Suburban Turmoil

Two for One

2009-07-09T13:35:00.002-05:00

Not long ago, I got an e-mail from a reader who knew I had used babysitters from Nashville's prestigious and incredibly expensive Vanderbilt University. She remembered her own Vandy sitters with great fondness.

They were lovely women with expensive cars, haircuts and purses, she wrote.

I had to laugh because that was my experience as well. When a Vanderbilt girl shows up to watch your children, you have to wonder... well... why on earth she's there. I mean, from the looks of things, they all had far more money than I did.

Thinking about all this, I remembered that I had been dying to write about my Vanderbilt Babysitting Experience all year long, but couldn't. Now though? The Vanderbilt girls are home for summer break! And so I spill the beans in this week's newspaper edition of Suburban Turmoil.

And today is a two-fer! Remember my Favorite Things post from last week? I did a beauty product edition for this week's Beauty Uncensored column in Her Nashville Magazine. Be sure and check it out- It contains all my very favorite (and inexpensive) ways to look fab.

Leave a comment on either post with your URL and I'll stop by your blog for a visit.

Blackballed

2009-07-07T14:39:00.004-05:00

I haven't written much about my spiritual life lately and the reason is that I'm struggling right now with something that's embarrassing to me, something I don't really like to talk about.

But this blog is an exercise in truth, and so many of you have hung around after I wrote about my faith earlier this year, sort of waiting to see what will happen next, that I feel like I owe it to you to tell you what's going on.

Okay.

The cringeworthy fact of the matter is...

I'm a little bit mad at God right now.

I just stopped and waited about 30 seconds after I wrote that sentence, to see if my computer would explode, or if I'd keel over dead, the victim of a surprise brain aneurysm. I grew up in a small southern town, you know, and I still haven't entirely escaped the notion that God might strike me down if I diss Him.

But really, my reason for being mad is so lame that I'm pretty sure you're going to decide that I am completely ridiculous and immature. Doesn't she realize that God has more important things to do than deal with her piddling hurt feelings? I can see you asking yourself as you read this post.

The answer is yes. I do. I totally do. I actually have trouble asking God for anything for myself, beyond letting me hang around this earth long enough to raise my children to adulthood. So many people need God's help much more than I do.

Still. While I often don't ask God directly for little things, I guess I do expect Him to provide me with what I need. And one of the major realizations I've had during the last five years or so that I've returned to regularly attending church is that in addition to the friends I have already, I need to be part of a Christian community. I need to have friends who understand what I'm going through spiritually, friends who can support me when I struggle and allow me to support them, too, friends who can debate Biblical issues and participate in Bible studies and help me stay focused on what's really important.

For the last five years, I have done just about everything I could think of to attract those friends. I've joined Christian playgroups, Bible studies, church committees, and prayer chains. I've hosted church parties and events at my house. I've gone on spiritual retreats. I've attempted to connect with local Christian women that I thought I had something in common with, both one-on-one and in groups.

And I swear, I've never experienced more rejection. Sometimes that rejection has come in small ways and sometimes in ways that were so blatant and hurtful, I still can't even believe it. I have gotten to know some amazing Christian women online and I've found a few more who live an hour or so away and can get together from time to time. But in terms of finding a viable community that I feel I fit into and that wants me around, I just keep striking out.

At first, I figured something was terribly wrong with me. Starting this blog and meeting tons of women helped me gain some perspective on that.

Because outside of the Christian stuff, I'm pretty darn good at making friends. I have a long list of people I can call up and get together with. When I invite them to do things, they accept. When I have parties, they show up. They even seem sort of... excited about it.

So what's the problem? All I've come up with is that I just don't fit inside the "Christian-approved friend" box. It doesn't really help matters that I'm known in town for a blog that has (inadvertently!) incurred the wrath of Martina McBride, "intactivists," and the Green Hills Moms Club, among others. Let's be honest, it probably wouldn't look good for business if word got out that I was part of your Sunshine Bible Club.

Unfortunately, I've already made the decision to be myself in front of the outside world, warts and all. I'm not trying to appear good before all of you, I'm trying to really, from-the-heart be good, and for me that is a process. Whether I'm feeling magnanimous and spiritual or judgmental and mean, I sort through it on this blog. Outside of the fact that it's not endearing me to a local community I've been attempting to court for years, I think it's the right thing to do.

But it's not always the easiest thing to do.

This post comes late in the day because it's been so difficult to write. It's hard to put my feelings out there for public scrutiny. I'm still trying to follow God and make good choices, but I'm tired of trying to find this elusive Christian community I've been seeking, and I don't really understand anymore what God has in mind here. I'm tired of opening myself up to more awkwardness and embarrassment. I'm tired of realizing that the only way to win the friends I've been seeking is to pretend to be someone other than me. I don't really think God wants that.

But what does He want? I mean, seriously, God. What am I supposed to do? After five years of failure, isn't this the time when a rational, thinking person stops and says, ENOUGH?

That said, please don't think I'm fishing for invitations to your Bible study or women's group, or that this post is directed at anyone in particular. I'm not and it isn't, and the thought that this post would be taken either way is mortifying.

I guess I'm just at a point where I don't really know what to do next. I'll never give up on my faith in God. I still try to go to church each week and I still get a lot out of that experience. But beyond that, I'm beginning to think that I'm pretty much on my own. And if there's anyone out there who's felt this way and gotten through it (or not, and feels just like I do), I'd love to know about it.

Just Dropping In

2009-07-05T14:09:00.006-05:00

My family's in town this weekend, so I only have a moment, but I did want to link to the posts I wrote over at Parents.com this week.

Here's a moment I've been waiting for for five years.

My daughter thinks I'm a.... Well, you have to read it to believe it.

And here's a little glimpse into my weekend.

Also, if you get a chance, don't forget to vote! I'll love you forever!

For Local Blog
in Nashville

Oh. And I just heard a rumor that voting ends MONDAY for Most Provocative Blog and the top five move on to a round that will be determined by a panel of judges, which, I just learned, includes me. But I'm doubting that I'll be allowed to vote for my own category, because that would be weird. Anyway, if you want to be my best friend, please take two seconds to find my blog in the "Most Provocative Blog" category and vote for it!

I would NEVER be so tacky as to ask for your vote if it weren't for the fact that I heard that if you vote for me, your fondest wish will come true. I haven't been able to confirm the truth of this statement, but I'm pretty sure it's the real deal. So give it a try!!

And don't forget about this giveaway! We're talking about a $50 Babies R Us gift card, y'all!

On Our Anniversary

2009-07-03T09:50:00.008-05:00

Seven years ago tomorrow, I married this sweet, funny, infuriating, intense, loyal, opinionated, creative, loving, bombastic, romantic, amazing man.

I consider it a miracle that today, despite the presence of two small children and two teenagers and two stressful careers, we are closer than we've ever been before. We are having more fun than we've ever had before.

My husband is my best friend, my most ardent supporter, my right hand man, my leader, my follower, and my one true love. All of my very best memories are with him. I couldn't have chosen a better husband, and I'm pretty sure I didn't. Because God has a history of surprising me like that, leading me into uncharted, undreamed-of territory over and over again.

And God's plans always end up being so much better and brighter than mine. My marriage is a prime example.

Around this time of year, I find myself looking back over the eight years I've known Hubs and marveling that every single year, our relationship grows better, stronger, and more exciting. I feel like the luckiest woman alive.

Thank you, Hubs, for being you. And for choosing me, despite all my many flaws.

I love you with all my heart.

