Daily Blogging Articles

If Alexander Skarsgård shows up at my front door, knocks three times (no doorbell and no knocking two, four or five times) and says, “Leave all this and come run away with me.” I’m going to abandon everyone and leave here with this slightly broken very handsome tall man.

Ok, maybe he’s not slightly broken but his character in What Maisie Knew sure is.

Yesterday William and I saw a screening of What Maisie Knew and it was a ridiculously uncomfortable movie to watch. It was a great movie (see William’s review) but I found myself not breathing regularly. I was holding my breath and my hands would unconsciously find their way to my chin where I’d just hold myself steady and hope for better. Onata Aprile made me forget I was watching a movie. It was that good.

So I left the theater moderately disturbed. I think that these are the best sorts of movies, the ones where you can’t get it out of your head. I had two hours left in the day before picking kids up with a few errands to run. The first was to exchange Alexander’s XL shirt from the Gap to get him an XXL. The kids have a performance at school and they’re meant to wear plaid shirts like ranchers do so I bought him one and asked him to try it on two weeks ago. He tried it on alone and told me that it fit. Two mornings ago I thought I’d like to see it on him and when he put it on the sleeves were ridiculously short. Apparently the solo try on session hadn’t included rolling the sleeves down.

The Gap doesn’t carry XXL shirts. I guess they do online and I don’t think I’ve shopped there in 10 years prior so I wasn’t sure what to expect and as I returned his XL shirt I had this moment where I realized I would no longer shop for my son in children’s stores. I didn’t expect to be moved by this but I was and immediately ducked outside to catch my breath and text my friend Laurie begging for time with her kids. I adore Laurie but let’s face it, yesterday I just wanted to use her for her toddlers.

Immediately after texting Laurie, still reeling from What Maisie Knew and feeling uncomfortable in my own skin, who should come tromping through the mall but my ex-stepmother and her favorite shopping buddy. Lucky me. I sort of smile and fake a hello, get the updates on her kids, get the updates on which celebrity kids are going to kindergarten where, mentally make a note that I’m so so happy that my kids aren’t at that school, smile, nod, marvel at the odd look of plastic surgery and get on my way to find my son a shirt that’s too big to belong in a kid store but really small for an adult one.

Maisie and I didn’t have a lot in common in the ex-stepmother department.

In any event I loved the movie and obviously William did too but we have different frames of reference. My parents were divorced by the time I was four, Williams parents are married. I’m a mom, William is a very young adult and had better not have any kids (do you like how I managed to squeeze in some finger wagging?).

The folks over at What Maisie Knew want to do a little giveaway. There will be three winners in this one so be sure to enter to win What Maisie Knew poster signed by Alexander Skarsgård, an autographed copy of Julianne Moore’s newest children’s book from her Freckleface Strawberry Series and What Maisie Knew pens from Millennium Entertainment.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Keep in mind I never do giveaways but Cassie asked me in a moment of weakness. Don’t ask!

What Maisie Knew is a gem of a movie. Its subject matter – divorce, family dysfunction, loss of innocence – is the stuff of made-for-TV movies. But, accompanied by a talented cast, Scott McGehee and David Siegel manage to navigate the titular character’s story with great skill and empathy.

Maisie is six years old. Mother Susanna (Julianne Moore) is a has-been, middle-aged rocker who dreams of returning to her days of glory, while father Beale (Steve Coogan) is an art dealer with the attention span of a squirrel. The two are engaged in the aftermath of a bitter divorce, where Maisie serves as a pawn in their constant struggle. Alexander Skarsgård (Lincoln) and Joanna Vanderham (Margo) provide supporting roles as Susanna’s well-meaning boyfriend-cum-husband and Beale’s nanny-turned-wife, respectively. While unrelated to Maisie, they care for her deeply and provide the support she desperately needs.

The first half of the movie is dedicated to Susanna and Beale fighting over time with Maisie, both in and out of court. Any good editor would tell you that these first 40 minutes could be reduced to a simple 5-minute scene, but McGehee and Siegel use the repetitive nature of the struggle to underscore Maisie’s perseverance and uncanny maturity.

