finslippy

All right, winter, SERIOUSLY. Enough already.

Henry looked up from his Legos the other day to announce, "We need some color around here."
"Agreed," I said.
We talked paint colors for a bit. He went back to playing. Then he looked up again. "I want Spring to get here now," he said.

Holy crap, kid. You and me both.

Would you look at this? This was during my morning walk with Charlie.

Those falling things? Those are wet heavy snowflakes the size of dinner plates. STOP IT.

UNACCEPTABLE, weather. Cut it out.

Charlie got wet. His paws were all muddy. He does not enjoy either of those things. Weather, you are being stupid.

On the bright side, our book is due in four days, so at least the slushy grayness is keeping me inside, where I belong. But come March 1st, I want to start seeing some signs of Spring approaching. Or I don't know what I'll do.

I trust parents of doctors, personally.

So in this Momversation episode I had some harsh words for Jenny McCarthy. Oop. Salty language alert! (the video seems to be set to play automatically, so I've placed it after this handy break...)

Back from Texas

So I celebrated the latter half of Winter Break: The Breakening (alternate title: The Sky is Gray, the Days Are Cold, and Life is Joyless and Yet Too Brief; in Germany: Tod Kommt Für Uns Alle) by getting the hell out of here and hightailing it to Texas for the Mom 2.0 Summit. Sorry, Scott and Henry. Enjoy the rest of your Winter Break! So long, suckers!

(Very smart to have a conference during the winter doldrums, when everyone is desperate for escape. Take note of this, Other Conference Organizers! Next year: BlogHer 2011 at the end of January, in the Bahamas. All panels will take place on the beach. The lunch buffet will feature giant urns of daiquiris and piña coladas. I am onto something.)

It’s always hard to sum up a conference when my own experience is so colored by my wacky internal landscape that it’s kind of hard to say exactly what went on. (Did I really take my top off during my panel, like everyone says I did? Seems hard to believe. But when everything went black and I woke up wearing only a hotel blanket, who can say what happened in the interim?) (That part is a joke.) (You know that. I know you know that.)

I can say for certain that the panels I attended were illuminating, that I was thrilled to spend quality time with some of my favorite Internet people, and had some amazing conversations with people I hadn’t met before. (Apologies for not calling these people out specifically, but you cannot know how terrified I am of forgetting someone and having that person wonder why I didn’t mention them, do I secretly hate them? Which is what I would do, because I’m like that.) (I am allergic to hurting people’s feelings, did I mention? Literally. I swell up.) (Not literally. Which, also, you know.)

What always gets in the way of me talking objectively about the kick-ass conference and all the amazing people is the fact that—how I do put this—I don’t seem to do well at these things. I mean, I get by. Do not pity me. But I find them emotionally overwhelming, and spend the whole time shaking like a rained-on Chihuahua. After the last BlogHer I attended (which, okay, was a few months after a miscarriage, when I was suffering from some kind of post-miscarriage postpartumness) I determined that I would never again attend a conference. But I was assured that Mom 2.0 was different—smaller, more intimate. And it was. It was lovely.

And yet. I spent most of the time hiding in my hotel room, and when I walked into one of those giant conference rooms I felt the floor spinning. When I spoke to other attendees, all I wanted to say was, “Don’t you want to run away?” And they would say, “I’m having the best time!” and I would be all, “Me, too!” And then I’d sit in my hotel room and shake.

This puzzles me, because I’m typically a sociable person. I like people! Well, mostly. I mean, let’s not get crazy. It’s not like I shy away from attention, you guys. I enjoy the stage. I am comfortable with a microphone. (Anyone who saw my panel will know I had a hard time giving up the mic.) I had nothing but great interactions, and I wouldn’t trade those moments for anything. I don't want to avoid conferences, because then I'd miss out on discovering all those great people. What I could do without is the inability to sleep and the low-grade nausea and the, well, the trembling and sweating. What the hell, me?

I would love to know if any of you have similar experiences. Maybe I’m simply a delicate flower. Maybe I’m reacting to the wall-to-wall carpeting. That’s it: it’s dust mites! Next time I will attend in a plastic bubble.

We are having a rough time.

Wow, is winter break a terrible idea! Way to come up with terrible ideas, school system! Let’s take the bleakest, coldest, most hopeless week of the year, when it’s almost impossible to motivate yourself to do anything unless you absolutely have to, and give the kids some time off so they can sit inside with their parents and everyone has endless, unscheduled hours in which to argue! Let’s make sure it’s right when Alice and Eden’s book is due!

Okay, it’s possible the school system never factored my book-writing into their schedule. I mean, I guess. I do suspect they’re secretly out to get me, but whatever.

Note to future self: PLAN A VACATION FOR WINTER BREAK. Do not stay home! Do not forget about winter break, because it’s such an insane idea that you seem to scrub it from your memory each year, and when you finally do remember don’t decide to “just hang out;” do not envision hot cocoa and quiet playtime and cozy hours completing jigsaw puzzles! For lo, it shall not happen; the child will be in a midwinter funk and will only want to watch television and lie on the ground with his pants off (and then complain that he’s too cold); you will all be depressed and gritchy, and will fight and nitpick and whine. You will don the same pilly gray sweater and torn sagging jeans that it feels like you’ve been wearing since the day you were born, and you will look for a quiet corner in which to retreat, but the only place is your arctic bedroom, which is full of detritus and other reminders that you need to clean and launder and etc., but you don’t have the time for those things, so instead you will burrow under some blankets and write a blog post and snivel.

Next year, a vacation. Even if we have to sell a couple of kidneys to get it.

Of course in reality we are grateful for our health and blah blah blah

I was talking with my friend Abby, who had just suffered through several sick-kid-induced sleepless nights, and was losing her mind a little bit.

Abby: I need a break. I need a good reason to lie down for a few days.
Me: I know. When Henry was sick last week and sneezed in my face, part of me got a little excited. Because then I'd be really sick, and I'd have to take to my bed.
Abby: I totally get that, except I dream about getting in an accident.
Me: Excuse me?
Abby: Not a bad one, of course. Just getting banged up enough that I have to stay in the hospital for a couple of days. For observation. Of course the kids wouldn't be in the car, just me. I don't want anyone else getting hurt.
Me: This is sad, Abby. Why couldn't you just get sick?
Abby: It wouldn't work. I have three kids, they'd still need me all the time. Then I'd be sick and in charge.
Me: No, but in my fantasies I'd be so sick that Scott would have to take over. I'd be too feverish to be left alone.
Abby: Nope. They'd still get at me. Even if Nate were home. There's always one who'll sneak away and demand something from me.
Me: That's a good point.
Abby: That's the advantage of the only child. You get to just have the flu. I need a car accident.
Me: Oh dear.
Abby: I NEED IT.