I cannot tell you how many times I have sat myself down in front of this computer to write about my visit to DC only to stare at the screen unable to find the any words to share what a wonderful experience I had.  And then sometimes the words come rushing at me so fast I can’t seem to sort them out.  Do I start by sharing the facts?  Do I tell you first about the people I met or the things I learned?  Should I share the informative nature of my trip or the deeply emotional level?

I realize I will never get to the informative part until I wade through the emotional part.  And for me, there was very little about this trip that was not emotional.

As a recovering addict with 9 years, 7 months, and 18 days (but who’s counting) without falling back into my drugging ways, I take anything that has to do with drug abuse awareness seriously.  The chance to go to DC to meet with a group of people as passionate about this as I am was beyond amazing.  I knew I was going to go to DC with bloggers Caroline and Janice and meet with the Five Moms and that was enough to excite me.  Then they threw in the president of Partnership for a Drug Free America and the passionate people at CHPA and I felt like I would jump out of my skin with anticipation.  Do they stop there?  No they let us know we will be meeting with Congressmen while the Five Moms and CHPA encourage them to learn more and make changes that are just “common sense” to laws regarding OTC medication.  Could it get better for me?

I didn’t think so.

While I was literally crackling with the energy in the room that first night at dinner, they announced their special guest who would not only be joining us for dinner that night but would also be joining us on Capitol Hill the next morning. Dr. Drew Pinsky.  That did it.  That sent me over the edge into tears. Being the always demure and subtle person I am, I blurted out to the crowded room, “Shut! Up!”

Some people may not understand why I would react emotionally to meeting Dr. Drew in person.  I have tried to come up with another analogy that may make some sense to people.  I know many people know Dr. Drew and may recognize him from VH1’s Celebrity Rehab.   I suppose it would be similar you being an actor and being able to sit down and talk with James Lipton of the Inside the Actor’s Studio. To have him zero in on something about you that is exactly the right thing at the right time that no one else has shared before but puts all the pieces of the puzzle together.  He is a mentor, a supporter and someone you admire.  Someone who “gets you” in a way “outsiders” just don’t.  Okay, so it might be a bad analogy but it was the best I could come up with.  (Janice jokingly compared it to a Christian meeting Billy Graham.)  However you want to look at it is fine with me as long as you can grasp that it is not a celebrity thing.  It is about an addict and a person who does amazing work with and in support of addicts.

In a night that I thought would simply be the kick off to an amazing trip to support the Five Moms and StopMedicineAbuse.org, it became something deeply personal.  I am wrapping my mind around conversations I had that night and I will share them with you.  I promise.

Right now, I want you to go visit StopMecineAbuse.org and familiarize yourself with it.  I want you to meet the Five Moms and read their stories.  I want you to go to  CHPA and see what they do.  Familiarize yourself with Partnership for a Drug Free America.  Those are the ones this trip was really about.  I will share with you what I learned– the facts about OTC medicine abuse that I learned from these amazing people I met and I will share the personal with you as well.

Because as much as I try, I cannot separate the two.  In my life they are too tied together.

The first phone call came yesterday saying she is dehydrated and has pneumonia.  And?  They are waiting on more test results from her blood to find more answers.  Oh, the agony of watching my poor baby girl while the amazing nurses tried to draw blood from her dehydrated body.  I know how much it hurt her.  She was such a trooper!  I cried just a bit watching but never when she saw me.  They said they were still waiting on some blood work results to come back but one of the results showed inflammation in her body but not what they would see with pneumonia.  (So what is it?)  Her ears hurt but they see no sign of infection.  Yet, she hurts and cannot hear very well at all.  They “see” no reason for that.

I want answers.

The second call came  today saying they were not sure about the pneumonia.  (I saw the x-ray. Her lungs definitely had something going on there.)  When I questioned it, I was told the nurse would call me back. She, too, saw in inconsistencies with chart results.  I insisted that it was the doctor that needed to call.  I wanted to talk to her doctor and make him explain what is going on with my baby girl.  The doctor never called me back.

I want answers!

We are going on day 8 of a fever that does not go below 100 degrees and topped off at 104.7.  I know fevers are meant to fight the germs but this is too long.  I give her ibuprofen around the clock and her fever goes down to near 100.  But doesn’t break.  It only broke a few hours on Saturday.  Then it shot back up.

I want answers now!

She doesn’t want to eat.  She doesn’t want to drink.  (Though I am pouring Gatorade and water in her around the clock.)  She even refuses to eat a Popsicle.

She is breaking my heart.  All she wants is to sleep and lay on the couch.  Many times with me there.  Most of the time just alone and in a zone.  She is fighting something we don’t know about.  She is battling an enemy where our only weapon is antibiotics and hope that it works.

I want answers now from someone!

And of course I am exhausted so when this song I love and have heard a million times came on the radio tonight, I pulled over and sobbed.  A phrase here and there sucker punched me.  (I know the song is about something more serious that we (think) we are battling, but the words got to me anyway.)

By the light of the moon
She rubs her eyes
Sits down on the bed and starts to cry
And there’s something less about her
And I don’t know what I’m supposed to do
So I sit down and I cry too
But don’t let her see

For those of you who may not know the lyrics, here they are.  It is beautiful song Rob wrote for his wife who is fighting Lupus.  We are not fighting  a battle like that.  I can admit the dragons I am slaying all night and day are minor comparatively, but I know the helplessness of watching someone you love hurt.  My cousin has Lupus.  My mom had MS.  It sucks to watch someone you love hurt and be able to do nothing to fix it.

