Healthy Pancakes

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My son is a pancake freak. Periodically at night he’ll ask, “MORE PANCAKES.” And by periodically, I mean every so often at 2Am. It’s like he’s having a sloppy pancake dream.

You’re just going to have to take my word for this. I wouldn’t make this shit up.

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We have a.. how do we say this? ... “tight” community. Or “compact” if you’re a car salesman. Or “bumfucking close” if you’re us.

Whatever, people are everywhere always up in other people’s grills here.

Facebook, you’re forgiven

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Whatever issues I’ve had with facebook, and I have, are gone today. Suddenly today I saw the most amazing use of facebook and I’m thankful over and over for it.

I’ve mentioned my friend Amy who’s breast cancer took us from her family and friends entirely too early. It hit home too close and too hard for me. It was hard.

Happy (ish) Mother’s Day!

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I’m honored to be part of Mothers Day Rally For Moms Mental Health” today. This is my fourth mother’s day. The fourth year I’ve been figuring out how to be a mom, who I am as a mom, and what the hell got me here.

As someone who blogged her way through depression with her first child, the decision to stop medication during the pregnancy of her second, and the subsequent love and disgusting mush in a complete turn of events after the birth of her second, I’m honored you are here. I’m honored to be part of a diverse group of woman standing up and calling out that IT IS OK.

10/2/2009

How Blissdom helped me understand my daughter Parenting

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I stepped down off the panel, my legs shaking so much I had a touch of paulsy. I’m pretty sure the sweat on my face could be seen from the back row. I stayed to answer a few questions and meet a new client so the room was nearly empty. I was actually a little relieved that nobody was left to see me taking deep breaths and stepping carefully. One. Two. Three. Breath.

I push thoughts of over-analyzing the panel out of my head and focused on food. I need it. Bad.

History Repeats Itself Part 4

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I’m starting with part IV of a series. Think of it like Star Wars. I’ll be bringing you up to speed in installments. Trust me, it’s better this way.

The story of my daughter’s birth week is one I don’t often try to remember. It’s full of painful memories I feel are best kept locked away. I hate not being able to say her birth was The Moment I loved her. It’s hard to explain the circumstances surrounding that first week that landed me in the ER 12 hours a day, two days in a row, until finally being re-admitted for a three day stay. Perhaps one day I’ll share this story with her so she can avoid the same fate, should it come down to it, but for now, I’ll wait to dispense that information until necessary.

Where have all the good blogs gone?

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Remember back when Writing Well Was The Best Revenge? It seems that in the wake of the millions of bloggers coming online in the past five years or so, everyone forgot what we were here for: Writing. Community. Challenge.

I look through my own archives and see when I used to write. People would spur me on, challenge me to be a better communicator, to relate a story in a more dynamic way, to share a piece of our lives in a way that touched you. Then it became about money, stats, popularity. The rise of “monetizing” seemed to crush the spirit of the well-written blog. Bloggers no longer needed to write well because the goal is traffic, which comes via selfish motives seeking deals, a quick feel-good popcorn laugh at an “LOL Cat” or train-wrecks addicted to drama. It’s not as much about writing as it is about selling your site, and yourself.

The Working Mom: Improv #239

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It took a long time for my brain to switch to work mode. I was so used to carrying around diapers and fourteen days worth of crackers that I often walked in to client meetings and sighed as I shoved aside four diapers, wipes, three fruit leathers and a nondescript item from what appears to be of a “gummy” family. Or once was.

Fluffy green tutus: Time truly is liquid

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It’s a cliche, how history repeats itself.

It’s true, at least in our family, as life motors on I see glimpses of my past squished with my present or projected in my future.