The ways in which blog conferences are like sorority rush

I was in a sorority in college.

And boom.

What are you thinking right now?

That is one of those loaded statements, isn't it?

Because I know that the Greek system stirs up all kinds of emotions and opinions from people. Some love the idea. Some hate it. And some are just kind of "meh" on the whole thing. However, having gone through two national level blog conferences and having spent four years involved in a sorority, I was struck by the incredible similarities between four days "rushing" a sorority and four days attending a blog conference.

Now let me preface this by saying, for those of you who don't have a positive, or maybe actually have an intensely negative, impression of being in a sorority: I am not making the comparison, at all, to imply that blog conferences are any of the bad stereotypes that people have about sororities.

At all.

Personally, I had a great sorority experience. And like to joke that if, as some people say, being in a sorority is buying your friends, well then it was some of the best money my parents ever spent. I found a comfort zone, friends with common interests, a support system and lifelong connections. I know, let's all hold hands and sing "The Rose" now.

But it's true.

It's also true that I probably could have found that without being in a sorority. But joining one made it a whole lot easier.

So it goes with blog conferences.

I went to a college where about 50 percent of the women joined a sorority. It was "what you did."

Kind of like how blog conferences, once you hit a certain point in blog land, are "what you do."  What you want to do.  What you feel like you should do.  What it feels like everyone else is doing.

But when you go to a blog conference rush a sorority, there are quirks.  For instance:

1. Attending a blog conference Rushing a sorority is not for everyone. 
Including some of you who are thinking "SOMEDAY I HAVE TO DO THIS!" Just because it looks fun based on Tweets is not the whole picture. Think about it. How many people are going to Tweet "Wow, this is not for me. #conferencehashtag" ... More on that later. 

Similarly, very few people would walk through sorority row screaming at the top of their lungs, "I feel totally uncomfortable!"  Lots of people love them and walk away 110 percent over the moon.  But some don't.  But still feel like they "should."  And wonder what is wrong with them that they didn't feel the way everyone else seemed to. 

2. It's okay to leave your business cards nametag at home.
Because then when people remember you, you know they really remember you.  There is this funny concept that you have to have your business cards at blogging events and conferences.  And so we do this strange dance where we hand them out in the midst of casual, social conversations.  I forgot mine this time.  All of them.  Didn't have a single one.  And while, yes, I did have a moment of panic...  "How will anyone remember me?" Very quickly, I realized just how liberating it was.  Because the people who have reached out to me, or tweeted me, or shown up here to comment?  Those people, perhaps, remembered me enough to remember me for me.  Not just my card.


3. Sometimes you want to do nothing more than walk away. 
Blog conferences are overwhelming.  You are "on" all of the time.  By all appearances, most of the people you will meet will seem to be having the time of their lives (and many really are).  There are bursts of intense laughter.  Circles of women sitting on the floor.  However, some of them may be also taking moments to escape.


I can't tell you how many people confessed to me that they have also faked getting a phone call just to have a reason to walk away.

4. Don't believe everything you see or hear. 
Granted we didn't have Twitter when I was in college, and our Facebook was an actual book of faces...but don't believe the story you follow on Facebook and Twitter is the whole story.

This past weekend, I tweeted the great stuff.  And there was plenty of it.  But I didn't tend to tweet the strange moments, the occasional off-encounters, the people I had met before who no longer remembered me.

I remember after BlogHer that my husband was surprised when I came home to learn my experience wasn't a great one. After all, I had done things like Tweeting images of myself at a party with a McDonalds bag on my head.

Same goes for Rush Week. You'd be a idiot to go out and broadcast "Well that was painful talking to that woman!" Or "Please get me out of here." Or "Pretty sure that house thinks I am not cool enough for them."


5. Some conversations will be amazing. And some won't. 
You can't talk to everyone. You won't like everyone. Often when you found yourself in one of those conversations during Rush Week, you'd turn to a sorority sister and give a look or a sign that said "save me!" So it goes at a blog conference. Sometimes you will wish you could talk to a person for hours.  And other times?  The person talking to you will very obviously be looking over your shoulder for a "better" rushee person to talk to. 


6. Allow yourself to admit it won't be perfect. 
If you do, you will meet amazing people who you really want to stay connected to.


7. You need a good, strong, solid wing man. 
Don't do this alone. Period. You need someone you trust and can talk to and vent to and be real with. I repeat. Don't do this alone. Also, make sure your wing man knows they are your wing man. 

