It went poorly.

The boys had been playing for about five minutes when I heard a little girl’s voice scream-screech-coo BigBrother’s name. She ran up to him and he kind of jumped around a little bit. He grabbed her hand and ran her over to me.

“Mommy! This is Scream-Screech-Coo girl from my Kindergarten class! I’m going to play with her now!”

And off he ran.

While LittleBrother watched them run away. From him.

I stayed seated, wanting to be a fly on the wall as LittleBrother played this one out. He stood still for just a few seconds before chasing after the other two as fast as little legs could take him. He called out his brother’s name in his own little voice, but BigBrother was already running off in another direction with Scream-Screech-Coo girl. Every time LittleBrother caught up to the older two kids, they would be leaving. Leaving him behind.

I sat still and chewed on my lip.

On the one hand, BigBrother should be allowed to play at the park with his friends. I recalled a recent trip to the county fair in which a mutual friend of both boys only wanted to ride with LittleBrother. BigBrother had been upset, and we had talked about how sometimes we have to let the other brother play with someone else.

But it’s hard to be the little brother sometimes.

This scene played out, over and over, for about 15 minutes. I watched LittleBrother get more and more frustrated, but he was determined that those two were going to play with him. I didn’t want to step in and demand that BigBrother play with him. Not true: I wanted to, but I didn’t. Parenting is a social experiment, and I just let it play out.

Eventually LittleBrother came and sat next to me.

“BigBrother won’t play with me.”

“Well, his friend showed up. We didn’t plan it that way, but sometimes these things happen.”

The tears welled up in his eyes. “I just wanted to play with BigBrother. He was at school ALL DAY and now he won’t even play with me.”

I gave him a hug. It’s hard to be almost four, to have shorter legs, to not be in school yet, to think the sun sets on your brother’s head — and learn that it doesn’t really.

“Well Booey, it’s like when your friend only wanted to ride with you at the fair. These things happen. BigBrother still loves you. You’ll play again soon.”

He got over it and played in some leaves near me until Scream-Screech-Coo girl left and BigBrother could chase him for awhile. All was well with the world.

Today at the park, another one of BigBrother’s friends showed up. I cringed. But this friend is a youngest child… and worked hard to include LittleBrother. He didn’t always keep up. And once he fell off of a toy trying to do things that the older boys were doing. But he felt included.

Eventually the friend left, and my two boys ran off to play for a bit before we had to go home.

I breathed a sigh of relief, happy that they have each other.

Friends Ruin Everything is a post from Stop, Drop and Blog. Want more of Stop, Drop and Blog? Like our page on Facebook! If you have questions, contact me or hit me up via twitter.

I learned some great things while at the conference, some of which I will share here… and some of which will likely spill out into who I am and what I’m doing with my life, writing and photography over the next few weeks, months and even years. I think that, in itself, is indicative that the conference was a good one.

#1: Asheville, NC is awesome. I wasn’t able to make it down for the conference last year, selling my ticket to @ColoradoMom whom I met this year and think is equally awesome, so this was my first experience with the city. I’m in love. I have told FireDad that we are moving there. The food was phenomenal (favorites being Wasabi (sushi) and The Gourmet Chip Company (amazing homemade chips)). The vibe was just my style. The stores and the “buy local” message were just great. It was clean, gorgeous and I’m pretty sure the mountain air was made just for me.

#2: I’m getting better at this conference thing. I had nerves about speaking and I was on a high-anxiety level when we arrived at the hotel, but that soon disappeared. Not only did I manage my anxiety, I made friends, y’all. (I can say that. I just spent nearly three days with Jana and I’d like to have her call me and tell me any bad news that needs to be delivered. Cuss words also sound so much better with a southern accent.) For me, this conference was not about the personal networking of my blog, my writing, my photography or my so-called (and mostly non-existent) brand. It was about personal, one-on-one connections. And I made ‘em. High five to me. I didn’t hand out many business cards. And sometimes, I walked away from a conversation with an amazing woman or man without ever asking what their blog name was or who they are on twitter and so on. I just had amazing, real conversation about everything from technology to parenting to religion to New York’s good news and beyond. Was I anxious? Well, yes. I had to take a breather every now and then to re-group. But I stepped out from behind the excuse I place in my anxiety and was rewarded with some amazing connections. Awesome. (As a side note: I’m really bad at recognizing people. But so is everyone else. So it’s okay.)

