Who wants to tend bar here at Vodkarella? I need guest writers from now till August 15th.
Dudes. I need to break free from teh internetz for a bit. Help a sistah out?
I’ve had my fun:
?(photo courtesy of Christina)
But I’ve got really important activities lined up for the next 2 weeks:
?(photo courtesy of my BlogHer roomie, Sarah)
Email my ass, tout suite (let me know preferred dates). Pretty please?
(photo courtesy of liz henry, the awesome goddess of sushi and eels and um, buffets.)
I slip, stumble, fall flat on my face sometimes when it comes to the not-eating thing. In Chicago, I heard things like, “You look fabulous!” Ah, flattery. Such a game in my head. On one hand, I love it, and on the other, I see it as encouragement of my absolute stupidity. And if I had a third hand, it would think YOU are crazy for even suggesting that your big fat cow of a friend looks fabulous.
Putting my computer geek girl self in a sea of women when she is already fragile was terrifying. Those of you who were near enough to my heart saw me waver on silly decisions and were frustrated, I know. I tried really hard not to let it show, but most of the time I was was really fucking hungry, and wouldn’t eat - so I drank instead, which calmed my nerves and made me more personable. The breakfast I had with Suebob was the largest amount of food I had all weekend, save for Kimberly’s and my road trip pit-stop at Dennys where I totally pigged out. I had to - I was finally comfortable in both situations and couldn’t take it any more. Achievement though: I did not purge either meal. Yay for not barfing.
I am not better. I’m trying but today was pretty bad. It’s 3 a.m. now and all I’ve had since Sunday mid-afternoon was 4 glasses of wine and Coquille St. Jacques which was 160 calories. Aside from water and coffee, that is. It’s easier to hide this stuff when no one is here to notice.
I can’t explain why I can’t shake this shit.
The therapist? The one that was supposed to call? Her office did call. Never left a message, never called back. I saw it on the caller ID more than 2 months ago and didn’t call them back either. I guess the day I didn’t feel like answering the phone was my shot and I missed it. Is that how Canadian mental health care works? WONDERFUL.
So if you met me this weekend and I seemed kinda weird and dodgy, it was because I felt so entirely unsure of myself, I could barely stand in front of you without having a severe panic attack inside. Honestly, most of the time I wanted to run screaming from everyone.
It’s not you, it’s me. I’m fucked in the head.
While I was away, Daren managed to keep the house clean, clean up the outside of the house and the real estate sign is up! People have been driving by at all hours, checking us out from afar and I’m sitting here in my jammies this morning, wondering if anyone would be ballsy enough to ring the doorbell and ask for a peek. God I hope not.
No sweetheart, I don’t know if people do that sort of thing, but I do know human curiousity is strong and that we have a desirable house up for sale. I grew up in apartments so Daren laughs at me when I say stuff like that, but having never been a homeowner before this, I simply don’t have words like soffits and pilot lights in my vocabulary.
So part of Daren’s big strategy to keep the house looking like a magazine, was to spend time at his parents’ place with the boys. Good call, really, since they are always good for juice boxes and extra kisses. Thomas had the family in stitches running around with an empty water gun, yelling “Douche! Douche!” and shooting his father. Then he threw his arms around Daren and said, “Daddy, I’m sorry I had to douche you.”
I wonder if Daren’s family wonders where all this vagina talk comes from. I guess it’s all that raging human curiousity in the air.
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My experience at BlogHer was weird and surreal and had nothing really to do with BlogHer since I didn’t conference, I just cocktailed and explored Chicago with close friends. I ate very little and got flack, then drank too much and got flack. I spent too much and more flack is on the way about that I’m sure. At one point I holed myself up in the room for a couple of hours just to regain composure so I wouldn’t lose my shit. I knew I couldn’t cut Kimberly’s trip short so I stuck it out and I’m glad I did.
I connected with the people I wanted to connect with, but those moments were too short and there was just so much squeeing I was nauseated by it. I’m not great at being “on” all the time and that was exhausting. I wasn’t there to promote anything and some people didn’t understand that. Mostly I was just myself and I think some people who don’t really know me that well might have been disappointed ~ though I really don’t care. You know me ~ not looking to impress anyone.
