We all decided to show up for Thanksgiving. We knew Grandma’s cancer had spread. We knew it may be the last year her and Grandpa would both be around for the holidays. We all showed up. All of their six kids. All fifteen grandchildren. Great-grandchildren.
The blizzard hit the day before we left. I can’t not go, I told Logan. We have to go. I don’t care how long it takes us to get there, we are going. We packed the car that night and left at 4am Wednesday morning, the day before Thanksgiving. It took us seven hours to get 150 miles. By the time we got out of Colorado, I believe I’d heard the Simpson’s movie play in the backseat twice and Shrek 2, three times.
Doesn’t matter really. Didn’t matter how long it took us. We gave the girls tons of junk. I literally threw sugar back at them all day. I didn’t care. We made it.
The look on their faces, on Thanksgiving, when they walked into a house full of family? Was priceless. I’ll never forget that day. I’ll never forget how little he looked. How she smiled when Morgan showed her how she could play the piano. That day was the last time I heard him say more than one word at a time. That was the night he had the stroke.
It was worth it. To be there that day. To be in a room filled with the craziest people around. People that don’t get alone. People who do get along. Drama put aside for one day. To surprise them. One last time.
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Six kids sitting in various places on top of the car. Beetle Juice at the Drive-In on a Saturday night. I couldn’t have been more that seven years old. We had blankets and snacks. Popcorn, orange soda and Twizzlers. My first Drive-In experience. We saw more movies there than I can count. Went at least once a month until they closed it down when I was in High School. But this was the first time for all of us.
Beetle Juice, Beetle Juice, Beetle Juice.
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If you can’t drive this car the right way, pull it over right now. I was a touch bossy. He yanked the steering wheel and the car swerved and hit a truck.
He was two. I was almost five. We had been parked on the top of a hill. My mom had gotten out to put something inside the house. She’d removed the keys. However, she had also let us both out of our car seats. We, of course, had climbed in the front. He was pretending to drive and somehow pulled the car out of park.
We hit a truck, about halfway down the block. My mom was literally running after the car. We hadn’t had time to get going to fast and the damage was minimal. The owner of the truck was pissed though. Called the cops on my mom and everything. I don’t remember much of it. I remember telling him to pull over if he couldn’t drive. I remember the woman going bat shit crazy on the cops who laughed at her. Her truck had expired plates, it hadn’t moved in three years and she herself had unpaid tickets.
I possibly saved us. By being bossy. The end of the street was a hugely busy street. If we’d kept going, we’d of gained speed and most likely gotten hit by both sides.
When my brother tells me I’m being too bossy, I remind him of this. Then I remind him that someone who is dumb enough to run into a parked car, isn’t one who gets to talk.
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He throws himself on the ground. It’s very difficult being 20 months old, you know. He is not really crying, but trying to act like he is. He’s not really screaming much, just saying no mama, over and over again. He is flailing about. After a minute or two, he stops. He looks around, to see who is paying attention. When he realizes no one is, he gets up, walks over to his train table and starts playing.
A tantrum is only worth it to him, if he has an audience. My boy, he likes his professional audience.If he’s not getting a laugh, or if someone isn’t available for clapping purposes…well then he’s not sure he’s interested.
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Oooohhh, poohhh qwuirly.
What is she saying, I asked Logan? I have no idea, he said. She’s been saying it all day. Say that again baby, mama doesn’t understand. Oohhh pooohhh qwuirly. Uh huh. Maybe we don’t need to know.
Driving from Los Angeles to Denver for vacation. She was about to turn two. It took us two entire days to realize that she said that whenever she saw road kill. Oh poor squirrely was what she was saying. I believe she thought it was the squirrel from Ice Age.
I received this text yesterday from my friend’s phone:
“Mommy wuld u like to go to Gepolte with us? Luv ur dauter Morgan.”
After I died laughing, I called my lovely first born to see what location she thought she was saying. Chipotle. They were going to Chipotle for dinner and wondered if we wanted to join them. Yeah. I’m still laughing.
National spelling champ, she is not.
I write in the moment. You can probably tell by all of the spelling/grammar mistakes in my posts. I write in the moment. I write to get the words out of my head. I write what I need to say and then I post it. If it’s hard to write it, I am likely to not even re-read it before I hit post. I should, this I know, but I don’t. Sometimes I just can’t.
