This nursery was quite a bit of work.  When we first bought this house last November, we knew that this room would need a complete and total redo.  It had a wallpaper border at the top (I HATE THOSE!!!) and an old and yucky carpet that looked and smelled like someone had been brutally murdered on it (and when we tore it up, the marks on the hardwood floor didn’t do much to convince us otherwise).

These before pictures were taken before we actually bought the house.  I wish I’d taken more detailed photos of that scary carpet.  Just to prove that it looked like someone was murdered on it and then the carpet was bleached to death.

Luckily the room looks completely different now.  The contrast from that dark and smelly room to the bright and cheery room that it is now is awesome.  It’s a happy room.

I LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE this Vintage Snoopy bed set.  I guess I could have re-used Lukas’ bed set.  I made sure that his was very unisex and it is still damned adorable, but I really wanted this baby to have something of his own and for Lukas’ bed set to always be JUST Lukas’.  These boys are going to have to share a LOT of things during their lives, and I see no harm in throwing in a unique thing here and there.  Sure, these bed sets will probably be donated when this baby has outgrown his, but I still just wanted this to be something that was unique to each of them.  I grew up with lots of hand-me-downs and I know how those few things that were all mine were so special.  I want my boys to have those few things as well.

Here is the changing table/chest of drawers that my Facebook followers talked about last night.  Jessie put it together and kept doing silly Jessie things that had my in stitches.  This is EXACTLY like Lukas’ and that is simply because it is an awesome piece of furniture.  After it is no longer a changing table, it can just be a dresser/chest of drawers until they move out and take it with them.

Now I’m really going to kill you with cute.  Who’s ready for itty bitty baby clothes?

Drawer full of tiny socks, tiny hats, and dozens of bibs.  I’m so glad that I didn’t have to re-buy a lot of these.

I get excited about holding my new baby in my arms when I am reminded how tiny he will be.  That’s a tiny sock!

I’m hoping that both of us will be out of the hospital and home by the time trick or treaters come around to my house.  I plan on sitting on my front porch with my little baby swaddled and wearing this as I hand out treat bags.

Before I started having kids, I remember my mother-in-law telling me that I needed LOTS of onesies.  She was right and I’m glad that I have lots here.

Teeny tiny shoesies, anyone?  Yes, they are shoesies!

Teeny Tiny bunny slipper!  Passed down from his big brother who was able to wear them for about the first week of his life before he outgrew them.

Teeny tiny sneaker also passed down from Lukas.  Lukas wore these ONCE.  The child was born with size 12 feet, I swear.

A closet stuffed full of clothes.  Most of them are hand-me-downs, but there are a few outfits in there that are just for the new baby.

For those of you perceptive enough to notice the wallpaper on the inside of the closet, yes, we are leaving the pink ribboned wallpaper up.  When this child is old enough to have a problem with the pink ribbons inside of his closet and complains about it, we figure he’ll also be old enough to help remove it.  I hate wallpaper so much.

ATTACK OF THE GIANT BELLY!

Aaaaand the weird belly button thing is back!

And to put a proper end to this cuteness post, I give you a picture of my beautiful first-born.  He thinks Momma’s bed is paradise and takes every opportunity to get snuggled in under that quilt that he and I both adore.

You guessed it, I’m going to withhold details.  I’m not going to talk about what made my week.  I’m not going to talk about my stupid little troubles.  Because you know what?  While they are a big deal to me right now and are dominating my life (a life that should be VERY happy considering my almost wonderful everyday circumstances), 6 months down the road I am not going to be thinking about it.  Not often at least.  A year down the road, I’ll have succeeded in brushing off a lot of this garbage.

I’m just going to belly ache for the main purpose of my beautiful readers and friends to give me support and virtual hugs.  Because I really fucking need that right now.  Badly.

