My Bucket List

Last month, I was crammed in the back of a Chicago cab on a wild goose chase for cool t-shirts, hot-dogs and boys with wands on REALLY big screens with four of my bloggity friends and I nearly peed my pants.

We were all affixed to our phones, watching another bloggity friend, the Undomestic Diva, mark an item off her bucket list. She hopped the fence and jumped into the “Married with Children” fountain. This, dear readers, is no easy feat. This fence is about as tall as she is. You have to check out her post. Be forewarned. Empty your body of fluids first, because I’m not going to be held responsible for upholstery cleaning bills.

Meeting her and lots of other bloggers last month was inspiring. I was not only inspired to keep writing my story as a parent in Las Vegas from my point of view, I was inspired to be a better parent and a better person. For the first time in a long time I took some stock over the experiences I want to hallmark my life. My bucket list one thing for every year of my age.

1. Build a career that I love and that pays me what I’m worth.
2. Love passionately.
3. Sea kayak in Costa Rica.
4. Take my mom to Europe.
5. Be kissed at the top of the Eiffel Tower.
6. Ride on the Orient Express.
7. Learn another language well.
8. Catch a bug as big as my hand in the Amazon rainforest (and try not to scream).
9. Learn how to dance (for reals, with a partner – and letting him lead).
10. Walk on a black sand beach.
11. Get my master’s degree.
12. Give birth.
13. Take an improv class.
14. Own a brand new car.
15. See Manhattan from the crown of the Statue of Liberty
16. Read War and Peace.
17. Watch my children graduate from college.
18. Take a picture that makes me cry.
19. Spend the night on a beach.
20. Teach my grandchildren how to play card games like Kings’ Corners and Hand in Foot.
21. Overcome my claustrophobia.
22. Swim with in every ocean.
23. Make my parents proud.
24. Write a sitcom pilot.
25. Show Boo how to cross stitch.
26. Help a friend give birth.
27. Take the kids white water river rafting.
28. Create something beautiful.
29. Teach Doodle to cook.
30. Alleviate someone else’s pain or suffering.
31. Find a kindred spirit.
32. Be financially stable.
33. Make beautiful music.
34. Forgive.
35. See the Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan, James Taylor, Tina Turner, and Paul Simon in concert (but not necessarily together).
36. Pray on top of a mountain.
37. Make a difference.

Some things I’ve done. Some things I’ve yet to do. I’ve got plans, kids, and big dreams.

There is no such thing as privacy on the Internet.

Yes. I said this out loud.

I was sitting on the floor in a crowded room of fellow bloggers debating whether bloggers could and/or should write anonymously.

I know I got a few looks. Some supportive. Some “WTF?”. I didn’t care. It needed to be said.

Does writing behind the veil give you an amazing sense of freedom? Are you empowered to say online all the things that you wish you could say to the faces of the people you love and hate? Certainly. I can speak from experience. I spent the first nine months on this blog with the FandPinLV pseudonym. It was great. We all had funny names and I could really push the limits and be balls to the wall.

Then came fame. Uh, well, sort of. Ok, not really.

It was a lame assed holiday crafting segment on a local TV station that the nice PR folks for a site I was writing for at the time set up.

I was gonna be on TV. I’m no Vegas celebrity, mind you, but this is a really frickin’ small town. People know me.

I had to own up.

So I did.

Since then, I have had to pull the reins back a bit. I’ve learned that some things I wrote to be funny, thoughtful, and introspective really hurt other people. That sucked.

I’ve learned that owning my stories, opinions, and perspectives is more empowering than throwing them about like drive-by water balloons. They are mine. I polish and protect them like precious jewels. That rocks.

I’ve learned that I need to think not only about how my words are taken now, but how they are taken years from now by my children, my parents, and my colleagues.

I’ve learned that this blog is not the appropriate venue for all things Nancy. Some times I just have to pick up the phone and call my mom, go grab a glass of wine with a friend, or keep it on my own hard drive in a locked file.

I am free to speak, but I am as accountable for what I say on this blog as I am for the actions I take.

These are my truths.

And these truths make me sad today.

I am sad that a brilliant writer who deserves to be read and loved is locking down his blog today. He has been “found out” after a video of him reading an amazing, tear-flood inducing love letter to his five-year-old-daughter at last weekend’s BlogHer conference was posted. (This dude totally has a future with Hallmark.)

He commented here shortly after he started his blog, The Wind in Your Vagina. I must admit, I was more than a little freaked out by what I thought some porno-dude’s words on the same screen as pictures of my kids. But, I clicked his link, and followed the breadcrumbs back to his site.

I laughed. Sometimes till I cried. Sometimes I just cried. Sometimes I had to read his posts over and over to figure out who the hell this dude “Skip” was  and why his daughter had a boyfriend named after an appetizer.