#3: Some important writing and blogging stuff. When Patti Digh (@pattidigh) gave the opening keynote, I initially started crying. She started off with the story behind 37 Days — a hard one for me considering my friend had 15 days. But once I stopped weeping behind my hair, I was inspired by what she had to say. She asked us what our primary intention is with writing/blogging. I squirmed in my seat. She told us that we have a voice and asked us what our voices will say. I squirmed again. She told us to catch fire and I was feeling so uncomfortable that I made a joke on twitter. And then she told us to “let go of the audience,” and I stopped squirming as things clicked into place. Later, I told her that she made me cry and she said that’s how her husband gauges her success when she speaks: whether or not she made someone cry. Fantastic.

#4: Cause blogging is dear to my heart. We all have a story, and that’s something that I have always believed in at my core. I’ll be writing more about this (soon, I promise) at Chronicles… but, not only did I meet Katherine Stone (@postpartumprogr) — one of my blogging heroes — but she jumped up and down and hugged me when she met me. Seriously. Highlight.

#5: I can speak without falling over. The photography session went well and both Amanda (@amandapadgett) and I received good feedback.

#6:  Bloganthropy (@bloganthropy) is the heart of blogging. Watching Susan (@whymommy) accept the award for the work she has done for Mothers With Cancer made me choke up. Some of it was just losing my dear friend. Some of it was knowing the news another dear friend got just this week. Some of it was the visual representation that bloggers can do amazing, wonderful, freaking awesome* things with their spaces, their causes and their love for other people. And that, my friends, is why all the blama (blog drama) is worth it in the end: Bloggers are doing amazing things for the world around them. Keep at it.

#7: The Biltmore has crazy amazing wine. ‘Nuff said.

#8: Laughing is important. I haven’t laughed that much in a long, long time. I think I laughed, non-stop, for about 24 hours at one point. I may have even giggled in my sleep. It goes back to making real connections with real people, but let me tell you something: You don’t have to be a renowned humor blogger to make me snort wine out of my nose. You just have to be yourself. (Though wine helps.)

#9: Something will go wrong at every conference. That’s a given. It is how you — the attendee, the speaker, the sponsor, the volunteer — react to the issue that will color and shape your experience. I’m a silver-lining girl and I’ll find the good in the not-so-good as much as possible. I wish more people would look at conference issues in that manner.

#10: Know what you’re good at. Know what you’re bad at. In the closing keynote, Liz Gumbinner (@mom101) challenged us with that thought. When I asked Mandi (@2princessmama) what I’m bad at, she said, “Not bossing people.” Snort. Anyway, I’m bad at all kinds of stuff (including not being bossy, it’s true). And Liz’s point made me re-think some of my weaknesses alongside my strengths. She told us that it was okay to ask for help and — AND! — that we don’t have to do everything. I have been inspired, by both her and Patti, to reevaluate a few things and really work to refocus some of my goals — both professional and personal.

To sum it all up: It was a fun, inspiring, encouraging, humorous, yummy weekend with fun, inspiring, encouraging, humorous and, yes, even yummy people. I am walking away from Asheville, NC with a renewed sense of purpose. And sore abs. Really, I haven’t laughed like this since college.

How was your #typeacon experience?

[* = I did not say freaking. Ahem.] [Also, photos will be uploaded as they are edited!]

What I Learned at #typeacon is a post from Stop, Drop and Blog. Want more of Stop, Drop and Blog? Like our page on Facebook! If you have questions, contact me or hit me up via twitter.

For Diane, her husband Jim and their beautiful daughter Lily. May your song sing in our hearts forever.

Wordless Wednesday: Remembrance is a post from Stop, Drop and Blog. Want more of Stop, Drop and Blog? Like our page on Facebook! If you have questions, contact me or hit me up via twitter.

For someone who always has something to say, I feel useless. But this isn’t about me.

Today I will be holding Mom, Outnumbered, her husband, her children, her grandma, her sisters and brothers and in my heart. I may not be there in person, but I’m there in spirit holding my friend up as she honors her mom.

(PS: Hug or call your mom today. Okay?)

When There Are No Words is a post from Stop, Drop and Blog. Want more of Stop, Drop and Blog? Like our page on Facebook! If you have questions, contact me or hit me up via twitter.

“(Name) called me a baby,” LittleBrother said as he took another bite of his sammich.

I paused, mid-bite. “What?” He repeated himself. I looked at FireDad.

“What did you say to (name),” FireDad asked.

“I’m not a baby! I’m a big boy!” He smiled, white bread sticking through his teeth.

