The dog days of summer
Having been married now for just over two years, I’ve finally worn Otto down with my winning ways, my wit, my charm, my irresistible smile, and—most importantly—my whining.
We’re getting a dog.
There are those who’ve known me a long time, and who know that in My Former Life™ I had a Very Bad Dog and, in fact, sent him away in a move that was deemed by my ex-husband to be the final nail in my I’m Such A Monster coffin. I was accused of hating animals and being uncaring. The reality is that I love animals, but our former dog was a neurotic mess, and as I was already somewhat overwhelmed with the two small (at the time) neurotic messes to whom I’d given birth, I couldn’t handle the dog, as well.
He went to a farm and lived out the rest of his life a lot happier, I think. Though his life was sadly cut short, and I still sometimes feel guilty about it.
I tell you this to demonstrate why I am now paralyzed with fear. read more…
What I did (and why I went)
Well, it’s happening already. The deconstruction of BlogHer ’09 and this years Drama Du Jours is in full force, and once again I am reminded of why I skipped this event for several years. I prefer my drama to be of the “he touched me!” or “she called me a name!” variety, you see; and while technically I suppose BlogHer presents opportunities for that sort of thing, as well, it’s a lot easier to swallow when it comes from adorable minors rather than people who are supposedly adults, you know?
I’m already reading posts about this, about how a few proverbial rotten apples are spoiling it for the rest of the bunch, and there are valid points to be made. I’m no fan of the poor behavior, the swag-grabbing, the drunkenness, or even the karaoke (I mean, I suppose the karaoke is harmless, but it’s loud and annoying and not why I go to a conference). And while it’s nice that BlogHer brought in Tim Gunn and Paula Deen and Carson Kressley, I saw none of them and don’t really care. They are not why I went.
So rather than another rehashing of what sucked or what I thought was wrong or bad or dumb, I will tell you why I went this year and what I did that I think matters. In case you care. (If you don’t, that’s cool, too. Here, have a thumb drive as a lovely bonus gift. I have about a dozen.) read more…
The best part
Otto and Monkey greeted me at the airport with flowers. Of course. I scooped Monkey up into a hug and nuzzled his neck as he squeezed me and chanted, “Mama! Mama! Mama!” I set him back down and hugged and kissed Otto, and then Monkey yelled, “GROUP HUG!” and we picked him up between us and embraced again. When we pulled apart and put him down, several folks standing around us were smiling and chuckling.
(If you are ever down, the place to be is right at the top of the escalators at the Atlanta airport. You can’t be sad while watching loved ones reunite.)
We went out into the evening (94 degrees outside at 7:00 p.m.! WELCOME BACK!) and loaded up to head home. Otto and I held hands and Monkey detailed his latest exploits in his Pokemon game as he played his DS.
During a lull in the conversation, Monkey cheerfully announced: “I’m makin’ babies!” read more…
What I didn’t do
I’m headed home from BlogHer. Right now I’m sitting in the airport, enjoying following the chatter on Twitter about what’s still happening there.
Here are a few things I didn’t do this weekend (though others did):
* See Tim Gunn
* Get my picture taken with Paula Deen and a stick of butter (though I really, really wanted to)
* Change my outfit two or three times a day
* Get drunk
* Lose my room key
* Lose my phone
* Stay up all night
* Gather so much swag I needed a sherpa
* Become indignant over the sponsorship of the conference
* Take anything offered by Walmart
* Eat dinner other than the first night (whoops)
* Sing karaoke
* Actually see Chicago at all.
Soon I’ll tell you what I actually did. But first I have to get home to the people I like best, and shower them with USB drives to express my love.
So far
Well, I’ve been in Chicago for less than a day, and so far I have:
* Walked around in circles at the airport, and been mocked by the shuttle drivers.
* Attempted to step over a velvet rope and instead snagged it with my foot and caused the support poles to fall over with a spectacular clang.
* Tripped on some stairs at the restaurant we went to last night (and when I then said, “I am SO CLUMSY!” to Chris, she responded, “Yeah, I’m really hungry, too,” so thank goodness for dinner companions with apparent hearing and vision problems).