Lyrics: Oh what the hell she says
I just can’t win for losing
And she lays back down
Man there’s so many times
I don’t know what Im doin’
Like I don’t know now

By the light of the moon
She rubs her eyes
Says it’s funny how the night
Can make you blind
I can just imagine
And I don’t know what Im supposed to do
But if she feels bad then I do too
So I let her be

And she says oooh
I can’t take no more
Her tears like diamonds on the floor
And her diamonds bring me down
Cuz I can’t help her now
Shes down in it
She tried her best and now she can’t win it’s
Hard to see them on the ground
Her diamonds falling down

She sits down and stares into the distance
And it takes all night
And I know I could break her concentration
But it don’t feel right

By the light of the moon
She rubs her eyes
Sits down on the bed and starts to cry
And there’s something less about her
And I don’t know what Im supposed to do
So I sit down and I cry too
But don’t let her see

And she says oooh
I can’t take no more
Her tears like diamonds on the floor
And her diamonds bring me down
Cuz I can’t help her now
Shes down in it
She tried her best and now she can’t win it’s
Hard to see them on the ground
Her diamonds falling down

She shuts out the night
Tries to close her eyes
If she can find daylight
She’ll be all right
She’ll be all right
Just not tonight

And she says oooh
I can’t take no more
Her tears like diamonds on the floor
And her diamonds bring me down
Cuz I can’t help her now
Shes down in it
She tried her best and now she can’t win it’s
Hard to see them on the ground
Her diamonds falling down

You see, Gabby has been sick for days.  Not the “Oh, honey, here is some juice and Advil, go back to bed” sick but the kind of sick where we are watching her around the clock and piggybacking meds to attempt to keep her fever down.  (Not very successful but keeping it lower than the danger zone.)

She complained on Wednesday of not feeling very well.  By that night she had a 104.7 fever.  We medicated her, called the doctor and got her in to see her pediatrician first thing on Thursday.  He said she has the flu and it was most likely the H1N1 version.  (Most likely?)  Since everyone and their brother are freaking out about the swine flu, doctors tend to be seriously under reacting.  We were told to keep her hydrated and keep up with the medicine to keep her fever lower and let them know if she became worse.  Friday we managed to keep her fever between 102-103 degrees.  She seemed to maintain and the doctor said that would be normal.

Of course Friday night after the doctors have gone home to the comfort of their homes, all hell breaks loose with my daughter.

Her fever shoots up. She begins screaming with ear pain.  We manage to get that under control. (I think her eardrum burst and gave her the relief she needed.  I called the “on call triage nurse” who said that we were doing the right thing and if she got worse and I felt it was life threatening to take her to the ER.

Can I even begin to tell you how much I do not want to take her to an ER with every germ and virus known (and unknown) to man lurking there on the weekends?

In the wee hours of Saturday morning she begins screaming and crying because her bladder hurts.  After much water and Advil, the pain subsided and she was pain free within an hour or so.  She is still having problems but they are much better.

Finally Saturday afternoon her fever broke.  There was much rejoicing.  She was getting better AND we avoided the ER.

Until Sunday morning rolled around.  Before the sun even rose, her fever spiked again.  By mid-morning she was crying and in severe agony with her other ear in pain. I felt so helpless.  Hasn’t my baby been through enough already?

We started the piggyback pain meds again only to see that we cannot break her fever.  Again.

Clint has been amazing.  While I stay up all night and make sure her fever stays in the “safe zone” every couple of hours, he takes the day shift while I sleep.  Tag team parenting at its best.

Right now, I should be trying to sleep.  Yet, here I am counting the minutes until her doctor’s office opens.  Tonight just fills me with restlessness and worry.  Tonight has gripped me with fear.  Tonight I can’t sleep.  What if she needs me tonight?  So I sit and listen.  And pace.  And check on her.  And pray.  And read.  And do all I can to keep my panic attacks that I am so prone to having at bay.  For her.

We are sleeping in rooms that attached to each other.  Both on couches and within easy hearing range.  I can hear her breathing as I type this.  I can’t sleep.  I just continually, obsessively check on her.

Is there anything as powerful as a sick child that can keep a mom running on nothing more than worry, adrenaline and coffee for days without crashing?

My baby is sick and I have not been able to make her better.  That hurts.  Please, just let my baby be okay.  My little girl just wants to feel better.  I just want her to feel better.  I want her healthy.  That is my plea and my prayer for my girl.

If a mother’s worry were medicine, she would be totally healthy by now.  And we would both be sleeping peacefully.

But here is where it went too far:  When other bloggers went as far as to slam, criticize and be downright cruel to the bloggers in attendance. Seriously?  That is just uncalled for when you attack the attendees.  Some of the bloggers were very hurt by the accusations and cruelty thrown their way. And some of this venom was by other blogger they respect(ed).   Did those of you who attacked the bloggers personally approach them in a respectful way or just throw stones?

