A Spoonful Of Sugar.

I live in Northern California where we like to hug trees and eat granola.
But I'm a transplant - I come from a country where unless your leg is hanging off you should not expect sympathy.
It's living between these two sweeping generalizations that gives me a balanced point of view.

When I was pitching my book, I was told repeatedly that I need either a PhD in parenting or a hook.
It was suggested (repeatedly) that the hook should be my 'story.' More specifically my sad story because sad sells.
I resisted. Dug my heels in. I don't want to tell my sad story. Why not? I don't want to be defined by my sad story.

What is the obsession with sad? Why isn't it entertaining to read about someone's happy, successful life?
I understand that sharing your story can help people to find community. I most certainly have used blogs, books and the internet for just that very purpose. I also have worked really hard to move on from my story. To break the cycle.
I want to believe that we don't need to be pulled in by the promise of sad and distressing. We can simply enjoy to read something that is lighthearted and amusing. For me different is interesting and if it's not then it's just poorly written.

I went to a session at BlogHer that reinforced this belief. Several very intelligent women were proposing that we use our blogs to turn the tide. To move away from the fear culture and encourage people to celebrate happy. It seems such a simple philosophy. Somehow we have gotten to a place where celebrating success is seen as boastful and conceited. I think maybe it's just the sharing of joy and excitement. When given the choice I'l take laughter over fear every time. Except perhaps for these 3 minutes but otherwise - every time.

I think that's why I love BlogHer so much (not because it agrees with me) but because it celebrates. It sees the success in a story not just the struggle. It listens to the sad but focuses on the redemption.

I love that.

At my gym they have TV's. I believe the purpose is too distract you from the hell of the treadmill.
A few weeks ago as I slogged way on the machines, the program I was watching (OK I admit I watch Regis and Kelly) was interrupted to go live to the White House where President Obama was going to make a speech.
The headline across the top of the screen was 'COUNTDOWN TO MELTDOWN!"
Countdown to complete and utter over hyped political shenanigans more like. Even knowing this I noticed my adrenalin was up (and it was certainly not from my 'running') I watched feeling a little anxious as to what I was about to hear. What I heard was in no way related to meltdown and let me tell you as a mother of two young girls I know quite a bit about meltdown.
It's unnecessary. 'Countdown To The Budget' would have told me all I needed to know.
For me, had they put a picture of a really cute bunny up there with the headline, I would have taken the news a little easier.

I know that there's a lot of sad in the world and I think we should be compassionate and caring but it doesn't have to involve fear. I think we could focus on the upside, share a laugh, celebrate a success - simple or epic.

I think we could learn to be less addicted to the drama. I know I could.

The Great Outdoors.

Camping:

Communing with nature.
Fresh outdoor air.
Children running carefree in the great outdoors.
Food al fresco.
Roaring campfires.
Toasted marshmallows.
Starlit skies.
Relaxing round the campfire with friends.
Cozy sleeps bundled against the cool nigh time air.


Hmmmmm.


Camping:

Communing with nature - 75 other families, their RV's, dogs, cigarette smoke and their partying until 3am.

Fresh outdoor air - see above re: cigarettes.

Children running carefree in the great outdoors - falling over, getting stung, falling out, needing a snack, a drink, sunblock, the bathroom, losing their beloved toy, fighting over who's turn it is, needing more food, more drink, more bathroom (repeat ad nauseum.)

Food al fresco - hot dogs and corn on the cob rolling off plates onto the ground, followed by wailing of now foodless child and the hysteria inducing swarm of yellow jackets who come, uninvited, to eat ground picnic.

Roaring campfires - smokey piles of flame resistant wood and the constant call of adults of "Don't play near the fire - it's dangerous."

Toasted marshmallows - ok, this one is mostly just yummy. Until the sugar hits and the kids are completely nutty for 30-40 minutes.

Starlit skies - which I will never see because I never get to sit down and look up for more than three seconds before a kid needs/wants something.

Relaxing round the campfire with friends - collapsing into a camp chair with a glass of wine at 10.30pm for a half hour of adult time before we all fall asleep.

Cozy sleeps bundled against the cool night time air - 4-5 hours of sleep punctuated by partying neighbors, the need for the bathroom and the dawn awakening of over excited kids.

Let the laundry begin.......

No Fun Allowed.

The three year old has a play group. We met at the park yesterday. It's a large park with two play structures a large grassy area, a basket ball court and trees to climb. It was busy with lots of kids and their caretakers.

