The Mommy Blogger

You know that feeling you get after you've been out of the country for too long, after you wait in line at Customs, and after the officer sternly stamps your passport and says, 'welcome home.'? That's the way I felt yesterday night, when our newly painted red door said, 'welcome home' to me after being in what seemed like an alternate universe for three days.

It wasn't so much the multi-colored Salt Lake and or its namesake city which with the desert, craggy mountains, metallic hued water, and modern skyscrapers resembled a future settlement on Mars. It wasn't the surreal moose spotting on my hike yesterday morning. Or the creepy loss of power that plagued the entire resort one afternoon and evening, leaving me to navigate my room en route to bed with a complimentary glow stick.

Rather, it was the people that made my short work trip so foreign. (And I'm not talking about the Mormons.) More than 300 mommy bloggers gathered together for the EVO conference in Park City, Utah this weekend. And I've got to say, I've never encountered a group quite like this.

According to Mashable, there are almost 4 million mom bloggers in the U.S. Even though only about 1% of them make enough money through advertising and sponsorships to label their job as lucrative, there are star examples like the Pioneer Woman and the Bloggess both published and quite rich, who are inspiring more and more young women to take up the profession. The problem is, to be among the rich and famous you need to explore new frontiers, which are few and hard to find this late in the game. You've got to provide content that has not been offered yet. And you've got to be the kind of mom that no one has met or read about before. So in 2012, with most of the maternal material already posted, the aspiring mom blogger seems to get weirder and weirder.

So what exactly does the extreme mommy blogger look like? Here's what I've observed: 

• They bring their children everywhere.
• Some of them are quite literally larger than life. 
• They love their characters. (Who doesn't though?)

• They enjoy a good arts and crafts table and are quick with the exaggerated compliments to someone who is outperforming the rest of the table at foam art. 
• They tend to have one of four different personas: 
• The super chic, super sweet, super skinny Mom who talks to her children in a quiet, high registered voice and pretty much lets them get away with anything.
• The snarky, politically incorrect, overweight Mom who has rewritten the guide to parenting, precluding every chapter with a 'psshah, whatever.' 
• The earthy, hairy, granola eating and feeding, au naturale Mom who carries her child in a papoose and has no qualms about breast feeding in public.
• And the crafty Mom - the one who won't stop talking about felt, hot glue guns, Michael's, and the number of times she's been repinned on Pinterest.

• They roll in clicks. The fat moms hate the skinny moms. The crafters don't get along with the cooks. The conservatives can't stand the liberals. The professional photographers don't like the Instagrammers. But boundaries are crossed when the power goes out.
• They love sharing, or should I say over sharing.  
• In Utah at least, a lot of them don't drink. They pass up the Chardonnay to indulge in progressive dessert parties, stacking up a sampler platter complete with Mickey Mouse rice crispy treat, snow cone, local cheeses, and a McFlurry.
• They are always looking for a new angle on their profession - the winner from this conference was the surrogate Caucasian mom who gave birth to a giant Asian baby. 
• They love giveaways, deals, and steals, and they aren't afraid to share rooms, beds, and couches with other mom bloggers to save a buck.
• And as more women contribute their perspectives on motherhood to online communities, the observations above become more and more exaggerated. 

So after three days saturated in mommy blogger land, I'm glad to be home, sweet home on familiar ground. While I believe pushing the norms can be noble, I'm pretty convinced that when it comes to me, the non-mom blogger, I'll just take the path that has already been tread, but with my own feet, eyes and voice tell a new story and hope that at least my Mom gets a kick out of it.

Lo.

Tips

This week, something, somewhere, over some bite to eat made me think about my blog. Not the fodder du jour per se, but the platform itself. And the 'why do I do it?' behind it. Why have I invested more than 120,000 words, hundreds of hours and thousands of thoughts into this site? Why didn't I instead, say, write two books? Or work more? Or just slept in?

Was it worth it? Better yet, will it continue to be worth it?
My answer remains, a resounding yes.

Why? Because without this space, I don't think my writing would have progressed from where it was (it was bad) to where it is now (better.) I don't think the conversations I'm having offline would be as rich and meaningful. And I think I would still be courting a populous female following, instead of engaging a core group of consumers who I care most about. 

Without this outlet, I also don't think I would have challenged myself in the kitchen everyday, accepted new adventures, calmed worries and fears, defeated enemies, learned new skills or strove to be the best version of myself. Above all, I don't think I would have the same joie de vivre. Having a place where I determine what's newsworthy or not helps me see a day or a dinner as something other than routine - there is always an opportunity for it to make headlines.

For instance, the aptly scheduled pre-Tip Day tritip, the asparagus, the conversation, and the laughter that we shared last night were so great, that they made a dreary, Perrier-sipping evening in Naperville grand. So the meal made my blog.

I have honestly thought about that entry called 'The End.' But for now, it's still far away. To me, approaching life with an editorial eye and voice, makes you appreciate every last image, story, and memory. And I want to hold onto that for as long as possible.

