This online world is strange. You meet people, you become friends with some of them and then the day comes where you realize that these are your people. That the names on a screen, the words on blog posts, the 140 character tweets have become real people to you.

The people who live in California, Oregon, Florida, Wisconsin, Washington State, Texas, Washington DC, New York, New Jersey…I could continue. These are your people. The women you count on. The women who listen, who make you feel heard. They support you. No matter what you tell them. They still support you, because somewhere in them, they understand; the emotion, if not the words. They make you laugh. They let you cry. Sometimes they make you cry. They accept you as you. Your people.

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We sit at lunch at a small sidewalk table. The city that never sleeps carries on around us. One on one, during a weekend filled with people. Honest. Real. Raw. It’s the moment that sticks in my head most from that weekend.

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I watch my cell phone. I wait for a text. This happens to me sometimes. When someone is hurting, I wait for texts like farmers wait for rain. It’s a need. Nothing is okay in that moment, until my phone chirps.

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I realize I’m cupping my hand. Have been doing it for over twenty minutes. It’s my attempt to hold her hand. 1300 miles away. I hope she feels it in some small way. Me here, holding onto her.

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Curled up in bed, two people in the bed next to me. We talk and laugh for over an hour after we all should have been asleep. Maybe two hours. Even though we feel like we are still on west coast time, our bodies aren’t used to this hour. The conversation is always worth the lack of sleep.

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I call her for the first time. Her voice sounds just how I thought it would. Because I know her. I’ve known her for months. We pick up our conversation like we’d been talking forever.

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I waited for her to get off the plane. We’d texted each other the night before, okay, I’m scared. It was almost funny, because how can you be nervous to meet someone who you talk to every single day? The second she got off the plane, I knew, this is all okay.

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Not a day has gone by. Not a day. In a year at least. Without at least one text or email or DM.

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I look at my desk calendar and smile. They both have one too. I purchased them at Christmas. Silly little desk calendar. I’ve never loved one more in my entire life.

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There was a day that I thought I’d just lay down and cease to exist. One of the harder days of this year. Doorbell. Flowers. For me. Just because. I still have the card. To brighten my day it said.

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I cry into the phone. Late at night. I cry into the phone to her. She lets me. Always. No matter what. She sits there and lets me cry in her ear until I’m done. Then? She changes the subject. Asks a question. Tells me about something silly her kids did. Tells me about her dessert. Something. Anything. Because she knows me. She knows I need that, almost as much as I needed to cry.

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An Italian restaurant. I was on vacation with my kids, but I made a point to take time to go meet her. Two hours of non stop talking. I felt like I’d known her forever. Even though it can go weeks between a tweet, I still consider her one of my people. It’s easy to pick up right where we left off, no matter how long it goes.

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One of us starts an email each morning. Generally just during the week. Four names. It pings back and forth all day. California. Colorado. Florida. Oregon.

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You realize that as hard as it can be to have none of them live near you, it’s still worth it every day, to have them in your life. No one said your people had to live on the same street as you. There doesn’t need to be a definition for it. It just is.

These are my people. This is why I do this. Because of my people.

First, hi. I’ve missed you all. I’ve missed my little spot over here this past week.

I had the most amazing four days. Truly. I figure, since I’m me…and I’m completely exhausted…I’ll make you all a short list of reasons why I will be at next years conference.

1. I have the greatest friends in the entire world. People like my roomies Kari and Stacey who make me feel like I’ve known them forever. People who I can’t imagine my life without. People who I was so incredibly sad to leave after four days. I am already planning out how to get to San Diego just to spend more time with them. This is why I will be there. To see them. To hug them. To spend days talking to them.

2. I met some of the most amazing people ever. Jill, Jodi, Betsy, Maggie, Kim, Jessi, Kat. I know there are so many people I will be forgetting….please to be forgiving me. But hugging in person, people who you talk to daily? Is just a huge reason I do this every year. People who crack you up. People who make you think. People who make you feel okay about continuing to do this. People who help you remember why you stay in this crazy online world, despite the drama that goes on. Each year the group is a bit different, but it so far has made me realize, it’s just a chance to spend time with new people.

Meeting people who you immediately wonder how you’d never run across them in the community. People like Lisa. Wendi. People who are so nice and funny and genuine and you wonder how in the world you haven’t been following them this whole time.

Finally meeting people who you’ve talked to for years but never gotten to meet before. Liz, Kristen, Carmen.

