34 and out of the closet

Wednesday was Nate's 34th birthday, a day I have waited for now close to 8 years. Because that's the age I was when we first met. Back when he first started referring to me as old.

All these years I waited for his own 34th, so I could prove that see? 34 isn't old at all!

And when I did, his response was so farking Nate:

Yes it is. I'm old.  And so are you. Grandma.

Gah. 

In my jet lagged haze, I managed to hand him his gift somehow--an iPod engraved with the line, Don't lose this one. Enough said.

But I thought a nicer gift would be to introduce you to his blog.

Yes, Nate has a blog. And you will probably like it. If you like food and/or funny things. If not, eh. You won't like it.

Of course I introduce it at the risk of making you realize that I'm not even close to the funny one in the family; something Nate is happy to remind me nearly daily.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present The Leftover Foodie.

Don't miss the post about the incredible meal he made me for his culinary school final project, featuring a cameo by yours truly making, uh...well, not a culinary school meal. Also, he's got fabulous pictures of Spain and especially the food market, from our trip this past fall. (Thanks Voyage.TV! Loved getting the tax bill this month!) And because what doting dad can resist writing a food blog that doesn't include his children, behold his attempt to whore our children out to Steve Jobs for an iPad.

You only think I'm joking.

Now, Nate still has no idea how to do an about page or a blogroll and I don't know if he's ever linked to anything once. But if you have any interest in leaving a comment there anyway, despite his scowls and eye-rolling and self-deprecating BS, I think you just might make his week.

Comedy Czentral

Well, I've finally made it to day number last in Prague. It's been a lovely and productive trip in so many ways, and I think I've drunk my postpartum weight in red wine, but I miss the kids and Nate terribly, and I'm ready for some nice clean socks and a grilled cheese sandwich.

I'm also starting to get a bit twitchy after a whole week without reality television; at one point I did hear Larry King on CNN International interviewing Tom Sizemore about Celebrity Rehab, raced out of the bathroom dripping wet, and practically hugged the television. I also caught a few minutes of Germany's Next Top Model, which somehow feels 14% less vapid when it's not in English.

I'm like a heroin junkie, only addicted to stupid.

The truth is, the best entertainment on the 19 channels in the hotel room hasn't been the shows, although I did get a kick out of Bea Arthur and Rue McLanahan bickering in German overdubs. The best part is the ads.

Oh lord, the ads.

It turns out that late at night, MTV airs any number of sex phone line ads which, well, wow. I guess teens do things a little sooner here in Eastern Europe. But nearly as provocative is the ad for Taiwan tourism that opens with some baum chicka baum porn soundtrack, and the line "Taiwan can touch you in many ways."

Then more baum chicka baum, a few sexy Taiwanese ladies batting their eyelashes for the camera, and finally the tag line,  "It will always leave you longing for more."

I'd imagine premium cable subscribers can upgrade and order their commercial with release.

In fact, all the Asian airlines are running these sort of suggestive ads kind of like this one for Singapore airlines. Each one features subservient, highly made-up flight attendants smiling coyly while they serve their male passengers. It's like Memoirs of Geisha at 25,000 Feet. I guess it works though. I mean, all of our airlines are talking leg room and on-time arrivals and they're millions in the hole. Time for Hooters Air? Anyone?

But my all time favorite ad this week has easily been the the SNL-esque spot for the Republic of Georgia. Georgia! Advertising! And because it's on every four minutes, I've had ample time to memorize the entire script.

The spot opens on a satellite shot of the earth, with a big party lighting up all of Georgia. Let's say it has all the production values of your favorite used car dealership spot. As we zoom down, we reveal a huge New Year's Eve style bash on the streets with a lot of badly dressed people wearing party hats and dancing like it's the 137th take.  I couldn't even imagine where this was going: Eurasian Mardi Gras promotion?

When the British announcer asks them what's going on, they all scream in unison WE ARE CELEBRATING PROGRESS TO COMBAT WORLDWIDE CORRUPTION! Then resume their partying. Clearly making Georgia the best place on the entire planet to bring your business.

In other words: Come to Georgia. It's not as corrupt as it used to be.

So much better than Larry King.

A castle! A castle!

