kdiddy.org

Well, “after” is a bit premature. And not entirely accurate. I am, by no means, done with my healthier eating and exercising. I really feel like I’ve learned a lot and am now able to make more rational decisions about what to do when the crazy, body issue voice starts shouting.

Around the time that I started grad school, my weight and health in general went completely haywire. Part of that was to be expected. I simply didn’t always have time to exercise or make the healthiest eating choices. Part of that was just coping. I found it very comforting to spend the time that I was wasn’t working, parenting, or studying curled up on the couch, watching TV, and eating whatever I felt like eating. I don’t regret it. I did, after all, survive grad school despite the odds being against me. And for all of the things that upset me about the husband and I deciding to return to school, I can’t say that I didn’t deal with it the best that I could.

But that’s over now and like I said the other day I can only work on changing the things that I can.

Around this time last year, I was reaching my heaviest weight ever, which was alarmingly close to my 9-months-pregnant weight. You know, when I had a full-grown baby inside me. I did a lot of thinking about how I really felt about that, since my kneejerk reaction was, of course, “You’re a terrible, unhealthy fat person.” That’s the body issues talking. Was I okay being that weight? Was I okay with possibly getting heavier?

At the same time, I realized something very important: I did not want to diet ever again. Never. I had been dieting off and on since I was a little girl and I had had enough. I hated feeling hungry. I hated thinking about every bite of food beyond, “Will this taste good and is it a good thing to eat?” So I started working on changing my eating little by little to an overall healthier approach and figuring out how I was going to squeeze in some exercise.

It’s been (and still is) a very slow process. I’m still figuring out how and when to get more exercise in.

Numbers-wise, I haven’t lost a ton of weight. And I’m not worrying about it. But I feel a lot better and I look differently. I think I was getting to a point where I was willing to accept the body that I had, but separated the getting healthier from my weight, if that makes sense, and wanted to see where that took me.

So, about a year ago, I posted this picture to Twitter. The occasion was that I’d had a haircut and was really not sure how I felt about it. So I took to the internet for reassurance.

My shirt was obviously working pretty hard, but I wasn’t thoroughly unhappy with how I looked. I just wasn’t very healthy.

The other day, I happened to be wearing that shirt again and decided to do a comparison. Pardon the markedly crappier hair.

I like this version of my body, too, and I think it likes me back since it doesn’t complain quite as loudly as some of the previous versions.

So, there. Progress. Interesting to see, no?

About four and a half years after Frank stood a few feet behind me, supporting me as I married the husband, I stood a few feet behind him as he married his wife. It was super cool and I felt incredibly lucky to be able to say to people who asked me that day, “Frank and I have been friends for 11 years. He was in my wedding and now I’m in his.”

It was a lovely day and it’s so life-affirming to witness the union of two people who are genuinely in love and devoted to each other. Those really are the moments that we live for, you know?

I brought my camera and thought about grabbing it a few times, but ultimately decided to leave it in my bag and just experience the day. Besides, there were professionals on hand to capture the action. I did snap a quick picture of myself in the mirror, because I wanted to make sure that my hairdo was documented.

I met up with the bridesmaids at a salon on Saturday morning and told the hairdresser that I just wanted my hair blown out straight. He nodded, then pursed his lips, then finally said, “I think we should do an up-do!” Err, okay. I was not facing the mirror for most of the ‘do’s creation, and kept getting increasingly nervous when I saw ringlets out of the corner of my eye and when the hairdresser said, “I need another can of hairspray.” Forty-two bobby pins later (I counted), I had that super cool hairdo. It went well with my dress, which was pretty retro. The husband and the baby thought I looked silly, but whatever. It was fun to play dress-up.

I was wearing a pretty hardcore foundation garment and I understood why women in the 40s, 50s, and 60s were so thin: you can’t physically eat very much of anything when the possibility of stomach expansion is simply eliminated.

The cookie table was epic. People were practically sick from eating so many and there were still hundreds left over. Relatedly, if anyone wants to come over for snickerdoodles, I have a couple dozen.

