Posts filed under 'Frienz'
Hi! Here are the pictures I took at The Blathering:
AWESOME, right? They are awesome. Very beautifully composed, I think.
Ahem. Listen, it’s hard for me to recap this thing, because I think the only people who really care are the people who were there, and I loved Emily‘s recap, because it sums up my feelings as well: I don’t want anyone to feel left out, because I hate to seem like I’m playing favorites, especially since I can say with total sincerity that I had a great time, and would have GENUINELY, NO BULLSHIT, been thrilled if it went on for MANY DAYS and for each meal, I got paired up with one random person for a one-on-one session. In fact, I would LOVE that, because I really did enjoy everyone I met—something I cannot remotely say for other similar events I’ve been to—and there was NO drama, NO crying, NO posturing, NO climbing and it was just NORMAL. A bunch of normal, good-hearted, fun people with something in common (each other and/or the internet) and it was just an honest pleasure.
I will call one person—Here We Go A Jen—out, only because it was EERIE how alike we were and EERIE that in all the years I’ve been doing this (SINCE 2003, OH MY GOD), I’ve never run into her and she never ran into me, and we had NO IDEA who the other one was, but when we met and talked, it was like, um, MAGIC, and now I want to move in with her, the end. And I’m saying this, because if you read ME, you probably don’t read HER, unlike most of the other Blathering people there, who I mostly already knew and you might, too, and you’re welcome, now go read her archives.
And Natalie, because COME ON, the woman let Natalie and me stay IN HER HOUSE, which, if you didn’t know, is this weird little magical land of perfect design and flow, and I found myself wanting to submit it to magazines without telling her. Also, she is charming and wondrous and her family is just so great and SHIT, I am FAILING at calling people out, but the thing is I LOVED EVERYONE AND I AM GOING TO BE SCREWED BY LEAVING THEM OUT. Here. Here is the list of attendees. I loved them all, no kidding.
(I did come to the realization that Jennie and I are like sisters when I unapologetically stole her ice cream sandwich, because you guys, I DO NOT SHARE DAIRY PRODUCTS WITH ANYONE.)
I had a great time. And it was super-comfortable and like I said, not at all dramatic or climbey and branding-like or pretentious and no one commented on my janky feet that I INTENDED to get pedicured on Friday, but didn’t. Also, I forgot to pack a black bra and wore a white one under a sweater dress and NOT ONCE did I catch people giving me the side-eye, even though I’m fairly certain it was obvious at times. They just hugged me, and the best part was that I saw everyone being as welcoming to other people as they were to me, even when they thought no one was looking, so it was utterly genuine.
And with that, I’ll tell you that I started reading the Jaycee Dugard memoir, which is CAH-RAZY and I know I tweeted about it, but you guys, IT IS SO CRAZY. THIS HAPPENED. TO A PERSON. WHO IS STILL ALIVE. I laugh because when I talk to some people who are all, “I’m not a memoir person!” I’m like, UM, ME NEITHER. But it’s one thing to talk about your (totally universal) experiences with parenting as though they are unique snowflakey, but quite another to write a memoir of being IMPRISONED FOR EIGHTEEN YEARS AS A SEX SLAVE, AM I RIGHT?
I’m totally right. Also, Sam is having a GPS implanted in her brain stem this weekend. No big! Just an outpatient procedure!
Have a great Thursday!
*WHAT UP, KE$HA?
October 26th, 2011
I took last week off just to kick back, enjoy summer and catch up on some stuff, if by “stuff,” you mean, oh my God everything. We went to parades! Barbecues! Nantucket!
Yes, we saw Meredith and family last week, and oh, man, I just love them so. Unfortunately, I took jack for photos, so you’re just going to have to view Mer’s, which includes a photo of our children KISSING. Felicity is a dream, and did, quite literally, follow Sam around whisper-yelling, “SHAM! SHAM!” Her little face is this amazing mix of everyone in their family — I could see Joe, Mer’s parents, Meredith. It’s not often that a kid is such a perfect physical reflection of everyone who loves them, but she really is.
It’s a hideous thing when your friends don’t live near you, and I hate that our kids won’t live near each other to grow up and poke each other in the eyes in greeting for as long as they live at home. Meredith, too, as always, makes me feel normal and sane just in being near her for five minutes. And Joe. HA! Joe had Sam wrapped around his finger the moment he picked up and ant, just for her, and let it wind between his fingers while she screamed in excitement, “LOOKIT MOMMY! It’s an ANT!” followed by, “Joe is so cool.”
