Author: Paola Sanchez

Ah! the New Year and all the hope, energy, and resolutions it brings. I woke up on the first day of the year and browsed a bit through the news pages to find one too many articles on how to keep New Year’s resolutions. Curious, I read a few articles that offered some tips on how to keep the resolutions and one that caught my eye had advice on how to make resolutions more realistic.

 

Shouldn’t we all aim for realistic objectives? Transforming any life takes time, a long time, how can we deceive ourselves thinking that one year is enough time to, say, change a body that has indulged for too many years into a triathlete ‘s body over a meager 365 days. The article I read summed up that philosophy; it took the usual resolutions and scaled them down to doable objectives: Want to run a marathon? How about resolving to walk 30 minutes 3 times a week for a start? I had a ball reading the scaled down objectives and imagining all the people reading this or other articles, downloading apps and purchasing all sorts of gear to prepare for their “new life of 2016”.

 

Why do the media push the idea that with the New Year we need a new us, a new life, a new job, a new anything? What is so wrong with who we are? Truly, what is so wrong with our lives that we have to transform them completely? And how the hell are we supposed to become a “new me” especially when we like who we are already. I am not saying there’s no room for improvement, I am the queen of “there’s always room for improvement”, just ask my husband, but I do not understand the idea pushed onto us that with a new year we need to change it all. Why can’t we be happy with what we have and still improve our lives? If that is the message media is aiming for, then they are failing miserably. All the material I read spoke of changing it all, making it happen through realistic goals if you will, but the underlying message of the articles I read was clear: New, new, new, change, change, change. Not a single one spoke of building from what we had, of realizing how much we already have, of being grateful.

 

I am not a cynic, I do understand the renovation feeling we get when closing one chapter in our lives and starting a new one. I have been a “resolutionist” myself, with many failed attempts and a few victories.  I know and have seen what sheer will power can do and have seen people transform their lives, only it does not happen in the first couple of weeks in January.

 

True transformation is not subject to a date, place or hour, much less to the ringing in of a New Year. In all honesty how many of us can actually wake up and run 5 kilometers on January 1^st after being out all night partying to celebrate the commencement of their “new life”? Not many, at least not me. And while jumping on the wagon of starting new projects, changing habits, following the whole realistic resolutions path does sound a very attractive way to beat the holidays blues (which, by the way I believe is the real reason behind the resolutions frenzy), one thing came popping into my mind as I read and saw all those tips, articles and slide shows on resolutions for the New year: “How damn lucky I am to only want to improve certain aspects of my life, I have a life, a very good life, I do not want this “new life” they propose, how many people can say that? Most likely all of us, but all this media frenzy of thenew life is distracting us from realizing how much we already have in the old.”

 

After a tumultuous 2015 around the world, with so many economic woes, mounting humanitarian crises, clashes between countries and unforgivable losses in so many aspects, I realized I am grateful to see a new year. I wonder if the state of the world would improve if all those resolutions that aim to get what we do not have were changed for gratefulness for all the things we do have. Would we all change a lot more and a lot faster if, instead of starting the year looking forward to achieving our new set goals and attain what we think is missing in our lives, we looked back and be grateful for all the things we had during the past year? Perhaps our new year would be better if we shifted our focus from what we are missing to all that we already have. Perhaps gratefulness could power our will to reach our goals better than apps, tips and new gear; perhaps I am just too happy and relaxed after my vacation and writing a bunch of nonsense or, perhaps, I am onto something.

 

We may debate for hours if my hypothesis is valid, in the mean time I have created a list of things that I am grateful for that require new efforts to keep them in my life. Humor me, and let me call them “gratefulness powered resolutions”, I know it sounds oddand whoever is reading this is more than welcome to criticize, laugh, disregard or join them. As for me, well I do believe that when I take a look at the list below it will be easier to stick to these resolutions and enjoy same old life, than have a new app remind me to get up and move my butt in order to achieve my “new life”.

