“Yes. Well, Episode 4.”
“So, now let me get this straight, before noon today you: chose the breakfast food, invited a friend over, and picked out a movie?”
“Yes, but…”
“No, I’m asking the questions here!! So it’s true that all day long, actually, we’ve done what you want to do? I WANT THE TRUTH!”

I’d like to be able to report that at this point the defense rested and awaited a favorable verdict from the jury, but, alas, the witness just stomped up to his room muttering under his breath about how all he does around here is clean.

Incidentally, perhaps NASA could solve its dilemma (described below) by just breaking down the adhesive properties of apple juice and using it instead of bolts. There is nothing stickier.