Part of it, makes me real. It’s what keeps some of you coming back. I am honest and raw and very emotional. At least on this blog. It’s like I open up my head, shake out my thoughts on this page and don’t look back. It helps me in life, to be able to remove some of these thoughts in this space. You get me, here in this space. The real me. The honest, sometimes crazy, sometimes a mess, me. I have been told by some that it’s a great thing. I’ve been told by others it is what will keep me from making it as a blogger. Whatever that means.
It’s also what leaves me open and vulnerable. So much so, that on occasion I can’t even read the comments. I normally do. There have been times where I haven’t. Those I keep for later. Sometimes? Later doesn’t come.
Right now? It’s keeping me from writing. I have a lot of things I want to say. However, I don’t know that I should. I don’t feel like I can. I open and close this page. Have for a week now. I believe I have caused my share of drama for the year. My quota has been filled and I’m done.
Posting may be light around here, until I find my sea legs again. A space that used to feel so safe, now feels not so safe. I always knew my words could be used against me, but I now find myself unsure how to speak at all. I feel stifled.
We went camping this weekend. That is what the kids and I are calling it. The girls and I decided that we could and will make up our own definition of camping. Their dad has one version of camping. It includes tents and no showers and eating food that somehow always has dirt in it. The kids like it, but hey, they are all under nine years old, so their judgment on that is a bit skewed. That is not what I call a good camping experience, personally.
Normally when asked I have said that my idea of camping is a hotel without room service. Part of me still believes this. Wikipedia says camping is where one leaves their urban home and goes and spends a few days in nature. I was in nature people. I swear I was. There was no Target for a hundred miles, nor a Starbucks. I did not have internet for three days. Nature.
However, I really like my new version of camping:
It includes a borrowed vacation home, in the boondocks. ‘Boondocks’ is a smallish town in the mountains, a ski town, where about 2,000 people live year round. Just, you know in case you were confused about the term boondocks. Like I said, I’m redefining things today people. Where was I? Oh yes. Home in the boondocks. Borrowed from a miscellaneous relative who loans it to everyone. I know this for a fact, because we had to share it with a, I believe third cousin of my moms, son and his wife and daughter? Something like that. However, the house was big enough for all of us. If they’d not had a daughter in between my girls ages, they could have easily avoided us all weekend.
Camping now includes a 360 view of the mountains. A deck to look at the stars at night. (Holy cow people, I’ve never seen that many stars.) A hot tub on said deck, is also amazing.
Camping includes a great little coffee shop that makes their own beans and has pastries that are better than anything one can find in Denver.
Camping includes restaurants in town, none of which are chains. All of which are family owned and had great food.
Camping includes a gas grill. It includes a porch fire pit. One that you can load real wood into and have the experience of a camp fire, while still getting to go inside to sleep in a real bed.
Camping includes too many s’mores, sugar crazed kids, a random keg party three blocks over that decides to light off a few fireworks and a Sonic on the road home. Because the drive home is just better when it includes a cherry limeade.
So, what is your definition of camping?
When I was a kid, I always wished I belonged to another family. A better family. One that was less like mine. Sometimes I imagined that my real family had misplaced me somehow. Maybe that there had been a horrible switch at the hospital and they’d find me one day. I imagined a sister. A twin. Somehow I was convinced I had a twin out there. Parents who were still married. Parents who were home when I got home from school. A mom who cooked on days that weren’t just Sunday. A dad who actually cared.
There were no step-parents, or step-siblings in my imaginary world. No heartache. No feeling invisible. No feeling like I didn’t exist. Like no one would really notice if I just faded away.
I watched too much television. I saw families on TV and was convinced my ‘real’ family would be like that. Where minor squabbles or issues were solved in 24 short minutes. Where major issues could be solved the next week in 24 more minutes.You know, the: My Two Dads, Fresh Prince, Full House, The Cosby Show, Family Ties; way of life.