 

Paola’s gratefulness powered resolutions:

• I am grateful to have to make more time for my husband and I; it means he’s still with me and we still want to spend time with each other having fun and that our daughters are healthy and thriving and demanding love and time from their parents.

 

• I am grateful to have to be a better daughter/family member; it means I have my parents, brother and sisters, in-laws, cousins, etc., in my life.

 

• I am grateful to have to wake up earlier this year; it simply means that I can still wake up and that my daughters have grown and wake up earlier to go to school, which in turn means they can learn and live in a peaceful country where school is their priority, not surviving to see the next uncertain day.

 

• I am grateful to have to work harder this year; it means I still have the job that I love and opportunities to grow as a professional.

 

• I am grateful to have a few pounds to shed during this year and work harder at eating better; it means I had more than enough during the holidays, that I have access to healthy food and that each pound was gained in a table surrounded by family and friends who were happy and sharing.

 

• I am grateful to have to exercise more this year, it means I can move and work out, that my body can get healthier and that I have the time, will and possibility to exercise, many people cannot.

 

• I am grateful to have to save more this year; it means I have enough and will not consume mindlessly and that I am working to have a stable future.

 

• I am grateful to make an effort to see my friends more, it means I still have friends who want to see me and share their lives with me.

 

• I am grateful for having to find the time to write more; it means someone still wants to read what I write.

 

• Finally, I am grateful to have my old life in the New Year; it means I am alive.

 

 

© Paola Sanchez, 2016

 

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Just the other day I was watching Mary Poppins with my 4 year old daughter. While it was the magic, and the songs, and the penguins that enthralled the young girl, I, on the other hand, was left wondering about the Sister Suffragette scene – particularly the lyrics of the song: “Our daughter’s daughters will adore us, and they’ll sing in grateful chorus, well done sister suffragettes”.

 

Is that true?

Will our daughters and grand-daughters adore us? Will they be grateful for what we do for them now?  Will we get any recognition from them? I guess only time will tell, but no mother who cares about the future of her children can ever ignore the voice inside of her that constantly asks: Am I teaching my children the right thing to do?

 

I was still pacing up and down in wonderland with all the questions in my head when my cell phone pinged. It was the Momyers’ chat-line, we were generally chatting and commenting on one thing and the other when Ale suggested that we should all go to Vegas to celebrate her little boy’s full recovery. Anticipating that one critical question in all our heads about going on a trip, she immediately typed: “We’ll leave the kids with Jack” which prompted LOL’s and emoticons of uncontrollable laughter.

 

Why, you may wonder?

 

Because the phrase – We’ll leave the kids with Jack  – has become an inside joke for the Momyers, especially about who we are and what we do. This Jack – imaginary or real – has become a part of the Momyer lore and identity.

 

*****

It all started a few months ago when Gaby traveled with her friends in a much needed vacation, she left her girls with her husband and had a weekend of relaxation. I guess her oldest girl was quite fascinated with the fact that her mom could travel without her and only with her friends, and the trip made an impression on her that was much bigger than Gaby anticipated.

 

Some time passed and Gaby’s daughter made a friend at kindergarten, she made a friend in that age where, of course, if he is a male friend he becomes your husband when you play pretend. The friend is called Jack, and Gaby started hearing about Jack very much and very often. One day Gaby’s daughter told her mom that one day she would marry Jack and have children, Gaby humored her daughters’ conversation and asked her what would she do once she was married to Jack and had children, to which the little girl replied: “I will travel to Paris only with my friends” Gaby asked “And what about your kids?”

 

After a bit of thinking, Gaby’s daughter, without any hesitation, answered: “We’ll leave the kids with Jack”.

 

It was so en pointe that Gaby had to try hard to keep a straight face and suppress her laughter.

 

There it was, boldly said, her daughter wanted to be just like her Mother.