I have always found park politics tricky. Different rules, hurt feelings, the uncontrollable momma bear - it's a recipe for difficulty. It's enough to negotiate who's turn it is on the swing/slide/whatever. Then there's the snack comparisons - curse you Oreo packing moms! Who can forget the joy of hitting, bitting, excluding - uuugh.

As school is still out a couple of us had our 'bigs' with us. Our bigs are eight. Last I checked eight still qualifies as a child.
I've noticed before that there are not many kids older than six at the park - where are they all?
My eight year old still finds swings and slides entertaining. She's definitely into trying gymnastic maneuvers on the play structure but she's considerate and shares. I was aware that our bigs were getting dirty looks. How dare they bring their long limbs and loud voices to the outdoor play area! Where is their place?

I kept a close eye to keep the peace. Then she arrived. You could tell immediately from her body language and facial expression she was not happy to be at a park. She was likely around fifty and seemed to be out of breath walking up the park incline. With her was a little boy about five. She walked to the very back of the park and sat in the shade at a picnic bench. Immediately unpacking some food and her phone. The little boy ran off to play. Next thing I know she's grumpily telling off the bigs.

"If he gets hurt I'll get in trouble because I'm responsible for him."

Good to know she isn't actually concerned about him being hurt - only that she'll be in trouble. She walks back to her spot thirty feet away. She came back over a couple of times to grump at the bigs. I watched. I rehearsed my speech in my head:
That I didn't think the kids were being rough or doing anything to endanger any child. That perhaps she should stay closer to him or (gasp) play with him if she was concerned. That perhaps she shouldn't look after children as she obviously doesn't want to and taking it out on my kid is completely UNACCEPTABLE.

I said none of these things. I watched and got angry in my head. I explained to my kid that I was completely happy with her behaviour and she could walk away from the lady if she approached. I got the sense that if I spoke to this woman I would get the full force of her frustrations and I'm not a big fan of being unloaded on. I tried to be compassionate and see that she was clearly unhappy and feeling put upon and that I should try and see her point of view. Being mature is such a drag.

It's about now that I wish for a guitar and a verse or two of Kum Ba Yah. Can't we just all get along?
Then I remember that I am Scottish and picture my inner sweary mary surfacing.
I'm pretty sure that somewhere in the middle of these two images is the perfect parent.

BlogHer Inspired

Three years ago I had not heard of BlogHer. Now it is my annual retreat.
The place I go to be me. Not mom, not wife, me.
At BlogHer I feel like a writer. I'm not sure I can adequately convey how meaningful that is.

Then there are the basic joys of not being responsible for the health, nutrition and entertainment of two children.
No laundry, no housework, no cooking.
If I want I can eat breakfast, lunch and dinner that someone else prepared.
At every break someone has thoughtfully set out drinks and snacks. I can help myself without listening to thirty ever changing requests. It's just so effortless. Instead of focusing on a packed schedule of school, camps, food shopping, play dates etc. I can sit with a cappuccino and peruse the session schedule.

The first few hours are disorienting. I don't quite know what to do with my unscheduled self. Then the magic starts.
In sessions, in the hallways, getting coffee - I start talking to other bloggers.
Actually talking, uninterrupted. Soon I am lost to so many compelling, interesting, funny, thought provoking stories.
Even blogs I read and love don't compare to meeting the author and hearing their words in person. Going a little deeper. Sharing, laughing, supporting, empathizing.

The parties are havens. There are women (and yes a few men) of every size, shape and skin tone. They dance with abandon.
No trying to impress. You don't need to care if your outfit is fashionable enough. You can be fully made up or wearing your skin au naturel. At 40 these are things I don't take for granted anymore.

At the Voices of The Year keynote and Listen To Your Mother Open Mic, I listened to blogger after blogger transform their words from the page to the stage. It was so joyful - even when the stories were heartbreaking. I will fully admit to the ugly cry several times. I also laughed from my belly.

In those all too fast days at BlogHer I feel at home. This is a place to find inspiration. The atmosphere is so friendly, fun and encouraging. These people want each other to succeed. They want to listen and celebrate. It's something I don't always find in my 'other' life. It's like coming home - if home was full of people who were endlessly nice and supportive.

I want this feeling to last. The hope in endless possibilities. The reminder of the strength in women to make changes in the world with their words. The honesty and bravery in telling your story regardless of the pain involved. Laughing, carelessly with friends.

I miss my tribe already. Roll on BlogHer 2012.

Swagtastic.

The swag. It's big part of the BlogHer experience for many. I am one of those many.
It's not why I go. Actually I didn't even know it was part of the conference until I arrived at my first BlogHer. Once I discovered it - I went whole hog.

