Category: All About ME

Way, way, way back in August, I made the trek up to San Francisco with Tonya of Create–Celebrate-Explore…

* Bee Tee Dub. If you haven’t discovered this fantastic lady’s blog yet, YOU ARE MISSING OUT. Go there. Now. I can wait…*

Sooooo as I was saying… we made the trek up the peninsula to attend Bloggy Boot Camp in San Francisco, a one-day conference  filled with great speakers, opportunities to hug people who you once only adored from afar, and lots and lots of interesting women.

It was awesome!

The event was kicked off with hilarious vlogging queen Jessica Bern discussing some of the finer points of filming yourself for the Internet. The main takeaways were keep it short, keep it interesting, and for goodness sake, put down that snack and brush your hair.

Angry Julie tackled the topic of privacy online and blogging, giving us ten things to consider when it comes to your personal privacy. Jennifer James, founder of Mom Bloggers Club, offered ten tips for getting maximum exposure using social media.

Momfluential spoke about “selling your site without selling your soul”. We were introduced to OpenSky by its Chief Social Marketing Officer, Ted Rubin. Then, the witty and talented Kristy Campbell encouraged all of us to find our voice and just keep writing!

The most challenging session for me was led by Linsey Krolik- twin mom, lawyer, runner, yogi, and founder of From Left to Write Book Club. Her first task for us was to write down a simple goal for our blog– something concrete and refined, a reachable goal, a clear objective.

Well, I was stumped! As she continued talking about the legal and business aspects of blogging, I just couldn’t get past that first point of defining who I am/who I want to be as a blogger.

In fact, the overarching theme of the day was staying true to your brand and who you are. Over two months later, I still have no clue.

When I started blogging in 2007, it was just a frivolous hobby and a way to avoid completely off-rampping. I had just quit my job in online marketing, so blogging seemed like a natural extension of my career.

My blog was a “secret” place where I was content to vent about my in-laws, poke fun at the sillier things in my life, take pictures of food I made, and gush about my son.

Then we moved to London and blogging took on a whole new aspect. I started a new blog, American Mom in London, and it bore my *real* name. I talked about life abroad as both a way to vent and update friends and family. Right away, people beyond my playgroup and my parents were reading.

I actually started getting emails from Americans either planning to move to the UK or already living there, looking for advice or simply to commiserate. I started getting involved in the PR community, researching posts, and attracting more and more readers.

I suppose it was the clever and straight-forward name of my blog (thank you very much), but in any case, my mission was clear. I was an American mom making my way through the UK and helping others do the same.

That is until we moved back to the States six months later… except this time to Silicon Valley, where it’s been more difficult to figure out what it is exactly that sets me apart from all the other oversharey mommy bloggers.

WHO AM I? What am I good at? What am I really interested in? What makes me and my blog SPECIAL?

I feel like I’m in junior high all over again, except this time with an even bigger and more public identity crisis. And it’s a little too late to pretend that I don’t care. I’m in and I’m in deep.

I still have no clue what the business plan is for my blog. Or even why anyone still visits me after my seemingly endless series of blogging hiatuses (hiati?).

For those of you who still do, THANK YOU! Sincerely. Thank you for continuing to love and support me.

*********************************

Another thing Bloggy Boot Camp inspired me rethink was the design of my blog.

I kept the color scheme, but made plenty of room for ads (hint! hint!) and created a… er  umm… formalized my PR and media policies. I reorganized my categories and did away with some of the clutter.

So after nearly ten weeks of pestering my husband to help me with the HTML, I rolled out my new look yesterday morning.

I figure, if my mission can’t be clean and simple, at least my layout can be.

Let me know what you think!

*********************************

For far more insightful and informative recaps from Bloggy Boot Camp San Francisco, visit BonggaMom, Nanny Goats in Panties, The Programmer’s Wife, GaGa Sisterhood, Cookies & Clogs, or My 5 Monkeys… just to name a few.

It was only a matter of time before LIFE caught up with me.

Yesterday started off like any other day. I woke up refreshed, bright-eyed, and ready to face the day cursing the sun after another long night of “trying to get everything accomplished” (and failing miserably).

