stirring the pot: on reclaiming civil rights and taking back America

Glenn Beck, promoting his Restoring Honor rally held Saturday at the Lincoln Memorial, 47 years to the day after Martin Luther King spoke there, said:

“ . . . we will reclaim the civil rights moment. We will take that movement, because we were the people that did it in the first place!''

I think it is really important to peel back the layers here . . . to get into the specifics, beyond the slogans.

So . . .

Who is the “we” he is talking about?

And who is it that he is taking the civil rights movement back from?

Talk amongst yourselves.

GWO CHEVE: for Haiti, or for spite

Gwo Cheve = Big Hair

I think you all know my love for the country of Haiti.  I would like to say that this post is an extension of that love.  I think that it mostly is.

But also . . . . I like getting even with people.  And this is an opportunity to get back at one John McHoul for the smack talk from him over our years of visiting Haiti.  This man may appear to have at heart of gold at the surface – I mean sure, he has devoted his life to serving the people of Haiti in ways that effect meaningful change.  But be warned – underneath the gentle hippie exterior is a man who has been mocking Mark and I for years, just for being from California.  And he forced us to smuggle Burger King Whoppers for him in our carry-on luggage.  And once made me to eat street meat that left me with an uninvited intestinal guest for the better part of a month.

(Okay, John did not force me to do any of those things.  But he smirked!  He smirked at all of it.)

In Tara’s words:

“In the last 21 years, scores of people have been tortured by John. And I do mean scores. Maybe they came to Haiti and got sick while staying with the McHouls and John laughed at them for having Haitian Happiness. Maybe he took them on long car rides on purpose to torture them. Maybe they made a dumb mistake and John never let it go and teased and teased and teased. Maybe they misunderstood the culture and said something kind of silly and John gave them a nickname that they could never escape. (Just ask "Melda Mace".)

He has agreed to allow his head to be shaved BALD - recorded on video to be posted on the internet- if we can raise 50K (USD) in 100 days.

Once we reach 50K the massive mop of hair will be shaved.  Tweet this, share it on FB, tell your friends, tell strangers ... help spread the word!  The cause is wonderful.  If you've been following the ministry of Heartline since the EQ, you know that in response to the catastrophe we opened a clinic that became a hospital.  We've been in prayer about what God would have us do in the future and we're moving forward to open a year-round, fully functional and staffed clinic/small hospital.  This 50K will be the beginning as we move forward to build a facility.”


I do realize that many of you do not know John, and therefore may not be as motivated to donate money OUT OF SPITE.  Well, fine then.  Let me give you an actual cause:

Again, in Tara’s words:

“Prior to the earthquake Heartline was operating a pre-natal program and delivering the babies of the women in our program. Since the earthquake Heartline has determined that once they have delivered these women need more support. Sending them "home" to a tent with a one day old baby is not sufficiently caring for them and often leads to infections and complications.  The goal will be to keep each woman for 7 days to help establish nursing, build relationship, and to watch for infection.  Unfortunately in the conditions these women live, infection and complications are probable.

The hospital will serve our moms and will also be open to dealing with other non-pregnancy-related illness and disease.  We are excited that the first funds raised for this project will be the encouragement and sign that this is the right thing to pursue. 
It is likely that you've read the statistics and you know that prior to the Earthquake Haiti had one doctor per 10,000 people. Finding quality, loving care in Haiti was and is incredibly difficult.  The care available is often  a far cry from what any of us can even imagine.”

So, perhaps you care about the people of Haiti.  Or perhaps you care about quieting this down:

__________________________________

Email to Tara -

On Aug 22, 2010, at 2:17 PM, John McHoul wrote:
We  have Waterloo and Little Big Horn and so what shall we call your upcoming defeat of the Big Hair Challenge?  How about: TARA'S FOLLY. Lets choose the name well for posterity as our children's children will be studying this great defeat in their history books.

Yes I like it: TARA'S FOLLY.
John the Victor

______________________________

Or perhaps this statistic on maternal death rates doesn’t sit well with you:

"Poverty also plays an important role. Some 99 percent of the estimated 500,000 women who die every year giving birth are in developing countries where medical supplies and skilled workers are in short supply."

                       -World Health Organization

Or perhaps this haircut doesn’t sit well with you:

It’s pretty much a cornucopia of good causes.  You should help.
 

how to avoid oversharing in online spaces (keeping it real link-up)

We are officially back in our house after the Great Flood and Exile of 2010.  We’ve been a little back and forth over the past week – packing up the hotel room, unpacking boxes at home, escaping to the hotel when there was too much construction going on here, and then retreating to our house at night when it was empty.  We’ve all been coughing and hacking from the drywall dust.  That or we have mesothelioma from all the asbestos we’ve been living with for the past seven years.  Or black lung from the mold in the walls.

Or the consumption.  I’m not sure what the consumption is exactly, but it sounds very Victorian and tragic.  Yes, I think we all have the consumption.

It has been chaotic to say the least.  When we were gone, every single one of our belongings was either taken to the hotel or put in storage.  So getting everything back to its rightful place (with four kids running around) has been quite the task.  The other night, amidst the boxes, the kids found a huge box full of heavy footed pajamas that I bought on sale at the end of the winter season.  (Yes, I am THAT MOM).  I had planned for these pj’s to be Christmas gifts,  but once they found their respective character favorites on new pajamas there was no turning back.  My kids have insisted on wearing these fleece footies to bed in what I believe to be the hottest week of the summer (in a house with no a/c), and then they wake up in the night crying and drenched in sweat.

