Who Do I Think I Am, Anyway?

Months ago, when I heard BlogHer '10 had sold out, I immediately headed to their site to get myself on the waiting list. Why? Because I always want what I can't have, and dang it, I wanted to go to that conference.

And then I promptly forgot all about it.

But you know what? They didn't forget about me. A couple of days ago, I got an email informing me that more sponsors had been found and a ticket was now available for me.  A ticket! For BlogHer! In New York City!!!

Being the impulsive person that I am, I immediately logged on and bought myself a conference pass.

And now I'm freaking the hell out.

Me? At BlogHer? With 2,000 other bloggers? What on earth was I thinking?

As I may have remarked a time or two, I'm a bit of an introvert. Stick me in a large crowd and I start looking for the nearest corner to hide in.

I'm a little afraid it will be a repeat of high school. You know, with the cool girls (with thousands of readers) all gossiping and laughing loudly while I look on from the sidelines, pushing my glasses up my nose with one shaking hand while I keep the other arm firmly clamped across my hunched chest.


I know I've come a long way since then. My social skills have improved—vastly. I'm sure I'll do fine. In fact, I'm looking forward to meeting the friends I've made here and across the blogosphere.

But I'd feel better if I could pack all of you in my suitcase so that when I got there, I'd have my own posse to hang with. You know, so we could explore the big city (until now, I've spent all of 24 hours there), rehash the sessions and snark about the people around us.

Tell me some of you will be there? 

Proof That Food is Love.

It was a rainy Sunday afternoon. My in-laws, who had been stuck in the house with us since Friday, were slowly going stir crazy—and taking us with them. After my mother-in-law asked me if there were any clothes she could fold for the fifteenth time, I decided that we had to get out. Immediately.

The destination? Sam's Club.

I know. That seems like a weird choice, but the Pages? They looooooove Sam's Club. And you know why? Sam's Club gives out free samples of food. Lots of food.

Granted, they aren't  nearly as generous as they used to be (there was a time when my father in law would go there to get a free lunch), but if you time it right—and we did—you can still fill up on a variety of delicious snacks.

So we wandered through the aisles, punching buttons on iPods, sitting on the furniture, even watching parts of Avatar. But finally, we made our way to our true destination. The Giormous Grocery Section.

Everyone scattered, looking for the best delicacies. Tori and I found ourselves in the cheese section, where we shared a piece of goat cheese while I read the exotic-sounding labels to her. We were somewhere between the Havarti and the Muenster when my husband and his parents swooped down, cradling their snacks like precious cargo.

Before I knew it, all three were presenting Tori with the choicest morsels, standing in front of her with spoons extended before them. She delicately mouthed one treat, then another and another, twisting in my arms to face each supplicant.

No sooner had she swallowed one round than they all presented her with another, faces glowing with the joy of having provided her with something she found tasty.

That's when I started cracking up.

They looked mystified as I howled with laughter in the middle of the cheese section, oblivious to the curious stares of passers-by.

I tried to explain, but I couldn't. Not in a way they could understand.

Instead, I muffled my laugh and hid my smile, basking in the joy that comes from knowing that my Tori?  Is well and truly loved—and will never, ever go hungry as long as her grandparents are around.

Wordful Wednesday: A Day at the Park.

The universe, it throws a whole lot of super duper craptastic crap at me. But every once in a while? It tosses a perfect day my way.

A day where Tori wakes up grinning and puts a smile in my heart that lasts until sunset.

A day where the sun chases the memories of cold from our bones and transforms the brown, blah world around us into a kaleidoscope of vibrant greens and blues.

A day where there are no deadlines to worry about. No dishes to wash, no laundry to do, no toilets to scrub.

A day where I can scoop up my baby, link hands with my husband and head out to explore.

A day where we can relax and enjoy moments like this one:



I know. The camera work isn't the best and it could probably use some editing, but I really don't care. The memory it captures is perfect just the way it is. Oh, and did you notice? At about 34 seconds in, you can hear Tori say "whoa." Seriously. You can.

That cracks me the hell up.

Now, go visit Seven Clown Circus for some more Wordful Wednesday fun.

Hey, It's Okay...

