Juggling Life

BitchHer 2008: The Inaugural Bash

 

Date: July 18, 1008

Place: Blog This Mom!'s  gorgeous house

Time: 2ish

Agenda: Fun!

Roll Call:

There was a logo and swag (determined after considered deliberation to be pronounced swag NOT schwag).

 

Did BlogHer include personal lubricant in their Swag Bags? Or personalized mix CDs? I didn't think so.

There were breakout meetings to discuss important issues pertinent to blogging.

 

Hmmmm, what important information is Aaryn imparting to these little bitches? I hope she's not explaining how to use the personal lubricant. Knowing Aaryn . . .!

I know we had a no posting pictures in swimsuits policy, but I'm assuming that doesn't apply to those that look totally HAWT in their swimsuits AND have posted almost naked family photos on Derfwad Manor.

This session was on how to keep your cool when someone Twitters unkind things about you.

The decor was to die for. Heavenly, even!

The entertainment was first class.

Of course there was food.

Exhibit A on why you do not want to f*&^ with a blogger:

 

Umm, does that say BithHer 2008? I'm pretty sure Trish ordered it say BitchHer2008. What do you mean you won't fix it because she should have opened the taped closed box to confirm it was correct before she left? Even though she had a long conversation with the clerk when she ordered it in which she confirmed yes, she did indeed want it to say BitchHer, you're not going to fix it OR give a discount. Well then . . . 

 

If you're in the neighborhood of the French Bakery Cafe in Carlsbad, you might want to drop in and let them know what you think of their customer service.

We were able to live with the error by telling ourselves that "Bith" stood for "Bitches in the House." But still.

Important networking was done over lunch. I believe ad revenues were being discussed at this particular meeting. Or it could have been cake they were discussing. I really can't remember; it was such a swirl of activity.

            There was even a representative from the movie biz!

Some people were just all about the shoes! I don't where she gets it from!

Other people were bringing down the house . . .

This guy wasn't intimidated by all the estrogen--he jumped right in!

Lest you think it was all fun and games, some very serious discussions took place. We reviewed the directive from a Doctor on the Oprah show that all of us women should be spending a minimum of 30 minutes 3 times a week on pleasure of a solitary nature (no, not reading or blogging!). This would be in addition to whatever activities of a couples nature you might want to pursue. Is everyone rewriting their daily to do lists yet? Grocery shopping, laundry, cook dinner, give kids baths  . . . We did discover that if you're pressed for time you can achieve orgasm through the consumption of certain baked goods. So if you're pressed for time . . .

Also, we were thinking BitchHer might need to go SoCal, not just San Diego. How about it you L.A. bloggers (and anyone else that might want to make the trip)? We were thinking maybe an overnight in Laguna or Dana Point sometime in October. Thoughts?

How is it possible that I didn't even know these women until Bossy had this crazy idea to do a road trip and bring bloggers together and now I can't get enough of these bitches?!

Linky Love:

Blog This Mom!, Little Dragon Fruit, Thematically Fickle, San Diego Momma, katydidnot, This is Trish's Blog, Mel, A Dramatic Mommy, Choosing My Own.

In Which Social Butterfly and I Have 50 First Dates

I used to belong to a cult. Suz at Random Thoughts of a Busy Bee still belongs to the cult. Her posts have been making me think back on my time with the cult. Were we Moonies? Scientologists? No; we were part of the cult of Tournament Softball. Our sect was All-Stars; I believe she's in the more stringent Travel Ball sect.

It was our daughter that facilitated our departure--we were happy there. We had our peeps, we had our summer planned, we were drinking the kool-aid every weekend. She however, was done; she wanted to be a cheerleader. Which she is, but not before we tried to persuade her to be a volleyball player. It was a valiant effort, but no.

 

The Notorious All-Star Softball Cult. They will take your money and your free time. And you will like it!

Today's Flashback Friday is about an incident that happened in SB's last All-Star season; she was about 10+1/2. Old enough to be home alone for a short while, so when Mr. Fix-it was held up at work while Grown-up Girl and I were out shopping for bedding at a mall about 15 miles away from home, I told the mom that we carpooled with to drop her at home and let her know her Dad would be there soon. So that's what Carpool Mom did.

