TheMommyBlog

I just turned forty. Actually, I have been forty for fifteen hours already in China, but if I think about that for too long I’ll start dividing by zero and then the world will implode.

We arrived home a little while ago from Beijing after 30 hours of traveling by bus, air, car, and the seat of our pants. Not even the couple that flew with us to within fifty miles of our destination know what a Benny Hill episode it turned out to be. Sure, there were twelve terrific hours in the air in business class from Beijing, but the eighteen that followed courtesy of United Airlines Domestic sucked ass. I won’t go into gory details until later, so here are the highlights before I melt into my pillows:

• First leg: Awesome! Hot nuts, fillet mignon, endless libations, snuggly pillows and warm blankies.
• Cleared customs in San Francisco without a hitch!
• We were FIFTY MILES from home, but had to continue through L.A. to honor the itinerary (please, we looked for every possible loophole) before going home.
• Tried to get on the connecting flight to L.A. with one excruciatingly expensive bottle of duty-free 1995 Bordeaux and were told that it didn’t matter that we were given it to carry on board the flight from China and already checked our bags through to L.A., we were not allowed to carry it through security. It would have to go into our bags, which were already checked. Security invited us to drink the wine there (alors!) or give it up.
• Optionally, Phil could run to the check in area and see if they could box it and check it as baggage. In the end, they made him throw it away, and we had to sprint (separately) to the gate. They only held it for us because we were in first class, and I am not kidding when I say that my hair was nearly caught in the door as it was closing.
• Upon arrival in L.A., I was waved toward baggage claim while others stumbled toward connecting gates, but screeched to a halt before making a wrong turn. Alas, I had already stepped on the RED LINE dividing departure gates from the rest of the functional universe and was not allowed back in. Technically, only one foot violated the RED LINE, but RULES ARE RULES and they insisted that I had to now exit the airport via baggage claim and re-enter via check in and go through security again because I stepped on the RED LINE. I was ready to ride that argument all the way to jail, I swear to puppies, I was. It was like a scene from Silkwood. I was contaminated, and my transgression prohibited me from any contact with the inside of the concourse. Our friends were five feet away from me, trying for an alarmed and disappointed goodbye hug, but they were physically prevented from touching me. And then, as I refused to be separated, they threw Phil out along with me.
• That argument lasted just long enough for us to miss our connecting flight. We were put on standby for the next one in four hours, and then didn’t make that one either. However, our bags did.
• Once we realized that the standby list was just being rolled over and over into later flights and that there was no way out tonight, we rented a car and DROVE the last 350 miles from L.A. and thenpicked up our bags at the San Jose Airport. Did I mention that only three were there because one arrived in L.A. seven hours later than its companions? And didn’t get on the standby? They’ll deliver it tomorrow. We hope.

So now we’re home, and the house is hot as balls from being closed up for a week, I had to take a defibrillator to my computer to get it going after such a long time untouched, and there were one hundred twelve unread messages in my inbox.

I was ridiculously happy to have a shower as soon as we got home, and stepped out at exactly midnight to find Phil waiting with a crystal goblet. “Happy Birthday. Cent’anni!”

I finally figured how to get into my blog (can’t believe I don’t know how to do it when challenged with a non-cached URL), so I’ll just paste the emails I’m sending back here.

---

Hi Everyone! We’re here, and it feels just like Chicago in July. I’m letting everyone know that we’re here and that business class rocks, we got too drunk on the plane but slept it off, and due to flight delay may have missed out on beach volleyball. We’re now trying to find out how to walk or cab it there after gorging in the J&J hospitality lounge. We had Chinese, go figure.

Love you and miss you already!

We took lots of pictures but can’t send now!

xxx

Mindy& Phil

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Gil: Glad to hear you’re safe! I’ll tell the kids!