I read to escape my life. I was constantly reading at least three books. I spent every waking moment that I could in the pool, because underwater? I was a mermaid looking for my real family. My imagination helped me make it through childhood. My family is not the white picket fence type. Heck, neither of my parents even owned a house during my childhood. Literally, I lived in one neighborhood 8 different times. And surrounding neighborhoods and surrounding cities. We went to the same school, but we moved constantly. My mother is convinced I haven’t painted my house, because I don’t believe that I can. She may be right.
Sadly my ‘real’ family never came to find me. As years have gone on, I’ve realized that I just don’t fit in either side of my family. Sure I can get along at times with most of them,, for short periods of time, but I don’t have a place. I used to have a place in Logan’s family, but I don’t really now either. It’s too uncomfortable for them. It’s too much work. Too much effort. Really? I understand. In a way, it’s too much work for me too.
But I’m back to not fitting in anywhere. And it kinda sucks. Some days I think I fit in online and then others I know I don’t. I’m just too odd; real; sensitive; depressing; intense. I spend way too much time up in my head. Take your pick. Don’t suppose it really matters.
Doesn’t mean I won’t keep making a space for myself in this big ole Internet. I will. I also know I don’t really have a place where I fit. I guess in a way, it’s something that I’m used too.
My real family is my kids. My three amazing balls of crazy. They get me. I get them. They are the coolest people I know. But I only have them half the time. They are also just kids. I have a very firm idea on being my kids parent now and their friend later.
I spend too much time alone. I spend too much time online.
Right now? I just feel lost.
I don’t know what to do about any of it. I don’t know that there is anything to do about it. It just is.
Sometimes, when I can’t sleep, I wonder about my imaginary family. If I wasn’t the spitting image (looks and as I hear it, personality) of my great-grandma, I’d consider the possibility that I was switched at birth. I know I wasn’t though.
Maybe one day, I’ll find my place. Hopefully.
Great. So thrilling for you. You are the mayor of McDonalds. Wheeeee. You are now at Starbucks. YAY you. You are at Target. Why is this entertaining? I go to Starbucks every dam day. It’s not tweet worthy. Promise.
FourSquare, for those of you who don’t know, is a form of social media. You sign up for the service and it connects to your Twitter and Facebook. You set up a profile, that is public, (at least for other FourSquare users) with your information. It also keeps all of your previous locations. The more you use it, the more points you get. What they are for, I don’t know. No one seems to know. Why anyone should care? I have absolutely no idea. Doesn’t stop people from playing it.
Anyone remember Mafia Wars? It was an annoying game on twitter. It lasted about two months. This is more annoying and doesn’t seem to show any sign of stopping.
In the two minutes of searching (to give those who have no idea what I’m talking about, an idea) hundreds of tweets kept popping up. Very awesome tweets like:
I’m at Independent Fire Company No. 1 (1601 Burlington Bypass, Wedgewood Drive & Fountain Avenue, Burlington)
I just unlocked the “School Night” badge on @foursquare
I’m at taco bell.
I’m at McD’s.
I’m at Panera Bread 540 East Betteravia Road, College Drive, Santa Maria
Why doesn’t Subway give a discount to Mayors? That would benefit me.
WTF. Really??? We should care? We should need to know this? All of these, by the way, had a link to the location. Hundreds and hundreds of them popped up in seconds.
Normally I find it aggravating. It pollutes my twitter stream. I could care less were anyone is and it’s annoying to constantly see, oh I’m at Target. I find it very stupid and I’ve said it more than my share of times.
Here’s where the issue for me comes in. Someone who I was following on twitter tweeted that they were at an elementary school picking up a kid. A kid that isn’t theirs. It tweets the name and a link to the location every time you use it.
So basically one is publishing their child’s school address. On the internet. For the world to see.
It makes me angry. It makes me sick to my stomach. I am making a big ass deal of it because I think it needs to make into one. It’s not okay. Tweeting names of kids elementary schools and locations is NOT okay. It’s just not. Schools should not be listed in FourSquare. It should never, ever, ever be something that gets randomly tweeted. It’s unsafe.
Lets think about this for a second. You post or tweet your kids names, or you don’t. You post pictures, or you don’t. I don’t really care either way. I used to, I don’t now. Your choice. But you, if you have kids and a blog, probably talk about them. You tell funny stories. If you don’t post photos, as I don’t, you probably have friends you have emailed photos to over time.