8. Inside jokes will make you feel like an outsider.  And there will be inside jokes. 
Back in the day when I went through rush, we did skits. Little song and dance numbers about life in our sorority. All of the houses did. They were done to be funny and cute and make their visit memorable. And some loved them. And some felt they were left out. They didn't get the joke.  They didn't know why half of the group knew the words or the movements and they didn't. That there was an inside joke that they were left on the outside of.  It wasn't meant to be hurtful, but it still felt that way.


9. More than likely, no one will recognize you. Don't expect them to. 
Just like my good old days with the literal face book, no one looks like their picture. And just because someone is "following" you really doesn't even remotely mean that they are following you. And that's okay.


10. Hugs at the front door might hurt (when you are not being hugged), but they're not meant to. 
I remember during rush when you'd line up outside to walk in the front door. As the women in front of you entered, some would receive hugs. Some would have people grab their hands and run off with them to introduce them to others. Sometimes they were ecstatic to meet your roommate or friend and simply ignored you. Don't expect that people will be tweeting how excited they are that you are going.  Don't expect mad love and "SQUEEs" when people see you.


11. You have to talk to people. 
You need to put forth the effort. You can't rush a sorority by walking in and sitting down in the lobby and waiting for people to come and talk to you. They, most likely, won't.


12. Some will drop out. 
Of the hundreds of women who went through rush, a good percentage walked away at the end and didn't join a house. They tried it and saw it wasn't for them and moved on.

You don't have to do blog conferences.  (And by the way?  Those women who didn't pledge?  They went on to be successful without joining one.)


13. Some won't drop out.
In college, there were women who loved rush week.  They loved the thrill.  The new people.  The glamour.  The attention.  The new relationships.  The whole process.  So it goes with blog conferences.  Some people just love them.


14. There will always be people who others consider better than you.
That's life.


15. People rush sororities go to blog conferences for different reasons.
For some it's a major focus.  Others it's a means to an end.  And yet others are simply "pledging" but not sure they will initiate.  Some go to conferences because this is their career and they use it to network.  Some, quite frankly, see it as a networking tool in hopes of someday making this their career.  Some had simply heard so many great things they felt they had to go.  Some are just curious.  And some are just going to hang out with their friends. 

16. And to bring it full circle, paying to hang out with your friends is okay.
Remember how I joked at the beginning that some people have said that being in a sorority is just paying to have friends?  As I talked to some people Saturday about the conference, I heard the comment a few times that it's not really about the conference, but about the opportunity to hang out with friends from across the country.  Friends that you might not otherwise get to meet or see.  That it was really less conference, more girls' weekend. And that, frankly, those women felt fine about paying to do that.

And here is where I step back from the analogy for a moment.  I think part of my challenge with blogging conferences is that I went hoping for them to really be a conference.  And I have found them to be far less conference and far more girls' weekend.  Not that there is anything wrong with a formal girls' weekend, it just wasn't what I was expecting.

I did find myself wondering if I would have felt entirely different about both my BlogHer and Blissdom experiences if they hadn't been called "conferences" but instead were called something else.

Because there would be nothing wrong with that.  Some empowering speakers (again, more on that in another post, because they deserve their own dedicated thought), great parties, fantastic sponsors, music, dancing, manicures and girl time.

If.  And that is a big if.  If you go in expecting that.

And me? To complete the analogy I'll say this.

I liked being in a sorority, but I never really loved rush week.  But here is where there is a big difference.  You did have to rush to join a sorority.  There was no other way in.

But you don't have to go to a blog conference to have a blog.

It is not the cost of entry to the blogging world.

I met some great people, and I had a great time with my wing man. But these are not for everybody.  And I think I fall in that camp. 

And you know what?  Recognizing that is a good thing.

I'm thinking next time, I'll just plan a girls' weekend without the conference part.

Just remind me of all of this when the next conference crops up and looks really fun on Twitter, okay?

Do you feel guilty?

As I was getting ready to head out town for a long weekend in Nashville I have heard a lot of chatter about people feeling pangs of guilt. Or giant stabbing attacks of guilt over leaving their families, their kids, their pets, their jobs, you name it. 


 
Here's my truth. 

 
I don't feel any guilt.  

Now don't get me wrong. I adore my children. Love them with every ounce of my being. And my husband is amazing. And I will miss them immensely while I am gone. 

And appreciate them even more when I get home. Well at least until one of my kids whines or decks another one. 

And I completely understand those who are feeling guilty or sad or torn. But guilt is not what I feel. 

Sure guilt might have motivated some of my actions. Like when I frantically washed every item of clothing over the weekend to make sure no one ran out of underwear. And yes, I snuck in to give all my sleeping boys one last kiss before I caught my cab at 4:30 in the morning. 