 

*****

Gaby could hardly contain her excitement, though. She immediately went online and posted it to the Momyer’s chat-room; and in a minute the rest of us, wherever we stood, were all falling down laughing. The underlying message of the blunt answer was so simple and refreshing: It was ok to be like mom. It was perfectly all right to travel with friends, and of course it was obvious the kids will be left with their father. There, just like that, Gaby was validated by her daughter, by another girl, a woman from a different generation and that made all the Momyers feel good.

 

While the phrase – We’ll leave the kids with Jack  – has served us quite often whenever we plan a trip only for the five of us, or at least say that we will eventually do the trip and leave our husbands with our kids, it always brings me back to the entire Sister Suffragette debacle.

 

Kids learn with our example not with our words.

 

What are we teaching our kids by being the kind of mothers and women we are today? Are we teaching our daughters and sons the right thing to do by being independent women? Will my daughters grow to become professionals and mothers and run around a hundred miles per hour like I do? Or will they simply realize that the craziness of being a working mother is not worth it and choose to be full time mothers?

 

*****

We all usually wonder because it seems like the next generation of younger women always call into question any decision we’ve made as women of the preceding generation. I am sure they don’t realize it and they usually declare their judgment (because that is exactly what they are doing, judging) by saying: “If I were you, I would never…”

 

I’ve had a few associates tell me that they would never work as hard as I do, that they would stay at home with their kids, that they would do anything but be in a competitive firm, that they would choose a simpler or less demanding job, I could go on for hours and write pages after pages.

 

Some of my Momyer group have been told the opposite by the exact same women who question my crazy life, that they would never stop working full time, that they would never follow their husbands away due to a promotion of his work, that they would never take part-time or half pay, that they would never marry a man who doesn’t help around the house, and so on. I see now that what they do not realize is the choices they have, the possibilities and the flexibility. Like the Sister Suffragettes, if some of us aren’t “crazy enough” to defy the stereotype, to break the rules, to demand a chance to prove we can do it, other women would not be able to judge our choices, simply because they would not have them. Like the many women before us who paved the way for us, we are perhaps paving the way for other women after us and trying to teach our daughters and sons that allowing women to have choices and support them in their choices is the right thing to do.

 

I have arrived at the conclusion that what my daughters choose is not important, it doesn’t matter really, and I will not fall in the cliché of saying that as long as they are happy the choice is the right one; that goes without saying. But here is what I do hope the effort of running around, the hard choice of leaving behind a career to be a full time mother, the choice of not being a wife or a mother and fully develop a professional career or the tremendous effort of a woman who attempts to do it all, brings for my daughters and their daughters: the choice. It is about the choice.

 

And I guess that is exactly why the Sister Suffragette song resonated in my mind that day, because what we teach our daughters with our actions fully impacts the person they become, but our actions also can pave the road for many other women who may not exactly adore us or comprehend our choices. If anything, we are working hard and taking on challenges so that we can set examples – examples that will help everyone have that choice. And, who knows, sometime in her life, if my daughter decides to escape to Paris with her girlfriends, and worries about her children, then she can, without hesitation, say: We’ll leave the kids with Jack.

 

*****

© Paola Sanchez

 

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For Ale and little Frankie.

 

About two months ago, the Momyers* (including me) were excited about our December reunion. I initiated the coordination to ensure we had all saved the same date to get together. How difficult is it for few friends to get together? Honestly, the planning to get together for few drinks for moms who are lawyers (Mom-yers) can resemble an international diplomatic forum because Gaby lives miles away, Brenda is in a partnership track in her firm, Marcia works from home, Ale is the most professional of mothers and has a husband who-must-travel-all-the-time-for-work international lawyer and I spending my time trying to succeed in one of the top five law firms in the city and all this while we are raising our kids. The Momyers finally came to a mutual agreement and set the date, I was so looking forward to this reunion that the pile of documents at home did not bother me, nor did the planning of my daughter’s birthday party or getting the decorations up in time for the holidays.

