Motherhood Uncensored

Mean people suck

There's nothing like an innocent early morning jaunt on the boardwalk to teach my kids about the cruel harsh world.

Okay, so it was really a couple of idiots working at a bike rental shop with less teeth than Margot that renewed my lack of faith in humanity.

We'd spent the first part of the morning watching the not-so-romantic "oh my god why are you little rascals awake right now" sunrise and walking through the waves on the beach when I decided to pass a little more time by checking out the rental bikes.

And while we were examining the various contraptions that you can rent for a ridiculous amount of money to ride up and down a long stretch of what might be the largest saturation of hairspray, fake nails, and airbrushing, Drew decided to put his precious plastic Lightning McQueen car down in the middle of the bike thoroughfare. But considering it was still practically o' dark thirty, it wasn't that busy.

Well, until one of the aforementioned idiots needed to return a low-rider 3-wheeled bike.

The guy told Drew to grab his car, but he was too scared to jump out in front of the moving bike. And having Margot stuffed into a BabyHawk carrier, I couldn't reach down and grab it as quickly as I needed to.

So instead of hitting the brakes, or reaching down to pick it up as he drove by, the guy just ran right over the toy.

There was a loud crunch, followed by a duet of screams unlike anything I've ever heard.

However, I was too focused on the idiots laughing it up in the back of the shop, to even try to console my kids.

Yes, they were laughing.

I'm not even sure what I said to them, and the other guy working there who was standing and staring at my kids as they picked up the pieces of the car.

I yelled to the back of the shop as they sat there, obviously hiding, but too small balled to come out and apologize and offer them something in return.

"You should be ashamed of yourselves" I said, grasping for words that didn't start with "F." "You couldn't wait two more seconds so that he could pick it up?" I asked, completely shocked at the blatant disregard for their feelings.

I walked away with the kids to collect myself, and attempt to explain why someone would do what I've spent years trying to teach them.

But it was like talking to a couple of screaming monkeys. 

"Waaaaaah my car waaaaaah his car waaaaaah we'll never ever have a car ever again waaaaaah!"

And so I figured, why not use it to my advantage and so I dragged my kids back to the shop, continuing on like I hadn't left, demanding money for the car, and pointing my finger at the woman in charge of the rental agreements.

She asked them what had happened because she hadn't seen it. Whatever.I told her "They ran over his car on purpose."

After I stood there for a few more minutes, my kids still loudly mourning the loss of the car, she barely apologized and handed me money. 

"Why would he do that?" Quinlan kept saying through her tears. 

I really didn't know what to tell her. I was too choked up, part of my heart crushed like the toy car. It's the side of humanity you never really want your kids to see.

"Sometimes people are just mean," I told her. "But that doesn't mean we have to sit around and take it."

Now I just have to figure out how to teach her to let out the air on 50 some odd bike tires.

Girly parts

It seems incredibly unfair that the long unawaited first return of my post partum period always happens to come when we're at the shore. She's three for three on a beach arrival, ensuring that I'm bloated, tired, and stuffed to the gills with frozen custard and salt water taffy while I attempt to squeeze myself into a bathing suit.

And don't even get me started about the tampons. Blech.

Of course, I should be able to predict her return pretty handedly by now, and yet, I still spend half the month thinking I'm pregnant or ovulating or a sinner that's being punished by children and a husband who are suddenly outrageously annoying.

I even had the passing thought that I hit an early menopause. Or maybe it was just a bad piece of pizza.

It doesn't help that Margot is waking up so many freaking times every night that I've got newborn night dread again, made slightly more challenging when all five of us are sleeping in the same room.

You'd think that after enduring three births and breastfed babies, Mother Nature would throw you a fucking bone already.

Or at least one that doesn't hit you square in the gut at 5:45 in the morning.

10 Tips to Help You Prepare for BlogHer 2009

Four weeks until BlogHer, and there are Pre-BlogHer posts popping up already. And for good reason. Every year, there are a ton of pre-Blogher freakout posts and then a gaggle of seasoned bloggers who offer to help new BlogHer conference attendees prepare for what can seem like a daunting and overwhelming experience with a few virtual Xanax.

