Unwellness

in case anyone is wondering, no one is paying me to write this

There has been a lot of interesting dialogue online ever since Nielsen made this crazy list of "Power Moms" in the blogosphere. This was intended to be used as some sort of powerpoint presentation to convince advertisers that momblogs are the hot place to spend their dollars by throwing products at us and having us review them. Because, you know, you are all hanging on my every word in such a way that you REALLY want to know what cleaning products Wes and I use (hint: sometimes Method but usually baking soda and vinegar) and which brand of toilet paper gets the bri seal of approval (hint: nothing with one ply).

I will just let you know right here that I have never received any offers to review anything. I am not such hot shit as all that. And at first I felt left out when people started blogging about trips and companies sponsoring them and all that. But I think I am over it. I think that this round of interesting posts by some of the Power Moms (and some who SHOULD be counted as Power Moms) has made me not so concerned with all that.

The bottom line is that I don't really want to be a famous mommyblogger. I want to be a famous writer. If writing a really good mommyblog makes me famous, awesome. If not, I will go at it the more conventional way.

I mention this because I am sad that this is the way things are heading. I am sad that marketing is such a big word in this realm even while I understand its allure and necessity. I wish we could all just write really, really well.

My Google Reader is now holding more than 750 unread blog posts because I have new categories for BlogHer moms and dads and this whole new "Power Mom" group. I put them in their own folder with my own tongue in my own cheek, because it is a silly name. I have read some of them for years, like dooce. Some I have read since last year's BlogHer when I followed all the posts about the conference and discovered some amazing writers like Alice Bradley of FinSlippy and Eden Kennedy of Fussy.org and Polly of LesbianDad. Lately, I find that I always click Sweetney and Surrender, Dorothy and Sweet/Salty and my co-panelist Velveteen Mind any time I see that there is a new post. Mom-101 is the author of a few of these posts about marketing issues and will be hosting a panel on that - I enjoy her a lot. My recent favorite is The Bloggess, a fabulously over-the top blogger who CRACKS MY SHIT UP EVERY TIME but I think everyone else has known about her forever and I am just coming late to the party.

I have been dutifully adding blogs to my reader for the past year, and at a far more accelerated pace since I decided to attend, and was then asked to speak at, BlogHer. I mention those folks above because those are the blogs where it feels good and old time bloggy - I am reading because their stories are captivating and because the writing is excellent. Some of the others on the list are, honestly, just homework. I am reading them to try to be an educated BlogHer attendee and speaker. But the writing is just not as fabulous and the stories are less compelling. And people who write a lot of reviews get kind of boring. And blogs where every other post is like, "So this company sent me off to this fabulous vacation and while I was there I saw this fabulous person, blah blah blah..." are just not my cup of tea.

All this to say that if I ever rave about something, you can trust that it's my very own rave. No one spotted us our overnight at Sesame Place and I don't get a free Elmo doll out of the deal. And I won't be holding a giveaway to give you YOUR free Elmo doll, either.

I don't mean to say that I would turn down offers that were really perfectly suited to my blog. I don't think reviews or sponsorships or any of that are automatically bad. I have ads that just barely pay for my typepad account and it would be cool if they made more money - I certainly wouldn't turn it down. If Disney appeared in my inbox and wanted to fly me down to review some new ride, I wouldn't say no because do you KNOW how much time I have spent studying the rides of Disney in an effort to truly understand their mechanisms and line patterns and loading speeds as part of my neverending quest to avoid all lines longer than 20 minutes? Um. Well, a lot.

I don't think this is all necessarily a bad thing, marketing and the like. I just hope that people who take those things on continue to mostly blog important, heartfelt, meaningful stories about their lives. That's all.

Oh, but just one more thing about the Power Moms and product reviews. Am I the only one who is TERRIBLY offended by the continuing assumptions that MOMS are the ones concerned with baby and cleaning products? Fuck that very much. What the hell decade is this, anyway? Let's shake that whole woman/baby/housework thing already, shall we? Maybe Product Reviewing Mommybloggers could start some sort of cleaning product boycott and shake things up.

Not that I have read any Mommyblogging Cleaning Product Reviews. I am just talking out of my ass here.

I hope it goes without saying that all of you whom I have read forever are in your own even more regularly read folder on my Reader. That's the special folder reserved for people whose stories I know by heart. You know who you are.

photographic evidence of our dorkiness

the bliss that dare not speak its name

I feel quite secure in my belief that today has been the happiest day of my young son's life. By far.

We left Brooklyn at about 9:30 and arrived at Sesame Place a bit after 11 am. We parked and checked in at the hotel and took their free shuttle. And from there on out, it has just been a string of Things That Make Beck Happy.

