Be Careful What You Wish For...

Just last night I was racking my brain trying to think of a good blog post. I read through the dozen or so drafts that I have started and nothing really resonated with me. None of them were funny enough or touching enough to really make the cut. I left them all there, though, because sometimes those blah ideas turn into something. I will be laying in bed or driving down the road and I'll think of just the right punchline to pull it all together.

But that wasn't the case last night and today. I was suffering from a singularly uninteresting couple of days. We'd gone to the gym and to the park. We watched some TV and we danced in the rain. We ate, drank and slept. Not bad days, just, you know, regular days.

This morning we had a playdate at a friend's house. It was a mini-reunion of several of us that had taken Mommy and Me swim classes together last year as well as other moms that have joined the fold over the months. My friend has a pool and it was to be an afternoon of mom talk and kid play, all of whom are within months of each other.

Sophie went into high gear the moment we arrived. As is necessary with my little daredevil, I kept a fairly close eye on her, but mostly contained as she was within the confines of the deck and the fenced-in yard, I truly didn't worry too much. Famous last words.

About twenty minutes after we arrived, I sat at the patio table talking to my friends while Sophie tooled around the patio on one of those little four-wheeled riding things. This one happened to be a fire engine. At some point, the son of the person who's house we were at started pushing Sophie on the fire engine. We all smiled and thought it was cute. Sophie beamed.

It was right about then that several of us realized how close they were to the stairs. Just as I stood up from my chair to go redirect them, Sophie went over the edge. In slow motion, I watched her go ass over teakettle on that blasted fire engine down the stairs. It was only three steps, but it was enough for Sophie to do one full revolution and come down square on her face on the concrete step at the bottom.
















She lay on the ground, NOT MOVING, as I ran over to her. I was terrified she had broken her neck, but it was quickly apparent that the only real damage was to her face. She cried, but not frantically, and I took her inside to clean her up. After a few dabs with a wet paper towel and an attempt to hold a cool pack to her forehead, she was squirming and pointing outside.

She spent the rest of the afternoon running, climbing, playing and generally having a good time.

Me? My heart still hasn't slowed down to a normal rate.

Next time I'll just be satisfied with my boring day.

What Would Life Be Without A Little Controversy?

I had pretty much resigned myself to not writing another post about Blogher. I went and I'm actually starting to get Blogher burnout*. But a topic keeps coming up and I find I can't resist putting in my two cents.

Swag.

I have now read several posts and countless tweets about all of the nasty behavior surrounding the procurement of swag and frankly, y'all, I'm tired of it. I never once saw someone push someone to get at the swag. Never once did I hear someone say they were only there for the swag. Never once did I see someone be rude to one of the vendors or people handing out swag at parties.

Am I unobservant? I don't think so. I was at a number of the parties, attended all sessions and visited the expo hall. Did I see people crowded around swag tables? Yes. But from everything I could see, it was a generally well-mannered group of women. Perhaps the reason I didn't see any of this stuff is because I myself did not run to the swag tables. Or because I didn't surround myself with people who were "only there for the swag."

I suspect that these stories, like so many, are more urban myth than fact. A victim of the telephone game wherein a story (maybe even a true one) takes on mythic proportions by its hundredth retelling. I heard from soandso that her friend saw someone run over a litter of kittens and then use their dead carcasses as projectiles to get other attendees away from the table, just to get a kiwi spoon. Do I think that there were a few bad apples among us? Of course. It would be unreasonable to think otherwise in a group as large as that, but if you take nothing else away from my post, take this: that behavior in NO WAY defines my experience in Chicago.

Here is what I did see at Blogher:
- Women (and a few men) squealing and hugging.
- Excited conversations as friendships were made or renewed.
- The clinking of glasses. (Maybe too much.)
- Ogling the big bloggers, wishing you had the nerve to go up and talk to them, not because you were afraid they would be mean but because you were afraid you wouldn't be able to form a coherent sentence.
- Actually going up and talking to your blog idols. Knees knocking and hands shaking and finding that they were as kind and friendly in person as they were on the computer screen.
- Many, many, many photos taken.
- So much laughter. It was a cacophony and it was glorious.

Was Blogher perfect? No way. I have my complaints and they are substantive. Will I be back? I don't know. But believe me when I tell you, that decision has NOTHING to do with the swag.

*Unless, of course, you write complimentary posts or post flattering pictures of me. In which case, keep 'em coming!

Dear Blogher Organizers,

First, I would like to thank you for putting together an enjoyable experience. The sessions were interesting (if a tad overcrowded), the parties were fab (although can we talk about the $9 drinks?) and don’t even get me started on the swag. Let’s just say my suitcase weighed 20 pounds on the way out and 50 on the way back.

But I have one issue that I would like to address. Something that was near criminal in the level of irresponsible planning required. What I’m referring to, of course, is the amount of beans you foisted on us during luncheons and cocktail parties. While I am an ardent bean lover, in fact, have a hard time resisting the little beauties, they are not such lovers of my digestive system.

When meeting hundreds of new people for the first time, concentrating on clenching your cheeks for fear of an errant SBD, or worse, a full-on butt trumpet, is seriously prohibitive in the creation of a comfortable dialogue. Sadly, ever since my daughter came barreling down the birth canal (my husband actually said, “Holy cats, nice catch Doc!”), this sort of control is not what it used to be, Kegels and an excellent obstetric surgeon aside.

Additionally, the magical fruit, as it is often called, has a savage impact on my otherwise regular constitution. The less said about this aspect the better, but suffice it to say that my normally pampered posterior was subjected to many, MANY visits to hotel and restaurant bathrooms and the rough toilet paper they provide. Is it really so much to ask for some two-ply?

