My Mom Is Changing The World (and you are too)

I’m feeling very empowered right now, so either run or duck.

I realize I get this way a lot…but something hit me today on the way home from BlogHer DC where I spent a day with hundreds of women (and a few men) plotting our world domination. (what? that’s totally what we do when we get together…you didn’t know that?)

I keep thinking about my mom*.

I know that sounds strange, she’s not a blogger or anything. But as I sat on my panel saying the things I also said at other conferences to audiences…my whole spiel about how womens’ power and influence now have the candidates courting us, not us going after them…how we’re dictating the news cycle…and how our work is actually making a difference….yada yada yada…

It hit me that my MOM is my one, Florida-living, Nana-microcosm of exactly what I mean.

Reading blogs (my Mom is a hesitant** reader of Queen of Spain, an avid reader of BlogHer, and she’s now a fangirl of MOMocrats -she thinks you momo’s are ‘sassy’ and ‘I just LOVE them’ about 50 times per phone conversation) my Mom has gained her own empowerment in this election and it pushed her out the door and to her local Obama HQ.

My Mom.

My Mom who always voted but that was about it. My Mom would tell my Dad and Uncle to stop arguing about politics and come eat. My Mom who now calls ME to yell about something she reads or sees.

Erin, uuuuuuugh I just couldn’t stand the look Palin got on her face when she answered that question…and she didn’t even ANSWER IT! ugh!

My Mom who went from volunteering to do a few phone calls for Obama, hesistant…to now attending volunteer BBQ’s and knocking on over 150 doors.

My. MOM.

She now knows, as do I…that she’s making a difference in Florida. When the latest poll came out, I very seriously said ‘It’s ALL Nancy! If Obama wins Florida, it’s because of Nanc!’

But that’s what’s happening everywhere. Using the tools of the web, people like MY MOM..the NONblogger, NONpolitico are getting fired up and doing what they can to make sure their voice is heard.

My Mom has been heard in Florida.

The woman sitting in the second to last row who submitted a question during a panel at BlogHer ’07, had THAT question, HER question, answered by Senator Obama on

A group of women blogging on this whacky world wide web can command the attention of each campaign, of the main stream media, and sit our sassy asses on CNN to tell THEM our expert opinion.

I always knew one person could make a difference. I always believed that if people wanted change, it really could happen. I always preached about the potential power we had in this space and at this time…But I honestly had never seen it in action until now.

Right now.

It’s amazing and I am empowered.

I hope you are too.

*..and apologies to my mom for not asking her first if I could blog this…but it’s too late to call Florida. Sorry Mom. But I hope it helps that you are totally a rockstar for getting out there and making a difference.

**…if you were my mom you’d probably be a hesitant reader of me too, ’cause lord only knows what I’ll say next.

Maybe My Mom Will Help Too

Looks like I’m not entirely crazy. My favorite part of the article is how they reference “party elders” as though there is also a secret knock and hazing ritual.

I nominate my Mom to help. She’ll whip their butts into unity so fast it will make your head spin.

In fact, I nominate just about all the Moms I know. I mean really, we handle needy, self-centered, spoiled, ego-maniacs all day. We force them to share. We force them to play nice. We put them in time-outs for negative attacks.

Can you imagine Obama and Clinton in a room stomping their feet saying “but it’s MY nomination! MINE MINE MINE?”

Now sweetie, I know you have the Superdelegates, but Barack did get the people’s vote.

And yes honey, I know you won Iowa, but Hillary took Michigan and Florida. I know we told you they wouldn’t count, but Daddy changed his mind. Sometimes life isn’t fair.

So long as they get their act together, because I really don’t want to be saying…

I’m sorry honey, but you were too busy fighting with your sister, and that mean old McCain came and took your Presidency. Maybe next time you’ll learn to work as a team.

Of Cabbages And (pre)Cancer Cells

I write this with cabbage caressing my tits.

The stank of what I normally associate with my grandfather’s cooking, my mother’s horrible diet soup, and St. Patrick’s Day is wrapped, snuggly, around my chest.

This cabbage is my only relief. I would hump this cabbage if it were a person, that is how much I adore it’s leafy goodness.

So why do I have veggies on my boobies??

We’re weaning.

I’m not happy. The Princess really isn’t thrilled. But Mommy needs to have her neck cut open in a few weeks and at almost 2-years-old, it seems silly to put it off.

My son thinks the doctors will be beheading me and then reattaching my head to my neck. He is concerned I will “talk to the rest of the body” while my head is off.

In reality, my thyroid will be dying. Alison once offered a funeral and I believe I may take her up on that nice gesture. The Chief of Head and Neck Surgery over at UCLA will have the honor of navigating my neck. His job is to make sure all the bad stuff comes out and I can still deliver a newscast like a pro when all is said and done. He took care of Wayne Newton’s pipes, and what’s good enough for Wayne is good enough for me. Danke shen you very much.
I get an all insurance paid stay at the lovely UCLA Medical Center which may only be about 35 miles from my home, but will take loved ones at least an hour to travel. The Queen Mother if flying in and will make sure my house doesn’t turn into Lord of the Flies.

Adding to my severe engorgement are migraines and sinus issues from hell due to 85mph winds-in Southern FREAKING California. The headaches are the good part. I have a large patio umbrella in the bottom of my pool and the table was only saved by it’s varnish.

How does one go about getting an umbrella out of the deep end while swaddled in cabbage leaves??? 

So please forgive my blogging respite. Once the head and tits are under control, I’m sure I’ll be writing all about my anxiety over dying on the operating table and if the Kaiser will then (and only then) let the children have a dog.

Let’s not forget the drama that is weaning a daughter. My son cried. My daughter is trying to manipulate me.

Stay Tuned.

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