The sickness has been really bad lately.  The pills have helped to stop the vomiting, but the nausea has been terrible and I haven’t been eating much.  At first I thought that maybe this ugly sickness was just having one last go at me before the pregnancy is over, but now I’m not so sure.  I think the stress of recent events has been wreaking havoc on my already fucked up pregnant body.  I’m having issues with gestational diabetes (not confirmed, but have been wasting a lot of my damned time at the hospital drinking glucose solution and having tube after tube after tube after tube of blood taken from my arm).  I’m also having issues with my weight.  My doctor asked me at one appointment if I was on a diet because my weight gain is not so good I guess.  I got mad at him and told him AGAIN that I have HG and that I just don’t have much of an appetite.  But everything with the baby at that point looked good.  As long as the abuse is heaped on me, I’m okay with that.  As long as my baby is healthy and safe in my body, I can deal.  But at my appointment today……..

I was in the Dr.’s office two weeks ago and was measuring at 29 weeks.  Right where I needed to be.  Today I measured at 28 weeks and the doctor was a little alarmed.  He asked me over and over again if the baby’s movement is okay.  How many times a day does the baby move?  Is it all day or only once or twice a day?  Are you sure you aren’t leaking fluid?  When I assured him (I had to calm HIM down) that the baby is VERY active and moves all day and that I am not leaking fluid, he scribbled something on my chart and told me that I need to go get an ultrasound “just to make sure everything is fine.”  He then started explaining that this could be nothing.  That I might just have a short pelvis (wtf is wrong with my pelvis NOW?) or some other very benign things.  Then he looked at me and said,

“How are you feeling?  Have you been sick?”

And then it clicked.  This stress has taken a physical toll on me and my baby.  And oh, I was immediately so angry.  Stress and ridiculous circumstances could possibly be hurting my baby.

Nothing’s certain right now.  I have the ultrasound after the weekend and can make sure that my baby is okay.  I’ll also just be able to see him.  The little person kicking the bejeezus out of me will be on a screen for me to see and admire.  My resolve to protect that tiny creature has doubled.  I just need to see him.  And I am freaking out a little bit.  I’m in the home stretch of this pregnancy.  I’ve made it past an “almost” miscarriage, the bitch part of the sickness, and the basic growing pains of having a person grow in your abdomen.  I wish so much that I didn’t have to worry about this baby so much…especially when it is possibly caused by things that could have been avoided altogether.

Hopefully in November I’ll be able to write a blog post about my relief and gratefulness that this baby is just fine despite all of the silly little scares.  That I’ll be able to take hundreds of pictures of this baby and his big brother together and show off my two beautiful healthy babies.  Hopefully, like before, this turns out to be nothing.

Me:  “He told me last night that I was fat!”

Jessie:  “Well look at her!  She needs to lay off of the Big Macs!”

Me:  *sigh*

Jessie:  “She looks like she has a big tapeworm or some other kind of parasite growing in her stomach!”

My Mom:  “Maybe she just needs to take a big crap.”

“I think that’s a knee,” I said calmly.

“Geez, Somer!  Don’t do that to me!  You have to warn me first!”

I shushed him and put his hand back on the bump, and as if on cue, the baby jerked the knee towards Jessie’s hand and then moved it along my belly, rubbing Jessie’s hand with his knee.  Jessie’s reaction?  A high pitched squeal and the quick removal of his hand.

The bigger this belly gets and the more prominent the little boy inside my belly, the more squeamish Jessie becomes over the whole thing.  With Lukas, near the end, you could actually make out tiny feet and hands and it freaked Jessie right the hell out.  I find it all quite amusing.

Surely I’m not the only person who has noticed a heightened interest in celebrities, real or fake.  So often I scratch my head and say to myself, “What’s the big deal?”  Sometimes, I just don’t understand the need to make people celebrities.  What happened to the days of celebrities being movie stars and athletes (only the good ones though!) and musicians?  Who are some of these people I can’t seem to escape?

-Lady Gaga.  She’s a pop singer, right?  She’s a pop singer who seems to take every opportunity available to her to do something outrageous and stupid to be the center of attention.  But why?  Doesn’t her title as pop singer ultimately earn her a bunch of fans anyhow?  Now I’ve never listened to her music.  I never will.  It’s not a slight against her, but rather her genre.  But what the hell is with those outfits?  No, I’m serious!  Those things look like crotch-strangling-icky-suits.  ICKY.  There’s too much crotch and too much painful looking boobage.  It’s like she’s trying to one up Madonna.  Oh and then there are the stupid things she keep saying in magazine interviews.  Her vagina is her place of creativity?  Are you kidding me?  Again, she’s a POP singer.  POP.  POP.  POP.  POP.  What effing creativity (aside from her wardrobe) are we talking about here?  The bottom line is this:  Lady Gaga is someone who could have achieved fame and a loyal fan base just by being a little different and with her music.  These crazy/stupid things she keeps doing and saying look like a desperate attempt to hold on to that fame and fan base when it’s not really needed.