There are a lot of things in this world that it's not okay to be okay about. Like global warming. And human trafficking. And leggings worn with crop tops (cover your asses, ladies). But this list? Is about  all the things we need to stop stressing the hell out about (and I have Airing My Dirty Laundry to thank for the idea, so visit her). So, without further ado, I give you:

Hey, it's okay...

To think that lettuce on a hamburger counts as a vegetable.

To tell a clueless wonder that her grin would look a lot better if she lost the lipstick on her teeth.

To wonder why we need DVDs to teach our children to read (isn't that counter productive?).

To be really glad to see your family when they come to visit...and almost as glad to see them go.

To indulge in a pity party fueled by chocolate when the fitting room mirror gives you bad news.

To feed your child non-organic, genetically-altered, pesticide-covered fruits and vegetables (just wash them first).

To mourn the loss of the fantastic boobs your 21-year-old self didn't fully appreciate.

To hate Jillian Michaels. And Dr. Oz. And even Oprah. Yes, Oprah.

To think the trashy  paranormal romance novel you just read was way better than that Pulitzer Prize-winning bore you forced yourself to finish.

To fantasize about arriving on a deserted beach on a Caribbean island, curling up in a hammock under a palm tree with your honey...and taking a two-hour nap.

That's  my list. What are you okay about?

Oh, Crap. I Have to be Honest?

Honesty. It's a wonderful thing, isn't it? Except when it isn't (as in, I don't actually want to know that those pants make me look fat).

Anyway, the Empress, ruler of Good Day, Regular People, recently said that although some of us pretend we're above them, in truth, everyone loves getting blog awards. And she's right. I know I never get tired of finding those happy little links in my inbox (after all, we've already established that I'm an attention whore).

So finding this (which she has renamed Honest Crap):

Really made my day.

 But there are rules (sigh). We've got to share some honest crap about ourselves, which I am happy to do, and pass it on to some bloggers who also deserve it. That's the part that makes me frown (I'm lazy, yo).

First the easy stuff.

• Last week, my cat puked at the end of my bed, which I discovered shortly before turning out the light. But I was really fricking tired, so I let it sit there. All. Night. Long. Gross, huh?
• There is a pot of spaghetti in my fridge that's been there for 2.5 weeks. It's taking up almost an entire shelf, and is totally in the way. But I am too dang lazy to throw it out. It will probably be there until my mom comes to visit.
• This weekend, I took my book into the bathroom and curled up on the rug to read—for a full hour. Not even my husband stays on the crapper for that long.
• My car has smelled vaguely like spoiled milk for months now. Months. Today? I opened this little storage compartment to find an entire package of American cheese. And oh, the smell! But you know what? I got out without throwing it away (see? lazy).
• Recently, while I was, ahem, sorting some laundry that had been sitting in my closet for a while, I came across some of Tori's clothes. In the 3-6 month size. That's how long it's been since I was all caught up on my laundry, people.

Aaaaaand that's enough of that. Anybody still with me? I'm really not a terrible person, I promise. Just a messy one.

Now on to the award giving. If you're a blogger, and you're reading this, you know I love you. But I'm going to take a stroll through my reader and pimp a few of you out here:

On The Verge

Yes I Am That Mommy

Earth Mother Just Means I'm Dusty


The Bjorn Identity

Sassy Irish Lassie

Typing One Handed

But really? You're all awarded. Even if you don't blog. Heck, if you take valuable minutes out of your day to read my ramblings? Me love you long time. Now it's your turn. Who should we all be reading?

Writer's Workshop: Ten (or so) Things I've Unlearned.

Back when I first became a mommy (you know, about a hundred years ago), my head was stuffed with all sorts of rules. Swirling around in my brain were all sorts of sentences beginning with "good mommies must..." and "good mommies never..." And you know what? I nearly drove myself mad.

Now, a whole year later, I've learned a little something. Okay, a lot of somethings. Mostly what I've learned is that those rules are total crap. Here are ten that I find particularly offensive.

Good mommies must breast feed. Oh yeah? Tell that to the screaming hellion who would have nothing to do with my boob for the first three weeks of her life. She was miserable, I was miserable, and more importantly, I was in danger of losing my mind. So yeah, I quit. I might have cost her a few IQ points, but you know what? I was formula fed and I turned out just fine (shut up. I did).