Of course, it could just be their fever breaking from the consumption.

In other stories of misplaced things, there was a good week where I could not find any of my underwear.  I packed them from the hotel to take home, and they somehow never re-emerged as I unpacked our suitcases.  I had to make due (make do?) with a couple pair of non-everyday underwear for the last week.  I don’t want to get too personal here, but when I say non-everyday underwear, I think you know what I mean.  The kind you pull out for, ahem . . .  special occasions.  (Like going to the gynecologist).  Not the kind you want to be wearing as you schlep a stroller full of children through Trader Joe’s.

(And as I’ve mentioned before, you ladies who insist that this kind of butt floss is really more comfortable?  You are attention-seeking liars.  Not to mention, I mean, really . . . should you be going around talking about what kind of underwear you prefer?  Show some decorum, people).

Luckily, yesterday I finally discovered a forgotten suitcase in the back of the car, that contained all of my sensible underwear.  Although, the reunion was brief because last night I had a fancy press event at a new restaurant at South Coast Plaza, so I threw some Spanx on and painted my nails just before hopping in the car.

The only thing is, just as I arrived to the restaurant and stepped out of my car, my Spanx (which were not real Spanx, but the generic kind from Target) completely rolled down.  Yeah, you know what I’m talking about. (And if you don’t, I don’t want to be friends with you).  So my non-Spanx are heading south, and my nails are wet, and all I can do is try to suck in enough to make my stomach concave so that the non-Spanx will unfurl (as if), and walk in such a way that there is no further rolling of the Spanx.   When I got to the restaurant, I said an awkward hello to the other bloggers and then high-tailed it to the bathroom where I did some creative adjustments with my elbows to avoid getting nail polish all over my dress.  After which point, I returned to the table where each of us had a formal place-setting, and loudly exclaimed  Dudes, someone put, like, eight wine glasses at each table!!  And then someone quietly explained that this would be a six-course meal with wine pairings.  And then I pretended like I had been kidding earlier, because of course I knew that’s why we each had so many wine glasses, because I am ALWAYS having multiple-course meals with wine pairings.

(no I’m not)

I must say, the Seasons 52 restaurant blew me away, and not just because it was fancy cuisine and I was without small children.  When we arrived I perused the menu and noticed that it was pretty heavy on the rare and fancy meats, and I pulled the chef aside and asked if there were vegetarian options.  Without missing a bit, he whipped up a vegetarian plate for me at each course, and it was truly stunning.  This was the artichoke-stuffed artichoke appetizer.  Because really, can you ever have enough artichoke?  I don’t think so.

Seasons 52 relies on seasonal, healthy food that is locally grown.  I was trying to describe the genre to Mark when I got home . . . sustainable gourmet, perhaps?  Anyways, it was delicious and I seriously ate so much that I felt sick by the end.  And then dessert came. 

Um, yeah.  I had a few Alka Seltzers last night.  And this morning. It was nice to sit with some other bloggers and chat about the “business”.  There was an interesting conversation about online privacy, and how to avoid sharing too much of your personal life with others through all of the mediums of social media.  And I was sitting there feeling very proud of myself for how I present myself as such a professional and perfect woman, and never share too much information in this space or on twitter.


Especially because earlier this week there was a particularly hilarious story that would have been fun to share, involving Jafta’s footie pajamas and a tragic re-enactment of a certain scene from There’s Something About Mary, but I held back from sharing it because 1) it is too personal, 2) it is inappropriate, 3) it would be getting a cheap laugh off of something painful for my kid, 4) it might present a crack in my strong feelings that circumcision is wholly unnecessary, 5) the use of the term “frank and beans” might bring me some unwanted google searches, and also might be considerably offensive to many of my readers, and 6) This particular movie has become Something That Shall Not Be Named in our family ever since I took my inlaws to see it when I was first married.  While Mark was out of town.  Just me, sitting in between my new father-in-law and mother-in-law, and a veeery long scene of Ben Stiller’s alone time in a bathroom as I wonder why in the world I didn’t check the content rating before suggesting the movie.  I’m shuddering just remembering the awkwardness of that moment. So, yes.  I’m glad I maintained my boundaries in holding back on that story.  Aren’t you?

Although I do feel compelled to issue this warning to mothers everywhere: if you are gonna let your child zip up their own footed pajamas, take care that they are wearing underwear first.

Incidentally, I haven't done a "keeping it real" link-up in a while. Got a post where you overshare? Link it up here.



Rage Against the Minivan


 


goodbye, suite life

I won’t miss:

The hallway they called a “living room”

Sitting in dark silence waiting for the kids to fall asleep

Forgetting my key every time I leave the room

Lugging our things in from the parking lot

The four-foot pool, and fighting with Jafta over why we couldn’t spend all day there

Picking out smashed goldfish from the carpet

Two active boys bouncing off the walls as I work on my syllabus

Trying to shush my loud kids in the hallway

Getting the side-eye from the mean blonde lady who hates my kids

Eating dorm-style dinner in the lobby

suite life 4

Struggling to find our belongings in random suitcases

Storing our clothes in the extra shower because there weren’t any dresserssuite life (2)

Coin-operated laundry six floors up

Sleeping with a kid in my bed

Being woken up all night long by a baby who wants her crib

suite life 3

 

I might miss:

Having our evening “jump on the bed” dance party

suite life dance 

 IMG_5196

IMG_5199

that’s what SHE said: random and potentially offensive to everyone edition

I’m teaching a new class this semester . . . it’s on cultural diversity in psychotherapy practice.  I’m really excited about it, but as such, 1) my blogging might be a little light for a while as I prepare, 2) my links about race and ethnicity might amp up a bit, and 3) I will probably be very busy cleaning out the junk drawer, organizing my closet into ROY G. BIV order, and all of the other random, useless things I find to occupy my time when I have a syllabus due.  In addition to things like, oh, MOVING MY FAMILY OF SIX BACK INTO OUR CONSTRUCTION SITE  HOME.