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Well, NOW we’re safe… we could only hang in there for a match and a half of volleyball before our eyes fell out of our heads, and we hadn’t changed dollars for RMB yet, because hey, we’re taking the J&J bus everywhere, so there we were trying to get a cab and mentioning NOTHING about not having local currency, and I was feeling a little guilty about it until we realized the guy was LOST and had no idea where the hotel is, so he pulls off in a shopping district I know we haven’t seen before and tries to ask another cabbie for directions. Then, I gave him the hotel’s card and he starts CALLING AROUND for help, so by the time we get to the hotel the meter is twice what it should be. By this time I’m praying he’ll just take dollars, but no, and we shouldn’t have been so optimistic because this guy was the most non-aggressive driver we’d ever seen. Not timid, not afraid, just a total lack of self-preservation and purpose. Finally at the hotel Phil had to go in and exchange some money so we could pay twice the going rate (still only $4) and in the five minutes he was gone the bellhops made us move like six times in the hotel turnaround - first here, then there, no no back up, no go forward you idiot and I was willing Phil to get back here and pay this clown so we could get to a freaking bathroom. We’ve been up over 24 hours and are getting up early to see the Great Wall. Hopefully then we can send photos!

Kiss everyone!

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Gil: Don’t fall off the Great Wall as I am sure it would be a great fall.

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Morning!

Just had breakfast! Chinese again, go figure.

Up for day two, though we’re already enjoying Wednesday right now. Just got here and it’s half over already. Below is last night’s tale, and hope there will be more after the Great Wall! We’re rented a taxi for the day ($300! But it’s The! Great! Wall!) so we can hit it early, then scoot over to Tienanmen Square and snag one of those nifty Mao watches one of the girls was wearing yesterday - sort of like a Mickey Mouse watch only the hand is kind of jerky and it looks like he giving the salute every second. We’re taking orders btw if anyone wants one. We leave in thirty so I’ll check back.

Phil brought his book so he can take a pic of it on the Wall. I may push him over. It’s taking up half the backpack.

Btw? When staying here, be sure to locate the master switch for all the lights in your room BEFORE it gets dark. Nothing will turn on without it no matter how loudly you curse. And if you want any power at all, remember to stick your room key in the generator slot. I kid you not.

We’re loving it - had dim sum and scrambled eggs but passed over the spiral-shaped glutinous masses of garnish that may have been harvested from under a rock in the garden before dawn. I don’t know how many port a potties are actually ON the wall.

Oh boy, gotta go - Phil asked someone to write out all the instructions we’ll need to get to the wall and the square without the driver leaving us at any point, and now someone’s walked off with them. Must investigate.

Miss you and love you!

Mindy & Phil

P.S. The hospitality guy just came up to me to say, “I’m supposed to let you know that Phil is in the bathroom. Do you know Phil?”

“Um, yes, thank you.”

“Shall I make a general announcement?”

“Ahahahaha. No.”

Top 10 Telephone Tricks (pay close attention to #2: “Swear like a sailor to skip directly to a human operator. When that Interactive Voice Response (IVR) system’s making you navigate an endless menu of options, put your potty mouth to good use. Some IVR’s are programmed to listen for naughty words and speed you along to human help when they hear them. Adam gave this trick a try and dropping the F bomb did indeed zap him right through to a human. We suggest using this trick when you’re not within earshot of your co-workers.”

Removing Scratches from CDs and DVDs

Tips to Extend the Battery Life of Your Mobile Devices

10 Unusual Uses for Garlic

Top 10 Alternatives to Shaving Cream

6 Types of Tourists That Attract Muggers

That’s right, I’ve gone on the first leg of my great journey to Beijing. To LAX. But not for just any old layover! No! We will spend the night in a hotel, get up at oh-dark-thirty to hop a flight to San Francisco (waving to my house as we fly over), and THEN over the Pacific to China.

Made me tired just typing that again.