-The Twilight kids.  I’ve never read the books nor have I seen the movies.  And that is not about to change.  Look, I’m sure the stories are good.  With a fan base as crazy as this, it has to be interesting.  I’m not someone who thinks all my fellow humans are idiots.  The only idiots are the ones who “Like” the Twilight page on Facebook.  Yeah, I went there.

I am not interested in the stories.  I prefer vampires and werewolves that want to murder people in a horrific and gory manner.  Is that so wrong of me?  But the hype surrounding these kids is nuts!  Now I’m not old, but I’m not really all that young either.  So please explain to me how a vampire who never washes his hair (and admits to such) is as desirable as Robert Pattinson?

Every picture taken of these kids shows them with their mouths hanging open and vacant gazes on their faces.  Is that their attempt to look ethereal or dreamy?  Well it’s not working, it makes them look high.

-Reality show train wrecks.  Seriously.  WHAT THE FUCK PEOPLE.  Why are we buying in to news about people having public meltdowns or who celebrate the fact that they are basically worthless?  It’s one thing to watch the shows (which I don’t!) and laugh at them, but it’s another thing when I see pictures of these people hanging out with real working celebrities and posing for pictures.  Is it really that simple?  Do I just go and get all oranged up on spray tan, go to the Jersey Shore and punch Snookie in the face while high on meth while wearing a skirt so short that you can see my yaya?  Is that my ticket to fame?  Why is this working for these people????  I’m so confused.

-Fake celebrities (a.k.a. sex tape celebrities).  All you need is a rich parent and a tape of you having sex with some douchebag to hit the public and Voila!  You’re a celebrity!  Oh you’ll get paid for making appearances and for doing shitty reality shows on E! but does that really make you interesting enough to deserve the attention?  Sure there will be pictures of you all over the place vacationing with real celebrities and you will be on every red carpet posing like your livelihood depends on it (because it does), but does that really make you a celebrity?  To me, that sounds like all you’re doing is leaching off of the celebrity vibes and hoping the light stops on you long enough for someone to notice you.  Please people, stop.  Do something worthwhile that doesn’t involve modeling or singing or acting, because we all know you got those gigs simply by being “that person in the sex tape with what’s-his-face.”  Go to college and get a degree.  Get a job that requires steady hours and concentration.  Be a REAL role model to little girls.  One that says that brains and empowerment can mean just as much, if not more, than looks and popularity.  But I’m talking to a wall, aren’t I?  These fake celebrities only care about looks and popularity.  Otherwise we wouldn’t know their names.

This whole rant started over my confession over not being star-struck over a certain celebrity blogger.  Now, I mean no disrespect to that blogger.  That person obviously WORKS for that attention and adoration.  That person started at nothing and built a name and a brand up around a blog.  That’s great.  And I really mean that.  The blogging superstars had to overcome a lot in order to get where they are.  They had to overcome bias and dismissals that they were merely regular people keeping a diary online.  I think we all know that it’s so much more than that, and that those people who broke out of the stereotypes deserve those paychecks because they WORK for them.  You’ll just have to forgive me for not being all starry-eyed over having one 10 feet away from me.  But then again, the only way I get all freaky fan-girl on someone is if their job mandates that they have a guitar slung across their hips.  And that they play it really well.  And that they write all their own music.  Basically you have the be Jerry Cantrell for me to squeal and hang on to your every word.  (I have a great story about an almost run in with Mr. Cantrell that I need to remember to share with you all some time.)  And that’s it.

…..Okay, maybe Trent Reznor, too.

We took the train in to New York.  I was a little nervous about traveling with a toddler again (remember the flying from Seattle to Philly experience?  Yeah, I was afraid of that happening again!) but we bought a portable DVD player, got the kid some headphones, and the ride was totally quiet.  Success!