Some of the best moments were making drinks nearly fly out of lovely women’s faces and having deep talks with friends. Everyone I managed to really have a sit-down with was a series of layers ~ some of which I identified with, some I didn’t. Some people were just plain silly and that was fun too. And the drive….OY. So awesome.
I will say this: BlogHer has really done way more than they originally set out to do. The empowered women I heard about, met and admired from afar were in abundance. Of those same women, there are friends of mine, I was extremely proud of for finding their voices, sharing their knowledge with other women, surpassing their own goals and that was something to really enjoy.
It’s kinda like watching your friends’ children grow up - you can’t really take any credit, but you are so proud to be there to see it. Way to go, ladies. I’m not linking because you all know who you are and I’m so proud to know so many intelligent women who are driven and succeeding in all different ways.
The only other thing I really want to say is that I saw some criticism directed at the women who are driven. We all have different goals and I think there needs to be more respect of that. There were women there looking to publish a book, to drive traffic to their site, to start companies, and many other things ~ it bothered me to hear jealous rants about this person or that person and I said so when it was done near me. As a work at home mom, I know it’s hard to juggle stuff sometimes and I would hope that the people that I call friends would not act like Mean Girls. Sure it’s competitive in some ways, but know that when you are being cut-throat jealous about someone, it reflects negatively on you.
Also, I had an argument with someone about how hard I work. I was accused of being lucky. If there is one thing I’m not, it’s lucky. Five years ago, I was pigeonholed into a career I hated and I missed my family, especially Dylan, at the time. We all have choices. I made things happen for me by teaching myself html, css and graphic design, and then opening Troll Baby Graphics and throwing an ad on Suburban Bliss, a few years ago. I created a trust with women who, for the most part, were new at this blogging thing, and yes, it was hard work, but it has always been fun. Now I can say I play hard, not work hard, because I love where I’m at. (Having said that, except for current clients, I’m on hiatus from Swank until September 10th.)
The argument got pretty heated on my part ~ I was made to feel as if this whole business I built had been handed to me and dammit, that isn’t the case at all. There are so many assumptions about the women in our blogging community flying through the air that I had to step back this weekend and shout “Hey motherfuckers! We ALL worked hard to get to this point! No one here is lucky.” Ugh.
Take a look around and look at your fellow bloggers - the ones you know, deep in your heart, that are working hard. Maybe they make it look easy, but I know some of these women personally and it pisses me off that they are placed in Ivory Towers and made to look like they accomplish things effortlessly. Being a work at home mom is a juggling act and I think these women deserve some credit. You don’t need to step on heads to get to the top, especially when the top is a wide platform filled with all different kinds of achievements.
*Deep sigh*
Anyway, fellow work at home moms, I’m really proud of what I saw of you this weekend. I hope those of you who spoke or taught others something did well.
**************************************
Now that I’m home, I have a lot to accomplish before we head to the cottage, and the most important thing is hanging with the three guys I missed like mad this weekend. I’m off to play Magnetix on the carpet with two loud kids. Shweet.
So Solo Mom and I made the great big drive here to Chicago and promptly acted like guys, refusing to ask for directions and using the theory that following the big buildings to get to downtown and winging it on where the lake shore actually is, we could find the hotel.? It worked.
The hotel is lovely but the whole “shutters for privacy” thing in the bathroom kinda put me off.? Last year I worried about pooping.? Again I clench my ass cheeks shut and expect a rock hard ass by Sunday.? Heh.
I’ve already had a pep talk from the wonderful Devra, who talked me down over beers last night.? I’m feeling way overwhelmed, not being used to this many faces and SQUEEE! all the time.? I am very excited to see friends but I have to admit, my stomach is in major knots.
So today while all the lovely ladies are in conference, I’m heading off for some alone time - shopping, lunch, exploring.? I wish my husband was here to join me and next year I think he should be. ? I need him to hold my hand right now.? I don’t know if this is social anxiety or what.? Having had kind of a tough year, it’s hard to face the people you have expressed your deepest fears to.?? Honestly, I’m a mess right now.? Not myself at all.
