What a difference a year makes......

I realised that I failed to celebrate or even notice the auspicious first anniversary of blogging about Life After Law (9th December 2010) but now that my brain has caught up (I've been watching a *lot* of Nativity plays) I have reflected a little on the last year since I wrote that first blog post.

Much has changed.  The littlest Non Lawyer has had a phenomenal year since I started blogging.  We've had a diagnosis (finally) of Autistic Spectrum Disorder and at the same time a year where his inclusion and achievement at school has exceeded our wildest expectations.  Simultaneously, surreptitiously, some of the  aspects of living with autism have become more pronounced, distinctive, obvious and challenging - and of course we've all been managing it all for another 12 months.  So sometimes we feel a bit tired.  But nothing could have prepared us for the unbelievable sense of triumph we feel on his behalf - the shared elation that we the parents and Big Sister feel for him when he, for example, takes part in his Nativity play in costume, on stage and joins in - or, actually, just as huge - wears his own clothes to school on non-uniform day (because school not in uniform was Just Wrong for a long time).

I've come to terms with the conclusive (mutually goodwilled) formal severing of contractual relations with The Firm and the lapse of my inclusion on the roll of solicitors because instead of filling out a "keep me on the list" form I filled out complicated statement of special educational needs documents. It's almost as if Lawyer Me never was! (Almost, you can take the girl out of the law......)

I've had space and time to adapt to all the roles my life includes today: wife, mother, carer, ASD "expert" (self taught), volunteer barista & waitress (a satisfying improvement on my university era attempts at the coffee waitressing role- think Rachel in Friends!), youthwork administrator, friend.  Singer.  The question "what do you do" (real meaning "who are you") is still hard to answer.   (Occasionally I just Can't Help Myself and answer "lion tamer")

I have also reached another anniversary - the passing of 12 months since I began studying with Wonderful Singing Teacher.  I've learned a huge amount (at least a thousand times or more still to learn) about singing technique, performance, the unexpected (and colourful) perils and pitfalls of going into the opera business.  But more than that I've learned how important music is to me - how vital singing is to my ability to understand myself enough to answer the question "who am I" - and that is whether anyone else hears it or not (tree falling in the forest etc, very "zen")

So what next? Dear reader, you will have to watch this space. But I'll be singing as I go. While my hyper
-sensitive-to-sound autistic child asks me to keep it down!

Barbara or Margot? A bit of frivolous nonsensery.......

Ok, so just asking this question dates me.  If you, like me, grew up watching and loving the antics of Tom, Barbara, Margot and Jerry then you are a Seventies baby!

(If you didn't then click here to find out more or even watch a clip on the ubiquitous YouTube!)

Anyway over the (seemingly now finally gone) summer a love of gardening welled up within me and I seem to have discovered surprisingly green fingers.  I have long owned a book on keeping chickens but fear that my precious veggie crops would be ruthlessly marauded by my fictional chickens, leaving the garden looking as if it had fallen victim to unusually precise and anti-vegetable napalm strikes. I have started thinking about what and when to plant for next "season"....hampered only by my ignorance about  different types of plants or their care but I really really really like planting stuff and watching it grow.  And then, preferably, eating it. (I proudly presented a guest with a beautiful lettuce and herb salad only to be appalled when a small but unmistakeable caterpillar made a sprightly break for freedom from the depths of the salad bowl.  Needless to say she had already eaten her portion, but, made of stern stuff, she didn't even flicker.)

The financial benefits are undoubted - given my "retirement" from law and the Boy's current carrot crunching obsession I better start  intensive cultivation of root veg! The anti-stress benefits seem to work for all of us too.  But, I just like gardening, I even occasionally listen to Gardeners QT.......

I plant things at the wrong times, I put them in the wrong places, I don't really know what I am doing.  I am  relaxed and nonchalant in wellies at all times.  I aspire to livestock.  I'd quite like to put veggie crops on the front garden (this appalled more Margot-ish types, and raised the question of that most unspeakable of crimes: vegetable theft!!)

I am, clearly, a Barbara.  But then again, on stage singing opera in as big a frock and as much bling as possible, I do channel my inner Margot.  Do you think anyone would notice if I had wellies under my posh frock.....

Ten Year Goggles......

Now as the sort of person who likes to plan IN DETAIL for the short, medium and long term, I've been learning recently that letting go of those sort of planning paroxysms is healthy, liberating - in fact necessary.  I can get so caught up in The Plan that I forget to enjoy the moment, miss slightly unexpected opportunities and feel anxious when the plans go awry!

Of course I had an excellent "ten year plan" as a student: Law degree (check), Solicitors exams (check), training contract (check) - so far so good, six years accounted for.  This tied in with my life plans - marriage at 25 (check), children (check, two by age 30 - one of each, extra symmetry!).

And really that is where the planning paralysis set in.  Having children is such a leap into the unexpected for all parents, let alone when autism is part of the package. Adapting to today requires a certain amount of taking your beady eye off tomorrow .  My faith helps me do this, but my old habits of agonising about next year, three years, ten years etc are hard to break and if I don't stamp down on those thoughts, I know I am heading for a dizzying, relentless turbine of anxiety-generation. (Gaviscon anyone).

In addition it's easy when you are faced with challenging circumstances to become defined by overcoming them.  At times like that you need perspective, and to push the horizon back out again to include all the wonderful opportunities that are still available to you and the unexpected triumphs, pleasures and diversions that await you. And this, in turn, enables you to enjoy all the rewards and pleasures that are already in your day to day with you but that you have started to overlook.  The joy of life with small children, and of their wonder at the world (combined with their brutal honesty......). Sometimes looking at the bigger picture enables you to rediscover some of the smaller detail!  To allow yourself to just stop and smell the roses (or, as the case may be, blow bubbles)

And so, recently, someone told me to put my "ten year goggles" back on!(*)  To contemplate and look at the bigger picture, including the stuff that could be down the line in my future, including the domesticity that is currently an overwhelming part of my job description, but not solely restricted to that.  Self-expression, personal growth, fulfilment, achievement and, yes, singing.  I love it and it is a key stress management, brain training exercise as well as a huge part of how I express my faith too.

I am and will always be mummy, but I am also and will always be......me.  I don't lose myself in parenting or in dealing with autism, I bring myself to all of those situations, but it has taken a little bit of perspective to rediscover that truth.

So thank you, wise friend, for reminding me to continue to be me as well as being mummy.

I'm off to blow bubbles on the trampoline.

(PS: in my head ten-year goggles look exactly like a WW2 flying helmet & goggles - Mr LAL's influence you see, all is history)

(*) and also to get hold of a cheap tea-set - equally valuable advice.