So since this will be my fourth time, I figured I'd throw my hat into the ring and offer my own advice on how to deal with BlogHer-induced anxiety.

1. It's a conference, not a red carpet. Dress accordingly.

Every year, you'll find no shortage of posts with BlogHers freaking out about what to wear. If you rarely leave the house for anything other than school drop off and the grocery store or look like you always just left the gym, you might want to snazz up your wardrobe, but don't feel like you need to get dressed up to sit in a hotel conference room.

For the cocktail parties you might want something a little nicer, but don't go searching for a full length evening gown. Something simple and flattering that you don't mind getting photographed in (we're bloggers, we take lots of pictures, see #4) should work just fine. And wear comfortable shoes. You'll be surprised at how much you'll be standing.

2. Don't be embarrassed to look at someone's name tag. We all have to do it. 

There's just no sly way of getting around the name tag chicken head bob. Some have perfected it, while others will just look like they're trying to match your boobs with your face. Don't be offended if someone doesn't know who you are. We all know the pictures most people put on their blogs are from 2001 before we all had kids and double chins. And while what you write on your blog is extremely awesome, you shouldn't feel bad if someone doesn't remember what you wrote about on your last post. Most of us are lucky to have time to read emails from our own mothers let alone blogs these days.

And don't worry if you don't know who someone is. We're all running on half a brain cell anyway. The name tags are there for a reason, so use them.

3. Birds of a feather flock together. That doesn't mean we're all in high school again.

I've never quite understood why people get their panties in a wad about bloggers who happen to be friends who happen to hang out together at BlogHer. It has little to do with them trying to avoid you or being mean to you or excluding you from all their "hip cool parties" (that ps you're invited to anyway), and more with the fact that some bloggers are better friends.

That doesn't mean you shouldn't go say "hello" or introduce yourself, or join in on a discussion. Just don't follow them into a bathroom stall or try to touch their boob. That generally doesn't go over well. At least with most bloggers, anyway.

4. Don't do anything that you might not want written about or photographed because, um, it's a blogging conference.

I remember the first year I went to BlogHer, I was shocked to see so many people on their computers, even during the sessions. And then I remembered that it's a blogging conference, so people are, well, blogging. And taking pictures. A lot. That doesn't mean you can't be yourself, but if you so happen to get wasted, and then pass out on the bed, don't be surprised if people put stuff all over you and take pictures and then write about it on their blogs. Just sayin'.

5. Hoard food

For some reason, there always seems to be a lack of food at BlogHer. And while I love a tasty beverage or 27, I still need actual food. And not just bagels and diet water. Maybe it's because I've been pregnant or breastfeeding at every BlogHer conference, but there just never seems to be enough food.

So find a suite in the afternoon, leave early and grab dinner before the cocktail parties, or find something small at the hotel restaurant. But don't expect there to be masses of food at this particular conference. In fact, if you're looking for good swag, hand out protein bars or turkey sausages with your logo. I'm betting you'd do pretty well.

6. You don't need to go to everything. In fact, it might not be humanly possible.

I took one glance at the Blogher 2009 party schedule for this year and nearly fell over. Aside from the conference sessions, exhibit booths, and 4000 other BlogHer sponsored events, you've got a slew of other parties and suites and Xanadu orgies to deal with. So pace yourself, and don't get upset if you can't go to everything. You'll find yourself missing out on good quality time with the people you came to see. And if you do try to go to everything, you don't need to be the last one to leave. There are no awards for that.

So don't feel bad if you have to skip a session or two and head out to lunch with some friends, or tell the friendly PR person that you can only chat about their extremely important service for five minutes and not the entire afternoon.

7. Leave room for swag.

One of the fun parts of BlogHer is all the goodies you get to bring home. Of course, I'd much rather stuff a Her Bad Mother and a Redneck Mommy in my suitcase, but I suppose a blue tooth headset, potholder, and computer laptop bag are just as good as a couple of Canadians.

Every year, there seems to be more and more swag, and as someone who has a little problem with being overwhelmed by too much stuff, it can be just that, overwhelming. So if you want to bring it all home, pack an extra bag. Or take some time before you leave and sift through what you really want.