He got some hugs from us. Why a nine year old has to call a three year old a baby, I’m not really sure. But the fact that my little, er, big boy was confident enough in himself to set the record straight made my heart swell with pride. He didn’t come running upstairs with tears in his eyes. He didn’t punch the kid in the face. He didn’t send his older brother after the kid. He just stated the truth: He’s not a baby.

I could really use to swipe some of that confidence from my youngest child.

Probably at the exact same time some kid was picking on my precious LittleBrother downstairs at the Super Bowl party, I was getting the same riot act upstairs. That’s right. I was getting teased for being the youngest in the room as well. (Except that I wasn’t; FireDad is a year younger than me. No one said a word to him.)

“Were you even alive when that movie was made?”

“You do know who Guns N’Roses is, don’t you?”

“Oh, I didn’t realize you weren’t even 30 yet.”

I don’t know on what planet three or five or even ten years makes a lot of difference as an adult, but apparently it does. And while I would never dare to tease my friend who is turning 40 this year for “being old,” it’s apparently okay to tease me for “being young.” Because I had control over when I was conceived. Or when my parents met or when they were conceived. Or when The Bad News Bears was actually made the first time around.

I get that I’m young. I turn 30 in April, and in the Grand Scheme of Aging, it is young. But I don’t see why my age needs to be constantly brought up, rehashed and poked fun of by friends and strangers alike. Making fun of my young age negates all of the accomplishments I have made in those few short years. Making fun of my age dismisses all of the things I have been through to arrive at this point in my life as a whole person who happens to be proud of herself, proud of her journey. Making fun of my age takes me back to the days when I struggled with age, and doing the right thing and not being who I was supposed to be when I was supposed to be her. I already try to beat back the ghosts of failure on a daily basis; they don’t need help haunting me by people who are supposed to be my friends.

I know it doesn’t help that I look young either, but I’m not about to start donning the clothes that my Grandmother wears just to get people to show me a little respect. My Grandma is a fashionable lady, but it’s not my style. I’m also not going to wish away my healthy skin. If you want me to point out my gray hairs, I can as they are quite numerous, but the truth is that I’ve had those since I was 18 years old. I’ve always been an old soul, I suppose. Maybe people would be less likely to make fun of my age if I let my hair go gray. Or if I drew in deep wrinkles. Or if I wore granny style clothes. But probably not.

If this had been the first occurrence with friends, maybe I would have shrugged it off and it wouldn’t be nagging me two days later. But it wasn’t. And if random new people I meet in my life balk at the fact that I have two kids until they learn my age, maybe I wouldn’t mind. And if I wasn’t asked if I’m old enough to drive. Or vote. Or have a drink. And if people didn’t just assume that it’s okay to flip ageism and use my young age against me, I might have just gone back to watching commercials and bemoaning my teams’ march toward The Big Loss. But I have four different drafts of this post, having written and saved them at four different times last year. People just keep pushing the age thing. And for the life of me I can’t figure out why it’s not okay to disrespect an older woman but it’s okay to disrespect a younger one. In public. Talk about putting me on the spot. Let’s just be thankful my anxiety is in an okay place these days. Younger me wasn’t able to handle things like that.

But I didn’t really defend myself on Sunday evening. I blinked back a tear or two, driven to the brink of frustration that my age had come up again. I didn’t point out my accomplishments. I didn’t point out the hell I have been through in those thirty years — overcoming an eating disorder, the grief associated with relinquishment, three pregnancies that all put my life in danger, postpartum depression that did the same, starting a new life in a new place, various job hells and so on. I didn’t point out that I may not have been born when x-movie or x-song was made, but I also wasn’t alive when Handel, Mozart or Beethoven were around, but I still know and appreciate music from their eras. I didn’t realize it was a prerequisite to have been alive when something was made to know of and appreciate or like it. But I said nothing. I eventually made a quip about kicking one of the almost 40 year olds in the shin and something about shattering his old leg, but it didn’t feel right. That’s not who I am. And I regretted saying it immediately. Because 40? Is still so young.

I refuse to wear a nametag that says: “I’m (almost) 30, have accomplished more than most of you while still maintaining a youthful look so STUFF IT.” That’s not who I am either. I simply respect others for their place in life — younger than me or older — and am silly enough to expect it in return. So I’m going to just have to reinvest in some thick skin, remind myself that it takes fewer muscles to smile than to frown as I paste that smile on my face and take a confidence lesson from my youngest son. Because I am amazing. I am accomplished. I am beautiful. And, yes, I am young and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with it. I own my beauty and, darn it, I’m going to own my age too. And I don’t need the approval of the Age Police to be who I am, inside and out.