I’ve lined up a few posts so it won’t be so dull while we’re gone; I hate to come back to cobwebs. Oh! Reminds me: put on an out of office reply! I get scads of email from you knuckleheads as it is; lord knows what it will be like after not checking it or clearing it out for six whole days. I’m hoping to come back a new person, the kind of person who doesn’t think about checking email, who can turn her computer off for hours at a stretch, who doesn’t really care about being wired 24/7.

But then I’d never know if someone wants me to come in for a job interview. See? I can’t win.

Speaking of low- or no-tech, Dylan brought home a project from his carpentry class at camp this week. I knew it was going to be a box, but I didn’t know it would be a BOX. A BOX THAT HOLDS THINGS. And not just any old thing: it’s made especially for his Nintendo DS. That’s right, it’s a DS Box. It opens on two sides for quick and convenient access, and folds right back up so that it’s almost impervious to the elements. Perhaps its best feature is the labeling. You will never wonder, “What’s that box for?” or, “I wonder what’s in that box?” Nope, he’s got that covered from all angles.

One of the first things Phil and I will do is plan our attack for the Great Wall of China. Well, not an attack ON the wall, just to get to the wall. And maybe kick it a few times.

Phil sent me a link to an article written by a reporter who climbed the two thousand (or one thousand - can’t get a straight answer) steps up to the top. Kevin Manahan is my kind of guy, making it totally unnecessary for me to write my own account. His is already better. And funnier.

Climbing China’s Great Wall: blood, sweat, jeers
by Kevin Manahan / Newhouse News Service
Saturday August 09, 2008, 12:12 AM, Cleveland.com

No one seems to know exactly how long the wall is. The China Tourist Bureau says 3,950 miles. The Encyclopedia Britannica says 4,500 miles. Scholar Arthur Waldron, who has studied and written extensively about the wall, says its length “can’t really be determined.” And no one seems to know how long the Mutianyu climb is. One thousand steps. Two thousand. Maybe more. People who should know are guessing. Zeng, who insists he has made the climb, predicts it will take 45 minutes.

We begin.

The first set of stone staircases rises steeply to the sky, and I’m determined to count every step. But somewhere around 1,127, with my heart jabbing the Under Armour logo on the breast of my T-shirt, I lose count. My head is spinning. My clothes are drenched. I am gasping like Paris Hilton at a couture fashion show. The Great Wall of China has become the Great StairMaster.

President Bill Clinton came to Mutianyu in 1998, and as I was trudging up the mountainside I wondered how that chubby, Big Mac-eating dude made it up these steps. He didn’t. There on the side of a cable car is his name and date of visit. Call it Gondola One.

Why did he come to Mutianyu? Maybe for the breathtaking views. Maybe because it’s less crowded than Badaling and offered less of a security risk. But Zeng had his own theory: “There used to be a KFC here.”

... When I catch my breath, I call my wife and two sons, and, from the top of the world, boast of my accomplishment. I describe my greatest athletic achievement since I won the mile run on Field Day at Lafayette Junior School because Aaron Barber got a cramp.

“We’re so proud of you,” they say.

A pregnant woman walks past me.

“Uh, I’ll call you later,” I say.

See? Put my face on that guy and you’ll have the whole story. I’m beginning to think I need to pack trainers in addition to my sandals so I won’t have to chop my legs off at the ankles to take care of the blisters. But the only pair I have are those “walk fit” kind where the heel sits a bit lower than the toe, creating a more vigorous and painful experience. I wore them for four days in NJ for the Johnson & Johnson meeting and literally fell over from shin splints two blocks from the hotel. How long am I gonna last on the Great Wall??

Something like ten thousand Chinese died building and repairing this wall over the centuries. My guess is that it did the job, but was it overkill?

I mean, Hadrian’s Wall is sixteen to twenty feet tall, was built in about six years, and kept a few raiding parties out. Twenty feet’s enough, don’t you think? We’re talking Scotsmen here. Kilts would ride up, thirst would take over.

Scout: “What were those English bampots thinking, that we’d climb this mingin bit of rubble with our arses to the wind? Dinnae want tae! A dinnieken twas here! Ats tae much bather!”