On the bright side, you won't have to worry about bringing back anything for your kids. You'll have plenty of goodies to pawn off as "cool presents I searched long and hard through all of Chicago to find just for you."

8. Bloggers are weird. That's why they blog.

You might end up being surprised at how different people may be from their blog. Some folks are just as equally outgoing and friendly, while others might be super open on their blog and then quite reserved in person. It's not because they're being a dick. Well, for the most part. (ha). Some people get a little nervous when they're mingling in big crowds and meeting new people. Just give them a few drink tickets before you make a snap judgment about their personality.

9. If you blog about it, someone will find it.

It seems as though it can't be a BlogHer without some snafu of sorts - someone pissed off someone else or said something and so they wrote about it on their blog that nobody ever reads.

Yeah right.

Well guess what? You're at a freaking blogging conference, so people will find it. Plus, thanks to Twitter, the connector of everyone friends or not, it'll be quickly broadcast.

So if you've had a not-so-nice experience, think twice before you whine on your blog. Especially while you're still at the conference. At least wait until you get home to cause hate wars.

10. If your name ain't on the agenda, feel free to make comments and questions, not free bonus presentations or self-promoting speeches.

With so many opinionated people in one place, there are bound to be differences of opinion during the sessions. And aside from the panelists sharing their expertise and experiences, it's definitely the discussion that makes the panels interesting. But unless you're up on the stage with a microphone, don't use the floor as a platform to promote yourself, your blog, or your sponsor. It's perfectly fine to say who you are and where you write, but don't take the panel away from the people who are actually on the agenda as panelists. Make your comment or statement, and/or ask a question, and then allow the presenters to answer. If you've got more to add, write about it on your blog later. That's generally what those things are good for.

Bonus! 11. Don't pitch your friends *New for 2009*

Given the slew of bloggers who are being sponsored (including me), I feel the need to add this little snippet. In years past, I've had people I know and read daily give me their business card, which I think is sort of silly because, well, I know you. A condom lollipop or beer bottle opener is one thing, but no need to give me your personal information on a card (which I already know). Save your business cards for the new contacts.

And regardless of what you've been asked to do by your sponsor, don't pitch your friends. I suppose if there's anyone that should understand it will be the people you're closest to, but they're also the ones that will write about you being a goofy whore.  

You want more about BlogHers past? Check out my post-BlogHer awards.

Ode to Daddybloggers

I'm really not one to buy into these pseudo-holidays that try make people feel that a bouquet of flowers and a trip to the spa are an adequate way to thank mothers for everything that they do or make us think that dads need yet another day to relax, watch sports, and enjoy what being a "dad" means in this culture.

It's no secret that I'd love to die and come back as a dad.

Whether it's the happy screeches and clingy love that he gets when he walks in the door, or the praise he gets for being the lone dad with all three kids at the pool, there's something about being a dad that's obviously missing from my experience as a mom.

At least beyond the twig and berries.

I don't deny that it can be tough out there for a dad, particularly those, like many, that are forced to choose between work and family. At least women have started a commentary about the challenges of working and maintaining a family presence; I just don't see it happening as much with dads.

The breadth of dad lit has just started expanding, but the level of analysis on the experience of fatherhood seems to just be scratching the surface. We buy moms a library of "What to expect" and "Happiest Baby" books and offer dad the congratulatory "super sperm" nod and hi-five.

It's certainly not because dads aren't curious about what to expect, I imagine.

So in many parenting relationship (not all, I realize), a sort of "it is how it is" emerges, with spouses and baby mamas picking up the slack while dads work (and sometimes play) for long hours.

I suppose we have society to blame for blatantly stereotyping gender roles when it comes to the parenting relationship, going back to how boys and girls are raised. Maybe it's because so many of us had physically or mentally absent fathers that we've learned from our mothers to do everything and be everything. And our husbands have learned to rely on us because they know we'll do it. 

Because if we don't at least attempt to do it all, we're criticized as being a selfish mother. But If dads don't, they're often just a typical dad. And if they do, well then it's "oh look how great so and so is with his children." 

Yes. They're his children. He should be great with them. 

