moosh in indy.

I am very happy. (So is Vivi.)

And for the first time in a very long time I am not listening and waiting for the other shoe drop.

It feels so good.

If I could give you all a hit of how good I feel right now? You’d beg me to be your dealer.

When I look in the mirror I see happy. When I see pictures of myself, I see happy.

I look good happy, even if no one else sees it. *I* see it.

I don’t see the constant ponytail and 11 week postpartum belly.

I know I weigh 40 pounds more than when I got married and that I only fit in clothes that are generously sized, elastic and machine washable.

But none of this really matters to me right now.

I see this time in my life where everything is so wonderful.

This is real happy. Not worldly happy, material happy or chemically altered happy.

Just, happy. Content. Thankful. Blessed.

I get to spend my days with my arms full of warm snuggly baby, something I waited nearly six years for.

I am going to be able to look back at pictures from this time in my life and know that for however long this lasts the people around me got all the best parts of me, especially my littles.

I know my depression is somewhere up there in my brain. I know it will be back someday.

But for the first time in ten years I don’t fear it.

Someone needs to write a cookbook entitled “How to Win Friends and Influence People Through Food.” It would have to be written by a mom. Because the two main genres of people who are won over and influenced by food? Husbands and little kids.

I used to joke that Addie would perform light housework for raspberries. Then I realized it’s actually true, Addie will in fact perform light housework for raspberries. Preferably a pint at a time. I still remember a grocery day where I had to push a sobbing two year old through the check out line because I insisted we pay for the bananas before she could eat one. Lest you think it’s a fruit festival up in here, I may or may not keep a secret stash of Tootsie Rolls, Addie’s six year old equivalent of gold bullion bricks, for those extra special occasions.

Then there’s Cody.

(more…)

(the following conversation occurred through text.)

Friend: YOU!

Me: Me what?

Friend: You with the sneak attack cards making me all weepy!

Me: Hallmark doesn’t pay me to be pretty.

Friend: As it should be.

I can vividly remember sitting at the dining room table drawing a card for my dad. I don’t remember the details of the card although I would suspect it was for my aunt’s birthday and he had forgotten to pick up a card from the store so he was playing the old “win the family over with a hand drawn card by the kid” card. You know you’ve played it. Or been on the receiving end of it.

He came up behind me and said “You should work for Hallmark.” I’m sure every parent has dreams of their kid going on to pursue something they are wildly passionate about in childhood but in my head I thought “Yes. Yes I should work for Hallmark.”

I was always the kid (and am currently the grown up) hanging out in the card aisle. Reading every single one, buying way too many and sending them to my friends. I always liked the way someone could put into a card exactly how I felt about someone and all I had to do to express my love was sign it and stamp it. Do you remember those Hallmark commercials where the girl gets a card from her boyfriend and then drops something so she can check to see if the Hallmark crown is on the back of the card? Yeah. That was me. Well played Hallmark.

I was convinced that people who gave Hallmark cards loved you more.

Fast forward to 2009, I was sitting in my mom’s living room in New Mexico when an email came through from Hallmark asking me if I’d like to come to Kansas City to tour their facilities and meet with some of their writers. I squealed so loud I scared bats. I sobbed through a good majority of the Hallmark tour, this was my dream since I had been a little kid drawing silly handmade cards at the dining room table.

(photo by Gabby Blair)

But the thing that got me the most was when our group was asked how we keep in touch with our friends.

“Email. Texts. Phone calls. Girls night out. Visits. Dinner.” were some of the answers. After we all finished answering someone from Hallmark said “None of you said send cards.”

THE HORROR. What had happened to that little girl who wandered the card aisles? Here I was in the hallowed halls of Hallmark WORLD HEADQUARTERS and I had to admit that with this digital life I lead I had forgotten about the magic of picking out a card, stamping and mailing it.

I’m pleased to say I have much improved my card sending strategy. But I have broadened my card sending repertoire to include cards from Etsy as well, because nothing says love like handmade (and Hallmark, well played 1990′s marketing campaign.)

I, along with several other bloggers were challenged to send out a stack of cards to our friends and family, while I’m sure they enjoyed opening the cards, I much more enjoyed knowing that my friends were going to know that I was thinking about them and that they had tangible evidence of me doing so.

Hallmark wants to give you the same opportunity. I have 10 packs of cards to give away to you lovely people. Cards you can send to whomever, whenever.  (winners chosen! thanks everyone!) Cards that can stand in for a giant hug when you can’t be there yourself. Cards that can make a sad friend laugh or a lonely family member feel a little less lonely. I’ll pick ten people at random from the comments left on this post.