I may be young, but I’m not a baby.

“I’m Not a Baby!” is a post from Stop, Drop and Blog. Want more of Stop, Drop and Blog? Like our page on Facebook! If you have questions, contact me or hit me up via twitter.

Today she too becomes the mom of two boys. Today she too is ushered into the Moms of Boys — plural — group, one that not one of my local friends belongs to. It makes me sad that she’s six-ish hours away, especially as how it is both winter (icy, snowy, ick) and the holiday season (schedules = crazy), and I can’t just hop in a car and photograph her beautiful baby boy. I’m pretty darn sure that the boys and I will be taking a road trip this spring or summer to let our boy-ish brood romp around. Not that the new baby will be romping this spring, but still.

What I’m trying to say is, “Welcome to the world, New Baby.” And welcome to the wonderful, crazy, loud, huggy, dirty, snotty, poopy, laughable, crying, fantastic world of parenting two boys, Kristen and Jason. I’m so, so happy for you both. When you guys are feeling up to it, FireDad and I challenge you to some Mario Kart-ing.

(PS: Sorry to get all Oprah on you, but I do love you!)

Friends and Babies (Or, Congrats, @Antibob!) is a post from Stop, Drop and Blog. Want more of Stop, Drop and Blog? Like our page on Facebook! If you have questions, contact me or hit me up via twitter.

I was lovingly teased a few times over the weekend about loving my real life friends — two of whom I turned into bloggers and were in attendance with me — more than my online friends. The conference and time with so many of those that I genuinely considered friends taught me, or rather, reminded me that friends are friends. End of discussion.

When my grandfather died this past January, I called three real-life friends in tears. But I also posted my grief online. For weeks, I received phone calls and emails from both groups, checking on me to see how I was, if my family needed anything or to offer a kind word or story. When I am dealing with heavy adoption related topics, I actually turn to my online friends first, fully recognizing that the lack of face-to-face allows me to be more honest while simultaneously allowing them to kick me in the seat of the pants a little more directly than if we were sitting in the same room. My friends, no matter their location, rejoice with me in the good in my life and weep with me when it all comes crashing down.

The truth is that my heart is unable to recognize if I met you in Kindergarten or in college, at the hospital after one of my children was born or at the coffee shop a few weeks later, on one blog or website or another online medium. If you have offered a piece of yourself to me, if you have shared in my joys and my failures, if I have shared in yours, we are friends.

Over the weekend, I finally met a large number of friends face-to-face. I have known some of them for only months, others for close to a decade. I got to spend time with still others that I don’t get to see nearly enough. I had conversations that were just as deep as those I have with the friends who are able to show up at my house when I’m too sick or overwhelmed to get out of my pajamas. I met other firefighter wives that I didn’t yet know about yet. I met new people, new friends, most of whom I haven’t yet had a chance to read their words on their blogs, but a friendship was formed.

However brief the encounter — like the one I had in the elevator with someone I have quietly adored for years or walking back from a party with another and giggling in a drug store — they all mattered. Deeply. In fact, as we were heading to check out of the hotel, I said some final goodbyes. As I walked away, I had to fight back the tears. You don’t cry when you are leaving people who don’t qualify in your heart as a friend.

I learned a lot at BlogHer, I did. The sessions that I attended inspired me, made me cry and laugh in the same breath and challenged me to consider things differently. I learned that we are powerful. I learned not to wear cute flats, however comfortable, on a three mile photowalk because your hips will fall off the next day. I learned that I can run a 5K. I learned that’s it’s totally possible to drive in NYC. But what I’m taking away from this year’s BlogHer is more than brand interaction and private parties — though I enjoyed both. It’s more than tips to grow your blog or how to nurture your own voice — though I learned a lot. It’s more than new followers and new blogs to read — great stuff, too. For me, BlogHer ’10 was about friendships, new and old and even those yet to come.

In short, which I never am except in height, thank you for being my friend. (Cue song.)

[If you are not in this collage, please don't take it as a slight. Any more photos made them too small to see. All of my photos will be uploaded to my flickr set tonight.]

Friends: My BlogHer ’10 Refresher Course is a post from Stop, Drop and Blog. Want more of Stop, Drop and Blog? Like our page on Facebook! If you have questions, contact me or hit me up via twitter.

But it was so worth it.

Mainly because I had great company.

But also because it’s NYC. And things get random. And sparkly.

And Buzz was there to remind me of my boys.