Mike had already left for work, so there wasn’t time for a proper breakfast between getting the kids fed, cleaned, and dressed.  I managed to cram a handful of cereal and a few strawberries in my mouth before Lou started screaming to be left down from her highchair. I made myself a cup of tea, but I don’t recall even taking a sip.

A quicky shower and hair in a bun, I was out the door to run errands before it was time to feed the kids again.

Our first stop for the day was the library, which is where I started to feel the first waves of exhaustion but that’s not unusual these days…

Mike’s been back in “crunch mode” since… I didn’t even remember when. That’s six days a week of being gone before the kids get up and home after they’re supposed to be in bed. On the seventh day, he’s exhausted from working nonstop and I’m out of my mind frazzled from not having any help all week.

Day after day of cooking, cleaning, quibbling, screaming, crying, clinging, changing… rinse and repeat with no more than a 10 minute nap/break in between… but only if we’re in the car… and the radio is off… and the sun and moon are in the right coordinates.

Bedtime is a joke since that’s the ONLY time my children see their dad, so of course, they want to be AWAKE and LOUD and SCREAMY… but who can blame them? They miss seeing him too.

No where in that combination is “time for Mommy to sit down to a meal or sleep or be ALONE…” So, in other words, “irritable” barely scratches the surface of how I’ve been feeling. Unfortunately, it’s probably the nicest impression my children will have of me for years to come.

Yet, life goes on. There are extended trips to see family, weddings to attend, first birthday parties to plan, another school year ahead…

Yesterday (like every other day), I planned to just muscle through and get stuff done as best I could.

I took Scout to claim his Summer Reading Club prize from the librarian. Feeling lightheaded, I had to sit down with Lou while he picked out more books for the week.  I faintly recall standing in the checkout line, because just as it was our turn the scariest, most helpless moment of my adult life happened.

My vision narrowed and I completely blacked out. Gripping tighter to Lou with one hand, I held on to the counter with the other until I regained my composure.  Then the panic set in. I didn’t know whether I needed to poop or throw up.  I didn’t know if I was hot or cold. I didn’t know how to ask for help.

Surrounded by strangers, do I just hand my kids over to another random mom while I run to the bathroom? Do I  just start screaming, “Help, Help, Help” or “Call an ambulance”… but then what?

My head was still spinning as I walked out the double doors. My son, for whom every moment is the Spanish Inquisition, trailed behind asking, “Why are we leaving the library, Mommy? Where are we going next? Why do the doors open like that? What does AU-TO-MA-TI-CALLY mean? WHY? WHY? WHY?”

“Please stop talking,” I pleaded, “I think need to throw up. Can you just help me get to the car?”

And with that he took my hand, looked both ways, and led me across the street. Let me repeat. My FOUR YEAR OLD had to help me across the street.

Once in the car, I called Mike and told him to come home right away. I managed to drive home, which I would NOT have attempted had we not been so close via surface streets and midday traffic been so sparse. Scout entertained Lou until Mike arrived and I laid down for the rest of the day.

The next afternoon, I took the kids with me to see my doctor. A father to a four- and a two-year old, he listened all too sympathetically as I detailed everything that I’ve been doing and feeling the last year and a half of my life.

In fact, he was appalled at how much Mike has been working, in light of our total lack of support from family or friends… and the man’s been through med school and residency. GAH!

We talk about how toxic life in Silicon Valley can be, uber-competitive, expensive, and isolating. Yet it’s the person at home, alone, trying to keep the family together that pays the price. My head nearly fell off from nodding in agreement.

He ordered some tests to rule out some of the bigger, scarier stuff, but his main advice…

Get help or move far, far away from Silicon Valley. You cannot and should not do this alone. You need help!

Moving far, far away from Silicon Valley isn’t in the cards for us. At least, not today.

However, as soon as I find the right non-smoking, non-animal-sacrificing person to trust with the well-being of my children,  I will be that rare breed of stay-at-home-mom with a cleaning service and a nanny. Doctor’s orders.

Prepare to hate me, Internet.

