Let’s skip the part where you ask me how I couldn’t know already, I get a guilt trip, I start eating peanutbutter & chocolate chips and just cut to the chase:  The List.

I’m not making this up. I couldn’t make this up.  I wish I could keep a tape recorder next to them at all times — it’s like a comedy routine.  And so, The List:

Twin A:

1. Barbies
2. Writing pad
3. Coloring things, painting stuff
4. Car race track
5. Pollys
6. G-Force cup or animal cup

Twin B:

1. Fake giant ice cream truck for our kitchen with real ice cream, Batman ice cream, Spiderman ice cream, Superman ice cream, Dora ice cream, and iCarly ice cream.
2. Giant swimming pool for the backyard.
3. A puncher arm you put on your arm and you can swing it out and punch people.
4. (Something about a giraffe — I was laughing too hard and missed this)
5. Batman Legos
6. Legos
7. Star Wars: Clone Wars — which he insisted was Crown Wars
8. Nerf swords
9. Frisbee

Yes, they’re fraternal twins.  How could you tell?

I believe there was actual spittle involved in this episode.

So, when that weekend rolled around, I sheepishly admit I didn’t want to go.  Yes, I know this is sacrelig in the women’s blogging community and there will probably be some hater comments (Ha! as if anyone reads this!) but it’s true.  Why? My reasons read like a tag cloud: Dallas…Thursday… Friday… kids… PT… nanny….blah blah… avacado…

Biggest one: Cowardice. 

One of my Twitter friends who I’ve never met (but who seems cool enough, or at least not a crazy stalking murderer posing as a Twitter friend) compared my Saturday arrival to transferring to a new high school senior year.

CRAP!  Hadn’t even thought of that, but yes, arriving ALONE at BlogHer on Saturday might feel like that.  Though, if I worked this right, I could leave with awesome blonde, curly hair and super-tight leather black pants with to-die-for heels and maybe official Pink Lady status and  John Travolta as my boyfriend. 

Anyhoo, long story short (too late), I motivated and went.  To what might be a 30-something’s version of a slumber party, complete with Mary Kay ladies, food binges, laughter and even some crying.

The crying, well most of it was from the babies there, but I’m told a few women cried when they met Tim Gunn.  (I’m sorry, but I had to look up who Tim Gunn was on my blackberry when people were getting excited to see him.)

Was it worth it?  Maybe. I’m on the fence. I think I’d need to go for a full BlogHer to get the real feel for it.  Saturday-only definitely felt haphazard.

How’s that for a conference summary?!

Key takeaways: 

• Most women blogging — seriously or for fun — are nice, smiley and interested in learning.
• Keynote panels still don’t do it for me.
• Food blogging is huge. I don’t care much about what I eat on any given day. Therein lies the gap.
• If you want to be a humor columnist, start a blog and say you’re one. (Seriously, this was one piece of advice I heard.)  Ummm, ok.
• The cookie bar at BlogHer gets an F (NO CHOCOLATE CHIP! I’M PRETTY SURE THAT’S A CRIME.)

So, if you feel like it, I’m open to reasons to try again next year on a full conference pass. Let’s hear ‘em!

If you are me, the answer would be nothing. At least, that’s what I did last week. Nothing. (Btw, the term “doing nothing” seems an oxymoron, yes?)

No, I’m not making it up. On a flight from Dallas to Chicago last week, I sat next to a more than middle-aged woman who farted at least 15 times from the time we boarded to when we landed without even one tiny whispered, “Excuse me.”

I’m not sure why the ongoing non-acknowledgement became almost more upsetting to me than the actual gas and resulting smell. But it did. I mean, c’mon. I know there are people who feel this is totally normal and acceptable in public, though I’m not one. And I know there are people with legitimate medical issues that make their flatulance more prolific.

But, I’m a human being and yes, I’ve been awake since 5 a.m. and NO I DIDN’T PRAY TO THE DON’T-LET-ME-SIT-NEXT-TO-THE-GAS-LADY GOD TODAY.  WOULD A LITTLE EXCUSE ME OR EVEN A SHEEPISH SMILE KILL YOU?

Sigh. Truth is stranger than fiction.

With the new year, the timing seemed right to try to put my thoughts into words.

Giving someone a second chance can be extending an olive branch after you’ve been hurt or wronged. On the flip side, if you believe the adage, “Fool me once, shame on you; Fool me twice, shame on me,” second chances may seem foolish.