Flowers
More-more-more flowers!
Elmo!
Sesame Street music blaring at top volume at every turn, including the more obscure tunes and covers
Er-neh!
Lala! (Bert, so named because he sings, "La la la la lemon")
Buh Buh! (Big Bird)
FLOWERS!

And, you know, everyone else. Everywhere. Considering that he has always been happy to simply catch a glimpse of a Sesame-related character drawn on any 2D surface anywhere, this whole REAL LIVE characters thing is just blowing his mind. Of course, one never knows if one is going to be THAT family whose kid is terrified of the creatures when faced with them in real life. We weren't sure. But it turns out that we have that other kind of kid, the kind who ADORES the creatures and wants to curl up in their fuzzy laps and live with them forever.

We paid $27 each (for the adults) for a character dinner. Beck ate not one bite and we gobbled our mediocre buffet fare as fast as we could in order to take turns walking him around to the six characters present. Over and over and over. He seriously could not get enough of them. He climbed right into Elmo's lap and did not want to get down and said, "Ah-duh, ah-duh" (again again) when removed. The cool part was that because we were in this room for dinner with a limited number of people, he COULD go again and again. He walked right over to where Cookie was hanging with some other people and held his arms up to Cookie in the "uppy" motion. And Cookie Monster leaned over and picked him up and scooped him into his arms and Beck lounged in that baby cradle position in Cookie Monster's furry lap for nearly five minutes, completely content.

{{{If I were a lesser person, I would make a furry reference here. But I can't. I can't go there because I keep imagining that scene in that HBO special or whatever it was that showed furries after we read that Vanity Fair article about them. And there was this early twenties boy "coming out" to his mother about being a furry. And she was just like, "Um, what? Um, why do I need to know this?" And then he came out of his room dressed like a squirrel mascot or something. And she dissolved in giggles and he got all pissed off. If I were a lesser person, I would reference that and how I sincerely hope that my son's interest in fuzzy character costumes ends in toddlerhood. But I won't even bring that up because it's just gross, the whole topic, and here we are having an innocent and lovely post about my gorgeous baby boy and there I go ruining it with that... ew. I won't mention it at all.}}}

You know how I love cheesy fun like cruises and Disney and Las Vegas and you know how Wes snarks through it all and makes fun of me and puts up with and humors me? This... is different. It is cheesy. It is over-the-top commecialism and expensive canned fun. And it is making our child SO SO SO SO FRICKING HAPPY. And there is no snark coming from either one of us.

Halfway through our visit today, we marched over to Customer Relations and upgraded to a season pass.

And after dinner tonight, we marched back over and purchased the $17 per person breakfast so we can do it all again.

I know how amazing it was to take a 7 year old to Disney for the first time. It was breathtaking. But this? The love of a nearly 2 year old for Elmo is something to behold. It has been like seeing what true peace looks like. His love is pure and deep, man. Don't knock it.

i hate field day and other truths of my day

- I have cried at many if not all the school Field Days I have attended. I almost made it through today without tears but some welled up this evening A) at an annoying thing Wes did and B) when listening to This American Life while grocery shopping (the little Samoan girl story).

- Tomorrow morning we leave for 36 hours in the land of Elmo. Please do not ask me what we are thinking going to a theme park on Memorial Day weekend when we are sure to A) be crowded upon by the masses and B) be rained upon. We are going because GMB is away this weekend. When you have a teenager, you don't get to just leave them in an empty house whenever you like lest your house no longer be standing when you return. No, you take the travel weekend you can get, even if it is... Memorial Day weekend at Sesame Place. I think it is possible, nay, probable that my toddler will implode from joy.

- I finished all but 18 report cards this week. Much better than I have ever done before, especially if you consider the fact that I spent the final 2 hours of my long day at work simultaneously writing reports and teaching one of my colleagues how to use Facebook.

- Packing for 36 hours at Sesame world seems to be just about as difficult as packing for a week's cruise. Or a week in a state 3000 miles away. Packing for a toddler seems to just involve a certain, preset amount of crap no matter how long or short the trip.

- I agonized over whether to email Eden at fussy. org to ask for a different size of this shirt (scroll down to the "writing well" one). It is a magnificent shirt. But mine is too small. YES, it is too small. DON'T ASK WES. He lies. He likes my shirts tight. Duh. Anyway, I felt all dorky and middle school because I was all stupid about emailing this woman whom I may or may not meet in July and whose blog I like so much. And then I did and she was very kind and I will send it back and get a larger one. No big deal. When do you think it is that I will feel less like a wannabeposeurmommyblogger and more like I am one of these blog type people? I am hoping the answer is July 24th.