Meeting all of those people? So worth my trip.

Seeing, hugging, eating with people you already know? It’s why I keep doing this.

3. Meals that somehow just work out. Meals with ten people. Four who you invited, four more who others invited, two who you managed to pick up in the lobby. Meals that were planned by basically inviting people and then inviting more people, until you get the random amazing group who ends up going. Because we all know, people are busy. People are trying to fit everything in. Meals, where it’s great whoever shows up. Meals, that you aren’t wanting to end. Because the conversations are so stimulating. So fun. So entertaining. It makes it worthwhile. It makes you trip. Inpromtu brunches and lunches and dinners at new restaurants? Are why I do this.

By the way? Serendipity? A life goal I have now accomplished. Frozen hot chocolate? Worth the airfare to NYC alone.

4. Watching your friend give a phenomenal keynote and watching all the other amazing people up there share their words, their stories.

5. Late night conversations in bed the last night. Sharing secrets, sharing stories, catching up with your friends after the lights are off. When after 2am, someone finally says, no matter how late we stay up, we still have to leave tomorrow, so maybe we should get a bit of sleep.

6. Sparklecorn. MamaPop managed to out-do themselves this year. I love that party. In fact? It was the only one I actually managed to attend. I would like to RSVP for next year. Like now. Can I do that please? Tracey? Amy? What do you say? Ha. You all did an amazing job with that party. I can’t even imagine how much work went into it. DUDE!!!! That cake. So good.

I tried to get to other parties. Something about BlogHer though? You just have to go with the flow. The flow for me this year? Was just have fun. Not feel stressed. There’s just no way to do it all.

7. Conversations about you. Yes you. You too. Oh and you, hidden in the back. We talk about you. In good ways. We talk about friends we wish were there. Best friends who weren’t able to make it. People we met last year. People we love. Blogs we adore. Blogs we read every day. We talk about how we wish you could all make it next year. How we sometimes want to hug every person who is lovely in our comments, especially on hard posts. We talk about you. We remember you. We miss you.

8. Hearing a friend, someone who you adore say: I was ready to be done. But this has helped me see, I’m not done. That makes it all worth it.

9. A day spent wandering New York with one of your best friends.

10. Seeing a new city. It really is a fun thing to explore a city you’ve never been too. I’d never seen NYC. I have been to San Diego many, many times. But exploring it with my friends next year? Will be awesome.

BlogHer 10 was amazing. I loved it. I did what I wanted. Enjoyed my friends. Saw a new city. Had an absolute blast. I am sure there was drama, but I wasn’t involved in any of it and I’m not willing to give it the time of day. BlogHer is what you make of it. I made my BlogHer experience a great one. The staff of BlogHer did a fabulous job and I want to thank them.

So, yes…I will be at BlogHer11 in San Diego.

For you at thirty,

Today you are six years old. If you want to be honest though, you aren’t really six yet. Not until 11:47pm. It’s about 9pm. I tried to tell you this multiple times today, but you just didn’t want to believe me. No MOM, I am six. Okay fine. Bossy. It’s okay, I remember saying the same thing to your grandma when she would tell me, you aren’t really this old until 2:26pm. One of those joys of being a mama, we get to harass our children. Trust me, you’ll do it one day. Maybe by the time you read this, you already will be. Who knows?

I am writing this for you, for your thirtieth birthday, because I am thirty. Welcome to thirty baby girl. Guess what? It’s not as scary as you believe. Or as scary as some of those around you would have you believe. I’m thirty. I have very little figured out. It’s okay. Hopefully by the time you read this, I will have figured out what I’m doing with my life. One could only hope you will have as well. If not though? It’s okay. You have time.

I figure by the time you read this, you will have lived enough of life to understand the things I am going to tell you. You will hopefully have forgiven me for my faults by then, or at least come to understand them a little more. I hope by the time you read this, you have a baby, or two. Hey even three is nice. Somehow I bet I’ll make a great grandmother. No pressure though.

Today was your birthday. Today you turned six. I wish I could bottle you up at this age. You are so entertaining. You are sweet and kind. You are extremely loving. You are a totally cuddle bug. In all honestly though, you were born that way, so it may never change. I hope it doesn’t. I hope at thirty you will still being willing to hug your mom in public, hold my hand often and cuddle on the couch while we watch movies. (Hey, a mom can dream right?)

