Motherhood Uncensored

The Best of BlogHer 2007 Awards

Most Boring Bloggers Who Were Most Unlikely to Almost Get Thrown Out of the W Hotel Because They Were So Boring: The MBT crew as clearly evidenced to your left.

Most Cheap Economical Swag: The autographed tampons from The Sarcastic Journalist. Tampax should send her oodles of money.

Cutest Couple: Drew and Juniper, canoodling at the cocktail party.

Best Art Piece Not at Chicago Museum of Art: Her Bad Mother: A Still Life

Best Swag for Eliciting the Longest and Most Unncessary Stories About Vasectomies: My lollipop condoms.

Best Swag for People Accidentally Thinking Was Candy and Then Realizing That it Wasn't: My lollipop condoms.

The Swag Most Likely to Cause an Uproar Before Being Stuffed into a Trashcan: The BlogHer sponsor Butterball's potholders.

Hottest Mommy Blogger: Karl from Second Hand Tryptophan.

Shameless Whore That Had to Be in Every Freaking Picture: SueBob's red stapler. Damn that bitchy office essential.

Most Informative BlogHer Session: The taxi ride in which I learned that uncircumcised penises are easier to jack off. Who knew?

Most Uncomfortable Moment: Every single time someone complained loudly about PayPerPost, BlogHer Conference Sponsor.

Most Annoying Part of BlogHer: The 157 PR people chasing you down because "you must be a mommy blogger since you have a baby." Except this one, of course.

Most Succulent Breasts: A tie between BlogHer Sponsor Butterball's display turkey and the slew  of breastfeeding bloghers in attendance. Oh it's real.

Blogger Who You Thought Was Not At All Like You Thought She Was But Was So Freaking Hot You Could Lick her: Ruth Dynamite.

Best Snub By a Company Who Clearly Does Not Know Their Mom Bloggers Very Well: Real Simple hassling Lindsay and Yvonne at their private party and taking back their swag. Can you say immediate subscription drop?

Blogger Who Used to Blog But Doesn't Anymore But Needs to Start Another One Like Nowly: Kristin, formerly of TallnLucky. C'mon girl. We're all waiting to add to our feed readers.

Most Unlikely Blogger to Share a Sex Story that Involved Dildos: Dana from The Dana Files. Even conservatives like hot crazy sex apparently.

The Blogger Who is Clearly the Opposite of Her Blog Name: SJ from I-Asshole. Um, so not.

Best Emergency Baby Toy from a Blogger: Lawyer Mama's maxi pad with wings. Thanks for helping a sister out.

Disclaimer: These pictures are not mine and I'm not laying claim to them. I found them on Flickr and was too lazy tired to write down the folks who took them. If you indeed took these pictures and would like credit, email me and I will gladly put your link up.

Tales from Airport Security: Now With Updates

Airport Security Person running the x-ray machine: "Excuse me maam, is that um, a toy in your bag?"

Frazzled Blogger with baby and fourteen bags: "Why yes it is. And don't you try to take it."

If only I could get home to use it. I'm here in Atlanta, waving at my new house (yes, we are official homeowners), and trying to get back to Philly sometime before I actually move here in less than two weeks. Part of me thinks it might just be easier to stay.

**I'm finally home after finally getting on a flight to Atlantic City and making the drive back courtesy of my mother. And yes, he did poop finally at O'Hare this morning. I left them a nice little gift (whole outfit included) in the trash can at gate L-5.

Because Flying is So Last Year

The benefits of free! awesome! free! flying are really only benefits when you don't have to sit around all freaking day and watch hordes of people that are not you get on the flight that you should be getting on.

Add a terribly sweet but still infant boy and it can lead to public crying fits.

From me.

It was looking up when I easily boarded my 10am flight to Cinncinati and enjoyed a good hour of the Philadelphia Airport runway while we all waited anxiously for Air Force One to land. I have to admit that being able to blame the President for yet another national tragedy (being late to BlogHer) didn't bother me all that much. Plus, my sweet beautiful son slept right through that so he could be wide, awake, and fully able to grab the braids of the lovely woman next to me for the whole entire plane ride.