We get into Penn Station and lug all of our extremely heavy crap up two escalators before hitting the street.  I took a brief moment to look up and admire the city-scape before realizing that the taxi cue was almost a block long.

“Jessie,” I said.  “The hotel is only a mile away.  This line is crazy, let’s just walk.”

“We are not walking to the hotel.  We are waiting in this line for a taxi.”  He replied.

“But it’s not that far!  We can walk it, it will be quicker!”

“WE ARE NOT WALKING WE ARE WAITING.”

“Grouch ass,”  I said.

So we cued up and waited for our turn to get a cab and in all fairness I have to admit that it didn’t end up taking very long at all.  We got to the hotel, we unloaded and checked in.  The lobby was already full of squealing and hugging women and my excitement grew.  We were led to the correct bank of elevators (the elevator situation at this place was insane!) and standing in front of me was Denise!  I had just gotten there and was already hugging someone I adored!

We went up to the room and I started texting and calling people that I knew to see where they were.  Nobody was available yet.  So Jessie brought back a couple of dirty water hot dogs from a local street car and I inhaled mine while waiting when I realized that I needed to go register and get my badge before the booths closed for the night.  While standing in line, Jennifer called me and we ended up finding a quiet place to sit and meet face to face for the first time.  We chatted for a couple of hours before I decided to call Denise and see about getting all of us Chatter ladies together for a nice meet up.  We ended up at the BlogHer CE Dinner and met some of the famous contributing editors of the site as well as two of the co-founders of the site.  It was pretty cool.

We went back to Denise’s room and sat around chatting for a few hours.  I got to meet TW, who’s cooking site I love (and who fondled my belly quite a lot), as well as Sassymonkey and her husband.  Denise and TW’s daughter Rebecca was also there.  She gives me hope that the younger generations aren’t all going to grow up to be Paris Hilton.

Day one of the conference started with e Newbie Breakfast where all of us first-timers stuffed our faces with muffins and fruit while listening to the founders of BlogHer say hi to us.  I went with Jennifer, Jessica (BlackBeltMama) and I waved Linda over to our table after Jennifer recognized her from Chatter.  It was a really nice breakfast and I was surrounded by great and intelligent women.

After breakfast, Linda and I headed over to the morning keynote where we sat in the worst place ever to hear or see what was going on so I ended up having a conversation with a book publisher who came to the conference assuming all of the attendees would be “mommy bloggers”.  I politely corrected her and explained the truth that women bloggers cover all topics of interest from technology to politics.  She looked like she didn’t believe me so I turned my attention back to Linda so I wouldn’t be tempted to pull her hair.

I attended one session on Friday that bore me to tears so I went to lunch, hooked up with Sassymonkey and spent a couple of hours swag hunting with her and laughing as she volunteered to get her picture taken with everybody.  We then went to the Geek Lounge and chatted for a bit with Denise and Linda before I excused myself to go back to the room to spend time with Jessie and Lukas before the Voices of the Year Keynote that night.  (Jessie and Lukas, by the way had a great time in NYC.  They were out and about having a great time doing kid-friendly stuff together.  Great Daddy and Me time for my little boy.)  I went back to my room, played with Lukas and showed him all of the swag/toys that I had brought him.  We ordered a pizza from Ray’s Pizza (One of those iconic NY pizza places) and I ate in the room before putting on my pretty maternity dress (pretty, HA!) and headed to the keynote.

I sat alone and was enjoying the readers until a woman came in and sat right next to me (the row I was in had all empty chairs except for the two ends…why did she do that?) and kept getting up to go plug in her phone into an extension chord by a pillar in front of me.  Then she would sit and browse the internet on her phone and periodically ask me “Have they done the humor posts yet?”  She asked me this FOUR TIMES.  I wanted to yell at her to pay attention and leave me the hell alone, but I was a nice person and nodded quietly at her while biting my lips as hard as I could…you know…..the nice thing.