This may be the most random and unrelated list of links I’ve ever created.  If you read them all, you are sure to be offended by at least one of them. 

You’re welcome for that.  Come on back and tell me what you thought.

The Perils of 'Wannabe Cool' Christianity

Young evangelicals want to hear about Jesus, not about sex.  Or do they?
Last Night I Kind of Lost My Sh*t
MIchael Ian Black on equating Obama to Hitler (warning: explicit)
Why arbitrary rules about the N-word don’t work (the comments are as interesting as the article)
White Privilege is Not About Feeling Guilty
An interesting perspective on what white privilege is, and isn’t.

By all means, let Him work miracles.

On the typical Christian response to antidepressant medications.

Be a Better Parent Challenge

Kristen Chase started this challenge several weeks ago and I wish I’d discovered it sooner.  It is good stuff – this links to the whole series so far.  Some of my favorites/things I need to work on: letting the other parent parent, playing with what your child chooses, and finding one-on-one time with each child.
This one is about God.  And immigration reform.

The One Parenting Habit that Changes Everything

See there?  A nice, encouraging post about reading the bible with your children. (No really!  It is!! And it is a good one.)

And last but not least, Colbert says more with satire than the Huffington Post can say with 20-odd editorials on the topic:
The Colbert Report Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c
Don't Shoot the Schlessinger
www.colbertnation.com
Colbert Report Full Episodes 2010 Election Fox News

the dunes

Yesterday we had our first foray with kayaking as a family of six.  You see, Mark and I are in the process of finding new hobbies that we can do as a family.  It’s our attempt at trying to feel less trapped limited when we are having family time. . . so that we can try to look forward to our free days with the kids instead of figuring out how to pass the time until they sleep.   One thing we've noticed, with all the couples counseling we've been in conducted over the years, is that it seems like most happier couples have mutual interests that keep the spark alive. Like how Dog the Bounty Hunter and his wife both love catching criminals and orange tanning lotion. Or the way Spencer and Heidi are both attention whores that love making a total mockery of the Christian faith. SHARED INTERESTS. It's the glue, people.

Plus, we've also made it a goal to follow as many bumper sticker slogans as possible, obviously starting with The Family Who Plays Together, Stays Together. Also taking into consideration the fact that Life is Short, Play Hard. Just Do It. Life is Not A Dress Rehearsal. We're Not Old, We're Recycled Teenagers!

(and also If The Minivan's A Rockin' . . . . well, maybe I'll keep that one to myself).

dunes (4)

IMG_5256 Unfortunately there are not a lot of activities that can safely hold the interest of a 5-year-old, two 3-year-olds, and a baby.  Being at the beach means one of us is attending to the sand-eater while the other attends to three children who have no sense of the fact that they cannot swim.  Kristen India hates sports, Karis is too young to participate meaningfully in anything, and the boys need to be constantly moving.  So kayaking seemed like a good option because of the a) inaccessibility to sand b) flexibility in terms of children helping vs. sitting there, and c) requirement of life vests enforced by someone other than me.

It ended up being a really fun experience.  The kids were excited, and it was peaceful and relaxing for about 10 minutes until Karis decided that she would prefer to stand and attempt to jump into the water, or sit bent over with her face in the water.  So I spent a good half hour paddling with Karis in a vice-grip between my knees (though I think it might have been an excellent inner-thigh workout).  When I got tired of that, I just started splashing Karis in the face with water every time she stood up.  I think I saw that on the Dog Whisperer once.  It’s a classic behavioral modification technique for animals children.  But even though Karis was a handful, India turned to me while we were out on the water and said, “Mommy, this is the best adventure we have ever had”.  Which is a pretty great thing to hear.

dunes (2)

dunes (5)

As we were focused on pulling the kayaks out of the water, Jafta managed to commandeer a paddleboard, and he was several feet out into the water before either of us noticed.  And since we were both too lazy to swim in after him, he got a decent ride in.

dunes (3)

Thanks to The Dunes in Newport Beach for a fun day, and for not kicking my kid out for stealing that paddeboard.  I’m pretty sure they all had a blast.

dunes

supersize me

I have a confession to make.

We've been in the hotel for almost a month now.  It is Residence Inn, and they include breakfast and weekday dinners in your stay.  The breakfast buffet is a hug spread, with eggs, bacon, sausage, donuts, Belgian waffles, and other assorted excuses for eating cake first thing in the morning.  The dinner is like camp food - made for cheap mass consumption and seemingly without a concern in regards to health or "balanced meals".  It's usually things like Sloppy Joe's or hot dogs.  One night dinner was a plate of nachos with greasy cheese.  Monday was a baked potato bar with potato chips on the side.  Not a vegetable to be found at any of these meals.