GuG and I are perusing the comforters at JCPenney when my cell phone rings.

SB: Mom, where are you?

Me: The mall. GuG and I are looking for a new comforter. Dad will be home any minute.

SB: Okay

Still perusing. Cell phone rings.

SB: Mom, where are you?

Me: ? I just told you, at the mall. Dad will be home soon.

SB: Okay.

Perusing. Ring.

SB: Mom, where are you?

Me: I just told you. What's going on? Are you fooling around?

SB: I don't know. I just don't know what's going on. I don't know who's here. I don't know anything. I'm scared.

No longer perusing. Walking rapidly toward exit. Give phone to GuG to talk to SB while I use GuG's phone to call OMomK (my bff, SB's other mother) to see if she can head over to stay with SB until one of us gets there. She's on her way. Call Carpool Mom to ask if her daughter knows if anything happened to SB at practice. Indeed. There was a collision between SB and a girl several inches taller than her during a drill. SB's chin hit taller girls shoulder and both girls went down.

As an aside, Carpool Mom's daughter complained about SB once she was out of the car. "Geez, mom, she was so annoying. She kept saying "I don't know how to play this game. Everyone was laughing at her." CM says to her daughter, "Maybe she was goofing around, pretending she had amnesia because she hit her head."

Or, maybe she had amnesia because she hit her head?!

OMomK stays with her while I drive down the freeway at 110 mph. We go to urgent care, but they send us to Children's Hospital. From the time I pick SB up at about 5:00 to the time she begins to retain memory at about 3:00 a.m. our conversations go like this. They happen at 3 minute intervals:

SB: Where am I?

Me: You are in the car/at urgent care/in the E.R./waiting for a CAT scan/ you hit your head on E's shoulder in practice and you have amnesia.

SB: Oh.

Would you be surprised to find that after about 5 hours I begin to giggle hysterically when she asks, "Where am I?"

Then there's the point where the CAT scan results are back and the neurologist diagnoses a Contrecoup, closed head injury with no internal bleeding (thank goodness, since the coach gave her Advil for her headache after the collision). She'll be out of commission for a week. I say, "So she won't be playing in Big Bear this weekend." She begins to sob (Big Bear is big fun). I pat her hand and say, "Don't worry honey, you're not going to remember this conversation in five minutes." I'm not sure the neurologist and I shared the same since of humor.

Her only memories of that day are of breakfast. Everything else is gone. It's been 3 years and she doesn't seem to have any ill effects from the concussion. The League instituted the Social Butterfly Player Collision Protocol, so no one gives Advil to hurt players or laughs at them when they say they don't know how to do a drill after being knocked to the ground after being hit on the head. We went to Big Bear to cheer the other players.

   Those long legs are now bare in a cheer uniform--no more softball tan!

              

                           Looks like she was throwing a strike!

The New Sheriff In Town or, More Accurately, Visiting the Town with the Tough Sheriff

This is a post about how things are going with my BIL and nephew staying with us. But first you need to understand my parenting philosophy.

I  believe, very strongly, that children do best when they are raised in an environment that offers routine, stability, safety, and clear expectations. I think that some kids could be raised by wolves and turn out fine, but that most kids really need the aforementioned environment. I'm not saying there's not more than one way for that environment to look, I'm just saying I think it's what kids crave.

My nephew has never had that environment. My sister had Borderline Personality Disorder. Her mental illness was extreme. If you've ever had a parent or sibling with a mental illness, you know that everyone connected with them suffers. With my sister, everything was her way or the highway; she called all the shots in the parenting arena. My BIL really had no say. If you're baffled by how that could be it's because you've never had an up close experience with someone with BPD.

Danger Boy, and my nephew, Gangsta Boy, are eight days apart in age. The homes in which they were raised could not have been more diametrically opposed. My BIL and I are on the same page in that some reeducation of GB needs to take place. It just makes sense for me to take on the job as their life is in transition and this is my house.

What is my starting point? First off, he's genuinely a good kid. Beyond that? He's never, and I mean never, been asked to conform to societal  expectations.