I am unfortunately (fortunately?) blessed with a child who, like her idol Muno, thinks bugs are the bomb. An hour doesn’t go by in our house where she’s not screeching from her playroom (a converted patio, now a sunroom and its former patio nature attracts more bugs than the rest of the house), “MOMMY! MOMMY! IT’S A SPIDER!” Following this excited declaration, I either sweep up the spider in question to, um, put it down for a nap in night-night (what?) or inform my precious offspring that it’s a fuzzy or a piece of lint. “It’s a FUZZY,” she says with total reverence. “A FUZZY!” As though this stray piece of flurn is a new species of bug, waiting to be discovered and documented.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I am enjoying the hell out of this summer with my kid. I really am. We’re spending most days outside, covered in sunscreen, sweat and the mist of whatever water-type attraction is in closest proximity, even if it’s just the $10 baby pool I got at BJ’s (totally a store, not a euphemism). This year, one of the smartest things I did was to get a season pass to Davis Farmland, because we’ve spent at least two days a week there, feeding the goats, cows and sheep that, um, roam free, for serious (“ANIMALSGOATS!” all one word, just like that), hitting the splash pad and getting ice cream before we play in the bubble pit. (There is a bubble pit. I KNOW.) When we’re not there, we’ve been hitting playdates galore, and one of our good friends owns (OWNS!) a near-regulation size bounce house, and there has already been bouncing, and promises to be a lot more.
I tell you something, for as much drama as they bring, two-year-olds are basically advertisements for why people should have children. I’m having so much fun with this kid lately. She’s verbal enough that communication is rarely a source of frustration anymore, super-sweet and affectionate and is at a stage where I am not only her favorite person in the world for things like food and comfort, but conversation and hanging out, too. It’s so obviously fleeting — hell, she’s going to SCHOOL in the fall — but I just want to freeze time and make this summer go on as long as possible.
I’ll see you more this week, but for now, I’ve got to crash. Two parks, a trip to Davis, some pool time and a long walk in the neighborhood (ALL TODAY) tuckered me out, although it barely made a DENT in my child’s energy level, WHAT THE HELL?
*Jesca Hoop. Usin’ it again!
July 11th, 2011
I’m picking winners for the Glee contest over the weekend, so it’s officially closed as of noon EST Friday. I know, longest contest in the history of ever, but between NAPOCALYPSE! and a mysterious tantruming child and bone-crushing exhaustion, it was the best I could do. Late, shmate! Extra days to enter, I say!
Speaking of, I mentioned I signed on to do another Smart Pop book, and this time it’s on … Friday Night Lights, which, if you didn’t know, is the best show on television, and better (worse?), I’m writing about Tami and Eric and I feel this enormous responsibility, because how great are Tami and Eric? SO GREAT. And it’s the last season, and I’m kind of devastated about it.
In other news, if you’ll indulge me a vent for a moment, oh my LANDS, child, the ATTITUDE. The tantrums! THE ALMOST-TWOS. It is simultaneously face-melting in its agony and positively GUT-BUSTING in its hilarity. The tiny, impotent fury! The screaming! The kicking! All because I wouldn’t put Yo Gabba Gabba on DEMAND. No, child. No. You do not get to sit on your ass and demand Yo Gabba Gabba JUST BECAUSE and when I say NO, throw yourself on the ground like I have just announced that the elves are coming for your brains! And your ears! And MAYBE YOUR OVARIES! TO EAT THEM!
No. Oh my God, no, kid, GO PLAY WITH YOUR TOYS. Here, let me help you. But also, HAHAHAHA, oh my God, please kill me while I die of laughter and hysteria and also, tears. Tonight, when I left for my haircut, she chased me to the door screaming, and then when I left, threw herself on the ground in a puddle, kicking and screaming, until Daddy came over to rescue her, offer her a visit to her buddies in her bedroom and VOILA! perfect child for the rest of the evening.
They save this shit for US. THE MOTHERS. BECAUSE THEY WANT US TO SUFFER.
Meanwhile, for your moment of pre-weekend schmoop, I have to tell you that I have the best friends. I am lucky and positively gobsmacked at my good fortune, and I wish everyone could have friends like mine. The kind who will come to your house even though it’s currently a shithole and you won’t even care that the recycling is on the counter in a big-ass plastic bag (next to a pizza box), because they won’t judge you, or even notice. Friends whose cabinets you can just root through when your kid is hungry without having to go through the awkward I-forgot-a-snack-I’m-so-sorry dance. The kind you can send random, non-sensical texts to about maybe watching your kid while you drive your husband to the hospital because he thinks he broke his foot (who the fuck knows … he opted not to go), and they’ll say yes without even hesitating, and then an hour later, you won’t even feel stupid when you tell them you can’t be the one to drive the kids to the museum tomorrow because, actually, your car smells like old cheese and we will all die of asphyxiation before we even get on the highway.
It’s just nice, and adds a really cozy layer of security to life, and though it was important to me before, I find that it’s even more critical now that I have Sam. I have sanity in the form of other moms who are not just other moms, but like, um, family ( one of whom some of you know) and I tell you, I don’t measure my life by many common indicators of success, but in this respect, I honestly feel like I won the lottery.
And finally, HAVE YOU SEEN THIS GIFT GUIDE? My God, this thing is awesome. It’s AWESOME. 125 gifts under $25, done by the queen of gift-giving at Style Lush, Elizabeth. GOOD gifts. GREAT gifts. GIFTS YOU WANT TO BUY YOURSELF.