Despite realizing how unhealthy all of this is, we've been eating here for every meal.  The kitchen in our tiny suite is so small, and it is covered in random belongings that we lugged over before they pulled out the walls.  Plus, it's just so tempting to just walk over to the lobby instead of trying to cook in this little room with kids at my feet.  At lunch, we usually get fast food and take it to a park, because I'm desperate to get out of our room and don't have the required groceries and food storage accoutrements at my disposal to pack a picnic.

I think you may see where this is heading . . . a few weeks ago I noticed Jafta's boardshorts no longer fit - the ones I bought right before we came here.  Then he started complaining that he couldn't get his jeans up.  I noticed as I was applying his lotion that his legs felt different - more stocky.  And somehow all of this wasn't connecting for me, until we met up with friend we haven't seen for a while who said it outright  "Wow, Jafta has really gained weight!"

HELLO.  He really has.  It's crazy.  I don't know why I didn't think it would happen.  I mean, I feed my kids healthy food for a reason, but I guess I didn't think a month of throwing caution to the wind would have so great an effect.  But he has gotten quite chubby, his face looks different, and none of his clothes fit him right now.  I'm sure this is also maximized by the fact that he's had to sit quietly in the hotel room while Karis naps instead of partaking in his usual active outdoor activities.  (It's also maximized by the fact that this kid has no portion control and is extremely enthusiastic about food.  He's been piling it on, taking seconds and thirds, and I've been too distracted to notice, apparently).

Anyways, we are hoping our homecoming will be soon, and I am even more motivated to get us back on track with healthy eating.  Not because I care that Jafta is a bit chunky, but because I want him to be a healthy kid.  He has always been a solid kid, and he has always been tall for his age.  But this is not good.  I think he is going to be sorely disappointed when his breakfast buffet is replaced with steel cut oats once we get home, but hopefully reuniting with his trampoline will ease the pain of parting with the danishes.

that's what she said (Blogher edition)

Alright, one last Blogher recap.  I know, I know.  Last year I remember people talking and talking about the Blogher conference and wishing they would move on already, and here I am blathering on about it for three posts .  But I suppose that for many of us, who spend our days in a groundhog's day existence of diapers, swiffering and playdates, that a few days in New York City is a whole lot of excitement and grist for the blogging mill. 

On Friday, the conference officially started.  Unfortunately, I was up until 4am the night before.  Not by choice . . . in fact it was really frustrating.  I think it was a combination of my body still being three hours behind, and the way my brain was racing with thoughts of ALL. THAT. SOCIALIZING.  I have a hard time settling down to sleep after any big social event, be it girl's night, a party, dinner with friends, etc.  But at Blogher, it all seems so magnified because instead of one party, you are hopping to several, and meeting SO many people, most of them people you have never met before but feel like you know because of their blog.  So at night my brain was buzzing, as I rehashed every interaction and worried whether or not I had adequately expressed admiration without seeming stalkerish, or fretting over the fact that I had not had more time to chat with certain people, or whether or not I was succeeding at seeming fun and friendly because my default mode of morose and sarcastic?  Not so approachable.

Anyways, I hate this about myself - this racing brain anxiety thing, and when I saw that the clock said 4am I realized that the 7am Tutus for Tanner 5k was probably not going to happen for me.  Which really sucked, because most of my friends were going, and I had been given a darling Team Sparkle tutu for the event, and taken up precious suitcase space with stinky running shoes.   But more than all that, I was bummed because it was a great cause, for a blogger I adore.  At 4am I turned off the 6:30 alarm and fell asleep.  I accidentally woke up at 10:30, and I was supposed to be hosting the Serenity Suite at 11am.  And thus began my first full day of Blogher.

In addition to missing the 5k, I also missed the opening breakfast and the blogger speed-dating session, both things I was excited about.  I tried not to have a full-on freakout that I had managed to miss the entire morning of a two-day conference.  I also tried not to freak out that I would not have time to blow-dry my hair on the first full day of the conference.  Both thoughts were equally horrifying.

With wet hair and a wrinkled shirt, I made my way to the Serenity Suite, the brain child of my brain twin Heather and her friend (and soon to be co-author) Maggie.  It was a space they created for people to come and decompress from the madness of the conference, and it was the perfect way to start the day.  It ended up being an amazing solace spot for a lot of people (and also a space for an impromptu 12-step group . . . love that).

I had lunch with my roomie Christine and new friend Meagan (whose writing about her attachment journey with her new son is something I wish I'd discovered sooner, because we are living parallel lives right now).  After lunch, there were four session options but none of them really appealed to me, so when I hooked up with Alison Alyson Allison and she said she was gonna wander Times Square with Kacia, I was in.  Little did I know this would be the only session I would have time for . . . but we'll get to that detail in a minute.  When we got back from sightseeing it was time for the Community Keynote, where thirteen bloggers read what were determined to be the best posts of the year.  This was amazing.  The writing was so good, and yet so varied . . . from lesbian divorce to breast cancer to a rap about Twilight.  We laughed, we cried.  It sort of all clicked as to why we were all gathered there for such an insane weekend.  For the love of the writing.

