I kissed my littles goodbye on Thursday morning and packed my pretty shoes for a night on the town. A friend and I went to Minnesota for some shopping and some eating and some sleeping. We didn’t spend all our time talking about our kids, we did have a slew of beers and we did get to meet Jen Lancaster. It’s really great putting a voice to the words on the page (or screen). I feel all stalker like, though, going out of state to meet someone that I’ve only seen on the interweb.
Walking into the Borders (40 minutes late…we got lost in Ikea), we stumbled into the Q&A portion of the evening. We missed the reading completely which was sad. I didn’t know it was a formal thing. I thought it was more drop in. I am happy for Jen and her book success. But I’m selfish.
I looked around the room. It was full (population 150) of women, 25-45ish, half of whom (or more) had a weight problem. Almost all of them us had chemically enhanced hair. There were poor shoe choices, poor makeup choices and lots of nodding. To say that I was uncomfortable was an understatement.
Sidenote: I have always been uncomfortable in a large group of women. I work better with men, as a general rule. I’m not even all that cozy in playgroups. This? Is a part of my psyche that I’m trying to figure out. I’m working on it. But I feel threatened. My knockers are too big, my skin too pasty, my makeup not done right, my hair thrown together. Women judge. I judge.
So we’ve established that not only am I late, I wish I was the only one in the room. And it was a selfish feeling. I wanted to hold Jen above my head (much like Ella does when Amelia comes for her fruit snacks) and say “Mine! Mine! Mine! I knew her first! Back off bitches!” I wanted to clock the woman behind me in line with my purse-that-didn’t-match-my-outfit for yammering on and on about the dress that she doesn’t fit into for her cousin’s wedding and how she would have brought Jen a bottle of wine and wanted to find out where she was drinking after the signing but shouldn’t drink because she doesn’t fit into the dress for her cousin’s wedding, repeat, repeat… Everyone knows she likes wine you whiney cow. If one were to be really creative, one would bring her a box of Lucky Charms and a Neimann Marcus gift card. Duh.
Umm…not that I brought her anything except my babbling about how I began writing because of her. So, so sad. I always turn into an ass every time I meet somebody with a remote amount of awesome running through their veins. Amy did take one picture and it’s a decent one of me and she, of course, looks amazing. But, check out my knockers. I am totally getting them reduced as soon as I possibly can. I would almost look normal without them.
Amy and I went back to the Hampton Inn (after many beers and hot wings at Joe Sensor’s) and passed out for 9 full hours. I don’t remember the light going off and it may not have at all. I don’t know. All I know is that I slept in the same position all night and didn’t get kicked by anyone else, not once. It was bliss of the highest order. There are many things I would give up for another night like that.
We came home yesterday morning. I hadn’t nursed Amelia in more that 24 hours. I was in a bit of pain and she was missing me. I brought her home and laid her down for a nap. She gulped and gulped for several minutes and unlatched. She reached up and patted my cheek and said in her sweet little voice “Tank you. Love mommy.” And she rolled over a fell asleep for a nap. So much for mothering being an under appreciated career.