Baby Jesus is Caroline!

Not really.  But the baby who "played" baby Jesus last night at our Christmas Eve service was actually a 6 month old girl named Caroline.  Goose was stunned to learn that baby Jesus was actually a girl.

I have often said that there is nothing more magical than watching Christmas through the eyes of my children.  Going to Disney World with my daughter dressed up like Cinderella is a close second, but the magic of the holiday season still reigns supreme.

Like most families, ours is not immune from the dreaded commercialism and secular nature of the holiday.  Goose loves to sing "Christmas songs" like Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer and Jingle Bell Rock.  Both of my children love Santa.  

Well.  Goose loves Santa.  

Henry's not so sure about him just yet.

This visit with Santa was totally spontaneous and part of the magic this season.  I got the children dressed so that I could take them to see a "Mall Santa."  Of course, my 8 year old Goose wanted to know how it's possible for Santa to be at all of the malls at the same time.  My regular response to such a question in years past would have been "Santa's magic".  And that's that.  Unfortunately, she's getting older and smarter and such answers no longer satisfy her curious mind.  

I was caught off guard and needed an answer on the fly.  Without much thought, I just told her that sometimes Mall Santas are not the real Santa, but his helpers.  We never know which Mall the real Santa will choose to visit each day.  In other words, he may be real. . .or he may just be an understudy.  But we'll never know which is which.

We were headed to one of our regular haunts for lunch on Saturday, the same local market where we go nearly every Saturday for their special Chicken Nachos.  When we got out of the car, who do we see?  SANTA CLAUS.  Sitting by himself.  Laughing.  Fat.  Happy.  And ready for my children to sit on his lap.  Goose was absolutely 100% convinced that he was the real Santa since he wasn't at a mall and no one expected him to show up at the market that Saturday afternoon.  He even knew some of the neighborhood children's names.  

So convinced was this daughter of mine, that she made us walk far enough in the parking lot to see if we could see the rooftop, where she was convinced Rudolph and the other reindeer were parked.  Pure unadulterated magic.  

Santa isn't the only tradition in our home at Christmas.  We also have an elf -- one of the dreaded "elf on the shelf" creatures (which is pure brilliance in my humble opinion) -- named Spencer.  Here he is hiding in our tree:

Spencer comes to our house on Thanksgiving and stays with us, moving about the house to various locations, through Christmas Eve when he hops on Santa's sleigh and returns to his home on the North Pole.  Goose loves Spencer -- and starts talking about him around Halloween.  Once he arrives, she talks to him incessantly.  This year, they exchanged a series of "notes" to one another.  

One such note read like this:  "Dear Spencer:  Do you love our tree?  Love, Goose."  Followed by:  "Dear Goose:  I love your tree, but not as much as I love you.  Be good.  Love, Spencer."

I love that elf.  I also love that our elf doesn't do some of the over the top crap that other elves do -- like making snow angels out of flour; toilet papering the house; and other various and sundry "tricks".  Bah humbug.  Our elf appears.  And moves.  And writes my girl sweet notes.  The end.

We also attended our annual performance of The Nutcracker at The Fox Theater this year.  What a spectacularly stunning performance.  Goose sat on the edge of her seat, whispering "I want to be that ballerina. . . no. . .  I definitely want to be THAT ballerina."  Magic, I say!

This year, we went to a Teddy Bear Tea at Callanwolde.  

[I don't really know what's happening here, but this is one of my favorite shots from the tea.]

And what would the Christmas season be without parties?  I went to the annual fancy Lawyers Club of Atlanta holiday party with one of my law partners and dear friends.

There were reportedly 1600 people at the party which was, ironically, also held at The Fox Theater.  I didn't sit down for a minute and neither one of us stopped to grab so much as a morsel of what I heard was a particularly wonderful spread of food.  We mingled.  We sipped bourbon.  And we reconnected with old friends and colleagues.  

I love this time of year for a variety of reasons.  I love the Christmas carols playing constantly on a local radio station.  I love the smell of the Douglas Fir in my family room.

I love driving around and looking at people's Christmas lights.

I love my own home's Christmas lights.  I love our reindeer.

Henry does too.

I love our house when it's all lit up.  Just ask my husband, who constantly bemoans the amount of electricity we're wasting.  

I love meeting my family every year for our annual Christmas Eve dinner at a local Chinese restaurant.

And don't forget about leaving cookies and milk for Santa.

My family is also not immune to another Christmas tradition that people complain about.  Gluttony.  Naked.  Unabashed.  Gluttony.

Henry's only 14 months old, but even he got swept away in the melee.  Our house is still trashed.  

Despite all of our traditions, I am cognizant of what this holiday is really about.  

I have joy and hope and faith and anticipation, for I am celebrating the birth of my Savior:  the real baby Jesus.

And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.  Luke 2:10-14.


Merry Christmas to all.  And to all a goodnight.