I have an excuse. I grew up in want. Not the real kind of want. We had a home and food. We just didn't have room in the budget for much more than the basics. I was the kid in the generic brand clothes - oh the longing for Jordache jeans.
My lunch had no frills and I was envious of kids with candy or Coke.
I didn't have the 'right' bike or shoes and I didn't have the money for luxury items until my mid twenties.

The longing stays with me. Usually I control it very easily, until I walk into an expo hall with five aisles of FREE stuff.
Twelve year old me rushes to the surface. It doesn't help that the vendors WANT me to take their stuff, they are pushing it upon me. It would be rude to say no.

What's the problem? I'll tell you. I cannot get it in my case. You may now picture me sitting, no bouncing on the lid of my case - in vain. Here's the rub, I don't even want (never mind need) half of this stuff. I will never use it. I know this because last years conference bag is in a closet in my home half full of swag.
If you know The Husband, you can imagine how well this goes over.

I came with such good intentions this year. My roomie was enlisted to help me with my impulses (I, of course, did this so I could put the blame on her if my bag(s) overflowed.) I was better this year. I said "no thank you" many times.
In the calm of my room I re-evaluated carefully then visited the swag exchange filled with pride and two bags of unwanted goods. The swag exchange needs to have a swag-aholics table. I left there with many more things than I took in. I went back three times always leaving with something. Sigh.

I could rationalize that I have saved our family a fortune in toothpaste, stocking stuffers, stationary and Glad products. I also alleviated the guilt of leaving my kids for four days by bringing them cute, free stuff. (Thereby guaranteeing they will be future swag lovers.) The checked bag fee and chiropractic care I now need may put a dent in that equation but I *think* I am still ahead.
So here it is - my confession. My name is Joy and I'm a swagaholic.

Solo.

Flying alone to BlogHer is one of the main attractions of the conference for hundreds of mom bloggers.

Packing for one. That deserves an ovation of it's own

Not having to explain security and the fact that teddy will be fine in the big scary machine.  
Allowing a stranger to pat down your child in the name of safety while you stand tolerantly by and smile (less they haul you away for 'additional screening.') 
Watching, uninterrupted, an in-flight movie. 
Listening to your music not toddler tunes.
A handbag filled with a book and make up not snacks and crayons.
All the things you long for when you fly with children.

So why is this journey not meeting my expectations?
You can't reach me to slap me so I'm just going to say it.  
I am irritated by the ease.

At check in I was offered a complimentary upgrade. The flight is just over an hour. I can sit anywhere for an hour. I don't need an upgrade.
Crammed into economy with my two children for 10 hours THAT'S when I need an upgrade.

I strolled through security. No pat down, no questions about liquids. Someone offered to lift my case onto the belt. I have wrangled two kids, three bags and a stroller through security and have never been offered anything but the impatient stares of fellow passengers.

On our last international flight I was selected for additional everything in security and customs. Was it the harassed look on my face and two travel weary kids clinging to me that made me eligible?

At the gate I was given priority boarding ahead of several families. Just little ole me and my carry on. I need exactly 30 seconds to fold into my seat and put my book in the seat back pocket.

Why am I breezing through this journey when a few inconveniences would be so easy to deal with?
Can't I use up some of my quota of travel hiccups now?

True, I am a little more put together than usual - hair washed, make up on.
Can it really be aesthetics?
Is it just that travel with children is so complicated that even the easiest of journeys doesn't seem so?
Maybe a bit of both.
Either way the smooth, uncomplicated nature of this journey is irritating me.
And yes, I am aware how ludicrous the last sentence is.
Parenting, never what you expect.
   

Deadlines.

BlogHer. Over 3,000 bloggers - mostly women, from all over the world.
Blogs on every subject you can think of.
Brilliant, heartfelt, honest, witty, intelligent, thoughtful, inspiring.

This year I have been honored as a Voice Of The Year for Humor.
It is exciting and daunting.
Every time I look at my Google Analytics report and see how many people stop by here - I am amazed.
When I see that you visit from 43 countries worldwide I am surprised and delighted.
When I think that after BlogHer it is likely more people will stop on by - I am overwhelmed.

I feel the need to write an incredibly witty post. I assume you expect humor.
I want it to be my best post ever. I want to impress.

Here's the rub - I have writers's block, writer's panic even.
How can I possibly deliver?

I find my mind empty. My muses have not given me any good material in days.
Actually, I can't remember anything funny happening - ever.

This is the nature of blogging. You can't force it.
Blog posts pour out. They are the contents of our heads and our hearts spewed onto the screen.

So, if you came by for the promise of humor. Scroll down - I think you'll find it.
Just not in this post. I hope you understand.