I get that me leaving caused Brian to have to adjust his clinic schedule and pick up, well 100 percent of everything for 4 days. My parents are even stepping in to watch Eli while Brian and the big boys head to Cub Scouts camp on Saturday. 

So I feel immensely grateful. 

But not at all guilty. 

Because to me? I guess in some ways I feel that I earn this. Really, we all do. I work hard. We both do. 

But Brian's work keeps him away from the house far more than mine does. Which means I do most of the meals. All of the laundry. Coordinate the schedules, manage the homework, break up the fights, respond to the repetitive knock knock jokes, clean the ears, break up the fights again, clean up the mess, change the diapers, remember the recycling, load the dishes, unload the dishes, and on and on and on. 

And that is just from 6-10 p.m. 

No medals or badges of honor needed. This is what I signed up for.  

Because most days I wouldn't have it any other way. Before we all had kids. Got married. Or didn't. Or got divorced. We were just people. And sometimes I relish the opportunity to just be a person again. Not a doer. Planner. Manager. 

Because it makes all of the rest of it that much sweeter when I come back. 

So feel guilty when you leave.  That is fine.

Or don't.  And don't then feel guilty that you don't feel guilty.  Cause that just makes no sense.
 

Maybe I don't look good in green

I'm headed to Nashville today for the Blissdom conference. Thank you all for your kind comments and emails and tweets on yesterday's post, by the way. So I don't have a ton of time to write. Therefore, it seems like the perfect time for a (relatively) wordless Wednesday. So here you go. And only because I promised you that I'd let you know when the Woman's World magazine issue featuring my 500 Pound Declutter Challenge came out. Here it is. On stands this week.


Funny tidbit? I was really wearing a kelly green sweater. Evidently they wanted me in blue. Okay, not hilarious funny, but still. A few more quirky details too, but I'll let you figure those out If you are so inclined... Oh yeah, and I wasn't wearing an extra 20 pounds. Okay, so they didn't change that part. Ah well, a girl can try. Have a great Wednesday,

Why would you go to another blogging conference?

As those of you who have been reading here for awhile know, I went to a blogging conference last summer.  It was, in many ways, a rather low point in recent history for me.  Seems silly and trivial, but it was (that is a link to the back story if you are so inclined).

And now I sit here writing, when I should be packing, because I am headed to another one.

I had this big, long post written in response to all of the questions I have received from people who were surprised to hear that I was leaving this week to head to another, albeit different, blog conference.

(For those of you who don't care to read blogs about blogging, no worries, that isn't what this is about.)

At first pass, I had this great post written about why in the world, after an emotionally jarring first round, I would consider possibly subjecting myself to this again.  Thoughts about how the conference is different.  And that I am different.  And so on and on and on.

Blah blah blah.

Then I stopped and pushed down on the delete button for about 25 seconds and got rid of it all.

It was liberating to see the words disappear one at a time.

Because it was just a bunch of words.  Filler really.  I wasn't answering the real question.

Because the answer is this: I don't know.

I don't know why I am going.  I mean I do, but I don't.

Here's the deal.  The reason I had originally written with positive language and empowering feelings was probably out of fear.  Because there is this thing out there.  This passive aggressive, or sometimes just aggressive, thing.  It comes from others.  From fellow women.  And it's magnified by ourselves.  By myself.  Sometimes we know the other people and sometimes we don't.  They say you are woman hear you roar.  Be true.  Don't admit insecurities.  Don't have insecurities.  Be bold.  Be confident.  Screw the rest of them.  You make your own destiny.  You are amazing.  Go show them.

Sometimes these messages are sent out of genuine empowerment.  And sometimes they are not.  They are said critically.  Almost with a tone of "grow up and get over it."

I'd love to say that I left my days of insecurity and self-doubt behind when I was 14.  But guess what?  I didn't.  And I'm willing to bet that some of the loudest voices...  The ones who chide people for admitting our weaker moments.  Our self doubts.  Our insecurities.  I am willing to be those people have it too.

I don't care if many men would never say these things out loud.  (Which is often one of the criticisms I hear tossed around). 

Are we, as women, as people, doing ourselves a disservice to refuse to allow ourselves to be real?  To sometimes be fragile?  To have soft spots?

I do.  I think we as women hurt ourselves in saying that we don't.  To say that we are so past all of that.

It's like that myth that you will never get another pimple after age 14.  People tell us that little white lie to get us through the worst of it.  But life is full of pimples. 

So I am willing to bet that other people are still dealing with it, too.  Even the ones who are the boldest.  The loudest.  The strongest.

Maybe they aren't.

But I am.

I often hear from people that when they first meet me, their first impression is that I am arrogant.  Not sure why I come across that way, but I hope I can figure it out someday.  Like before I die.  Cause I'd hate to be known as the arrogant woman in the nursing home.  Because I am not.

