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2,922 sunsets later and we still have not forgotten. May we never forget.

“If we learn nothing else from this tragedy, we learn that life is short and there is no time for hate.”

Sandy Dahl, wife of Flight 93 pilot Jason Dahl

after BlogHer ‘09, my blogging conference pledge

Although I think of myself as a veteran blogger I have to confess that I have never attended any blogging conference ever. Yes, I made plans to attend BlogHer ‘06, ‘07 and ‘08. I sulked just a little when I had to suck it up over the realization that with hubs out of work, my work hours drastically reduced, bad timing and no corporate sponsors beating down the Big Top door that I was not going to BlogHer 09 either. Because I wasn’t always in the know in social network land, I missed out on opportunities like BlissDom as well.  Still I lurked and reached out to those lucky ones attending living vicariously through their live tweets and blogs of the fun and lessons learned as well as their post-mortem thoughts and observations on the good, inspiring, funny, bad and OMG-that-is-fugly that is blogging conferences.

Having said all that can I just say that based on the tweeting and blogging during and after BlogHer 09 makes me genuinely afraid to attend any blogging conference out there. Of course I must disclose that I made good on my promise that I would attend a blogging conference soon and FINALLY, hopefully, meet face to face  bloggers who I have become acquainted with over the years and those whom I admire and am a huge fan of. I bought my ticket to SITScation 09 and booked my room and then this weekend I took a gulp, dug into my personal savings and bought me a BlogHer ‘10 ticket.

Yup! I’m going to not one but two blog conferences in the next year and at this moment I have to confess I am a little worried and a little scared. What the hell did I sign up for, I wonder? Are these conferences only about the crazy-assed,  claustrophobia-inducing parties where one must be willing to knock over anyone and anything just to get a bag of swag? Is it all about acquiring so much stuff (whether you have an actual use for it or not) that you have no clue how you’re going to get it home? Is it all about corporate sponsorships and how much crap you can sweet talk, bribe them to throw your way with the promise that you will only say nice things about them on your blog? Is it all really about a sense of entitlement that I deserve all of this and more offered at this blogging conference because I am a blogger dammit?

Is this how it is really?

One might think so searching through blogs and other media today that are discussing BlogHer 09.

Regardless, I’m still going, albeit with a little trepidation. Yes, I know these blogging conferences are what I choose to make out of them and I do agree with that generalization. Having said that I am making a statement of how I hope to behave at SITScation ‘09 and BlogHer 10. From my perspective the key to making these blogging conferences a positive, community-building and learning experience can be found in everything that I learned in kindergarten. With a nod of respect to Robert Fulghum here is my pledge  to you all.

All I really need to know about blogging conferences I learned in Kindergarten:

All I really need to know, how to act, what to do and how to be at a blogging conference I learned in kindergarten. Wisdom, it seems, can not be found at the top of the mountain of the blogging community, but there is in the sand pile at school.

These are the things I believe I should apply when I go.

• share everything
• play fair
• don’t hit (elbow) people
• put things back where you found them
• clean up your own mess
• don’t take things that aren’t yours
• say you’re sorry when you hurt someone
• wash your hands before you eat
• flush
• warm cookies and cold milk are good for you
• live a balanced life- learn some, and think some and draw and paint and sing and dance and play and work every day some
• take a nap every afternoon
• when you go out watch out for traffic, hold hands and stick together
• be aware of wonder. remember the little seed in the styrofoam cup? the roots go down and the plant goes up and no one really knows how or why. but we are all like that.
• goldfish and hamsters and white mice and even the little seed in the styrofoam cup- they all die. so do we.
• and then remember the Dick and Jane books and the first word you learned- the biggest word of all- LOOK

Everything you need to know about how to behave at a blogging conference is in there somewhere. The Golden Rule and love and basic sanitation. Ecology and politics and equality and sane living.

Take any one of those items and extrapolate it into blogger terms and apply it to your your life, your work, government or your world and it holds true and clear and firm. Think about what a better blogging conference and community it would be if we all, the entire blogging community, had cookies and milk in ther afternoon and then lay down with our blanket for a nap. Or if all blogger attendees had as a basic policy to always put things back where they found them and to clean up their own mess.

And it is still true, no matter how long you have been blogging or how many blogging conferences you may have attended or how many corporate sponsors beg to give you a free ride sponsorship to these blogging conferences, it is best to hold hands and stick together.