 

A few days went by and we were all still talking almost every day thanks to mobile phones and various apps; the excitement of our reunion never dampened even when we were juggling a hundred things at the same time: same old routines, swimming lessons, time reporting, etc., got us back into the familiar rhythm of our lives, until around noon on a Monday almost six weeks ago. I heard a ping on my phone as soon as I returned to my office with a fresh cup of coffee. It was a new message on the Momyer’s chat-line. I checked my phone, expecting the usual silly messages, instead the message on the screen had me stunned. I sank on my chair and read the message one more time. It simply said: Momyers, please pray for little Frankie, he is in the hospital fighting for his life, from Ale.

 

Ale’s youngest son was battling a virus infection with very slim chance of survival. It started as a simple infection like many toddlers get, evolved fast and had taken a turn for the worst leaving the one-year old in the intensive care unit of the hospital fighting for his life. It was hard to keep track of the immediate messages that followed, all of us (lawyers in the end) started asking Ale for information. We would have done marvelously at a trial if we had been asked to cross a witness. Hell, that witness would have admitted to anything given the speed with which we fired questions to Ale. Once all of us had some answers, we got into action. We lawyers have this “professional deformation” natural to those who study law and have practiced in an institutional setting – our instincts kick in when there is a problem and regardless of what the problem is – a lost toy that will prevent our child from sleeping that night, or blood donors required for our friend’s kid, we will make damn sure there are no excuses and whatever it is gets done. There is one universal truth in lawyer’s creed, there’s no such thing as something that cannot be done. It does not matter if it takes a Herculean effort, days without eating or sleeping, sitting at the reception of someone’s office for a month or simply a miracle, you have to get it done. So we did: we called, we tweeted, we posted, we met, we wrote, we pleased, we prayed as efficiently as we could to help Ale and Frankie.

 

*****

 

The first time I saw Ale in the hospital she looked worried but she was resolved to get her baby out of that hospital fully recovered. Ale’s ability to remain centered amidst all the chaos and uncertainty was remarkable. She was the only one in her family who kept it together, everyone else looked like they were going to lose it at some point. While the prognosis got worse, Ale remained certain that if a miracle was all that was needed to make her baby live, then she would ensure that a miracle happened. No buts, no ifs, no excuses, She was sure she should close the “deal”, against all odds.

 

I was the skeptic. Yes, faith and prayers are alright, but truly, how can we expect a miracle of that magnitude? Could we remain as positive as Ale? Could I really be part of that miracle? Well, despite my doubts, I reminded myself that we had all been part of the same legal team once when we all practiced at the same firm; the firm where we had christened ourselves as the Momyers. And as part of our training in that law firm, we were told to zero in on closing the deal and follow the leader of the team leaving aside our own doubts. This time around, Ale was the leader and we here her team and we supported her with anything we could possibly do. I convinced myself that the miracle would have to happen.

 

Ale remained unmoved through it all. Rain or shine or any disheartening news; she simply said we still have a chance, so work on it. The first few developments came about three days after she arrived to the emergency room of the hospital, her little kid endured the multiple procedures the doctors put him through. The doctors marveled at how he was progressing but could not make any promises of what could possibly come. Ale soldiered through it all. At no point in this ordeal did she ever doubt that she would be taking her baby home. Around ten days into the hospital stay, the child was sufficiently stable and making progress. Ale seemed in high spirits so I asked her and all the other Momyers – Gaby, Brenda, and Marcia – if we could have our reunion at the hospital cafeteria so that we could all meet Ale.

 

Ale agreed to see us in a restaurant around the corner once her child was asleep.  Ale walked through the door of the restaurant. She looked tired but optimistic, like a lawyer who knows she is winning although the judge has still not ruled on the matter. As always, we had the most wonderful time and we ate whatever was put on the table and we talked. While the food went in, many things came out of our chests and were put on the table. It felt great. While our reunion was not the glamorous dinner we had dreamt of – with fancy food and trendy ambience – we had gladly traded all that for a chance to just be together.

 

A week after our reunion, I stopped by the hospital to see Ale. Visitors were restricted because the little boy’s immune system was depleted and the doctors wanted to ensure that the possibility of contracting any disease was the minimum. However, the kid had survived.

