Blockbuster Video is closing! Nancy explores what that means for how we get our movie fix...
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The post that follows is a revised version of a post that I wrote last year. I had been considering writing a new piece about the term ‘mommy blogger’ and to what extent I see that as part of my identity, not least because Kyle and I have been having conversations – partly in jest, partly not – about him becoming a dad blogger when we complete our move to New York and he becomes, for the most part, a stay at home dad, and those conversations raised the question: why ‘dad blogger’ and not ‘daddy blogger’? And why not ‘parent blogger,’ or some other neutral term?
I haven’t sorted out my thoughts on the daddy-blogger question – stay tuned – but reflecting on that question brought me back to this post, which still stands as a pretty accurate statement of my feelings on the term ‘mommy blogger.’
Dear Internet: I am not a mommy blogger.
Yeah, I know. There’s a baby in my header. There are lots of pictures of my children here, including that one, right there, on the upper left-hand side of this post. (Aren’t they cute? I let them call me Mommy.) But still. I am not a mommy blogger.
Here's the thing about moving: it sucks. Well, at least the part where you have to pack up all your stuff into crappy cardboard boxes, which requires organizing all your stuff, or at least...
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It's only a snippet of what was an hour long conversation - you can watch that whole hour, if you want (and if you want to spend four bucks and change, which is less...
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I’ve written a lot about Instagram here, I know. But, you guys, it is like a core part of my very being. It is how I am recording my children’s lives. It matters. And it matters almost as much as the Camera+ app.
I couldn’t use Instagram if I didn’t have Camera+. I mean, I could – I did, for quite a while, before I discovered Camera+ – but I wouldn’t be using it as awesomely. And awesome is what matters, right?
Strap in for Jason’s ongoing story. Once a tech obsessed writer/photographer/speaker, viagra pharmacy he thought he had it all under control – until his family grew six sizes. Now he’s trying to fuse everyone together into a single family. This is Family Sized Blender.
How in the hell are we supposed to do all this?
We’ve got six kids, three moms, two houses and a logistics problem that even a good air traffic control would have a tough time figuring it out.
The challenge over the next few months, blend together one family out of what looks like chaos – on paper at least. In the process, we’ll consolidate those two homes into one in time for school, then move again when our new space is ready at the end of November. All that while navigating the challenges of ex-wives, former boyfriends and the rigmarole that comes when trying to raise smart, charming well adjusted children (good luck!).
22
Sep
It’s my anniversary today. My 15th anniversary. Yeah. We’ve been married a while. We’ve been together for pretty much the entirety of my adult life. We’ve been together for almost half of my entire life. That’s a long time. That’s something to celebrate, I think.
But I’m not at home. Well, I am at home, kind of, inasmuch as I almost live here, in New York. I got the keys to our apartment in New York – our home in New York – this morning, so, yeah, in certain very important ‘wherever I lay my hat and also most of my shoe collection’ respects, I’m home. But Kyle and the kids are not at that home, they’re at our other home, the one in Canada, which feels so far away this morning, so far away.
Here's something that I said yesterday: "Being a mom is the closest you’ll ever get to feeling like a superhero.” I said it in response to something that Christy Turlington Burns said about the...
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(The post below repurposes, with some revisions, a post that I wrote late last year after TEDWomen. I've been revisiting it this weekend as I prepare notes for a panel that I'm moderating tomorrow...
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16
Sep
Last Saturday night, I went to the Project Runway party at Fashion Week in New York. It was one of those events that seem designed to make you feel uncool, at least if you’re older than 25 and not wearing six inch heels designed to look like cloven hooves. I don’t mean that in a bad way – I’m long past the age where feeling uncool got in the way of having a good time – just in a ‘that’s the way it is but whatever, pass the Make It Work Martini’ kind of way.
Me and Barbara Jones. Blurry because the photographer had had one too many Make It Work Martinis.