After the keynote, there was about 15 minutes to change for the big Blogher Gala - so I ran upstairs and experienced a zipper malfunction with the dress I was planning to wear (you know, that thing?  Where it comes off the track and you can't get it to go up or down?).  So I spent a frantic fifteen minutes trying to figure out what else to wear and then another fifteen minutes trying to figure out how to get the hotel iron to work, and then another 15 minutes trying to straighten the hair I failed to blowdry, that was now 37% it's normal size from walking around in the New York humidity.  I was really, really late to the gala, and by the time I got there a lot of people had left.  And again, I had this sinking feeling that I was really sucking at Blogher.

At the gala I hooked up with some of my fellow theater geeks - we had planned a little flashmob event and sang Tomorrow from Annie.   It was fun, it was a surprise, and everyone joined in.  Love those moments.  A lot of people had left the gala by the time we did this, and I think this sort of exemplified one of my biggest disappointments with Blogher.  The whole thing was so decentralized and so dominated by private parties and invite-only events that there was very little sense of community in terms of the group-at-large.  Even the Blogher-sponsored parties required a vigilant watch on Twitter to get on the RSVP list. It felt like even though there were upwards of two thousand women, none of us were ever in the same place at once.  And with the phenomena that is the Twitter hashtag, you knew at any given moment that there was something going on that you were missing.  To be honest, it seemed like some people took a little glee in this, announcing at regular intervals about HOW FUN this ULTIMATELY PRIVATE PARTY was that they were attending, along with the appropriate hashtags.  i.e. #blogher10 #yousowishyouwereatthisparty   For me, it all felt really awkward.  I was invited to some of them.  I wasn't invited to others.  It was weird either way, since I couldn't just invite whatever friend I wanted along to wherever I was going.  I thought it made for a lot of unnecessary drama - and while I get that people are sick of the Blogher/high school comparisons, it is prevalent for a reason.  Because when else in your adult life do people operate under some sort of secret party popularity code?  If people are ascribing adolescent comparisons it is because it all felt very adolescent, and I wasn't fond of being catapulted back into those old feelings on either end. It felt out of hand and I don't know what the organizers can do to quell the number of outside events, but there were even a lot of things planned during the Blogher conference schedule.  And I get it . . . these brands want to reach out to bloggers while they are all in the same city at once.  But it all pulled the focus away from the thing.  You know, the writing thing.  That being said, I did get to attend some very swanky parties, so I'm not oblivious to the appeal.  I also tried to pretend like I wasn't impressed with things like penthouses or views or free pomegranate martinis.*

*No, I didn't.  I acted like one of the Beverly Hillbillies, taking photos and exclaiming loudly, "This is the nicest place I will ever be!  Let's take a lot of pictures, ya'll!"

By Friday night, I had given up any illusions that my Pacific Time body was going to fall asleep before 3am.  So when I walked back into the hotel lobby in the wee hours just at the time a crew was headed out to karaoke, I didn't need a lot of arm-twisting.  Especially because it was such a fun group of girls, most of whom I had the pleasure of meeting when I spoke at the Casual Bloggers Conference.  Marie, Allison, Carina, Susan, Kami, Jenny, and Ashley . . . seriously, these girls could be going to a John Deere convention and I would sign up just because they are so much fun.  Not to mention, all of the totally get my own personal vision and groundrules of karaoke, which is that karaoke should NOT be a place for ballads or actual singing.  It should be a place for bad 80's tunes, loud singing, and air guitar.

I don't know how to explain what happened that night in that underground karaoke bar in midtown.  All I know is that by the end of the night, all of us were best friends. And not just the girls I came with.  The weird couple in the back, the nerdy boy who came alone, the Asian couple, that guy named Mike and his two really drunk girlfriends - there was a lot of love in that place.  And a lot of white people singing hip-hop.

The next day I had a busy schedule.  I hosted the Serenity Suite in the morning, and then a lunch table for adoption bloggers. After lunch I had my interview with Project Mom Casting, which went really long.  The good news is that while I was waiting for my interview, I got to meet a lot of amazing bloggers - many of whom I've admired for years.  The bad news is that by the time my interview was over, I had missed the two afternoon sessions.

So - let's review.  During the entire conference weekend, I missed every single session and only made it to the community keynote.  And a lot of parties.

It's like a bad freshman year, where you realize that you just partied, got too little sleep, spent a lot of money you didn't have, and learned absolutely nothing.

I think I might have also gained 15 pounds.

I still don't know how to efficiently upload photos to my blog (hence the 7-day delay in this post), or how to properly edit my photos (still rocking Microsoft Paint over here), or how to update my facebook page remotely or how to do SEO or whether or not I really need to move to wordpress or any of the other things I was hoping I might learn at this conference. 

But you know what I do know?  Ashley does a mean Eminem impersonation, Georgia is very nice (and not at all bossy) in person, Christine is a pastor's wife who happily wears condom earrings, Jill is not scary, Esther is even more adorable in person, and Jenny knows all the moves to the Beyonce Single Ladies video.  So . . . there's that.

Saturday afternoon, I also missed the dinner with my fellow Grown in My Heart writers, which was another letdown, but I was shaky and exhausted and knew I needed a nap if I wanted to avoid a meltdown before the night o'parties.  And a night o'parties it was - starting with Blogalicious, and then Sparklecorn (thrown  by MamaPop) and finally, Cheeseburgher.  These parties were the most fun of the conference, due in no small part to the fact that they were a) open invite b) devoid of product pitches and c) focused on dancing to fun 80's and 90's music.  I had a blast, and managed to get through the evening without my feet bleeding. 