I complained to Michelle as we walked and talked and talked and walked that the only time that I had seen a lights and sirens fire truck while walking, I didn’t have my camera in hand. As we continued on our way, every lights and sirens situation was an ambulance. I sighed.

And then we stumbled upon a fire house. One in which two of their trucks were just returning.

And I squealed with joy.

I’m sure the firefighters were thinking, “Who is this crazy short woman with the tall friend? Why is she squealing with delight and taking 498590409 pictures?” They didn’t know that I was part of their extended family, that my nightshirt while in NYC is one of my husband’s old work shirts. I considered stopping, especially when Michelle pointed out the tall firefighter who, like my husband, didn’t look old enough to drive the fire truck. But my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth and we walked on.

But not before I snapped this with no flash in a low-light situation.

So worth the sore feet.

Nighttime NYC Photo Walk (with Fire Trucks) is a post from Stop, Drop and Blog. Want more of Stop, Drop and Blog? Like our page on Facebook! If you have questions, contact me or hit me up via twitter.

And then I learned that a friend I graduated from high school with had a stroke.

We are 29 years old.

She’s a mom. And she has no feeling in her right arm still nor is she out of the woods regarding risk for another one. As another friend from our class said, “We’re too young for this.” We are. Or are we? I don’t know.

I’m reminded of Anissa, which gives me hope.

I’m also keenly reminded of our humanity, our mortality. Our children.

I’m going to go pack, without complaining. I’m going to finish cleaning up the messes I made today, without complaining. I’m going to finish up my work, pack up the computer and do so with a grateful heart. I’m also going to keep Jessica in my thoughts and prayers. If you can, I ask that you do the same.

Because, really, we are all too young to consider leaving our babies behind.

_
[This news has made tomorrow's do-goodery in Pittsburgh take a different spin for me. I hope you'll join the lot of us at the Science Center at 11am.]

Too Young is a post from Stop, Drop and Blog. Want more of Stop, Drop and Blog? Like our page on Facebook! If you have questions, contact me or hit me up via twitter.

While waiting for my husband to arrive home, I sat down and both tweeted and posted on Facebook about my grandfather’s sudden death. While people have come under fire for tweeting at a time of tragedy, it was the only thing left that made sense for me to do at the time. I was two hours from my family, waiting for my biggest support person to arrive home and I was absolutely hysterical. I needed to reach out to someone, to anyone.

I’m so glad that I did.

The response that I got was overwhelming (in a good way). Soon the reply tweets, direct messages, Facebook replies, e-mails and phone calls started coming. I still haven’t managed to reply to every single message that came in during the course of a very, very long week of intense grieving. I plan to but it’s been slow going. I received messages from others who had endured similar losses in the recent past. I received sympathy cards. In my snail mailbox. I received a box of Valentine cards (Toy Story, of course) from a friend who wanted to help me “check something off my to-do list,” as her card read. And I received real, physical help from someone I met during another tragic Internet gathering who helped me fix an error with my grandfather’s obituary when it ran without the photo and then showed up at my grandfather’s calling hours on his lunch break. These people reached out to me in my time of need just like my “real life,” just-down-the-road friends who picked up my mail and bought me a coat. Do you know why?

These people on the Internet aren’t just strangers on the other side of a keyboard. They’re friends.

I get frustrated when people dismiss friendships or relationships that were formed via keyboard. The fact that some of these friends sent apology emails, feeling guilty for not being able to attend services, lets me know that we’re more than just anonymous people hiding behind screens. Over the years, through blogs and forums and, yes, even twitter, lasting friendships have been formed. People care about one another. In the midst of this sudden and excruciating loss, I have been comforted by the fact that so many people care about the well-being of my family. Online and off, my family has been touched this week by the outpouring of love. I should make a small aside to say that my friends who live both in Ohio and Pennsylvania were also equally amazing during this very difficult time. Again, I have been so touched and so amazed by the support offered by so many loving individuals.

I’m still not “okay” with this sudden loss. I am still mostly heartbroken, still prone to tears at random moments when he crosses my mind in a memory. I appreciate this space here on the Internet where I can talk about him as I need to, when I can tweet about missing him, and not be reproached for grieving improperly. I am thankful for those who continue to reach out, to ask after my grandmother and to offer support. My grandfather was a loyal man and the loyalty that has been shown to me by my friends, near and far, is something that honors his legacy.

Good job, Internet. Good job. And, mostly, thank you. So very much.

Tragedy, The Internet and Honor is a post from Stop, Drop and Blog. Want more of Stop, Drop and Blog? Like our page on Facebook! If you have questions, contact me or hit me up via twitter.