In one scene, Susanna succeeds in gaining custody of Maisie, only to take her home and immediately leave her alone while she complains to a friend about what an irresponsible parent Beale is. In yet another scene, Beale is scheduled to pick up Maisie for his court-ordered time with her. Maisie waits patiently in the lobby, but he never shows. Notice a pattern?

Throughout the movie, Maisie maintains her composure, never buckling under the pressure of her parents’ need to use her as a bargaining chip. When Susanna pries about Beale’s life, Maisie is careful to answer with a meek, “I don’t know.” And yet, she sees everything and knows what’s at stake. In the heartbreaking opening scene, a pizza delivery man shows up at the door while Maisie’s parents are fighting about money in the background. Without missing a beat, Maisie runs upstairs to her piggy bank and returns with a wad of bills for the delivery guy. “Here’s your tip,” she says with a smile.

The nature of love, and especially of that between parent and child, is a major theme throughout the movie. While Maisie’s parents fight tooth and nail for custody, their actions belie any claim to actually wanting to care for their daughter. Both parents are extremely possessive of Maisie, and the courts are alternatively a source of validation, or a site of great pain and struggle.

In the final thirty minutes, the movie reaches its boiling point as Maisie falls asleep in a bar and is literally passed along from person to person until she ends up at home with one of the female bartenders. Upon waking up, Maisie panics and wants to go home, though her parents are nowhere to be found. Lincoln and Margo provide Maisie with stability from this point forward, and for the first time we see her be playful. In short, she is allowed to be a child.

If you enjoy a great story and fantastic acting, watch this movie immediately. Julianne Moore deserves great credit for playing what can only be described as a truly ugly character. McGehee and Siegel are fair, though, and grant her a moment of redemption at the end.

The only gripe I have about the movie is that the fantastically talented Onata Aprile is given sixth billing in the credits. Once you watch the movie, you’ll see why this is such a crime.

Thanks to William for this wonderful review. 

No, really. Look at her. Both of my kids are hypermobile. Some people call it double jointed. It’s a good thing to have for sports, Jane can pull her arm back a little further than most kids so she gets more momentum when she’s hitting the ball. Alexander can do wacky stuff with his elbows when he’s throwing a baseball and then there are the parlor tricks when they both just start wrapping their bodies into odd shapes solely to creep me out. Lucky me.

Yesterday I pulled out the camera for Jane’s volleyball match and was able to snap a shot of her hypermobile arm in action. This is why I make her do plank every day. Those are some unstable joints.

Dear McDonalds,

This Mother’s Day I have just one request. Leave my kids alone. I’ve honored your right to exist and I’d like to ask you kindly to honor their right to a McFood free childhood. I know, you’re going to say, “If you don’t like McDonalds just don’t patronize us.” And I don’t, and that’s a good solution but a better one would be where you stop marketing directly to children in insidious ways.

Your school can get a free visit from Ronald McDonald so that he can teach the kids about giving to charity. Although this sounds noble read the fine print:

This show is sponsored as an All-School Assembly. If all students do not participate in the presentation a show fee may be charged to your school.

If a savvy parent doesn’t want their child to be McEducated the school will be charged. Why would McDonalds want to reach pre-school aged kids? Further, McDonalds has pledged to shift the mix of foods advertised to children under 12 to encourage healthier dietary choices and healthy lifestyles. I’m not seeing proof of that pledge when McDonalds uses a 17 year old Olympian and a couple of little kids to promote a breakfast sandwich and don’t even get me started on apples in plastic bags with a side of HFCS caramel.

I wonder if McDonald’s CEO Don Thompson would let his kids be part of this promotion?

The FDA/USDA/CDC/FTC already condemn the practice of marketing foods laden with sodium, fat, sugar and unidentifiable ingredients to our kids. Today, as a Mother’s Day gift to me I’m asking McDonalds to back off.

Readers, you can give me the gift of your signature. Join the movement and let McDonalds know that McWorld, their advergaming for kids is McWrong. Sign up with MomsNotLovinIt.org and share the message far and wide.