In other news: It's Tip Day. Meaning I'm rich. (Not really, but my bank account looks a little better.) And yes, I will be spending my 'tip' all in one place. If only the sellers would make a counter offer. Let's get 'er done. 

Lo.

White Asparagus with St. Andre Cream Sauce

1 Tablespoon Butter
2 ounces St. Andre Cheese (or another triple cream cheese)
3 Tablespoons water
Bundle of white asaparagus
Salt and pepper
1 teaspoon tarragon, chopped

On medium heat, in a 2-inch saute pan, melt butter. Add cheese and fold in. Add asparagus and cook for one minute, coating it with cream sauce. Add water and let steam for 3-4 minutes, until the asparagus is just done. Season with salt and pepper. Remove from pan, serve with chopped tarragon.
(Dip bread in remaining sauce. Amazing.)

The Month Before 30

Before I pinned 'Overthinking at the intersection of work and play' under the title of my blog, I had aimed to 'Conquer the business day and networking night by the age of 30.'

30?
Really?
I gave myself a little less than four years to win the game of life? (Whatever that means.)
Then what? After, I beat the system (at 30) I would just relax and call it quits?
Thankfully, about two years ago I hit the edit button.

Since I started The Early Riser, my blog has continued to progress in tone and content, and through the practice of writing things out each week, I've learned how to approach life in a more mature and rational way. I've learned that timing is out of my control - that plans get made and broken - and that success isn't about wins and losses, dollars earned and dollars spent, square feet and number of cars in your garage. Success is about your level of happiness and it can only be measured by you.

In less than one month, I will turn 30 - that milestone that stands as an ever present stop watch to my blog, despite its absence from the public facing site. Its not like its my scary age - that came and passed at 28 as I cried over my birthday dinner at Morton's. (Peter can attest.) And even though I'm not thinking about conquering the world anymore, 30's approach continues to make me do status checks: How am I feeling? How's the book coming? Married? How is work going? Am I CEO yet? Am I happy?

Today, I checked out like this:
How am I feeling? Healthy - I guess. Although, around 30, I swear it becomes harder and harder to control my mass on Earth - the curves seem to get curvier everyday. Note: Need to resist the urge for seconds - one bowl of Beef Barley should be enough.

How's the book coming? About a week ago, after Peter told me that he wasn't going to live my dream for me, I decided that I needed to commit to it, once and for all. I put pen to paper and started filling out the outline that I've had on hold for the past three years. I'm at 8,500 words. Good start.

Married? CHECK!

How is work going? The usual, 'Good' response, turned 'Excellent' yesterday. And I dare say, the whole conquering thing came true. Around noon at the Reel Club in Oak Brook, over a great chopped salad, my boss told me that I was being promoted. (Huge!) I was going to be working at the next band level, doing marketing and communications for just about the biggest brand in the world. Needless to say, I was and I am ecstatic. And I told her that it came at the perfect time - right before I turned 30.

Am I happy? Absolutely.

At this point, I'm just looking for one more plus. Then ... I'll be all set.

Lo.

Blogging Ahead

When I was young, I was taught to not count my chickens before they hatch. But to think ahead, to be the early bird that catches the worm, and to get it while it's hot. After this weekend, I have a new cliche word to the wise to add to this list. Despite your desire to be first to market, don't blog ahead.

In talking to "professional bloggers" at work in an attempt to pitch our campaign messaging, I've learned a thing or two about how they blog. And one thing that they all seem to do is blog ahead. They blog when they can, often times on the weekends, stage the content it, and schedule it to be published on certain days when they know they will drive the most traffic to their site. 

Trying to up my status as an amateur, I decided I would plan ahead this weekend. Friday evening, I started outlining, writing and even formatting my entry for Saturday evening. I was all prepped and ready to go, I just needed to add some photos, and voila! I would have this high traffic day because everyone would be searching for news about the Notre Dame game and I would have the scoop, live from South Bend, Indiana.

My blog was going to be called, "How to Cheer for a Losing Team.” The entire premise was based on a Notre Dame loss and the comfort food I would make to ease the spirits of the downtrodden fans. The take-aways were to:

Cheer for yourself. (I ran 22 miles Saturday morning in 3 hours flat! Feeling pumped and ready to run for Team RMHC, I spent the whole 2-hour ride to South Bend, cheering for myself, and making Peter cheer for me too.)

Cheer for your friends. The MBA crew was in town, so I anticipated spending the afternoon cheering for them to be goofy and goofier. 

Skip the inevitable loss and cook. Yes, I've become the ultimate fair weather fan, and decided I don't even need to go into the stadium anymore. I used to go in midway through the first quarter and leave at halftime, but this year, I opted for the couch.

Comfort the losing team's fans with good food. A roast beef and mashed potato dinner was on the menu.

That was my plan. And then, ND started doing well. And winning. And winning by more. And I became the loser - the only person in South Bend hunting for a better bone-in standing rib roast in Martins while Robert Blanton intercepted the ball and nearly ran it back for a touchdown.