Cassie Boorn put out the request and Jessica Gottlieb, Maggie, and Sarah responded. Turns out I had a few things to say to 20-something me, too.

After all, now that I’ve been 29-for-the-second-time for all of FIVE days, I feel as if I now have the proper authority to lecture younger me. So here goes:

Hey Doll,

You’re gorgeous. I know that’s hard for you to believe since you’re not used to hearing it, but occasionally people will tell you that. You owe it to yourself to believe them.

That boy you’re with on your 20th birthday. He’s a great guy, but he’s not the one. Stop trying so hard to make it “work”. Just enjoy it. You’re having fun and that’s all it’s needs to be.

Then, when it’s over. Let it be over. Toss that Dashboard Confessional CD and  go out with that waiter/trust-fund baby… or that co-worker… or that history professor (not yours, of course. The one you meet after you graduate. He is cute, no?) But not the pilot. He’s married.

When the time is right, you’ll find the love of your life. Actually he’ll find you, so relax.

The two of you will make gorgeous children and they will be just as you feared. Smart like him and relentless like you. You will want to sell them to gypsies were they not also kind and generous like him and thoughtful and witty like you.

Don’t worry so much about disappointing your parents.  You already have and that’s okay. You weren’t meant to be a doctor and you didn’t fall in love with one. Just accept it and they will too. It’s YOUR life. Go live it.

Let the fact that your favorite thing about your major is writing the thesis (and that you seriously offered to write your roommate’s thesis, too) be a clue that your passion just may be writing. So, pursue that career in advertising. You’re going to love it and will be good at it too, but be fearless and  follow your passion as well. Write… and start that blog! Not later. Now.

And while we’re on the topic, be honest with yourself and don’t be afraid to look stupid. You ARE stupid, but you’re here to learn. Pay attention. Ask questions. Laugh at your mistakes.

You don’t need the bigger house. In fact, you’ve been happiest in the smaller house and sharing the one car. You also like spending your days at home with your kids. So when your friends brag about the stuff they bought and the thing they just renovated, go ahead and feel smug in knowing something that they don’t

You hate beer and like scotch and pinotage. So put down that Miller Lite. You’re getting no joy from it and it’s making me gag to watch you try to drink it.

Get plenty of sleep. Your biggest faux pas will be directly related to being tired. Also, you’re setting a bad example to your future children, who will follow in your night owl tendencies. This will not bode well for you.

And Lord Almighty, do NOT let your mom convince you to include the line “Formal Attire Requested” on your wedding invitations. It will seem like no big deal at the time, just a tiny concession in the battle known as “planning your monster wedding”.

That line with cause more grief and vexation then you can ever imagine. It will only confuse and upset your in-laws and their friends, and lead to the complete unraveling of your father’s entire side of the family.

Your dear cousin, Patricia, will tell you it’s not your fault. All of that bitterness, resentment, jealousy, and anger was there all along, but, secretly, you will know it is your fault. None if it would have ever happened if you just had left your mom at home the day you picked out invitations.

On second thought, you really should just have a destination wedding like your best friend, Beth. Now that was awesome!

Also, Mike is planning a surprise party for your 23rd birthday. So stop listening to your mom freak out about flower arrangements or seating charts, dry those tears, and just let the man take you to dinner. Thirty of your dearest and closest friends are getting tired of waiting for you to arrive.

So sorry to ruin the surprise, but you really should know you’re being a party pooper.

love,

Older, wiser you.

P.S. I’ll be back in 10 years to chastise present you.

Do you have something to say to your 20-something self? Email it to cassieboorn {at} gmail {dot} com and she’ll post it on her blog. Fabulous idea, by that way!

I just know you’ve all been holding your breath. Right? Right?! Well, the movie premier party was FANTASTIC!

Thanks for asking.

The whole day was fantastic.  Mr. D took Scout to a crew screening of the move earlier in the day, giving me plenty of time to clean the house and get everything ready for the sitter.  She arrived on time (love her already) to find the kids eating dinner at the table and their jammies laid out on their dressers.