Coincidentally, Her Nashville Magazine has an anniversary theme this month. I wrote more about our marriage in Scotland and our botched history of anniversary celebrations over there. Be sure and check it out, and please wish us luck that our anniversary plans this weekend actually work out! I'll tell you all about them next week.

*Also, if you'd like to enter to win a $50 gift card to Babies R Us, check out this post on my review blog.

The Bad Mommy Phenomenon

2009-07-02T09:09:00.002-05:00

You may have read by now that Bad Mommies are all the rage.

In fact, I've heard more than a few of you complain over the last couple of years that the Bad Mommy phenomenon is a growing problem on blogs, where some mothers seem to be competing over who is the most outrageous/neglectful/badly behaved.

I've never really thought of myself as a bad mom, although I have many Bad Mommy characteristics that would get some of you out there in a tizzy. To name a few...

I don't bathe my kids every day.

I still let my son drink warm milk from a bottle when he wants it.

I don't limit my kids' TV time, and won't unless they seem to need it. What's more, I think TV has given my daughter fabulous vocabulary, imagination and critical thinking skills.

There are more- I actually list them from time to time on this blog. I think it's perfectly normal to do some things my way, regardless of what all the experts (not to mention the commenters) are telling me to do.

And I don't think I'm a bad mommy, because for all the mothering mistakes I make, I love my children with a wild abandon. I hug and kiss and cuddle with them dozens of times every single day. I know what's going on in their world. I'm part of it. They will doubtless think back some day on some of the things I did wrong.

But they will never, ever doubt that I loved them with everything I had.

That's why even when I got handed my hat last week for apparently putting my son's life at risk by letting him run to the back of a small restaurant, I didn't sweat it.

In fact, I even wrote about it and the backlash for this week's newspaper edition of Suburban Turmoil. Some of you are in it, too! Check it out- and leave your comment there with your URL if you'd like me to stop by and check out your blog.

These are a Few of My Favorite Things

2009-07-01T06:57:00.013-05:00

Sometimes, I find a product or website that I want to tell you all about- The trouble is, there's no real place here to do that- so I decided to devote an entire post to a few of my favorite things.

I bought and paid for all these items myself and I'm not getting anything for writing about them. I've simply been wanting to share them with you, girlfriend to girlfriend (or um, platonic man friend). I'll add to this list throughout the day if I come up with more things I like. Think of it as my version of that Oprah episode, except that you don't get to take any of it home.

And how about this- You can make this post great by adding your favorite things to the comments. I know you have something you're loving right now that you want to share with the world. Tell us all about it!

Okay, let's get started...

dryel

I have heard raves about dryel "in-home dry cleaning" for years, but it wasn't until I bought a whole lot of dry-clean-only jersey shirts and dresses that I finally decided to try it.

I LOVE IT!

Dryel is incredibly easy to use, it has spot remover fluid that has gotten rid of everything I've used it on without leaving behind residue, and it cleans and freshens my clothes without leaving behind those horrid fabric pills and fading that come with machine washing. It takes a 30-minute run in the dryer AND THAT'S IT.

Love dryel. I wish the dry cleaning cloths were scented a little differently, but that's my only complaint.

Anne Taylor Loft

Speaking of dryel, for the last three years, I've had a love affair with summer dresses from Anne Taylor Loft. I swear I get compliments on my Anne Taylor Loft dresses every single time I wear them.

I'm pretty sure that the person who designs for Anne Taylor Loft is a woman who's had kids, because their clothing seems to hide all my problem areas and accentuate the good stuff. Add to that great prices (AT Loft has lots of sales and shopper discounts, and if you see something that's too pricy, keep an eye on the website for a few weeks, because you'll almost certainly find it on sale if you wait) and you've got a sure-thing shopping experience. The above dress, by the way, is on sale right now for $39.99 and I am coveting it. See how beautifully it hides that post-baby lower belly pooch? I mean, not that I have a pooch, but if I did... Um... Moving on.

Melissa & Doug

I am a HUGE fan of Melissa & Doug toys. We have never bought anything from Melissa & Doug that we didn't absolutely love, and it's the first section of Toys R Us I hit when it's birthday or Christmas time. I also order Melissa & Doug toys for my niece and nephew on every gift occasion, because I know they'll love them.

I would say my children play with at least one Melissa & Doug toy every single day (my daughter is playing with all of her Melissa & Doug wooden paper dolls as I write this). They are well made, well priced, incredibly educational, and I notice that my children continue playing with them as they grow. Also, when I received a faulty part for a Melissa & Doug product recently and called the company's customer service line, I was very impressed. They clearly have trained their staff to be personable and competent and I really appreciated it.

Asian Pears

This is one of my new favorite fruits. I tried my first Asian pear a couple of months ago and I've been obsessively eating them ever since. They are amazing- crisp, but not too crisp, sweet, filling and delicious.

I'm just sayin'...

Bigelow men's products

I have a huge problem with men's scents. The expensive department store colognes smell like women's perfume to me, and my husband's selection of drugstore cologne was even worse.

Then he found Bigelow.

Bigelow has four different scents for men and all of them are divine. My favorites are the Black and Red scents, but all of them are nice. They smell fresh and clean and manly and not the least bit perfumey. I'm absolutely addicted to the way my husband smells now, and I love how the bathroom smells after he's finished getting ready. Hubs likes it so much, he asked for and received as gifts the bath gel, cologne and body spray in all four scents!

And since Bigelow is available at Target and Bath and Body Works, it's very easy to stock up on.

Compassion International

In honor of some of my local blog friends visiting India recently with Compassion International, my family and I decided to sponsor a little girl there using ad money from this blog. So far, I've been extremely impressed with this charity. I have received all kinds of information about my sponsored child and we are encouraged to correspond with her, send her pictures and postcards and coloring pages, and get to know her as well as we can. I can even send my correspondence to her online, which certainly makes things easier.

I'm also impressed with the transparency of this organization. Financial information is easy to find on the site and I think it's telling that the charity pays for bloggers to visit its centers around the world and write about them.

This is a Christian organization, so if that's not your thing, you'll probably want to look for another place to donate, but I'm really enjoying the Compassion International experience and my daughter loves hearing details about the life of "our little girl in India."

My Bunn

We drink a lot of coffee in this house and our coffee makers have become something of a joke. A not-very-funny joke. For years, we had to buy a new one about every six months because they couldn't withstand the constant use of this family. We went through Mr. Coffees, Black & Deckers, and one very expensive DeLonghi before finally biting the bullet and shelling out the cash for a Bunn.

I have never been happier.

Our Bunn has held up in a way that no other coffee maker could. It brews a hot pot of coffee in three minutes and the coffee tastes amazing. It is definitely worth the extra cash, in my opinion. I can't think of a single flaw.

Online recipe sites

I have a few go-to sites when I'm looking for dinner time inspiration. My current favorite is myrecipes, which contains thousands of Southern Living recipes (I seriously don't think I've ever made a Southern Living recipe that wasn't amazing), as well as recipes from other magazines like Cooking Light. I also love Allrecipes and for special occasions, Epicurious. And while we're on the topic, this recipe is seriously awesome. It takes less than five minutes to throw together and it tastes great every time.

The Dyson

My Dyson and I have a complicated relationship. At first, I thought it did a great job on carpets, but was only so-so on bare floors. I also wasn't thrilled with the fact that in order to use the attached suction wand, I had to unwind the entire vacuum cord from the vacuum.