It made me kind of sad. I used to be such a good little Notre Dame fan. I grew up watching the Irish every Saturday with my family. I would lie on the living room floor, staring up at the television, dressed from head to toe in ND gear that we had received as souvenirs the year before at the old Notre Dame bookstore on South Quad. I would get anxious with my Dad and brother when the game came down to the wire. And I would get angry when the refs made a bad call or Rocket’s touchdown was called back. I would cheer and applaud, and scream and yell when Chris Zorich and his swaggering defensive line made a heroic goal line stand. And I would eagerly wait for the following weekend, when we would actually be on campus for the game - when I could hoot and holler for the band as they stepped off from the Golden Dome, and proudly follow them into the stadium, ready and raring to do every cheer the way the students did. I was a great fan!

But after a decade or so of Domer disappointment, I started to find new things to do on Saturdays. It became a waste of time to watch the irrelevant Irish. And while my parents, brother and sister, friends and extended family held on to high hopes, I fell off the band wagon.

On Saturday, I totally missed the excitement. I missed the potential turn around from mediocrity. I had to live vicariously through Peter's pictures.

And scrap the blog that I had created. I had no insider perspective, no value-add on Saturday.

But on Sunday, I got a new lead. Perhaps one that won't drive Search traffic to the Early Riser, but one that definitely merits some words. Ellie ate solid food yesterday, and I was there to see it! Talk about a headliner.

Which means that Auntie Lo and Uncle Peter will certainly be Friday night babysitters soon. And that Ellie will soon enough be eating chicken pot pies with us on Sunday evening. 

I don't talk about sampled products, big brand events, or blogger conventions on my blog. I talk about life. And in our life, you most certainly shouldn't blog ahead.  

Here's hoping that the Irish can make a fan out of me again.

Lo.

Dinnertime

Some people live for the weekend. Some people live for retirement. I live for dinner time - the concepting of, grocery shopping for, preparation of, and settling down to dinner time.

My countdown starts just about the time that my previous dinner ends. Before the tastes of one meal have left my palette, I'm onto the next - thinking about what should grace the dinner table, feed my appetite, and satisfy my senses the following evening.

I dream about dinner - I wake up, mouth watering, to buffets of well-known and novel aromas and flavors, and take notes on the little pad of paper I keep my bedside.

My morning blogging routine is dotted with spastic check-ins to BonAppetit.com, FoodandWine.com and Saveur.com to see who will be the first to change out their promo boxes for the day. (Food and Wine usually wins the race.) 

Through the course of the work day, I will dabble with the idea of making the Corn Dogs featured on Chow.com, or the idea of making grilled halibut with Chef Bill's mulberry mojo, and then unsatisfied around noon with either of these options, I'll flip to see what's cooking in the workshops of Smitten Kitchen and the Pioneer Woman. And then around 4:00, torn, undecided, and with a cache of cravings swirling through my head, I call up the other stakeholder.
So ... what are you thinking for dinner? 
The typical response is that it's my special dinner, so I should decide.
Still sugar plum dreaming of the buffet I woke up to the night before, I give him three options: Okay, what do you want - - Bone-in pork chops with a mango, corn salsa; lamb kebobs over tabbouleh; or (not giving him the option of taco night) Pad Thai with shrimp.

He chooses the pork chops, and after work we split the grocery getting duties - he goes to the Meat Market for the chops, and I go to the farm stand for the accouterments. We meet at his house, and we start the preparations. A little music, a couple drinks, the choppity chopping of vegetables, the lighting of the coals, followed by the spreading of them, the rubbing of salt and pepper into pork, the setting of the table (especially when I make it a fine china night) - all of it makes my heart race. Finally the ingredients come together, work their magic, add dimension to the table, and cap my day with the ultimate taste treat. Good food. Good drinks. Good company. The most wonderful way to call it a day. And then the countdown starts again.

Dinnertime is the best. And last night and tonight I have missed it terribly. In fact, this is dinnertime tonight. Working (and a little blogging) in the Happy Hour ridden lobby of my hotel - which seems to be hippest 20-something space in Irving, Texas. 

It made me wonder how many of the shot-taking happy hour people don't know about dinnertime and how amazing it is.Why weren't they rushing home to partake? And then I thought better. I bet they did know about it. And I bet they were at happy hour for just that reason - to find that special someone to celebrate dinnertime with.

I've sat here for about an hour now - from a packed crowd to five left - the two old guys who honestly should have joined me in one of the corners, and the two girls fighting for the last man standing. One lingers hopefully. The other lingers and leans in a little closer.

Five minutes later the chubby girl lost, and the uber skinny girl won - a girl who looks like she's been waiting for a good dinner for a while. And I'm really hoping they make it past the bar, past the first date, past the second and third, and into the era of dinnertime, where couples are happy, full, and in love with life.

Off to get some some Mickey D's and really looking forward to dinnertime tomorrow.

Lo.