But what I want to know is who would you send a card to right now? Or, who sent you a card or letter that made all the difference in a day (or your life) for you? For me it was a letter from my Anna. Two pages single spaced about how much our friendship has meant to her. I treasure it. And all she had to do was write it (and find a stamp, let’s be honest, that can be kind of tricky.)

While it’s the intention that matters when we tell someone how much we love them, sometimes it’s nice to do it through something tangible that can be treasured.

********

DISCLOSURE: I am working closely with Hallmark during their “Life is a Special Occasion” campaign and have been compensated to share little moments in my life that are special occasions, not for endorsing a specific product, any mention of specific products is purely voluntary and all opinions stated are my very own.

CAST:

Addie: curly headed six year old.

Thomas: “almost” uncle to aforementioned curly headed six year old, lives in Utah with my sister.

Me: the mom.

*cleaning out Addie’s suitcase from her trip to Utah, I find green pair of Fruit of the Looms.*

“Ew, my dad’s underwear ended up in her suitcase. Do I mail it back? Throw it away? What is protocol for ending up with your dad’s underwear?”

*continue unpacking. find two more pairs. notice that they are kind of…small.*

“ADDIE? Why are there boy’s underpants in your suitcase?”

“They’re Thomas’.”

“Addie? Why do you have Thomas’ underpants in your suitcase?”

“They’re too small for him! So I sleep in them!”

*blank stare*

“He bought the wrong ones so he gave them to me!”

“Soooo…they’ve never been worn?”

“Nope. Except my me.”

*texting my sister*

“So the ‘Why do you have Thomas’ underwear in your suitcase?’ conversation was a fun one.”

Stuff I babbled about this week…

My favorite baby bottle brand (although gasp! I heard they’re discontinuing the glass ones!)

When is it Time to Boot Baby From Your Room?

The Best Most Versatile Nursing Top EVER. (And it’s not just for nursing! It may be the most versatile SHIRT ever.)

Crying Over Spilled Breast Milk.

View all my Baby’s First Year posts here.

This year will be my fifth BlogHer. This year will be my first year with a baby (yes, Vivi’s coming too) and it will also most likely be my first year wearing nothing but stretchy pants, because if I’ve learned one thing from the last four BlogHer conferences? You’re either going to like someone or you’re not and it makes no difference whether they’re wearing a new dress with heels or sweatpants with house slippers.

You can dress a jerk up but they’re still just a jerk in a dress.

The thing about these conferences is that you already have something in common with almost every single person attending. And let’s be honest, it’s kind of a dorky thing.

We all like to spend time on the Internet for various and assorted reasons.

We’re all geeks on some level and that alone should get anyone over the initial anxiety hump.

To you new people, the conference will be what you make of it. You can spread yourself out and meet well over three thousand new people or you can find those with whom you connect with the most and spend three amazing days with soul sisters you never would have met had it not been for this dorky little hobby of yours. Or you can be like me and do a little of both.

If your mental status can handle it sit at a new table everyday for breakfast and lunch. Introduce yourself, ask questions about your table mates. Use the word ‘you’ more than you use the word ‘me.’ Take time to seek out those who look scared and alone and say hi. If you find someone crying outside the bathroom sit down with them and offer to share medication (kidding, kind of.) Don’t be offended if someone isn’t super nice to you, maybe they’re really scared of being surrounded by that many people (and it’s a lot of people.) If that “big” blogger you were so excited to meet brushes you off? Please don’t take it personally, maybe they just really had to poop, or their husband just called and informed them their baby fell of the swing set back home and knocked out her two front teeth. If you feel as though there are “cool kid clubs” please remember that many people who have been before are really excited to see their old friends they only get to see in person once a year. Excitement does not mean exclusion.

The people that go to these conferences are good people. They’re there because they want to be there.

As far as I know no one spends all this money and travels all this way only to find new people to hate and destroy. That’s what the check out line at Wal-Mart is for (again, kidding, kind of.)

That being said, if you are coming all this way simply to make fun of people and make them feel uncomfortable? You seriously need to find a new hobby, no offense.

My first BlogHer I bought all new clothes. Seriously, everything I wore was brand new. I had my hair and makeup done and I even went on a diet.

This year? I’ll bring clean clothes (none of which will require Spanx) flat shoes and my chubby baby. I’ll shower daily, comb my hair, brush my teeth and hug you, because I will be so happy to see you again or meet you for the first time. I will spend my time with kind people, I will eat when I’m hungry, leave when I’m overwhelmed and hopefully more than once I will laugh so hard I pee a little.