 

I got a visitor’s pass thanks to my sister, who was one of the attending doctors for Ale’s kid. I stayed with Ale for a while and we talked about almost everything, and particularly about how, at no time during the ordeal, had she accepted any result other than the full recovery of her child.

 

“Perhaps is the law firm training” I said.

 

“How do you mean?” she asked.

 

“Well, you know how all those years we worked at the firm we simply could not allow ourselves to fail? Maybe we learned that we can do anything we have to. Maybe, we just cannot accept any other outcome but the one that is needed.”

 

“Perhaps it is that, who knows, because I never accepted any other outcome than this,” Ale replied.

 

“Well, whatever it is, you made a miracle happen,” I told Ale as I touched her arm.

 

“We all did,” said Ale as she hugged me.

 

I had never thought I would ever be part of a miracle, but as I headed out of the door I heard Ale call my name. I turned back and I heard Ale say, “Merry Christmas” with a big beautiful smile on her face as she held her little miracle in her arms.

 

Merry Christmas to all Momyers and their little miracles.

 

© Paola Sanchez, 2015

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* Who are the Momyers?

 

I call myself a “mom-yer” because in addition to my full-time job as a mom, I also work as a lawyer. And I am sure there are many of my kind out there – some may be a Mom-her (“Mom + Teacher); a Momger (Mom + Manager); and some Momtor (Mom + Doctor) and the list goes on. But whatever they are called, they are out there in the world, juggling memos and mobile phones; and hopefully not using the memo as a diaper.

 

This is the story of my life. I am sure you have more to share from yours.

 

Welcome to the world of “Momyers”.

 

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I have always hated lawyers’ jokes.

J

I have been the butt of lawyer jokes since the day I began law school. Some smartass has always found it funny to tell me a joke about lawyers that diminishes the profession and assumes all lawyers are crooks, heartless, or just plain corrupt and soul-less. To my astonishment, the people who tell me these jokes always feel insulted when I don’t laugh at their cruel jokes and just give them a blank stare in response. They usually just say something that sounds like: “Lighten up!” or “I don’t mean YOU” or “Oh come on, it is funny.”

To me these jokes have never been funny; they are insulting and I will never like them because if you are a good lawyer, then you are firm and seem dispassionate because you cannot and do not let your feelings come in the way while arguing or defending cases that could cost many people their jobs. Being emotional sometimes makes us lose sight of the key issues that can help win cases for the very people who make jokes about lawyers.

o
One of the worst comparisons I’ve ever heard about lawyers is that we are like dogs, mostly trained dogs. While I despise the comparison, it does give me a perfect example to make a point about lawyers’ jokes and the fact that people perceive us as cruel or compassionless. What is the main difference between a pet and a trained dog? Well, the pet dog is a companion and the trained dog -while also being a companion- knows and has been trained to defend the owner (or the owner’s properties). They are both dogs, cute furry animals who like to play and be loved, one would bark at the presence of an intruder or any sign of danger to the master, the other would stand up for his master and defend him. Both dogs are decent creatures; both with the same instinct, one trained to defend, that is all. If you had an intruder at night in your house, who would you rather have, the cute little Pug or the trained Rottweiler? The trained dog looks better, right?

0
So, having the training that lets a person hold his nerves, put his feelings aside and think of the better position for his client is not so terrible. We do not use these lawyer skills in all aspects of our life, just when we defend our clients, so why do we have to put up with the insulting jokes? And why, why do we have to be branded as compassionless human beings? And worse, can “compassionless” human beings ever teach their children to be compassionate? This thought haunted me ever since I got pregnant.

y

When I was pregnant with my first child I wondered if I could ever teach her to be a good person. I guess all parents wonder the same thing at some point. Can I raise a good person – someone who cares enough about other people to take care of them when they are feeling down? Because, let’s be honest, providing for a child to grow healthy and educated is hard enough; but raising a decent, caring human being is another level of work altogether.