The next day, I skipped the brand breakfast I had been invited to (since I spent the weekend skipping things, why stop now?).  As I do on every trip to New York City, I was getting that insatiable urge to try to see every broadway show possible.  Linda and I schemed all morning trying to figure out how to see two shows in one day. We saw the matinee of Memphis (loved it), ate dinner at the legendary Sardi's (loved it) and then were joined by Theresa to see Next To Normal (psychotically loved it).  After the show, we took a horse-drawn carriage ride through Central Park - something I never would have done myself, but ended up being an idyllic end to our quintessential New York day.  I had so much fun with these gals, and since we were all on west-coast time, we hooked up with another SoCal friend (Sugar) and headed down to the Standard Bar in the meatpacking district.  We laughed at how we had managed to choose the most LA spot in all of New York City, but redeemed ourselves by ending the evening at Hogs and Heifers, were the four of us were mercilessly mocked by a bartender with a bullhorn.  So much fun.

In retrospect, the weekend was a lot of fun, even though I walked away without learning much, and with the realization that if I go again, I need to adjust my expectations. It is a crazy, manic experience, and I didn't feel like I got enough time with any one person, but that is probably just not possible with that many people in one place.

Okay, I promise, I'm done talking about Blogher.  Humiliating stories about my daily life to resume shortly.  Well, except that I might rant about the anti-formula drama, and I might finish that post where I query whether or not it's appropriate for a bunch of white people to use the N word gratuitously in background music on their Blogher recap, when most of us would agree it's not okay to say or write.  Or I might just become distracted and these half-finished screeds may become yet another memory in the graveyard of drafts in my blogger dashboard.  Only time will tell.

If you've written your own Blogher recap?  Well, scroll down and link it up. 

And here is a whole bunch of pictures in random order because how to easily reposition photos on my blog?  That's another thing I didn't learn at Blogher. 



(an artist's rendering of my Voice of the Year post)





 







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penthouse

karaoke


Here are some of my favorite recaps of the weekend.  Did you write one?  Or maybe a post about how sick you are of reading other people's posts about Blogher?  Link it below. 

Welcome to My Brain

Our Little Tongginator

Three Girl World

Amalah

Uppercase Woman

O My Family

Extraordinary Ordinary

Ann's Rants

One Crafty Mother

Is There Any Mommy Out There?

Okay, Fine, Dammit

Your turn:

homeless: the motel kids of orange county

I'm working on my syllabus this morning for a new class I'm teaching this semester.  I've been hunting for an HBO documentary called East of Main: Asians Aloud (which seems to be off the schedule and which I'm desperate to get my hands on, in case anyone happened to record it).  Anyways, as I was perusing their documentary listings I came across one film entitled Homeless: Motel Kids of Orange County.  As soon as I saw the title, I knew I wanted to see it. 


I've been having such a hard time with our current living situation, and watching this trailer was like a punch in the gut. It was very convicting for me - with all the whining I've been doing about our temporary hotel life - that for some, this is a constant reality.  It is no secret to most of us in the town where I live that many children live in motels.  There are probably four of these motels within a mile of my own house, and I know it is a lifestyle that is demoralizing and difficult to leave.  I also know that it is something that most of us in Orange County turn a blind eye towards.  It isn't hard to do.  Watch any television show about Orange County and you will see a parade of privlileged, wealthy, and overly tan white people.  There are so many people who live here whose stories are never told.  I am anxious to see this, but also reminded that I need to be grateful for what I have.  I'm also reminded that I want to be serving more.  My church has a ministry with some of the local motels and I was marginally involved for a while.  Just this Sunday, I was watching a video about a mission trip at church and feeling like it was time to get out of my comfort zone and back into mission work, but also feeling unsure of how to do that with so many young kids.  Perhaps this is how . . .


party planes, puke fests, and fondue feuds (blogher days 1 & 2)

In my life, I’ve had a couple variations of recurring stress dreams. One involves me being unable to find something right before a big event (it’s my wedding day and I can’t find a hairdryer, it’s time for prom and I can’t find my dress, etc). Another recurring dream involves me finding out that I am failing a class (in college I took an anthropology class where you could skip the final if you got 100% on the midterm. I did, and then I skipped that the class for the rest of the semester. My subconscious has never let me live that down). The other recurring dream involves me humiliating myself in front of others.

My weekend at Blogher 2010 was an amazing experience, and I am so glad I went. But a good portion of the conference felt like some surreal stress dream where I planned and planned and yet everything that could go wrong, did.

It started with the plane ride on Wednesday, which got a little bumpy over the middle of the country. I should mention, I decided to make the flight from LA to New York on the “party plane” – dubbed as such because there were about ten other bloggers on the flight. Everyone else was talking and laughing and drinking. But being the queen of motion sickness, my stomach starting letting me know that it wasn’t so happy. About an hour before we landed, I was struggling to keep my breakfast down. And then suddenly, I lost the struggle. Numerous times. In front of ten other bloggers I had just met.

Let’s just say I don’t think I won the First Impression Rose that day. And thank God for Virgin America’s generous supply of seat-front vomit bags.

After the flight, I hopped in a car with Linda and Donna and tried my best not to have any more public displays of puking. I had one overwhelming thought on that hour car ride into Manhattan – I WOULD LIKE TO STOP MOVING. When we arrived at the hotel I had about an hour before I needed to meet up with some other bloggers that I had arranged to see Broadway shows that evening. All I wanted to do was lay down – but I knew I needed to get some food in my stomach, get an Alka-Seltzer, wash up a bit and get going. So I threw my suitcase in the room, brushed my teeth, and then set out to find a pharmacy and a deli.

