Motherhood Uncensored

Alone again, now with more puke

Even though pretty much every year my husband works on Thanksgiving, it still really sucks. But this year, my kids are passing around a poorly-timed stomach bug.

So it sucks A LOT.

Though I will say, it's better than what I thought it was.

(Note to self: Never Google symptoms while hormonal because you might give yourself a panic attack and scare the crap out of your kids). 

On the bright side, I won't be cooking, that's for sure. But on the down side, I'm living with the fear of getting it myself, which is scaring me shitless. 

YAY POOP PUNS FTW! 

The irony in all this (oh yes, there is irony) is that in an attempt to have some control in his misery of having to work on a holiday, my husband put in for a trip that gives him Thanksgiving with his own family in Philadelphia.

So he'll be enjoying all the boxed stuffing, canned cranberry, and joyous company of my in-laws while I'll be trying to keep my head out of the toilet. 

On second thought, that doesn't sound so bad in comparison. Plus, there's a good chance that if I get it, he will too. And I'd much rather be puking at home than at my in-laws. Or on a plane (which I've done, unfortunately). 

And hey, at least I have Edward Cullen to keep me company.

Hey PR people: Think first, email later.

I've been pretty surprised at the business emails I've received over the last few days with action requests and "Hey, we haven't heard from 'so and so' yet" even though I just told you to email her yesterday which you know, HURRICANE SANDY! 

I understand that it's tough when you work online and don't know where people are based but then you take a moment to look at their email signature, take a quick second to Google their name or their area code and realize maybe they don't have power and your email about that gadget isn't as pressing as finding running water. I can hear it now:

I mean, if I didn't get affected by Hurricane Sandy did it actually really happen? -Some PR intern in Chicago, 2012 

I admit that working online forced me into the  trap of expecting instant email replies because for brief moments I forgot that some people don't have their computers on their laps or their phones in their pockets all the time. 

Now that I have more regulated working hours, I try to use my phone email sparingly because unless it's a dire emergency, which in my business is relative GOTTA SCOOP THE HARRY POTTER E-BOOKS but I figure if the email requires more than a few words, it can wait until I get back to my computer. 

And if it's from a PR person who is just following up for the 3rd time in 2 days or offering a sample or SNAP sorry too late for the sample because you took too long which means you were not as excited or grateful as the other people I emailed (PS LIFE, or, HURRICANE SANDY, or GET A FREAKING GRIP), I delete it. 

At any other time, I'd just ignore or politely thank them and go on my merry way. But when there was a major natural catastrophe that is still affecting millions of people, including many of the mothers who work for me, if I don't delete it I'll say something not so nice. 

So please think first, email later. 

Because not only does it make you look ridiculous, it doesn't reflect well on your company either. 

When I'm not here, I'm there

I still can't believe it's September, which I realize makes me sound old, but seriously, how is it September already? 

I've been busy with a few things over the last couple of weeks that I thought you might be interested in reading with all your free time and all. Ha. 

- I should have known better when it came to Internet and kids, but I didn't. Learn from my mistakes and talk to your kids about tech before this happens to you. 

- I finally wrote a 50 Shades of Grey review for parents. Hey better laters than never, right? Heh. 

- I think you'll get a kick out of the first couple of episodes of the new show I'm hosting at Cafemom Studios called Coffee Shop Confessions. It's no Honey Boo Boo or anything but with topics like I made Macaroni and Cheese with my breastmilk and We had sex while the baby was in our bed, it's pretty entertaining. For the record, I've done the latter, not the former. You? 

 

Why women's clothing sizes are a bunch of horse shit

Yesterday I went shopping with a personal stylist, which sounds really fancy, I know,  but just bear with me before you start rolling your eyes back in your head.

See, I'm shooting more videos for Cafemom Studios next week and I need clothes. Or better, clothes that I can wear in public. 

Okay, not even that. Clothes that I can wear on television. 

In the last few months, I've put on a few pounds that even my "marathon training vegetarian diet not eating after 8pm only drinking water and four tons of coffee" regimen could help me with, so I have nothing that fits.

Well, I have a black pencil skirt, a black wrap around dress, and 40 pairs of shoes, as I told my new BFF-ish Carmen. 

{I figure if a complete stranger I met on the Internet can see me half naked nd agree with my disdain for my choice in underpants then she earns the title of BFF-ish}

"I play urban chic on television," I said.

And it's true.

I work from home and chase around four kids so the way you see me in photos is not how I look on a daily basis. 

I know this is a shocking, disappointing revelation because clearly all the photos you see of bloggers of themselves on their blogs are exactly how they look every single day (except maybe Tanis. She totally looks goofy all the time). 

But truthfully, I've just been feeling really crappy about myself lately and bla bla bla wah wah wah I have no clothes. 

So to save myself some time, I decided to hire Carmen to assist me in finding clothes, which was probably the best money I ever spent because she pre-shops for you, pulling a bunch of stuff at various stores, then you just show up, try stuff on, show her your terribly awful underpants and then leave two hours later with stuff that looks good and fits you, all within your budget. 

But that's really not the point of all this because more importantly, I discovered that most of us are shopping for clothes incorrectly.

And I've always sort of known this, with vanity sizing and the ridiculous range in numbers in my closet, but when you see it all laid out in front of you in a big pile of mediums and larges, 10s and 12s, you really get it. 

Which is something I think we all need to remember:

No one sees the size you're wearing. Or the spanx your squeezed into.

They see the way the clothes look on your body. 

So stop shopping for clothes like penises, ladies, because size doesn't matter.

Long ago, in a time when blogs were just blogs

I've been trying to comment more on actual blogs lately, and not just liking or tweeting, as seemingly easier as that is, but wow, these days you have to do a song and dance number, then show your bra size and whistle the secret code before you can. 

There's a benefit to that, I suppose, because unlike here on my blog, the author can easily respond to the commenter, and show his or her deep appreciation for the comment. 

Or more easily tell them to shut the fuck up. 

Not that I would ever do that to you specifically, of course, but it's a nice benefit nonetheless. 

Here on my old Typepad blog, which has had that Friends with Kids ad in the sidebar forever now because I can't figure out how to get it down, I'm still rockin' the old system where you just have to decipher the silly captcha that I use to help prevent some of the spam. 

Even then, it still doesn't stop Christian Dior Handbags. 

You cannot subscribe to comments, which THANK GOD almighty because I accidentally did that once and holy emails. And if you want to tweet my post, you must manually copy and paste the URL. Same goes for Facebook or Stumbleupon (which, are we still using that?). Even Pinterest (though seriously, what you would pin from this blog I do not know). 

There are no buttons. No fancy counters to show you that I have been liked by 1800 people.

If I was The Bloggess. 

But this also makes interacting with you a bit challenging.

I've grown lazy in my commenting back, which is truly much easier on Facebook or Twitter because I don't have to enter my own personal information and complete a captcha ON MY OWN BLOG in order to tell you "Yes!" or "Thanks for saying that!" or "Leave me the fuck alone, already!" 

Then I read Liz's post about inspiring people and saw all the lovely shout-outs to inspiring bloggers and commenters (and Sara, gee whiz you made my entire year!) and I realized, maybe people don't know that I read every single comment on my posts. All of them. Sometimes twice and three times. I laugh, smile, and nod right with you.

I really really appreciate the time you take to spell out HD8IK9, and say "hello." 

So lest you think I'm a total snotty asshole who is just too good to respond, mostly I'm just too freaking lazy to fill out my own personal information and do the captcha.