For the longest time, I perceived the fatherhood gig as being inherently easier. I realize now that it's all relative. He'd have much rather been home more. And I was so tired of seeing the screaming face of my sweet, but challenging baby that his daily existence, quite difficult as it was, seemed like a piece of cake.

I don't blame dads or even my own husband for my own difficulties with adjusting to motherhood. But I do blame how the roles of "mom" and "dad" have been defined over the years. And I do blame my own upbringing, my "sacrificial stay-at-home-mother with strong religious overtones" upbringing for my often skewed perceptions.  

There's these weird set of rules that push moms and dads into our respective "corners," with judgy looks and snarky comments for those of us to decide that we're better suited on the other side of the ring.

But the beauty of this space, in the parenting blogosphere, is that we're challenging those boundaries. There are dads who are proudly stepping outside their corners and telling the stories that shake whatever stereotypes might be drilled into our heads. They're allowing us a glimpse into the "other side" - into a world where dads are depressed, or single, or stay-at-home, or aren't afraid to talk about potty training.

They're teaching me how to be a better mother, wife, and co-parent, and they're influencing how our own kids will see the role of "dad."

And they're reminding us that roles are defined by each personal situation, and not based on what society says.

 

Happy Father's Day!

Own your choice

Whoever said the Mommy Wars were dead and buried must have missed the memo, because damn if there's yet another way for moms marginalize each other.

It's a WAHM versus WOHM smackdown.

Apparently working from home is waaaaaaay easier than working at an office because you can do what you want all day long.

And working at an office is sooooo much nicer because there aren't distractions like children and dogs and clinging coffee cups and UPS delivery people who ring your doorbell at naptime even when you have a big sign that says "PLEASE KNOCK" right on the doorbell.

Seriously?

This certainly doesn't mean you can't complain about your particular work situation.

Feel free to bitch about how hard it is to leave your kids all day with a nanny, or au pair, or grandmother, or *GASP* daycare center and then have to come home and find yourself stretched 400 ways.

Gripe about how you're never able to fully focus because you've got one hand on the computer keys and another feeding your baby or a couple of senior citizens with a hearing aid gabbing about their hormone replacement therapy over coffee in your "office."

It's all hard.

It's hard to have to come home after a long day at work and make dinner and play with your kids and do the whole routine all over again.

And it's pretty damn challenging to actually get an entire project completed in the office which is often times your kitchen and figure out how to manage conference calls with your kids grabbing at your ankles.

And even if you're not "working" in or out of the home, you SAHMS. Well, your job is hard too.

Let's all give ourselves a pity party and then get over it.

Haven't we figured out that the grass is always greener?

On some days, I'd love my quiet corner office back with a lock on the door and an administrative assistant to do my photo copies and send my faxes and screen my calls.

But I chose to leave that job and stay home with kids. Then I chose to write a blog, and then start a business and write a book, and do all the other sometimes awesome sometimes tedious work that I do to contribute to my household income so we can live in a house with big closets where my babies can sleep.

MY CHOICE.

I've spent almost five years telling my husband how much harder my job is than his. Until I realized that my job really isn't harder. Being around the kids and trying to get something done is pretty challenging and tiring and exhausting and frustrating.

But flying planes can be just as difficult.

And what I figured out was that I was just envious. Of the days away. Of the quiet hotel rooms. Of the dinners in Venice hell, even some army base in Kentucky.

So when I finally sucked it up and realized that all this, everything that I had created, was my choice, then I just got the fuck over it already and decided to be thankful for what I have.

Yes, I still bitch and complain and moan. I think that's part of being someone other than Mother Theresa.

Some days I'd die to be the mom up the street who gets to drop her kids off and work out of her office all day long. And I know that she'd probably love to have her kids screaming in the next room while she tried to write an article.

But whatever you do, you're still a mother while you're doing it. And that's nothing to sneeze at.

So why don't we just take a step back and admit that sometimes our jobs suck. And sometimes we're a little jealous of the mom next door.

And then get the fuck over ourselves and spend our energy trying to figure out a way to make our own situation better.

Like my friend said, "This fairly reeks of the Who Has the Biggest Penis Game. Ladies, it's time to put them away."

Hear, Hear.