Maybe I’m going to make the anxiety worse by hitting publish on this, but when have I not been honest with you?
Our new beds arrived yesterday and I can finally stop being jealous of Mir, who got a new bed months ago, a bed which I have sinfully coveted for months. This morning was the first morning in years that I have woken up and not been in pain. Usually I wake up, hunched over in a series of knots that starts at my tailbone and goes to about my mid-back. I felt 134 years old for the last decade, I swear.
Daren hasn’t yet slept in our new bed, having been relegated to the armpit of Ontario to work during the week. Fortunately we live nowhere near the armpit of Ontario, but unfortunately for him, we live nowhere near the armpit of Ontario. So he stays in the frat house. Sucka.
With Daren not home, there’s been no real reason to shave my legs much, and by not much I mean like ever. Yesterday at the grocery store, I picked up no-name razor blades because they were out of the brand name ones and holy hell, don’t EVER buy no-name blades of any kind, because I did not invite Edward Scissorhands into my shower this morning, and yet, apparently he was there because my legs looked like a murder scene.
Dylan bounded down the stairs at 10 a.m. this morning proclaiming to have had the “Best sleep ever holy crap mom why didn’t you buy me a new bed before, like when I was born?” The smartass stage has begun here at the ripe old age of 8 and looking in the mirror, I doubt it will end anytime soon.
Let me just say I just stopped writing this post to clean up chocolate pudding from our couch and a blanket because said 8 year old is also very forgetful lately of rules and routines and suddenly decided it would be a good idea to eat in the family room despite sixty-seven thousand warnings not to. Do kids suddenly lose their minds at 8? Mine has. I’m constantly policing him to brush teeth and hair, get dressed, clear his place at the table and feed the dog. How hard are those things? Why is it he did all of these things and more last year, without so much as a prompt? Somebody PLEASE enlighten me. Also, I will be silent at BlogHer, because dammit, I am sick to death of my own voice.
In the last 72 hours, I’ve cleaned up all but one client’s work, posted ahead of schedule to cover the weekend at Drool, cleaned the house top to bottom, bathed the dog, done touch-up painting, completed 6 loads of laundry that WERE FOLDED AND PUT AWAY AND BY GEORGE THAT IS A MIRACLE IN ITSELF, done groceries, put the trash out, completed the banking, rented the car and tomorrow night the (damn) house finally goes on the (damn) market. Oh and I fell in love with our new house that doesn’t yet know it’s our new house. It’s so pretty. It’s big and it’s yellow. I may even have to change my blog name again to reflect that. Oh that’s been done? Alright then.
Thursday morning I pick up the lovely Solo Mom and we are on a GIRL’S ROAD TRIP! w00t! I wonder how she would feel if I did a little drinking and driving. KIDDING.
maybe.
I’m off to pluck my unibrow. Apparently Edward Scissorhand’s services don’t cover caterpillars on one’s face.
So my good friend Kelly (Mocha Momma) threatened me to be a part of BlogMe again this year. Talk about myself for 10 seconds? Okay. Invite my readers to do the same? Hey readers, have at ‘er.
I have a quick brain and a soft heart. Everyone I meet gets the benefit of the doubt, straight up. I have grown considerably in the last year and don’t care what people think of me. I could tell you about my many faults but in the end, I’m proud of who I am and all my roles in this crazy world. Come say hi - I’ll be the one playing hooky on the conference and laughing way too loud.
Also, I’m giving away Free Makeovers in Second Life. When you first get into Second Life, your avatar is a potato-faced fugly thing and you will need help. To do a proper makeover, it would cost near $3000 Lindens (about $20 U.S). Knowing my fellow BlogHers would rather not be potato heads, I’ve put together both a male and female makeover kit for every attendee.
My booth is at the BlogHer Conference site and all you have to do is right click and buy the male or female avatar makeover box for $0. The instructions are on a notecard in the box, as well as displayed at the booth.