After the wedding, the husband and I went to VIA because he was slated to play records. It was a pretty cool event and it was encouraging to see so many people just out and taking in musical performances that they probably wouldn’t have given a second glance otherwise. (Shh…can you hear that? I can hear someone’s horizons broadening!)

We got to see Dam Funk perform, which was pretty cool. He and the husband chatted afterwards and are, like, BFFs now.

As I mentioned a few weeks ago, my buddy Frank is getting married. The wedding is now just a few days away, which meant that it was time to bake.

Weddings in Pittsburgh and Western Pennsylvania in general have a pretty rad tradition: the cookie table. The cookie table is exactly what it sounds like. It’s a table piled high with cookies. The New York Times wrote about it, which officially makes it Serious Business. Traditionally, the cookies are made by friends and family members, though sometimes this task is outsourced to a bakery. Frank had asked me some time ago if I would be willing to contribute to the cookie table. I was honored and put myself down for about 30 dozen cookies.

Now, I could have done all of this baking myself, but I would have had to have started a while ago just to manage that much output from my tiny kitchen, so I was worried about freezing cookies for that long and having them taste not that swell. So, I got the idea to recruit my baking partner-in-crime, Mary, for an epic baking session much closer to the wedding.

Friday evening, Mary picked me up from work and we stopped at my house to grab my Kitchen Aid and some baking tools before heading to Costco to get our ingredients. Saturday morning, we woke up early and got right to work.

Behold…The Butter

We spent the next 8 hours churning out batch after batch, stopping only for quick bites to eat and sips of water. It was an extremely efficient operation.

The whole house smelled absolutely HEAVENLY. We had a really hard time containing ourselves in the midst of so much deliciousness.

Drool

When it was all said and done, we made somewhere in the neighborhood of 375 cookies: Mexican Chocolate Cookies, Chai Butter Cookies, and Snickerdoodles. We were going to make Pomegranate Dark Chocolate Chunk Cookies, but in planning the recipes, I totally forgot that late September isn’t yet pomegranate time. So we replaced those with Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip Cookies and experimented with a small batch of Salted Dulce de Leche Cookies just to see how hard or easy they were to make. (Verdict: making the dulce de leche is a little tricky, but the results are so delicious that I don’t even care.) On Friday, I’m taking the day off of work to go to the dentist and to finish baking some of the other cookies that I felt were too delicate to freeze, namely the Salted Dulce de Leche Cookies and Pumpkin Cookies with Brown Butter Icing.

It didn’t hurt that the weather was pitch-perfect autumn weather…perfect for baking. I’ve really missed baking over the summer and can’t wait to do more of it.

All bagged up and ready to go.

Jason stood in front of me, expectantly, as I pondered my purchase. His black jacket was smudged with foundation and he smelled like cigarettes, especially when he leaned in to apply the products that I was sampling.

“I’ll take the primer, the powder, the concealer, the brushes…and the eye cream. I don’t need any moisturizer,” I said, finally.

“Great! Just meet me up at the register and we’ll get you rung up.” Jason had some odd tic where he drew his breath in sharply and quickly through his teeth every few words.

At the counter, I went through the motions of signing up for some loyalty card and dumped the free samples that I’d earned into my purse. I fingered my credit card while Jason totaled my order. I couldn’t afford all of this stuff, but I wanted it.

“Okay, Kelly, that’ll be $115 even,” said Jason cheerily as his eyes darted toward the credit card machine.

My face flushed at the total. I felt shameful about my indulgence. $115 could buy nearly two weeks of groceries. I swallowed and slid my card through the machine and signed my name on the screen as Jason made chit chat with me about my job and my life. My name stared back at me from the oddly soothing light blue screen, choppy, pixelated, and more awkward than my regular signature. It was like a cartoon of commerce.

$115 got me a small bag that barely weighed anything at all. The eye cream was the priciest item. I had asked Jason about the dark, baggy circles under my eyes and had quickly added that I’d always had them, even when I was little. I realized that I always explained this unfortunate feature of mine away before anyone suggested that I was tired, or sad, or stressed out, or melting into the earth, eyes first.