And when it’s over I will regret not being able to meet everyone, go back to my regular life here in Indiana and look forward to doing it all again next year.

Something has happened that I didn’t see coming.

And yet it makes perfect sense.

I’ve said before that I have a hard time looking at photos of myself from dark periods of my life.

Turns out I have a hard time looking at clothes from dark periods of my life as well.

Specifically, in this case, baby clothes.

I am coming to realize just how bad my postpartum depression was with Addie. I don’t remember truly enjoying a single moment of her babyhood until she hit about 7 months.

I kept telling myself that the reason I didn’t like putting Addie’s old clothes on Vivi was because they were the wrong season (Addie being a December baby and Vivi being a May baby, not to mention they both have very different spirits about them.)

But as I went through Vivi’s drawers today I picked up a onesie that I distinctly remember Addie wearing. And I distinctly remember feeling very, very absent when she wore it.

I held it in my hands.

It was just a shirt.

I looked back to Vivi’s drawer and saw other clothes that belonged to Addie during those first seven months. They brought back a feeling I can only describe as a very heavy rock on my heart. I took out the outfits that belonged to Addie and rearranged the drawer so only Vivi’s clothes were showing.

I felt better.

When Addie’s clothes were gone the drawer became the me I am now. New. Recovered. Restored.

Being somewhat sure that I was only imagining things I went into the closet where some little dresses hang that Addie never actually wore. They stayed on their hangers until she was too big for them and they were packed away in hopes that another little girl would someday occupy them.

They didn’t give me the same feelings as the clothes she did wear.

And towards the back of the closet hang Addie’s bigger clothes…9 months on.

They do not stir up the same emotions from me as the tiny clothes do.

I am experiencing a lot of what I believe would be considered guilt over Addie’s babyhood. She was well cared for and very well loved. I have evidence that this was so, I just don’t remember being the one doing it.

I never want her to think I loved her any less than her sister. Because I don’t, the feelings involved are just so very different and working through them has been confusing at times.

Addie is my heart.

Vivi is my soul.

And I could never live without either.

See that girl on the left?

That’s me, five years ago at the rooftop bar of the W Lakeshore in Chicago. It was the night before BlogHer ’07 and there was a party thrown by Kirtsy (formerly Skirt) and it was one of the best nights of my life. It was the first night I had ever met a blogger. I met her, and her, and her, and her, and her and her. I loved them all, and the best part? They seemed to like me too.

There was this one woman, and she asked me to take a picture with her stapler…”I’m Suebob! Here! Let me take your picture with my stapler!” So I did…

The comments on this photo make my heart happy.

Anyway, a friendship was born over a red swingline.

Then came this one:

And a year later this one:

At the closing party at the Macy’s in Union Square on 2008 Suebob found me and slipped me a note from her daily inspiration journal and said “Here, this reminded me of you.” It read “You are the love of God in expression.” I started to get a little teary. It was one of the nicest things anyone had ever said to me.

Last year I was at a conference in North Carolina when I witnessed the CEO of Build A Bear, a very grandmotherly looking woman, fixing a friend’s daughter’s bear. I wept liberally and openly at the cuteness of it all.  (Disclosure: I was also pregnant at the time.)

I said something very touchy feely on twitter about it and Suebob came back and said “She just sewed up a bear, it’s not like she cured cancer.”

That’s the thing about Suebob. She says what she thinks and doesn’t really care if you agree or not. But it isn’t in a cold prickly way. It’s in a “Holy good hell I stand by what I believe in no matter what but that doesn’t mean I won’t love you unconditionally just because you act/say/believe something different.” because when and if anyone ever comes after you? You want Suebob on your team. Because she is going to say what she thinks and stand by it and good hell if she’s ever going to back down.

Hypocrite is not in her list of applicable adjectives.

But it’s not in mine either…so Suebob and I went back and forth over the validity of a CEO sewing up her own product for a little girl. “It’s not that big of a deal.” Suebob argued.

Then I DM’ed her and told her “Remember that note you gave me in 2008? The one that wasn’t that big of a deal? I carry it in my wallet everyday, and it’s a really big deal to me.”

And with that? I won (not that it was about winning, but still, I WON!) I softened Suebob.

And I hope she’ll stay my (secret) softie forever.

Happy 50th Birthday Suebob. I love you truly madly and deeply.

Thanks for throwing this party together Karen, your day is coming as well.