- I have a post in me about the question of mommyblogging and merchandise (not the selling of, as above, but rather the accepting of) and the like. It is very interesting to me and I have suddenly, much to my surprise, developed an opinion. This will have to wait until I return.

a good day

Today my sister graduated from the first round of nursing school (she goes on to become a nurse practitioner in the next couple years) and I got recognized.

And to that person who recognized me (and Beck and Wes) and told me that my blog is awesome, and that my kid is as cute in real life as online and all those other nice things... oh, thank you so, so, so, so much. All the best to you and yay for your future as a midwife!

weekend recap

Friday night - the grocery store with This American Life on my iPod. Is it weird that this is heaven to me?

Saturday - I get edgy when there is a plan that slides away from us as it takes longer and longer to shower, feed everyone, watch Jack's Big Music Show seven times and play "Hide the F Train Behind the Art Books' forty-seven times before we get to leave the house. On Mother's Day, this led to that Giant Tantrum (OK, also the fact that I have no mom was involved. highly.) But this last Saturday, I tried to stop sulking and let Wes win. And so even though the Dance Parade had already begun before we were ready to leave and even though I had a headache when I woke up, I gave in and off we went in the afternoon.

It was great. It didn't matter that the parade had already begun because Beck was not so interested in it anyway. He liked the music but his favorite thing about the parade was its proximity to the large grassy middle of Union Square. Where he ran and ran and watched the young guy with a guitar and approached and then ran from the woman reading a book. Over and over. Gleefully. He screamed when we moved on but I was starving. We were working our way West toward Better Burger but I needed something to tide me over so we went to Books of Wonder, the best kids' bookstore in the world. We were there for hours and Beck did not actually pull EVERY book off the shelves like he used to. We all browsed. I ate a cupcake from the best cupcake store in the world (Cupcake Cafe) (this post is beginning to sound like Donald Trump wrote it - "the BEST ---- in the world!"). And we bought way too many books. And there was this moment where I got to be THAT AWESOME parent.
Beck was looking at this book, which we own. And he was counting along, pointing to each number and saying it loudly and cutely. And this woman stopped to watch him and mouthed, "WOW!" and asked how old he is. And while it is entirely due to his good memory and has very little to do with us, I got to feel like my child is freaking BRILLIANT and surely nothing bad will ever befall us because of his BRILLIANCE which shines like a thousand suns right here in Books of Wonder and I am the Best! Mom! Ever! No. Really what I said in response to her incredulity was, "Sesame Street." And she gave me the thumbs up.

We loaded him back in the stroller (the Toro, our THIRD stroller, which Wes brought home amidst much protest because how can we possibly fit three strollers in our life, but I must admit it has some fabulous features like its astonishingly easy recline and its excellent foldability) and he fell asleep on the way to a toy sample sale Wes wanted to check out. Perfect timing. Not only was our kid asleep in the toy store instead of grabbing or breaking the expensive toys, but this is the first thing we saw when we walked in:
We have had our eye on this amazing dollhouse since we first saw it, years and years before Beck was born. Modernist, excellent for creative play, all movable pieces and can be totally taken apart to store flat. But it regularly sells for $350 so that just wasn't going to happen. The floor model at the sample sale was $100 and we snagged it immediately. We snapped it apart and put it in two bags but even in half it was heavy as hell. Wes was a trooper and hauled it all the way to Better Burger, which he said he wasn't going to miss even if his arms ached. Which they didn't. Because he is buff as hell. And also hot.

An excellent day all around. Followed by me dashing out to join two of my teacher friends for a pub crawl. We started at High Dive, which is a new bar opened by the guy who owns the bar where I had my shower and whom I have known since his Great Lakes days back when I was a regular at happy hour (How many years ago that was... before ttc, before infertility, before blogs, I had a life and it was called... sitting in bars and writing diatribes. So all was basically as it is now, if a bit tipsier.). We made it to six or seven bars. I went to bed at 3:30. THREE THIRTY IN THE MORNING, folks. Beck woke... at FOUR. Yes, we pulled him in to bed with us and slept for a few more hours. But OH MY.

Coffee and food and we headed out to the 5th Avenue Street Fair. Even though my fibro was acting up like you wouldn't believe (miles of walking + no sleep = OWWWWW), I made it all the way to Union Street and had a good time. There was funnel cake involved. In the afternoon, Wes went tux shopping with GMB (prom!) and Beck slept and I began catching up on No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency episodes I have missed. Still many to go but I made a dent. My DVR mocks me constantly.