But who am I to complain? I got to perfect peeing on an airplane bathroom with my son in a mei tai. I got to do a quick shot of water before my son dumped it all over me and the nice lady next to me who spent half the flight trying to fend my son off of her. And I got to stand for the latter half of the flight in the Flight Attendant Galley while I watched them count and recount water bottles with the utmost care and then bark at me for standing in their way.

It was all looking fairly good until I learned that thunderstorms and "air traffic" were causing massive delays and cancellations in Chicago. In non-revenue passenger speak that meant I was going to be shit out of luck.

So I waited. I ate two bites of a McDonald's salad. I checked my email. I bathed my son in anti-bacterial wash. And then realized that the next flight was cancelled and all the rest of them were either cancelled or terribly overbooked.

And don't get me wrong. I've always wanted to spend a night in Cincinnati. But to then do the same thing all over again with the same folks who should have been on flights today was just enough motivation for me to decide to rent a car.

And drive to Chicago.

I'm not exactly a huge fan of five-hour drives, particularly with infants screaming in the back seat, but I figured this was my best option for getting to BlogHer on Thursday night.

It just so turns out that I had briefly met this mother and daughter pair who were also trying to get to Chicago and decided to offer them a ride. They were clearly not axe murderers, and I figured we could split the cost.

Okay, I figured they could entertain my son.

Mommy, there is truly nothing to see in Indiana. Why didn't we drive through Vegas?

But in either case, I walked up to them and offered them a ride, making sure to reiterate that I, in fact, was not an axe murderer myself. (Always a good prerequisite when offering random strangers a 5-hour ride in your rental car).

As it turns out, they were United employees also attempting to do pass travel and so we decided to team up, make the drive, and get our asses to Chicago in a timely fashion.

Timely being five and a half hours in a Ford Focus crammed with three adult people and a teething baby.

I can almost smell the pizza.

But I made it. I am here, in fact still here until tomorrow thanks to overcrowded flights, anxiously awaiting my son's first Chicago poopy diaper (methinks deep dish and rice cereal is a bit binding).

And I'm having a terrible time.

I Only Look Like I Have Herpes and a Weird Eye Tick.

The beauty of blogging is that I could be some slobby lazy ass with an almost non-existent but still enough to make me paranoid mustache plus a preference of blogging over showers who only likes to wear the same outfit everyday because it just so happens to be the only one that fits her post-partum body that is not really one size but a combination of three sizes all of which are not a 2 and you would never know.

Never.

Except then I actually have somewhere other than the post office and my friend's house to go to where I might actually have my picture taken. So, champion wedgie underpants and my (and Maggie Gyllenhal's) new perfume "Milky Tits" won't cut it. And all of a sudden I go into "Oh shit I have to look like a human that you wouldn't offer your sandwich to if you saw her sitting on the side of the street" mode.

I wouldn't say I've let myself go, but clearly I'd like to leave a lasting impression that doesn't say "Hobo" or worse, just plain "Ho." Plus, most folks don't really know what I look like, and I'm way past trying to just suck it up and realize I'm a mom who just had a kid six months ago.

Hell no! I want to look fan-fucking-tastic. I don't want children and babies to root when then see me because I smell like a big glass of milk. And I want to wear shoes that are not good for chasing down children but rather will hurt my feet after a good solid 15 minutes of standing in them.

Give me the blisters baby! I'm a whore for strappy 4 inch heels, damnit.

But with two kids as my sole responsibility for many days at a time, my eyebrows have gotten a little thicker and my shirts have gotten a lot looser.

So I decided to get my peach fuzz mustache waxed off, which coincidentally hurts more than a crotch wax. And thanks to Carmen with the scary mishapen eyebrows, I've got these weird mini-zits that I've obsessively popped making me looked like I gave one too many blow jobs to our sewer pipe.