After the Keynote, I wandered around looking at the cool art.  I was getting pooped out.  I saw a room full of balloons and decided to swipe a yellow one for Lukas.  As they were still setting up for the Gala in the main ballroom, I decided I had enough time to run to my room really quick and deliver it.  I ended up laying down “just for a second” and fell asleep.  I’m so lame.  I got all dressed up in this ensemble that I had put so much thought into and I fell asleep in the damned thing.

I woke up the next morning and went to breakfast.  I sat alone at first but my table filled up with some super nice ladies.  Two of them were from Chicago and I asked them if it was an assault to their senses to be in NY and they said no.  I was surprised, but it was a great ice breaker and I ended up chatting with these two ladies the whole morning before my sessions started.  It’s proof that most of these people were totally friendly and totally cool.

I went to 3 sessions that day and enjoyed all of them.  I had lunch alone and was joined at the last minute by a woman wanting to talk about Apple products.  I stuffed what was left on m plate in my mouth and hurried away.  After my last session, I went up to my room to spend time with Jessie and Lukas.  We got dinner from the famous 53rd street Halal street car (it was really freaking good) and then I started texting and tweeting people about getting together.  Jennifer called me and told me to get my ass to the third floor for a little floor party the Chatter Ladies were having, so I rushed down and had a great time just chatting with women I adore on the internet and in real life.  And TW got some good belly-groping time in.

Jennifer and I then went to a party that we were both REALLY looking forward to only to find it a little too loud for us old-timers.  We stood in line to get drinks, but the woman in front of me was about to start a fist fight with the bartender over the color of her drink ticket and the fact that she wanted ALCOHOL and she wanted it NOW GODDAMMIT.  She finally got her cocktail consisting mostly of ice and cranberry juice and Jennifer and I got waters and got the hell out of there.  We decided to do a photography walk of Times Square (Jennifer is a super photographer).  It was dark outside, so we got the full experience of the obnoxious lights in the Square.  And all the obnoxious people.  If someone tried to harass us, Jennifer would threaten to beat them with her tripod.  I felt very safe with her.

And basically the next day we left.  I almost puked in the train terminal, but ended up holding it in until late last night.  Puking is fun!

At the end of it all, I have to say that I had a fantastic time.  It was so nice to meet people that I talk to almost on a daily basis face to face.  It was so nice to get out of the house and go to sessions based around my interests as a blogger (a pee-on blogger, but a blogger nonetheless).  The next conference will be held next year in San Diego.  Part of me winces at that.  I hate plane rides almost as much as I hate Apple, and I would have to go alone and leave my two babies behind for a long weekend.  I’m still mulling it over, but I would feel bad if I missed it.  I don’t know.  What I do know is that there are no regrets for this year.  I had a great time and I have an immense and new found affection for some of these women.  Thank you all so much for making my first BlogHer so great.

To be honest, I was only really bored in one session.  The other three I enjoyed greatly, I just was having so much fun with myself and my random scribblings that I did it during all.  I thought that since most of you follow me on Facebook and Twitter anyhow that I would subject you to my session notes….so you can see what an idiot I am.

Session 1 (I was bored in this one.)

-This is so unorganized.

-Seriously boring.

-She said, “Expecially”…..Christ…… (And yes, my note looks exactly like that.)

-I’m more interested in the cute baby 5 rows up.

-I keep having honeydew burps.

-That baby is seriously cute.

-People behind me won’t STFU.

-Don’t want to leave because I feel bad.  So many people are milling out.

-That baby has crazy pinchy cheeks.

-My underboob itches but I’m afraid to scratch.

-People just keep leaving…..

-Cute baby left.  Nothing to look at.

-I want a granola bar.

-Wonder what’s for lunch.  I hope it’s not bologna.

-She keeps saying “expecially”.  I want to throw my shoe at her.

-Why are people standing in the back?  Half of these chairs are empty.  Seriously.  HALF.

-A brick and mortar business owned by a woman?  How refreshing!

Session 2 (My favorite one.)

-Guy sitting next to me looks like Alton Brown. Must stop staring.

-Phone is on vibrate and sitting between my legs.  Please no one text me lest I squeal.

-Oooh!  I know PunditMom!   Well her blog…..

-OMG Elisa Camahort is sitting behind me.