It was nice to have fun and try not to worry about our miles-long to-do list and need to get to work on the house selling. The basement flood has put a few weeks delay in our plan anyway. We need a second visit from the fricking plumber. Why can't life be all shopping and street fairs?

fail again, fail better

had big post, lost it, going to bed, try again tomorrow.

Yeah. It's also a leak.

It was a cracked nut. On the toilet. That made the big big water.

But the first wet spot, in GMB's room? A leak. We are hoping hoping hoping that we have just discovered the source - the outside hose was just the teensiest bit on for, oh, the last week or so. And then there was the deluge. So... maybe now it will stop?

CONDO CONDO CONDO.

Oh, but just so we're clear:

Mark my words. We will go back to a condo now (or a year from now if we can't get the price we need for our house). Within 2.5 years of moving, we will be fed up with the condo board and we will forget all this. "It wasn't THAT bad bailing out the basement," we will say to each other. And there will be another renovation, my friends. Don't think I don't know that.

condo condo condo

I had this amazing beginning to my night.

I went to this Edgy Moms Mothers' Day Reading organized by a local Brooklyn blogger and filled with interesting women writers. I heard four of them before the intermission. I drank loads of free wine. I thought about what it must be like to REALLY be a writer. I daydreamed and felt breathless and good.

There were these small issues, admittedly:

The wall next to where I was sitting was lined with about seven teenaged girls even though the invite specifically said not to bring kids. Also, one of my third graders was there. But inre: teenaged girls, I was amazed to see them. At first annoyed, but then amazed. They came to hear their moms/their friend's moms read. They laughed. They seemed to appreciate some of it. I thought about how much I would have enjoyed coming to such an event with my own mom when I was 13 or 14, how proud I would have felt if my own Edgy Mom was reading. And then I kind of sank into myself knowing that this is one of those Big Differences Between Boys and Girls that I am always hearing about. My sons were not and will not be such mommy cheerleaders at that age. Most likely.

Also, there was a parent from my school there and she was fabulous and delightful and introduced me to one of the readers and it was fine. Except... does she not remember how much she hates me, how there was that conference call with me and her and her husband a few years back because I totally messed up the summer reading list and used an earlier file from before I added her daughter's recommendation because her daughter had been absent and I had printed the wrong file and how awful, awful, awful it was and how I will never stop beating myself up for this? Um. Because I remember. And that meant it felt hard for me.

Yeah. I don't only hold grudges longterm and hardcore on other people. I hold them on myself just as hardcore.

Anyway, it was great. The reading was great.

And then I heard that tiny little telltale vibrate buzz of my phone. And I dug it out and waited until a break between readers to listen to the message from Wes. And that message began with:

"A PIPE BURST...."

And honestly I didn't even listen to the whole thing after that because I was rudely trompling on the teenagers' feet so I could get out of there before the next reader (a professor from my college!) did her thing.

Wes was furious with me for taking the car and for not having my cell phone on. Yes, well, I didn't take the car and I did have my cell phone on. So once we had that established, things were a bit better. He took the car to go get a wet/dry vac at the 24 hour Lowe's and I walked home. Sad, sorry for myself, destined to never become famous because instead of schmoozing with awesome women writers I was headed home to sop up water in my stupid, 100 year old house from hell.

When I got home, Mother in Law was in the basement mopping, mopping, endlessly mopping, even though Wes had been sent for the vac. I moved some stuff out of the storage room and went upstairs. I reached Wes on his cell and offered to park the car for him, which is something he is not capable of and which is something I am ridiculously good at. Lucky in love AND lucky in parking - it's not normal, my luck.

So as we traded off the car, and he hefted the small wet/dry vac into the house, I told him two things:
1) Remember how GMB and MIL thought there was a leak in his room earlier today and we despaired of tearing up the back yard and waterproofing all over again? YAY! A burst pipe in the basement half bath is MUCH easier to repair! Right? Right?

2) CONDO CONDO CONDO. Agreed, he said. No fixer-upper in Gowanus. No first floor anything. No houses ever ever ever again. CONDO, baby. Sign me up. I'll take the condo board over this bullshit mopping and fretting and water damage and guilt for having the house's water shut off with baby sister and baby sister's wife upstairs unknowing and the late, late night of the crappy wet/dry vac and every towel in the house and endless endless water and this awful, dread sense of hellish trappedness.

Please. Please let someone want to buy our house ASAP. All new pipes on the basement toilet!! That's a selling point, right?

cute kid photos

He REALLY likes flowers.

He would really like to climb trees.