“Well, they’re hereditary,” Jason explained, which instantly made me feel a little better. It wasn’t my fault, you see. The bags weren’t there because I’d only slept a few hours a night for years or because I cried too often about things that I can’t change. “But this cream will keep that area moisturized and minimize the darkness by…” Jason droned on, spouting what I knew was probably pseudo-science dreamed up by the cosmetics industry.

My eye cream. It sounded so grown up. Of the things that I purchased that day a few weeks ago, it would turn out to be the one that I use most often. When the cream dried, it would stiffen slightly, making the skin underneath my eyes feel tighter, making me feel a little bit cured somehow.

I owned eye cream. I was someone who bought a product called, “eye cream.” This spur-of-the-moment purchase at Sephora wasn’t just a 4 ounce pump of white goo but a rite of passage.

The baby and I squinted in the morning light and I glanced down at him and winked. Up close he looked big, but he would pace a few feet away from me and I couldn’t believe how tiny he still looked.

“You look old,” he said, out of nowhere.

“Well, thanks,” I muttered.

“You do. You look old.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m not saying that to be mean.”

“Thanks.”

“Quit saying, “Thanks,” all sarcastically!”

“Well, what do you want me to say? ‘Yeah, you’re right. I’m old. Think I’ll just croak right here.'”

It wasn’t an angry conversation. I wasn’t even that hurt by his observation. The cracks in the veneer that start to show up on my people my age must look like giant canyons and vast forests of gray hairs. Everything is huge when you’re that little.

My buddy Frank was my “bridesman.”

That’s him all the way over on the left

At that time, Frank had just recently started seeing a lovely girl named Andrea.

A little over four years later, Frank and Andrea are getting married, and I am going to be Frank’s “groomswoman” (or “groomsbitch,” as he’s been calling me).

Groomsmen are usually in charge of throwing the bachelor party, but as it came closer to being about that time, it turned out that Frank wasn’t going to be able to squeeze it in. Money, the fact that he would need to travel from New York to Pittsburgh, saving up vacation days, and so on all prevented our hedonism. I felt kind of bad about this and told Frank that he should do something “bachelory” and we would watch via video chat and cheer him on. Since he’s not into strippers, my suggestions were to leave clothes and pizza boxes strewn all over his apartment while we watched and screamed, “WOOOO! YEAAAHHHHH! WOOOOO!”

Sounds silly, right? What actually ended up happening was not that far off. Armed with a new laptop, Frank pinged me on Gmail’s video chat on Saturday night and we decided that that would be his online bachelor party. He grabbed some beers and I made some half-assed margarita concoctions. Our conversation turned to Kicking and Screaming (alternate title: Kicking and Screaming…No, Not that Will Ferrell Soccer Movie), which is a favorite movie of ours. Rather than spending the whole night exchanging our favorite quotes, we decided to watch it…together.

“Okay, on ‘3’ I’m going to press play. Ready? 1…2…3!”

It was fun and nice and very much indicative of our friendship, but we agreed that it was kind of the most old person bachelor party ever…at least until I dozed off on the couch and Frank had to wake me up via video chat so that I could cart my old self to bed.

At least we took pictures of the wild and crazy time that we had.

Over two weeks since I last posted! Sad face! Mostly, I’ve just been really busy, but partly I just needed a break from myself. Do you ever get that way? Just, “Ugh, shut up, Self. Give it a rest.” I’m hoping that I’ll get a chance tomorrow to write a little bit and tell you some stuff, but for now, this is the most pressing thing on my mind:

You might think that that’s just another picture of the baby, but you would be wrong. That’s a picture of the baby from this morning as he started his first official day as a third-grader.

Third. Grade. THIRD.

I can clearly remember being in third grade, so how is it that I now have a kid in third grade? That’s the year that I got chicken pox, but he’s vaccinated against those, so there’s one less experience that we can relate to together. Feeling a bit rudderless these days. Like that’s anything new, right?

Struggles that I Overcame:

I only had two beers at the MamaPop party the night before, but when we got back to the hotel, I was struck by how badly I missed the husband and the baby. I turned into a total sap and started getting weepy because I had arranged to stay until Tuesday to see some of the city and was totally regretting it. So in the morning, I had post-beer, post-karaoke, post-cry headache. But nothing will keep me from a breakfast buffet, so I staggered out of the room leaving my snoozing roommates to sleep for me.