How do you know when a second chance will make a difference? How can you measure the risk — to yourself, your family, your job, your whatever — when you give one? 

How many times have you wished you’d get one?

Why, you ask, have I been fixated on this? (Ok, maybe you didn’t, but this is my blog so keep on walkin’ if it’s a problem).

Some of it is obvious… new year, new resolutions to make and try to keep. But it was really a sad story with my brother’s dog that started this train of thought for me.

This cute dog, a shelter dog with an unknown past and a leg that had to be amputated, truly had been given a second chance on life when my brother’s family adopted him. My brother is a sweet, amazing person and he can see the good in nearly everyone and everything.

But, something inside this poor animal was just broken and un-save-able.  A couple minor incidents and one big one later, it was clear a second chance in a love-filled home was not going to save the dog.

I started thinking about what would have happened if this dog were a person. This dog fiercely loved and protected my two-year old niece. There was goodness in him. Probably more good than bad.  But something about the latter wouldn’t let the dog be free. Would a person like this dog have been given a second chance at all after being cast aside?  Would he get a third after a violent, unprovoked incident? 

I’ve probably had a 50-50 track record on giving people second chances. Not sure I could point to rhyme or reason when I give them either.  But, if something inside me were broken, and I needed one, I sure hope I’d get one. Maybe I’ll have to work on consistency here in 2009.

What about you? Do you allow do-overs? Have you gotten one that’s changed your life?

It’s almost four years since you died. Sometimes it feels like a lifetime ago and sometimes it feels like yesterday.  Mostly, it feels long, long ago as it’s hard to remember what life felt like when you were here.

Time has marched on just as everyone predicted. I don’t know if your absence has gotten easier to bear, but I’ve certainly become more used to it. It’s corny but true; you are still very much alive, carried in the hearts of many of us still here. You are very loved, appreciated, emulated and admired. 

So let me get to the point of why I’m writing. I wanted to fill you in on big news, if Dad hasn’t already.

Dad is getting married this weekend.  Surprisingly (to everyone else, I think) I’m truly happy and excited for him and for his fiancée.  He is marrying a really great woman who was widowed at a young age. She has terrific kids and really has become part of the family.  I am so impressed with how she has respected Dad’s large extended family and embraced it. I’m sure it can be intimidating and overwhelming, but she’s never tried to separate him from those he loves. I respect that and think it reflects her own confidence in who she is and their relationship. That is huge. She’s not exactly like you (though she looks like she could be your sister or mine) but I kind of like that. It’s like Dad isn’t trying to re-create his life with you, which would make me uncomfortable. For, how could he ever? I like that it’s a new chapter for him, for our family and one that’s about them and not about you or his life before.

It wasn’t Plan A, but it’s a pretty ideal Plan B. And it’s filled with love.

I think you are on the same page. I am once again grateful for the time we had together to prepare for your death, as awful as it seemed at the time. I hope you take comfort in knowing even though you’re not here, you make me a better person each day. 

I’m happy that Dad isn’t alone, and I know you would be too. I’m happy he’s so happy again. I’m happy he has someone to do all those things with that you both probably talked about doing together once the kids were older and he was slowing down at work. I wish it were with you, but I’m not angry he gets to do it with someone else and I hope no one begrudges him that. I’m happy he has someone to love him as a partner and not just as a child or grandchild would. I’m happy that this very nice woman seems to appreciate him, and I’m glad for her that she will have someone as amazing as Dad with whom to share her life. I’m happy that she’s become my friend and that it’s easy and not stressful for us to spend time together. I’m very happy that her kids, who aren’t that much older than mine and were all but babies when they lost their dad, will have a father figure in their life who is a good role model, a great man and a wonderful dad.  They deserve that.

Overall I’m very happy for them, and for Dad.

I won’t lie and say I’m not also sad.

I’m sad you’re not here. I’m sad that you can’t be the one to do all those things you both probably talked about doing together one day, when there would be time and money. I’m sad you didn’t get time to reap the joys of being a grandmother, and I’m sad you had such a small window of time to be friends with your daughter. You deserved that – you, the woman whose own mother teased her, calling her Pollyanna for being so sweet, good and truthful.  I’m sad I don’t have a mom to call for advice or shop with or gossip to or complain about our jobs, husbands and kids. I’m sad you had more years with the push-and-pull of mothering and not more years of the reward of friendship with your children and the grandchild adoration. I’m sad that my kids will never know you nor get that special grandmother time with you or have you at school events, holiday celebrations or milestone moments. I’m sad they won’t get postcards from you on vacation and sleepovers at your house on school breaks. I’m sad that you will not be here to teach them proper etiquette and good manners and how to keep their stomachs in and their shoulders back for good posture, as I know from my own experience how unlikely it is they’ll listen to those lessons from their mom or dad.