The one hard thing about visiting a magical place without your children, is visiting a magical place without your children.

I told Thalia that I'd be visiting a real castle today, where princesses used to live, and she declared that "Princesses are only make believe." I realized that in her world, imaginary critters include unicorns, monsters, fairies, princesses, and children who eat things besides peanut butter. Explaining that no, there actually are real live princesses pretty much blew her mind.

Sage only wanted to tell me knock-knock jokes on the phone.

Knock knock?


Who's there?


Lightbulb.


Lightbulb who?


Lightbulb goes on, lightbulb goes off.

She takes after her sister.

Meanwhile I can't stop taking photos with the Hipstamatic, every since Kristen told me about it.

See? Magical.

The curse is over!

Greetings from Prague.

Weather is cool. Totally jet lagged. Wish you were here.

The volcano thing? All my fault.

Dear Travelers,

I must apologize, for it is I who caused the eruption of the Frjeosoyzxxxhjorn volcano.

You see, going back to the 90s, I have always had an international travel jinx. While my many advertising colleagues have enjoyed meetings in Toronto, commercial shoots in Portugal, focus groups in Argentina, award show judging in the south of France, and miscellaneous conferences across Europe, I have never once employed a passport on company business.

The shoot would be canceled at the last minute, the client would leave, the project would be pulled - you name it. If there was even a chance of me getting out of the country on someone else's dime you could pretty much guarantee that it would go away.

It became a joke at my offices: Oh wait, Liz is going on that trip? Not gonna happen.

But this time, this was different.

This time our shoot was scheduled for Prague. Our airline tickets booked. Our hotels secured, and our dinner reservations confirmed. And of course, my child care for the next 8 days covered as Nate beg his chefs for daytime hours, grandparents step up, and sitters agree to take on the noon to midnight shifts. I grappled with the leaving the kids for a week thing, came to terms with it, and even allowed myself to start getting excited.

We fly out tomorrow.

Or not.

Probably not.

Because I made the Fjyhssfollnuuplxxyk volcano happen.

So really, to everyone who's been stranded away from their families or their work, or God forbid stuck in Newark for the last several days: I have to step up and take the blame.

I'm terribly, terribly sorry.

While I've been busy not posting here this week...

1. Working like a dog. A dog that works 12 hour days. Are there still dogs like that? I have no idea. Our dog does not work 12 hours a day. Our dog sleeps 12 hours a day, not including the nights. Sounds like a pretty good work schedule to me. Of course, she does have to put up with things like this from time to time so I suppose it's only fair

2.  Trying to get my head around the feminine hygiene product category. Yes friends, after two decades in advertising making ads for cars and liquor and fashion and soft drinks, I am, for the first time, looking at strategic briefs with the word "panty" in them.

Oh wait, I did work on Cabbage Patch Kids for four seconds in my very first job. But...no. No, I don't think there was anything about panties there. Sorry.

3. Cutting my hair 4 inches. I was getting tired of wrestling it out from under my handbag shoulder strap every day.

 The funny thing is, I got home, took one look at Thalia, and realized that besides the bangs, we now pretty much have the same hair cut. She hugged me so hard, I'm letting her think I did it on purpose.

4. Graciously thanking friends who saw my photo in the New York Post This Weekend, as one of 8 New Yorkers to follow on Twitter. Right under Lady Gaga and Ruth Reichl, hello! So basically, I now have lots of new followers to disappoint: Uh, what is all this mommy stuff she's talking about? I just came here for the Jesus joke.

5. Wondering why in the world a humorist has to defend her choice to other women to write funny stories instead of political ones. 1973 called, it wants its misguided angry feminists back.

6. Putting together the Cool Mom Picks annual Mother's Day Gift Guide. Whoo! More than 50 incredible finds for all kinds of mamas at all kinds of prices. (The crunchy mama category kind of makes me laugh every time.) I really hope you'll click over and support some of the small businesses we're featuring and maybe even find something for your own wish list.

And if you want to help out more? Well, you could help support us bloggers and all those small businesses too by posting the purdy button on your own blog or website. We'll enter you to win $300 worth of goodies from our generous sponsors Method Laundry and Heart and Stone Jewelry. (Details on the guide.)