[Source: "ALL I REALLY NEED TO KNOW I LEARNED IN KINDERGARTEN" by Robert Fulghum.  See his web site at http://www.robertfulghum.com/ ]

If you see me at SITScation ‘09 or BlogHer 10 or, if I am lucky, any other future blogging conferences that I might be so fortunate to attend, please say hello to me and by all means, feel free to remind me of my pledge here.

not your sainted mother

Ahhhh Mother’s Day! Filled with hearts and flowers and expressions of love and admiration for all the awesome, amazing, wonderful mothers everywhere. It is a well-deserved day of recognition for mothers everywhere as well as a great way to stimulate the economy with cards, candy, flowers, perfume, jewelry, brunch at a fine restaurant…All mothers love, love, love these things even if they protest to the contrary. Still all the consumer worship on Mother’s Day pales to the handmade frame fashioned from old puzzle pieces or the tiny handprints of your little munchkin in blue paint on red construction paper or the delightfully, lovely macaroni necklace that you wear proudly to church on Sunday morning because it is the perfect accessory for you favorite dress.

I have to confess that I am a little ambivalent about Mother’s Day, the way it has become an institution in of itself to worship and praise the awesomeness of Mom. Some of my conflicted feelings stem from my own complicated and toxic relationship with my own Mom. I love her. I love her so much. But I just can’t be a part of her life nor allow her to be a part of mine. Logically I understand the poison comes from her untreated bipolar disorder. Emotionally I just can’t get past the damage it has done to me and I dare not risk the same damage on my own family. So if I knew where she was and wanted to send her a Mother’s Day card I would be struggling to find just the right one in the Hallmark-y type store. All the warm fuzzy cards just don’t seem to express truthfully how I feel. We both know any of them would be a big fat lie artfully rendered in a heart-warming poem with soft focus art. Mom is/was not a saint but she is my mother and yes, I do love her.

My ambivalence continues in that I know I am not a sainted, perfect mom as well. Compared to the moms described in those cards I, well, I present as a bad mother. At least I am in good company.  Seriously, I can’t wait for her book to arrive to the Big Top! While I know that I don’t fit her description of a “good” mother:

“A Good Mother remembers to serve fruit at breakfast, is always cheerful and never yells, manages not to project her own neuroses and inadequacies onto her children, is an active and beloved community volunteer. She remembers to make playdates, her children’s clothes fit, she does art projects with them and enjoys all their games. And she is never too tired for sex.”

I am confident that I am the kind of mother “who loves her kids and does her level best not to damage them in any permanent way. A good mother doesn’t let herself be overcome by guilt when she screws up.” Oh how I have screwed up… a lot. Don’t believe me? Just ask my kids. Thankfully, they forgive me…right, kids?…Just like I try to forgive myself as well.

Happy Mother’s Day to Moms everywhere…to the sainted ones, to the “Good” ones, to the good ones like me, to Ms Waldman, to Holly Austa (my darling daughter #1)…

and to my own Mom…wherever you may be. I love you.

Your daughter,

Laura

I now know…

I’m still here.  Life, love, work and other mysteries just seem to be getting in the way of my blogging.  But one mystery for me has been solved. I now know what I want to be when I grow up.

I promise to catch y’all up on Hazel’s dailies, what Bob is doing to me, my random thoughts and life under the Big Top as soon as possible.

living with my consequences

Way back when I started out on this juggling journey, I really did think that I would be a good mom. I really did picture that I would raise amazing, awesome, honest, high-achieving, and every other positive adjective type children. There would be no misbehaving shenanigans of any kind…and my kids would be great too. But reality sets in pretty fast. That kid wouldn’t sleep when I wanted her to. She would insist on eating when I wanted to eat. She went on and at times tested the boundaries of what the word “no” actually meant. I still believe today that she and the other circus clowns don’t quite understand the meaning. It was then that I realized that this parenting thing is a learn as you go kind of endeavor. I’m a quick study that way.

Mistakes are made. Wishes and dreams are cast aside because they don’t quite fit. Battles are fought. A lesser person would probably throw in the towel. This parenting gig sucks and is too hard they would likely complain. But a parent doesn’t give up nor do they give in. But they do deal with and live with consequences and so do the fruits of their labor. One can only hope that we all will learn and grow by living with those consequences.

laughing at life’s realities

I like nonsense, it wakes up the brain cells. Fantasy is a necessary ingredient in living, It’s a way of looking at life through the wrong end of a telescope. Which is what I do, And that enables you to laugh at life’s realities.
~Dr. Seuss

confronting me, myself and I

feeling…

exhausted.
sleepless.
uninspired.
a little lost.
a little overwhelmed.
a lot stressed.
anxious.
achy.
hesitant.
indecisive.
overwhelmingly sad.
like crying.
angry.
like I’ll never smile again.
like screaming.
depressed.

That hateful, horrible bitch, Depression has moved back in. Actually she had taken up residence in me months ago. The timing was right. So many events lately basically opened the front door wide for her so she could drag all her crap in and take up residence. But I chose to ignore her. Then I tried to entertain her a little. Of course that made her settle in all the more taking up some of my closet space…like I have the closet space to spare. She just would not leave.