Life After Law: Exit Complete.

Well, gentle reader, this is it.  I have received my P45 from The Firm.

(For the benefit of any readers not in the UK, the P45 is a short, yet illuminating document comprising a salary and tax "season roundup" - played 15, won 10, lost 3, drew 2)

Eventually, and after a period of grace during which The Firm gallantly refrained from mentioning the "W" word, I came to the point of having a talk with The Firm's very supportive and understanding head of HR.  We talked about the reality of how life works these days and how the needs and requirements of our family exist alongside the business needs of a commercial employer.  Which is to say that they don't.

The best thing for us is for me to be mummy.  Just mummy.  I mean this as a job description, not as a cry for help of the "I'm losing my identity" variety.  I have found that I have rediscovered that I am "me" and that, perhaps surprisingly, that inner self isn't defined by being mummy etc but that I bring that inner self to bear on everything I do. This has been quite cheering, actually.

So the upshot of me focusing on one employer (read previous blogs about inhumane and despotic management style of most children compared to most Law Firms) not two is that: We don't need to worry about trying to find the right after school childcare solution that provides one to one support for the Boy, or about how stressful it would be for him to have last minute stand ins (friends, relatives) if he is ill, or there is teacher training, or a strike, or about beautiful daughter losing out on mummy time even more..................and on those hideous leave-you-limp-as-lettuce days which most parents of children with autism will recognize, I can, if I need to, return home after the school run and sit and cry for 40 minutes or so after which I have a cup of tea and gather myself back together. Which causes consternation in your average office.

So now we are back(with a vengeance) to the Top Five questions about giving it all up.

In summary:
1. So do you miss it?
2. What do you DO all day?
3. So when are you going back?
4. I bet you miss the money, don't you (solicitors earn a fortune don't they)?
5. So what are you going to do NOW?

Seems as good a time as any to reconsider. Thusly:
1. No
2. Space restricts answer, read blog posts.
3. Maybe never, no time soon.
4. We're cash poor, time rich.  Have started growing veg. May send children chimney sweeping.
5......................................................................................watch this space.  Right now, have a cuppa. (No crying)

Starstruck & Unsophisticated at the Opera

As you may know, gentle readers, I do rather love a bit of opera. Singing it, listening to it, watching it, trying to understand the complicated "swapped at birth"/"disguise" story lines and so on.  Imagine my excitement on receiving a coveted ticket to Tosca at the Royal Opera House (from a friend who basically lurks, submerged except for his nostrils, on the ROH box office website all the time waiting to pounce on unbelievably cheap tickets to amazing shows - read his blog, he may give away his secret!) 

I was lucky as a child to experience musicals, plays, ballet, dance, concerts and so on of wide and varied standards.  School productions, local shows (including a panto which turned out unexpectedly to be so "blue" my parents told me it had finished at the interval), musicals on the big stage in Manchester, London and once, thrillingly, on Broadway.  I saw Welsh National Opera's "The Marriage Of Figaro" - my first live opera and still my favourite opera. All of these were important, special, stand-out occasions to me, the memories of which are clear and cherished.

As a family we always watched any music competition that was televised, and other signal landmark events: carols from Kings at Christmas, Last Night of the Proms.  I grew up to a mixed "shuffle" soundtrack from which various things stand out in my sepia tinted aural memory: Benny Goodman (dad plays clarinet), The Beatles, Abba, The Carpenters as well as Mozart, Weber, Beethoven, Fred Astaire's back catalogue, and so on and so on.  (Not so much Rock or Funk, but hey).  So for me music has always been part of our daily life but also part of our treats, celebrations, once-in-a-lifetimes.

My point is this: Has this made me take any of it for granted? De-mystified any of it, made it a bit everyday? Simply: No.

Tosca was simply amazing.  Bryn Terfel was astonishing - compelling, sinister, menacing, totally authoritative even to his last gasp as a murder victim.  Angela Georghiu's "big diva moment" - her second act Aria as she pleads for her lover's life - (and which one assumes she has performed many times more often than the role complete, being a crowd pleasing concert favorite) was captivating and yielded "mid-action" applause (interestingly, as I dimly perceive, clapping at the "wrong" time is a hazard for the unwary - in fact one dauntless clapper was audibly shushed by more right thinking operagoers during act one, although the audience was not at all inhibited about showing their approval at the end of the act - roaring - or during the curtain calls - foot stamping, shouting, whooping).

Antonio Pappano's conducting, (of which, given our "restricted view" eyrie we had a bird's eye view) was unknowably and yet in some way palpably the dynamo of unstoppable energy keeping the whole thing moving relentlessly and powerfully forward.  The (incidentally extremely beautiful) Jonas Kaufmann was seemingly faultless in every way, his movements, gesture, let alone his awe-inspiring "is he still holding that unbelievable note" singing. As for Puccini - I think I have found a new love.  (Don't worry Mozart, you'll always be my first).  I think that's probably a whole other blog post though. 

Walking into ROH for Tosca I felt a level of excitement roughly equivalent to that which would be unleashed if we were to tell our daughter that we were taking her to Disneyland (we are not - Mr Life After Law feels he simply needs longer to brace himself quite apart from remortgage the house to pay for it!).

Quite apart from the sneaking "oh wow it is ACTUALLY Bryn and Angela - "Bryngela?? -" feeling I was simply overcome by the whole thing.  Opera is exciting.  Opera is fun and magical and moving and allows you to transcend yourself.  And I had this fabulous experience for £9.40 per ticket.

Opera is, above all, AFFORDABLE and accessible - everything has subtitles.  And in my view, opera is irreplaceable.  (If I had my time again I wish I'd run away to try my luck and abilities as an opera singer.  You know what I did instead.)

So when will the junior branch of the team be exposed to opera? Well, they hear it round the house a lot as you can imagine ("Mummy, (weary sigh from 7 going on 25) must you sing so LOUD?").  And if you allow the work of Messrs Gilbert & Sullivan as at the very least light operetta, then they are both well used to the genre.

I can't wait til their first time at a big opera house.  They have so far loved village hall panto, English National Ballet, The Gruffalo, G&S and so on with equal relish.  And I hope I am giving them some memories to match those for which I am so grateful to my own parents!

(May I also add, that I now fully understand why my parents would occasionally bring their own gin and tonic - taking small people to the theatre is ultimately rewarding yet fairly exhausting!)

What's in a Name? Or at least in a diagnosis......

"Autistic Spectrum Disorder" or "Autism" or "ASD" (doesn't everything have an acronym nowadays?)

