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Lawyer Up, Moms!

Character may be how you act when no one is watching, but the lawyer moms are watching, so make good choices.
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I'm still ticked about NBC's Parenthood. As you might recall, after Julia quit her big lawyer job, she struggled as a stay-at-home mom -- losing arguments with her kids, getting stuck on the worst school committee and agreeing to place her child in the wrong class. Just like no real-life lawyer mom ever in the history of real-life lawyer moms. This season, I want to see Julia's hair in a bun and head in the game. On behalf of all lawyer moms, I plead the case for moms who lawyer it up:

Exhibit A. We read the fine print. Do you read the front and back of permission slips? The school-parent contracts? The birthday party injury waivers? Lawyer moms do, and we cross out sneaky and ridiculous provisions. We'll give you negligence, Laser Tag Place. Mistakes happen. But there's no way we're waiving your clueless weird employees' gross negligence or willful misconduct, so step it up for the kids in Party Room 3.

Exhibit B. Nothing gets past us. Have you heard the one about the law firm associate who got fired because he missed a comma in a 100-page contract and cost his client zillions of dollars? Lawyer moms have. NO THING gets past us. We know who's cheating the age cut-off for soccer, how to check the browser history on an iPhone and what percent of the Algebra grade is a busywork slush fund. Character may be how you act when no one is watching, but the lawyer moms are watching, so make good choices.

Exhibit C. We know drudgery. You think laundry is boring? Does it make you want to run screaming from the house wearing nothing but a pair of dirty-ish socks and the slip you bought for a wedding? Lawyer moms can stand there and fold all day long. We have a superhuman tolerance for drudgery. We took Trusts and Estates. We read hundreds and hundreds of pages recounting the order in which people with the same name died -- plus math -- and we stayed awake. Laundry is an episode of Scandal compared to that shizz.

Exhibit D. We are trained interrogators. You may be able to trip up a 4-year-old claiming the cat used a Sharpie, but are you ready for teenagers with a coordinated cover story? Lawyer moms are. Have a seat in the dining room. Let me just adjust this dimmer switch -- there, now I can see you. So, tell me again who was there? Nice. And Jordan drove? I love her Prius. What does it seat... five? Cool. Just one more thing: I think you said there were seven of you. KA-CHUNG. If there's anything you want to tell me, I suggest you do it now while I can still convince Dad to go easy on you.

Exhibit E. We love a good fight. Is your school planning to change the bus routes? Cancel the gifted and talented program? Get rid of Field Day? Nope. You know why? Lawyer moms. There is nothing like a momma bear with a law degree and a bee in her bonnet. We looooove writing long letters and cc:'ing everybody in sight. Know what we love even more? Testifying in front of committees. Can't get enough of it. Oh, but you know what's the absolute best? Calling somebody's office every two hours until they agree to take a meeting with our newly-formed committee to oppose whatever they're trying to do. YUM. Sure, the new School Board President has all kinds of ideas, but don't worry. He'll come around after his secretary quits.

Your honors, I rest. (Seriously, I'm done. Where's the remote?)

Peyton Price neither confirms nor denies any of this. She is the author of Suburban Haiku: Poetic Dispatches From Behind the Picket Fence and a good friend and neighbor to the people of Facebook.

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