I want to play bridge and drink bloody marys*

I want to watch Oprah.

I do not want to work.

I want to be head of the PTA.

I want to organize fundraisers.

I want my husband to make the money while I tidy up the house.

I want to keep my engagement ring.

I want to get a new tattoo.

I want to listen to Mary J. Blige AND Laurie Berkner.

I want you to stop assuming I’m a bad feminist or simply a suburban soccer mom, even if I am.

I want to stop defending my choices to other women.

I want to play bridge and drink bloody marys.

*my new favorite phrase, coined by Sarah. We’re going to have to learn bridge…

Royal Housekeeping

I love it when a plan comes together.

As many of you might have guessed, some amazing things came out of the BlogHer conference. And it wasn’t all booze-fueled. Ok, most of it was…but not ALL of it.

Something that I am OVER THE MOON excited about is the Blogher Relief Network. This is where we, as a blogging community, get to give back. More details to come.

Sarah makes her Blogher debut today. Sports (and fitness too) whooooo hooo!

And Troll Baby has launched what might be one of the most powerful, raw and real blogs out there called Motherless. Check it out, and bring a hanky.

When your past is your future, and your future is your past

It’s easy to be overcome by the cocobutter sunscreen fumes and sticky humidity. The crunchy chlorine hair and always wet bathingsuit. But it is hard to explain the overwhelming hug and emotional tug of family when you see your daughter mirrored 51 years earlier.

Nana or Hala?

I can pretty much assure you they both make me crazier and happier than any daughter or mother on earth.

 

Baby girl looking at baby nana

The Politics of Breeding

I had the balls to breed. Ok, I had the ovaries and he had the balls, but you know what I’m saying here. And apparently, that makes me less of a woman.

Stop and laugh about that for a second.

I made the choice to have children. And I’ve noticed lately, some beyootchs (Delta Flight 1781, seat 32B, some women at BlogHer who shall remain linkless, and that one woman I won’t even name because I’m sooooo over it and that little so-called “war�) aren’t too happy that I’ve procreated. I think. Or they aren’t too happy I left the workforce. Or they aren’t too happy I bring those children out in public and on a plane. Or maybe they are not too happy I actually write about my experiences as a mother. I’m not sure. I’m still fuzzy on why they are so cranky.

Maybe it’s not just the procreation that gets them. It’s the fact that I own my breeder status. I own it, I flaunt it, and dammit…I’ve got something to say. Sure I’m also a wife, a daughter, a writer, a reporter, a wannabe chef, a poet, a gardener, a sex goddess, and a sports nut. But my main focus, at this moment, is mother. I reserve the right to change that at any given time. But during this phase of my womanly life, I’m all mom.

My clothing says I nurse proudly. My blog says I cosleep proudly. My minivan just screams “Mooommmmmmmmy� as it motors through suburbia to preschool. You might as well stick me in khaki capri’s and a white t-shirt, label me “generic suburban mom, version 2.0,� and send me off to the PTA meeting.

That is who I was to the bitch who sat in front of my children and I as we travel across the country today. The one who moaned and groaned and when my daughter let out one of maybe two brief cries said “Oh Jesus, kids. Here we go!� She gave us dirty looks, she even gasped and sighed as my son giggled loudly. But her really nasty glares were directed at me. She looked at me like I was a poor excuse for a woman. She looked at me like it was my fault Hillary wasn’t President yet. She looked at me like I let her down.

I wanted to scream “…BUT I USED TO BE A REPORTER! I AM NOT JUST A…�

Why do I feel a need to make sure she knows I’m more than a Mom? Why do I look at these women and feel the urge to give them my resume? Will it somehow subside my Caucasian, stay-at-home, privileged guilt?

 

Kelly and I noted that the BlogHer Mommyblogging session was filled with Version 2.0. Our ankle tattoos varied here and there, but the majority of us were white, stay-at-home, Mommybloggers, bitching about how we felt belittled by the term “Mommyblogger.�

Gag.

I used that session to try and get everyone to look ahead. To take this media darling role we’ve been given and shape it.

Maybe we’re still getting all the hate because we’re doing a whole lot of talking and complaining (me included) and not enough action.

Politicians do a lot of socializing. They gab and handshake and hug and talk about the kind of world they envision for their children.

Sounds a lot like Mommybloggers. Maybe that’s why they hate us so much.

So far, my kids have learned colors, letters, numbers and the usual from me. They have also learned that Mommy likes her lattes and her computer. She likes her computer friends so much that we get to go on vacation to see them all. I can’t think of many single moms who can do that. I can’t think of many lower income moms who can do that.

My kids need to learn more. They need to learn that Mommy can raise her kids and make a difference. She can work to see that next years Mommyblogging session isn’t so white. So suburban. She can use her role in today’s hottest new trend to get some laptops for some under priviledged Moms. Maybe internet service. Maybe a trip to BlogHer ’07. And who knows what else. But I’ve got the 24-hour hamster wheel going in my head since I returned from San Jose.

Instead of telling all the haters to stop reading us. Or to recognize what a hard job we have, and how important it is that we raise the next generation. I plan on earning their respect. I plan on working my ass off so the next time I get on a plane with my kids, the woman in front of us smiles at me with respect. Gratitude, even.

 

We can’t change our soccer mom image over night. Hell, most of us don’t even come close to fitting that image. And if nothing else, we can show our children what it really means to be a community.

I’ve got the balls. Do you?

…because it was so good, it deserves two posts

Let’s be honest here, ok. Just between friends.

If you are thinking of coming to BlogHer ’07 in Chicago, leave the kids at home.

Trust me. I speak from experience. Hotel-stair running, nursing during session, taking care of snotty nosed fever-boy, trying to get buzzed but not drunk, checking my cell for urgent babysitting in the room call, can’t really concentrate on all the beautiful people there experience.

I had to bring the kiddos to BlogHer ’06. Peanut needs the boob and there is no way around it. I wasn’t going to wean just to go alone. I wasn’t going to force a cup or bottle when clearly, it isn’t wanted. So here we are. Babe on hip, eyes rolling.

Nose picking at BlogHer

And then there are my partners in crime. Sarah and the Kaiser did much drinking.

He has a special place in his heart

Let’s not forget Mocha Momma. Oh that Mocha. She helped me…um…well, …think Caddyshack, Baby Ruths, and some poorly left-out WW candy. That’s all I’m saying. And yes. She licked. She licked EVERYONE.

Mocha strikes again

Here we have the Pastie Queen Her Bad Mother humping Jennster

Catherine and Jennster

And we can’t forget IzzyMom, Christina, and Sarah (again)-

Mommybloggers session

The glorious and buff Fizzle caught some slightly blurry but beautiful shots of the Princess and I.

She just seems to OWN the shirt

It was like meeting people you have known all your life, yet never hugged. Yes, those hugs felt that good. I kept touching all the wonderful women and men I’ve grown to know and adore, making sure they were real. Really standing next to me. Laughing with me. Laughing at me.

I love my children. But next year I will be completely selfish and leave them behind. I didn’t get enough time with these people I already miss. That I need more hugs from. More humps from. More licks from. And even more dirty looks from.