What would you say if you received that as a diagnosis for your child? (After having a few initial goes asking questions like "what is it?"  which might be your natural response, and fair enough )

I think that people attempting to answer the question above are divided into two camps:

Firstly, and broadly, those who do not care for or know quite well a child with any special education needs.  They are sympathetic, imagining distress, grief, shock, anxiety, anger.  And those things are probably all present to a greater or lesser degree - but what surprises this first category is the following emotion that I and Mr Life After Law (aka The Man Of The House) felt at the crucial consultation (with a panel of four autism experts who had spent hours carrying out and repeating official assessments and weighing endless reports and feedback from an even bigger pool of relevant people):

Relief.  


So far out of all my friends relations and acquaintances the only ones who really resonate with the relief of the diagnosis are those who also live with it (my not-at-all-sweepingly-generalised second category).  This is not to ignore the amazing love and support of all the friends and relations who empathise deeply and sincerely with our position.  It's just that I don't think you really understand in your bones why there is a sense of relief unless you have been through it.

I haven't met many parents of children with ASD who have had that diagnosis fall like a bolt out of the blue.  On the contrary, many have spent months or years, even, getting to the point where the experts agree on a diagnosis.  Some have had to fight against all kinds of discouragement, criticism and lack of resources to get the appropriate assessments carried out, and to arrive at a conclusion.

And so, certainly for us, there was at the meeting at which we officially were pronounced "autistic" an overwhelming sense of relief.  We are not imagining it.  We are not inadequate parents.  Our child is not "difficult" or "defiant".  We are not hopeless or helpless.  We are not being weak in finding things challenging. We can make a difference. We can open up opportunities and there are lots of ways forward now.

I haven't blogged for a while - and you may now understand why.  We've been thinking about other stuff.  And I will undoubtedly talk about the trials and triumphs of Life After Law in relation to ASD.  It will be apparent that my decision to quit my career in law is related to the additional needs of our family.

But we have two children, not one - and we are a family unit of complex unique individuals.  Some of us really like to watch WWII war films for the 60th time, some of us think that everything can be improved by the addition of pink glitter, some of us will only eat one brand of baked beans, one of us (and I'm pretty sure it is me) really likes to listen to people sing about dying and/or love in a foreign language. While disguised as a boy/servant/swapped at birth. Preferably in a massive frock. And wig.

So I will continue to blog about Life After Law and "giving it all up" (stares nobly into middle distance) and parenting.  And blogging about ASD will be part of that, but it isn't the whole story, not by a long shot.  And I look forward to sharing snapshots of the next few chapters with you.

Weebles

No, I am not indulging in a Blackadder-style fake-madness attempt to avoid going "over the top" (or as I call it "The School Run") next week- in any case that was "wibble" as any fule kno (I digress Molesworth I).

A weeble is an ingenious toy, whose longevity is no doubt attributable to it's inherently humorous appearance.  The toys have a wide base and narrower top half (almost like an egg standing on it's fatter end) and they progress by a rocking, wobbling, shuffling motion that reminds me of the last two weeks of pregnancy number two.  By virtue of their wide base/narrow top/egg-like shape you cannot knock them over - they can roll right over but will simply self-right and carry on - hence their slogan "Weebles wobble but they don't fall down" (I wonder if that is what inspired ChumbaWumba's hit.......)

I have often been compared to a weeble - obviously, and flatteringly (!) because of a certain similar pear-shaped-ness, but mainly because of my own ridiculous resilience when knocked virtually flat to simply sproing back up going "I'm ok, look it's fine!!!" (Obviously I mean emotionally, if you knock me down physically I'm gonna stay down until I know that you have gone away - or is that bears you do that with, sorry no, T-Rexes on ill-conceived vanity-projects islands owned by misguided millionaires................I digress).

So where do I get this "hey, I'm ok now" nanosecond recovery time from?? (Because, dear reader, if I can find out and bottle it I will have enough money to (a) build a huge library to support Mr LAL's monstrously huge history text book collection and (b) actually live in London for the purposes of stalking opera singers at Covent Garden).

Unfortunately I am b*****ed in my quest for such wealth as I have no idea! Temperament I assume, plays a large part.  It is certainly possible to dent the weeble-resilience and it doesn't work half so well if I am on the Keats/Byron end of the "mood positivity spectrum" - but that pretty much only happens if I am seriously under par and also at the same time coping with difficult circumstances.

Or to put it another way, how do you create a sense of hopefulness or optimism in yourself to help you cope with the "slings and arrows of outrageous fortune"? I don't know.  The "comfort activities" towards which I incline are shopping and eating - neither of which work.  I'm grateful I incline to nothing worse.

Singing and being outside both do work.  Being at and worshipping at church does work - not least because that is the place where I can let out a lot of negative emotion (tears, snot, stress) in safety without any judgement or anyone freaking out that I may be having a proper breakdown - they just pass the tissues and give me a hug!

The weeble resilience was certainly useful in my earlier days as a trainee solicitor, being sent on endless appearances before District Judges to argue the case for big insurance companies defending claims by the reams of claimants who have tripped over the paving slabs on the high street -you do lose a lot of cases when you defend!

But that usefulness was NOTHING compared to the vital need to "bounce back" from each fresh parenting challenge!  And for now, I am rocking, wobbling, shuffling and weebling my way through.  And sometimes I feel as if I have rolled on my big pear/egg shaped base until I am almost flat. But then......

SPROING!! I'm ok, I'm back up!! And I am very thankful indeed to feel that way.

Now, does my bum look big in this...........................

Normal for........

As a lawyer the word "normal" could be a source of great comfort : "well, normally in a case like this we would expect whatever-it-is, and so I think we could proceed on that basis". Of course that expectation could lead to disappointment - but then again "normally" can be your friend "well, normally, such and such would apply, but of course in this case...".

"Normal" was a friendly word, a tool. And then, I entered a different gladiatorial arena.  I became......a parent.

(I very much enjoyed Katy Brand's parody of Kate Winslet - based on her wearing red carpet dresses at all times while reciting "I'm a NORMAL  mum, I'm a NORMAL mum......Katy Brand Clip - click here)

In fact in our house the word "normal" is not a favorite.  Mainly because when you find that you fall outside it (from "normal" to officially, educationally "special")  it suddenly carries a negative overtone.

But even if you are a parent (or carer) of "normal" children (sorry!) you face constant anxiety about how "normal" (or not) they are.......all their developmental milestones are measured and commented on by reference to "within normal limits" and the range of what can be "normal" is bewilderingly wide, tall, long, and deep!

(There is also another use of the word "normal" from my childhood - as in "You know that's not normal, don't you".  Which when uttered by a Professor of Psychiatry is worrying.  Answer :Yes, I know. Am I bothered).