You see, as one of the pioneers in mommyblogging, I have seen how far we have come.  We were once at the bottom of the blogging ladder.  We were the ones at the back of the list when it came to asking opinions of us or looking to us to educate and inform others about a product or service.  We (including some of the bloggers in attendance) fought hard to gain respect in the world of social media and with corporate America.  It was through our hard work, quality writing and open mindedness that we opened doors to major corporations to reach out to us.  Yes, we opened the door to gain access to these companies.  We earned their respect and therefore they have seen the power mom bloggers have online.  Believe it or not there was a time when there was no such thing as a blogger junket.

I remember one of the first held was Johnson’ s Baby Camp.  Yes, there was a blow up over that one. However, when bloggers were upset, they went to Johnson’s.  I did not see the actual bloggers being attacked personally.  Since then there have been many, many blogger trips to corporations where mom bloggers can learn about the companies, their practices and what they stand for as a company.  (Disclosure: Yes, I have been on some of these.  Yes, I do enjoy going. And, YES, I have learned more about these companies from attending.  It is not about a free trip and swag.  Do I enjoy going on these trips?  Of course I do.  A prime example is the trip I took to Hallmark.  I learned so much there and met amazing creative people.  I did have fun but more than that, I learned so much more about the company itself.   I do look into the companies when I am asked to go on one of these blogger junkets.  Just for the record.  The majority of us do not just get an invite and automatically jump for joy and attend. We attend for a reason.  We attend to hear what they have to teach us and show us about their company.)  For the record, Johnson’s did learn from the constructive criticism they received.  I worked with the PR person on this and saw it from their side as well.

Some of these women were at the forefront of mommyblogging.  They were ones that (even if the term mommyblogger made their skin crawl) fought to be heard and respected.  They are not into blogging for free trips, swag or bragging rights that they have been able to go on these trips.  They are the ones whose quality of writing brought these trips to you. (Yes, you who have been on them yourselves and enjoyed them.)   They helped show that we are powerful, useful and want to learn more about the products they may (or may not) be buying for their families.  To suggest anything else is not only inaccurate but cruel.  These women were blogging about their lives long before there was any monetary compensation or free trips involved.  Long before some of you were even blogging.

I saw and heard many women I respect personally attack these bloggers and frankly, it pisses me off in a big way.  I lost respect for women I had admired who used social media as a way to attack the attendees themselves.  What do you hope to gain doing that?  Do you think that by attacking their ethics, motivation and character makes you look more informed and a better person/mom blogger?  Well, it doesn’t.  It makes you look foolish and immature.

If you have a problem with Nestle, bring it up with NESTLE.  You want to boycott them, you go on with your bad self.  You want to tell Nestle off, do it.  It is well within your right to stand strong in your beliefs when it comes to a company and their practices.  I applaud you being an advocate for what you believe.  I seriously do admire those of you who stand up for what you believe and fight to see that injustices you hear or learn about are dealt with.

However, the moment you made it personal towards the mombloggers (and dad blogger) who went to this event, you lost your credibility.  At least with me.  It amounts to nothing more than school yard bullying.  Not to mention bullying some of the very people who have opened doors that I know you have enjoyed walking through yourself.

And, yes, I know that not all of the people who are anti-Nestle berated these bloggers. I know that.  Enough did, though, that I feel it should be addressed.

Those of you who did make it personal with these bloggers, the next time you decided to throw stones at these people, you think long and hard about what stones could be thrown at you.  Their attendance did not mean they support Nestle’s practices.  Do you know why they went?  Did you ask them what their motivation was to attend?  Did you find out if they wanted to become better informed on the issues you brought up?  Or did you assume their attendance automatically made them the bad guys?

With social media such as Twitter it is so easy to sit behind a computer and hurl your insults and make these people feel bad.  Are you using social media as a tool or as a weapon?  Think about it.

Had I been able to go, would I have gone?  Probably.  Not because I discount the research done by many bloggers on the company.  Not because I wanted a free trip. And not because I will blindly go anywhere I am asked to go.  But because no matter how much research I read from you, I want to get my own answers.  I want to see both sides.  I want to educate myself.

I am so disappointed in how my fellow mombloggers were treated personally. It infuriates me.

I fear that behavior like I saw will drag the mom(my) blogger name into the mud and shove us back into the depths of “we don’t want to hear from them” because dammit we have worked too hard for too many years to gain respect.

And, no, I am not talking about speaking out about your feelings, research and ideas about Nestle itself.  I am talking about the rude, mean spirited attacks against women I know to be admirable, respected and intelligent well educated bloggers who have done amazing things when it comes to blogging–namely momblogging.

Shame on those of you who saw fit to attack the attendees themselves.

Use your anger and your outrage over the company to open a dialogue with Nestle or use your words to educate those who do not know what you have researched.

And for the love of all things community, back the hell off of these bloggers.  They are good people.

/ end rant

I allowed it to happen today!

So, apparently I have learned that:

• Passing out is not normal and should be avoided at all costs.
• You really should not take the act of breathing for granted.  It is a rather important function even if you don’t think about it.    When you feel as if you are breathing through a Capri-Sun straw, it is rough and…well…sucks. (Pun intended.)
• You should not wait until you can barely function before seeing a doctor if these things happen.
• Finally, you should not scare your Facebook friends by saying you are in the hospital, posting a photo just saying you want to go home and want your husband without any more of an explanation than that.  It will worry them and then you will feel like an ass for worrying them just because you are a big ol’ scaredy cat baby head.  *Note:  I totally am a big baby when it comes to doctors who don’t know what is wrong with me and I am all alone in the hospital. Big. Huge. Cry. Baby.
  

