The Guilt Trip.

Sometimes, I have to travel for my job. This weekend I’m off to New Jersey for graduation ceremonies for the online academic program I direct.

Akeyla takes the news well. Though in one breath she’s wailing, “Mommy! I don’t want you to leave!” in the next she’s asking if I’ll bring her back a ring pop. “Sure,” I say. “Yay!” she delights, skipping back to her room to upend boxes of Barbie shoes and put on all her costumes at once.

But Astrid? Oh, man, Astrid hates when I leave.

Days in advance, she’s having anticipatory anxiety. This trip is even worse, because on Friday I’ll be missing the special year-end arts festival at school. The 4th graders are putting on a play and wearing intricate masks they’ve worked diligently on with an artist-in-residence.

I feel awful every day.

But I feel worse each night at bedtime, as she cries out, “Why? Why am I even in the play if you’re not going to be there? Weee maaaade maaassskks! Weee never maaake maassks!” I try to quiet her but she chokes out between sobs, “Weee … even … haaave … a … uuunicooorn!!!”

She will not be comforted. Not by her dad’s vow to take the whole day off of work to be there,  nor by his promise to take pictures and videos to send to me immediately. Not by my repeated pinky swears to call and Skype. It’s no use explaining my need to work to support our family, my desire to have a career, the bills it pays.

She begs me to take her: “I don’t care if you’re working the whole time. I’ll stay in the hotel. I’ll bring activities.” She pleads with me to cancel. She asks if I would still go if it was on her birthday. “Of course not,” I answer. “Then pretend it’s my birthday!!!!” she shouts, bursting into tears again.

When it’s clear she will never fall asleep on her own, I relent and let her sleep in my bed, exiling Matt to her bedroom. By 10 o’clock, she sleeps fitfully, eyes still full of worry. I tiptoe around, trying to make a silent snack in the kitchen so as not to wake her. It’s obvious neither of us will truly be resting tonight.

She arises well before dawn, as she always does, no matter how late she falls asleep. I wake to find her making a list of things I should pick up before I leave so she can make it through the weekend:

Astrids Food List

I guess she changed her mind on the Toblerone.

So after drop-off and before work, I found myself racing through the food aisles at Target, unwiped tears streaming down my face, eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.

And you know what? I bought every goddamn piece of shit snack on her list. And more.

reedster target food

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Of course I’m hooking up with my friends at the yeah write blogging challenge. Got a story to tell in about 500 words? Join us.

Posted in Land of Tea, These posts are not funny. | 29 Comments

This isn’t my real Mothers’ Day post but I looked like Adele so you can understand why it had to go up immediately.

I was looking in the mirror before my occasional shower. I ran my hands through my hair in morning exhausperation, as I am wont to do. (You know what, spellcheck? Exhausperation should be a word).

And suddenly, I had a revelation. I looked EXACTLY like Adele.

I sprinted to the living room and shouted at Astrid. “You have to take my picture RIGHT AWAY because my hair looks EXACTLY LIKE ADELE’S.”

She pulled out one ear bud and considered my hair. “No it doesn’t.”

“It does so! You have to take my picture! No. Better yet, you have to take a VIDEO OF ME SINGING ‘SET FIRE TO THE RAIN.’”

She took my phone and said nothing. She aimed the phone at me as I launched into the chorus. “I’m not taking a video,” she said, deadpan. “I’ll take one picture.”

“Fine. I’m singing anyway.”

 

I look and sound just like Adele, right? IT’S UNCANNY:

Is it Adele? Or is it me? WHO CAN SAY FOR SURE?

Or Adele’s mother? If Adele’s mother was braless and wearing fleece Mickey Mouse pajama pants and had a confused chihuahua at her feet and also she was standing in my living room?

Yeah, Astrid didn’t think so either.

But Adele and I, we know the truth.

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Oh yeah write blogging challenge moonshine grid, I can’t quit you.

Posted in High Fashion, Inappropriate Behavior | 14 Comments

Fine, call me a mommy blogger: I’m proud to be a woman writing online.

women writing onlineIn late April, the Wall Street Journal ran a piece called “The Mommy Business Trip: Conferences Appeal to Women With a Guilt-Free, Child-Free Reason to Leave Home,” in which the reporter mocked with undisguised glee the idea that grown-up ladies with children occasionally go on business trips to industry conferences and stay in hotels and everything. Run fer yer lives! Womenfolk are travelin’ by their lonesome with no male chaperone! They’re drinkin’ cocktails ‘n’ gettin’ all dolled up fer nighttime festivities!