What we will not do is ask you to write seven (7) posts about it, facebook and twitter it, post some widgets, host a contest on your blog, and link to other blogs every day for five days all for a chance to win...oh wait, nothing.

No, that was just a pitch I found in my inbox this week.

7. Enjoying moments like this one:

God bless spring.

MAMAGEDDON!

Fights in the momosphere seem to be breaking out right and left. Fights about breastfeeding in public! Fights about the media coverage of moms! Fights about fighting!

"I do not!"
"Yes you do!"

And the crazy thing is, this so-called drama is TOTALLY EXCLUSIVE TO THE MOMOSPHERE. I mean, I have never once seen any sort of uncivil disagreement on oh, say Gawker or Huffington Post or the New York Times or...

oh wait.

Hm.

Today on Twitter,  Leah of A Girl and a Boy, Julie of A Little Pregnant and I decided it was high time to host our own mommy war. Julie came up with the brilliant title: Mamageddon.

I even have a tag line. It's rough but...oh okay. I'll share.

Mamageddon: Everyone is welcome!

(It's a friendly sort of mommy war, see?)

We haven't quite landed on the battlefields yet but a few have been floated:

-Libertarian parents who feel oppressed by the man and its evil car seat laws v Parents who buckle up 

-Moms who let their kids eat raw cookie dough v moms who love them too much to let them get salmonella. (via Joy Unexpected)

-Team You're Doing it Wrong v Team No You Are. (via Julie)

-Elmo lovers v elmo haters who will then rise up together and take on the anti-TV people (via Any Mommy Out There)

What mommy wars would you like to see? It's your war! This is a democracy!

Because lord knows I think we're all tired of the old ones.

The armor goes on, the armor comes off...

Whatever armor we need to wear day to day to muddle through, it's truly liberating to have a space like this one to peel it off, lower our shoulders, and confess, I'm not perfect.

When you think about it, there's no other career in which we can admit we're struggling all the time and not lose our jobs. (Bonus!)

Reading through all the comments on my last post more than a few times, I am absolutely moved. First, by the gracious support and votes of confidence from you all (you guyyyyyyys). But more so, that so many of you feel comfortable sharing your own hardships and your weaknesses and your doubt. Especially the fact that you single moms--or as Kristen calls it, Sometimes Single Moms--those of you burdened with the most extreme obligations still manage to find the time to come here, read and participate.

There is no greater compliment to a writer. You honor me with your presence, and I thank you.

Perhaps you feel, as I do, that putting it all out there, at least somewhere, is essential. And that the so-called perfect moms fall eventually, and they fall hard.

Here we can be imperfect parents. Not bad parents, just imperfect ones. Together.

That is inordinately comforting.

It's something I talked about with Carly Knobloch in her Perfect Moms Finish Last interview series (you can listen to all 20 very interesting interviews for free if you register). I'm a little over the whole "bad parent" thing that's taking over the media. I don't want to be a bad mom. I want to be a good mom. Even Her Bad Mother wants to be a good mom, which is why her blog strikes such a chord with her readers.

My challenge: I don't think that good parenting is a destination, I think that's a journey.

When I had an opportunity to review the Babble book, Dirt is Good For You: True Stories of Surviving Parenthood, I was disappointed. Boy, I wanted to like it. I thought I would love it. But instead of finding humorous admissions by otherwise good parents of indiscretions ("I bribed them with dessert") I found, with few exceptions, writers smugly bragging about those indiscretions, waving them at the world like a giant middle finger. ("Yeah, I bribed them with dessert. I'd do it again. And fuck you too.") The gist seemed to be that if your kid survives, you're doing something right, the end.

Well call me a crazy Virgo perfectionist, but I don't want my kids to merely survive. I want them to thrive. I want to be proud of them, and of how I raised them - even if I can't be proud of every single choice I make. I want to do my best.

Me saying I don't know what I'm doing either up there, under the little winking lady, that doesn't mean I don't want to know what I'm doing.

And so I confess my challenges and my I'm-losing-it's here because yes, there's comfort in knowing I'm not alone.  But also, because if I name it, I own it. If I say it, I can't hide from it. And if you forgive me--if we forgive ourselves--we can keep on running up that hill. Even in full armor.