Now, there are various "normal for....." sayings (for example Stephen Fry's oft-quoted "Normal for Norfolk" and in our family and circle of friends we eventually coined the phrase "Normal for Boys" as quite simply the only explanation for some of the mystifying behavior that the Boys seemed to have in common.

So,  I have now decided to embrace the word "NORMAL" and come up with one all-purpose definition of any behavior you care to exhibit or observe: thusly................."Normal for ........SOMEWHERE". And so I joyfully remind myself that rearranging my mugs so they hang in a certain order and always preferring to drink out of one particular one is......yup, NORMAL  for somewhere!

My refusal to eat creme eggs if they are not chilled so the fondant is not runny, my inability to leave pictures unstraightened and my aversion to food cooked by children unless I supervised them personally - NORMAL! for somewhere.


My obsession with all things opera, with Mozart music, and even my love of Gilbert & Sullivan operettas and heroines......NORMAL for somewhere.  


My inability to hear anyone speak to me if reading a gripping book, my need to turn off sources of sound so that I'm not deluged by simultaneous cricket on the radio, cBeebies and shrieking/trampolining, my preference for labeling things in cupboards......NORMAL for somewhere.


(I think we are best served by NOT considering where the "somewhere" is that these behaviors would be considered normal.)

So whoever you are and whatever your own little quirks or foibles (so long as within legal, moral and any other limits you care to adopt!!) - relax.  You're NORMAL!

Right, I'm off to rearrange my mugs and eat a chilled creme egg.  While I watch Opera on YouTube.

Restricted View.....

They say you never forget your First Time, and I have to agree.  In my case my First Time going to the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden........and I went to see an opera that I love, Mozart's Die Zauberflote, or the Magic Flute.

(I'm not going to attempt a review of the performance because I am far to ignorant for my opinion to be informative, but also I loved everything about it! There are loads of bloggers online, many on Twitter who review opera brilliantly and in detail, with wit and intelligence and, above all, knowledge!  Read them!)

Ooooh get me! Sound pretentious?? Why? It was magical, beautiful, thrilling, enchanting, inspiring, but above all accessible.  The tickets, "restricted view", bought well in advance were the grand sum of £7.50 each. And despite being "restricted view" I could see virtually all of the staging for the production - although I couldn't see the back of the stage - fortunately much of the action took place in the majority that I could see!

It was a Saturday matinee performance and the house was almost full with adults, children, teenagers (because they are a separate category, aren't they) evidencing an almost bewildering variety of background and provenance in their choice of dress - from emo/goth to bordering on evening dress!

Prices for bar snacks and programmes were not prohibitive and I even ran to a half time ice-cream.

And it was, genuinely, exciting to be in such a beautiful, well known building with such a wealth of history seeping out of the walls.  Everywhere I looked there were photos, costumes on display, information, history - OPERA! Everyone who is anyone has stood on that stage and sung (my co-superfan suggested that we bunk on to the stage at the end and just sing anything, humpty dumpty , whatever so we could say we had done so) and I felt as I sound writing now.  Like a giddy, overwhelmed, naive, enthusiastic, joyous beginner discovering something wonderful that no-one had ever seen before! Although I felt inhibited about exclaiming or coo-ing too publicly about each nugget of operatic gold on display, most people seemed distinctly too cool to acknowledge any excitement, or perhaps just got to be there so often that they had already got it out of their system.

The singers were wonderful - I particularly enjoyed Elizabeth Meister as the First Lady, but everyone was wonderful.  The Queen of the Night had been flown in to cover illness and, we were told, it was her 709th performance (or thereabouts).  (My YouTube research and blog devouring tells me this is called "einspringen" - jumping in at the last minute, I just like the word - does what it says!).

I've overflowed with naive (yet hopefully charming) exuberance for long enough.  I'll never forget my first time at the ROH and I can't wait til my children are old enough to come too and enjoy it with me.  And we will run around together looking at every picture and exclaiming. And, naturally, have a half time ice-cream.

(Postscript: we were amused to see the battle-weary musicians in the pit matter-of factly packing away their instruments and scarpering in short order. The pit was empty pretty much before the applause had died away.  But then they had about two hours to eat, rest etc before arriving to start all over again!)

The smell of the greasepaint, the roar of the crowd....

My little sister threatened to stage an intervention for my "internet addiction" as a result of a 6 posts in 10 days frenzy of blogging.  Shortly after which I did disappear from the blogosphere. However, this wasn't an attempt to convince my sister that I am still normal despite not having to go to an office every day (too little too late to convince her I fear, she knows me too well!).

I've been out and about dear Reader (I know I have at least one, even if it's only out of duty/pity).

I have (since I last inflicted myself on the blogosphere) performed a principal role in a Gilbert & Sullivan operetta, been to the Royal Opera House (my first time ever - and yes the earth did move for me) and at the other end of the glamor and escapism scale continued my "helping" out at the kids school (I'm only allowed to use the safety scissors though), done the "Rainbows" rota, been to an Autism support drop in session, balanced the grocery books (complexity beyond the worst set of tangled family trust fund worth millions) and done a thousand and one mundane household things, far too many involving unspeakably soiled laundry and impossibly tiny fragments of food in improbable crevices.

I am, it's fair to say, "mummy" through and through and with every fibre of my being.  I am still at the stage where my "spider senses" are honed to the degree that I have managed to arrive at sick child's bedside with appropriate waterproof vomit receptacle before the sheets are decorated without really being awake.  And yet, performance whether on the stage or watching, rapt, from (VERY HIGH) up in the balcony is a wonderful transforming escapism.

I'm still mummy and if one of the children isn't right then there will still be molecules of my brain vibrating at that "concern" frequency - but they are drowned out by the roar of the crowd, just for a time, leaving me totally refreshed for when I wipe off said greasepaint, or emerge (via many many many corridors and steps) blinking into the fresh air.

This is why, for me the arts and music are important.  (I know that Mr Life After Law would speak in similar terms of that moment at the crease as the bowler runs up and you are blinking the sweat out of your eyes ready to make your 50).  They offer us all the opportunity, not to evade or reject our responsibilities but (in my case) just to set down the burden temporarily and rest by the road. And then, get back up and get on with it. But slightly less irritably.

I recently played "Phyllis" in the Gilbert & Sullivan operetta "Iolanthe" -and each show there was a moment of balance and tranquility - the sort of "I love it when a plan comes together" moment as the scene or the duet came together under the heat of the stage lighting, when you know you and your co-stars have got it together and you have the audience with you.  And it was GREAT. Bring on the next show.  Til then, I'll be  hanging out for cheap tickets to the Royal Opera House and hanging on every note, til it's back to reality.

"for riches and rank I do not long"..........