-”Live the life you want, not the life you feel you should have.”  ~Stephanie Roberts.  I like that lady.

-PunditMom just said “words that rhyme with witch” instead of just saying “bitch.”  People who refrain from cussing are cute.

-Not all female photographers take pictures of weddings, pretty flowers and horizons!  I’m forming a crush on Stephanie Roberts.

-Some woman wearing a cell phone holder on her hip just squeezed me out of my chair.  Had to move my huge pregnant bulk over.  She isn’t even paying attention to the fucking session.

-Thank goodness PunditMom is here.  She’s keeping this VERY organized.

-Woman down front is literally freaking the fuck out to ask a question.  Her hand has shot in the air 14 times so far.

-Someone is texting and the sound is on. Asshat.

-Why does this woman hate Nestle?  (must look that up, actually)

-Crazy question lady FINALLY got picked.

-PunditMom answer to a really good question, “I bang my head against the wall.”

-These chairs are not huge-and-pregnant friendly.

Session 3

-Everybody in here is old.

-Glad I did my swag hunting yesterday.  Some of these poor women are so loaded down and still trying to get around.

-How to control my digital footprint?  I have enough trouble with my carbon footprint.  For crying out loud, I’ve only got two feet!

-Everybody keeps coming in with pudding.  Where are they getting pudding?

Session 4 (My second favorite)

-I volunteered to present in this session and was passed over.  When you’re too small a blogger to present on a panel about embracing your smallness as a blogger, the level of suck that you are is epic.

-Are all rooms full of women uniformly loud and irritating?  Large groups of men are annoying too, only they make the room smell like scum and farts.

-A business card that is really a package of gummis?  It was tasteless to plop it in front of me unprompted….but…GUMMIS!  Oh, fuck.  She’s pitching Apple Apps.  These things are going in the trash!!

-This presenter has one of those great soft voices that makes you kinda sleepy.

-These poor women are nervous.  Next year they should offer “Awesome Juice” to the presenters. Nobody needs to know it’s booze.

-”My job is kind of a pain in the ass and a drag.  I want this to be fun!”  Funny commenter.

-Ha!  This woman in the audience is hilarious.  She should be a presenter!

-People going off on a long tangent while asking a question is painful to watch.

-Another cell phone with the sound on.  Asshats abound.

-Oh man, I have the perfect answer to that question.  And no, it doesn’t involve cheeseburgers.

-”I try to ignore my stats for the same reason I don’t have a scale in my house.”  Celeste, Presenter

-My stats don’t interest me.  I get a good weekly laugh, however, from the search terms that bring people to my site.  There are always at least three that are booby-centered.

-Oh, come on ladies!  Drop an F-bomb!

-Presenters are relaxing.  Starting to funny it up.  Awesome.

-Oh Rita!  BlogHer would NEVER syndicate my blog!  Stop teasing!

-Woman came into the panel really late.  Is sitting next to me and rocking back and forth.  Her laptop also does not have the sound turned off.  My cell phone might accidentally hit her.

-Yeah, these presenters are in no way as small as I am.  Suckage reminder.

-This woman next to me is driving me fucking crazy.

-Seriously, how far into the cell phone era are people going to remember to turn off the damned sound?

-This woman next to me is giving me a fucking headache. (I could seriously devote an entire post to all of the stuff that she was doing to gross me out and annoy me.  But I won’t.  She just sort of ruined a great session for me.)

That’s all!  As you can see, you can learn a lot about these sessions by what I wrote down in my snazzy red notebook.  I should be a transcriber.

I don’t think I’ll be uncomfortable at the conference, though.  There will be enough people to hide behind if I do start acting like a socially inept hobbit, but people enough like me that I can sit and have a nice conversation just about anywhere.  I’m really looking forward to this.

Having said all of that, I feel a bit of a need to warn you other conference goers about…well….me.  I’m a person who comes with warnings and disclaimers.  Reader beware.

I sweat.  A lot.  I can claim that this is a symptom of being huge and pregnant right now, but the truth of the matter is that I have always been a heavily sweating person.  I’ve always hated the women who “glisten” and just sort of glitter when they get hot all the while I am sitting in a puddle of sweat panting heavily.  It’s not pretty.