I am SO not a fan of hospitals. See how pathetic I look?

I was finally sent home and told to go to bed and stay there. For a few days. (Pending blood work results.)  Stay in bed. For a few days.  hahahahahahaha  Are these people high on their own medication?  The ability of a mom of 3 to stay in bed for days is about the same as reversing the tides and having the sun rise in the west.  Now, don’t get me wrong.  I will try to follow doctor’s orders as best I can.  (Meaning, when the family is away, I will sleep/rest.)   And?  I know better than to try to go up to the school.  I have been threatened asked nicely by my friends to stay the hell away take my time to recuperate.

I will know more tomorrow from all of the eleventy hundred vials of blood they took from me today.  They are thinking my lungs sound not quite wet enough for pneumonia and are leaning towards thinking I have whooping cough.  Now, really!  This is 2009.  Who the hell gets whooping cough at age 39 in the year 2009?  That is just ludicrous.  All I know is I am coughing violently enough and often enough to literally burst vessels in my face and eyes.  (Nasty, right?  I know!)  I may or may not have coughed up my spleen earlier.  The dog ate it before I could check.  (I’m kidding. Relax. I don’t let him eat spleen.)  I have a fever.  My chest and back hurt.  And can I just tell you how tired I am.  EXCEPT the sheer bliss that are the breathing treatments have me wired like a cocaine addict.

And in all that?  I feel blessed.  WTH you say, Jenn?  No, really.  I have great friends who have checked on me that are local, out of the city, out of the state and even out of the country.  That (of course) brought me to tears.  (Because everything brings me to tears when I am sick.  But really, it touched me.)  And even old friends I haven’t seen in years checked up to make sure I was okay.  That kind of shocked me.  I was just whining because I was scared and suddenly people are showing real concern.  Thank you.  I would hug you but I hear I am contagious so you probably don’t want that.

I will update you later.  For now, thank you to my friends– old, new and renewed– for your show of support.  Now, since we are in such a nice loving state of mind, can I please borrow one of your lungs.  I will give it back.  Well, I really won’t but I will be thankful to breath and will tattoo your name on my….bicep.  Just one lung?  Maybe?

Okay.  I am off to bed to lay there and flail around like a fish flopped out of water onto a dock gasping for air but shaking like a freak.  (That is called imagery boys and girls.  And some people call it medically induced writing.)

I guess it started when I found more and more people in my real life reading my blog.  Now, I was outed  years ago by a friend who loved the blog and shared it with friends at school.  That did not bother me.  They commented or admitted to reading it or just flat out didn’t care.  I could be myself.  That is what this blog is all about.  It doesn’t bother me that people I see on a daily basis read this.  I have nothing to hide.  Not exactly.  It is just that it becomes a one way street.  They are allowed into my private life and into my thoughts but I am not privy to theirs.  It seems…off balance.  You can know me, but I cannot know you.  That doesn’t so much work for me.

Oh, but on the humorous side of this, I did have a mom from the school who emailed me a few days ago.  You see– for those of you just joining us– I am the PTA president at the school of one of my kids.    Now, if you have been here for a while that statement is STILL making you laugh.  I get it.  I do!  But this email was classic.

Dear Jennifer, PTA President,

I came across your blog the other day. (It wasn’t hard to find.  You might want to think about not being so visible if you are taking on such a big volunteer role.  Especially when the kid is so young.)  However, I found a few posts that made me wonder how you must be feeling about your words now.  These posts are not very flattering to the PTA and now you stand up as their president. It seems a bit hipocritical [sic]. I wanted to know how you feel about the PTA now and if you take back what you said now that you are “the leader” of the “Stepfords”.

From,

A Mom Out To Cause Trouble

Well, in answer to your question, pretty damn good.

Here is my response:

Dear Mom Trying to Cause Trouble,

I have two policies on my blog:  1) I do not delete a post UNLESS I have directly inflicted pain on someone unintentionally and 2) I do not say anything on my blog that I would not say to someone’s face. (Oh, and let’s throw in #3: No nude pictures. Of me.)

Thank you so much for pointing out these old posts!  I mean it!  It really reminds me what it felt like to be treated so badly and to feel so unwelcome.  Your email helps remind me I never want to make anyone who volunteers at the school feel that way.  You must be very caring to ensure that I am reminded of that bad time so that I can avoid it while I am in a position that holds at least a little bit of power.

Thank you so much for your concern and caring for our volunteers!

I look forward to seeing you at school,

~Jenn

For those of you who have been here a while, you are surely aware of what she is talking about.  For those of you who are new, here are links to the horrible, awful, no good posts I wrote.  Including trying to fake my own death to avoid the PTA.  (Again, I am not apologetic about my words.  I was working with women who were the Meanie Moms of the school and they had no problem excluding, belittling and bringing volunteers to tears.)

These posts (if you look at the year they were written) are old.  I still stand by them because I was treated in a manner that I hope a PTA volunteer at the school I am active in is NEVER, EVER treated.  It was a horrible time in my life and a horrible way to be treated by anyone.  Now?  Now I know I set myself up for mocking because of these old posts.  Do I care?  Sure!  I already feel like an outsider anyway. However, I am strong enough to take it.  I know that what I went through only made me more determined to make sure anyone who wants to volunteer is not only welcome, but praised for their work.  Whether it is one hour every other month or 15 hours a week.  They all matter.  They ALL deserve respect.  I am thankful for each of them!