Two weeks ago you asked me for a birthday gift that I wasn’t sure I could give you. Not the puppy you’ve been asking for months to have. (Sorry love, but no.) Not the new bike you are convinced you need. (You don’t.) Not a toy you saw on a commercial. (Mommy can you get me that? What is it? I don’t know, but it looks fun. Um, I don’t think so. Not now. Okay how about one day? Sure, when you can tell me what it is and why you need it.) Not even the iTouch your daddy gave to you from us today. No, you asked to go to an amusement park. With me, your sister and your daddy.

I’ll be honest, this gave me pause. I think it did your daddy too. We had to think about it and discuss it a few times. We decided we could both do this for you.

I’ll be honest with you my love, this was not an easy request to fill. I had to think about if my heart could take it. This year has been tough. Your daddy and I are in the process of getting divorced right now. I know that at 30, this is old news to you. But honey? It’s still new for us. For all of us. I understand why you asked. You love nothing more than to have your whole family with you at all times. You miss us together. Truth is, I do too. You wanted one adult per kid for rides. Logistically it made sense. Like I said though, it was a hard thing to do.

We did it. We had fun. You and your sister had an absolute blast. I had fun. It was hard though, I won’t lie to you. It was hard for me; it is hard for me, each time I do something like this. Something that involves a day spent with your dad. It won’t stop me from doing it though.

I fear you won’t remember us together. (It isn’t lost on me, that you were the exact same age as I was, when your grandma and grandpa got divorced.) Maybe it’s better that way. Maybe all you will remember are days like today. That is okay too. I don’t have memories of my parents like this. I want this for you. I promise you more days like today. Days filled with light hearted conversation between your dad and I. I promise you more day adventures with your family. All of us. I promise you more days filled with face paintings, funnel cakes and rides. I promise you this, because you deserve it. I promise you this because I adore you enough to make it a reality. Because I never want you to look at a picture of us from before and say to me, I just can’t picture us together. I never want you to wonder what we all looked like in the same room.

I can’t give you back what we used to have. That, is just not possible. I can however swear to you, that your dad and I will continue to put aside our own feelings for each other, for the good of you and your siblings.

Today is your birthday. Sixth and thirtieth…because I am printing this out and saving it for you. It will go in the box for you for someday. Filled with letters, pictures, strange mementos from over the years and the outfit you came home from the hospital in. One day, it will be yours.

You are currently laying in bed asleep next to me. This was something that started when your dad moved out, something I’m not sure I’m ready to stop yet. You are so beautiful. I can still see a bit of glitter on your face, from the butterfly you insisted you needed pained on you today. You are so full of life and love. You care about people and animals more than anyone I know. You are one of the most empathetic children I’ve ever met in my life. You are also the funniest child I’ve ever met in my life. Each day, I am blessed to have you in my life. I’d give you the world if I could baby girl. I’d hand it to you right now on a nice pink glittery platter next to a huge stack of Silly Bandz. I know that it’s not possible though.

What I can give you is my promise. My promise to try to do this right for you, Morgan and Harrison. My promise that I’ll keep putting my feelings aside from time to time, to make sure you have memories of your family together. For you.

I love you to the moon and back. I love you more than all the stars in the sky. Happy birthday Bailey.

Love, mama

In July, on the first night of BlogHer, I met someone I’d never “met” online. I met the lovely Renee, also known as But Why Mommy. After a bit, I found myself sitting across the table from her, at a not so great pizza joint in downtown Chicago. I felt a bit weird because it seemed like I was the only one at the table who didn’t know who she was. The thing that made me feel better, was I didn’t believe she knew who I was either. (Watch, I’ll be wrong about that.) We started talking about our kids. I told her how sad I’d been that morning to leave 10 month old Harrison and how Bailey had been really upset, until Logan had offered her donuts. Yes, my child traded me for a donut. Renee told me all about Bunny, her then three year old; about her love of dinosaurs, how smart she was, how amazing an artist she was at such a young age. When she talked about Bunny, her face lit up. I remember that, even now.

Then I asked her if Bunny was going to be an only child or if they’d have another one day. Renee then said, well we adopted Bunny from China and we’d like to say we’ll one day give her a sibling, but it seems unlikely right now. She told me that they were in the process of adopting a son from Ethiopia, but it seemed like it just might not happen. That the process didn’t seem to progressing at all. That she was unsure if they would continue to move forward or give up. She was sad about that and trying not to be. Trying not to show it. We barely knew each other and I wanted to hug her. I know that feeling, the wanting to expand your family and thinking it will never happen. But all I could say was, oh I really hope it all works out for you. I’d only known the girl for an hour.