Sure, in the right setting, I have moments of confidence.  I can lead a meeting.  I can make a group of people laugh.  I can speak in front of 15 or 100 to 1,000 people.  And I can be a killer spokesperson, which, hell, I work in PR.  I better be able to do that. 

But I can also be that meek girl who had eggs thrown at her on the bus for a year growing up.  The girl who never really had a group. 

But that is an important part of me.  Because it's a part of me that keeps me real.  Humble.  Sometimes overly so.

And let's face it.  There is something amazing and horrifying about social media sometimes.

We make connections.  We find others who are like us.  Or we find people that we never would have "allowed" ourselves to connect with in real life, with whom we still find commonality and connectedness.

But we also see it all happening around us.  We talk to people on Twitter who refuse to respond back (and no, I am not talking about celebrities, I'm talking about other moms.  Other women.  Other people.).  We ask questions that go unanswered.  We put things out there only to have them misunderstood.  We see conversations happening around us.

Strangely enough, just as I was about to finish writing this, I saw this fly through my Twitter stream:

@NikaStewart

The best way to gain self-confidence is to do what you are afraid to do.

And here I had been rambling for an hour's worth of typing and she summed it up on a few words.

That is why I am going. 

No.  I am not perfect.  Far from it.  Again, moments of great confidence followed by moments of great insecurity.

And so I am going.  Because, for the most part, I love this online world that I am a part of.

But sometimes, I don't.

And I am going because I am scared to.

That is good.  That is me being strong.

Nerd wars

In case there was any question as to how Noah is feeling about girls, after finding this in his pile of projects over the weekend, I think we now know.

Yes ladies.  This boy is going to be quite a catch someday.

White lies or Teaching the kids Vietnamese

I know it won't last forever.


My kids are right on the cusp.  Between innocence and, well, not.


They will semi-excitedly tell me when they hear someone swear on the television or radio.


"Mom, he just said, 'see you shake that ass.'"  (Thanks, Enrique.) And then inform me that perhaps we should turn it off.


To which I respond.  "Yes, we should turn it off.  And, yes, your ears work very well.  So later when I tell you to pick up your dishes, I will know you can hear me.  But please don't repeat that word.  Because I really don't need your two-year-old brother repeating it."


(Note to self: Maybe I should randomly throw b-level swear words out there when I ask them to do household chores.  I might have a better success rate.)


But there are still some places I am not willing to go.  Like this billboard.

Because I don't need their illustrations coming home from school with bubbles coming out of the characters' mouths that say "LMAO!"

Thankfully, it hangs in an area of town that has a lot of Hmong and Vietnamese businesses.  With signs that look like this.

So I have just told them it must be in Vietnamese or Hmong.

However, they are pretty smart.  And are great on picking up on context cues.

So really, all I have accomplished is letting them think they know how to swear in Vietnamese.

My bajillion dollar travel idea

Okay, it's probably not my idea, because, like any other idea I think of and am quite sure I am going to make a bajillion dollars, inevitably I find out that 77 other people have the same idea.


So assuming this already exists, I am going to put it out there (so you can tell me it exists, I can go use it and I won't feel bad for not patenting it first.)


I need an "I don't care where in the world I go" app.  Because we need a vacation.  One involving sun and warmth and no dirty dishes I have to clean.  Big time.

We are here under 50 inches of snow.  All of my pants have salt stains up and down the backs.  My couch might have a permanent indent from where I plunk down each dark night.  And I have actually gotten to such a sad state that I am watching "The Bachelor."

We need to get out of town.

At first I thought a Disney Cruise was the way to go.  And evidently it is.  If you are willing to pay $10,000.  For the cruise.  Don't forget to add in another $4,000 to get us there.  Ugh.

Maybe just a delightfully non-Disney cruise.  Close.  The cruise prices aren't bad, but the airfare.  Oh my, the airfare.  Again, we're looking at easily $4,000 to get our family anywhere that doesn't have snow.

I am tired of spending way too much time ticking off little bubble buttons on Expedia picking dates and destinations only to find that no flights exist or that if they do the flights are $1,000 each.

So here is what I am envisioning.  An app or a web site or a company or whatever, where instead of having to pick destinations, you just picked themes.  Preferences.  Something like this.

__ I want to leave town
__ Nope, I don't want to buy a flight that costs more than the vacation itself
__ I want to go somewhere where the daily temperature is over 76 degrees
__ I'd also prefer it if it only rained at night
__ Ocean is great, but a nice pool is good too
__ I'd prefer it if it was a place where 50% of the population looked worse than I do in a bathing suit
__ No drug cartels please


Really?  Would that be so hard?