What has set the Dyson apart over time, though, is that it is incredibly easy to disassemble, clean, and put back together. In fact, I do it every few months. I've had my Dyson for about three years and can actually say it works better now than it did when I bought it. And that's pretty amazing for a vacuum.

That's what I've got so far... How about you?

Oh, and I'm also working on a "Things I DON'T Love" post just to keep things even, so check back for that one in a few days. ;)

Why Mommy Blogging is No Longer a Radical Act

2009-06-29T07:30:00.007-05:00

Way back in 2005, Alice Bradley stood up to a band of critics at the first BlogHer conference and announced, "Mommy blogging is a radical act!"

At the time, that statement was like a rallying cry, prompting mothers across the blogosphere to get all teary-eyed and raise their fists in virtual solidarity. And if you were around in 2005, either reading mom blogs or writing one of your own, you probably understand why.

In 2005, making money off a mommyblog was a joke. Those in existence were written by women who were in it to keep a record for their family, to find community, or simply because they had something to say, something that wasn't being said in the mainstream media. I was a new mother at that time and for me, mom blogs were a breath of fresh air.

I was tired of the perception of motherhood I'd been fed by parenting books and baby and child magazines. Those mothers were always perfectly dressed and holding spotless, smiling children. They lived in immaculate houses and never displayed even a hint of sensuality.

In blogs, though, I found a very different portrayal of motherhood. I read stories by moms whose homes were chaotic, who cried sometimes and felt incapable of being good enough for their kids, who struggled to maintain the spark of romance that had brought them together with their husbands in the first place.

My own blog's header at the time said, "Save me from the plastic people!" And you, the blogosphere, did. Unlike my real-life playgroup "friends" at the time, you didn't frown and remain silent when I admitted that I didn't fall in love with my daughter the moment she was born. You understood. And unlike the rest of the world, you didn't treat me like I was invisible and unimportant as a stay-at-home mom. You listened. And you responded.

So yes. It was radical. We were mothers. Real mothers.

And we were finally talking about it.

By 2007, the advertisers had begun listening. Accordingly, ad networks formed, review blogs were established, and money started coming in. The next year, I wrote a post voicing my concerns that the advertisers were creating an onslaught of new mom bloggers who were simply doing whatever they had to do to get the revenue, drowning out the "radical" voices in the process.

That post led to a panel at last year's BlogHer, which asked the question, "Is Mommyblogging Still a Radical Act?" I was thrilled to hear from women like Polly Pagenhart and Maria Young, two of the speakers in that panel who made me believe that all was not lost. I went home from BlogHer last year feeling buoyed up by the women out there who continued to be their real, authentic selves on their blogs, despite the winds of change that were blowing them in the opposite direction.

Today, though, that wind has become more like a hurricane.

As blogging goes mainstream, mom bloggers are starting to look and sound more and more like they came straight out of a diaper ad. And frankly, the moms who don't make motherhood seem like an 18-year-long Hallmark commercial are getting harder and harder to hear amid the babbling about whateveritiswethinktheadvertiserswantustosay.

Think about it. Three years ago, if you wanted to get noticed in the blogosphere, you wrote well. You wrote honestly. You admitted your faults. And we, your readers, reveled in your candor.

Today, if a mom blogger wants online authority, she's better off establishing herself as a Social Media Maven and all-around Supermom. She'd do well to make sure every hair is in place (courtesy of her stylist), her flab is firmly in check (thanks to EA SPORTS Active), and she has a media kit handy, to send out to potential sponsors.

After all, why would an advertiser want a mother who admits on her blog to smoking the occasional cigarette and hiding in the closet sometimes when her kids won't stop fighting, when it can now have a mom who only posts pictures of herself smiling and perfectly made up, and who writes posts doling out plucky advice on everything from proper mascara application to what to wear to upcoming blog conferences?

As a blogger and long time reader of mom blogs, this change obviously makes me sad. Because I no longer believe that mommy blogging is a radical act. It is a commercial act. It is an opportunity for income and media attention. And the women who aren't willing to toe the line are getting left behind.

Back in 2006, Alice Bradley wrote this statement:

We readers and authors of parenting blogs are looking for a representation of authentic experience that we're not getting elsewhere. We sure as hell aren't getting it from the parenting magazines. If you want to find out how to make nutritious muffins that look like kitty cats, you can read those. But a parenting magazine will never help you feel less alone, less stupid, less ridiculous. This is the service I think parenting blogs provide-we share our lopsided, slightly hysterical, often exaggerated but more or less authentic experiences. If one blogger writes about, say, her bad behavior at the doctor's office, then maybe at some point, some freaked-out new mother is going to read that and feel a little better-less stupid, less ridiculous-about her own breakdown at the pediatrician's.

I'm seeing fewer authentic experiences out there and less incentive than ever before to share them. Clearly, I'm all for making money off of our blogs if we can.

But must we lose our radically real voices in the process?

It's the End of the Week as We Know It

2009-06-28T13:02:00.002-05:00

Not much going on this weekend worth writing about. I'm just hyperventilating a little bit, thinking of all I have to get done over the next few weeks.

I'm guessing you probably know the feeling.

However, now is the time when I point you to the stuff I wrote over at Parents.com. So here you go.

I'm not sure why I wrote about this. It's humiliating. I have two really not-the-slightest-bit-funny, totally embarrassing moments in my life and this is one of them.

And here's another awkward moment. Apparently, I'm all about the awkward this week!

And finally, here's what's causing me anxiety right now. Yeah, I know. It sure is a happy week over at Parents.com!

Oh, and have you voted? Will you please? All you have to do is click on these buttons.

For Local Blog
in Nashville

You put me in the lead over at ParentsConnect (woo hoo! Thanks!), but I'm pretty sure Jamie has some kind of last minute hijinks up her sleeve. The other one? I have no chance. So..... uhhhhh.....

Bye!

Taming the Savage Beast

2009-06-25T12:47:00.002-05:00

Ah, Cosmopolitan.... the magazine in which all women are portrayed as lusty, busty, scantily-clad bimbos.

I picked up copies of the magazine from time to time in my early twenties, even though I couldn't really relate to articles like, "How to Get It On in an Elevator" or "What Your Boobs Say About Your Love Life."

Cosmo was sort of an escape. In real life, I was a news anchor fighting for credibility despite my age. But I could open Cosmo after work and pretend I was a wannabe Bond girl whose only concern was what to wear that night.

Anyway. Once I got married, I didn't really read Cosmopolitan anymore. I mean, I didn't need tips on snagging a man, and that seems to be a major concern of Cosmo's target demo.

But last week, a Cosmopolitan headline caught my eye:

6 Ways to Train Your Boyfriend.

Cosmo had compiled a list of animal training techniques from some of the world's leading experts and explained how we could apply them to OUR MEN.

Are you thinking what I'm thinking?

SHEER BRILLIANCE.

Without telling Hubs what I was doing, I spent last week training him. Like an animal. And you can find out how it went in this week's newspaper edition of Suburban Turmoil. Remember, leave a comment over there with your URL and I'll stop by your blog.

In the meantime, I'd love to know how you've trained your man. Heh.

OK, OK. Judge.

2009-06-23T08:53:00.003-05:00

Try as I might, I can't get upset about yesterday's post, or even the comments that followed it, in which people called me everything from a lazy parent to obnoxious. One lovely reader even compared allowing my son to run in a restaurant to letting him play in a moving minivan without a carseat.

I know most of you would have done things differently. I know some of you disapproved.

I also know I'm a pretty good mom who had a bad day. I'm not going to do everything by the book, 100% of the time. It's simply not possible.