That was eight months ago. Eight months is a long time, but also not such a long time. Long enough to make a great friend. Although truthfully, I felt like Renee was a great friend after four days.

Today though, eight months later, my amazing friend is very, very close to bringing her son Lion home. What I mean is, they could literally be going to get him in a few weeks. He is for sure their son. They got that news about ten days ago. Now they just wait for all the paperwork to come in. Then? They go bring their boy home, where he belongs. With Renee and her husband; with his big sister Bunny.

I wanted to do something for my friend. Something big, something amazing. Something to show her how much I love her and how thrilled I am for her. I wanted to throw her a baby shower. Maybe an adoption shower? However, this is the Internet. And? Renee and I live three states away from each other. We have amazing friends, but they are scattered all over the country. It doesn’t make for easy parties. I did the next best thing, I put together an Internet baby shower. There are no brownies, or little cakes, but it has something better than that, tons of friends and love. Which really is more important than little cakes. (Oh how I’d take a little cake right now.)

Anyway…Renee, welcome to your baby shower. **hands over silly hat and little cake** Make yourself comfy, you have a bunch of reading to do today.

I thought about what I could share with you, Renee. What could I possibly tell you that is helpful. I figure I can give you a few pointers on parenting boys. You know from my vast knowledge of the past nearly 17 months. Snort.

1. Boys pee. They pee upwards. This was new for me. Here is my helpful hint. Something I still do to this day. Take a wipe and throw it on the dang thing, the second you open the diaper. Just trust me on this one. Harrison hasn’t peed on me in months, but he still could. It’s something I fully believe to be true.

2. Boys are loud. Not screechy loud like little girls, but volume loud. Very, very loud. Invest in ear plugs.

3. Boys like things that move. Cars, balls, trains, toys that move. They don’t generally care much for toys that don’t do something. Unless it’s tupperware, 100 DVD boxes that can be thrown on the floor or you, when you are sitting. You are a jungle gym. I hope you knew that.

4. Boys are dirty. I have a daughter who is dirty too. Truly, we call her pig pen sometimes. But Harrison is very little and he’s always dirty. Always. I always wonder how he can get dirty playing with his train set in my basement. But he can.

5. Silver wear is a joke. Only give it to him, if you like things chucked at your head. Harrison will eat anything and everything. I do mean everything. But he’s not so big on forks and spoons. He prefers the whole hand as a shovel method.

6. Boys are sweet and cuddly and absolute joys. Parenting a boy, after girls gives me more joy than I could even put into words. I melt each time he gives me that little impish grin. He knows it too, little brat. Ha.

You are a great mom my friend. I have no doubt that Lion is one lucky, amazing little boy. I can’t wait to meet him.

Below is a Mr. Linky. Our friends who had the chance, will be linking posts for you throughout the day. We just wanted you too know that you are loved and that we all love your tiny boy, even though we haven’t met him yet.

ps. I sent you a box. A bit late, but yeah…I’m me. Stuff I said I’d send. Some gifts I bought and a little something for Bunny. Love you sweetie. I could not be more thrilled about you bringing Lion home.

He was eight years old when they finally made it to Ellis Island. It had taken them nearly a year to get there. Their journey started in Poland. I believe Krakow, but I’m not 100% sure.**

His grandfather had been talking about leaving for months, years even. Trying to convince the family to come with him. He had money, he could pay everyone’s way. Old crazy man is what they said to him. The German’s won’t come here. If they do, we’ll pay them. Not sure why they believed that would work, but they did.***

The boy was not yet seven when his father was killed. Killed is the nice word. Murdered is more accurate. They were Jews. In Poland. In the late 30’s. He was shot coming out of the temple. He’d been talking to the Rabbi about performing a Bris on his newborn son.

The next week, was when they left. They left at night. Hidden by a friend. A non-Jewish friend. The boy, his mother, his new baby brother and his grandfather, were the only one’s who left. The grandfather had convinced his daughter to leave it all behind. To leave with him, to save her sons.

The friend drove all night. He took them to another friend. After a few more days, they were taken, again at night, to another friend. Sometimes they stayed places weeks, sometimes days. It just depended on where the Germans were in the moment.