"So what did you do at school today?"

At the end of each day, I pick up the boys and we pile in the van.  After turning up the radio or iPod and singing along with a few boys'-request songs, I turn down the volume and ask each boy to tell me about their day.

Provided they aren't asleep, the answers can be alternately interesting, insightful, bland, nonsensical or, occasionally, hilarious.

For instance, yesterday:

Eli, what was the best part of your day?

Well.  At naptime?  Yeah, at naptime.  I had a big boogie.  And I picked it and I hid it in my shirt.

[Note to self, I need to spray and wash the inside of his shirt.]

The Caleb piped up.

Mom!  The best part of my day?  Today one of my friends...he was chewing on his pen and it just like exploded all over the place.  And he had ink...  And it was pouring down his face.  And we had to call poison control.  Have you ever seen the poison control truck?  And then he had to go to the hospital.  And seriously, the ink was all over the place.  It was amazing.

And despite boogies on shirts and ink on faces, all I could think was, man it's cool to be a kid.

Cooking with kids. Kind of.

I have trouble moving back and forth between being in "working mom" mode and "hanging out at home, being a mom to the kids" mode.  I have never been the best at disconnecting.  And not just from technology.  Even when I am not working at the job I am paid for, I see jobs.  I look around and see the piles.  The projects.  The laundry.  I don't do well with stopping and not doing.


But yesterday was Martin Luther King day (yes, that's why you got no mail and why everyone was quoting "I Have a Dream" on Facebook).


So there was no school.  And here we were amongst the piles, projects and other annoying words that probably start with "pr."


Brian called and mentioned the boys had some Cub Scouts requirements to catch up on.  Requirements?  I am good with requirements.  I get them.  Process and procedure and check lists.  Let's go.  Giddy-up.


Top of the list was "Make Oatmeal Cookies."


I don't think I have ever baked with my boys before.  It, in my mind, creates more mess, more process, more stress.  But I shook off my responsibility cloak and we set about making cookies.

Flour flew.

We marveled at the concept of a stand mixer.

We learned that you need to carefully read recipes.  Because 3/4 cup does not mean 34 cups.

We learned about teaspoons and tablespoons.  And that they are for more than smacking your brother on the head.  And that if you do smack him on the head I will tell you the spoon is now dirty.  And that I don't care if you don't think your hair is dirty, I do.

I was feeling good.  I was cooking with the boys.

I had disconnected.  And reconnected.

And then I saw this.

Having had enough of spooning out cookie dough, Caleb's attention was waning.

The dough was too tempting.  The distractions too strong.

Before I knew it, I had two half-filled cookie sheets and a bowl of unspooned cookie dough.

I turned my back for just a minute and discovered the boys had called the project complete and were on the floor playing with the iPad.

Yet, somehow their attention miraculously returned when the timer rang and they were back in the kitchen ready to make sure the cookies turned out.

Declaring themselves great cooks.

But the smartest one of all?  This one. 

He slept through the entire thing and only woke to eat warm cookies.

So we all won.  The project and piles were avoided for an hour.  The kids earned a Cub Scout badge.  I reminded myself that it's okay to just stop for awhile.

And we all got cookies.


P.S. Tomorrow, I'll be leading the live chat over on the Coffee Talk forum and we'll be talking about winter activities, beating cabin fever, and finding new ways to disconnect and have fun with your kids.  Join us at 11:00 a.m. EST!

More business, less sexy

I did it.  I went to Glamour Shots.


And now I've sat here staring at those words for about an hour.  Alternately giggling and not really knowing what else to say. 

Well really, I was staring at the Golden Globes, but still.  There are about 70 directions I could go with this.  (Here is the two-part back story, in case you're just joining in...)

But maybe I'll just keep it to a list of random things:

1. I still don't own one, but now that I have seen a set of 100 shades of eye shadow in action, I think I can check that one off my list of things I need or want.  All good there.

2. I wasn't lying about the red sheet thing.  It's very real and they were shocked that we didn't want to do it.  So no photos there.

3. Yeah, that silver thing in point #1?  They use that to spray paint your makeup on. 

I have to say I thought my makeup artist was great.  Fun and real and warm and really seemed to want me to feel like I looked good.  But I had to crack up when the hair stylist came over and announced that she was going to...

"Backcomb the crap out of it!"

4. We were then told not to take any photos in the room.  Because, you know, they'd mess up the lights.  Or something.  Even cell phone photos.  With no flashes.  Kind of like how cell phones can "interfere with airplane navigation."  Yeah, right.

Which, of course, meant, we had to take crappy cell phone photos from the hallway.