Chief: “Go on! Just huv a wee shooftie tae see if there’s embdi over, or ahl give yi a Collie-buckie.”

“Gonnay no dae that! Already ah wantae boak, doin’ a dreepie! Am’fair peched just looking at the thing. Is nae a pub down the road a tick? Why don’t we stop in for a wee while and then catch a canter?”

“Stoap acting like a big jessy or ah’ll hit ye wi that hauf brick!”

“We cannae go back, neane are goin’ tae believe us. What’ll we say? ‘Nae, really, s’true! At wis dead easy! A pure skoosh!’”

‘Oh, aye, an then yer arse fell aff. Awa an hae a wash, yi barkit wee minker! Yer blootered!”

“But ma’ fit wis goupin! Ah gie’d it the full bhoona, by the way!”

“Aw did wee diddums dae a big toley in yi keks? Ach, dry yer eyes!’”

But the Chinese, no the Chinese had to make a POINT.

Remember when a bunch of mom bloggers went to Cincinnati to visit with Pampers? Remember? No? The runs through O’Hare, the broken eyeglasses, the falls out of the limo? Still nothing?

Well, you’ll remember this, by golly. I designed a new widget for donations to the “Support UNICEF’s Maternal and Neonatal Tetanus” effort, to be displayed on our sites.

Not one of us walked away from our visit with UNICEF USA’s CEO Caryl Stern unaffected by her descriptions of the thousands of preventable neonatal and maternal deaths from Tetanus, a totally preventable disease. The cost of a single vaccine? Five cents. There was no question we weren’t going to do something about it.

Lifesaving Immunization for Children

Every since its first tuberculosis campaign in 1947, UNICEF has been a leader in global immunization. Today we provide vaccine to 40 percent of the world’s children and help save two million lives a year. But thousands of children still die needlessly every day from diseases like measles, polio, or tuberculosis. UNICEF is committed to vaccinating every single child against preventable childhood diseases.

When war or natural disaster strikes, we do whatever it takes to get children immunized. We help broker ceasefires so that we can enter a war-torn region and vaccinate its children. After a disaster, we go door-to-door in the remotest areas to distribute lifesaving vaccines.

Here is the widget, which also has a home in the sidebar. Our hosts have really gone the extra mile and created a page just for us where you can make a donation and receive a tax reciept on the spot. Pampers will track the donations that come through this widget, so we can see how well we’re doing to support the cause.

To get an idea of how important that is to us, have a look at the video of Mr. McCleary’s (of Pampers) visit to Angola to see UNICEF’s progress with tetanus vaccines.

Dig around and see how many nickels you have laying around, and then think about each one of those saving a mom’s or baby’s life. And pass our links around so we can get this thing to go viral. If we can’t pull it off, who can? Who care more about moms and babies than other moms and babies? You can make a difference, and save twenty lives for each dollar. I just donated fifty dollars, and you know what a commitment that is for me right now.

Let’s take Tetanus out of the equation - having children is hard enough without knowing just how slim the chances or survival are without proper care and vaccination.

Honestly. I want someone to fess up. Did we or did we not as a family commit some kind of atrocities in a former life? Because Karma is kicking our ass, and handily. Somebody get on it, stat. I want a report on my desk in the morning.

I just heard from someone who shall remain nameless to respect privacy (but we used to be married), that the company that had changed hands more often this year than a blood diamond, just issued him, FOR THE SECOND TIME IN A ROW, a paycheck for $0. I kid you not. It wasn’t enough that they slashed salaries and are tying up commissions, but this guy’s poor ex-wife is out of work. They can’t get their kittens together, and two families are suffering the trickle-down.

How are we supposed to keep ourselves in Cheerios? How? In the name of God and all His backup singers, HOW??

P.S. I was one of the lucky ones that was halfway through the process of registering for a Clear Verified Identity Pass (so we wouldn’t have to wait in security lines while traveling through every airport on the West Coast), but then they thought they had a security breach and have shut down the applications. So, I’ve paid, but I can’t hop the lines. A Swiss fucking watch.

