I am home from BlogHer and I am exhausted. I also get the irony that the only time I do not blog for five days straight is when I am at a blogging conference.
I’m sure I will bore you with tales upon tales of the Amazing, but I will try not to be obnoxious about it because, ugh. Like that episode of Friends when the gang was all “London, baby!” and Phoebe was all, “Fuck all y’all,” or something to that effect—it might have been “Fuck every one of you,” but it was definitely something along those lines.
Anyway, I know it can be painful to read all about how it was soooo fabulous to be at the soooo amazing event that you couldn’t go to, so I’ll try to throw in some drama and intrigue that’ll make you glad you weren’t there, like when Niksmom threatened to bitch slap me at lunch on Saturday.
This BlogHer was such a truly amazing gift that I almost can’t even describe it. Of the three BlogHers I have been to, this was my best, by far. By Saturday night, I was so saturated with love and wonderfulness, that all I could do was tweet, “Happy.”
I don’t feel like I got as much time as I wanted with anyone, but I got enough with everyone, if that makes sense. I met or reconnected with so many wonderful women that it almost hurts. I was really sad to leave.
But the great thing for me about leaving BlogHer is that I get to go home to my kids. If you’re new to Stimeyland and are wondering who exactly is the kid with autism I do it all for, here you go:
I took this photo of Jack immediately after I got off the train and found my family in the parking lot. He was happy to see me because I’m his favorite person and also because, as he explained in his welcome home words to me: “I thought you died.”
And then I burst into tears.
Alex assures me that, in fact, Jack had not voiced that concern to him while I was gone, but dayum, Jack. Way to insure that I will never leave you again.
Before I go sleep for the next eighteen hours straight, I want to show you something that will prove that I am not the only batshit crazy person in my family. Look what my kids, my husband, and my mother-in-law did while I was gone:
I’m not sure which one of the mice is president, but I’m pretty sure Whiskers is chief of staff.
Good to be back.