And my experience made me realize that all of us have days like mine, whether we like to admit it or not. The mother who won't let her child run (toddle, really!) to the back (five tables back!) of a (very small!) restaurant (which was about to close!) probably does something else with her kids that would make me livid if I witnessed it.

As a result of what happened, I'm going to try to cut other moms a little more slack. I probably won't be very successful. After all, Punky's starting kindergarten in the fall and there will be lots and LOTS of new parents to ~~judge~~ meet.

But Sunday? It was definitely a parenting low. And I can forgive myself for it, even if some of you can't. I can learn from what happened. I can even laugh about it. And I can also laugh (and simultaneously cringe) at the fact that for one shining moment in time I WAS That Mother.

There will come a time when I will probably be That Mother again. And so will you. And you. And you over there. And yes, Mrs. MykidsareperfectandwouldNEVERmisbehavelikethat. Even YOU.

So deep breaths, everyone! Let's move on to lighter topics!

LIKE FAKE TOENAILS.

I do things with fake toenails in this week's Beauty, Uncensored column that will make you GASP WITH SHOCK.

I also let you in on how to get a perfect French manicure that will last days, cost about six dollars, and take just five minutes to complete.

Check it out. Seriously. This one's absolutely worth your while.

Judge Not

2009-06-22T11:31:00.003-05:00

Yesterday, I was That Mother.

We had driven to a new restaurant for Father's Day brunch. It was blazing hot outside and two-year-old Bruiser was in a majorly sour mood. Ordinarily, I bring a plastic baggie full of race cars for him to play with at the table until his food arrives, and everything is fine and dandy.

But on this day, it was immediately apparent that the race cars weren't going to cut it. As soon as I put them out for him, he pushed them away impatiently.

"Want out," he said fussily, straining in his highchair.

"No, Bruiser," I said quietly.

"Want! Out!" he insisted.

"No."

That's when the screaming began.

Bruiser howled and moaned and shrieked and sobbed. Fortunately, live music was playing in front of us, effectively drowning him out. I opted to ignore him, hoping that if he didn't get the attention he was seeking, he'd give up the tantrum.

You should have seen the stares I got for that. What kind of mom sits impassively while her little son is clearly in anguish?

Me. That's who.

Finally, he calmed down and played with his toys for a few minutes. Every so often, though, he'd remember that he didn't want to be there, and would start howling again. It didn't help matters that he hadn't had anything to eat or drink for hours, yet he was refusing everything I offered him to put in his mouth.

After thirty minutes of this, I finally decided to let him get out of his highchair. He ran to the back of the restaurant. It was small and casual and I could see where he was going, so I let him run. He made the rounds, smiling and waving at diners, while I kept an eye on him and tried to get in a few bites of my brunch.

He especially liked an older man sitting at a table with his family, and proceeded to spend the rest of the meal attempting to charm the guy who, fortunately, was a good sport. The waiters also were sympathetic, good-naturedly stopping short and tousling Bruiser's hair when he would run in front of them.

But yeah. A big part of me was mortified. I was exactly the parent I generally despise- the one who lets her kids run all over the dang restaurant, ignores them when they cry, and doesn't take them out when they throw a tantrum.

I was the parent those angry people from the Childfree Movement are always referring to, the one who, according to them, has no business taking my children to a restaurant in the first place. And I might as well own my "That Mother" status here and now.

Because looking back, I wouldn't have done anything differently.

Bruiser is generally pretty easy in public- except when he's not. And those "not" times make me reassess everything I ever thought I knew about being a mom. He has provided me with more than a few occasions in which I've thought I'd die from embarrassment under the icy glares I've received from strangers.

But I am coming to terms with that kind of unspoken criticism. And lately, I've found myself staring back at them unapologetically, as I've struggled to get Bruiser into his stroller or to pick him up, limp and screaming from the ground. How dare you? I think to myself, particularly when the glarer is a parent. Don't even pretend like you haven't been in this position yourself.

And I have to wonder in the back of my mind if this is simply payback for the times that I was the one judging.

Now that I'm a mom, the saying, "The older I get, the less I know," has never seemed more appropriate.

Lagniappe

2009-06-21T07:45:00.002-05:00

Happy Father's Day, everyone!

Thanks so much for helping me take the number one spot in the blonde vs. brunette poll! Jamie the Blonde is putting up a good fight on the perox side... but I feel like we've got major momentum going! Just remember, you can vote every dang day! Click on this button and VOTE SUBURBAN TURMOIL! VOTE BRUNETTE!

For Local Blog
in NashvilleAnd feel free to vote here, too, while you're at it.

And now that that's out of the way, be sure and check out this week's blog posts over at my Parents.com blog.

Find out my husband's opinion of my sense of humor.

Is it just me, or do these kinds of bizarre occurences happen to you, too?

And here's a major motherhood fail to make you feel better.

Also? The final Backtalk. It's the end of an era. A relatively short-lived era.

Hope you're all having a great weekend!

V is for Vendetta. Also, Vote.

2009-06-19T09:00:00.001-05:00

Anyone who knows me knows about the longstanding feud I have with Busy Mom.

When I first met her, she was kind enough to bring me brownies as a welcome to Nashville's mommyblogging community. I was so touched by her kindness...

...at least until I found out the brownies had laxatives in them.

Ever since that fateful day (and the long, long night that followed it), it has been ON. Cans of spray paint have been involved, along with dozens of rolls of toilet paper, nunchucks, the cops, and on one memorable occasion, the National Guard. I try to keep this site family-friendly, and generally don't discuss the details of our ongoing war.

But now, things have gone too far.

Recently, Parents Connect released the nominees of its Best Local Blog contest here in Nashville. I was thrilled to learn that I was on the list.

But my face fell when I saw Busy Mom's name below mine, not to mention that of her decoy, "Busy Mom's Journal." Come on, B-Mo. Busy Mom's Journal?! We all know it's you in disguise!!

What's surprising about this tale, though, is that my arch nemesis isn't my only concern. Somehow, my neighbor Jamie, who runs the website Blonde Mom Blog, managed not only to finagle her way onto the list, but she's currently winning by a landslide.

I find this unacceptable, primarily because I have dealt with this kind of brunetteism my whole entire life. Every time I see Jamie, she's tossing her hair in my face and claiming she rules the Internet because of her hair! It's not fair! It's not right! But there it is.

So I'm asking you now to do something about it.

You've got to vote. Now and every day until July 15th. Do it because no registration is required. You just click and you're done. But more than that...

Do it for brunettes the world over. You have no idea what we've had to endure. Unless you're a brunette, I mean. And then you do. And you know that voting here is essentially telling the blondes of the world to take their peroxide and shove it.

And if you're blonde? You'll STILL want to vote for me, if only to prove that you are in fact smart enough to find and click the button next to the words, SUBURBAN TURMOIL. Come on. We know you can do it.

For Local Blog
in Nashville

All you have to do is click on this button, either in this post or over on my sidebar.

Oh, and bonus points if you vote here, too.

Some may call this vote whoring. I call it, 'bored.'

Happy Friday.

*Oh, and before you comment or e-mail with your outrage on behalf of Busy Mom/Jamie/blondes, I am totally kidding. Except the voting. I AM TOTALLY NOT KIDDING about the voting.

When Two Become One, It Gets a Bit Crowded. And Smelly.

2009-06-18T09:35:00.004-05:00

If you all taught me anything last week, it was that men and women are different.

Really, really different.