*MGMT on effing Yo Gabba Gabba
November 18th, 2010
Oh look that’s right, I have a blog! Not that anyone cares, because there’s nothing worse than a blogger being all, OH SO SORRY I AM SO SHURE YOU MISSED ME, but man, I missed doing THIS, so I hereby declare to post no fewer than three times a week moving forward, until the end of time, barring holidays and vacations, in the name of Blogging Jebus, Amen.
The reason for my absence this week was that Jennie and Mike were here visiting, and I know the last thing anyone feels like reading is another Mighty Blogger Circlejerk, because it’s ALWAYS Lovely Love My Internet Family, but let me tell you, there’s a significant difference between going out FOR AN EVENING with someone and coming away with a good feeling, and, say, spending FIVE DAYS WITH THEM IN YOUR HOUSE, and then — hand to God — when they leave, having it feel like the time was too short, and perhaps they could cancel the second part of their trip and just stay here, with us? No? Too forward? What if you just moved in then?
And let me tell you it is even MORE DIFFERENT when your husband — one of the most private people in the world — skips doing work each night to hang out with them because he, too, loves them so, and when they leave, have him feel THE SAME WAY, which is to say that they could have stayed another week, and I don’t think we’d minded in the slightest. Nay, we’d have enjoyed it. Their son Kyle, would have enjoyed missing them another week not so much, probably. But whatever, he can move in here, too. Problem solved.
We had SO much fun. They were here sightseeing and wedding-ing and such, but we spent almost every morning and evening together, and I’m sure by now you’re all reading Jennie, but what I think is impossible to capture is, a) how fully cute she and her husband are, in a non-barfy way; and b) how incredibly down to earth they are. Just good, solid, normal people that are so easy to be with — no tension or weirdness or discomfort, and I don’t think either of them has a pretentious bone in their body, for there was ZERO pretense among any of us, and it was SO REFRESHING. It felt like being with family, except without all that weird family tension and history. It was just EASY and COMFORTABLE, like wearing your favorite sweater, and I don’t think that point can be overstated.
I think it was the first night that one of them said something that was so disarmingly NORMAL and charming, that I looked at Adam and said, “These are our people,” to which he replied, “Yes.”
(Self-involved side note: I always use normal to describe people who fit my personal Good People Paradigm, or worse, People Who Are Exactly Like Us. I don’t think this is particularly generous or open-minded of me, but there you go. Apparently I think I’m the definition of Normal, which is so douchey, right? So douchey. AND YET.)
And oh, hey, do you want to see the pictures of us together?
LOOK A BLANK SPOT BECAUSE I DIDN’T TAKE ANY AGAIN. The closest thing I have to photographic evidence that they were even HERE is a picture I took with Jennie’s camera of her and Mike all dolled up for the wedding. If you look closely, you can kind of tell that’s my kitchen. THAT’S IT.
Now for the bad: The day they were slated to arrive, I realized that Sam had the most ASS-SEARING stomach virus with some kind of HORRID, FLESH-EATING side effect that left her in … oh dear. It was unpleasant downstairs, and if I so much as glanced at the kid’s behind, she wailed in agony. There was SKIN BREAKDOWN and some BLEEDING AND SLOUGHING and I wanted to DIE, but also, I just felt so bad for her. The solution, if you were wondering, was to ride it out and also, coat the kid in approximately four ounces of Triple Paste per diaper changing, which is how I arrived at the Very Awful Place of going through AN ENTIRE JAR of the stuff in less than a week.
What? You don’t think that’s a big deal? Oh, it’s just DIAPER CREAM? OH PEOPLE. THIS DIAPER CREAM GOES FOR $28 PER JAR WHAT THE EFF.
Which brings me to, seriously, the four biggest surprises to me about pregnancy and having a kid that with all the unsolicited assvice, no one ever told me, so now, I am telling you:
1) While pregnant, you may possibly puke until you pee your pants. Not a little pee, but like, a FULL BLADDER’S WORTH. No, it doesn’t matter if you just went. The pee will materialize from some mysterious reserve your body keeps just for these occasions. What is wise is to puke into a bag-lined bucket while sitting on the toilet. Minimizes cleanup. Oh, and this will pretty much happen every time you cough from now until eternity, THE END.
2) When you give birth vaginally, your post-birth ladybits will be so swollen that you swear — SWEAR! — that another baby is crowning, until you press a little and realize, nope, that’s just YOUR VAGINA, swollen to the size of a cantaloupe. No, I’m not kidding or exaggerating. Okay, fine, HALF a cantaloupe, with the cut half resting on your pelvis. SERIOUSLY. (This does go away, thank you GOD.)
3) Already stated, but worth repeating: worst part of a backdoor stomach virus is not the cleanup, but the SEARING SCREAMING DIAPER RASH. I’m telling you, DID NOT ANTICIPATE THIS.
4) You will gladly — nay, GLEEFULLY — spend $30 on something you spread like peanut butter on your kid’s ass. FOR THEM TO POOP ON.
YOU ARE WELCOME, PREGNANT PEOPLE OF THE WORLD.
October 25th, 2010