But I started the night off by suggesting to the photographer that I wanted to "wear the wings."  Which prompted the photographer to give me a look that can only be described as "You have got to be kidding me."  (But adding in a few, stronger, yet-unspoken words in between "be" and "kidding.")  Oh yeah, and I didn't wear them with a striped sweater.  But given the no photography in the rooms deal, I had to reenact it.  After a six-year-old wore them first.

5. Every single person there asked us, "How do you two know each other?"  We tended to fall back on the semi-true line, "Our kids go to school together."  Which is true.  But not at all how we know each other.  After all, "We met through our blogs..." just doesn't make sense to most people.  After all, the average person doesn't put the Prairie Woman up on a (literal) pedestal.

6. This is a business.  They have a certain number of shots and poses they have to take.  And they are always the same.  It doesn't matter if it doesn't work for you.  Which meant I was in a wrap dress laying on the floor.  Not good.

7. One of my favorite lines of the night?  Right before this shot was taken, the photographer looked over, looked me up and down and said:

Do you like butterflies?


Um.  Hmm.  I guess I am non-committal about butterflies.  Don't love them.  Don't hate them.  But it's not like they scare me.


Okay then.  How about the Vikings?  Do you like the Vikings?


I guess I feel the same way about the Vikings as I do about butterflies.

This was the result.

Also known as:  Molly.  The crime scene.  Or...  the day the Vikings killed Molly.

Bested only by Tracy.  The happy crime scene.

Or:  American Beauty,  20 years later.

8. Also from the category of "We have to do this shot.  And strangely a lot of people buy it..."

Put flowers by your face.  (And yes, I am wearing a child's fake fur shall.  Because, you know, I could. Sexy business and all.)

My other favorite quote was "Hold your hand by your face like you are holding two eggs."

Hot.

9. File this in the category of: I have a job to do and a timeframe in which I need to do it.  So I am not going to tell you if you are falling out of your dress.  Because maybe you want to fall out of your dress.  A lot of women come here trying to fall out of their dresses.

10. You thought I was lying?  I wore the wings.  But I didn't buy one of those shots as, dude, they were expensive.  We each bought one photo.

As an example?  The over-the-top stage mother next to us?  And I can say "over-the-top" as she spent 10 minutes doing her daugher's eyebrows with a pocket knife.  I kid you not.

She bought 10 prints of her daughter for more than $1,100.  So no.  No wing shots for our mantle any time soon.

But my favorite shots of the night?

Dinner with Tracy. Who I didn't meet because our kids go to school together. I met her through blogging. And now feel privledged to call her one of my great friends. And a great friend is one who can toss it all aside and do something ridiculous like this.

We can banter all day long on Twitter. We're both sarcastic as hell. And there is no way that I would have ever done this moment of insanity without her.

That, my friends, that is sexy business. Or something. Whatever it is, it's great.
Onto the next thing on the bucket list.  Whatever it is...

Pre-Glamour Shots Musings Vlog-Style

After Tracy's great vlog in preparation for our trip to Glamour Shots, I thought I'd share my thoughts on attire as well.


You will note that they ask you to come with clean, unstyled hair and little to no makeup.  So bear that in mind.  I'm not really quite this tired.  Okay maybe I am, but still.


So what do you think?  Any winners there?

Maybe I will just have to rock the angel wings after all.

Future career path

The boys have been working on self portraits in school over the past few weeks.  Caleb brought his home a few days ago.


And I am pretty sure I now know what his career path should be.


Forensic artist.


You know, the people who do sketches of criminals?  That almost never really look anything like the actual criminals.  Well other than they have hair and eyes and noses.


They have been working in different mediums.


First was pencil.  Evidently this one was after Caleb went on quite a binge.  Check out those bloodshot eyes.

I also like that he originally appeared to have a horrific, rabid creature attacking his head, but thought better of it.  That's what having lice five times will do to you.  Messes with your brain.

Oh yeah, and the crooked haircut?  Well you know, we do those at home.  So that might not be totally off base.


But then they moved into the large brown dot medium.  A little used medium.  Perhaps because there is no way to create an image of you that looks anything like you.


As in, at first, I thought Caleb did a portrait of one of his friends.

As in one of his friends who most certainly didn't have us for biological parents.


Yes, I definitely see a forensic artist in the making.

My sexy business

Little confession time.

Looking back at my life, there are a few silly things that I always wanted to have, or do and never had, or did.


The first was that, as a kid, I always wanted to have one of those life-sized doll heads with the hair you could comb and cut and a face you put makeup on.  Never had one of those.


Second, I always wanted one of those huge kits of makeup with 200 eyeshadow shades and 30 blushes and a teeny tiny mascara. 