Sessions that I Attended:

Since I was in need of a lot of coffee, I ended up staying for the morning keynote that included a panel with the International Activist Blogger Scholarship recipients. Four women, Esra’a Al Shafei of mideastyouth.com, Dushiyanthini Pillai of humanityashore.org, Marie Trigona of mujereslibres.blogspot.com, and Freshta Basij-Rasikh of Afghan Women’s Writing Project spoke about their experiences as bloggers. These young women put their lives in grave danger with every keystroke as they document injustices in their countries. It was tempting to listen to their stories and feel sheepish about my blog, which I repeatedly described to people as “just about my life.” (Like, “Oh, don’t read it. It’s terribly dull.” I clearly haven’t mastered this pitching thing yet.) But I didn’t. I can’t rush over to Afghanistan and change things there, but I can listen and try to understand where they’re coming from. And I can appreciate the communication tools that I have at my disposal that allow me to write and relate.

I attended the Women and Sports session that Sarah helped to lead. It’s too bad that Rob Dibble didn’t say that nonsense about women at sporting events until a few days later, because it was almost exactly what we discussed for a portion of the session.

Since I just have my son, I don’t have too many tales about encouraging young girls to participate in sports. But since I didn’t eject myself from the sisterhood the second we saw a tiny weenis on the ultrasound screen, it’s definitely something that I would like to see more of.

The only other session that I went to was the Humor Writing which…meh. And unfortunately not that funny. But I think I was getting tired and hungry at that point.

Before Humor Writing, Amber and Danielle and I took a spin around the expo hall, which is just this huge orgy of marketing. It never fails to both awe me and weird me out. Sometimes there’s cool stuff there, though. Like sausage dipped in pancakes and this guy:

That was my only celebrity sighting.

I also checked out a few of the suites, namely the Firefox suite where I fudged my way through a survey about add-ons and got a teeny-tiny tshirt.

Parties that I Attended:

Saturday night was MamaPop’s Sparklecorn party which was just huge and crazy and sweaty and fun. Also, there was cake.

It was from Charm City Cakes and I’ve always been skeptical of them. I suspected that they were mostly hype and the cake wasn’t that good.

My friends, the cake was so good. SOOOO GOOOOD. It had several different flavors: blueberry muffin, bananas foster, and peanut butter and jelly. I tried the bananas foster and the peanut butter and jelly and they were both extremely delicious. Charm City Cakes: I am now a believer.

Ryan was on hand with his camera skills and documented the party in both stills and video. Like last year, I didn’t make the final cut, but maybe that’s because I look like this at parties:

Sweaty, drinky, scowly, with my arms sticking out. Photo by Amy.

Injuries Sustained:

One gigantic blister on my left foot. And one of my stockings didn’t even survive being put on, but I forged ahead with a huge run, looking somewhat deranged.

This is how parties end sometimes. Shoes, hair accessory, and tattered hosiery discarded, feet damp from doing the Hustle in a puddle of vodka.

People on Whom I Mouth-Breathed:

The husband rolled his eyes when he saw me packing my running gear. “You know you’re not going to go running while you’re there.” Ordinarily, this would be the case. But Saturday, before the party, I went for a quick jog through Central Park with Jess. It was really nice to jog with someone. One thing that is hurting my motivation for running right now is, I guess, getting bored and just wanting it to be over. Running with someone is different. We chatted (breathlessly) and took in the sights of the park. It was really cool. I wish I could do it all the time.

Because I’ve been stretching this recap out for so long, my memory of who I met when is pretty feeble. So I’m going to do a quick run-down of the business cards of the people I haven’t yet mentioned: Bookish Penguin, Delightfully Sweet, Life After Bagels, Sarah Granger, Multi Tasking Mama, Carrie Actually, Knotty Yarn, Dimple and a Smirk, Smarty Pants Mama, Average Jane, Stephanie Himel-Nelson from Blue Star Families, JavaMom, and Diana Lee.