I couldn't believe the tales you told of husbands who demand that you give them a kiss while they're seated on the john, husbands who fart at the dinner table and then laugh, husbands who clip their filthy nails in your sink and leave them for you to clean up (oh wait. That's my husband).

It's a wonder the divorce rate isn't higher, is all I have to say.

I'm covering the subject in this week's Suburban Turmoil newspaper column. It's one of my funniest to date, thanks to you. I got to include several of your comments from last week's post, and I laugh out loud every time I read them.

Go check it out for a good laugh, and once again, if you leave a comment at the City Paper, I'll come visit your blog! Don't forget to include your URL in the comment.

In Defense of the Work-at-Home-Mom

2009-06-16T08:47:00.007-05:00

Have you noticed? The work-at-home-mom is under attack.

Oh, I've gotten the comments from time to time from a few angry WOHMs (that's work-OUTSIDE-the-home-moms, for the uninitiated), who bitterly jab their fingers at me and tell me I have no right to call what I do, 'work.'

"The stuff you write couldn't take more than a few minutes," one declared.

"If you're so busy, how do you have time to take your kids to the park and the zoo all the time?" another wanted to know.

"I wish I could do my 'work' at Starbucks, too," a third snickered.

Honestly, I passed these comments off as women who hated their jobs, and were looking for someone to blame. They were venting their frustrations on me only because I represented something they wanted and didn't have.

But then I read Samantha's post on the Internet and all the supportive comments that followed it, and I realized that the image of WAHMs as whiners who don't do real work is more widespread than I had realized.

Samantha wants everyone to know that "working from home is not even in the same realm as being a Working Mother." She calls what WAHMs do, "fluff," and accuses us of "escaping" to Starbucks to work on our Macbooks.

She says that our effort to balance work and family is "a f#!@in joke."

And dozens of women agree with her.

I'll be honest. This post stung. Particularly since it came not from an anonymous commenter, but from a respected blogger in the online community.

I get her overall purpose in writing the post, and agree that the Momversation webisode on working moms should have included the perspective of a WOHM. Who could argue with that?

But I don't get all this animosity toward mothers who work from home. I don't think for a moment that my job is harder than that of the average WOHM, but I certainly wouldn't call it easier, either.

For one thing, I think it's fair to say I have not one, but two full-time jobs. One involves meeting all of my writing deadlines and running three blogs, the other consists of teaching and caring for two small children, 24-7. Cooking and cleaning for six is basically another part-time job on top of that.

Essentially, I have no free time. No vacation time. No days off. I am always working on something, and I am always behind. Much like a WOHM, I'd imagine.

I would compare how I generally feel to someone who's been dog paddling for hours, someone who is just barely keeping her face above the surface of the water. And too often, I feel like I'm going under. Sound familiar, Samantha?

What keeps me going, though, is that I genuinely love my jobs. I love spending time with my children. I love writing, and all that comes with it. I love having a family. I also love having a little more financial security. I love lessening the stress on my husband, who keeps track of our finances. I've seen a huge change in him since I started making a significant income again, and it has made a difference in our relationship. I feel lucky, so lucky that I actually love what I do for a living.

But I also think back often to the time before I had so much work, the time when it wasn't a struggle to homeschool my preschool daughter, the time when we spent all day doing arts and crafts and reading books and baking and exploring. Now, those things are wedged into my work day wherever I can fit them in. They aren't happening as often as I'd like. I feel tremendous amounts of guilt about this, and am constantly worrying over whether they're getting the quality of childcare that they deserve.

That said, I have to laugh when the occasional bitter reader acts like the fact that I take my kids to story time or the park means I've obviously got too much time on my hands. Kids in preschool and daycare programs do special things, too, don't they? They put on plays. They go on field trips. They have theme days. If activities weren't planned for them, who would want to leave their child there?

How is my job as my children's childcare provider any different?

I also have to laugh about the snarky Starbucks comments. Yes, Starbucks is essentially my office. I write there between eight and ten hours a week. I get quite a bit of work done in relative peace and quiet. I'm not quite sure where else I could go and have a wireless Internet connection and a staff that doesn't mind me sitting there for three or four hours at a time.

How is going to Starbucks any different from another mom going to her cubicle or office each day? How would it make Samantha feel if I accused her of "escaping" to her office when she leaves her children each morning? Not good, I'd imagine.

Samantha believes that WAHMs don't argue with their husbands about childcare issues, or risk losing their jobs when they have to leave work for a sick child. But I'd say that if other WAHMs are anything like me, there have been more than a few, um, 'heated discussions' about childcare.

Husbands to WAHMs generally end up taking care of the kids alone far more, I'm guessing, than husbands of WOHMs, because WAHMs are constantly trying to fit their work in wherever they can. In my house, that means that my husband picks up between two and four hours of watching them alone a week on evenings and weekends, so that I can get my work done. Often, the last thing he wants to do when he gets home from work or has a day off is take care of the kids all by himself. He has a very stressful job and deserves a break. But he takes on the extra work because it's financially good for our family.

As for sick children, the issues are the same. Most WAHMs have deadlines. If I have a sick child or a traumatic family issue, there's a very real chance that my deadlines won't be met, and I risk losing that job for not meeting them, just as Samantha might lose her job if she leaves work.

When I think about it, making these broad generalizations about SAHMs and WAHMs and WOHMs is ridiculous. (And yes, I say that now, even having written these posts two years ago. I am older now. And wiser. And I have a few more of those damned crows feet.) There are so many variables. Do you hate what you do? Are you a single mom? Are you in debt? Does your husband abuse you? Then you're going to have a harder time doing your work, no matter what you're doing or where you go to do it.

Are you financially secure? Do you have grandparents helping with the kids? Do you love your job? Do you work part-time hours? Do you have a great, compassionate boss? Then you might have an easier time doing your work, no matter what you're doing or where you go to do it.

Samantha says she knows being a WOHM is harder, because she has been a WAHM, too. But maybe her variables were different from mine.

So let's lay off each other for a little while, shall we?

Or at the very least, might I ask that you refrain from calling what I do a "f$!*in' joke?"

Because that's just asking for a throwdown.

Incoherence, Fame, Anxiety and Bullies! All in One Post!

2009-06-13T10:03:00.004-05:00

"Ahn ahsh Fah Fah Pahn Squah," my son said just a moment ago.

"Okay," I replied. I followed him up to the playroom, where I found the Spongebob Squarepants DVD and put it on for him.

Lately, Bruiser is talking up a blue streak. But I just realized that no one would know it except for his immediate family.

He's not big on the diction, this one. And it's pretty funny that I've basically learned his language, just as he's learning mine. I can understand almost everything he says, but I'm not sure you could understand a single word of it.

(Insert five hysterical paragraphs about whether or not I should bring him in for a language evaluation here.)

No, wait. That would have been this blog three years ago, with Punky. Things are different now. I'm going to assume everything will turn out okay, and that he'll be able to say "Spongebob Squarepants" properly at some point before he leaves for college.

So that's my Saturday morning. If you're looking for something a little more insightful, check out my Parents.com blog, which is chock full this week of visual goodness.

Come along with us on a walk through the woods.

More evidence I'll be a sniveling mess this August.

And watch how the kids respond when their dad is on television.

Also, I don't usually ask for votes when I'm nominated for something, but this one's so EASY. No registration required. So.... um. Want to vote for me? Click on this button.

For Local Blog
in Nashville

And finally, we have another Backtalk up over at BlogHer.com. This one is all about bullying. Check it out...

Have a wonderful weekend!