This is what you’re looking for:
Why yes, that is a martini-shaped hot tub on top of the booth. Did you expect anything less? Fly up, climb in and soak for a spell!
Come by, and sit at the table, and don’t forget to click the tray on the table for a free martini!
To find me in Second Life, search for “Duchess Voom” and add me to your friends list. Easy Peasy!
Dear Bloggers,
Stop writing for like, 48 hours.? I need to catch up.
Dear Client,
No, you cannot have a 50% refund on 5% of work not completed.? You can’t back out of a 95% done site.? Asshole.
Dear Grandparents,
Thank you for such an amazing time, but you made me cry in the car after we left.
Dear Other Grandma,
So glad my Dad wasn’t there.? It was so wonderful to see you and I’m glad you’re going home in the next few days.
Dear Father-In-Law,
Happy 60th birthday.? You are such a fantastic person and I’m so glad to have married into your family.? The party was fantastic tonight.
Dear Water,
I’m so glad I’m drinking you right now.
Dear Dylan and Thomas,
Please be good in the morning.? Your father will be hungover and we need to go get groceries tomorrow.
Dear Undisclosed Family Member,
I’m SO DAMN HAPPY you are making us Auntie Karen and Uncle Daren.? The boys are excited as all get out too.? I only have three pieces of advice: trust yourselves, don’t let anyone make you feel guilty for your parenting decisions, and never stop communicating.? We love you and we’re here for you for any reason - even if it’s 3 a..m. and you are at your wits end.
Dear BlogHers,
Yes, I’m very excited.
Dear cottage,
No I can’t wait to get away from the mothereffing internet.?? I’ll see you soon.
Lots of Love,
Karen
xoxo
We’re here, safe and sound at my cousins. We’re waiting for her to get home from work so we can get the food to cook eighty bajallion pounds of food.
So in my quest to be constantly connected to the internet, I’m sucking off the neighbours. WIFI, perverts.
Off to knock my kids heads together. They are driving me mental. Thomas insists on bodyslamming Dylan at every opportunity and Dylan won’t fight back so it always ends up with Dylan in tears. I asked Dylan why he doesn’t defend himself and he said, “I don’t want to hurt my kid brother.”
Awwww.
It would be cute if I wasn’t wiping up bloody lips and noses all the time.
Last night I took the kids to the variety store for bags of ice (not for their Wrestlemania, for the coolers) and a treat. Thomas kept screeching (I hate that) and I told him 3 times that he would lose his treat if he didn’t stop screaming. Once the 3rd warning was issued and Thomas let out yet another holler, I took the bag of popcorn out of his hand and told him why he had lost his treat.
Well his heart broke into a million pieces. So did the eardrums of every guy in the store (it was all guys in the store). Thomas threw himself to the floor, wailing, as I tried to pay and get us out of there. I completely ignored him, and walked out with Sobby McSobster, and Dylan, trailing behind.
I was kind of embarrassed. I know, I followed through on my threat and I think more parents ought to do this. I talked to Chris last night about it because I felt like such a mean mom, but she confirmed my instincts and told me I did the right thing.
It’s just a good thing no one said anything to me in that store, I think I would have given them a time out. Having Daren away is really wearing on me. This single parenting crap sucks ass. I’m pissy and yelly and tired as hell.
Granny’s shoulder is out again and Papa still needs her to help take care of him, so I’m heading up there Tuesday morning with the boys to help out for a day or two, stopping at my oldest cousins’ Tuesday night to cook approximately 8 tonnes of freeze-ahead meals as a gift to my grandparents for their birthdays. I know it’s kinda funny to say “Here! You don’t have to cook for a few weeks! Happy Birthday!” but really, they have everything they need otherwise, so why not?
Today I scoured the internet for diabetes-friendly recipes to cook, made 3 lists: things to bring, things to forage from our garden, and things to buy. Then I shopped for one of the recipes because it was a crock-pot jobbie: Chicken Noodle Soup with Crimini Mushrooms and Baby Spinach. The smells from that dish alone had me drooling. So there’s 8 individual servings frozen and labeled and ready for transport.