So, Ms. Mom Trying To Cause Trouble, take your spite elsewhere.  If you want to volunteer, you are welcome to do so.  If you want to try to make me look bad?  Oh, honey, I do that enough on my own and really don’t need your help, thankyouverymuch.

Anyone else have stones?  Feel free to hurl them.  Trust me.  I can take it.

I know to you this house you just bought is fresh and exciting and you are eager to make it your own.  I thought maybe if you knew a bit about it, you would learn to love it much faster than if it was just a “house” you slapped down a huge mortgage for.  It was my childhood home and in a way, like a member of the family.

You see, I get that a house consists basically of four walls and a roof.  A home?  That is a totally different story.  A home is the place where you live.  Where you are loved.  The place where you create your memories.  It is the place where you are free to be happy or sad, share laughter or tears, argue and make up.  A home is your safe place to land when you fall.  I hope you can make this place your home for you and for any children you have.  She will take good care of you if you love her.

Growing up, my home was the place to be.  Ask any of my friends (many are on Facebook and can tell you) that my home was where people liked to go hang out.  Sometimes, they would go there even when I wasn’t home yet just to hang out with my Mom.  (I used to get so frustrated that my friends would hang with her before me.  I now realize how incredible that is.)  Mom was not known by “Mrs.” or her first name.  To everyone who was my friend and knew her, she was simply Mom. Mom to the world.  She made my house growing up a wonderful home.  Dad was the same way.  Of course, he was at a disadvantage working so much and missed out on many chances to blatantly steal hang out with most of my friends.  Either way, my parents gave me an amazing home while I was growing up.  The house you have just bought.

Now?  You own that  house.  It is hard to put into words why this is breaking my heart.  In fact, I hesitate to say anything because I have already caused hurt feelings by being so attached to a “house”.  But that house was my home long after I was married and owned my own home.  It was where I went to find peace.  It was the place I went when I needed to remember who I was, where I came from and just– for a little while– be a kid no matter how old I was.

I have the most amazing memories this house I grew up in.  Memories that I feel helped make me who I am today.  Memories that shape the woman I became and the Mom I want to be.  I lived there.  I mean, I really “lived” there for so many years.  It holds my past.  Here are just a few that I cherish and am holding on to now.

Bringing home my first best friend after we moved there and having her sleep over.  We stayed up all night bugging the DJ’s on the radio. (79Q AM Rocked!) After hours of middle of the night calling,  I finally won A Flock of Seagulls record.  My best friend and I shared our deepest secrets in my room.  It was also the same room I cried my eyes out when that very same friendship shattered.

Bringing home boys who wanted to go out with me and letting them meet my parents.  Worse yet, letting them meet my brother after one of them broke my heart.

Getting together with my circle of friends and talking well into the night and playing “truth or truth” because we were all too tired to actually do any dares.  (I learned a lot from those nights!)

Having friends come over and hang out even if I wasn’t there because they adored Mom and had just as much fun– if not more fun– with her than with me.

Having the boy who I knew was “the one” stay over night downstairs (with very squeaky stairs to prevent any sneaking up or down them, I might add) so he wouldn’t have to drive home so late at night.

Being proposed to in the middle of the night one weekend home from college in front of that oh-so-ugly couch that we all had to endure when we had a date over.  Crying and saying yes and wanting to shout but knowing it was our secret until morning.

Having my best friend stay with me the night before my wedding as we laughed and talked and were just enjoying our time together.

Remembering how Dad woke me up with a rose on my wedding day.

Coming home to stay with my Mom and Dad for the summer after our son Jacob died because Clint was transferred out of state and I needed a safe place to stay until the company offered him a full time position in Dallas.  Remembering the comfort that being with my Mom and Dad brought to me while I mourned the loss of my baby.  Knowing that in that home, in my room, I would always be taken care of at any age.

Two of my three children had their first birthday parties there.

It is where we all gathered for Thanksgiving and Christmas.

It is where I go when I need to feel the cocoon of my youth, the safety of my childhood.

It was the last place my Mom lived.  I mean really lived.  The last place she laughed.  The last place she walked.  The last place she stood up and gave me a real hug.  It is the one place I can go and really and truly feel my Mom.  When I am there, I feel her as if she could reach out and hug me at any moment.  In a way, that house is where I go when I need to feel safe and to feel Mom.

It is my childhood home.

I know that it is a “house” and these memories will stay with me no matter where my Dad lives.  But I have to be honest enough to say, I will miss that childhood home terribly.  I understand life moves forward and you have to move forward with it.  I just wish I could keep the house and still move forward.

Dad is not selling the house “just because he wants to” or because it is too big now.  There is wonderful reason he is moving and I am thrilled for him.  (He is getting married.)  That is a cause for celebration.  In that respect, I am very happy for him and for the new journey this will take all of us on.

I do still feel like I am losing a part of my family now that you have bought this house.

I may get sad now and then when I think about it and want to see it.  So, if you see a woman in a van outside staring at your new house and crying, I am not crazy.  I am just remembering.

By then, our home will have become your house. (And I do so hope, your  home.)   And like I said before, a home is where your family is, where the ones you love live.  You can make any house a home.  I know that.  I just wanted to say, I really, really do love my childhood home.  It was very good to me.