What happened next is where the stress dream feeling really kicked in, because it was a comedy of errors trying to get all of those tickets to their rightful owners. I needed to be a four box offices at once, and it felt like an Amazing Race episode in Times Square. When I finally got everyone their tickets and sat down in the theater to see Fela, I was really ready to fall asleep.

Jessica, Lori, Cecily, Deb, Heather, Ellie, me

Fela, though. What an amazing show. It was exactly what I needed. An avant-guard play about a Nigerian musician, full of amazing African music and dancing, and with a social-activist message. I was loving it.

After the show, several of us met up for fondue. Because really, what better way for women to bond than over melted cheese and chocolate? I began to witness some of the rumored Blogher drama as the group of us struggled over which cheese to choose. There was a lot of ego involved in deciding between the Swiss or Cheddar. Specifically, one blogger tried to pull rank because she had the most twitter followers, but then another gal insisted that she have her way because she had a better Technorati score. Ultimately we went with a face-off between everyone’s Alexa rating, and that moment in time will forever be known as the great Blogher ’10 Fondue Feud. Or #fonduefeud, if you would like to join the debate.

(Actually all of these ladies were perfectly lovely and we had a fabulous time. And ordered both types of cheeses with very little fanfare beyond stopping our chatter long enough to acknowledge the waiter.)



I was so tired by the end of this long day, but somehow found myself wide awake when I arrived back at my hotel room at 1am. Hello, pacific time. After a couple breathing exercises Ambien I finally fell asleep, and that wakeup call felt early. On Thursday morning I had an appointment with David’s Bridal to choose some cocktail dresses for the Blogher parties. It was a lovely experience all around – their reps were great, the dresses were adorable.



PS I love that little silver number and think it looks very Mad Men/vintage, and had to laugh when they told me it was a mother-of-the-bride dress.  I only hope I can wear something that cute when my kids are old enough to be married. 

Thursday afternoon my roommate Christine arrived, and we got to chat a bit before heading out for the SocialLuxe party. Even though it was 24 hours after I my flight, I was still feeling nauseous, and put very little effort into my appearance for the second night in a row. Those perfectly planned dresses with matching accessories and shoes for both Wednesday and Thursday night?  Yeah, those never happened. Both nights I found myself stumbling into a social situation hoping I'd remembered to brush the knots out of the back of my hair.

SocialLuxe was a blast.  It was fun to be nominated for an award and hear my name called out at the party.  As I foretold, Jenny (The Blogess) won.  I had hoped to meet her, and use my defeat as an "in".  I imagined myself pretending to be outraged, but then giving her a little nod and a wink to let her know I'm just joshing, after which she would throw her hands up and shrug her shoulders and hug me and become my best friend forever.  Weirdly, none of that actually happened.  But I did see her from across the room and she seemed darling.



After the SocialLuxe party, we went to the Nikon party, a tasteful little rooftop affair where a bevy of buff calendar models were hired to chat up a room full of female bloggers who spend most of their time wearing pajamas with a computer on their lap.  The firemen worked the room - chatting us up about our lives and our work, pretending to be earnest about wanting to understand what this blog thing was about. "You ladies look great tonight. Where are you from? So, a blog. Is that like a chat room?" It was a scenario that I found hilariously awkward.

After the Nikon party, we went back to the hotel for some of the official Blogher parties. I was getting tired but then I got a call from one of the gals from our Grown In My Heart writing team. They were all gathered in one of the rooms, drinking wine. We had never met in person before, but I could hear their laughing all the way down the hallway. We ordered pizza and chatted into the night.

Christine from welcome to my brain, Marcie from Grown In My Heart, Carrissa (above) from My Everyday Miracles, Claudia from Musings of the Lame, Judy from The International Mom Blog, me, Michelle from Gotcha Baby (and shot by the camera-shy,Tonggu Momma )

Well, this story has gotten awfully long and I'm only up to day 2 in New York. I'll have to wait until tomorrow to describe the ways I felt like I would have gotten an F in Blogher, if we were being graded - and some other assorted mortification. For now, time to go hop in a hotel pool with four eager children who cannot swim. Fun.

*Let me leave you with a little video some of my OC Family peeps made.  There was a hilarious twitter hashtag brewing while we were in New York: #homeher10.  Sick of seeing all the #blogher10 tweets, a couple funny folks started tweeting about being homebound for the weekend.  And then Suzanne, Foolery, and Marcy made this mockumentary gem.

homecoming buzzkill

I came home on a high from my trip to New York, excited to see my kids and longing to be home.

When the taxi driver dropped me off at our hotel, I could feel my blood pressure go up.  It's not that I forgot that's where I was headed.  It just felt like such a downer to have a hotel be the stage for my homecoming.  Not five minutes after hugging my kids, I started to feel that familiar grip of anxiety, claustrophia, and displacement that this little suite holds.  Soon after, we drove over to the house so that I could see the effects of the asbestos removal.  My house . . . it no longer looks like my house.  It looks like the set from an after-school special about drug users.





Last night was Mark's birthday, and I tried very hard to put on a happy face.  But I spent most of dinner bawling in front of him, in front of my kids, and in front of everyone else in the hotel lobby.

I WANT TO GO HOME.