As much as I’m excited to see my grandparents, I know the next week is going to be extremely tough mentally, physically, and emotionally. Not because of them so much, but driving 1/2 day with two kids, shopping for 8 recipes and cooking for hours will be interesting. On top of that, I transferred all my current client files to Matilda (the laptop) in hopes of miracles time to work. Today I have to write all my posts for Drool for the next week, because when I get back, it’ll be finally time to put the damn house on the damn market.
All of that is not what is worrying me though.
My grandmother on my father’s side is in the hospital with an infection. She too has diabetes and her foot is turning black. Granny said today that she might lose it, and truthfully, I don’t know enough about diabetes to know how feet are related, just that they are. It’s pretty scary and I’m very worried about Grandma.
My Grandma and I had a special relationship growing up. She always made me laugh, hugged me tight, made me feel comfortable when she could sense my nervousness. I think she tried to diffuse the war between my parents and knew I was just caught in the middle. With her, I could just be me. I didn’t have to think about what she would want to hear.
When I was 10, she took me to the CNE. Being the excited kid I was, I took off and rode every ride I could, all by myself. She was frantic, of course, and when I got to the horse building and heard my name over the loudspeakers, I realized the ramifications of what I must have done to her: Grandmother of a 10 year old girl, alone in a major theme park, in Toronto. Not very smart, was I? To this day I feel rotten about that, although she laughs and says things like, “You little shit, you took 10 years off my life!”
Even though my brother Joel has a different father, my Grandma always included him when he wanted to come along on visits. She treated him equally as she did me, and still asks about him nowadays. I’ll never forget the time she took us out to dinner at Mother’s Pizza (all you Toronto kids will remember that place) and when the staff gathered ’round to sing Happy Birthday to Joel, he turned to my Grandma, eyes wide, and squealed, “You got me!” She adored him too.
When I stayed at Grandma’s place, we would drink tea with honey in big mugs, and eat chopped red and green peppers. I think of her every single time I chop bell peppers. She had a couple of little sayings on her fridge, alongside the pinwheel I made for her and pictures held with magnets: “Quitters never win and winners never quit,” was one, and the other was my favorite: “My house is clean enough to be healthy and dirty enough to be happy.”
When I called her at the hospital the other day, she was high on morphine and happy as a lark. She drilled her usual, “Make sure you take a vitamin every day, and drink your orange juice!” then, “You better be making those boys say their prayers!”
“Yes Grandma,” I answered, knowing she didn’t need to know the truth. It makes her happy to think I follow her faith. Let’s go with that.
I haven’t seen Grandma in a couple of years. She lives even further away than the rest of my family, so Thursday morning, I’ll drive the kids to the hospital and see her, and then we’ll come home.
The hospital visit means my father might be there. He hasn’t seen Dylan since Dylan was 2, and he has never met Thomas. The last communication between him and I was nasty and over email. I really have nothing to say to him and I hope he will leave the room so I can visit with Grandma.
Further to the possibility of him being there, is the possibility of his brother being there. He’s a nasty bastard who yells and swears at anyone who pisses him off, including my Grandma. I can take whatever these two can dish out, but I do not want a scene in front of my kids, and especially not in front of Grandma. I really just want to take a few minutes with my Grandma to let her know we love her.
This is going to be so damn hard in the first place. I just hope I can get in and out of there without confrontation.
More photos are here on Flickr, if you like red jumpers and Cabbage Patch Dolls.
EDIT: I just reviewed When Parents Hurt over at Troll Baby Reviews. The post has links to the podcast from last week. I might just hand that book to my Dad if I see him. Because I’m an idiot and liked getting burned. Oh I have reached out many times. I don’t know. Maybe I should let sleeping dogs lie.
…if I were, I’d have to agree with Chris Rock here in his 2008 Election Analysis. Daren and I were talking last night about American politics and I’m ashamed to say I know more about that then Canadian politics. Sad eh?
Anyway, enjoy.
Thanks to my father-in-law for this video, since I don’t watch SNL anymore - it hasn’t been funny since Gilda Radner.
Feed Yourself Sugarpants!