And then my right eyeball started to get itchy and weirdly seepy, most likely indicating that I need a new contact. But since my eyes aren't the same acuity (or really, lack thereof), I can't wear the 14 left contacts I have. And in order to get a new prescription I have to go to an Optometrist and have them to tell me what I already know -- I'm legally blind and that's being generous. So, I'm blinking my right eye at a rapid pace which actually looks like I'm winking -- and not in a very cute, flirty way, but in a more desperate almost stalkerish sort of way.

To complicate matters just a little bit more, I've got to fit everything in a carry on since I fly standby. And that wouldn't be so much of an issue if I didn't have a shoe fetish, and I didn't have to bring my gigunda son. So, I'm going to have to make some sacrifices.

Clearly my son doesn't need to change clothes every day. And diapers? If I only change him when he poops, I'll have way more room for shoes.

So, I'm banking on the fact that people will focus on my cute swag (any guesses?), my cute new shirts courtesy of this wonderful woman (which you can order and get some of the cute swag as an extra bonus if you're not going to BlogHer), and my hot sexy live podcast, and not so much on the fact that I'm just not as put together as I would have hoped.

Plus if it's anything like last year, no one will really care. They'll be way too busy talking about how bitchy, aloof, and real-estate agent like I was to even notice my big poofy lip and weird eye tick.

Fear and Self Loathing in San Jose

Amidst the babes and boobages, I actually learned a thing or two about myself at Blogher. I sort of figured there would be those "a-ha" moments, where light bulbs start flashing vigorously over my head like a red carpet paparazzi fest. And truly, I was not disappointed.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out how much a weekend away from home can do for a soul, particularly one fighting hot, humid, and deep fried surroundings (in more than one sense of the words). And I also figured out that no matter how cool your shoes look, if they're not comfortable and you take them off after 10 minutes, it sort of defeats the purpose of having them since no one will actually see them on your feet.

But aside from all those little snippets of reality, I realized that I have something in common with all mothers. Even Arianna Huffington. Yes. That Arianna Huffington.

And that is the big scary f-word.

No. Not that f-word, although considering that we all have kids, we probably have that f-word in common as well.

I mean the big F.

FEAR.

I realized that fear has slowly started to take over my life in a way that is almost hurting my existence as a woman and a parent.

Just a few years ago, I was scoffing in the face of fear. Granted you won't see me jumping off a bridge with a huge elastic band strapped to my ankles any time soon, and I'm not so in love with flying, but anything else, I laughed. Thesis? Books? Moving? Curriculum Committees? BAH.

Actually. TRIPLE BAH.

But then I had a kid. And she sucked away any brass balls I might have had. And fear took over.

I fear for her life, her happiness, and her joy. I fear that I will not be good enough and that I will fail. I fear that I will die not seeing her grow up, or that she will die and I will not be able to go on living. I fear that she will hurt herself or be hurt by someone else or get brutalized or terrorized or hurt.

And now, I fear that I won't see my baby's face next week at the ultrasound. That I will be alone with two children, living with my in-laws, and possibly having to do that damn elimination diet again. That I will be depressed again, even more so than last time, and that I will not have the will to get through it like I did before.

You get my drift. I'm practically medicatable.

And then I fear that, too.

The panel of fabulous women didn't have answers persay, but Caroline Little shared a story that hit me like a stone in my eyeball. She spoke of her conversations with her dying mother - the mother that hovered and wouldn't let go - and caused varying levels of rebellion, and tension in their relationship.

And the mother told her that she was just afraid. Fearful - almost petrified for her child. And the daughter (our speaker) told her that her mother's fear came across as a lack of trust. That her mother did not believe in her.

And so all my love for my daughter has now turned into fear. And the fear will do no good. It can't. All it does it take from what could be.

So I've decided to turn my fear into faith. And my terror into trust. And live conscientiously, with hopeful caution.

I must believe that my new baby will be okay, and that we all will make it through another day, week, and month, with a beautiful child that loves life and deserves to see it without her mother's fear clouding her every step.

Some people find their faith in church or in other spiritual outlets. But for me, I'm going to start with "the world."

I'm going to start believing in its goodness and that when we put good things into it, good things will come to us. It's the only way I can get through the days when it seems like everything around me is falling apart - with wars, violence, pain, and suffering. It's the only way things will make sense for me.