One example? He doesn't eat unless it's processed crap. You  might assume that's hyperbole, but no. We've had a joking but really serious conversation about how Fruit Punch Monster Energy Drink does not qualify as a fruit. He's totally offended by anything not purchased from a store or fast food place. I am introducing the concept of regular meal times and real food. A couple of days ago I just said, "you can't leave the house until you eat." He ate a PB & J, an apple, and a glass of milk. WOOT!

He's failed at least two classes every year since elementary school and was slated to be retained in eighth grade, but then he moved. I let him choose which books from the summer reading list for the high school he was being forced to wanted to read. In addition to regular food he's now on a diet of 25 pages a day of "All Quiet on the Western Front."  Pop quizzes included. This should begin to develop the homework habit--necessary if you ever want to graduate from high school.

He's doing regular chores and recycling cans and bottles for walking around money. There's no more sleeping until three or four--he's up by noon. (If that doesn't sound like a big deal you haven't seen how some teenagers sleep). He realizes that two hour-long showers per day just ain't gonna happen.We're letting the sagging pants and XXL shirts slide for now. (Although suburban, White, wanna-be gangstas really rub me the wrong way).

So back to paragraph one and how it's going? Phenomenally well. Everybody is getting along great. Danger Boy's been gone at water polo camp since GB got here; I know two fifteen-year old boys wrestling around will change the climate a little. Still though, I'm very pleased (as is the previously somewhat skeptical Mr. Fix-it).

The best part. GB is proving my parenting theory. He actually seems pleased (behind the obligatory groaning) to abide by the new laws. He's happy, happier than I've ever seen him in his entire life (also not hyperbole). All of us, BIL, Mr. Fix-it, MVP, SB, and I, are very hopeful that right now is the beginning of a whole new life for GB. Wish us luck!

The Snark Heard 'Round The Blogosphere

No, not that snark! I thought I was onto a little something with this line from this post. I break out in bitch when exposed to clutter. Apparently this is a much-needed diagnosis for a true medical condition. Who knew?

Manager Mom introduced me to a really fun site by nominating that quote to appear there. So I got another place to waste my day and this cool button.

As for that other snark? I have been so impressed with the welcoming, inclusive atmosphere of the blogosphere. Maybe it's because I discovered Mrs. G. and Bossy right off the bat and that's where I got most of my readers and discovered most of the blogs I read. There may be nicer, more open and inclusive popular bloggers out there, but these two number 1 and 1 in my book. Apparently there is another neighborhood I don't (and won't) frequent.

I was feeling really sad about missing out on BlogHer, and I'm sure if I was going I'd have a great time, but it really disturbs me that one of the speakers at BlogHer would behave in a way that is so immature and so incredibly junior high.  I don't thing that addressing concerns you might have about intellectual property in an adult manner equates to "drinking the kumbaya koolaid." My blog and real life friend, Deb, at San Diego Momma has summarized the situation eloquently.

By the way, I don't read either of these blogs and I don't Twitter;this sure doesn't make we want to start.

San Diego Blog Bitches Hit The Town

Wednesday night six of the hottest, funniest, bloggingest beyotches in the Greater San Diego area got together for dinner and a drink drinks. How did it go? I don't think it's every night that P. F. Changs has people standing on their chairs. Or that the Embassy Suites bar has requests for invented drinks. Since this girl

posted the bitchingest recap ever, head over to her place for the roll-call and the low-down. Ignore my hideous photo and the fact that I forgot the cardinal rule of picture taking for those over 35--extend your neck!

A sampling of what we talked about (including, but not limited to):

Past-life regresssion

Biodiversity vineyards

The edibility of babies

Mrs. G

Penis piercings

Jeff and Jer

Catholic education

Raising children in San Diego

Bossy

Anaphylactic shock as a bonding tool.

Writing (this shocks you?)

Books

The immediate kinship a group of bloggers feel

Kate's new guy

   Yum, dessert!

The new bitch on the block puts on a show!

                     Is this a group of bitches that know how to shoe shop or what?!

                Do you think Bossy has any idea what she started?!