If Mother’s Day is a day for us, let’s talk about our passions. My passion is children’s health. Join me in sharing the #MomsNotLovinIt hashtag all over the web and hopefully McDonalds will get the McMessage. Their own shareholder’s meeting has children’s health and obesity as it relates to fast food on the agenda (see page 50).

I did get to Mom 2.0. Trudi and I had an amazing drive down to Laguna Niguel and there were successes before we even pulled up to the valet. First of all I was able to shoehorn Jane and her BFF into their favorite camp. The other mom and I hadn’t reserved their spots because we were waiting on other plans and, as is often the case, when we picked our session there was only one spot left. After a few phone calls and triple checking they found that there were two spots and I got them. Victory was mine.

Trudi lives in the house she isn’t supposed to live in. I mean, she thinks she should live there but that would only make one of us. Trudi should be in the neighborhood but not in that house. You see about ten years ago I had a fabulous neighbor with a daughter the same age as Jane. That fabulous neighbor was a professional lady (grad school professional not a hooker) and we would talk about being a stay at home parent. I told her that it was really important to me that I was at home with my kids and if I had to move to another part of the country to make that happen I would. That neighbor listened to me. No one ever listens to me. The first time anyone ever listens to me leaves me abandoned. Crap.

In any event Trudi bought the good neighbor’s house and the good neighbor moved 3,000 miles away. I was lonely.

Trudi and I had a lot of the same worries going to Mom 2.0. Is it like a sorority? What would a conference without men be like? Is there any valuable content? Would it be as silly as BlogHer? Why were we leaving our families?

The conference was lovely and I didn’t really have to worry about anything. It was very inclusive and I saw a lot of old friends and finally got to hug some of the folks I’ve gotten to know in the blogosphere. The sessions were good enough with one standing out as being incredibly useful. Sarah Gilbert shared her expertise on crowd funding. Now, I don’t see myself crowd funding anytime soon but I do ask people for money, support or things as part of my job and I hear “no” an awful lot of the time. I’m basically okay with that but I think that her session may bring my “no” rate down from a whopping 90% to maybe 80%. This one session was worth the price of admission. Getting unstuck is incredibly valuable.

My problem is that every time I leave the house I try to quantify it in time away from the kids and Mr. G. I sat in every session thinking, “Is this more important than being with Jane/Alexander/Mr. G.” and when it’s framed like that the answer will always be, “No.” It’s not a competition that could ever be close.

Perhaps it’s because I just spent eight days following my bliss in Australia. Perhaps it’s because the kids are at ages where they really need parents around or maybe it’s because Mr. G is knee deep in launching a new network and we are in need of more time together. I’m not sure if it’s because conferences aren’t my thing or if my family is just so much my thing that I can’t extricate myself gracefully that I don’t think I’m a good conference goer. I’m just not the right person for this. I can’t wrap my head around it.

The sponsorships were perfectly integrated, the parties were lovely and the follow up has been spectacular. Mom 2.0 is a really great conference if you love going to conferences. I’ve concluded that I don’t love them. It’s not you. It’s me.

As a general rule advertising directly to my kids is not something I’m happy with. Take a moment to watch this video. It’s a wonderful use of media.

I deleted a post. It’s the second time I’ve ever deleted a post. The first time was when I leaked that Shankman sold HARO and I cannot for the life of me understand why people would tell me a secret like that without saying: no really it is a secret.

I deleted the post y’all are looking for because it was the right thing to do. I’m content with that as an explanation. If you’re unsure as to why it was the right thing to do you’ll just have to trust that I have good judgement.

Earlier this week my friend called to tell me her teenage son is sexually active. I am currently busy scrubbing this information from my brain. Unlike the Pythagorean Theorem it is deeply etched and I’m having a hard time unhearing it.

Her son is almost 18 and in a relationship with a girl he loves. The issue isn’t the sex, the issue is the fact that she knows about it when she shouldn’t. Her son came to his father to talk about birth control and the fact that he’d had sex for the first time. This 17 year old almost-man asked his father to please keep his secret and not tell his mother. The father told the mother. The mother told me, we are all squicked out (that’s the medical term for it).