Progress

I apologize in advance for the length of time between posts.  It has been an incredibly busy couple of weeks, between work, holidays, work, family obligations, and work.  Did I mention work?  It usually slows down this time of year enough for me to make runs to Target and the Mall so I can join the masses in the frenzy to buy "last minute" Christmas gifts.  All of my gifts are last minute every year.  Does that make them less worthy?  I think not. 

I digress.

To say that we have a lot going on in our lives right now is an understatement.  Remember our purple bathroom?  This one:

Well.  The purple beast has been slain.  Let me tell you -- it was not a pretty process.  Indeed, it was a very, very ugly process.

They started on the bathroom two weeks ago.  I am still finding dust everywhere in the house. 

Goose was so sweet to draw a heart in the dust on my dresser.  I <3 her. 

Obviously, our master bedroom was not usable during our renovation undertaking.  Therefore, I have spent the past two weeks sleeping in the Goose's loft bed.  While it is an extremely comfortable bed, there is something decidedly uncomfortable about a 39 year old woman dragging herself down the ladder at 3:00 a.m. when the baby who is "sleeping" in the room next door decides he needs a bottle and his mother's arms.

Here's a shot of Henry and Goose high aloft in Goose's fancy bed. 

I am pleased to report that I survived my nights in Goose's room.
The headaches that accompanied the demolition, while not beautiful, were well worth it  in light of the finished product.

Remember those imperfections I discussed in a previous blog post?  Well one of those (the purple beast) is no more.  Praise God!  Progress.

I also talked about my baby brother, who was recently disappointed to learn that he would not be attending Harvard University.  This one:

Michael definitely has something to smile about (other than his upcoming nuptials with his beautiful bride to be.)

As I predicted in an earlier post, Michael just learned that he was accepted into the University of Virginia Darden School of Business.

I predicted he would persevere.  And persevere he did.  I am so very proud of the young man my "baby" brother has become.

I love him.
I also posted about my girlfriend, Stacy, who underwent significant losses and hardship in trying to get pregnant with her second child.  Some folks in the office threw her a little get together last Thursday. 

That's her cake (which I ordered from one of my girlfriends, who is a phenomenal baker, at http://www.sweetnsinful.com/).  Stacy was so happy.

Twenty-five hours later, I received a frantic call from her.  She was at the hospital and they were going to do a c-section within an hour.  I dropped everything, drove to the school where Goose and her son, Carson, attend, and took Carson immediately to the hospital so he could be there when the world welcomed his baby sister.  When I arrived at the school, I thought Carson was going to pass out from the excitement and anticipation.  I knelt in front of him and told him to stop and breathe.  I wanted him to savor the moments for his life was about to change forever. I spent time talking with him in the car about all of the wonderful joy a baby sister would bring -- and how her being here would change his life -- especially in the beginning. I told him that his mom and stepfather were going to be very tired and maybe a little bit cranky.  They were going to be excited about the baby and would be extremely protective of her.  But no matter how thin their patience, how exhausted they are, or how much attention they lavish on the baby, they will always still love him just as much as they love the new little one.  I hope some of my words sank in.

When we arrived at the hospital, Carson was beaming.  So was his mother. 

Have you ever seen a woman more beautiful just minutes before undergoing major surgery?  (Stacy makes me ill, for the record.) 

And then we waited. 

I took Carson to the gift shop so he could buy his sister her very first birthday gift ever.  He perused the shelves very seriously, wanting to make sure he chose the perfect gift. He finally settled on a pink and white spotted puppy, which I'm sure she will treasure for years to come for it was chosen with a lot of love by someone who loved her before she was even born:  her big brother.  I also bought him a "BIG BROTHER" t-shirt, which he hurriedly put on when we returned to the waiting room.

And then we waited some more.

The doors opened.  We heard footsteps.  It was David, Stacy's husband, who had just become a father for the first time.  Seeing him in his scrubs, holding the camera so he could show us pictures of his new daughter, brought tears to my eyes instantly.  I cried with joy.  So did David (who kept saying "I'm a DAD!!!"). 

Carson did not cry.  He beamed. 

Can you see it?

Lauren Grace is here.  She weighed in at 6 lbs, 3 oz and was 19 inches long.  She has the most beautiful head of dark hair and chubby cheeks (despite her small stature). 

Those toes.  I had to kiss those toes.

So I did.  And Stacy indulged me as I unwrapped her swaddled baby so I could ogle her feet. 

This is the best kind of progress.  Welcome to the world, Lauren Grace. Hang on tight, for it is one hell of a ride.

100 minus 25

My senior partner and mentor, Wray, turned 75 years old on Friday.  We had a small gathering in conference room 3-A, right next door to the head honcho's office, to celebrate this momentous occasion. 

While watching him blow out the single candle (because the cake couldn't accommodate 75 actual candles), I was flooded with memories from the past 13 years.  When I came to work at the firm in August of 1998, Wray was a spring chicken -- a mere 61 years old.  I remember my father (the smartest man on earth) questioning my decision to go to work for someone who was so obviously going to be interested in winding down his career at that point in his life.