The world hasn't done me wrong yet - sure there have been bumps and severe road blocks, but I can't let those taint my view. And better, I can't let them take away what I believe about life. Because believing in all that is good means believing in my daughter.

And that's the best gift I can ever give her.

A Family That Blogs Together Stays Together

They are just how I imagined.

She is sweet with a graceful stance, trendy without trying, and inexplicably beautiful. He is kind, silly, and approachable. And together, they made this amazing little creature, with the sweetest face and curious spirit.

I'm not sure how a family is supposed to be. My own was pretty crappy and I'm doing my darndest to make good on the one I have created.

But when you see them together, following their little one's wobbly romps around the pool and taking duty turns without question, it's inspiring.

Their story is enviable. His desire to be at home now is met with her willingness to return to work. And it touches me. In fact, they always have. His writing combined with her thoughtful posts and the beautiful pictures of their daughter have made me weepy on more than one occasion. And if I ever wanted to be anyone or anything else than myself, I want to be them.

I guess they represent how I thought my life would be or at least how I had always hoped it would. And while I know they are not perfect, they represent something perfect in my mind.

On their blog and in real life.

I love my life - my husband, my daughter, and myself. But when I see little Juniper sleeping soundly on her mommy's back, it reminds me that all is well with the world. And that the beauty of the family - the one that loves and lives and learns together is still alive and kicking.

And it makes me want to do better for my own family.

Right now.

The Long Way Home

I'm sitting in the Atlanta airport waiting for my new plane and gate assignment. It's always nice when they tell you that your plane will not be able to make it to Birmingham. And then you wonder, how many times they've thought that and just didn't say anything.

Hooray for anxiety! My sprite doesn't seem to be helping with that. Damnit.

I can't get home soon enough. It's a mix of hormones and missing my daughter - but I'm rather weepy. It didn't help seeing all the amazing cute kiddos at Blogher, or listening to Q's voice on my voice mail.

Don't get me wrong. I'm happy to exchange diaper changes and meal time anyday. But being away, even for 3 lovely days and 2 glorious nights, is rejuvenating.

Hell. It's fucking fantastic.

I feel like I can do 14 loads of laundry, cook 3 hot dogs, and sit quietly for any number of naps without one complaint.

And, I am reminded that our work as mom bloggers is extremely worthwhile. That our writing of our stories - however we do it, in whatever style or voice we choose, is powerful. And meaningful. And necessary. And that regardless of status or popularity or readership, we all have something to say - and that was truly valued this weekend.

Meeting new and old bloggers, those on my bloglines and those yet to find themselves there, was extremely inspiring - not only as a writer, but as a mother. The connections with women - the ability to share my stories, and laugh about things that no one else really gets - made the trip worth it.

And my sadness about leaving my blog pals and friends is made easier knowing that tomorrow, I'll pop on my bloglines, and read their stories (and yours too) just like I do everyday.

That's comforting and encouraging.

Perhaps more than I ever knew.

--

Mary Tsao of Mom Writes has some great photos of Blogher if you're interested in checking them out.

Friday Recap: You're Not Missing Much

Okay. Before you get all crazy on me, like "Where the fuck have you been and why have you not posted any pictures you bitch" just realize that my camera batteries died - which really doesn't matter because I suck at picture taking. Plus, I'd rather walk around meeting folks with pink heart pasties on my nipples and drinking O' Douls than take really bad pictures of people.

Yes. You read that correctly.

And, I've actually had trouble getting online which is not surprising as I look around the room, there are about 150 other women staring at computer screens and sucking up the limited WIFI.

So, I direct you to Mom-101 and Christina for picture montages.

And just between you and me, meeting all the wonderful bloggers you read daily, including Catherine, Julie, and Asha, getting approached with a huge hug from Amalah, and talking with the likes of Mir, Alice, Chris, the Sweet Junipers, and the Mommybloggers.

Totally SUCKS.

Ugh. What an ass pain.

Okay, just kidding but I didn't want to rub in all my fun.