So, new owners, please take good care of her. She was good to us and holds more memories than I can share.  I thought about letting you know how to bypass the squeaky stairs (there is a way,  you know) or the various nooks and crannies that hold secrets, but you will have to find those out by yourself.  It is yours to discover.

All I ask of you is this:  Love her.  Because?  She is very loved by many.

Warmest wishes and best of luck in your new home,

~Jenn

ps- My Dad’s house has not sold yet.  But I know it will and by then, it will be too hard to write this.

I thought it was going to be very hard emotionally to go through all of this.  To take 30 years of memories and be brutal enough to discard most of it and save only what we really felt was of value to us personally.  I mean, let’s face it. It doesn’t take much to make me cry.  I even cried on the way down there just thinking about it.  In all honesty, it really wasn’t as hard on me emotionally as it was physically.  Hauling 30 years worth of stuff from it’s storage is some serious labor!  My body was bruised, cut and sore all over.  I was not expecting it to take the physical toll on me that it did.

My sister and I talked about what we would do if it became too emotional etc and she admitted she wanted to make sure I could be brutal if I had to be.  (We both have husbands telling us not to bring all of that “stuff” back to our own houses!)  I told her it may take some time, but we would get through it if  I was emotional.

It took about 30 minutes for me to get over that!  The job was so overwhelmingly huge, we did not have time to wallow in sentiment.  Now, had I been on my own, it would have taken much longer and been much more difficult.  However, I was with my sister.  If there is one thing my sister and I do together, it is laugh.  Cleaning out decades worth of “stuff” is no exception.  If you did not know us, you may think we were being brutal.  Hell, my dad even thought we were a bit brutal at times.  It’s just that we had to be.  We simply had to be to!  It was necessary to  1) Make sure we did not get bogged so far down into sentiment that we kept everything and 2) We did not have time to be sentimental over everything.  We had a schedule to keep.

Going through a closet went something like this:

Remember this?

Yeah?

Important?

Nope.

Trash it!

This?

Oh, I remember when Mom wore that to _____ !

Oh, me too!

Trash.

Is this yours?

Yes.

Care?

Nope.

Trash.

And that was how it went for every closet, drawer etc.  Except we laughed at almost every turn.  You wouldn’t believe the things we found.  While they held memories, we probably got rid of it.  Every thing that held a story would get a laugh at the memory or a laugh at how brutal we were about the memory.  The only things that did stop us for more than a few seconds were the pictures.  We did love to look at the pictures.  Finally,  we decided all pictures go into one stack/box etc. until we had time to really enjoy looking at them.  That got us back on our speedy track.

See how attractive I am after a half day of attic cleaning? (Purple face break)

I will admit that we put off going through the attic for as long as we could.  Just picture it.  A week of cleaning already behind us.  A hot attic with no ventilation filled with dust and insulation in the heat of an August day in Texas.  (Are you seeing why this did not sound like a pleasure cruise?)

It went about like this:

• Up the attic stairs.
• Get a box.
• Down the attic stairs.
• Make a pile of boxes.
• When the boxes reach the bottom of the attic stairs, we close the attic stairs and begin the trek down the house stairs out to the garage.
• Repeat about 50 times. (At the minimum.  I am totally serious about that.  It was at least that many trips.)

We only had a few rules:

• You begin to cough up insulation, we take a break. (Not quit.  Just a break.)
• Your face turns purple, we take a break. But just until the purple turns a light shade of red. (Drink water  during this break!)
• You have to pee, you hold it.
• You fall down the stairs, you brush it off and may get a break if there is blood.
• A kid is screaming, has broken something of value or has escaped, you get a short break to get another kid to tend to him.
• You pass out, you’re on your break until you come to.

But let me tell you this about me and my sister.  We get sh*t done!  There are no trips down Memory Lane.  We are cruising down, Get It Done Drive.  We don’t want to play “Do You Remember When…”   We would much rather play “Trash and Dash So We Can Shower”.   I know it sounds cold but it is necessary when you are going through so much. Did I mention 30 YEARS worth of stuff.  And?  Our Mom was a packrat.  Big time. Massively.  Over the top!  I do believe that this exercise in massive cleaning has cured me of the packrat disease.  If I can’t wear it, use it or store it in what little room I have allowed, I will take a picture of it and trash it.

Brutal?

Yeah, tell me how brutal I am after I have lived here 30 years and YOU get to clean out my stuff.  For that matter, I have only been in this house for 13 years and am already overwhelmed with the crap.  And?  I have zero volunteers (including my husband and kids) to help me declutter.

What I really wish is that my sister and I lived closer to each other?  Why?  Well, besides the obvious that she is one of my very best friends and can make me laugh like no one else, we could start one incredibly successful business of just cleaning out people attics and closets.  I can see it now:

“The Brutal Sisters: We Get Sh*t Done!”

Hey, I would hire us.  Hmmm, maybe I can pay my sister to come help with my house.  Of course, the payment would have to be laughter and the joy of my company.  And wine.  But that is about all it took for us to get through about 85 bags of trash in one week with Dad.  Imagine all we could do here!

So, for now the hardest part is over.  At least the hardest physical part.  Next up?  The emotional part.  When the house sells.  Why does it matter?  Stay tuned for part 2 of this and you will see why it matters to me.

I will start with one and just post others as I have time.  (Including helping clean up and pack my childhood home so my Dad can move and becoming and stumbling with being the elementary school’s PTA president.)