In Which I Am A Total Slug (Or Maybe A Sloth)

Let's start with a THANK YOU, I LOVE YOU, YOU'RE A GENIUS! shout out to the amazing and friendly Nap Warden--she is responsible for this great new layout. Click the button on my sidebar to see the possibilities that await you. And all for a price so reasonable you'll be rubbing your eyes in disbelief. I have to share with you her advice to me when I confessed that the character sketch might be totally half-the-size a wee bit more svelte than I actually am. "Here's the thing . . . I always make the figure of the sketch a hottie . . . If you can't be hot on your blog, where can you be? It's the easiest weight you'll ever lose." Truer words were never spoken. As you can see, I took her advice.

 

You may have heard we're having a little heat wave here in California. Now, I'm not going to complain too much. After all, no levees are overflowing and nothing is on fire yet. Besides, I've mentioned before that I'm a glass half-full kind of gal. So let me tell you what's great about having it be 104 degrees outside in June in my backyard and 95 in the house! (June? One week in late August maybe. Labor day, maybe. But JUNE?!)

 

First, a little backstory . . .

 

I'm really going to impress you with my optimistic spirit when I tell you that I don't have central a.c. There are several reasons for this. When we doubled the size of our house in a remodel we put in the ducting for the a.c., but never bought a new unit that could handle the increased square footage; it never seemed worth the $5,000 bucks until Friday good lord, I'd sell my future grandchildren for an air conditioner right now.

 

Also, I don't like air conditioning. I like windows thrown open to the world outside. I like light and airiness and huge windows with no window coverings so your house has that outdoors in the indoors feel. I like to hear birds chirping and children at play and I like not having to yell "Close the door! We can't afford to air condition the whole subdivision!"

 

Additionally, we live on the edge of a canyon. If you open the garage door, the garage/house door, and the back slider we get an awesome breeze. This is enough for us virtually year round. But not this weekend, NOT this weekend AT ALL!

 

Thank goodness, that Mr. Fix-it, in his infinite wisdom and possibly possessing heretofore unknown e.s.p., bought and installed a room air conditioner in our upstairs master suite (I know it sounds pretentious, but the contractor talked me into it and that's what it is). I was a little skeptical at first because it's hideously ugly practical looking and I was going for more of a serene look than Early 21st Century Large Appliance (the walls are a phenomenal sage color that doesn't show up on camera).

This picture doesn't really do the unit justice as it doesn't show the large tubing (maybe 7 inch diameter, 2 tubes) that is vented to the outside via a piece of plywood in the window. I'm not sure it really complements the $700 shades that I talked Mr. Fix-it into because they were so perfect with the room and really you can't touch a custom window covering for under $500.00, but whatevs.

 

Anywhoo . . . thank goodness for that unit. By running it on high for 48  hours I've managed to maintain my cave hermitage bedroom at a temperature range between 78 and 90 degrees this weekend.

 

Mr. Fix-it and MVP are mountain biking in Mammoth. Social Butterfly has moved into the swim club with a group of friends. Danger Boy is impervious to temperature changes as long as he has a PS3 controller in his hands.

 

And me? I will need to see the chiropractor this week. I don't think the human body is designed to spend 48 hours straight on a bed, with a fan pointed at their scantily-clad body (not as attractive as it sound), blogging. Okay, so I didn't just blog (although honestly that's mostly what I did--hello, Mrs. G's entire blog roll!). I read all of the New York Times, Salon.com, Slate.com, Queen Bees and Kingpin Dads (book review Thursday!), A Summer Affair (book review July 2), watched several episodes of Law and Order and Matt Lauer's Mistaken Identity, and wrote a somewhat ranting post about parenting which I'll probably never publish. I took the occasional cool bath and left the room for sustenance and liquid refreshment a handful of times.

 

The promised upside? Everyone in my family can feed and clothe themselves. They don't need me need me anymore (of course they still NEED me) which is why I didn't have to move anymore than minimally needed to sustain life. You know how you always want a day to do nothing? I just had two. I'm looking forward to a little activity. Plus, there's a rumor about a break in the high pressure system. I'm hanging my hat on that rumor!

How Enthusiastic Is Too Enthusiastic?!

Today I attended my third promotion/graduation ceremony in the last 3 days. There was my daughter's 8th grade promotion, my son's high school graduation, and the promotion ceremony for the 5th graders at the elementary school at which I've been doing my field practicum.

