The Blathering 2015

I attended my first ever Blathering this weekend and I am so grateful I did.  I’ve needed this break from kids, work, and medical appointments. It was the perfect weather for people to visit this city.  The movies always show Seattle as this rainy damp place where vampires live and people never sleep. Which is mostly true. But it was glorious. It was amazing. It was the kind of Seattle that made me proud to live here.


I didn’t take enough pictures. I didn’t speak to every single woman there, but I gazed longingly at their perfect heads of hair, how funny they are in person and how much I was glad to be there.  


There were drinks and cupcakes and carbs and people who were so nice to me. Why am I so surprised when people who are awesome online are also hilarious and kind in person? Why don’t I feel like I deserve something better than a room full of woman sneering at me and asking if I bought my outfit at Target? (Because I did. Well, my mom did.)


The only low point came when my husband called me to let me know that TJ was okay BUT they were all headed to the emergency room because TJ had walked into a metal pole in the bowling alley parking lot. But no need to leave dinner! My husband said, I’ll call you when it’s over.  Of course I could have gone to dinner to have something o high-level drama to talk about over steak and salmon entrees. And I could also be the worst mother in the world (“Uhhh, your emergency is really cutting into my dinner plans!”).  But I packed up my purse and took a cab over to the emergency room where I met Mike, Nathan and TJ—my high deductible child.  


Three hours and three stitches later, this happy little kid and my other two boys dropped me back to the hotel. 


I did have a well-deserved drink when I got back. And then three more. Also on alcohol: I drank a lot and did not get sick, or get in trouble, which is what I say so I sound like a lady and not a woman-child who forgets to eat before drinking hard liquor. 


I also learned about a white noise app which I have been sleeping to since. Normally, I sleep with CNN turned on because it’s hard for me to break out of this habit I’ve had since I was on Saipan falling asleep to CNN International. 


This is thanks to my lovely roommate Tara who deserves all the praise. She is so easy to talk to, someone who makes Portland seem like the perfect town to move to because she lives there. She also told me, “I didn’t hear your snoring at all!” which is a bold-faced lie but the nicest thing you could say to a woman living with grizzly bear nasal passages.  


Next year The Blathering will be in Vegas.  I’ve never been to Vegas.  I will be drinking and eating a lot, that will keep me from getting into trouble.


Quick takes from an old brain


TJ is doing great. Really great. He’s back to laughing and joking and sitting on my lap while I’m at the computer and playing this very delightful game (to him) called, “You can’t see anything!” The downside of his super quick bounce back is that physically, he still has to move slowly. His stitches have to heal, his body has to recover, even if he wants to go to the park and launch himself into the air. The surgeon said he shouldn’t do more than walking. I hate having to repeat over and over, “Your tummy!” but I don’t want to be back at the hospital again.

I tell him that if he runs, his doctor is going to be mad. He loves his doctor. He respects his doctor. I’m not a medical professional I don’t have much in my toolkit and what I’ve learned from a life of Catholicism is that fear works really well. Here’s hoping for a quick six weeks.

How I know I’m old: I had this glorious dream. I owned a huge mansion that had a McDonalds on the first floor. My own McDonalds with people working round the clock to make my egg mcmuffins whenever I want! My kingdom! But then my decrepit Old Lady Mo brain took over and I started calculating how much this would all cost me! The power bill! The health insurance! They all want $15 an hour!

My 12-year-old self would be a queen (with early onset diabetes) but my 32-year-old self can’t even enjoy something that is not even real and will disappear when my real children get in my face to wake me up and make them something to eat.

I like to play this song and imagine that Rihanna and I are in a girl gang and she’s the leader (obvs) and I’m the fat funny friend and we storm into a party because RiRi’s going to get her money and I try to act tough to another girl so I spit out, “What!?!” And the girl lunges at me and I start crying and my teardrop eyeliner tattoo smudges off and RiRi goes, “This is why I told you to stay in the car, RAMONA!”

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