What They Don't Tell You About Birthing Babies

2009-06-12T06:37:00.001-05:00

Next week is Baby Week on Discovery Health. Featured shows will include Twins By Surprise, premiering Sunday, June 14, at 8P e/p, Little Parents, Big Pregnancy which premieres Monday, June 15, 8P e/p, Births Beyond Belief which premieres Tuesday, June 16 at 8P e/p, and Obese & Pregnant, premiering Wednesday, June 17, 8P e/p. You can check out a video premiere of upcoming Baby Week shows here.

And no, I'm not getting paid to give you this information; I'm doing it because I wanted to repost Punky's birth story, which I wrote before I even started this blog, and posted back before anyone was reading it. I loved writing this story and I wanted to give it another go. So read it and tell me the most hilarious (or sensational/harrowing/emotional/messed up) thing that happened to you during your child's birth!

There are way too many sappy childbirth stories on the Internet.

Women dreamily recount their water births (...and then my mer-cherub swam to the surface and gave me a dazzling smile), their c-sections (...as I held my little crumpet in my arms, I knew it was all worthwhile) and even their epidurals (...I felt only elation as dear impkins pushed his way through the birth canal), all the while ignoring the other side of childbirth...

The indignity.

I had a fabulous birth experience- wonderful doctors and nurses, a comfortable room, a supportive family and only about 12 total minutes of pushing before my baby was born.

Yet I also had more embarrassing moments in a 24-hour period than I'll probably have again in this lifetime.

For starters, I had labor contractions for three days... contractions that sent my parents rushing to Tennessee from Georgia and convinced my husband and me to pull my 13 and 11-year-old stepdaughters out of school in preparation for the big event. For the next two days, my entire extended family sat around our house, nervously waiting for something to actually happen.

Now before I continue, you should know that for nine straight months, I had promised myself I wasn't going to be one of those moaners that I had seen in the childbirth class videos. For one thing, I was raised in the South, where moaning for any reason is believed to be in very bad taste.

Besides, all that moaning seemed extravagant. I imagined it was a thinly-veiled metaphor for "Look at me, everyone! I'm about to have a baby! Pay attention to me!"

But after about 40 hours of intensifying contractions, my moaning philosophy went out the window. I was in pain, people. Yet I still had my wits about me enough to be deeply embarrassed by the primitive howls coming from my mouth as my entire family sat in the den, silently watching me on the sofa.

"Don't look at me!!" I hissed in between moans. "Don't just sit there looking at me!"

I am ashamed to admit I actually glared at my 80-year-old grandma, owl-eyed and frowning on the Barcolounger.

After that, my family made elaborate efforts at conversation each time a contraction hit.

"So, the Braves are doing pretty good this year," my Dad said shakily.

"OOOOOOOH! Owwwwww!"

"Did I tell anyone about the sale on beans at Piggly Wiggly?" my grandmother hesitantly asked.

"EEEEEEEEE Yahhhhhh!"

"I made an A on my history quiz," 12 squeaked before running in fright to the playroom.

Once the moaning was judged loud enough for a trip to the hospital, Hubs and I left, only to be subjected to indignity number two-I was checked in, examined, and told I wasn't dilated enough for admittance. The nurse suggested that I walk around the maternity ward for an hour in hopes that my labor would progress.

"Okay, let me just put my clothes back on," I sighed, sitting up from the table clad only in a standard-issue hospital gown.

"Oh no, we can't let you do that," the nurse said.

"What?!" I gasped.

"You can put another gown on to cover your back, but you can't put your clothes back on once you're checked in."

"But there are people out there!" I said.

"Oh, you'll see other women out there in labor, too. It's really common to walk the halls like that," she assured me.

So out I went, into the halls packed with the family members and friends of every other laboring mom in the city. And of course, I was the only one wearing a freaking hospital gown. And of course, we ran into about 100,000 people who recognized Hubs.

"I know you! I'm the pastor of Christ Presbyterian downtown!"

"Oh, hi!" Hubs said brightly. Meanwhile, I hugged the wall and tried to edge by him.

"And this is..." the dastardly pastor said, stopping me in my tracks.

"This is my wife," my husband replied. "This half-naked, hot air balloon-sized, tear-streaked, bed-headed woman is. My. Wife."

Well, that last part was unspoken... but I knew it was what everyone was thinking.

Would every last shred of my dignity be taken before the day was over? After a few more forced conversations, my mother kindly loaned me a pair of oversized Chanel sunglasses for the remainder of my hour-long, hospital gown-encased March of Shame. I'm sure the glasses only increased the staring, but at least my identity was now somewhat in question.

Of course, all that marching did no good whatsoever. It took three separate trips to the hospital before the labor gods finally decided I was ready to go. A nurse wheeled me to my room and set me up in a bed, where the indignities continued.

I am a very private person when it comes to my... privates. I mean, how many people actually needed to investigate what was going on down there, anyway? I felt like I was a carnival sideshow as doctors and nurses endlessly filed in to check my progress.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," I snapped to the fifth doctor to enter the room. Wordless, he turned and went right back out the door.

The indignities of actually giving birth are well-documented and frankly disgusting to the uninitated, so I'll leave those to your collective imagination.

I will say, though, that my entire family was somehow allowed back into the delivery room like one millisecond after the baby was born, while I still lay spread-eagled and bloody on the hospital bed.

"For God's sakes!" I shouted weakly, prompting one of the doctors to rush over and close a curtain around the bed.

How much more could one woman bear?

More than I had, apparently.

"You need to go to the bathroom now," a nurse snapped at me about an hour after I'd given birth.

"I'll go when I'm ready," I replied defiantly. I had just given birth, for crying out loud.

"I can't leave until you go," she said. For a few minutes, we had a staredown.

Finally, I exhaled loudly, crawled from my bed, and made my way to the bathroom. As I tried to close the door, she stopped it with her toe.

"I have to watch," she said.

"The hell you do!"

"Hospital regulations," she insisted. "I have to make sure you can go."

"Of all the ridiculous, razzafrackin garbage..." I muttered as I reluctantly sat down.

I was treated to perhaps the worst pain of my life. Worse than childbirth. Oh. My. Lord.

Fighting back shrieks of pain, I looked up gasping into the nurse's smug face.

"That's satisfactory," she said before shutting the door on me.

Utterly defeated, I sat on the toilet, head in my hands. Oh........

The indignity.

And Now for Something Different

2009-06-11T16:04:00.005-05:00

Back when I wrote my Suburban Turmoil column for the Nashville Scene, I'd occasionally try to slip in a column like this one.

And my editor would reject it.

She wanted snark and irreverence, not thoughtfulness and introspection. And so, while I was disappointed, I went back to delivering what she wanted.

But that was one big reason why, when I had a chance to move my column to the Nashville City Paper, I jumped. Oh the snark's still in full effect most weeks, but I also like having room for a little sensitivity every now and then. This week's column is a perfect example. I was so moved by the subject matter that I actually couldn't even tell my husband about it because I knew I'd start ugly crying. It's the kind of thing that never would have made it over at the Scene, yet I really enjoy being able to write a weekly column that throws you for a loop every once in a while.

Anyway, check it out and forgive the virtual tear stains that dot the entire thing from start to finish. And as always, leave a comment there with your URL and I'll stop by and visit your blog.

Oh, and by the way, the column I referenced at the top of this post? After it was rejected at the Scene, I sent it to a literary magazine, where it was published. Published! In a literary magazine! My inner academician was thrilled!

So it seems everything happened just the way it was supposed to.

Marriage: An End to Privacy

2009-06-10T14:59:00.003-05:00

Let's move on, shall we? I will give you an update on the Dinabergisode when I have one.