* Spilled water all over the hotel desk while attempting to make myself some coffee, because lord knows I am not awake enough to make coffee until I’ve HAD SOME DAMN COFFEE.
I’m so sorry, Chicago. Chances are I’m going to step on your toe, later. I swear it’s an accident.
See you in Chicago?
I’d love to stay and chat, but I have to go make sure I packed underwear. You think I’m joking, but as we pulled out of the driveway last weekend and I started my traditional “I think I forgot something, I think I really forgot something this time” chant to Otto, he nodded and patted my knee, sanguinely, until we got to the end of the road and I started screeching, “WAIT! I DID! GO BACK!”
Oh, I know what you’re thinking—that I’d forgotten to pack underwear. But that would be silly. Of COURSE I’d packed underwear!
No, I’d forgotten to pack bras. Oops.
(In my defense, I’d just done laundry, and they were all hanging up to dry inside the laundry closet when I was packing clothes. Also, shut up.) (There is little a man enjoys more than having to tow a truck and trailer back around the block because his wife is too ditzy to adequately pack for a couple of days away. I’m sure of it.)
Anyway. Chicago! Let’s meet there, yes? read more…
Barracuda in your butt
We went on the world’s shortest camping trip this weekend, because it was Monkey’s turn to have his him-and-a-friend trip, and his friend decided that one night away from home was enough for him; and Monkey, of course, concluded that staying without his buddy for another night would just be boring and wrong.
See, Otto and I like to do the following when we camp: Sit around and read, go on nature walks, take pictures, play Scrabble.
Monkey and his friend, however, opt for: Running around in circles, reenacting every Pokemon battle there ever was (including several new ones they just invented), piling up gravel and naming each of the stones and involving them in an epic story about aliens, devouring freeze pops and then using the empty sleeves as lightsabers, making up word games with as much body part and potty humor as possible, and showering with their underwear on.
It’s a different set of priorities, I suppose. read more…
Back to being a cynic
I spent the morning packing up for another camping trip (this time it’s the Monkey-and-friend version, while his sister is away).
I went into my bathroom and packed up my creams and gels and toothpaste and such and looked over the three different kinds of eye drops and two different kinds of saline solutions and…
… put my glasses on.
Crotchety Old Optometrist was right. I lasted four days with the contacts. FOUR. DAYS.
Hmph.
Love’s a free spirit
Otto and I have endless discussions about being A Visual Person vs. not being A Visual Person. Otto is visual. He sees things that I don’t. He remembers how to get somewhere if he’s been there once before, and can point out all of the relevant landmarks.
I am most definitely NOT visual. Vision is perhaps my weakest sense, both literally and figuratively. I’m moved by sounds, scents, and most especially feel. I can identify something I last smelled years ago, or one of my children by the curve of the hand snaking around my chair to tickle me, but how things look is not much of a cue in my world.
(Unless we’re talking about pretty shoes. That’s a different paradigm, intrinsically linked to the double-X chromosome set, I guess.)
Anyway, I find myself meditating on hair a lot these days. How it looks, how it feels, and whether it has to MEAN something. read more…
Hurry up and wait
Yesterday Chickadee and I saw perhaps the kindest medical professional we’ve ever encountered, and I sort of wanted to put him in my pocket and take him home with us. He (yes, HE) was a nurse practitioner. I’ve always liked NPs. They seem to have most of the same training and power as you encounter with the average doctor, but a much better bedside manner. It’s almost like they care, or something.
Of course, the fact that he was awfully nice didn’t actually GET us anywhere, but it was at least nice to feel cared about while we continue not solving the problem….
When we last left off, Chickadee was about to have a skin biopsy at the dermatologist’s office. Now, the dermatologist is ALSO very nice, and so when we went in and Chickie started doing her standard fear routine the doc started in with “If she doesn’t want it done, let’s not do it, I don’t want her to be scared, let’s wait until she’s more ready,” and I had to try to explain that she was going to be scared no matter what, and I was sorry, but we really just needed to get it overwith. I’m sure the doc thought I was a Terrible Mother™. But when your kid is needlephobic but NEEDS a procedure I don’t see the point in acting like she has a choice. Call me crazy. read more…