I’d say I accomplished my goal of meeting blogging types that I didn’t already know. It was pretty cool, actually, just introducing myself to strangers that I knew I had at least one thing in common with, chatting with them for a few minutes, finding out a little bit about them before the busy days swept us apart. It’s not something that I would normally do, but what’s life without new experiences?

Pictures that I Took:

In the interest of wrapping this thing up, two whole weeks after the fact, I’m going to punk out and put my flickr slideshow here.

The actual conference was Friday and Saturday. My official, stated goals were to: not sleep through breakfast, meet people I didn’t already know from the internet, attend sessions, and nerd out as much as possible.

Struggles that I Overcame:

I realized that whatever lingering childhood shyness that I used to have that would cause me horrendous anxiety when thrown into a group of strangers has all but disappeared. If anything, it’s made me more empathetic to people who feel the same way. Look at me! Growing! Changing! Not mumbling into my oatmeal and avoiding eye contact or eschewing society all together to tremble in the ladies’ room!

The handful of people that I sat with at breakfast were lovely and we had no trouble chatting. After the opening keynote address, there was a “speed-dating” session that sounded like it would be chaotic, but I managed to just remain in my seat and allowed people to come to me, like I was the Godfather or something. The key to these things is to act like you’re super important. Next time, if there is a next time, I’m hiring somebody to stand behind me and look like Secret Service. Then watch the business cards pile up. That’s how 50 Cent got where he is today.

My other struggle was referencing American Psycho when I went to lunch with several MamaPoppers at this place called Johnny Utah’s. It was suggested that we go there because there was a mechanical bull. But I guess lunchtime on a Friday isn’t prime bull-riding time, because it just sat there like…well, like a giant inanimate bull in the room. I mentioned that the restaurant reminded me of the no-longer-popular restaurant that Patrick Bateman takes Paul Allen to in American Psycho and everyone got kind of quiet. Like, maybe referencing a misogynistic serial killer that was dreamed up by a bougie misogynistic a-hole is a faux pas in the midst of a women’s conference. I don’t know, I’m not always in tune to these subtle social cues.

Sessions that I Attended:

The first was a session on resume-writing and social media profiles and it was really, really good. My internet-writing experience is not insignificant. Far from it. But I really don’t know how to incorporate that into my resume and I don’t know how to get over my fear that people will see that and read, “I WRITE INAPPROPRIATE THINGS AND SHAME MY EMPLOYERS! CALL ME! LOL!!!ONE1 twitter.” So it was really helpful to hear from people who have done so successfully and see examples of resumes that do this in a professional way.

There were a couple other social media sessions that I wanted to go to, but I ended up lugging my camera to a photography session that ended up being more about composition than actual, hands-on technique. And I kind of already know a little bit about composition from taking a couple history and theory classes about photography in college. I was hoping for more practical advice on getting comfortable with adjusting manual settings for various shots. But I have a book for that, I just need to find it.

Parties that I Attended:

The MamaPop writers spent some quality time together, drinking, eating burritos, and doing karaoke. Funny. Drunken karaoke sounds a whole lot like shouting and giggling. This was actually my first foray into karaoke and Laurie and I belted out “Me and Bobby McGee.” I got a little too into it, I think, because after I handed off the mic, Amy looked at me and said, “That was…something else.”

Injuries Sustained:

I banged my knee on something getting out of a cab and got a small but healthy scrape. I dramatically declared that I would soon be coming down with hepatitis in that knee, but so far it seems okay.

People on Whom I Mouth-Breathed:

I know for sure that I met these people at breakfast or during the speed-dating: Pine Creek Cottage, Hide the Cheese, The Bellini Bunny, Dana from Rodale, and Naomi from Ketchum. I know I’m missing a few but I’ll do a round up of all of the cards that I’m having trouble placing with memories later. I also bumped into Jason and TwoBusy in the morning who were in search of that fine lady Mrs. Potato Head. Pimp! Adam P. Knave met up with us for drinks before the MamaPop party and I talked to him and his friend for exactly 2.5 seconds. I finally met Melissa and called her Christine.