Okay, so every time I pluck my eyebrows, I think of an Oprah episode I saw a long time ago, in which, if I remember correctly, Oprah claimed she would never, ever pluck her eyebrows in front of her boyfriend, Stedman. Apparently, that was the kind of personal grooming habit that men just shouldn't see.

I'm a very private person when it comes to grooming, but eyebrow plucking? My husband can watch me do that any time he wants.

On the other hand, I don't like for him to see me get dressed, cut my toenails, use the restroom, or make ummmm, embarrassing personal noises. And this can get tricky, since we share a bedroom and bathroom.

It's trickier still because he's not all that concerned with keeping anything private. In fact, I've had to draw the line on what I should and shouldn't see for him.

So now I'm wondering now what kinds of boundaries you've established with your roommate-for-life. What do you allow your spouse to see and hear? What's off limits? Are there things you do in front of him/her now that would have appalled you back when you were single?

More importantly, are there things your spouse does in front of you that you wish he/she wouldn't?

I'm thinking of writing a column on this subject, and I'd love to use some of your comments. And, heh, don't worry: I'll attribute them to your user name, and if you don't want me to use that, just leave your comment anonymously.

Come on! Dish!

The Plagiarist

2009-06-09T06:48:00.009-05:00

A few weeks ago, I got an e-mail from a moms site, promoting a new video venture.

I looked at it and was surprised to find that the term "brag hags" was used in it several times as a label for overly competitive mommies. "Your child may call them show offs, we call them brag hags," one of the hosts smirked.

I was surprised because, well, I had called them brag hags. I had written a column about Brag Hags last year for the Nashville Scene, and it was one of my more popular ones. To this day, people still come up to me and mention it.

I certainly don't own the phrase "Brag Hags," nor did I fault the site for using it, but I was pretty sure I had coined "brag hags" in that context. Curious and bored, I looked it up online last night.

And what I found made me absolutely sick to my stomach.

Just beneath the links to my column were links to another column by another writer named Leslie Dinaberg, for a piece called "Brag Hags." I clicked on it and

OH MY SWEET OH NO WHAT IN THE NAME OF AM I SEEING THINGS?!

Leslie Dinaberg had taken my column! From the looks of it, she had cut and pasted it, then made enough changes so that it would look like her own. But she'd left entire phrases from my column intact, and the whole thing read like a warped, crappy version of my original piece. See for yourself. Here's her version. And here's mine.

It's not like I'll ever win a Pulitzer or anything but come on. "Pooped solid gold nuggets?" WHO ELSE WOULD WRITE THAT BUT ME?!

GAH.

I've had bloggers steal bits and pieces of my writing and post it as their own before, but this was different. Leslie Dinaberg writes for a newspaper. She also posts to the ParentClick website, so "Brag Hags" appeared on at least six different sites that I could find.

Was Leslie Dinaberg paid for my work?

I think about all the time and effort I spent on that column. I think about how the column was a humorous result of my own personal experiences with other moms.

And then I think about Leslie Dinaberg, a published author and "print journalist for 20 years," stealing it.

And I. Get. Mad.

Plagiarism: "The use or close imitation of the language and thoughts of another author and the representation of them as one's own original work."

Leslie Dinaberg? You stole from the wrong girl.

Just For You

2009-06-06T13:23:00.003-05:00

Well, hi. Have I got a lot to show you today.

First we have this week's Backtalk, which is all about parenting special needs children. It's a tough job, and moms like my Parents.com friend, Judith Ursitti have absolutely inspired me and moved me to tears through their writing. Here's the show- I think it's worth a look.

Next up, my Parents.com posts for this week! Woo hoo.

It's the End of an Era for Punky. My, how she's grown.

No matter what misfortunes I face, I've got one big thing going for me.

And CUTE VIDEO ALERT!! CUTE VIDEO ALERT!!

As some of you have read, I am now linking to the reviews at my review blog over on the left hand sidebar. However, since Father's Day is in two weeks, I have labeled my very favorite Father's Day products that I've reviewed and linked to them here. Yes, I was sent these products, but I only included the ones on this list that I would buy myself for my dad or my husband. In fact, I AM buying some of these things for my dad and/or my husband. But don't tell! What I like about this little list is that there's something for every budget, whether you want to spend $10 or $100 on dear old Dad. So if you need some ideas, check these out.

Also on ye olde review blog? Two awesome giveaways!

Go here to win a free night at any Hyatt Hotel (excluding Quebec).

And go here to win a big honking box of Little Debbie Muffins!

So there you have it... Something for everyone. Have a great rest of the weekend!

Shredded

2009-06-05T12:08:00.002-05:00

Well, I've done it.

I've begun The Shred.

Some of you know exactly what I'm talking about. Some of you have absolutely no idea.

But if you're trying to lose a few pounds or tone your problem areas (and um, who isn't?), you'll definitely want to check out my Her Nashville beauty column this week, in which I give you the details on my Shredding experience and introduce you to a few Shredding all-stars.

Accidents Happen

2009-06-04T10:17:00.004-05:00

A couple of weeks ago when I was out of town, Hubs left the window open in our second-story playroom. Where Bruiser was playing.

Of course, he realized the window was open after a while and closed it, but the incident shook him up. Our son loves to hang out the window off our kitchen, where there's a only a one-foot drop to the deck; I'm always pulling him by the seat of his pants back inside. It wouldn't have taken much for Bruiser to loosen the screen on the playroom window and hang out of it, too- and fall 20 feet to the ground.

We all have moments like this one, moments in which we make a tiny mistake that could potentially harm or even kill our child. Most of the time, it all turns out okay. And when we mention it afterward to our friends or spouses, they pat us reassuringly and say the very same kind of thing has happened to them more than once.

But what happens to all the friendly support when the child is not okay? Why do we point fingers, when if we're honest, the very same thing could have happened on our watch? I wrote about this phenomenon, and my own mistake that put my son's life at risk (and you have no idea, even now, how hard it was to write that just now) in this week's newspaper edition of Suburban Turmoil.

Comment over there (be sure and leave your URL) and I'll visit your blog. And feel free to share your own stories. I believe most moms are like me, worrying constantly about their children's safety and yet still making mistakes and miscalculations from time to time.

This parenting thing is tough. The less perfect we make ourselves out to be, the easier it is to get through it.

The Special List

2009-06-02T07:03:00.001-05:00

There's a woman in town we'll call Matilda, who is... how shall I put it... all up in my grill.

She has a son who is Punky's age and for the last five years, we have continually been thrown together at events for our children. And we're like oil and water. She's very bossy and overbearing, I'm very... not, and every time she opens her mouth, it's like nails being dragged down a chalkboard.

I've gotten to the point where I expect her to walk through the door whenever I take Punky to any preschool event or class. She does them all, and seeing her frowning face appear at the library or the zoo or the park just pops my happy mommy bubble every time.

Since Matilda has three boys, I considered Punky's ballet classes to be my safe place... my Matilda-free zone. However, halfway through the spring semester, wouldn't you know she showed up with her oldest son dressed and ready to plie.

"I can't stand that woman," I whispered to my friend, Marjorie. "She's just awful." I wondered to myself how Matilda had managed to get her son on the roster; these particular ballet classes always had a waiting list and we were well into the semester.

"Hello, Matilda," I said weakly when she walked over to us.

"Hello, Lindsay," she smirked.

"I'm surprised to see you here," I said.

"Yes, well I called the community center over and over again back in January, trying to get John Mark in this class. No one'd ever call me back. So I decided to just show up."