The kids and I caught the tail end of Finding Nemo on TV a couple of times this week, and I’d forgotten how funny it was. A lot of the humor is for the grownups; the kids know Marlin’s annoyed with Dory, but don’t always know why. For instance, when they are in the whale’s belly and Marlin starts to panic when the water level goes down.

Marlin: The water’s going down. It’s-it’s-it’s going down!
Dory: Hmm. Are you sure about that?
Marlin: Look! Already it’s half-empty.
Dory: Hmm… I’d say it’s half-full.
Marlin: Stop that! It’s half-empty!

And then someone wrote to me this morning from Smile Therapy, a profoundly cheery site, asking for my feedback. Anyone wanna go get popcorn for this? No, no, I was very nice, but in my present mood I was also totally candid:

Hi,

I know there are a lot of bloggers who would love this and be better at promoting it than I would.  Unfortunately, I’m an incorrigible cynic who manages to put on a sunny face. It just wouldn’t be sincere coming from me, esp considering my present circumstances.

As soon as I hovered over send I felt guilty, so I gave him the URLs of a few blogs that seem to be aligned with his vision. I didn’t expect to hear back. I was wrong.

Mindy,

Got to LOVE your 100% honesty. How Refreshing!!!!!  What’s wrong at present, if I may ask?? Anything I can help out with?? I appreciate the contacts. Will follow up with them.

I should have walked away, I really should have. But I’m feeling entitled to self-pity these days, so I laid it out:

Oh, just unemployed, single mom of three grade schoolers, huge mortgage, like that. I always come through, looking ten years older, but I come through!

And then, I felt a little irritated with myself. Bitch, bitch, bitch. It’s not so bad, I’ve been in worse shape, like when I wasn’t sure if I had breast cancer and had surgery to check it out, or when Dylan was on life support and in an induced coma for ten days when he was only a week old, or when I was in the depths of postpartum depression, the likes of which no one could possibly understand who hasn’t been there herself, or… let’s face it: if you’ve been reading here for any length of time you could finish the list for me.

So, I thought that I’d review the day with OPTIMISM and ENTHUSIASM for a change. Shut up, you in the back.

All the children went obediently to camp this morning after giving me fierce and lovely bear hugs and kisses! I told them that we had been given this week of bible camp free, and that we weren’t going to insult them by not going no matter how agonizing it was to do crafts like painting and wood-burning and only being allowed to use decorations like crosses or “Jesus,” and I couldn’t afford any place else, and I needed to find a job so we could keep our house, eat, sleep in beds, etc. By the way, Logan came home so pleased with himself because he managed to slip a comet into his wood burning craft, and it was allowed because it was close enough to the star over the manger. Took a loooong time to get my face back under control.

I applied for unemployment benefits and will most likely get them! Also, a reader (God, I love you guys) wrote and said she had a friend in the EDD, and asked her about my situation and what I should do to maximize the odds. She went completely out of her way to find out the processes so I would know what to do if denied. I almost cried.

I finally get to try out my grout pen! Daphne dropped a bottle of Bus Stop Red nail polish on the white tiles in the bathroom tonight, after I told her to put it back, stat, because if it got on the floor it would destroy the hardwood. She was terrified to tell me, but I was unbelievably happy it happened on the tile and that she learned her lesson without costing me thousands in refinishing costs.

I’m looking forward to cleaning out the garage! It’s the only way I’ll find that grout pen. I’ve been tripping over it for a year, and now it’s vanished. Poof. Oh! And I’m cleaning out the linen closet! Bus Stop Red is not very kind to white towels or bathmats. However, it did make the glass shards easier to find. Follow the sparkly red trail!

I get to see an old friend tomorrow! He does my life insurance and I have to get my tush in there before I turn forty in order to keep the premium from skyrocketing.

