Confession Post

I'm copying Tiffany and writing a confession Blog. Ironically, I've been a really good girl this week. I billed on Saturday and went to church with the family. I cleaned and did laundry on Sunday. I've worked out every night this week and avoided the cupcakes in the firm kitchen. Yay Me!

But now for the confessions...

#1: I laugh at my injured dog. My male boxer had his dew claws removed last week. Both front paws are wrapped and he is wearing a cone. The cone is the source of my laughter. Frank can get OUT of the doggy door (with a ton of effort-hilarious) but he has not learned how to get back IN the doggy door. The door works in the same way for entry and exit but getting back in is just too complicated for my poor puppy. Hence, he sits outside and wimpers (he is 5 years old) until my husband or I let him in. It's pathetic and hilarious.

#2: I don't want my husband to be more fit than me. I have always been health-conscious (although you'd never guess it by looking at my "soft' frame.) I have a consistent work-out buddy and I watch every bite. My husband is a fan of video games and beer (which generally keep him occupied while I am at the gym or out running.) Recently he signed up for an obstacle course competition. He now completes a rigorous training routine twice per week. Needless to say, his male metabolism is going to melt away the pounds and I will be the "less fit" spouse in no time. Perhaps I should rejoice in having a trophy husband or perhaps I should stick to my original plan of upping my own fitness efforts!

#3: I hate to be corrected, instructed etc...I KNOW that correction and instruction will only make me a better person but my blood boils every time my husband plays backseat driver in an effort to make me drive more efficiently or offers "add this spice" advice while I am making dinner...ugghhh. I know I'm nowhere near perfect, but I'd like to be and that is why I get so frustrated.

#4: Id like to be perfect but who wouldn't?

"High Five, Auntie?"

A law school friend with connections to the board of Bar Examiners called me at around 11am, on April 8th to tell me that I had passed the bar.

I always imagined when that when that moment came, I would react in a big way, but I didn't.

I thought I would cry, or scream out loud, but I didn't.

I thought that I would call everyone I knew, or at least post the news on facebook, but I didn't.

My paralegal heard the phone call, so I shared my news calmly with the office.

Next, I called my husband, my mother, my father and my good friend, Vanessa. I also called the other members of my study group to offer congratulations or condolences.

Then, I got back to work. I had a pleading due that day.

I worked until about 2pm, and finally looked at the state bar website, to see it in writing.

Wow, my name was really on the list of successful applicants...but what if there was a mistake?

Vanessa insisted that I go to lunch (Thank you, Vanessa), so I chose Old Town Pizza Parlor...I figured that I was entitled to some cheese and carbs.

Mike at the Parlor is an old friend, so he treated me to lunch. He also treated me to some Michael Jackson on the restaurant's stereo system.

At 3:30, the office manager called me, to make sure that I was OK...I was upset, thinking, "Geez, can't I take a full hour lunch on the day that I pass the bar?"

I returned to the office.

Waiting on my desk was a large plant and some flowers from my mother and stepfather with a card addressed to "Angela Chavez Adkins, Attorney at Law."I was then summoned via the office PA system to the small conference room, where my colleagues surprised me with strawberries and champagne. Still in shock, I was asked to make a speech. I raised my glass and thanked the partners for investing in me, promised to do a good job, and then said, "Here's to a higher billable rate!" That line didn't get the laughs I expected (oh well.)

Then, I got back to work. The pleading was done, but I really felt he need to focus on something other than the bar... it was almost as if I was "coping" with the fact that I had passed.

The day after I read the results online, a letter arrived in the mail confirming that I had passed the bar and that my MBE score was high enough to be admitted to the Washington, D.C. bar by motion.

That weekend my husband took me out for a fancy dinner. I got dressed up and made my hair "big." The whole lawyer thing still didn't feel real.

My boss, David, offered his gorgeous home for a celebration gathering, but I still didn't believe that I had passed!

Josh wanted to have a bar-b-que at our house, or invite our family and friends out to eat, but I just said, "No Thanks, Baby." I just couldn't plan a party for something that wasn't real.

The next few weeks flew by. Before I knew it, it was Easter weekend, and the swearing in ceremony was to occur that Monday. Josh and I decided to rent an inexpensive hotel room in Santa Fe to ensure that we did not arrive late to the ceremony.

On Easter, my Stepfather decided to take the whole family on an impromptu get-away to Buffalo Thunder so that we could all go to the ceremony together.

As we packed our bags for Santa Fe, I placed the letter in my purse, just in case my name wasn't on the list when we arrived at the ceremony.

Josh and I arrived at the James Little Theater just in time for the ceremony to begin. I practically jumped out of our car while it was still moving, so that Josh could find a parking space!

My in-laws and David were already seated and waiting for our arrival. David made a compelling speech to the NM Supreme Court and moved for my admission.

Then, the Justices asked the new admittees to stand and raise our right hands as we took the attorney's oath.

When I sat down after taking the oath, my 3-year-old nephew, Elijah, who was sitting next to me on my mother's lap said, "High Five, Auntie?"

I am sure that the "high five" had more to do with the fact that I had stood for five minutes with my hand raised, than with congratulating me, but it felt great!

That was the moment that I realized, my dream of becoming an attorney had actually come true!

One more time "con ganas"!

I've always been a performer, and for as long as I can remember, my mother has been my acting coach, voice teacher and tutor.
I remember rehearsing for numerous talent shows in our living room in Socorro. The peach-colored curtains were always drawn to let the light and tiny dust particles in through our large picture window. In front of the window, sat a trunk my Grampo Mestas gave to my mother when I was still in elementary school. It came to her with rusty hinges and graying from age. She painted it hunter green and "aged" it with strokes of black paint, using a technique she probably read about in one of her numerous books dedicated to home improvement. Inside the trunk were my baby blankets, carefully quilted by Grandma Chavez and waiting anxiously to wrap grandchildren.
My mom would sit on that trunk and listen to me sing, recite poems, practice for the spelling bee, whatever performance was required of me in any given week.
I always started out proud, thinking "I'm going to amaze the judges. I'll be a star!" or "There's no way anyone else knows more spelling words than me!"
Then, I'd sing for my mom...
I'd act for my mom....
I'd spell for my mom...
Next, the coaching would come. I'd be reminded again, that I was not yet a star and I had not yet mastered enough spelling to get past the words starting with the letter "d".
I was made small, humble.
But that was never the end of it. These coaching sessions would last for hours on end.
We'd go through the words, starting with "a", then "b", then "c" until we were both convinced that there wasn't a word I couldn't spell.
I'd sing every song over and over again. I'd sing quietly, with the cassette player, loudly, acapella, in my highest vice, in my lowest voice.
Finally, she'd say that phrase: "One more time, con ganas!"
There was something about that phrase that dug deep inside of me. I could feel it low in my belly and my eyes would become warm as if about to tear. It was the place where I found air for the high notes and the desire to perform.
That phrase "con ganas" pushed me through every talent show, every spelling bee, every final, every "show-me-what-you-got" opportunity I have been fortunate enough to find. That phrase taught me to perform.
So, as I sit in my study, surrounded by flash cards, handwritten notes, discarded practice tests, candy wrappers and santos, smelling my half-cup of coffee as it gets cold, wishing I could join my husband and the puppies as they watch a movie in the den, I am reminded that I am preparing for a performance. I hear my mother's words again "One more time, con ganas!"