p

I am sure that many people who we now consider as jerks grew up healthy, had good education and (some) even have proper manners, but they somehow missed that part of being a good and decent human being. I always wondered, being a lawyer, if I could teach my daughter to be compassionate and care for other people’s lives and feelings. I wondered whether having a mom in the legal profession would have a profound (negative) impact on her. If looking up to a mom who has to remove compassion from her everyday life in order to survive among the corporate sharks, would prevent my child from seeing the compassion that was within me. While my husband reassured me time and time again that my girl would be a good person, the fear still lingered in the back of my mind.

o
As my daughter grew older and I went back to the law firm, the fear dissipated and I saw a gentle happy child growing up, that is until I was pulled in to the deal from hell. The deal from hell took about 7 months and sucked dry all the passion I had for my profession. Everything seemed to take a turn for the worse every single week and I started working crazy hours, running from the office to our home at late hours of the evening just to kiss my little girl good night and put her to bed and then immediately fire up my laptop at home or drive back to the office; and all this while trying to keep myself healthy because I was pregnant with my second girl. Even some of the people involved with the deal were terrible, I had never dealt with people as crude and as vicious as some of them. I felt the hours drag every day; exhaustion set in and I would stare at the calendar wishing the closing date would arrive soon.

o
I missed my daughter terribly and cursed under my breath every time the meeting would stretch longer than scheduled. I felt they were robbing me of my precious time with her; time that would never come back. Nevertheless, I soldiered on as the lawyer in me blocked the emotions and tiredness and I threw myself with all the energy I could gather into the piles of documents, meetings and conference calls with my best poker face. I used all the training I knew and shot down any kindness in me in order to get the deal closed. At home I tried to turn the lawyer off, but it was hard. If I let the guard down, all the stress and craziness at the office would come tumbling down and I would break, and I just could not afford to break…or could I? In the meantime, the feeling that I was teaching my child to be a cold, calculating human being crept up from the back of my mind and kept me awake. I tried my best to be nice at home, but the stress and pressure of the deal would always make my plan to relax and just be myself and her mom at home, backfire. I grew cold and would not enjoy her little progress and baby antics fully, I was always preoccupied and I hated myself for missing her play time.

l
The answer came in the manner of a crashing server on the due date of my part of the deal. I woke up the morning of the due date feeling like I was going to leave prison. I even took time and didn’t rush out from home that morning. When I arrived to the office I put in the last touches to my document and was getting ready to send it. While trying to attach the documents, the server of the firm crashed hard! I did not panic at first, since I had seen the server crash and come back to life within a few minutes. I thought maybe this would give me some time to review the documents one last time and send them calmly. And then time started passing. First it was an hour, then two, then the IT guy told me it could take all morning…still no panic, I had until 6 p.m. to send the document. At 6 it was clear that the server was beyond repair and I was without access to the documents. The IT guy gave me a pained look and told me it would not be possible to retrieve the documents until the next morning. I thanked him and left his office, I felt my cheeks hot and the tears pooling in my eyes, I felt defeated, even when I had nothing to do with the crashing of the server. I swallowed hard and call the client to let them know that I could not deliver. In all honesty, the client was more than understanding and reassured me that it was all good and next morning was just fine. Still the feeling of defeat, the anger at failure made me pick up my stuff and head home.

i
I held the tears on the ride back home and promised myself I would not shed a tear for something so insignificant. But here’s the thing, it was significant. I had invested so many hours, sacrificed the time with my daughter, husband, family, friends to get it done in time. All the time in front of the computer and all the effort gone to hell due to a technical failure that had nothing to do with me. The frustration, exhaustion and bottled up feelings started running amok inside me. Even my unborn baby began to move furiously as I reached the door to our apartment. I sat in the couch and let all the tears out, my daughter was already asleep (or so I thought) and my husband had not arrived yet.

i
I was crying when I heard my girl’s voice: “Mommy you are good?”

o
I looked up and found myself in front of the little bright-eyed face with a mess of curls looking at me. “Yes honey, Mommy is good”

0
“You cry!”

o
“I’m ok,” I replied.