Last night I was laying in bed with Mr. G and gave him the rundown and he just looked at me like this

And I kept talking because sometimes when he’s got that look I figure I’ve dug half the hole, why not the whole six feet?

He interrupted and said, “Why are you telling me this?” And I was like, “Because one day Jane is going to tell me something and ask me to keep it a secret from you and I’m going to keep the secret.” And he just sort of did this

And gave me a thumbs up and then started waving like an air traffic controller trying to get me to stop talking.

Pro tip: never talk to your husband about teenage sexuality while you are also in bed. There’s something so hideously creepy about it that I’m actually considering buying new bed linens.

I’d mentioned to my friend that kids are entitled to some privacy and that around sex stuff when it’s all age appropriate (we aren’t talking about 14 year olds here) then having the communication with just one parent is fine. There are things I don’t want to know about each of my kids. I’m entitled to not know, right?

My question to you is this. If you child comes to you to talk about their sexual activity and asks you not to tell your spouse do you honor that request? 

See how there are no capital letters in the title? I’m not even sure that it’s not meant to be capitol or if I’m leading with the right words, or perhaps it’s a lede?

I won’t look any of these things up just for today because I feel a need to identify and share a few of the many things I do not know. I don’t know some basic spelling so I keep a dictionary nearby. I don’t know how to use a comma very well and my friend Lisa used to email me about this but I trust that she’s given up and decided that my comma abuse or neglect is something she will just have to live with. I don’t delay gratification well and I don’t always use good judgement.

I am human and deeply flawed as are you. 

Recently I was on a panel at a Social Media Club Los Angeles event and one of the things that I was unable to agree with the other panelists about is whether or not blogging can be journalism. I asserted that night (and I stand by this assertion) that without an editor it is impossible to be a journalist. I’m not worried that we can’t catch our own typos or come up with a decent lede (though it’s entirely likely that those two things are true). What I don’t think that writers are able to offer without a good editor is perspective.

When I tell you an apple is red an editor may ask what shade of red? Is it crimson or does it have a little tinge of green left where it’s not quite ripe? If I describe a vehicle as fast a good editor will ask me to define fast. Is it faster than a Honda Civic or is it faster than a late model BMW M5?

I’ve had editors for publications both online and offline and each of them has taught me something valuable. I’ve learned about getting three independent sources to verify a story (something I will never do). I’ve learned to not be inflammatory (something I also don’t want to do). I’ve learned to use enticing language without succumbing to ridiculousness and sounding like a 15 year old writing  poetry.

Editors aren’t necessarily better writers than you or I. The magic is that they’re a different person. Editors read your words without knowing what you were thinking when you wrote them, editors read your words similarly to how an audience will. The same goes for your images. Editors allow you one last opportunity to decide if you’re ready to stand behind your words.

Bloggers can be your best friend, in the absence of an editor a blogger can extol your virtues without ever looking at the other side. We basically write amazing opinion pieces or letters to the editor full of sound (and fury, signifying nothing). Bloggers also have things they dislike. Left to my own devices I’d explain to you that feeding your children Mc[Redacted] is much more efficient than punching them in the gut. A good editor would red ink that thing and remind me that I need proof of the liver damage that the frankenfood will provide.

You get my point.

We bloggers aren’t fair or balanced even when we strive to be (and most often we aren’t striving for balance). I’m here to entertain you, I’m here to make you think and I’m here to ask you questions that might make you squirm. It’s good to be a blogger. It’s fantastic not having an editor. Just don’t mistake a blogger for a journalist.

I’ll be at Mom 2.0 in a week or two (not really sure of the date). This is the third year I’ve bought a ticket but it will be the first year I’ll attend. I remember one year thinking how great it would be to have an excuse to go to New Orleans and get some work done at the same time. My husband hates New Orleans so it seemed like the perfect excuse to travel. Then when I looked at the schedule and saw Mad Men parties and photo walks I felt like it would sap my energy just to get dressed to attend. I sold my ticket.