In conclusion, I would like to kindly request that for future conferences, you consider the impact of the food choices you offer. Might I even recommend offering a little cheese? Thank you for your attention to this important matter.

Sincerely,
CaraBee

Greetings from the Windy City!

I made it in yesterday with little fanfare. The flight was okay. We hit a bunch of turbulence the last half hour or so and I spent the entire time breathing deeply, swallowing spit and trying to locate a barf bag, just in case. The good news is that I did not throw up, the plane landed just fine and I emerged to meet MEP, who had graciously come to pick me up.

Once E... arrived (she had driven in from City C), we went downtown and checked in for the conference. With our conference badges in hand, we decided to grab a quick bite before the parties. After a bit of wandering around downtown Chicago, we settled on PJ Clarke's, where we dined al fresco and watched people. I saw four much older men wearing brightly colored tie dyed shirts, individually, not together, and one wearing a pink sequined jacket, not to mention what I'm pretty sure was the Village People. And that was a Thursday night. Imagine what I could have seen on a weekend!
















Then we headed back to the hotel for the parties. The parties. I was crazy nervous about the parties. I was afraid that I would be the ultimate wallflower. Even without a slew of drinks in me, it turns out I'm not so much.

A few notes:

- I saw Black Hockey Jesus and Stephanie Wilder-Taylor in conversation and somehow managed to walk my knocking knees over to them to say hello. Honest to blog, I was completely flushed and shaking while I was talking to them. Like a complete boob. They were very kind though and did not give me the cold shoulder even though they are blog elite and I am, you know, not. Stephanie even gave me a hug. Did I mention I love her?

- Jen Lancaster was at the second party we went to. I saw her standing alone at the bar and I pounced. I gushed out in one long breath that I loved her blog and her books and how all around wonderful I thought she was. I was about to run off but she engaged me in conversation. Of course, then she pretty much walked off in the middle of said conversation, so I felt a little weird about it. But still. Squee! Jen Lancaster!

- It turns out I am mostly deaf. I could only hear about every fifth word in any conversation because of the enormous noise from the din of a 1000 people all talking at once. It's tough to be witty when you're having completely different conversations.

- Every time I see one of the "big" bloggers, I am surprised when they are normal sized. It's like I'm expecting them to be super tall just because they are well known in the blog world. Turns out they're just people. Who knew.

- I actually saw a ton of blog friends. There were lots of hugs. I felt the love.

Anxiety, Part 67

We are at t-minus one day until my departure for Chicage for that thing that everyone is sick to death of reading about. Unless you're going, in which case you gobble up every word you can find about it. Especially if you're a first timer like me. Because you don't know exactly what to expect and you're nervous and afraid that no one will know you or want to know you. That everyone will be so caught up in Bloggess sightings that they'll be like, "Cara who? You write a blog about vegetables*? Greeeaat. Oh, you're a mommy blogger. How original." If it weren't for a couple of fabulous ladies, I would probably be approaching hyperventilating anxiety at this point.

When I was in high school, my sister told me that people thought I was a priss. Which is so not me. I mean, sure, I'm a tad uptight about sex and I'm kind of puritanical when it comes to my clothing and yes, I'm a conservative. (gasp!) But I'm totally not a priss. What's that? Textbook definition of priss, you say? Bah. I think it had more to do with the fact that when I'm not smiling, my face falls into a sort of puckery look. So to my blog friends who are going, please don't let my lemonface turn you away, I really am quite friendly.

(See how friendly this face is! It's not really, is it? Damn it.)















Anyhoo, I'll probably be scarce for the next couple of days, although I'll try to check in from time to time.

I would also like to take a moment to thank my sponsor, Dad, for making this trip possible. And Johnson and Johnson, for the amazing prize! (Although I haven't seen the money yet, so it is possible that I just went out and stimulated** the economy to the tune of $400 in clothes and such and I will never see a penny of it back.)

See you on the other side of Chicago.

*You know, because of the name. Bean. Get it?

**Ha ha, I said stimulated.

The Final Frontier

There has been talk about commercial space flights for years. Until now, it was really more science fiction than reality. But those dreams are finally coming to reality. Virgin Galactic*, a division of Virgin Atlantic, will offer sub-orbital space flight as soon as the end of this year, for the bargain price of $200,000.



I love the idea of outer space. I dream of fantastic worlds millions and millions of light years away. What would they look like? Purple skies, orange seas, six moons? In movies, aliens are always humanoids, but if there are intelligent lifeforms, and with all of the possible worlds out there it seems likely there are, isn't it realistic to think they could be completely different from anything we could possibly even imagine?

Sadly, I think I am more intrigued by the fantasy than the reality. A theme in my life, to be sure. The learnin' and schoolin' to get in to NASA is more than I could commit to, so the idea of a flight that anyone can take is very appealing. You can bet that if I had a spare $200k laying around that I would be on that ship. Of course, I would request a black spacesuit because the white? Does nothing for my hips.

Would you go?

*How much do I love this name?

Watchit Now Watchit

The other day I left Sophie in the living room, happily coloring on the coffee table, and went in to the powder room to, you know, powder my nose. I was mere steps away. As I sat there, I heard the distinctive sound of something heavy being dragged across the hardwood floor. I quickly finished up my business and skeedaddled back into the living room, whereupon I found this:



She had dragged the side table across the room up to the shelves, climbed up and turned on the stereo. My girl loves to shake a tail feather. What can I say, she just can't resist the classics.