0
“Did you hit you?”

0
“Something like it sweetie, don’t worry”

o
“Tell me where, and I kiss your boo boo.”

o
That was it – that tender loving kiss of caring. With that simple gesture a wave of relief washed over me. I hugged her with all my love and let her give me kiss on my finger where she had decided my boo boo was located.

0
I carried her back to bed, tucked her in and read her stories until she was fast asleep.

9
As I left her room, I realized my fears about my child had been completely unfounded. My child was a compassionate and decent human being. She understood that everyone, even those who we think will never break, sometimes need someone to kiss their boo-boos away.

 

 

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If you have read this column before, you probably know the “Momyers.” I call myself a “mom-yer” because in addition to my fulltime job as a mom, I also work as a lawyer. As I wrote last time, there are moms who are teachers (“Mom-her”); mothers who are managers (“Mom-ger”) and the list goes on.

 

This is the story of my life. I am sure you have more to share from yours.

 

Bad Dream:

 

A bad dream woke me up last week at 5:00 am – on a Sunday.

 

Hell!

 

Not at all. Because that was a great opportunity to comfort my crying toddler as she had dreamt of a bug or of falling. We weren’t sure which one; but we went through the “bad dream” routine: get baby out of bed, beat the bad dream and the bug out of the bed (which generated mild laughter and applause on request), assure big girl it was all OK, and get her back in bed. I looked at the sleepy angel with her half smile. I thought it was a great moment to catch up on some cuddling with my little baby. You can never have enough cuddling with a kid.

 

And that little devil pushed me aside – saying she wanted to sleep. Now she was asleep again and I was wide awake at 5:15 am on a Sunday.

 

Hell!

 

And I dreamt of me in my warm and cosy bed – sound asleep; snoring like a man!

 

I went to the kitchen. It’s funny how we automatically walk to the kitchen when we moms have nothing to do.  I took some water from the tap and the started up a pot of coffee. The laptop screen on the kitchen table stared at me. Work has kept me very busy lately. I stared back at the screen. I was forgetting something. What was it? Oh my God! I had forgotten “Mom-yer.”

 

How could I forget myself?

 

And then I almost found myself thanking the bad dream of my toddler for waking me at this hour. How could I?

 

Well, I could because it was not until now, in the past few months, that I finally sat down – in peace. Everyone was asleep, except for my dear cat Jinx. This is perhaps the only time that I can have a warm cup of coffee –from first sip to the last – without having to chase a toddler in a million different directions inside the house. It is only at this “unearthly” hour that I finally had some time to write The Momyer Adventures.

 

And my heart went out to my mother and all our mothers who just wanted some time to be by themselves and be with no one else. I finally understood them… at this hour. This is a real luxury item – this thing called Time. And just as I was vanishing into a haze of fond memories, the smell of coffee filled the kitchen. Wake up and smell me, it seemed to say. And I didn’t want to… because the smell of coffee took me back to another time… another dream.

 

Good Dream:

 

About 5 or 6 years ago, fresh out of graduate school, I got a job in a big firm with what felt like big bucks back then and a nice (not so big) office with a window! It was exciting and also a little scary to start at a new place; challenging as I put my knowledge into practice and miserable because I would eat lunch all by myself. I guess the worse part of being the “new person” in the office is that you can hear the gossip but not be a part of it. I would often hear the chatter of others in the hallways as they shared stories of their daily lives. Not that I had anything new to add, but at least in my case, I did not have the guts to approach them in the middle of all their camaraderie and then try to fit in.

 

I am not sure of the exact date and time when it happened; but, one day one of my co-workers peeked into my office at lunch hour and asked if I would like to join the other girls for lunch. Yes!

 

And that day at lunch I met a whole bunch of my colleagues – the other lawyers at the firm. And one thing I remember was that none of us had children.