Then you tweet the location of your child’s elementary school on twitter. All in the name of a social media game.
Now, instead of being worried about the known dangers, about crazy family and people who pop up on registry’s for sex offenders, you are facing the unknown. Because hey, you wanted a few points or whatever, so why not tweet the location of the school?
Know why you shouldn’t? BECAUSE IT’S A SCHOOL. Where children play. Small, innocent children. That you’ve just put at risk. Maybe I’m being paraniod. I will take that risk. Me paranoid is a fine risk to take. A child’s safety? Is not.
I don’t care who it was, I don’t care if it’s your kid or someone else’s. Either way? I find it deplorable. I have unfollowed people before because of it. Those times? It was their child. What made me livid about it this time, was someone doing it, who was picking up another persons child.
I went so far to say if that was my sitter doing that, I’d fire them. I would. In a heartbeat. Does that make me an asshole? Maybe it does. Fine, hi, I’m Issa and I’m an asshole. Unfollow/unfriend me. I don’t care.
My kids school address doesn’t belong on Twitter and Facebook. Ever. No kids school does. Personally I think FourSquare should take that off. It shouldn’t be allowed to be tweeted. Ever. The end.
I made a blanket statement on Twitter, one that I am sticking too. I am hereby unfollowing any single person who tweets the location of an elementary school.
I think it’s totally irresponsible.
Yes, a school’s information is public record. You can drive by any school and see kids. Pervs can drive around and find schools. But they generally don’t know what your child looks like already, do they? They probably don’t know that you call your son, sport or bruiser. Or that your daughter’s stuffed tiger is named Flutter. They may not have known that before, but they can now.
Do you see where I’m going with this? That kind of information is what predators use to lure your children. Think I’m paranoid. Think I’m horrible. Then go search the web for missing children. Look at the numbers. Look at what happens to children taken from schools, even if they are returned to their parents. Do you see how this could make me angry? By tweeting a childrens school location, you are inadvertently putting children at risk. Mine, yours, all of them.
You may think you are anonymous. But you really aren’t. Not if you use now or have ever used any form of social media.
Why make it easier for them? Why put your kids at risk, for a stupid silly annoying game that most of us wish would die?
Part one, because I’m sure there is more.
I know, I know…it’s only June. Why in the world am I talking about BlogHer already? Those who have been are wondering why I’m doing this two months early. Come on Issa, you know it’s only JUNE right? The conference isn’t until August. Those who aren’t going are shaking their heads, rolling their eyes and thinking, already? Seriously?
I know. Mea culpa. Have you looked around though? People are already freaking out. This is for the newbies. Because this time last year? I was them. I started freaking out two months prior. No joke. I started having BlogHer nightmares about this time. I’m me though, I’m an anxious person. However? I know I’m not alone. I figured I’d bring up a few things, to help you out. I’m sure I’ll come up with more later. When I do, I promise to post them.
Business cards: If you can, get them. I bought 150. I think. I came home with 40. Or something. I’ll buy new ones this year. It’s hard to remember everyone. It’s nice to have those cards when you come home. I put my name, blog name, blog address and Twitter ID on it I believe. I used Zazzle last year and paid $25.00 with shipping. But there are tons of places to get them.
It’s not you, really. It’s not: I have, well I’m going to call it people ADD. I’ll be in the middle of a conversation with someone, see someone I just have to say something to, tell you I’m coming back and then I’ll get lost. It happened a few times last year. I’m sorry if I did it to you. There is just soooooo many people and sooooo little time. Please try not to take it personal.
People are mostly nice: They will talk to you. Some people aren’t so nice. Guess what? BlogHer is real life. 1,200 or so people who all happen to blog, in one hotel at the same time. There will be people you like and some you don’t like, all there. At once. It’s okay. It’s a big hotel.
I went up to people I’d always wanted to meet and said hello. I talked to people I’d never heard of. I talked to random people in the elevator and the lobby. I walked up to people I thought I knew and then realized I had no idea who they were. All of those people were nice to me. This year, I vow to be braver. To make sure I meet the few people who I was too scared to last year.
I? Am a very nice person. I’m polite. I’m kind. I smell purty. I don’t bite. Swear. If you see me and want to meet me, feel free to come say hello.
