My husband is home.  He spent this weekend on open ocean deep sea fishing with some friends at work and their family.  The quid pro quo of BlogHer.  We each got a trip - we don’t travel, funds low and the like, and we both really needed the treats.

He just got home, this morning, unexpectedly, as the waters were too choppy to stay out.  Suddenly, the axis shifted, and all was right in my world again.

We’re always together other than work.  He truly is my best friend, and we’re both a bit antisocial and homebodies.

But this weekend, I had to do the “man” stuff.  I had to take out the trash (his job.)  Fine, I handled that.  But he’s also the bug man.  I had to clear ant manifestations in 4 rooms.  I swear we were under attack, I think they’re looking for water.  And then a gnarly looking spider that tried to get Joseph while he was peeing.  Chunky, black, with a yellow stripe down it’s back.  And I played WoW, without him next to me.  All done like I knew what I was doing.  But then I realized - all done minus joy.  Minus my best friend.

My best friend’s home now, and I feel normal again.

I was catching up on my feeds, and came upon an entry by Dooce.  In it, she introduces a news story about a feral child.  A feral child due to neglect…  awful, awful, basic neglect.  7 years old and couldn’t speak.  Roach bites.  Only could suck a bottle.  Diapers, just stacked around.  Mattress on the floor.  Covered in insects, mites, lice, and the like.

I read the whole article:  The Girl in the Window.  Then I saw the videos/pictures/interviews.

It has effected me.  Deeply.  I hurt for this little girl so very much.  I had to go to the restroom at work because I was crying.  A child not knowing that a hug is comfort?  A 7 year old, without a medical issue (other than neglect) who sucks from a bottle and doesn’t know how to chew food?  One who doesn’t cry or flinch in pain for IV’s?

How much pain has this child had?

There’s nothing I can do.  The child has adoptive parents now who are doing everything possible for her.  But I hurt.  So, I had to write about it.

By the way, the mother criminal gave up her parental rights as a plea to avoid the 20 year sentence.  And she thinks she’s been wronged.

I know that I complain that I’m a bad mother.  And yes - I definitely get lazy about certain things.  I look at stories such as this, and think, thank God my bar is set so high.

I realize that the situation is done.  I realize there’s nothing I can do.  I know all that can be done IS being done.  But I can’t help, as a mother, to picture my own child in that situation.  And that’s when I cried.

First off, thank you so much for your - er - nippular recommendations…  Much appreciated, and I’m going to try some of the bras mentioned.  No bandaids though - sensitive skin and I react to adhesive.

There’s a joke in there somewhere.

On to another topic altogether.  I have PMS.  This is no surprise to anyone that knows me.  However, I’m finding that over time (years, really) it’s getting really bad.  Now I have the standard crazy behavior, and it’s to the point where I have to make sure I’m not making Life Choices during that time, ’cause it really could just be the hormones.  But I’m also finding there to be a lot of anxiety during that point in time as well.  Morbid thoughts - plannings of funerals - etc.  Not like suicidal or homicidal, more like, what if?  What would I do if?  It usually only happens in the quiet.  I’m only in the quiet in my car to and from work, and then in bed going to sleep, so that’s when the thoughts occur.

Like I said, it only happens during PMS time.  What is this?  I’m assuming just a strong PMS?  And is there any way to “fix” it without hormones of any kind?  I cannot take the pill, or the ring, or anything like that, because the side effect is migraines.  What do I do?

The world seems to be crashing down around our ears.  Kristen says it so much better than I.  Go take a look.

I’m in.  Are you?

This is for my out of town friends who use the site to keep up with me, Poe, and the boys.

Yes, I felt the earthquake - on the phone ordering lunch on hold at the time.  Dude comes back on the line, “And what would you like?”  Me, “You guys okay over there?”  “Oh yes, it was just a particularly long order.”  Me, “I kind of meant the earth moving, but ok.”

All are well, accounted for, and just some broken stuff at home.  The boys would like it to happen again, but alas, that was out of PaPa’s jurisdiction.

And for posterity’s sake: 5.4 (originally thought to be 5.8) - Kid’s first quake, which they thought was the effing bomb.

OK.  So - men?  You can leave now.

Just us ladies?

I’ve got a little problem and I need help from you.  You see, I have this, well, nipple issue in my clothes.  As in the highbeams are ALWAYS on.

Today in the restroom, my shirt was folded up while I fastened my pants and I caught a glimpse in the mirror.  Mind you I’m wearing a tank top under my shirt.  Plus bra.  Which means, while folded up over itself, I had 6 layers over them, and still Major Highbeams.