 

As time went by, the lunches with the girls became more frequent. Then, there were the informal, accidental sharing of a few minutes here and there as we crossed paths in the office on our way to retrieve a file or on the way out of a partner’s office, and the occasional shopping trip at lunch hour. And then started the regular cup of coffee around 7 pm – the fuel that kept us going through the long hours of late evening work before someone called it a day and we all exited the office together. Casual chats about clients we were handling slowly evolved into therapeutic catharsis about horrible bosses, and chauvinistic male colleagues, and then moved on to the troubles of dieting, working out or excuses for not working out, boyfriends, husbands and eventually about our dreams for our lives.

 

I do not know if it was the shared hatred of bad bosses or the bonding over shared dreams, but our friendship grew stronger even before anyone had time to notice or give it a name. By the time I left that firm I had one of the best groups of friends I could ever wish for. It is still my support group and till date remains my source of sanity; and is also the inspiration for this column. You could almost say these were the women – the midwives- who helped me give birth to this column.

 

As our lives evolved, so did our friendship and our dreams…

 

Sweet Dreams:

 

We were already at a point where we would get together and chat for hours about everything and anything. We were no longer co-workers; we were comrades, rather com-madres. I remember when most of my friends left from graduate school, and I stayed behind with a job, what I missed the most about college was spending time with my friends. No wonder Facebook became an instant hit.

 

While on the topic on friends, I have also always wondered why women are so prone to having a group of female friends? To me, it seems like men are better at being alone (with a glass of whiskey or a bottle of beer) and women, well women, would rather have another woman to talk to? I also learned that regardless of the sociological or psychological reason behind women’s need to bond and group with other women, there are perhaps biological ones.

 

By this time Gaby from our group had given birth to her first daughter. And something changed (or a lot in her case and ours because it was our first birth) when Gaby became a Mom. Gaby, who was always game for some silliness and shoes, was now a lot busier, and her concerns had changed radically. Before we had time to talk to her about how much we missed her silliness and shoe-talk; we found that Marcia, Ale, Brenda and I, all of us, were pregnant too. And our delivery dates were fairly close to each other.

 

And then I realized there was one more reason why women need to bond with each other. Pregnancy was joyful, but what was most comforting was to be able to tell each other about our fears and hopes as future mothers. Things we could not talk about even with our husbands. And while we worried about our babies we also had to get the billable hours in.

 

We were still working, and we could not concern ourselves too much with the drama of becoming a new mother while closing deals. And that is exactly what brought us closer together. We could not complain to clients about swollen feet, but we could come back from a meeting and moan and groan all we wanted about swollen feet, not fitting into our clothes and having to go to meetings with crazy clients. Yes, the client is the crazy one, not the pregnant working mother. We became the support that the other desperately needed. And we relished the nights we could all go out by ourselves – no one else. These girls, who had first invited me for a simple lunch, had now become the most important people in my life.

 

And then we all gave birth and became instant jugglers – juggling new mom status with good partner for our significant others, friend status with daughter, sister status with co-worker and all of us were lawyers wishing that we had someone advocating for us.

 

And we found that we had all become like Gaby – lot busier and our concerns seemed to have changed radically. Our schedules would allow us to meet only once every quarter; and as Marcia put it, we truly sucked as a support group. But every time we got together we came out of it feeling refreshed and rejuvenated. I learnt another reason why women should bond with other women – because if that bond between them is strong, they can truly make each other feel so young.

 

Waking up:

 

I caught myself staring at the laptop screen and the words on the screen stared back at me. How long did I type? Had I typed a very long column? I tried to take a sip out of my cup. It was out of coffee. It was getting too close to the waking hour and the beginning of the daily grind in the house. The clock struck seven times. And the computer said I had mail. It was from one of the Momyers; she was awake too and had shared one of the latest compliments from her kid: “Mom, can you style my hair the way you do on your bad hair days?”

 

Aaah! The joy of being a working mom!

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