 

Thankfully, Liz has a camera and she knows how to use it. Or at least entice people to take pictures of us. WEEEEEEE.

Do You Know The Way to San Jose

Before I board my first flight to Houston, here are a few observations (for the 4 of you that are not at Blogher right now):

1) Do not eat Mexican food the night before you have a long travel day.

2) Make sure to check to see if your driver's license has expired so the large lady at the security check point doesn't have to do it for you. (No worries, I had my military ID).

3) You won't need an alarm because you're so fucking nervous and excited that you'll wake up every hour and obessively check your clock.

4) Make sure your spill-proof tea cup is actually spill proof before taking a large gulp out of it at 3am in the pitch black dark of bumble Alabama.

5) Alabama looks the same in the dark and in the light. And it's not pretty either way.

6) Apparently the Birmingham Airport thinks that free wireless in more important than air conditioning. Hmmm... Tough choice on that one.

Off to board!

Dear Blogher Conference Organizers,

I’m quite aware that my registration for this year’s conference probably didn’t get more than the customary glance and shuffle like the other hundreds you have received. I take no offense to that – I’m no Fussy or Finslippy – in fact, chances are you haven’t even heard about my blog. But, all the same, I am taking it upon myself to offer a few suggestions to help ease the worry and fears of many blogher attendees.

If you hadn’t figured it out yet, we’re scared.

Okay, make that petrified.

I don’t generally subject myself to scary situations. I didn’t attend my church karaoke party, and I won’t even let the inside of a tanning bed see me with a bikini on. But, for some reason, you sucked me in, and I’m coming.

I know it doesn’t make any sense. I’m a very outgoing person who loves to meet new people, but the prospect of meeting my fellow bloggers and them not knowing who I am or wanting to hang out with me for longer than my average page visit (2.47 minutes) freaks me out.

I reluctantly filled out my nametag form, but in all honesty, I hate nametags. There’s nothing like the “I’m-trying-to-see-your-name-but-it-really-looks-like-I’m-checking-out-your-boobs” thing every time you meet someone. And chances are, they still won’t know who I am after they read my nametag and my boobs are awfully disappointing these days, so really what’s the point?

But don’t fear. I’m not one to criticize without offering feasible solutions. Feel free to use as many as you like. A simple trackback shoutout in the conference packet would be a lovely gesture, but is certainly not required.

1. Consider encouraging attendees to wear a mask of their blog caricature, and if they have to wear a nametag, make sure it has their screen name. This way I will be able to spot Busymom from about 2 miles away and not make a fool out of myself trying to figure out her name, thus making it easier for me to kiss her ass.

2. If folks don’t have a blog caricature, I suggest a full-on costume. I know we might get mistaken for the 12^th Annual Plushie Convention, but I can assure you that I will have no idea who Mimi Smartypants is unless she is dressed up like, um, a penguin.

3. If you prefer a more subtle approach, and let's face it, costumes can get pretty hot, how about special computer screen t-shirts that show our blog page or even just the blog headers? I may not know Fussy by sight, but if I read a few lines of her blog or see those beat-up shoes, I’m pretty sure I can pick her out amidst the masses.

4. You might think about having special booths for certain bloggers. Perhaps an Amalah table - where she can read her blog and commenters attendees can stand in line to tell her how much they love her and how cute her son is. I’ll probably draw my typical spot in line (#343) but maybe if I say something witty, she’ll click back take my card and take a peek at my place.

5. And finally, I suggest some type of central message board where folks can meet up. I have my “All Motherhood Uncensored Readers meet at the hotel lobby bar at 6:30pm for drinks and funny post conversation about poopie diapers” poster set to go. I figure I might as well be prepared.

If you want to know the truth, a lot of people have fears about the “out-of-blog” experience, and perhaps these suggestions might help the registered folks feel just a little more comfortable, and give potential attendees just the excuse they needed to attend.

And if all else fails, I’ve made the perfect accessory just for the occasion.

I’m pretty sure that even Dooce will recognize me with this on.

Sincerely,

Motherhood Uncensored