And third?  I always wanted to go to Glamour Shots.  Growing up, there was one in the mall next to the place that sold cheese curds and giant lemonades.  So you can see why I wanted to go there.  Or not.


But you add the Barbie head to the makeup to the Glamour Shots and it all kind of paints a picture, doesn't it?  Maybe not a good one, but a picture.


Somehow over the past few weeks, a running, joking conversation has developed on Twitter about my random teenage desire to go to Glamour Shots.  It was all capped off when a friend pointed out that there was an online deal to get $50 there for $25.


I did it.  Pulled the trigger.  And somehow convinced my friend Tracy to come along with me.


I called them yesterday to set up an appointment to go.  I was going to do a video to recap of my version of the hilarity of the conversation, but I have a hideous cold, which has obliterated several of the letters in the alphabet for me and made me sound like a sick man.  So writing it will have to do.  But do me a favor and imagine it spoken in the best eastern European accent you can imagine.  Think Borat, but a woman.

Hello Glamour Shots!  You want to schedule a photo session?

Why yes, I do.

Okay, great.  Is this for just you or more?

I will be coming with my friend, too.

Oh, okay.  So you want to do poses together or separate?

We're thinking separate.

Okay, and so is this like sexy?  Or business?  Or sexy business?

[Holy hell, did she just ask me about my sexy business?  And what is sexy business anyway?  Assuming we aren't talking Borat sexy business.  All I could picture was this.]

Ummm.  Hmmm.  How about we just go for fun?  Can we do fun?  (Knowing I really meant fun-ny)

Oh yeah, we can have lots of fun.  And we can do sexy, business, sexy business.

[And again with the sexy business.  I might have hit mute at this point to muffle my laughter.]

So you need to bring four of your favorite outfits.  Sexy tops, jeans, skirts, lingerie.

[By the way, lingerie typically doesn't rank amongst my favorite "outfits."]

You need to come with clean hair, little or no makeup and the clothes.  If you want smokey eyes, you can bring some sexy false eyelashes, too.  

We also have the, you know, the red sheet.  And we wash that.  So you know, we can do the red sheet thing, too.

[What in the world?  How have I gone my entire life without knowing what the "red sheet thing" is?  But whatever it is, I have a feeling it's okay that I have missed out.]

And we also have the angel wings.  They are super soft and nice and sexy.  So you know, you will be comfortable.

And that is when I lost it.  I had to put the phone down, under the guise of grabbing my credit card.  Anne Geddes can put babies in wings and make them look cute.

Victoria's Secret can put Giselle in wings and have her look hot.

You put me in wings?  And I will look like a crazy middle-aged lady who thinks she can achieve flight.

And I most definitely won't be comfortable.


Oh yeah.  This is going to be good.

Glamourous I am not.

I don't have the fanciest house.  No one will ever want to feature us for a "how to decorate" magazine feature.  I can't really put outfits together very well.  My hair usually looks more like a mushroom than a hairstyle.  Oh yeah, and I dye it myself.  And sometimes I just take a pair of scissors to it.  When I wear boots, they make a strange clicking sound.  That is the nail poking through the heel.  Cause they are cheap.

I shop at Old Navy and H&M.  And even there, I shop the clearance racks.  And no one ever asks me for fashion advice.

I.  Just.  Am.

But in my living room, I have Vanity Fair.  It peeks at me from beneath my coffee table.  My "I bought you at a closeout store" coffee table.  It's my teeny bit of glam.  Shiny and glinty and lovely.

The beautiful people staring at me from underneath the table glass.  Kind of like they are trapped hanging with me.  Bummer for them.  Fun for me.  Me.  Hanging with Marilynn Monroe, Brangelina and Grace Kelly.  Okay, so they often put dead people on the cover, but still.  A little bit of sophistication.

And then this showed up in my mailbox.

Come on Vanity Fair.  It's like I am stuck back in Old Navy.  Or Contempo.  Does Contempo even exist anymore?  Or one of my neice's Facebook pages. 

All the same, this one is like a Teen Beat sitting under my coffee table taunting me.

Back to not being cool.

Now even my boys are in on the act.  One hundred, thousand percent realizing I am not cool.



Speaking of cool.  Guess what?  I'm still not.  But I am excited to be one of the community leaders over at a great new "Coffee Talk" community hosted by Blog Frog for International Delight.  Joining me are a great group of women from across the country.  In addition to being a place to come hang out and talk about, well whatever you want to, we'll also have live chats each day at 10:00 a.m. CST.  You know, over coffee.  Come say hello, would you?

