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Figures.

So, it’s the New Year (well, it was).  I start a new blog.  Plan to devote lots of time to it.

One week after my first post, my husband loses his job  (Well, we knew he would lose his job because he doesn’t work for the New Administration.  Rather, he worked for the Old Administration.  Questions?  Email me.).

So, said husband needs the laptop every day all day to look for a new job.

My blog gets ignored because I have no access to my laptop.

So, for the 4 of you that do still come everyday to see if I’ve written anything new, please keep coming back.

Say some prayers that my husband finds a new job in short order, and no, not just because I miss my blogging (though I do).  Rather, me and the 4 kiddos would like to continue to eat and live under our current roof.

In the meantime, we’ve been enjoying the snow.

Until my husband sleeps again and I can peel my laptop out of his curled fingers perched on the keyboard….

Peace out.

This will be a hard post for me to write, but please stick with it to the end. I intend to.

At the age of 6, I no longer had contact with my father. My parents divorced when I was 2, after which my mother had custody and my father had every other weekend. As I was turning 6, my mother was re-marrying, and for reasons never adequately explained to my 6 year old self, my father decided to relinquish all legal rights to me. With the stroke of the judge’s pen, I was no longer my father’s daughter.

I was fatherless.

That feeling has continued now, into my (ahem) 40th year. And I intend to write about it more, but not in this post.

Alot happened between the age of 6 and adulthood, as you can imagine. But the important part of this portion of my story is that I went on to law school. And from law school, I took my “dream job,” as a criminal prosecutor. Actually, I had always wanted to be a police officer, but as my grandfather had been a NYC Police Detective, he felt the street was no place for his first-born grand-daughter child.  So, to law school I went.

In law school, I excelled in criminal law.  I just had a knack for it, and I couldn’t get enough of it.  I love all things criminal law.

As  a prosecutor, I started where everyone straight out of law school does.  Traffic court.  Fun stuff.  Luckily, my time there was short-lived, and I quickly moved through misdemeanors, a year at juvenile felonies, followed by a year of drug felonies.

And then I started at the Sexual Assault Unit (SAU).  I had already gained a lot of experience prosecuting sexual assault cases in the juvenile felony unit — prosecuting kids who rape other children or sexually assault then in some other manner.  In SAU, the law was the same, but the offenders were older.

Sexual assault cases, rape cases, incest cases, well, they are just the hardest.  Not only the evidence, but also the emotions.  As I’m sure you can imagine.  But I did well with the cases.  And “enjoy” wouldn’t be the right word to describe my work on those cases, but I felt they were a righteous challenge, and I’m always up for a righteous challenge.

That, and there is no better feeling in the world as when the jury convicts a rape offender and the victim says “Thank You.”  There are no other words for her to say, and those two words just say so much.  I remember all the victims I’ve worked with and even now to this day, years since I served and thousands of miles away, I wonder how they’re doing.

Imagine my surprise when two years ago I am involved in a telephone conversation with my mom and the subject of my natural father comes up (all following a lunch I had with a recently-found brother, but again, a topic for another post), and my mom proceeds to tell me that he (my natural father) never knew his father either.  His mother (my grandmother) was raped by a stranger in a park at the age of 16.  She choose to keep the baby (my natural father).  The rapist was never captured.

I never knew this.

That rapist’s granddaughter grew up to prosecute rapists.

Imagine that.

Karma?

I think so.

I definitely think so.

sweet heaven.

The first sweet taste of her first Shirley Temple.

I love these shots, though unfortunately they’re not as sharp as I’d like.  Penalty of turning off the flash, but not sufficiently accounting for the lack of light (camera shake is evident).  I’ve tried masking the shake a bit in Picasa using film grain, which creates an interesting (passable) effect.

What do you think?

Check out some more Best Shots over at Mother May I?

Hello Internet!

Let me assure you, this blog is not about tax. Or taxes.  Or anything even remotely similar to anything involved with the word “tax.”

In law school, we had to take a tax class.  It was required.  I went three times (first day, midterm, final exam).  I know, I was a bad tax student.  I got a B.  My husband sat next to me in that class.  Except he wasn’t my husband then, and he doesn’t remember me.  Probably had something to do with my attendance.  For me, tax is boring.  And no, I’m not a tax attorney.  In fact, I don’t practice law at all anymore, but when I did, I was a criminal prosecutor.  You know, Law and Order, rapes, robberies, the occasional homicide.  Fun stuff.  Stories for another time.

To get back to my point.  This story.

Because I found tax class so boring, I did other things instead.  Fun stuff.  Adventures.  Anything other than tax.

Fast forward many years past law school, and I’m now married to my husband.  12 years.  We have four kids.  They’re all under 9.  Because the whole family uses the computers, we have to “hide” certain things.  You can guess.  NO, not that.  Get your mind out of the gutter.  Think magical childhood fantasies that might require a computer occasionally.  So, since I’m the one tasked with doing that sort of stuff, I had a dilemma the first year — how do I label this?  You got it.

BORING TAX STUFF.

It was all the fun things, but hidden.  What kid will open that file?

Fast forward a year.  My dear husband is tasked with writing a letter concerning one of those magical childhood persons.  He wants to read the prior year’s letter, and wants to know where to find it.  He peruses our hundreds of document titles, and there it was.  BORING TAX STUFF.  He laughed and just knew.  Of course.  There it is.

Which brings us here.

I started a blog in 2008.  Not this one.  I wrote it for a year.  Family and friends alike visited.  At times, viewership soared way higher than I ever expected.  After a year though, I found myself censoring myself, all to please various extended family members.  Oh, and then there were the perverts.  Do you know how many men (I’m assuming men) search every. single. day. for “cute 5 year old” or “cute 6 year old” or “cute 8 year old”?  Too many.  I cringed every time I saw the search terms on my stats (this is the only post on this blog where they will appear).  I decided to move on.  Time for a change.  Less of a “mommy blog,” and well, more of me.  Mama and all, but there’s more.  Lots more.  If my extended family finds me, then so be it.

This is me.  Me, my ramblings, my musings, and my photography. No tax stuff.  Ever.  I promise.

Ironically, despite my tax class attendance record (or lack thereof), I do prepare our household taxes.

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