Does money make the world go round? Should it? Well, probably, but in my view and according to several religions, it shouldn't.  Short Blog. (You'll be lucky). Of course at a macro-level money really does keep the world spinning, dictating the relationship of nation to nation and the balance of power across the globe.

There is no sphere immune to the impact of the gravitational pull of money or lack thereof on their orbit - it will be a terrible thing when financial cuts impact the arts even further - museums, libraries, opera companies, orchestras....we need them, but they need money.  Isn't our ability to transcend ourselves and be moved by music, words, images & sounds something that makes life worthwhile and separates us from our very close mammal neighbours?? However, my musings aloud on this topic prompted Mr LAL to deliver an impromptu lecture on market economies, capitalism versus socialism and indeed economic history (I think I lost consciousness about the industrial revolution) - among his undergraduate degrees is history & economic history and he routinely reads for fun (including on honeymoon) textbooks more suited to your average phd reading list........I digress, he's brilliant QED.

Of course I am totally unqualified to comment on the arts, economics, history, in fact most things except for my own specialised area of law (the knowledge of which is, naturally, fading).

But what about my new "job" - Housewife - cook, cleaner, factotum and, crucially, budget manager.  You may remember that one of my Top Five (questions people asked me when I Gave It All Up) was about The Money.  Do we miss it, how do we cope etc etc.  Well of course it is sooo vulgar to talk about money but, as lots of people will be in the same situation we are, lets.

Well (a) we'd already "salary downsized" through a combination of smaller firms, maternity leave, career changes (Mr LAL) before I gave up wages (they're a dirty habit).  But, and more importantly, (b) the money nowhere near made up for the strain and fallout of The Juggling -it's not pretty.

The initial draft of this blog was much longer but even I lost the will to keep reading.  So the summary is:-

1. We are b****y lucky to be able to just about keep our heads above water on one salary, so I'm just thankful for that;
2. There are lots of tricks for making the money stretch further - online grocery shopping, a full disclosure policy on any spending (after a brief "Amazon One-click account" amnesty), recycling and buying "vintage" (sounds better doesn't it), seeing holidays as a luxury not a privilege, but you can get a week's pitch on a campsite quite cheaply, agreeing not to swap Christmas presents with everyone I ever met who has a child, making presents for loved ones, grow veg at home if you can etc etc etc and I do now have time to try all these tips;
3. There's always someone worse off than you, comparing yourself with them makes you feel guilty for being stressed about your own situation.  There's always someone better off than you - comparing yourself with them makes you want things you can't have.  Therefore just getting on with it is easier;
4. Keep your mind open to unexpected possibilities to improve the financial status quo and don't be too proud to accept help or take an unusual tack (a story for another day).
5. Don't give up on beautiful, uplifting experiences, just get smart about how to access them (Royal Opera House tickets for £7.50 each anyone!)
6. One thing I don't do is play the National Lottery.  I used to, I don't now.  More on that another time.
7. Finally, work as a team.  He earns, I don't, but we are in it together.  The times when we struggle most are the times when we forget that.  

May the force be with you. Now, baked beans for tea anyone...........................

Repetitive Strain Injury................

No, not the "had an accident at work, not to blame" kind of repetitive strain injury.  I trained at a firm who were a (defendant) insurance litigation specialist so I have acquired far more knowledge about certain types of industrial injury & repetitive strain than I will EVER need  (industrial deafness in lorry drivers.............).

However one of the facts that I somehow read somewhere and now state confidently as Gospel (don't take my word for it in this case) is that repetitive and extremely boring tasks are a source of stress in themselves! So you might think (if you had never done it) that assembly line work carries no "stress" - possibly RSI of the wrists from lifting or twisting or turning, but any workers executing endless, eye-watering repetition of detailed, identical tasks also suffer genuine stress.  (Mr LAL, who seems to have done most jobs while through school and further education has of course done this kind of job along with much more eclectic roles - translating school textbooks English-Latin-English??).

As a Lawyer I have to say that really really, although "basic Wills" should be very similar I never never felt the job was repetitive! Because Will writing revolves around people, and people are all different. What they think they ought to want and what you perceive that they know they really need (thank you Terry Pratchett) are always unique! And my stint as a paralegal/legal secretary (my most recent role, undertaken after specialising by passing some really rather self-satisfaction-inducingly-difficult exams as a stepping stone between being a Lawyer and Life After Law) was never "repetitive" - because the demands of ones fee-earner are many and varied.......

But I have to say, despite the bewildering unpredictability of life with any child, let alone one who can and will freak out about well, who knows (but never consistently) - if I have to sweep the B****Y floor ONE MORE TIME or pick up the C**P off the bedroom (and study) floors YET AGAIN I will actually, well, erm, feel very annoyed!!!.............

And yet, capriciously, sometimes it is the pleasant, unchallenging hum-drum of the tasks that have gently ground a well-worn smooth groove into your day that are part of your relaxation.  There is something satisfying about the fluid, strong swoosh of the soft broom flicking the sticky cheerios of breakfast (but not the "wrong" cheerios, for the love of GOD not the "wrong" ones!!!!!) into the corners with the random glitter from treasured craft projects carried about until totally denuded of adornment.  I feel a quiet glow of pride and inner peace when my kitchen surfaces are totally clean and clear and I am about to start some domestic goddessery involving butter, sugar and pink food colouring.  A well scrubbed toilet and gleaming sink and taps are very satisfying in a way that is so much more easily attainable than a perfectly balanced set of estate accounts (accurate to the last penny over millions of pounds) or a really cleverly drafted trust (the cost of which, the client will naturally bemoan, however outstanding your ingenuity!).

So what does this mean.  Well, I like being a stay at home mum,  but sometimes it is REALLY REALLY BORING doing the same job over and over again.  And sometimes that same job is quite satisfying and relaxing.

So I'm unpredictable and hard to please.  So sue me, (good luck with that, I know a lot of lawyers!)

Talking of Gilbert & Sullivan........

Which I sort of did in my "Sleep-wrecked" post...........see what I did there! I'm now in the exciting final few rehearsals phase of preparing to tread the boards in a production of a Gilbert & Sullivan Operetta.

*DISCLAIMER: I am not actually a G&S expert, I just like it and read Wikipedia a lot...........*

Now, if you aren't familiar with the work of that awesome duo, well they go together like strawberries and cream, gin and tonic, Reeves and Murtagh..............I digress.  Together they wrote the words and music for an impressive number of well-loved and popular operettas (like opera but with less anguished dying). If you like them you can go to any of their shows secure in the knowledge that there will be:

• the tum-ti-tum-ti tum one
• the tiddle tiddle tiddle one
• a patter song (loads of words, delivered very quickly, an impressive feat of diction and memory)
• the romantic songs - ranging from fa la la sad-ish madrigals to real "just one cornetto" feats of tenor virtuosity and almost Queen of the Night coloratura (ie soprano showing off).