These events are important because they mark life passages (although according to Reluctant Blogger, the U.K. doesn't participate). They're also kind of boring, usually too long, sort of miserable if they're outside, and usually the ceremony itself is a bit anticlimactic. At least that's the way I feel about it. There are other people who disagree; or maybe they agree and are trying to liven things up. You know the people I'm talking about.

 

Yes, they're the people with air horns, the enormous balloon bouquets, and the lungpower to bring down the house.

Now I'm the first to admit that unless we've been drinking, my family is pretty much like John Corbett's family in Big, Fat, Greek Wedding. We just don't hoot, holler, and oopah! very much. At least not in public. And I'm totally in touch with the fact that it would be a pretty boring world if everyone behaved exactly the same.

Except . . . what happens when your family's desire to exuberantly celebrate your child's accomplishment means that another family doesn't even get to hear their child's name announced? Or when your big bouquet of Grad! balloons (hello, it's promotion not graduation) prevents another family from seeing their child cross the stage? Or when you shove in front of someone else to get your camera shot and prevent them from getting theirs?

There are some things I put down to cultural differences in celebratory style, and that I can understand. But I just don't get how it's not  plain rude to have your celebration prevent someone else's. I guess I think that The Golden Rule should apply across the board. Am I a party pooper or do I have a point?

Party Prep

 

If you ever decide to make a Mortarboard cake, order the licorice laces (for the tassel) online well in advance of your baking date. I did not and discovered at 10:30 p.m. the night before that licorice laces are not readily available anymore. Mr. Fix-it's genius idea? Spaghetti cooked in colored water. It worked.

Advice Worth Taking

  

                  Ouch! Sometimes it's a lot like that!

Dress Code for a New Generation and We Have a Winner

Mary Alice discussed teenage dress in her post about talking to your kids about sex last week. Suburban Correspondent (whose Anna, like my Social Butterfly can test the limits of motherly patience like no other) also addressed this issue in her column in MidCenturyModernMoms on Sunday. Never one to bypass an opportunity to weigh in on an important topic, here's how we're handling the battle at Casa Juggling Life.

Our number 1 rule, one we've been discussing since Social Butterfly wanted her first wedge heels and flare jeans at age 2, is this:

You can dress to look stylish, cute, pretty, funky, sporty or pretty much any other look. You may NEVER dress to look sexy.

Another guideline we use is that you can sort of push the envelope in one area if you tone down in every other area. Take, for example, shoes. SB has had a shoe fetish since before she could talk. Seriously, she had a meltdown at 10 months when I tried to put her in white tennies instead of the fuchsia ones that matched the multi-colored Gymboree leggings she was wearing. I figured the problem out when she crawled to the shoe basket, grabbed the fuchsia shoe and tried to pull off the white sneaker. But I digress. Lets just say that I fear I may have another Carrie Bradshaw on my hands.

Now that SB wears a women's size 8, the sky's the limit as far as shoe selection goes. She'd love for the sky to be the limit on heel height as well. And lord knows how (she didn't get it from me, the queen of the flats), but she can walk in anything. Which brings us to rule number 2:

If the heel is high, the dress must be that much more conservative.

Rule number 3 has been pretty easy to follow so far; unlike her mother, she didn't need a C cup in sixth grade.

Cleavage is for older girls. Ditto exposed belly. Whatever age you are, cleavage and bare bellies are for girls older than that age. God brought camisoles into style for a reason.

Rule number 4 is one of those "I know it when I see it rules."

If it makes your Dad or brothers uncomfortable, it's a no. (Should probably be amended to add, "If Danger Boy's friends like it it's a no).

Because everyone likes a pictorial, below is a picture from a party SB and her friends went to Saturday night. The theme was "Neon." Because I'm a helluva good sport, I spent two hours looking for white t-shirts, the right paint, and socks that I had a drawer full of in 1977.

Now, onto the "We Have a Winner" portion of our programming . . .

The winner of "Driving Sideways," chosen by random number generator is . . . #24, Heidi of Green Mountain Country Mama. Heidi's comment was:

I remember liking Leif for a very short period a long long time ago.
Since I didn't win over at Suzy's, I will try here.
I wanted to visit anyways!

Proving that sometimes it's the second time that's a charm. E-mail me your info and I'll send the book on its way.