It was easy to see how in less than a year, he drew amazing traffic to his site. The dude can write. If there was ever an example of how all the self-promotion in the world (at which he was amazingly adept) is only worthwhile when you have great storytelling, he is it.

I met him briefly at the conference this weekend.  He was taller than I imagined, but as nice as can be for a crazy dude with imaginary friends. He is not black, but I cannot attest to his skills with a puck, and I am sure his lovely wife screams a diety’s name or two in the heat of pah-shun. He is Black Hockey Jesus, but you can call him BHJ for short, because any time a guy can have a name close to a sexual act, he’s all over it like white on rice.

You’ll have to go through an FBI screening and sign an oath to surrender your left testicle or right bewb to get the password to his now private blog. For his sake, I hope that he can keep things under control and keep fueling his creative genius. I hope that he can keep his energy focused on writing and not be distracted by the fear of being betrayed.

There is no such thing as privacy on the Internet.

But, for his sake, I hope I am wrong.

Welcome to the new and improved Fear and Parenting in Las Vegas

I’m done with the self-torture, the regret, the anger, the negative.

I’ve made my peace with God.

I’m forgiving myself.

Nothing I can ever do will ever make up for what I’ve done in the past.

Those bridges have been burned.

I never said I was perfect.

I tried and in some ways I failed.

I tried and in many ways I still am trying.

So, I’m letting the failures go.

I’ve taken what I can from them.

Learned the lessons I think I can learn.

All I can do is move forward and do better for me and for my kids.

I hope you’ll come with me.

Welcome to the new and improved Fear and Parenting in Las Vegas. It’s gonna be a crazy ride.

So if you’re up for it, climb on in, but leave your baggage at the curb.

 

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Thanks to the illustrious Miss ZoeyJane for the redesign. It was time for a change and that girl will do just about anything for a plane ticket home from BlogHer, including putting up with my pain-in-the-assyness. She’s a good egg, for a Canadian, I mean, eh?

Less than 48 hours

Come Thursday, I’ll be on a plane.

I’ll be getting out and meeting a bunch of my crazy sisters from LA, who will squeeze my lumpy butt into their limo and haul me off to the Sheraton Chicago.

I will blissfully sleep at the feet of the illustrious Miss ZoeyJane and hold anyone’s hair should they need assistance after one of the many soirees.

I will introduce myself to a bunch of people like the village idiot with insightful comments like “I’ve been reading your stuff for years! You’re brilliant!” and “Wow, how are things going with your idiot boss?” to people who have no clue who I am. I will hug complete strangers, have a cocktail or two or three, and probably attempt to molest some costumed character from Sprout. Yep. Because I’m classy like that and Fireman Sam IS kinda hot.

I have no great delusions about what I’m going to get out of BlogHer. I’m hoping to stalk some of the people I’ve talked to over the years, gush over people I’ve read for ages and flutter about new people I’m going to meet. I’m not blogging to make money. I don’t need to be pitched. I’m there to be with my people — women (and some men too) who have something to say about their lives and the world around them.

I am bringing an extra bag (because I’ve been warned) to haul swag home (yea for Southwest’s 2-bags-free policy!).

My Moo cards are ready.

The new blog template is almost ready.

Clothes are laid out.

The roots are getting colored.

Just gotta get my mom to feed the cat while I’m gone.

Any souvenir requests? I’d love to bring you back a Chicago deep dish, but something tells me it’s not gonna make it through security.

Oink Oink.

(or How a virus with really bad PR took years off my life and nearly forced me to cancel my trip to BlogHer).

In case you were keeping track (hello, child protective services?), it’s June and so far this year we’ve had three broken arms, two seizures, one EEG, one MRI, two rounds of surgical glue and seemingly endless requests for the “Boo Boo” Bunny. I thought we had to have gotten all of the medical crapola out of the way for the year. It couldn’t get worse. What else could happen?

Well, trust me. NEVER ask that question. NEVER.

Because you know what happens?

Your kids get swine flu.

Yes.

Oink Oink.

Swine flu.

Truth be told, they’ve been sicker with worse in the past. We had some nasty and persistent fevers on a couple lethargic couch potatoes. Boo’s got a cough and Doodle’s got some squishy issues (and I’m not talking about a frozen drink on the Simpsons, people), but 48 hours on antiviral meds they are both right as rain.

Fortunately, their dad, grandma and me all dodged the bullet. After 48 hours, if I don’t have it, I’m probably not going to get it and others are more likely to be felled by others’ germs than mine. (So fellow BlogHer attendees, please don’t put me in the “leper” section — at least not because of this.) In addition, the pediatrician put grandma and me on the antivirals since we’d been exposed. We’re fine. I’ve been a little tired, but taking care of two sickies can do that anyway.

So, thanks to everyone who contacted me with their concerns about the kids and me. We appreciate all of your well wishes.