August 2009

Mothering as a Young Lawyer Is a Far Cry from Law School

by Jamila Johnson

A special feature highlighting articles that appear in DeNovo, the official publication of the Washington State Bar Association’s Young Lawyers Division. Want to see more articles like these? DeNovo is available online at www.wsba.org/media/publications/denovo. Would you like to receive DeNovo in your inbox? E-mail Brian Halcomb at brianh@wsba.org.

From the time my son was born until he finished the first grade, he had a mother who was a slave to the educational system. He knew Mommy spent too much time reading heavy books. He knew when to tell me that I had highlighter on my forehead or red pen marks on my elbow. He was accustomed to an educational-institution-mandated routine that changed by quarter and the concept of silence for my studying.

He was fully compliant with this system.

This compliance was on overdrive by the bar exam, but there were a few rebellious moments. My clever child would frequently say things like, “If my mommy fails the bar exam, she won’t get to be a lawyer,” to guests, grocery store clerks, our Blockbuster guy, and the homeless man by the movie theater. Then he would laugh, realizing his new form of torturing Mommy was making Mommy look like she had eaten bad shrimp or had taken a nice ride on the sinking Titanic. This taunting lasted until a month after I passed the bar, when, after multiple tries to invoke fear, he was quite disappointed to learn it no longer turned my face a shade of green or forced my eye to twitch uncontrollably. Go figure.

The system changed when I started practicing law. He was terribly disappointed to learn that lawyers did not carry guns and wear blue or black uniforms. I admit that was completely my fault. I never bothered to fully explain the legal profession, and in his mind, lawyers were policemen — policemen highly educated and physically fit from benching civil procedure books. He thought suits looked silly on me — we sometimes agreed on that one — and was quite confused as to why I had to wake up so early.

When you are a mother in law school, or rather, when you are a parent generally, you become an amazing multitasker. You hold abilities that seem cosmic in nature to child-free onlookers, who often marvel at your capacity to do laundry while playing soccer with one foot and reading Hawkins v. McGee. When you enter private practice and meet the billable hour, an amazing and confusing thing happens: You are no longer allowed to multitask.

Never would you bill a client for a case read while drawing in sidewalk chalk with your son and listening to a podcast of last weekend’s “This American Life.” Your billable time is sacred, and dedicated completely and fully to your client. For those rates, it had better be. If there is one thing that nearly two years of practicing law as a mother has taught me, it is that the greatest parenting skill of multitasking is tremendously under-utilized by the billable-hour system. But since I love my job, billable hour be darned, I have had to learn a series of equally important skills to survive practice and keep “Mommy” from turning to a huffy “Mo-o-m.”

You make alterations. When I started working, I would try to beat the earliest partner into the office. After finding this to be impossible, and realizing he came in early so he could be with his kids longer at night, I gave up this goal. As a new associate, your work develops in the course of a day. I could not control when I would leave the office, but I could control when I got there. Quality time became a morning event and a balance has been struck. And in the evening, if needed, I can take work home to do afterward.

You appreciate the time you do have. My son and I watch stupid movies from the early ‘90s together, with giant tubs of popcorn, or have pinecone fights at the park (limited by a dislike for getting dirty, but sufficient for his purposes). These are the times he will remember when he is older, and there is no amount of working time that can prevent parents from making these moments happen.

You explain your day. I learned my lesson when my son and I had the “No, honey, lawyers don’t carry guns as part of their job. No, we don’t have billy clubs, either,” talk. It is important to explain why you are away from home on business. It is also important to be able to explain why you come home late, or why you are home early. Explaining my day (in big-picture concepts) helps both of us deal with the unpredictability that comes with life as a litigator.

Being the child of a lawyer is not easy: We are argumentative and sometimes absent. But in the last two years, my son and I have managed to settle into new routines. We’ve found new ways to do things, and new ways to connect. Sometimes I still fall asleep with a highlighter or a red ink pen, but he tells me he is glad I am a lawyer and not a student anymore. That said, he still says he’d like it better if I’d gone to police school. 

Jamila Johnson is a litigation associate at Schwabe, Williamson & Wyatt and is the associate editor of DeNovo. She may be reached at jajohnson@schwabe.com or 206-407-1555.