And they are brilliant and funny!

The singing will be good- no company can get through a production without being able to sing pretty well, plus most of the people who love performing G&S really know their stuff (it's a drug that gets into your veins and you just can't stop doing it! Before you know it you are on your fifth revival of Pirates!)

Now don't get me wrong, I don't mean to imply that there is no variety, on the contrary Gilbert & Sullivan seem to use a well-tried "if it ain't broke" formula, but they tackle a huge range of issues with wit and scathing satire - class distinction, politics, gender divides you name it - using clever word-play and ingenious composition.  I'm a fan as you can tell.

I'm playing the romantic lead who is rather shallow and vain (insert own joke)  to start with.  However she does of course (*PLOT SPOILER*) end up marrying her true love after some hilarious misunderstandings, cases of mistaken identity, lover's quarrels, lovers getting engaged to other people, threats of death etc and ultimately reconciling in some rather beautiful duetting.

My love of G&S predates my love of and parting from the Law, and predates my love for Mr LAL.  My long missed grandad was a great fan, and would have been very pleased to see G&S being kept alive on stages all over the world at every standard - from village hall amateurs to Opera House professionals.

There's a huge amount of musical snobbery about G&S by some - ignore it!!  Go on, find some G&S near you - ENO are doing The Mikado, and various companies of all shapes sizes sounds and stages are throwing themselves with gusto into those rousing Finales all round the world.  What's the worst that could happen...........well, as it's G&S: a gaggle of fairies cast a spell on you, you are to be beheaded, clapped in irons, marry a woman old enough to be your mother, forced to be a joint king and possible bigamist, demoted from ship's captain to foremast hand..........but don't let that put you off!

Right, I'm off to a rehearsal (with costumes today!) - tiddle pom tiddle pom fa la la la.........

Enjoy............

Sleep-wrecked

Urgh.  My beautiful firstborn has had a horrible disturbed night in pain, cutting a molar, which has involved nighttime vigils by mummy, who at such times is the source of all consolation.  And I feel utterly sleep-wrecked, after only one night.

I now feel that were someone to interrogate me (for some improbable and far fetched reason involving a Gilbert & Sullivan standard case of mistaken identity) I would pretty much crack if they looked a bit cross or said I couldn't have a cup of tea.

Tactic:  batten down the hatches, keep everything as calm as possible and pick my battles with the children & Mr LAL (ie, none) until recovery sets in.  Oh, and a lot of tea. And Carbs.

We got away with the whole sleep issue very lightly and it was really only a problem during the standard night feeding months -but now after just one night of it I really can't imagine how we ever coped with the broken nights (mind you, based on photographic evidence, it wasn't pretty).

But then I looked back further to life B.E.  (before escape) - in fact B.C (before children).  Self and Mr Life After Law lived and worked at big firms and were surrounded by the play-hard-work-hard culture (which translates roughly as long hours of deals or whatever going on right into the night followed by celebratory drinks and back to churning out highly specialised expert advice the next day with no drop in quality - not, I have to admit, that this particularly suited either of us).

So is there some magic secret to surviving on not-very-much-sleep-at-all? (NOT illegal substances, thank you, settle down at the back) Other than a dependence on caffeine that sees you twitching if you haven't had four espresso by 11?  Clearly adrenaline (and in some cases, pure testosterone) has a lot to answer for - but how long can anyone sustain life at that pitch?

I and Mr LAL are lucky that our sleep-deprivation torture was only ever fairly time limited (18 months at a time) and we've found some of the things that help sooth the sleep-wrecked zombie in every parent!
(insert own Julie Andrews soundtrack if this list isn't already cheesy enough):
the children's delight in anything - it's the way they laugh;
the smell of salty sea air on a warm breeze (particularly if there is the chance of an icecream/cold white wine spritzer);
the sound of leather on willow in the sunshine (cricket, you dirty blighters) ditto the white wine spritzer;
sofa time in front of a real fire; and
singing with an orchestra (with permission, not by sneaking in - and this is obviously me as it would bring Mr LAL so far away from the point of relaxation as to threaten a heart attack)

Simple pleasures, and by and large not hard to find or pay for!

So basically this can be summed up as :
(1)  That I remember Life In Law as really quite hard work some of the time;
(2) I like holidays; and
(3) I am reminded, yet again, by one sleepless night (!)  that I really don't think another baby would be sensible!

Is there a Lawyer in the house??

I was struck by how amazing it is that in the Cyclone-wreaked devastation suffered by our Antipodean cousins, no-one lost their life (at date of composition...); in fact a woman from the UK, out in Aus on her trip-of-a-lifetime 25th wedding anniversary holiday was a perfect example of right-place-right-time when her midwifery knowledge was called on to deliver a baby in the midst of sheltering from raging winds.

The cry went out "is there anyone here who is a doctor or has medical experience"......"Yes, I am a midwife" - well that's handy as there's a baby on the way!!.

Now, I gave birth in hospitals under more-or-less controlled conditions and I felt a depth of gratitude to my midwives that is difficult to convey.  I cannot imagine the joy and relief that this storm-besieged labouring mother felt when her angel of obs & gynae knowledge floated into view!!!

Which led me (not necessarily logically) to consider : how often does ANYONE ever say "is there a lawyer in the house?" In my case emergency translation/interpretation of the terms of a Trust or Will has never been called for much outside my regular working hours! (I know, it happens on Miss Marple and Midsomer Murders - Don't Get Me Started!).

In fact, it struck me that a lot of people don't want lawyers even when they really need one!  The times when one needs a Lawyer are usually because something has gone (horribly) wrong, or you think it might be about to, or you are doing something hideously stressful (buying a house, selling a business etc etc).  At such times we Lawyers insist on telling you things that often seem to defy common sense and defending our use of language which, to the non-Lawyer seems old-fashioned, deliberately jargon-laden and just plain stuffy! And "HOW" (I hear you cry) "can it possibly cost that much just to do this?!" And then of course one must acknowledge that (as in any job) there are some Lawyers who are Letting The Rest Of Us Down.

My perspective is that the kind of brains that like to analyse, pick at problems, locate loopholes and so on (it is best to keep those brains occupied with something so they don't cause trouble) have basically worked out a system that (sort of) works together with useful, agreed phrases, for the solving of those problems that have been recurring for literally hundreds of years. Which, in theory, makes it all more straightforward for everyone........  As for costs -  I don't know! And, as I've never been in charge of setting the feescale, I'm prepared to rest on my ignorance on this one!