After years of scrambling to get stubborn little people ready and out the door, it took Mr. D and I all of five minutes to get ourselves ready. It’s astounding what you can accomplish when you’re are NOT being hounded by thoughts of bottles and snacks and extra pants…

We had the sitter snap a few pics, kissed the kids goodnight, and were out the door, as giddy as two eleven-year-old girls at a Justin Bieber concert.

FREEEEEEEDOM!

It was Sunday night, so heading up to San Francisco for the party was a breeze as well…. even if we were coming all the way from the Valley. I forget sometimes how NOT really all that close we are to San Francisco. It’s a pity, even though I don’t particularly enjoy driving around the city or parking once I get there.

We were one of the first people to arrive at the Metreon in downtown. We walk in and who is the first person we see….

None other than JEFFREY KATZENBERG!

Yes, the Jeffrey Katzenberg. Standing right there. There was no avoiding him. There was no looking for someone more interesting to talk to at the party.

There is no one more interesting. Nevermind, that at that particular moment, there was also no one else there besides his “people” and the wait staff…

Mr. D tried to just nod and veer me away, but I walked right up to him and introduced myself. I smiled. I told him how nice it was to meet him. Mr. D commented on how much our son LOVED the movie, more small talk ensured, and then we had NOTHING. ELSE. TO. SAY.

I mean it’s Jeffrey Katzenberg, who by the way is the nicest, most down-to-Earth person ever, but still hinges on the mythological…

This wasn’t just a celebrity associated with the film… Eddie Murphy or Mike Meyers, either of which I could have just gushed all over and been all fangirl-ish about. No. This is certainly not just any old celebrity. This was meeting my husband’s boss… at a work party… where clearly, my function is to be The Wife and let my husband take the lead  in conversations. Except he was at a loss for words. We both were.

I thanked Jeffrey Katzenberg (because apparently I can only refer to him by his entire name…) for the party and excused myself. I headed straight for the bar and ordered a scotch tout de suite. Along the way, I chided Mr. D, “You didn’t have anything else to say to him? You had NOTHING else to say to Jeffrey Katzenberg. NOTHING.”

The rest of the party was grand. I met Mr. D’s coworkers and their partners and successfully made plenty of small talk with them. To several, I mentioned my sudden bout of socially ineptitude. The one where I suddenly become shy and withdrawn before one of the world’s most talented and innovative geniuses… Look, I’m still gushing.

They all confessed to having had the same problem. At least, I’m not alone.

At one point, Mr. D started telling people an interesting story (legend?) he’d read about Jeffrey Katzenberg long ago.  Something bizarre involving an plane… I’m not entirely sure. In any case, the book wasn’t very forthcoming with the details.  Mr. D speculated aloud that he would have liked to know what Jeffrey Katzenberg must have said at that moment.

Ummm, I don’t know. MAYBE YOU SHOULD HAVE ASKED HIM WHEN YOU HAD THE CHANCE?

Of course, the next morning I finally remembered Jeffrey Katzenberg’s interview with Colbert a few weeks ago and recalled, how, if ever given the chance, I really wanted to ask him about that. Yeah, FAIL.

At least, I’ll be prepared next time we meet. I just hope I don’t go the other direction and bombard him with a million questions, ask him to autograph my forearm, and blind him with the flash of the camera, which  I now carry with me at all times.

So, which celebrity or genius would you love to meet? Or have you met? What did you say to them? What do you wish you could ask them?

********************************************

Okay. Now the part you’ve been waiting for… Which shoes? Which shoes? Which shoes?

For everyone who chose brown, please don’t be disheartened. I chose turquoise simply because they’re silk.

There will be  many opportunities for the brown shoes, but how many chances do I get to wear SILK shoes? Not many, I’m afraid. I felt like Marie Antoinette stuffing my face with cake and chimichangas.

Yes, chimichangas. Go see Shrek Forever After this weekend. You’ll understand the the tie-in… I can say no more.

Standing in the shoe department of Nordstroms…

Hubby: Your shoes shouldn’t cost more than my computer.

Me: Which one? (because yes, we both have more than one…)

Hubby: All of them… combined.

Me: Maybe it’s time we look into getting you a nicer computer.