When they arrived in France, the grandfather “lost” his passport. A man his age wasn’t allowed passage to America, so he pretended to be his dead son-in-law. It took them a few months to get new papers and then a few more months to get on a ship to America. This was before Internet, hell even before television. The grandfather had tons of money, all on his person (he was a loom builder and a weaver. He wove the money into the lining of all of their clothes) but he wasn’t able to speed up the process.

Upon arriving on Ellis Island, the grandfather once again “lost” his papers. He claimed entry in his own name. Being that he’d already made the trip and was perfectly healthy, he was allowed to stay. They weren’t happy with his age, but they let it go. (whatever. The man lived to be 105 years old.) He changed their last name, left their religion behind and became Americans.

Eight years old. The little boy was eight years old. All innocence he’d previously had was completely gone by then. He’d watched his father get shot and subsequently buried. He’d helped his grandfather and his mother with his baby brother. His baby brother is a whole other story. He was well…now we’d say disabled. Brain damaged is the reality. The doctor who had delivered him and used too much force with the forceps is the story. No idea how valid it is. He was emotionally stuck at three years old, until the day he died at 27.

The little boy was a bit of a schmoozer. He’d learned some tricks on the boat. He’d found his way to get by in life. The bullshit. He was great at it. He could sell you your own mother if he wanted too. Even if he’d never met her. He was hardened by life. By the circumstances beyond his control. Nothing could change that. Not the little house in New Jersey that his mother and grandfather bought. Not the man who came into their lives a year later. The man was a great man, but the little boy was already hardened. He’d seen too much.

He wasn’t a bad person. He didn’t grow up to be a bad man. Just one who was constantly looking for the easy way. The easy money.

He worked so many different jobs and had so many different careers that I couldn’t even begin to name them all. I know he was in the Air Force during Korea. I know he once was a radio jockey for a few years. The rest is hazy. In his early twenties, he met a woman who was a bit older and eventually married her, once he got her pregnant. He left her after seven years of marriage and right after their forth child was born. He was at times a bit abusive. He was a womanizer. He was an occasional drunk. He was the guy who would call his kids, tell them he was coming and leave them sitting on the front porch.

Then I was born. See, that man…the little boy, the man he became; he was my grandfather. My father was his first born and I was his first born grandchild.

With me, he became a new man. A man who made promises and kept them. An involved participant in someone else’s life. A baby-sitter, a playmate, a soft spoken disciplinarian. He was patient and kind and willing to do anything for me. He was open with his love. For me. For my brothers. He took the term grandfather very seriously.

My grandfather had a hard life. When he came to this country he was a boy. But a boy who’d lost all innocence. In me and my brothers (and later, my cousins) I believe he found it again. His innocence. He took us to parks and zoos, he bought us toys and art supplies, he made special desserts just for us, he took us to double feature movies and restaurants where you could color on the table cloth. He always colored and played with us.

Others would tell you another story. His children for one. My grandmother, before she died. They weren’t all able to forgive. I understand that. You make your bed and you have to sleep in it. It is the way of the world. But sometimes a man, a scarred damaged man, gets a chance in a small little girl. And he took it. He took his chance. Every day, I’ll remember him. I know the things other people say about him. But I also know the man he was when he died. A good man. A honorable man. A man who regretted and tried to make amens for his prior life.

One thing he always said to me is this: you have to own up to your mistakes. Apologize and then move on. It’s the only way to live. He was right.

I could tell you only the good things about him. I considered it. In my life, he was a good man. I could tell you a million stories that involve him. I could share all the wonderful things and gloss over the rest. I don’t want to though. Each of us have things in our life we regret, things that make us who we are. I know I do.

If I just told you the wonderful things, I’d leave out the important things that made my grandfather who he was. A piece of him would be missing. That wouldn’t really be honoring him. He always looked at all sides of things and in sharing about him, he’d want me to tell you the whole thing.

Tomorrow my grandfather will have been gone six years. It is partially why I don’t like Halloween anymore. It was forever ruined by one phone call. The initial phone call had come earlier, nine days to be precise. But the day before Halloween, six years ago, I lost one of the most important men in my life.

Grandpa Elliot, I will never forget you. I miss you every day. Love you. -Melissa.

**Getting any details out of any of them was not easy. They didn’t like to talk about it. Any of it.

***My grandpa, his brother, mom and grandfather, were the only family that survived. There wasn’t a ton of family, but the remaining few died in the camps.