But like a bad roommate she began to wear out her welcome. Even though my mind couldn’t seem to gather the energy to kick the hateful bitch out, my body seems to managed the strength to try, or at least shake me awake into action. It’s going to be hard to get her out of here. I mean she has rearranged some furniture and even started picking out drapes…dark, ugly drapes. But I’m going to do it. I can’t do it alone though. Some might suggest I’m weak because of that fact. I might even consider that to be true. But I am so tired of feeling this way. I need to smile more just like the total stranger told me a few weeks ago when I was Christmas shopping.

I should smile more.

I need to smile more.

I will smile more.

Pack up your things, bitch. You’re not welcome here any longer.

sincerely ironic

This morning I noticed this little insert on an empty pack of Marlboros. My first thought was of course Philip Morris wants to support you when you decide to quit smoking…sure they do!

It’s good to know

When you are having a particularly witchy day and when even puppies and kittens can not seem to soften your horrible bitchiness isn’t it good to know that someone loves you in spite of who you are that day.

…and hopefully they will still love you even if you write poorly constructed, run-on sentences!

sorting and searching

While many are panicking as they pull their money out of banks and the stock market, my darling daughter #4, Jodie, is ready to put her little stash in the bank. Yes-sirree! The faith of one 12 year old is going to restore everyone’s confidence and end this financial clusterfuck for us all, gosh darn it all to heck! Jodie earned a little over $60 tap dancing her little heart out on a street corner at the Manteca Pumpkin Fair and rather than attempt to blow it all in one place, she decided that perhaps she should SAVE it.

Is this really my child?

Seriously, I was glad to see that she was listening to my words of wisdom rather than my years and years of poor financial action or perhaps she was making this decision based on the pile of bad money management in my personal history. Either way, I couldn’t help but be proud of her decision. She does have savings that we established when she was still a little carpet crawler but it is safely and quietly growing in a credit union account in the Bay Area. One of these days, I tell myself, I will move it closer to home but there is always something else to juggle. In the meantime, Jodie wants to open up her own personal savings account at a bank just down the street. In her perky, golden-blonde goodness she imagines her stopping there after school to add even more money to it when she gets it so she can save, save, save and watch her money grow, grow, grow.

See? I told you she will restore America’s financial confidence.

After a little discussion, I agree this is a good idea for the money she earned and suggest that we go together to the bank and open up her own personal savings account. All I need to do is get her social security card and off we can go.

Easy-peasy.

Not so easy-peasy.

I have the three youngest children’s social security cards filed safely away. The only problem is I can’t exactly remember where they are filed safely away. The obvious, logical place would be my filing cabinet where I have filed “important” paperwork like past income tax forms, my continuing education certificates, the kids’ birth certificates, Daniel’s adoption papers and medical records, insurance policies and other stuff like that. But I am not necessarily a logical, obvious kind of person. Still I am stubbornly certain that those cards HAVE to be in there so there I was this past week, sorting through my files piece by piece trying to find those cards.

During my process I come across one important document that I kind of forgot about…but actually I haven’t. A four-page Traffic Collision Report # 01-054-0734 of the incident that occurred February 23, 2001 at 1615 hours on Camden Avenue just 51.6 feet north of Merrill Loop. Party #1 had no driver’s license number, was 4 ft 5 in tall and was perceived (incorrectly) to be 80 pounds. The report also states that she was 9 years old which was also incorrect. She was 8. She was traveling east on Camden Avenue (it runs north to south) at an undetermined speed. Party #2 did have a driver’s license, was a foot and a half taller and twice the recorded weight of party #1. He was also more than 50 years older. He was traveling north on Camden at an estimated 35 mph. the report goes on for three more pages with detailed illustrations of the point of impact and the 95 feet of tire skid marks up to the point of impact on Camden Avenue. The three witnesses’ accounts completely support the evidence in the street: the skid marks, the stopped flatbed truck with the one ton trench digger secured on the flatbed, the crumpled, battered and bloodied body of the 80 pound 50 pound, 4 ft 5 in tall, 8 year old body of my daughter Zoë and the banged up razor scooter lying curbside.

The sorting and searching of my files stop as I slowly re-read and re-live every detail of that horrible, horrible afternoon. I feel my breath catching and my heart pounding as I scan each and every line of Officer # 3495’s carefully printed and typed report. More than 8 years, 12 inches and approximately 60 pounds later I still haven’t forgotten. I will never forget. How could I possibly forget? I just have it filed away very neatly in my file cabinet…and in my heart and in my mind.

I never did find the social security cards. I stopped searching. After my little afternoon of recollection, my heart just wasn’t in it, I guess. I know they are somewhere, safely filed away and they will turn up right around the time I receive the replacement cards I requested.