But mostly, the article mocked so-called mommy bloggers because, I guess, we have children. And sometimes we go to blogging conferences. HAHAHAHAHAHA. Ha. My laugh-o-meter is off the charts.

There are so many choice offensive comments in the article but I think they are all summed up best by the accompanying  infographic:

momtrip042413

Man, I want to go to a blogging conference like that one – blowing my IRA on $7 Snickers and Cokes in my western-style shirt, sleepin’ in until almost nine fucking o’clock in the morning in my turquoise and red ribbed tank top, raisin’ the roof like it’s 1989, and laughing my fucking ass off at re-runs of “Friends” in my super-comfy, super-stylish jean leggings.

Fuck you, Wall Street Journal.

Call me a mommy blogger, a parenting blogger, a humor writer, or just a blogger – I don’t fucking care. I’m proud to be in the company of the many amazing women living their lives out loud and online, changing the world one post at a time.

These women inspire me every day with their stories and, without blogging conferences, I would never have met them and learned from them how to hone my writing, marketing, web development, and social media skills. I’m honored to be their friend and colleague.

Women like Greta Funk of G-Funkified, a young widow, now remarried, and raising her four children on the prairies of Kansas. If you want to read a post that will punch you in the gut, read “Shedding the Weight” about the death of her first husband.  Greta supports women who blog with her series “Great Expectations”, which features stories about transitional moments in the writers’ lives. In her spare time? Greta started walking, then running, and is on her way to 500 miles this year.

Greta introduced me to women like Erica Mullenix, a marketing professional and kickass writer who is the managing editor of the yeah write weekly blogging challenge, which showcases bloggers who dedicate themselves to perfecting the craft of writing. I’m honored to be a Contributing Editor for yeah write and I bow down at Erica’s feet, especially after reading posts from her like this one on her personal blog free fringes, about her daughter: “acceptance gone wrong: retardation and its profound loneliness and isolation.”

Yeah Write has introduced me not only to some of the best friends I’ve made in blogging, but also to some of the best writers. Women like Michelle Longo at The Journey, whose post “Happy Drunk,” about her alcoholic father, is one of the best I’ve read in a year of blogging challenges. Women like Christie O. Tate of Outlaw Mama, who blows me away with near-daily posts of a sustained quality she manages by sheer talent and dedication, all while raising two kids and working part-time as an attorney. Christie can write serious shit or humor with equal skill.

I can’t remember how I “met” women like Erin Margolin at The Road to my Writer Roots. I know I wanted to introduce myself to her at the Blissdom blogging conference, but I was insecure because she was a “big blogger.” I may have tweeted that at her and we became friends. Erin not only writes fiction and posts on her personal blog; she co-founded The Gay Dad Project to support kids whose parents come out, inspired by her own story of her dad coming out when she was in her teens.

I’ve been fortunate to have the support of so-called “Big Bloggers,” who have been so generous to me, someone who blogs at the molecular level. See, I’ve got a whopping 133 followers here at The Reedster Speaks. Jenny Lawson, aka The Bloggess? She gets millions of page views each month. She’s a bestselling author of the funniest book I read last year, and she’s been open about her struggles with mental illness, starting The Traveling Red Dress project to celebrate women who need to take a moment to wear a beautiful garment and shine their light back on themselves for once. I dedicated my post about being bipolar on Twitter “To Jenny, who gave me the courage to blog about being bipolar with humor” and she stopped by my blog, read, and commented. That’s class.

Liz Gumbinner, whose blog Mom 101 was chosen “Best All-Around Mom Blog” by Parents Magazine in 2011, was the keynote speaker at the Type-A Parent Conference in 2010, my first blogging conference. Liz is a big reason why I decided to toss my thoughts out onto the internet. She’s a straight-talking New Yorker who is unafraid of the words “liberal” and “feminist,” as well as a prominent advertising and marketing professional and mother of two girls. Sometimes she shares my posts and I squee. I adore her.