My sheets smell like sunshine! They aren’t quite dry yet, as today wasn’t particularly sunny and the dryer is still broken. The repair man has been here twice, and STILL keeps finding broken pieces. Thank goodness (well, thank Phil) we got a home warranty insurance policy, and it’s only costing sixty dollars. Otherwise, I’d have to wheel that $800 LG to the curb.

I have tons of books to read! But I’m supposed to review them, and my retention isn’t up to par these days. Instead, I found a couple of Danielle Steele paperbacks while cleaning the garage and decided they will be perfect for the twenty-four hour flights to and from Beijing next week.

Speaking of travel, we get to visit four world-class cities between Sunday and Friday! The trip I won to the Olympics had a few non-negotiable stipulations, most notably flights that originate in LA or NY. So, we get to fly from San Jose to LA on Sunday night, spend the night at the airport, and hop an early flight back up to San Francisco for our connection to Beijing. Coming back will be almost as fun, possibly more. Beijing to San Francisco, San Francisco to LA, LA to San Francisco, San Francisco to San Jose. Whee! We could not get around the “Originate in and return to LA” rule, and skipping one or more of the legs will only create security issues I don’t think the good people who are hosting us deserve to have.

How was your day??? Sunshine and kittens? Yay!

I had a funny, sunny post all lined up for today, and then I found out that I will not be collecting any back pay once my org receives more funding. So that means I’ve missed out on collecting three months of unemployment. Excuse me while I crawl back into bed.

Oh, I remember: Dylan got a Shuffle for his birthday, and asked this morning if I would download “Highway to Hell” for him. I said, “WHAT?” He replied, “I already have “Stairway to Heaven” so why shouldn’t I have “Highway to Hell?”

I just logged on to Facebook and caught a glimpse of one of those ads in the sidebar that are cleverly tailored to you based on your account information. Mine usually say something like “39 Year Old Female? Work at Home!” One actually said 40. Look, that will be true soon enough, Bunky, so let’s not go jumping the gun.

Just before the sidebar switched to an ad aimed at aging moms, there was one for Obama. Why? I have no idea, just as I have no idea why it was so swiftly swapped out. But I was listening to Radio Free Mitch by Mitch McDad talking about his daughter sticking her hands in a restaurant urinal because it was SO ICKY, so perhaps Obama was served up to Mitch’s demographic at first. I don’t know. I’m an aging mom.

Anywho, it said, “One Million Obama Buttons Free! Even the Shipping’s Included!” Which is actually kind of funny, because I’d love to see how they’d collect the forty-one cents for a stamp, and how much it would piss people off to get to PaypPal and forget to put the decimal before the 4. Obama might wind up with a bunch of donations for 41 dollars instead, which is a tidy profit for a campaign button. Come to think of it, my respect for his campaign managers just went up a notch. That’s brilliant! Anyone want to buy a button from The Mommy Blog?

It reminds me of a story about David Packard, for whom I had the pleasure of working while at The Packard Foundation. He was a great citizen and patriot, and gave generously when he saw a cause to support. In one case, he received a thank you note from a politician for a donation along with—you guessed it—a campaign button.

As the story goes, he fired off a letter to the politician, warning him that if he sent him one more stupid campaign button, he’d never get another cent of support. It was a terrible waste of the money donated and he wanted to see it put to better use. I loved that about him. He was a firecracker toward the end; I can’t even imagine tangling with him as a younger man.

So that got me thinking about Obama’s million campaign buttons. And what even that kind of bulk order might have cost. Plus the shipping. Not to mention the advertising to get people to call or write in and request a button, and the cost of the postage/phone call to do even that. And I started to get irritated.

People, I have barely enough to feed my family, let alone the time, inclination, or fervor to write to Obama asking for a free campaign button so I can advertise my wise political choices. I can make my own button, for free, right here on my computer. I’ll Photoshop that puppy and put it on my wallpaper.

I don’t need to wear it on my shirt in public so people can admire my canny self.