Of course, the rest of us had filled out the registration paperwork for the class at the main office like we were supposed to. But I'm sure Matilda didn't have time for stupid rules and regulations. She had just shown up. Matilda-style.

The next week, though, Matilda and company didn't show up. Nor the week after that.

Of course, Matilda being Matilda, I ran into her again that week at a preschool event at the park.

"I've missed you at ballet class," I said, with the fakest smile I could muster.

"Well, I talked to Miss Linda after that class and she said she couldn't let John Mark in because the ten other parents on the waiting list would be furious."

"A shame," I said, shaking my head.

"But she said she'd make a note of my name," Matilda continued, lifting her chin in that old familiar way, "I convinced her to make a note of my name and she said she'd put me on a special list of her own, and John Mark can definitely dance with your class in the fall."

I grimaced. Somehow, I thought Miss Linda's "special list" was probably a warning for her co-workers, of which parents to avoid at all costs.

Of course, this all seemed like small potatoes a month later. Miss Linda got sick and, to my great shock and sorrow, passed away. Marjorie and I have talked about it periodically ever since. We both were making calls and getting updates from Miss Linda's co-workers while she was sick, and because of that, it really felt like a punch in the gut when she didn't recover.

Today, the subject of Miss Linda came up again as Marjorie and I started talking about dance class in the fall, and who would teach it.

"Oh my gosh, remember that horrible woman, Matilda?" I asked her. "The one who tried to force her son into the class?

"Oh, totally," Marjorie replied.

"I ran into her at the zoo last week," I said, "and she came up to me and asked if Punky was taking dance again in the fall. I told her she was. 'Well, John Mark will be with her,' she said, folding her arms. 'Because I convinced Miss Linda to put me on her special list.'"

"Oh no," Marjorie gasped. "What did you say?"

"I said, 'Oh Matilda, there is no special list.' And she said, 'What? How do you know?' And I said, 'Honey, Miss Linda died.'"

We looked at each other for a moment, and then we both simultaneously burst into laughter. And it didn't feel inappropriate, either. It felt good. It felt healing. In that moment, a little bit of my sadness over Miss Linda lifted off my shoulders, and I was glad for it.

Besides. I'm just sure that somewhere, Miss Linda was laughing, too.

Cathy Anderson and Her White Teeth

2009-06-01T06:02:00.001-05:00

I was checking my e-mail the other day when I noticed this ad at the top of the page.

Take a close look at that picture in the middle. What exactly is going on with that kid? Wouldn't it qualify as child abuse? And what did it have to do with whitening teeth? Curious, I clicked on the ad.

And that's how I found Cathy Anderson's mommyblog.

Cathy Anderson is just a normal mother of 3 living in, of all places, Nashville, Tennessee! She discovered a two-product combination that works better than anyone could have expected. Even, as it turns out, her dentist.

With that kind of life story, it was obvious that Cathy Anderson needed to start a mommyblog.

Cathy didn't show her face on her blog, but she did share her smile. And oh, what a smile it was.

I could tell by that smile that Cathy Anderson was a barrel of laughs. The life of the party. I wanted to know more about Cathy Anderson, to maybe meet up with her at Starbucks. But Cathy Anderson had only written one post.

Despite this, she had already gained quite a following. Cathy Anderson had 29 comments from readers who seemed to hang on her every word. People like Taylor, who wrote the following:

ME LIKE ME LIKE. tank you ver mucho fer giving me a great idea! i been struggling with bad yellow teeth for years and nows i cans get a great one ! tank you mucho.

After reading comments like Taylor's, I was inspired to leave my own.

Cathy Anderson, I typed, You sound like my kind of woman. Perhaps we can get together and let the kids run wild while we split a bottle of wine?

I posted my comment and was satisfied to see it appear at the bottom of the page. But when I refreshed the page to see if by chance she had responded, my comment had disappeared.
That's when I began to get suspicious.

And so I did what all smart people do when they get suspicious. I went to Twitter.

Look. I wrote. A totally fake mom blog, made to sell a product. It looks like you can comment, but real comments don't appear. I posted a link to Cathy Anderson's mommyblog. Soon, I got several responses.

schmutzie@SuburbanTurmoil Weird. And she apparently, if there is a "she", lives in my city.

Amy2boys@SuburbanTurmoil The fake mom blog just kills me. I don't know why I'm surprised, but somehow I am.

CityMama@SuburbanTurmoil hey she lives in Palo Alto! I bet she lives in your city, too! And yours! And yours!

debontherocks@SuburbanTurmoil Cathy Anderson is missing out on exciting marketing relationships by limiting her mommyblog to teeth reviews.

And so on. Cathy Anderson had rigged her blog to say that she lived in the same city as her reader, no matter where her reader was from.

SpaceCasie@SuburbanTurmoil Where does it say Cathy Anderson lives for you? It says she lives in Tamuning for me. I doubt she lives in Guam, right?

Guam? Oh, Cathy Anderson. Cathy, Cathy, Cathy Anderson.

Soon, responses began pouring in from Twitterers who hadn't caught on to the hometown trick, and were trying to track her down "locally" for me.

gaudet2@SuburbanTurmoil there isn't a Cathy Anderson in the book or online. She must be listed under her "hubby" or not at all.

And, as it always is when a mommyblogger rises to fame, other mom bloggers began to turn green from envy.

MeaganFrancis@SuburbanTurmoil I'm really jealous. Look at all the comments she's got! She must be better than me :(

I could totally relate to Meagan's hurt feelings. Next mommyblog brouhaha: "Why do fake mom blogs get more comments than I DO?!!!" I wrote.

To which Meagan responded...

@meaganfrancis the fake mom bloggers will blog on their fake mom blogs saying "B#tches need to quit telling me what to doooo."

It wasn't long before the Twitterverse had exploded with comments about Cathy Anderson.

At this rate, #cathyandersonandherwhiteteeth will be a trending topic by tomorrow, I wrote.

And that's when things really got weird.

debontherocks #cathyandersonandherwhiteteeth is the new Chuck Norris.
CityMama #cathyandersonandherwhiteteeth: I am your father. NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!
debontherocks #cathyandersonandherwhiteteeth has fingernails that shine like justice and a voice that is dark like tinted glass.
SuburbanTurmoil #cathyandersonandherwhiteteeth is not just the president of Hair Club for Men. She's also a client.
Busymom Pardon me, but do you have any #cathyandersonandherwhiteteeth?
CityMama #cathyandersonandherwhiteteeth can see Russia from her house.
schmutzie #cathyandersonandherwhiteteeth floats like a butterfly but stings like a bee.
debontherocks At first #cathyandersonandherwhiteteeth was afraid, she was petrified.
thinkingmonkey Good news! I just saved a lot of money on my car insurance by switching to #cathyandersonandherwhiteteeth
SuburbanTurmoil #cathyandersonandherwhiteteeth did not have sex with that woman.
thinkingmonkey That's one small step for man, one giant leap for #cathyandersonandherwhiteteeth
SuburbanTurmoil RT: @breakingnews #cathyandersonandherwhiteteeth 's industrial output shrank 8.2 pct in April.
CityMama #cathyandersonandherwhiteteeth practices Fishful Thinking while attending Baby Camp at Disneyworld with Chris Mann
joyunexpected #cathyandersonandherwhiteteeth is not here to make friends

And that is how Cathy Anderson and her white teeth went from fake mommyblogger to TWITTER LEGEND, all in about 30 minutes.

Just so you know.