Pictures that I Took:

This was the view from our hotel room. When we first walked past that LOVE sculpture, I pointed and yelled, “HEY! IT’S THIS THING!” I should be a tour guide.

Adam, Friend of Adam, and Palinode

BHJ and Amber

Schmutzie!

Jodi, Tracey, Palinode, and Ryan. I don’t know why there’s so much bending in this picture.

Kelli, Laurie, Schmutzie, Sarah, and Marilyn cracking up over something with a cardboard cutout of somebody. Based on the direction of their gaze, I imagine it’s something PG-13. I don’t remember taking this picture or what was going on, which is weird because I really didn’t even drink that much.

Karaoke action with Palinode, Tracey, Amy, Catherine, Schmutzie, Amy, Amber, and I believe Miss Banshee is back there, too.

This picture doesn’t do them justice but Jodi and Amy are, like, radiantly beautiful in real life.

Last year, when I went to BlogHer, I didn’t feel like I had really taken in the conference. This was mostly my fault, as I cut too loose the first night that I was there and spent the first day of the conference recovering. The rest of the time, I mostly focused on soaking up as much time as possible with people that I had been friends with online. It was fun, of course, but not really the best use of the hundreds of dollars that I had spent to go there.

This year, I was determined to get my money’s worth. See, I had bought my ticket back when we thought the husband was about to start a job, so I nearly burned a hole in my MasterCard, reasoning that we would be paying it off within a few weeks. Then the job evaporated and I agonized over whether or not I should move forward with this trip that we definitely could not afford. But, obviously, I decided to go, resolving to squeeze every last drop, knowing that I probably wouldn’t be back.

But my experiences of every day that I was there can be summarized into one of a few categories: Struggles that I Overcame, Parties that I Attended; Sessions that I Attended; Injuries Sustained; People on Whom I Mouth-Breathed; Pictures that I Took.

Let’s start with Thursday.

Struggles that I Overcame:

I screwed up planning my flights and landed at JFK at 4:30. I nearly fell off the airplane because they let us off right onto the tarmac and I didn’t know you could do that unless you were the Beatles or on a private jet. Amber swooped by in a taxi and then I got to experience rush hour in New York City. My jaw is clenching just thinking about it. About two hours and countless brushes with death later, we burst into the hotel looking for our fellow MamaPop writers, who were in the lobby bar last we’d heard. And Amber was all, “I HAVE TO PEE!” and I was all, “NOBODY’S HERE AND THEY’RE NOT ANSWERING THEIR PHONES!” Eventually I got a hold of Danielle, who told me they were at the SocialLuxe party. I apologized to Amber as I ditched her around the taxi line because I really wanted to go to a party that I’d been invited to at the Martha Stewart offices.

Parties that I Attended:

The aforementioned Martha Stewart thing, which was…well…I don’t want to say it was bad. It wasn’t. But it took forever to get there and then we stood in line so that we could stand in another line so that we could shuffle through the hallway and then squish into a tiny room with an admittedly amazing view. And I’m not complaining about that, really, I was just worn out at that point and gripped a glass of Prosecco and kept an eye out for the male model that was dispensing refills. At one point, we called him over and his eyes widened in alarm. Whatever, dude, just stand there and look pretty with a heavy hand while I veer into baby-cougar territory. Kelli then asked him if he watched Party Down and he got all irritated. But maybe he just doesn’t have cable.

When I told my mom and grandmother that I was going to this thing, their eyes rolled back in their heads and they clutched their pearls and asked what I was going to wear. (The correct answer to that, by the way, is a black shirt and white and black skirt and thirty buckets of sweat and angst.) But rumor was that Martha was in and out promptly at 6 leaving us to mingle with the staffers who were good sports but who were obviously thinking, “I’m so glad I could stay at work until 8 on a Friday so that this chick from Pittsburgh could stare at me.”

On our way out, I noticed the test kitchen and pressed my nose up against the window. And then I tried the door and the security guard made a move toward me. It was locked, but I guess he was concerned that I was going to try to take a refrigerator with me.