Last weekend my daughter’s best friend moved.  They have been best friends since kindergarten.  When you are in third grade, that is practically a lifetime.  That is a hard transition for a kid.  What makes it harder is that her best friend’s mom is also one of my best friends.  We certainly feel the loss of this family deeply.

I suppose it helps my daughter to see that she is not alone in the feeling of loss. We spent last Saturday evening after they left snuggled under blankets watching movies.  Of course, I would have chosen different movies, but in this case the movies of choice were High School Musical 1 and 2 and started on 3 but it became too late to get through it.   (I know.  It is heartbreaking to have not finished the 3 movie marathon.)

For Gabriella making new friends or bonding with friends she has known in her class but she was not close to is a bit easier.  You just start playing games on the playground or sit with them at lunch or even share your coolest toys.  I wish it was as easy for an adult like me.

When I was talking to my sister I compared it to being divorced.   You are still there and you still there and you still have the same people in your life but your “partner in crime” is gone.  It is hard to try to open up again in a new way with old friends when you are, well, old(er).  They have their “groups” and the people they do things with already firmly established.  How do you break into a new group when you have never been a part of it before.  Adults can be set.

Don’t misread me.  I am not sitting home all alone whining about “poor me” for feeling alone.  I am trying to open myself up to new opportunities and new friends.  I am just not as good as it as I was in 4th grade when it was easy to just assume that of course it is okay to just say “Let’s be friends!” and you have a new group of friends to run with when you want it.

When I find myself worrying about it, I take a step back and think about my friend.  She is in a new city, a new home, a new school with none of the familiar things around her that she has come to know so well living here for over a decade.  I at least have familiarity.  I talk to her and do what I can do to help her realize how wonderful she is and how she will be surrounded by new friends in no time.  Every ending brings with it a new beginning.  Her ending of her life here is a fresh new beginning for her.  And, by the same token, I need to remember that her moving (an ending for me) is a new beginning for me as well.  I just need to figure out how to embrace that.

For now, I am taking my daughter’s lead and opening up to new experiences and new people. And?  Trying to figure out how to open up to the “older/familiar” friends that have been in my life.  Sometimes my brain just takes me back to high school mentality.  I admit it.  I feel like the geek girl trying to break into the “popular girl” clique.  Maybe I should buy a shirt that says, “My BFF just moved…wanna be my friend?”

Or maybe that is overkill.

Or maybe I am just really hard to approach.  I don’t know.

What I do know is that change makes us grow.  This past month I have seen plenty of “growth” to last me for a year.   So, I  am giving a shout out to life….Settle down.  I need to catch my breath.

And?  I’m just asking…wanna be my friend?

Alice of Finslippy said it best when she stood up at the closing keynote and declared, “Mommyblogging is a radical act!”  And?  It was.  At that time, to be called a mommyblogger and have a mommyblog was radical.  We had to fight for any respect we received.  We had to work hard to earn any recognition that was not negative.  It was radical to embrace (or even accept) being called a mommyblogger.

What did we walk away with that day?  If “they” were going to continue to label us mommybloggers, we would make it a term that was synonymous with respect, integrity and quality writing. The opinions and writing styles represented by the women in that room at that panel were as varied as the writers behind them.  It wasn’t as if we walked away holding hands and singing Kumbaya.  We weren’t suddenly some bonded community that adored each other and created a uniform way of mommyblogging.  For goodness sakes, some of us didn’t even like each other but we did respect the writing represented by each one of us  Regardless of any of our differences, we did agree on one thing:  We would no longer sit back and be disrespected for being a mommyblogger. We were not going to sit at the bottom rung of the blogging ladder and be content.  As a collective of individual writers, we were taking back the term and demanding respect. Not by telling people to respect us.  Not by storming the gates of the media and demand they respect us.  No, we gained respect through our writing.  Call us what you want–label us what you want– we were first and foremost writers.  Good writers.  We just happened to write about our family lives and our children.

Part of embracing the term was starting the site Mommybloggers.  I registered it and went to Jenny and Meghan and asked if they wanted to start a site that focused on featured the quality writing of the amazing women who were labeled “mommybloggers.”  Thus, a we began to shine a light on how amazing these women writers really are.

It was inspiring to see the changes in the perception of mommybloggers after that first year at BlogHer.  We mommybloggers  proved through our writing that we were a powerful group of bloggers.  We showed that the power of our blogs reached much further than our immediate family. We could change the world with our words on our “little mommyblogs.”

Many of us that day were blogging long before some of the “big name” mommybloggers of today even had children.  Yet, when they became moms and were suddenly labeled mommyblogger, they brought even more respect to our community.  Simply because they were popular?  No, not exclusively.  Because they could write well and they did so with confidence and authority and wouldn’t let the label mommyblogger change that.  It was an exclamation point on what we were doing. And I admire them immensely.

The fact of the matter is, those of us who were blogging at and around that time were pioneers in the mommyblogging field.  We did it with pride, openness and quality.  We told the stories of our lives.  We shared stories about motherhood honestly and without apology.  We took back the term “mommyblogger” and made it synonymous with power, integrity and respect.  We worked hard to gain that respect.  We fought for it. We earned it.  And even those who did not want to be labeled at all could be proud when referred to as a “mommyblogger” because we all made that happen.  Together.  Individually with our own blogs.  Yet together.