Even the smartest man on earth is wrong sometimes.

At 61 years old, Wray was just settling into his routine of 11 hour workdays, 7 days a week.  You think I'm kidding. 

I'm not.

Wray was and still is a veritable force of nature.  After practicing law all over this great state of ours, and meeting lawyers from around the country, I am still in awe that I had the good fortune to interview with him in April of my third year of law school.  I have yet to find a lawyer with his breadth of knowledge, experience and wisdom.  I have a feeling that I could search the world over and still not find someone who is one tenth the lawyer Wray is.  Before I actually started practicing law, I had the opportunity to train under my first mentor, Tom, a well known prosecutor who has tried more murder cases in the state of Georgia than any other lawyer.  Tom was a brilliant trial lawyer and a first rate teacher.  I literally spent every single Saturday and Sunday of my third year of law school training for one mock trial competition or another under Tom's tutelage.  I spent my last semester of law school trying cases for the Gwinnett County Solicitor's Office under Georgia's Third Year Practice Act.  And I was ready for battle.  Or so I thought.

When I first stepped into the courtroom with Wray to try my first civil case, I was immediately struck by his presence.  His command of the courtroom.  He knew the well of that courtroom in Jones County, Georgia like the back of his hand.  By the second day of the trial, the clerk was meeting us at the door with a hot cup of coffee for Wray.  The Judge couldn't help but smile when Wray stood to address him.  He knew that he was in for a lesson or two about Georgia law.  (Too bad he didn't actually listen or apply those lessons when issuing several of his rulings.)  The jury was clearly enamored by him.  And I, a first year lawyer who thought she knew everything about trial work, was humbled (for perhaps the first time in my life). 

Watching Wray during the voir dire process, I learned so much more than I ever could have in a classroom at Georgia State University College of Law.  He connected with the potential jurors in a way that isn't written in hornbooks.  His opening statement was masterful.  His cross-examination of the deceased boy's mother was appropriate in tone and manner. And his cross-examination of the Plaintiffs' experts was exact and methodical.  Death by a thousand cuts.  It was as if he had a sharp blade and sliced away at the expert, in a way that wasn't brazen or brash.  Hell, the expert didn't know his throat had been cut until Wray turned his back and announced that he passed the witness.  Only then did the expert realize that he was beaten by a man better than he.  When it was time for closing arguments, I literally held my breath with anticipation.  I was not disappointed.  Wray delivered a brilliant closing argument so powerful that some of the jurors were in tears. 

After five days of bloody battle in the courtroom against two very well known and prominent lawyers in Jones County, we received a defense verdict in under 55 minutes.  I knew I had found my mentor.

Shortly after the trial, I was talking to Wray in his office, telling him that I was blown away by his performance during the trial.  I questioned whether I (who previously thought she was God's gift to trial work) would ever live up to Wray's example.  He told me then:  "Stay with me for 2 years, and I'll make you a good lawyer."

I did.

And when I announced two years later that I was at the end of that tenure, Wray quipped:  "Give me another five, and I'll make you great." 

Again, I did.

I don't know if he made me great, but he took me under his wing.  I soaked everything up like a sponge.  I swear I learned more by listening to Wray's conversations with other lawyers and clients than I did in the three years of law school.  I toiled beside him, often until the wee hours of the morning, and often on weekends.  I willingly sacrificed holidays, vacations, time with my family and friends to stand in Wray's shadow in the hopes of becoming more and more like him.

I'm so glad I made those sacrifices.  For he is not only a phenomenal lawyer, but a wonderful and principled man.  He is a husband to his wife of nearly 50 years; a father to his son and daughter; a brother who takes care of his sister and relishes time with his brother; and a grandfather to his two grandsons.

This photo taken of Wray and his youngest grandson, Leo, this summer while they both slept moves me.  Despite Wray's love of the law (and anyone who knows him knows that Wray definitely loves the law), his love of his family far surpasses anything else.  He taught me that, although we may have to sacrifice some things, we must never lose sight of what's important in life.  Our relationships with our loved ones must come first, even if that means the report doesn't go out until the morning or we have to get an extension on a deadline to file a brief.

At the ripe old age of 75, and after he "semi-retired" last year, Wray is still a force in the corner office.  He is working less hours, but can still generally be found catching up on paperwork at his desk on Saturday mornings.  I remember joking with him once, saying that I would hang myself if I was still working as hard as he works when I'm in my 70's.  I now realize how wrong I was yet again.  Wray is 75 years old and still practicing his craft that he loves dearly.  

I will continue to toil beside him for as long as he continues to make the 2.2 mile commute from his home to our offices each day.  I made a promise to him early in my career that, as long as he was in the trenches, I would be beside him.  At the time, I didn't realize what I was getting into.  But I'm sure thankful to be a part of his team.

Happy Birthday to Wray, my mentor, my partner, and my friend.  And thank you.  For everything.