The problem seems to be that, unlike, say medicine, it is often impossible for anyone but the Lawyers to see the effect of what the Lawyers have done.  Everyone has a body (hopefully their own) and so we all relate to what doctors can do for us and most people don't think, for example, that they can do their own brain surgery.......but some people think that legal matters are only complicated by Lawyers and that they can sort it out themselves.

I know only too well that Lawyers can (and will) cheerfully cite you endless examples of people who have Done It Themselves with outcomes which make reality tv like "DIY Disasters" seem tame! As my Life In Law has made me cautious about legal matters, I did practice what I preach. Which is why - despite being An Expert (officially, I have extra certificates) - I did not do my own Will.  Cautious/lazy, whatever, Trusted Colleague did an excellent job!

Good luck, I hope you don't need a Lawyer or that if you do you find a veritable paragon of Legal Virtue and that you have a wonderful pink fluffy experience of their contribution to your life.

But don't ask me, because I'm not one!!

And so next time I stumble into a Midsomer Murders like scenario and the cry goes up "is there a Lawyer who can interpret this small, yet incredibly significant piece of legal wording in the Will of this attractive - but unpleasant-  reclusive rockstar/local aristocrat/artist/vicar etc etc who has been killed in a creative and cinematographically well-composed way AT THE VILLAGE FETE (naturally) at which the chief inspector's wife and daughter have inexplicably been playing a central role..................." well I won't be found wanting.  In fact, I won't be found at all - I'll be at the W.I. stall buying hand-knitted jam and marmalade tea-cosies!!*




(*If you are reading this in the US or Russia-and my stats tell me you are-then this makes no sense and is not funny at all.  But trust me -I'm a Lawyer- I bet they're rolling in the aisles over here.)

Sunday Best

Today is the "day of rest" - or is it! Do any of us really stop what we are doing on Sundays.  At least lots of Lawyers are given the day off........unless you work at one of the firms where the building never closes, the seats never cool and there is a typing pool on permanent standby! And if you don't, you probably still have access to your email at least via remote access or that accessory beloved of many Lawyers - the Blackberry!!

In fact most jobs don't really stop on Sunday, do they (and yes, you are right, I am now going to point out that parenting is a 24/7 job with a saintly and ever so slightly martyred air - feel free to blow raspberries.)

Sunday is however that little bit calmer for us - we've always had a nice Sunday routine. Way back, as commuting long-distance relationship Law-Beginners the Sunday lunch routine was indeed a sacred space for us to just, well, be! Be normal, be together, be in the potential of what we both hoped our relationship would become......domesticated and unified.  Plus of course we have a vicar in the Family, so Sunday has, for as long as I have been with Mr LAL, included worship (and tea and biscuits!).

(Hi my name is "Not a Lawyer Anymore" and I am...........................a Christian.  It's been fifteen years since I started following that bloke who said cryptic radical things about Life the Universe and Everything. If Jesus was on Twitter what would his posts have looked like? "@Judas, not cool...."  But I digress).

For our little nuclear family, our faith is like the wallpaper on the pc desktop - there underneath whatever other application is running (School Run Carnage, Housework Blitz, Money Madness, Homework Puzzle, SingStar etc etc).  My faith is one of the constants that links my life Before Escape (BE)  with my Life After Law, apart from, of course, Mr Life After Law (who has loved/put up with me through both!) - in fact the two things combine (no, Mr LAL is not a vicar, although as above we've got one in the Family).

Regular worship and Sunday school are part of our routine and provide unique opportunities to grapple with answering the impossible and or awkward questions for which very small children have a particular gift.  Most children seem to take the parts of Christianity that come attached to festivals that include gift giving and chocolate (Virgin Birth, Resurrection) in their stride.  However they are given to asking much simpler and yet impossible questions like "If the Church is God's house, where does He sleep".  (Answer: as an omnipotent Deity, anywhere He likes?!)

So did my faith make any difference to my decision to "jack it all in" - well of course, yes.  Through friends at church I had a great circle of women (if you're reading this and you know you were in it, thank you) who loved me through the very painful process of realising that something I had invested so much of my life and energy in just wasn't working out (many tears).

But of course I have family and friends  - and colleagues - who may or may not have a Christian faith but are wise and awesome and loving and who also did the same thing (thank you too) and from whom I had nothing but encouragement and support.

The biggest thing for me now is that I have faith that there is some sort of Plan (and that I followed it by giving up work) and that things will, broadly, be OK!  This faith is incredibly sustaining when one is dealing with very small pairs of unspeakably soiled underwear or coping with a small person in total meltdown about (I enumerate them thusly):
the "wrong" Cheerios
it still being dark but also being the morning (seriously)
the favourite shirt having a missing button
the bus going the wrong way past the car (it's a circular route, so 50:50 chance on this one.)

How does it go "He who would valiant be, gainst all disaster (eg missing the most up to date episode of Scooby Doo).........well I guess that would be me, and I feel pretty valiant (well, today anyway).

Now, has anyone got any stain remover, chocolate weetos (NOT honey cheerios), buttons and thread, a bus timetable and some way of re-setting the equinox....................................

Don't put your daughter on the stage........

My mother fondly recalls the incident when I, much impressed by a Church Nativity, ran up the aisle and stood at the front adopting the "Angel Gabriel" pose - aged about 3.  You might think, then, that my current obsession with and not-at-all-secret fantasy about becoming a professional opera singer is not that surprising.

In fact, I am discovering that I am actually a bit shy about really being myself with people (on stage or off), and that I resort to humor instead (I realise that I am now just inviting sarcasm from those of you who know me plus abuse of the "Oh, you were trying to be funny" variety!) not to mention a healthy dose of pretending I'm fine, whether I am or not!

But I'm learning that in the context of performing and singing you just have to let go and let it all out!  And actually it is a bit of a revelation - liberating (terrifying). I am now finding that I can't really sing if I am bottling anything up - it just takes the stopper off the bottle! And that is great.  Parenting and marriage both provide plenty of opportunities for simmering (should only be done with food), brewing (ditto alchohol) and festering (just should never be done), and I say that in what I call a happy home (and so would Mr Life After Law - well, he'd better...........) let alone facing anything out of the ordinary (well, not tooooooo far out).

I didn't sing as much while I was a Lawyer but I can heartily recommend it as an ideal stress-buster whatever you are doing with your life.

Which is why, whether I ever make it onto the stage at La Scala (why is my phone not ringing) I will keep singing and I will keep loving every note - and you can too! Whether you sing in the shower or at Sydney Opera House (again, no phone calls) just let it all out and enjoy it.