If I had a theme song for dealing with stress, it might be "Under Pressure".  (Or perhaps "The Bitch is Back", depending on who you ask).  If Mark had a theme song for dealing with stress, it would be . . . . oh wait, he doesn't deal with stress.  But if he did, it would be to the soundtrack of something by Bob Marley or Bobby McFerrin.  So when the insurance folks no-showed for the appraisal of damage THREE DAYS IN A ROW while I was gone, Mark didn't call for the removal of anyone's head about it. 

We might be fighting just a tad about that.  There are times - many times - when our differences balance each other out, and when I am grateful to be married to someone so laid-back and impervious to stress.  And then there are other times.

Mark is actually enjoying this little exile.  In his mind, it's a vacation.  In my mind, four loud children in a small room with no yard is a forgotten level of Dante's Inferno. 

Have I mentioned that there are TWO BEDS in this hotel suite?  And six people?



Anyways, we spent Mark's birthday eating a "takeout cake" in our backyard so the kids could have somewhere to run around.  Today I spent the morning channeling my inner Kissimmee on the phone with our insurance adjuster.  If you aren't sure what I mean by "getting Kissimee on someone", let me give you a visual.  Think Trichelle from the Real World, doing the Joan Crawford wire hangers monologue, two days before her period, but with the voice of Zuel fron Ghostbusters.  It's kind of like that.

I think things are moving again.

homeward bound (re-entry from the blogher alternate universe)

I've been on several mission trips in my life, and typically the last day is devotd to a process called "re-entry" - where participants some time debriefing in preparation for acclimation back into real life.  On a mission trip, time is usually spent discussing how one might react to the newfound awarenss of the excesses and privilege in their first-world life.  One might be warned of the culture shock they may experience, the discomfort they may feel returning their current lifestyle, and the importance of assimilating new learnings into effective life change that lasts beyond the trip.

I'm feeling like I need a re-entry debriefing.  Only, in many ways it is exactly opposite of debriefings I've needed in the past.  This weekend was full of excess - it was an alternate universe where my time was my own.  Remember my post about trying to add a little hedonism to my life?  Yeah, I got that this weekend. 

I have so much to say about the madness that was Blogher.  It was stressful, it was a blast, it was exhausting, it was humiliating, it was affirming, it was inspiring.  There were moments when I felt like I was validated as a writer and propped up by a community of my peers.  There were moments when I felt like I was surrounded by a collective body of some of the smartest women in our country.  And then there were moments where I felt like I was a thirteen-year-old who was too insecure to walk from the lunchtable to the bathroom without a friend on my arm.

But now, I find myself wondering how one returns from a weekend like that to the daily grind of laundry, diapers, and bedtime routines.  Who is going to leave swag on my bed?  Who is going to invite me to a penthouse party?  Where did the free food and drinks go?  Where are the NY Fire Department calendar models who are being paid to talk me up at a party?


(Clearly I was very bothered by this).

This weekend brought up a whole mess of feelings, and entitlement is one that I am trying to squash.  Because I met a lot of amazing, smart, and talented women.  But I also met a lot of entitled women.  Women who seem to have forgotten that this little blogging world is not real life, and that nobody owes us anything, and that all of this free stuff or noteriety or wooing by corporations is not going to make us better wives, mothers, or writers.  Even if we do have an "engaged and growing audience". 

More on the "blogger as celebrity" bit later.  But I will say, I noticed a converse relationship between Women Who Acted Like Divas (a small minority, really) and Women With Legitimate Writing Chops. I also noticed that Ree Drummond spent some serious time just standing approachably in the lobby, chatting with whoever wanted to talk to her.  But I'm giving too much away.  That is a post for another time.

As I sort through my reaction to this conference, there are a lot of aspects I want to diminish, but a couple I want to take home with me.  The first is community. There was a really strong sense of community.  Diversity was hugely valued here, from physical disability to religion to race to sexual orientation.  On a broad scale, it felt supportive and accepting.  It really made me long to spend more time with my own friends.  Having time away from daily responsibility is such an amazing way to connect with other people, and I probably had some of the most meaningful conversations I've had in a long time.

I also had FUN.  It was so great to really let loose and be spontaneous.  Dancing on the stage at Sparklecorn?  Sure.  Heading out to Karoake at midnight?  Okay.  Walking around times square with no intentions?  I'm in.  Sing on stage in an impromptu Annie flashmob?  OF COURSE.   I felt like I found a side of myself that has been dormant for a very long time.  I felt the trauma of the last year loosen it's grip a bit.  I laughed.  A lot.  That felt good.



I also feel like I am walking away from this weekend inspired to be more creative.  The community keynote at Blogher featured thirteen women whose posts were chosen as the best of the year.  We laughed, we cried . . . but mostly we marvelled at the way these writers crafted a story.  I also got the chance to see three plays while I was in New York - all of them amazing and creative in their own way.  All of it left me pondering the beauty in creating something that touches others.  And behind all of thefun and silliness and drama of this conference, this is what I want to take away. . .  a desire to create.  I've been in a fog and I've been ignoring that aspect of myself, because it has seemed superflous.  Optional.  Self-indulgent.  This weekend was a reminder that creativity is vital.

So, I fly home today, ready to kiss my kids, to be more engaged, and to pay more attention to nurturing my creative side.  And yes, the hotel we are living in will never be as glamorous as the Hilton, and I won't have four parties to choose from tonight.  But that's gonna be okay.

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