In the past year or so a new crop of mommybloggers has popped up.  Many women who are a part of this new breed of mommybloggers have come to the scene heralding with much pomp and circumstance a sense of entitlement.  They feel they are owed something.  They feel just by slapping the label mommyblogger on their blog (blogs where they barely if ever write about their personally lives or families at all), they have earned the same respect as those who are writing quality stories that engage their readers.  Do not misunderstand me.  I am under no circumstances saying that this includes all new mommybloggers.  I don’t care if you started blogging 10 days ago or 10 years ago.  It is not in the length of time blogging but in the attitude behind it.  There are some absolutely amazing mommybloggers who are just starting out who I absolutely respect. It is not about being new.  It is about being a part of the “new breed” that is stirring things up.

What do I mean by a ” new breed” of mommybloggers? I am talking about the ones who project an air of entitlement because they are a “mommyblogger.”  I am talking about the ones who shout so loud to marketers that the rest of us can barely be heard above the clamor. I am talking about the ones who behave rudely to PR people who do not give them what they want, complain if someone else got something they did not, or cry foul if they are not the ones sent on a trip that other women took.  I am talking about the ones who try to tell others how to make PR work for them and how to get the best things and how they deserve those things.  In the midst of all of the noise and self declared importance, where is the quality writing about life and family that actually brought respect to the mommyblogging community?

Now, before you even go there I will say that I do not have a problem with working with the media. (I have done several interviews both in print and on tv.)  I do not have a problem working with marketers or PR representatives.  (I have great relationships with many, many of them.)  I do not have a problem with sending bloggers on trips to teach them more about a product and show them firsthand where it all starts.  (I have been on a few of these and have referred many other mommybloggers for these trips when asked.)  And finally, I do not have a problem with free products, product reviews or working with a company to test a new product. (I have done all of those more than once.)  I do have a problem with assuming you are entitled to it, demanding you receive it and throwing an Internet hissy fit when it doesn’t go your way.  I have a problem with behaving so poorly and rudely that the term “mommyblogger” is suddenly becoming synonymous with greed, rude behavior and a self important sense of  entitlement.

Who do you think brought those marketers and media to your blog?  Those of us who fought (and still fight) to bring respect to the term “mommybloggers.”  Our writing, not our shouting, demanding or grabbing gained us the respect this new breed feels entitled to have.

This weekend I heard bloggers that I admire and respect say things to distance themselves from the term mommyblogger.  The always kind and spot on Julie of The Mom Slant saying  more than once “Don’t call me a mommyblogger!” Kristen of Motherhood Uncensored who never pulls a punch declaring her new motto ” Not all bloggers are like that” when referring to being called a mommyblogger.  Hearing Busy Mom (The Original) –who happens to be one of the most mellow, non-judgemental, pioneers in the mommyblogging community– refer to all of this as the year shame died which in turn prompted the title of a brilliant post from the amazing blogger, Liz of Mom 101.  I heard and experienced all of those last weekend.

And it broke my heart.

These are the women who stood up and earned respect for term “mommyblogger” through their amazing writing, professionalism and pride in what they write about.  Even those who resist labels altogether wore the mommyblogger label with pride when it was applied to them are now these women want nothing to do with it.  Those same women who brought respect to the term and the community are now repulsed by it.

And I am heartbroken.

And I am mad.

It brings to my mind a question that I have been pondering since all of this finally came to a head at BlogHer.

And I want you to think about this long and hard.

If you join an established and respected community, do you owe it anything?  Is it your responsibility to respect what has been built with hard work and diligence by the people who consider themselves a part of that community?  Especially if it is a community without set rules, guidelines or membership but rather it is merely a community of writers who have worked hard to support each other through their writing and willingness to stand up for each other both on their blogs and in their personal lives?

If you throw on that label, what does that mean?  Does it mean anything?  Should you respect those who came before you–the pioneers if you will–or do you say to hell with how it has been done or the work they have put into this community, this is how I want to do it?

If a community is built by being open to everyone who identifies with it, respects it and is proud to be a part of it, what happens to that community when just using the label that identifies it throws it into turmoil.  When it places someone right smack dab into the middle of this open community and that person has little respect for what it stands for already?

Does self labeling make you are part of a community?

I don’t know.

What I do know is my heart broke when I heard amazing writers who have never fought the term mommyblogger and even go as far as bring it respect, not want to be associated with it.  Worse?  When I was talking to  Susan Getgood, a woman I respect immensely,  and heard the words, “I don’t even want to be called a mommyblogger anymore if this is what is has come down to.“  come out of my very own mouth, my heart dropped to my feet.  The look on her face (and the tears that began rolling down my cheeks)  said it all.

But now?  You can forget that.  Too many amazing mommybloggers fought too hard to walk away from something we brought respect to.  Mark my words, we will take back the respect we earned and fought for.  Will we do it through screaming, threats, blog attacks or excluding people?  No. Absolutely not.  That is not what built us up in the first place and it is not what will sustain us through this insanity of poor behavior.

What will we do? We will write the hell out of our blogs and remind people who mommybloggers are and why we earned the respect we have.  Just before I left I was handed a fortune cookie. (I was overwhelmed so I cannot remember the link of who gave it to me. Tell me and I will link you!)  That fortune cookie says it all for me.

The end looks much like the beginning.  Return to what you once knew and many have forgotten along the way.

I have not forgotten.  Have you?