As for my progeny, I have two budding singers on my hands one of whom can do a terrifyingly accurate American accent (thanks to High School Musical, High School Musical 2 and High School Musical 3).

For my children the mystery of theatre is no longer a mystery:-

"Mummy, I think that lady with the pink hair (panto dame) is really a man in a dress".......
"Mummy when there was that big splashing noise (actor thrown "overboard")  is it really the sea because I don't think it would fit"
and finally: "Mummy, when you were supposed to be all dead and a ghost, I think you should have had your face more white because you didn't look dead enough!" (the younger, by the way, commented "Oh NO, what's happened you face??"

Don't put your daughter (or of course, as the case may be, son) on the stage? Well I don't know, but I hope they'll both discover the joy of singing for themselves and I hope you do too!

La la laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa............................

There's no discouragement.....

shall make him once relent, his first avowed intent........

So what makes you discouraged? What puts you off from your goals? Does discouragement affect your motivation or spur you on to "overcome the odds"! For a lot of us, I suspect, other people and the things they say and do are a big part of this.

Lots of verbal encouragement and I'll pretty much drive myself to exhaustion for you - a sincere, frequent "well done" is all I need.  Interestingly I also find outright, detailed specific criticism can spur me on BUT "no comment" or, worse, much much worse, faint praise is really discouraging!  The sheer lack of attention that this level of disinterest involves is the ultimate downer. (Hmmm, moment of self awareness).

The big change from life in the law to Life After Law is that, in parenting, feedback opportunities are in many ways greatly reduced! There are no client satisfaction questionnaires sent out, no annual performance reviews, no fortnightly one-to-ones.  So I don't have the opportunity to keep asking someone else a more complicated professional version of that basic human anxiety:  "am I doing ok?".

In fact I do get lots of encouragement through the various education and health experts that are involved in our "not-totally-run-of-the-mill" parenting puzzle, and they are quite often very generous in their praise, so perhaps it's not fair to pretend I'm an island of splendid isolation encouragement-wise.

Children can of course be devastatingly honest -either with criticism ("I don't like this dinner, it is disgusting") or with praise ("You are my best friend Mummy") but if you actually ask for "feedback" (unwise) you are most likely to be met with an uncomprehending stare, a completely random comment ("I've got squiggly pencils) or a Gallic-standard shrug of withering ennui, communicating with succinct precision their utter disdain towards your pathetic need for validation AND that you have unforgivably disrupted their viewing of cBeebies/creating a masterpiece in crayon, felt tip and bogies/hiding small plastic toys in your washing machine where they will wreak unimaginable havoc and lead to you being ankle deep in water!

On the whole, I think I need to carry on striding towards having an internal sense of achievement and validation.  When I become unbearable/launch a despicable super-villain plot to take over the world please promise me you'll stage an intervention!

Is there an App for that? (*If you don't know what an App is.........)

I may have mentioned that I have a new phone (which I am way past the point of becoming boring about, but you don't have to read on so hey, it saves Mr Life After Law listening to my exclamations - LOOK an App that tells me that it is raining outside the window..........)

I've noticed that I like having all the comms options on one gadget eg facebook (other social networking sites are available......), email, text, phone, smoke signal, launch flying monkeys (imagine if you had a phone that could actually do that!!......I digress).

But if I'm a "communication polymath"  (not psychopath, pay attention at the back!!) others definitely aren't!

Mr LAL loathes texting and mobiles but will email - as I no longer have to come back to the house and turn the laptop on to contact him at work (please buy chocolate on way home/for the love of God don't be too late......etc) my new do-everything phone has truly been labour saving! (And it is nice to be able to send him encouraging messages in the day as well, like "I love you" not just "You left your dirty dishes by the side of the dishwasher" - not that I've ever sent one like that)

But what other Apps do I wish it had? How about "See Clear" App - restoring perspective in the midst of a shitty day? Or a "Tots Mute" App for turning down the volume on children who's volume setting seems to be directly affected by how tired and irritable you feel.  I would love to design a "RadicalSearch" App to help men look for things - step 1 look in the place you expected to find it, step 2 (revolutionary) look in at least one other place before giving up and asking wife......

Oooooh a good one would surely be a "BS Detector" - thank you Mr Builder/Plumber that I haven't used before, would you simply speak clearly into the mike and repeat how long the job will take and the fee quote.........(NOT to be accidentally switched on while talking to children - no the icecream van has run out/the cinema isn't open today etc)

As I'm currently trying to learn music in other languages (which according to my lovely and brilliant singing teacher does necessitate actually translating each piece myself so I understand it properly, and not cheating and finding the equivalent of a case digest........yes I was that kind of law student) I'd like a "BabelBrain" App which just gives me the ability to download a new language into my head (and for our text-speak generation of teenagers we could install Queen's English as a start-up.......)

Last one: my beautiful intelligent chatty six year old girl has a nice line in disbelieving questions and withering put downs - so I need "QuickQuip" App to hold my end up before I lose any chance of saving face!

(and if you don't know what an App is then please see Mr Life After Law's Blog "Luddite Landscape", copied by hand on reclaimed vellum using original tools twice yearly and broadcast by town cryer and messenger pigeon.........)

What's in a Name?

Well here we all are in 2011, Happy New Year and well done for getting through 2010.

Idling away the holiday by researching (obsessively) and then obtaining a replacement phone (deeply in love with it), I was prompted to muse a little on job titles and how they affect how we see ourselves and others see us.

The very nice and knowledgeable young man in the phone emporium, in the context of taking all my details for contractual purposes asked for my occupation.  And after umming and aahhhing I plumped for "housewife" (not sure the long, complicated version explaining my continuing relationship with The Firm would fit in the box).

Firstly, hilariously, he looked at me and explained that he isn't allowed to put "housewife" - he has to put house "person"! Titter ye not! And then there was a period of delay waiting to be "approved" or "declined" as a customer.  I do now have the phone, so obviously I was approved, but it surprised me how I felt while I waited.

I don't usually see myself as having lost "status" because - helping out at the school aside - I am a full time mum.  Certainly my sense of self-worth isn't linked with my job (although it is linked with being "successsful" at whatever I choose to do.....type A anyone??). But I suddenly worried that my employment status was relevant in the eyes of the real world in a way that I have been cushioned from for a while in the "mummy bubble".

However, happily, once I'd spent a few (hundred) hours playing with my new toy, and downloading pointless apps because they are free, my short attention span came to my rescue and I got over the feeling!

Mr Life After Law baffled by the technology on every level - not just how it works but why anyone would even want to have it................until we started following the Ashes commentary on it......it is now (grudgingly) "quite good".....brave new world indeed!