I’m sad you won’t have that chance to utter, “I didn’t wish it on you,” as you laugh, watching them as teenagers treat me the way I know I treated you.  I’m sad they won’t have you to call from college when they’re mad at me. I’m sad you won’t be there to speak your mind about the people they’ll date or to beam with pride when they get married or start their first jobs or have children.

Basically, I am so sorry for you that you’re gone. I don’t know they’ll ever understand what they lost.

Maybe another time I’ll share a letter with you about what they’re like today. I wrote quite a bit about them to put in here for you. But this was supposed to be about sharing this weekend’s news with you and letting you know I’m okay. Everyone keeps asking, so you were probably wondering too.

I love you, I love Dad and I love my family. Old and new.

Love, Me

Have you ever seen this kind of political excitement (outside DC metro)? This level of engagement? Even my daughter had voted before me — apparently her elementary school elected Obama over McCain. My daughter didn’t want to come with me to vote, noting this school-day election. She had so been there and done that. I actually had to insist bribe her (with a bag of pretzels). I told her that one day, years from now, regardless of the outcome, she would (probably only privately) thank me because she would be able to tell her friends she was with me on this day. Turns out, she was pretty enthralled.

And of course, as I do each and every time I vote, I got teary-eyed. And a lump in the throat. No, I’m not making that up. I have NEVER, EVER voted in any official election without getting teary-eyed.  We have THE GREATEST country in the world, even though we are probably as dysfunctional as any other. I believe in our underlying constitutional infrastructure. I will attest to the undefeatable spirit of the American people to engender the change needed to … eventually… fix what isn’t great. 

Most of all, I take pride in our cultural and social evolution that has gotten us to this point: a day where our major Presidential candidates are a 72-year old white military man whose VP running mate is a woman and a young, bi-racial pulled-up-by-his-own-bootstraps community organizer/lawyer/statesman.

I am not an old woman. I’m not even technically middle-age, though I feel it fast approaching. Yet, honestly, I didn’t necessarily think I would ever see this day where this could happen IN THE SAME PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION.

And that’s probably why I was a just a little more teary-eyed than usual today. For a moment driving to the polling station, I thought about what it must be like to be an 18 year old today, or a 19, 20 or 21 year old. Someone who never before voted in a Presidential election. These kids (yes, kids) have memories of previous elections, of their parents’ emotions or indifference and most will have meaningful memories of the 2000 debacle/confusion/chaos in addition to what is in their history books. 

Yet, I wonder, I truly wonder if they can know how historic this is? It reminds me that the stories of the Jim Crow South, the enormous civil rights injustices there and the voting obstacles faced by good, honest citizens who happened to be African American are to me just stories, movies and parts of my long-ago history major courses. It is hard to get my arms around the real struggle, the charged emotions, the sacrifices made, the baby steps taken that seemed earth shattering at the time, the actual blood, sweat and tears of that era. And, earlier this election season I was shocked when reminded how recent was women’s right to vote. There are actually people who remember that too — and the similar obstacles, beatings, shame and blood, sweat and tears.

There is no underestimating what even the tiniest of incremental advances can do for us as a country many years later. It is so important that people see progress as positive change and not mourn the passing of what we once were. Change is good, even when it doesn’t look exactly like what we’re used to.  We gain some things, and we also lose some. But usually, mostly, hopefully, we gain.

That is why I hope these first-time voters truly comprehend just how momentous this election is, since they never actually got to do this before anyway. Oh, and those 17 year olds. How agonizing to just miss out!

This isn’t just about firsts. This is about acceptance of ALL AMERICANS into the leadership fabric of our country.  This is about the train having left the station. This is about who is on board.

Is there still racial disparity and injustice in America? Oh, yes. Is there still gender bias? Uh huh. Are there still stupid people, evil people, short-sighted people and self-centered people who will vote solely on what helps them profit or insulate them from change? Of course. And this election isn’t going to change that.

That’s up to us, what we do today and what we all do next.

But, oh what a milestone in that long, long race. God Bless America.

Regardless for whom you’re casting your vote, this is a sure sign of progress.  We have come a long way baby.

Oh, and I hope my guy wins!