I grunt and moan a lot when I sit down and get back up.  This one I will blame on the pregnancy thing.  Just don’t look at me weird when I start making wookie sounds when trying to get up off of a sunken in leather sofa.

I’ll giggle and laugh at lots of things.  I like to laugh and I am a person (with a history of depression) who finds it important to see the humor in everything.  I laugh a lot.  You’re welcome to laugh with me.  We’ll have a giggle party.

I chew gum a lot.  I know this is totally disgusting to some people and completely unforgivable.  I don’t like to have bad breath.  I don’t like my mouth tasting yucky.  I make a very conscious effort not to be gross about my gum chewing, but I will still do it.  If it’s a choice between sewer mouth and a peek of gum in my mouth, I’m choosing the gum!

I’m not a super girlie-girl.  My nails will not be painted.  I have never had a manicure or a pedicure.  My nails are short and clean and that’s all I need.  I don’t wear a lot of jewelry and most of my clothes come from Target.  My hair will be doing it’s own thing (I gave up trying to control it years ago) and my makeup is always minimal.  I’ll be glad to listen to you passionately talk about your favorite shoes, just don’t expect me to jump in.  I’m lost in that area of conversation.

I am an anti-Apple person.  Don’t try to get me to touch your iPad or new iPhone because I will become so distraught that I may vomit.  Okay, maybe it’s not that dramatic, but I still don’t want to touch your Apple stuff.  Use it and enjoy it, just don’t try to convert me.

Twilight.  No.  Just, no.

If you are having a cocktail or a glass of wine in front of me, excuse me while I stare longingly at your beverage and lick my chops.  I’m having serious booze withdrawal in this pregnancy.  I’ll try not to start reciting love poetry to your drink.

While I’m not a morning person, I am not a foot-dragger either.  When I wake up I am awake and perky, even if it is 6 a.m.  Try not to punch me when I say “GOOD MORNING!” in a happy voice.  I’m pregnant.  And I wear glasses.  That’s just not a cool thing to do!

I think that should be adequate enough warning.

I hope everybody has a great time and is able to walk away from this conference with some new friends and contacts (maybe I’ll be one!).  See you all there!

What got me really  motivated to finally do this was this article and it’s subsequent comments.  The comments especially made me motivated to make my wishes known.

In case of my death, my online presence will need to be taken care of.  My wish is that said presence be erased.

In the event of my death, Jessie will sign on to my two blogs, my Facebook account, my Twitter account, and my BlogHer account and let everybody know that I have passed.  After two weeks time, the BlogHer and Twitter accounts are to be shut down.  The Facebook account can be left up a little longer for my online friends to discuss and receive news about funerals and all the mess.  After a month, the Facebook page is to be taken down.  Deleted.  No memorial pages, please.

Delete SMP immediately and unceremoniously.

As for my Flickr account, if it will not be used any more by Jessie, delete it.  Save the pictures to a hard drive and delete the blasted thing.

As for this particular blog, I’d like for it to be saved for my boys.  Make either one or a series of Blurb books of the blog.  Once this is done, delete the blog and take down the site.  Again, no memorials.  Emptiness is more appropriate in this space.

I don’t want any well-meaning or sentimental people to try to leave some sort of online tribute to me.  Frankly, that makes me twitch.  I want it gone.  If you want to remember me, get together, have a few drinks and talk about me that way.  If some people would like a book of this blog, I’m sure Jessie could help with that.

I want my online presence to disappear in the wind, much the same way I want my ashes to scatter.  I don’t want people to have to visit one certain place either physically or online to remember me.  If I disappear, I can be remembered anywhere anytime.

I started early.  I’d come up with names for things that would send people into giggles.  I referred to all genitalia (from the age of 2 until about 14) as wingle-wangles.  To me, that is one of my word-inventions that actually makes sense.  Look at your stuff sometime, boys and girls.  Look at it and mouth the word wingle-wangle.  It’s a perfect fit.

When I was in first grade, there were two incidents that convinced me that I was a gem among clumps of dirt in my family.  I put together my very first rhyme.  I was so unbelievably proud of myself that I rushed into my house after school and announced to my parents excitedly that I had thought of a rhyme.  The fruit of my budding genius, the amazing depths of my talent was sure to astound my parents.