The mysterious case of the skinny boy jeans

And there he was standing there in his winter coat, backpack on his back, gloves on his hands, tears on his cheeks.  He was ready to go to school.  Oh yeah, except that he was wearing his winter boots and a pair of boxers.  


Cue the screeching sound of a needle on a record player.


I suppose I should back up.


It all started a few months ago.  Caleb is a long and lean kid.  And were it not for the incredible invention of adjustable pants, the child would have to wear suspenders.

But even with the help of adjustable pants, he's still a skinny kid.  And pants can only be adjusted so much before they look like you're wearing a diaper under them.

So I was excited to find him a pair of (I thought) cool skinny jeans awhile ago.  And of course, as it goes with kids, as soon as you think you have done something great, they will tell you that the reality is just the opposite.

Yeah.  He hated them.  First ripping the price tag off and throwing it away, of course.  But then proceeded to hate them.  Refused to wear them.  Stomping, whining, obstinately refusing to wear them.

And it's become the stupid battle over the skinny boy jeans ever since.  We say wear them.  He says no.

Yesterday was the breaking point.  Determined to prove that Caleb was being ridiculous, Brian removed all of the other pants from his closet after he went to bed.

You can imagine where the rest of the morning went. 

Nowhere good.

And it ended with my child standing there, late for school, wearing only his winter boots and no pants, insisting he'd rather go to school in his underwear than wear those pants.

I admit it.  I had had it at this point.  And part of me, that little not-so-nice part?  I will admit that part of me wanted to put him in the car.

Fine.  Go to school in your boxers.  Just don't sit cross-legged during group time, cause that memory will stay with the other kids of a long time.

But I stood there and looked at this sad, stubborn (oh, is he ever stubborn) boy.  My boy wearing his boots and his underwear and I melted.  It was an angry melt.  But a melt all the same.

I try to remind myself to pick my battles.  That we need to let our kids be independent but help them find their independence while we nudge them onto a good path.  That we need to let them make mistakes.

But I am not always good at that.

As time ticked away, Brian and Noah left Caleb at home for me to drive to school.

Caleb put on the pants.  I took him to school.


The tears had stopped and as he got out of the car, late for school, with no kids around, I said to him, "I love you buddy."

And he walked away.  Without saying a word.

And all I could think was that I have a son who is furious at me over a pair of pants.

I didn't pick this battle right for sure.



And in separate news, I have a nearly new pair of skinny Gymboree pants up for grabs.

Book Club 2011

Last night I met with some of my favorite girlfriends to set our books for 2011 Book Club reading.


Our Book Club (and yes, this is with a capital B, capital C) has been around for about 9 years.  We have had our ups and downs.  We have had, as so many book clubs have, love and loss and life and death and change and stress and drama and peace.  We have had our political disagreements.  We have had our book controversies.  We have ebbed and flowed.  We have laughed a lot.  A lot.

We have eaten.  And sipped.

But above all?  We have been friends.  We have pushed each other.  We have been there for each other.  We are a Book Club.  Capital B, capital C.


But for me?  A girl who really needs something to nudge me to read.  Not to mention needing a solid group of girlfriends, Book Club is sacred.


After nine years?  We are older.  More comfortable (in a good way...then again, we did talk pajama jeans last night, so maybe we're comfortable in that way, too).  More in our own skin.

So we get together each January.  We bring lists of books.  Ideas.  Thoughts about where we are at and what that means for what we want to read.  Each hostess gets to pick the book for the month she is hosting.  We strive to have a good mix of fiction, non-fiction, classics, light and heavy.


Personally?  I went the crowd-sourcing route.  I asked friends on Twitter and Facebook for ideas.  And you all had some great ones. 

So without further ado, here is it, our 2011 Book Club reading list:

February

"Poser - My Life in 23 Yoga Poses."

March

"Cleopatra's Daughter"

April

"A Visit From the Goon Squad"

May

"Cheap Cabernet - A Friendship"

June

"Unbroken"

July

Take a break. Go to the pool. Or the lake. Or do nothing.

Read People Magazine.  Or whatever you want.  Or nothing at all.

We do.

August

"Life"

September

It's one of two books...

Either:

"Major Pettigrew's Last Stand"

or

"Little Bee"

October

Classic Book Month

Again, one of two choices, but this particular hostess wasn't there last night, so still TBD.

Either:

"The Handmaid's Tale"

or

"A Tale of Two Cities"

November

My month.  And so how could I pick anything else?  We'll be reading Matt Logelin's book.

"Two Kisses for Maddy"

December we don't formally read either.  Again...eat cookies.  Be social. 

So there it is.  If you'd like to join in and read along, I'd love to hear your thoughts along the way.  


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