Good mommies always keep their cool.  I don't know where I got this one from, but I was sure it was true. Then this screaming, popping, vomiting mess arrived in my life and I was anything but calm. At first, I beat myself up every time I got frustrated, or found myself close to tears, or just wanted to give up, but eventually? I realized that there was no way I was going to get through this thing if I couldn't be free to feel whatever it was I was feeling.

Good mommies keep a clean house. Yeah. That lasted for about two days after my mom went home. My husband and I are slobs. Always have been, always will be. So I've learned to embrace the mess. Until, that is, company is coming. Then I run around cleaning like a mad woman (so if you hear strange noises at about 2 a.m., don't worry. It's just me, trying to remember how the vacuum works).

Good mommies never get bored.  I thought I was supposed to be completely enthralled with her every gurgle, babble and fart. But you know what? I'm not. Sometimes, I'd rather stick hot pokers under my toenails than play one more round of peekaboo. And that's okay.

Good mommies never let their kids eat off the floor.  When Tori first became mobile, I freaked out every time she picked something up and put it in her mouth. But, as we've already discussed, I'm basically a lazy person. These days, her favorite food is cheerios...sprinkled with a layer of floor crunchies.

Good mommies lose the baby weight within the first three months. If that's true, than I am a complete and utter failure. I'm still carrying 15 extra pounds. But that's better than the 35 extra pounds I was padded with this time last year, so I'm going to cut myself some slack.

Good mommies never let their babies watch TV.  This is a rule I actually stuck with. For the first nine or ten months of her life, Tori never saw TV. But you know what sucks? Now, she just won't watch it. So, when mommy wants her to space out in front of Sesame Street or Baby Einstein or something, she'll have nothing to do with it. That kind of sucks, y'all.

Good mommies make their own rules. This one, I've discovered, is actually true. What works for my family might not work for your family and so on and so forth. We're doing our best to muddle through over here, and so far? We're doing okay (knock on wood).

Well, that's not quite ten, but I've got company coming tomorrow and a whole house to clean. So, I'm going to make my own rule and pretend the assignment called for a list of eight. You got a problem with that? Then visit Mama Kat and find some other, more rule-abiding workshoppers to read.

A Friendship Glimpsed.

It was a beautiful Monday afternoon. I had just finished eating a picnic lunch with Brian and Tori under a gorgeous maple tree flush with the first lime green leaves of spring. Tori was giggling from her seat in the baby swing, soaring higher and higher as daddy pushed until I found myself pinching the inside of my arm to keep from blurting, "don't you think she's going a little high?"

Then I saw her.

All around her were clusters of moms, laughing and gossiping together as they shared child-minding duties. But she sat alone, looking lonely as her toddler played in the sand at her feet. On her face I saw a reflection of my own painful shyness. My own longing for a mommy friend. I thought about going over and introducing myself, but like the awkward teen I once was, I couldn't quite summon the courage.

Suddenly, Brian noticed the direction of my gaze. "Hey, that's Dianna!"  Scooping a protesting Tori from the swing, he marched over and greeted her loudly. I followed hesitantly, unsure of our welcome.

But her face lit up when she saw us. "Brian!" she exclaimed. "How the heck are you?"

He plunked Tori down in the dirt next to her 13-month-old and the two burgeoning toddlers eyed each other warily. Then they both began sifting through the sand, mimicking each other's motions.

"Look at that. Aren't they cute," I said.

She grinned back at me. "They sure are."

That set off a conversation about our babies' so-called accomplishments, stubbornness in refusing to walk and teething troubles. As the minutes flew by, my imagination took flight.

I imagined play dates where our kids occupied each other while we moaned about the travails of motherhood. I imagined leaving our husbands in charge while we went out to grab a martini - arriving home before bedtime, of course. I imagined having someone I could call at the drop of the hat to reassure me that no, in fact, I wasn't going crazy. I was just another tired mom.

I imagined having a mommy friend.

But eventually Tori started rubbing her eyes, signaling it was time to go.

"Well," she said, "maybe I'll see you around here again."

"Yeah," I said. "I hope so."

But I know I won't. I work. I don't usually get to take Tori to the park on sunny weekday afternoons. I don't get to hang out with other mommies. I'm destined to go it alone.

But that doesn't stop me from wishing things could be different.