Katherine Stone had the misfortune to be featured in the Wall Street Journal hit piece, which made it look like she goes to blogging conferences so she can leave behind a world of reading US magazine and watching Kardashian marathons between drop-off and pick-up. In reality, via her nationally renowned blog Postpartum Progress, Katherine works tirelessly to support women with postpartum depression and has appeared numerous times on national television to speak on the topic. I count myself lucky to have attended a small session on blogging for causes that she led at the Type A Parent Conference.

I’ve been blown away by women like the late Susan Niebur of Toddler Planet, a mommy who also happened to be an astrophysicist and philanthropist and whose work to support women with metastatic breast cancer earned her the 2011 Bloganthropy Award – awarded at, you guessed it, a frivolous mommy business trip known as the Type A Parent Conference. Read her final post here, written as hospice arrived for palliative care, “How did we get here?

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So go ahead. Mock us. Make fun of our conferences. Call us mommy bloggers if you think that demeans our power. Whatever. I don’t fucking care.

We are women writing online.

We are the keepers of the stories of our time.

We are the voices of our families.

We are the voices of our communities.

We are – post by post – changing the world by the power of our words.

Posted in Hear Me Roar | 78 Comments

My Husband Performs “Fairy Houses” by Tracy Kane

9780970810458-FairyHousesBook

We recently purchased the adorable children’s book “Fairy Houses” by Tracy Kane. It teaches children about the wonder and beauty and magic of the natural world, a world in which fairies just might dwell in your backyard – waiting to splash in an acornful of water or slide down a slippery fern. It’s so fucking sweet, it makes you want to cry and cry and cry at your lost youth.

Well, I thought it was adorable. To Matt’s mind, it was best presented as a mockable performance piece. In a Southern accent.

What we learned in the making of the vlog below, which has the high quality production values you’ve come to expect from The Reedster Speaks, is that:

1.  I cannot stay in character even when my “role” is to shut up and film the damn video.

2.  Living with Akeyla is like living with a comedian who never breaks character. This is as amusing – and exhausting – as you might imagine. It also makes disciplining her nearly impossible.

3.  Astrid is sometimes so embarrassed by the rest of her family that she will leave the room and independently pursue productive projects. During the making of this video, she put on her headphones in the living room and, I kid you not, MADE A FUCKING VISION BOARD FOR THE SUMMER. She’s nine.

The Reedster Speaks presents ….. “Fairy Houses”

Starring  MATT as “Kristin”

and introducing … in a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it cameo … AKEYLA

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*** UPDATE *** There's been some chatter in the comments about the authenticity of Matt's accent -- DESPITE his training under Meryl Streep and her teachers. So I went to the source. "Matt," I says, "What was the inspiration for your accent in 'Fairy Houses?'"

The answer:  Herman Cain. Specifically, Herman Cain in the Bad Lip Reading video.

moonshine

Posted in Inappropriate Behavior, Marital Bliss | 21 Comments

I make a sports analogy and Matt backs away slowly.

kicker

Sometimes I actually make the girls healthy snacks and don’t just throw crap at them while they watch iCarly. So I was making smoothies last night WITH REAL FRUIT AND EVERYTHING in my Ninja Pulse Blender Blast Blend that I got for only $39 at Walmart on Black Friday And by “I”, I mean my sister-in-law, who only got smacked in the head by one or two electric griddles flying off the shelves next to the blenders while she retrieved it.

Me:  I love this Ninja blender so much. If I weren’t already married to you, I seriously would marry it. I know that’s harsh, but I’m just trying to express to you HOW MUCH I LOVE THIS FUCKING BLENDER. I mean, IT BLENDS EVERYTHING. IT’S EASY TO CLEAN. You know, if you ignore the whole razor-sharp-knife-like-blending-thingie in the middle.

Matt: Given your history, you really should ignore that.

Me: Way to stomp on my buzz. Anyway, it rocks. That’s all I’m saying.

Matt:  What else does it do?

Me:  What do you mean, what else does it do? It’s a blender. It blends.

Matt:  I mean, does it chop vegetables?

Me:  It’s not a food processor. It’s a freaking BLENDER. IT’S GOT ONE JOB, MATT. ONE JOB.

Matt (stares at me).

Me: It’s sports. I think from football maybe. “One job! He’s got one job!”

Matt (turns to leave kitchen).

Me (shouting at his back):  But I’m right, aren’t I? It’s football, right? RIGHT?

And …. scene.

Posted in Marital Bliss | 18 Comments