“What is the rhyme?”  My mother asked me.

I gave a brief pause for dramatic effect.

“Skippy dippy.”  I said.

Instead of looking at me in awe and adoration as I had expected, my parents burst into hysterical laughter.  I stood for a moment scowling at them and then went to my room muttering under my breath that they were poopy heads who didn’t respect my talents.

That same year in art class, I made my mother a refrigerator magnet for Mother’s Day.  It was in the shape of a heart and I inserted a short, lyrical phrase that to me was more of a beat poem.  It stated the love that I had for my mother and also showcased my immense talents.  It read, “Ri Ri I love you, Somer.”  (FYI, the “Ri” is pronounced like “rye”)

I brought that magnet home to my mother and proudly placed it in her hands.  She looked at it for a moment, looked at me, and then back at the magnet before asking, “What is reeree?”

Angered that she had taken the lyrical part of my poem and turned it into one ridiculous sounding word, I corrected her that it was “Rye rye” and that it was a poem.  She smiled at me and placed the magnet on the refrigerator and said, “Oh, ok.”

I stomped back to my room, making sure my denim Keds slammed into the floor smartly while muttering under my breath that nobody understood my immense talents.  I stopped sharing the works of my genius with my parents after that.  They were, after all, poopy heads.

When I hit about 5th grade, I was made familiar with Stephen King.  It was at that time that I convinced myself that I needed to grow up to become a successful female horror writer.  I mean, I could scare my little brother half to death, why couldn’t I scare and disturb my peers as well?  Sadly, I was never able to gather the inner strength needed to showcase my talents to my peers.  I secretly blamed my poopy head parents.

In the seventh grade, we were required to write weekly themes of fiction for English class.  The teacher liked to nurture creative writing and always made sure to pull me aside after class to let me know that my works were very “creative.”  All the while, my peers were telling me that I was weird and that I had bad hair.  My fevered brain laboring under my budding teenage angst secretly blamed my poopy head parents.

In high school, I took Honors English classes and really enjoyed the reading and writing encouraged there.  I was always in really good with my teachers and had a reborn sense of confidence in my abilities to spin a yarn.  I was nowhere near as confident as I was in those early years (thanks, again, to the poopy head parents), but I was starting to believe in myself again.

My Senior year of high school I entered a writing contest.  It was a voluntary writing contest given to all students in the county.  One winner would be chosen from all of the participants and the prize was little more than recognition and a certificate.  Really, I wanted to see if I could do it.  And I did.  Out of all of the kids in the county who participated, I won.  I gathered my certificate and handshake from the principal, took it home, and put it in the top left drawer of my desk.  I didn’t tell anybody about it.

When I applied for college, I took that certificate to the university councilor who was assigned to me, and it impressed her so much that she let me bypass two “pre” classes and gave me direct admission to the School of Journalism.  Well, that certificate and my G.P.A., but the councilor really was quite impressed with me.  I didn’t call her a poopy head.

In college I excelled in all my writing classes.  I hated writing Journalism, yet I was good at it.  What I still loved was the fiction writing that my English professors assigned.  I’d read them in front of my classes and my class mates would laugh at the funny scenario I’d written.  That made me feel so damned good.  I stopped calling my parents poopy heads.

Once the poopy head mentality towards my parents stopped, I began to understand myself a little better.  I’m smart, but no more so than anybody else.  I’m talented, but not on any sort of epic scale.  I’m funny, but nobody would pay money to hear me tell a joke.  I’m very “meh”, and the weird thing about that revelation is that I’m totally okay with it.  Had my immense talents as a child prodigy been nurtured more by my parents, I might have grown up thinking I was better than what I am.  I might have thought more of myself than I deserved.  In truth, those poopy heads laughing at my genius helped ground me, whether they realized it or not.  And every time one of them finds it necessary to remind me of the “skippy dippy” story, my resolve to not take myself too seriously is renewed.

And yes, I’m reminded of that fucking “skippy dippy” story at least once a month by one or the other.  Damn my genius!