Instead I half-heartedly clear off a couple of things on the island and on and off dully watch the World Series (Cubbies, some day we’ll go all the way), but can’t really get in to it. My team isn’t there again, and neither is my husbands’. 

Truly, it’s SUNDAY NIGHT in the Fall!  Football should be on. That’s just a universal truth! Doesn’t the NFL know that people are counting on them? And NO, some game played oversees as some kind of “special” just isn’t a replacement. What am I expected to do… watch Desperate Housewives for crying out loud?

ARGH! How can I be expected to start the week fresh and motivated after this?! I suppose I should look at the silver lining — I’m not enduring the most painful, boring, uninspired half-time blather delivered by Bob Costas this week. The man is great at many things sportscaster-ish, but it turns out the SNF halftime show isn’t among them.

On any given Sunday, my emotional stability is in the NFL’s hands. This one just didn’t cut it for me.

I’m willing to consider this. (Cue the Jeopardy theme music while I consider). Okay, I’ve thought about it. Here’s my verdict:  No way, buddy.

Here’s some irrefutable evidence from today alone. (Editor’s note: some most of this is gross.)

This morning, instead of getting ready for work and going in to the office, I collected a stool sample of diarrhea/staetorrhea from my 6-year old daughter to fill the 5 plastic cups provided yesterday by the pediatrician’s office while my husband got ready for work and did go to the office, then showered with said, possibly Giardia-carrying daughter, drove to the local hospital to deliver the samples to the outpatient lab within the one hour mark of collecting it, stopped by her school to drop off the check for a school event on Friday that is due today since she won’t be at school, went to the dry cleaners to drop off the suit and tie my husband stained last week, dropped 20-some thank you notes that I wrote over the weekend into a post office box for our twins’ birthday gifts, then grabbed a coffee at Starbucks.

I was back home by 8:00 a.m. to do some work before taking to preschool the only one of our three kids not currently voiding their bowels as if they’ve undergone colonoscopy prep.

Not a problem for me on this, just a variation on the daily routine, as chaos seems to be the order of the day in our house. I should also note, when it became clear yesterday that one of us would have to stay home from work to do all this and ensure our other two children survived through the day of stomach cramps and potty runs without ending up in the hospital or sending the nanny to the madhouse, there wasn’t even a conversation or question about who would take responsibility for it. Even my husband will back me up on that one.

Now, my husband is quite possibly the best father in the world. He can handle these three tiny creatures better than any other dad I know does theirs from what I can tell, and does indeed sometimes watch all three at once on weekends when I go do frivilous things like get my hair cut and colored or go grocery shopping. He changes all the light bulbs in the house, does garbage duty, has taken kids to birthday parties and tennis, puts them back to bed when they wake at night, and helps them hang holiday decorations. Yet, this very same man, who has never once been to his hearing-impaired daughter’s audioloist appointment had a small temper tantrum when asked if he could take her to an upcoming one that has to occur before our 504 staffing at the end of the month because I will be out of town on business for the date assigned to us. Of course, he will take her, but I had to hear about it first.

About all this, I have no real complaint. In the long run, everything will get done and we’ll march ahead to the next day whatever it brings. I for one am glad I can do all this, and I take some pride in the fact that I can work a relatively high-level, demanding, full-time job at a Fortune 10 company while also collecting stool samples and managing the family’s school and social obligations. I once read an article about a study saying moms are better multi-taskers than men and it pays off for them at work.  I hope any men who read this (if they haven’t clicked off to somewhere else by this point in the blog post) can somehow take comfort in that study as proof that it’s just not inherent to them. I would hate for men to have to take accountability for willfully evading all this stuff.  That would make me so sad for them.

So, the next time you think you want to face off over how women can’t do what needs to be done without complaint or their willingness to embrace responsibility or accountability, I’ve got a little special sample of something I’ll be happy to share with you. Let me just run to the bathroom first….

Each night my husband and I stayed up until way past midnight watching, actually speaking to each other every five minutes or so to note we really should go to sleep since we had to wake early for work.  Even when the bedroom TV DIED in the middle of the 1st week of events, we didn’t heed this obvious sign from above that we should GO TO SLEEP already. We just camped out longer each night in the family room. I think I even went to bed w/o brushing my teeth or washing my face one night because I was too tired by the time we got upstairs.

But, I’m not dead yet! I’m giving myself a chance at redemption. I’m going to persevere through the Democratic and Republican national conventions and somehow blog during those and hopefully get to sleep before 1 a.m. each day. 

Yes I can!