I was glad that I got to see the offices, but my first private party left me with the impression that they aren’t really worth the strife that they seem to cause. They’re just parties, man.

Sessions that I Attended:

Nothing official was happening that day but we did have an impromptu panel in our hotel room. I don’t remember what we talked about.

Injuries Sustained:

Four insect bites of unknown origin that are still red and angry looking nearly a week later.

People on Whom I Mouth-Breathed:

At Martha, I met the Bitchin’ Wife, KBestOliver, Tall Tara, Always Home and Uncool,
Cagey and two of her lovely friends (we shared a cab over there and I’m so sorry that I didn’t get their names), and got in Miss Grace’s faces who had the stunning Califmom with her. I also met Charlie for the first time, who gave me the fiercest hug ever.

After our hotel room session, we ventured about two blocks away from the hotel to find food and managed to find the one diner in New York City that closes at like 10:30. Part of the closing process includes glaring at the table full of bloggers who are shoveling food into their faces and having a cook pointedly punch a pile of meat. I don’t know, man.

Pictures that I took:

Just these two, with my phone.

Vintage Heimlich instructions in 10 point typeface posted in a corner of the room that will surely be of great use should someone start choking.

Tracey is not falling asleep at the table but taking pictures of our dinner mates from an artsy angle.

I know multi-part BlogHer posts are obnoxious but that’s too bad for you. More tomorrow

My family and I started making annual trips to Conneaut Lake in 2000. We had been there many times before, but that year it was determined (by some matriarchal figures, I don’t know, I wasn’t invited to the tribunal, I just show up when they tell me to) that as many of us would gather there at the same time every summer. Conneaut isn’t the most upscale vacation destination, but it’s affordable and family-friendly and just generally very nice.

The times that we spend there tend to run together in my memory. I can’t remember for sure what year it was that it rained all week or when the husband discovered the little gold mine of a record store in Meadville. I’m sure the fact that we spend most of our evenings tossing back libations doesn’t help, either. The landmarks are stuff like, “The first of two years that we stayed in that one cottage,” “The summer before the husband and I got together,” “The next summer, when I was pregnant,” etc.

I think this year’s landmark will be, “When the baby took off on his own.”

As I mentioned, the baby had a crush on a girl, one of his older cousins’ friends. And in general, he spent most of his time with his cousins, a group of boys ranging in ages from 2.5 years (though that one was still very close to his mama) to 18. At night, he slept at my grandparents’ cottage. Not with us in ours.

I wasn’t nervous for a second about that. His cousins, though rambunctious, are very good kids and would always make sure that the baby was safe. But it was tough to go the whole week without hanging out with him. It was my first real taste of not being his preferred companion.

Of course, having a week where I only had to half-parent was kind of nice. The husband and I did our own things. I got up early to jog. He slept in and traveled to the aforementioned record store in Meadville. We reunited in the evenings to watch Arrested Development and laugh our fool heads off. Then we’d squeeze together onto the Carter-era mattress that rolled us unwillingly too close together.

“Dude, give me some of the sheet! I’m freezing!”
“Get OFF me!”
“I can’t help it! There’s a divet!”

And we took an intimacy quiz from an old issue of Oprah’s magazine. Going by their measurements, we’re basically doomed. After tabulating our results, I peered at the husband with a grave expression and told him that we needed some work. “After all, marriage is serious business,” I noted, before we both dissolved into laughter.

It was an odd sort of loneliness last week. Surrounded by a ton of family members, the same people that I’m fortunate enough to see once a year, the one person that I wanted to spend time with and couldn’t is one of the people that I live with. I would try to hug him, he would push me away and insist that he was a big kid and I was treating him like a baby.

By the time we got home, he was more or less back to his old self, eager to join in our conversations and willfully giving me hugs on demand (though his kisses are growing more restrained, which just won’t do at all).

Right now, I’m in a weird space between trips. Still readjusting to regular life, I’m scheduled to depart for BlogHer on Thursday. While I’m in New York, I’ll miss the baby’s swim meet. I already can’t wait to get back.

Note: I promise that I’ll stop being so wistful every single post some time soon. 😉