After reading today’s Wall Street Journal piece about the business of Mom Conferences I’m already starting to dread Laguna Niguel. I didn’t realize I had to dress 50′s or borrow a hat for a Kentucky Derby Party. I’ve promised myself I’d suck it up and do it all with an enthusiastic smile no matter how uncomfortable any of it makes me. Mercifully I’ll have Trudi as a compatriot. There are sessions I’m very interested in attending and I’m sure there’s a lot to be learned, I’m looking forward to the learning aspect. Because, like the columnist at WSJ, everything I know about Mom 2.0 I learned on Flickr I have the sense that it’s a boozy fashion competition. Ciaran assures me Mom 2.0 is a valuable use of my time and I trust Ciaran, plus it’s a short drive so if it’s awful I’ll just go home and Trudi can hitchhike like a big girl.

Ask me in a few weeks is Mom 2.0 is a Mom Vacation or a conference. At the moment it’s a question I can’t answer.

Now when a major conference is pending and it’s at a Ritz Carlton and it features things that bloggers want to talk about: food, fashion, cocktails, tech, networking, media, and fun… and when said conference is called Mom 2.0 and then a bunch of self proclaimed Mom Bloggers get themselves worked up into a frenzy about OMG The Patriarchy, people start looking like they haven’t thought things out very well.

Such is the hazard of leading with your womb. Call your self a Mom Blogger, Mum Blogger, Mommy Blogger or Mom 2.0 and the rest of the world will call you Mom too. They aren’t calling you “Mom” because you had a baby, they’re calling you Mom because it’s what you put on your calling card. 

Fix it if it needs fixing or just answer when the world calls you Mom.

Danielle Ellwood writes the following over at the Broad Side: 

If this was Marissa Mayer, or Sheryl Sandberg traveling for work, their trip would never be dubbed as being on a  “Mommy Business Trip“; it would simply be called a business trip. No need to be defined by the status of how many children their uterus has produced or the number of children they’ve adopted. So why are any other women being treated differently?

This actually proves my point. Neither Sandberg nor Mayer have built careers monetizing their motherhood. They are women who happen to be in technology, they aren’t Mom Bloggers attending a Mom Conference.

When I asked what all the fuss is about on Facebook (because I see the article as mostly innocuous) I was sent links to a zillion posts around the blogosphere and quite a few people commented. Audrey Holden had the most amazing comment and with her permission I’m publishing it here.

As someone who has been blogging, professionally and otherwise for 9 years, and someone who has never ever gone to a conference, I can give you an outside point of view by virtue of what I read from women who DO go to these. 

Not only are there millions of photos floating around out there of hanging out in bars or hotel lobbies, drinks in hand, or dancing at various PR/Brand parties – images that give the impression that it’s just a long boozy weekend, there are also the comments in post-conference pieces the bloggers themselves write, about how it was a great opportunity to go and hang out with other women they’ve long wanted to meet, to have a few drinks, party a little and get away from the kids and the mundane of day-to-day life. These same women write on and on about how they didn’t even hit any of the panels or roundtables/discussions because there was too much going on in the PR swag areas, or they didn’t have time because they were sight seeing, or getting together with other bloggers. 

It *seems* like for every three women who go to a conference and LEGITIMATELY get something out of it outside of self proclaimed “me time”, and attend the panels and discussions, there is one who only goes for shoe competition (I call it this because there are no end of posts, pre-conference where women are crying over which shoes to take) swag, free booze, and the schoomzing. Unfortunately, it’s this one blogger who make the rest look bad and give off the impression that these conferences are little more than how Joanne Bamberger characterized them – working mothers (and the non-working too- my own opinion) using conferences as vacations from their families. 

Is this why I don’t go to conferences? No. I don’t go because of social anxiety issues that render me unable to function in large groups of people. I’d genuinely like to go to a conference because I think there are a few out there that genuinely have something to offer someone like me. At the end of the day though, I bet I don’t have a single pair of shoes that would be OK to wear to a mommy-blogging conference.

It’s strange to me that we Mom Bloggers spend so much time branding ourselves as mothers and then lose it when our motherhood is acknowledged.