WHAT DO I DO?  I just manage to cross my arms over my chest most of the time.  Is there a special kind of bra?  Is that what a padded bra is for?  I had never bought a padded bra before, as I have B+ cups, so I’ve never gone for more so to speak.

HELP ME.  This is embarrassing.  I mean - after kids, I don’t need an actual ARROW pointing south, you know?

‘m feeling a bit blocked in writing lately.  So, here’s the final roundup of my thoughts and doings and pictures from BlogHer…  And then I think I’m done and moving on.

~

On Saturday, I finally got to meet Dooce.  I almost didn’t.  I walked by her, all the way to my tower elevator.  I stopped, turned around, told myself I was an idiot, and went up to her.  I introduced myself.  We chatted about how long we’d been writing, and what it had been like prior to the tools we have today.  And I thanked her.  You see, whether you like her writing or not, the woman has blogged her way through harsh stuff.  She kept writing through it.  And so I thanked her, because sometimes I wanted to stop writing because the simple fact was it was painful.  So painful.  She encouraged me to never stop writing.  As it took all my guts to go up to her, I didn’t take a picture.  But I’m so glad to have met her.

~

I was expecting cliquish stuff at the conference.  I’m of the impression that any time you gather THAT many women together, some of whom know each other already, you’re going to have some groups form.  And I was right.  But - I didn’t feel it was cliquish in the high school cheerleaders vs. nerds kind of way.  It was more like I didn’t want to interrupt these groups of women who obviously hadn’t seen each other in a year and were catching up.  Being able to see someone from the other end of the country (or beyond) that you haven’t seen in ages is something special, and I didn’t want to interrupt that.

~

I got some varied reactions to me, and to my site.  Some people are scared of my chick on the site.  Some say it’s nothing like me and I need to put up a photo.  Others say that it matches me perfectly.  It was funny to me - the variety of conflicting responses I received.

~

I feel like I really hit it off with Schmutzie.  I was actually a little nervous.  I knew I wanted to meet her, as we are twitter pals and such.  However, we are opposed in many things I think…  Theologically, politically, etc.  So I was afraid of the conversations we might have (with her and quite a few other people.)  But, well, no.  We had fun!  I loved hanging out with her!  I’m so glad I finally saw her and introduced myself.  And I hope she loves me back.  Otherwise, hi awkward.

~

I went to a bar with a few ladies…  And there was a pink man.  Who?  Here, go look.

~

Mrs. Flinger is fun.  Period.

~

One night, I called my husband for the nightly check in.  I think this was Saturday night.

Poe:  (in a really sincere sweet voice.)  Oh my God.  I miss you so much.  The house just isn’t the same without you in it.  (change in tone) OH.  Hold on.  Pizza’s here.

~

There are lots of other stories, and impressions, and such, but I think I’m done.  I’m moving on.  However - will I go again?  Should the finances come through like this year, yes, absolutely.  And if I’m willing to go again - I think that tells you something about the experience.

My Flicker Set

There are also other photos wandering around the net of me.  I don’t have the energy to see how flickr rules work on copyrights - so rather than get myself in trouble accidentally - you’ll just have to click through.

Here

Here

Here

Here

Here

Here

Here

If I met you, and I didn’t mention you here?  It’s not that I don’t love you.  It’s more that my brain has had issues with processing.  I have been through every.single.card. in my possession, and I think I hit up everyone with a comment.

There.  Done.

As I mentioned in my disclaimer, I smoke. Which means I go outside, yes?  Homeless people have been asking me for money.  And when I say that, I mean every.single.time.  3-4 a time.  I don’t have it to give to them - so I would simply smile, say I’m sorry I don’t have any, and watch them move on.  Some more pissed at me than others.  One even trapped me in a corner, but I didn’t give up my space, so he eventually moved on.

I decided early on I was a magnet.  My BlogHer08 badge screamed tourist, I suppose (not to mention I was hanging out around a hotel.)

Schmutzie came out with me.  I don’t think she believed me, as we were on the other side of the hotel this time, and she hadn’t had any problems with it at all.  Until 3-4 came up to us while she was with me.

Told you - I’m magnet.

I’m home with the kids today - took an extra day off so I wouldn’t have to go right to work.  Kids are outside.  I see my oldest…  Riding his bike, with no training wheels.  Well.

I’m a failure as a mother.

My oldest can ride a two-wheeler.  Nobody thought that I would like to know.  This is what I miss coming home at 7pm every night.

If you wanna see a picture of me - go here.  Schmutzie took it.