Bloggers who you’ve always wanted to meet are likely to be willing to talk to you. Do me a favor though? Remember that they are there to visit with their friends too. No matter how big name a blogger is, nor how unknown, most of us are there to see our friends. Meet new people? Yes, that too. But try not to take it personally. I? Want to meet anyone who wants to meet me. Promise. But that doesn’t mean I’m not there to see my friends. It’s not an affront to you, if they are busy with someone else, or chatting with their friends. It’s not a personal attack on you, it’s just life.
Use the same theory you would at home, if someone is in mid-conversation wait for a slow moment to interrupt. People are nicer if you remember the manners that we teach our children.
Every year there will be posts after the fact of people who felt it was a personal attack that someone didn’t have time to talk to them. It’s generally not. This conference happens once a year. I am seeing my friends who I haven’t seen in a year. People I talk to online every day. It’s different to have this few days. To hug in person. To talk, joke, laugh and if you are like me, cry in person. 95% of the people there are there for the same reason.
Wear what you want: Wear whatever makes you comfortable. If you want a new dress for the parties, buy and wear a new dress. There will be people wearing dresses. There will be people not dressing up at all.
I promise you, I don’t care what you are wearing. Heck, I’ll barely care what I’m wearing. I saw people seriously dressed up. I saw people dressed more casually. Some dressed up for parties. I’m a jeans, t-shirt and flip-flop girl myself. I doubt I’ll change for parties. If I do, it will just be a fresh t-shirt. But that’s me. Be you.
There’s a little bit of everything. My friend brought six pairs of shoes. He’s strange though. I believe I brought two pairs of flip-flops. Whatever floats your boat. Truly. Just know, be comfortable in what you are wearing and you will be fine.
Leave the hotel: Trust me. I didn’t do it last year except for daily visits to the local Starbucks and two dinners out. LEAVE THE HOTEL. You will regret it if you don’t. I’d never been to Chicago. Want to know what I saw in Chicago? NOTHING. I won’t make that mistake again. I am not even saying leave tons. But make a point of picking one thing and doing it. I have a million things I’d like to see and do in NYC. I’ve picked two for this trip. See Central Park….not all of it mind you. But a part of it. I just want to see it. I also pan on going to Serendipity. That’s it. Two things. So that I don’t regret not seeing something.
Food: Food and water can be scarce around the hotel, although I promise you that caffeine will be everywhere. One can not live on booze and Starbucks. Enough said. Eat. Go find food. Drink water. This one speaks for itself.
Drama: There will be some. There is always some. Try to avoid it. Sometimes you can’t. Sometimes you have too big of a mouth and you step into it without meaning too. (see: me) It’s okay. It’s all okay. It’s only four days of your life.
Panels/workshops: Whatever you want to call them. There are tons of choices of pick from. I went to way too many last year. (Please see above on not leaving hotel.) I went to tons, however I only truly enjoyed two of them. The MamaPop one and the Men of BlogHer one, which was given by some of my favorite male bloggers. The rest? Meh. I can’t even remember what they were about, if that tells you anything.
See the Keynote: Plan on being around for this. I’ve heard it’s amazing. I believe it. I just don’t remember it. Because last year I was in it. I went second. I followed Bossy. I was so anxious and nervous that I barely remember that entire day. I wanted to hide in a corner and evaporate. However the corners backstage were already being used…plus hai, second. If you aren’t in it, I hear it’s the best part of the conference. (I did watch the video and I can attest to this being true.) If you are in it, well um…email me if you want. You can do it. Swears.
Swag: It’s not worth fighting over. I swear to you. It’s not. I went home with nothing, except a squishy ball from the Men of BlogHer panel. I gave it all away. If you think elbowing babies is worth a Swiffer wipe or a USB flash drive, well come see me, I’ll give you mine.
Have fun: Make it fun. Enjoy it. You are on vacation for peet’s sake. Ignore the drama if you can. Party. Meet new people. Talk to strangers. If you see someone sitting in a corner, go sit with them. Chances are? They are just as freaked out as you. Truly, BlogHer is what you make of it.
That’s all I’ve got for now. If you have anything you want to know, I’ll gladly answer it for you.
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