Now that’s a 39 year old woman working at home!

I swear, he was all over me. I didn’t start it.

(Thanks, Elizabeth!)

Memes are so 2004, but I found one I’d been looking for but unable to find because all the links are broken and it’s on the wrong server. One or the other problem would be enough, but hey, why just have one problem, you know? It’s all about the comfort zone, baby.

This is a meme I did for Q&A: The Photographic Review in 2004, and looking back, I’m pleased to report that absolutely nothing has changed.

one. who am i?: a mother
two. who knows me best? mom
three. how old am i? (or how old do i feel?) old enough to risk my life for someone, but not old enough to take it seriously
four. the most important thing in my life is spending time with family
five. i always carry keys, wallet, cell phone, lipstick
six. something i always do check e-mail
seven. i’m at my happiest when i get the feeling we’ve done the important things well
eight. on a monday morning, you can find me staring at my closet
nine. my favourite mode of transport: my trusty Volvo
ten. my eyes are: green
eleven. my favourite material posession: my heart choker
twelve. to relax, i like to read a little
thirteen. the town i live in is neighborly
fourteen. my worst habit: retail therapy
fifteen. my guilty pleasure: McD’s
sixteen. when i look at someone, the first thing i see is their eyes
seventeen. i think friendship is beautiful
eighteen. one thing i can live without: unfinished business
nineteen. one thing people don’t know about me: i’m a rebel
twenty. my life is controlled chaos

Tracey Serebin of FamilyMatters Talk Radio interviewed my along with Genevieve Thiers from SitterCity.com on hiring a child care provider.

One of the most important decisions a new parent makes is choosing someone to take care of their child when they are working. This week I am speaking with Genevieve Thiers, Founder of Sittercity.com, America’s largest and most trustworthy online souce for caregivers, about what new parents need to be aware of when hiring a child care provider for their new baby. Also joining me is Melinda Roberts, mother of three children and author of TheMommyBlog.net, sharing her experiences in hiring a nanny for her first two children.

Listen now.

Let me just state for the record that there’s nothing quite like being called out as the train wreck in the crowd. I know! So surprising.

One of the introductory talks was at the Pampers Parenting Institute at P&G headquarters, in the archive room. I wanted to stay there the whole day–the place was full of memorabilia from decades of advertisements and collectibles, from Norman Rockwell’s original painting for the “Look, Mom, no cavities!” campaign to a tiny envelope holding a lock of John Wayne’s hair from back when a division of the company (or one of the principals) used to create wigs for Hollywood stars. They also had a lock of Elizabeth Taylor’s hair, but that stayed in the back. We were fascinated by the descriptions of how they would use tracings of hair patterns that were placed on wooden heads so that most of the wig making could take place before the stars came in for fittings to confirm the hairlines and color. We all gasped when the archivist casually opened JW’s envelope and spilled the hair out for us to see. “Nobody sneeze!” was the first thing I thought.

After a tour of the archives, which ended with a peek at the carve-it-yourself kits they used to sell (two bars of Ivory Soap, with carving knives) to kids along with instructions on how to turn that bar of soap into a Schnauzer. I love it. Try selling an awl and a knife today along with a bar of soap and see how long before you’re vacationing at Gitmo.

When Jane Wildman, Global Vice-President, Pampers, introduced herself, she asked, “Who was it that fell in the rose bush?” I held my hand at half-mast. Thank you. But! It did show that they read our blogs before meeting us! At another talk, the first question was, “Who was the one running through the Chicago Airport to get on a last minute plane?” “That would be me.” Gah. Can someone else have a story? I was the Train Wreck du jour. But then there was a much deserved round of applause for the PR wunderkind who managed to get me on another plane in time to join everyone for the tour. We had a lovely dinner across the river in Kentucky ("We’re goin’ to Kentucky; we’re goin’ to the fair!"), after which I checked into my room and passed out from sheer exhaustion.

It was up again at seven to get ready for the first meeting–although I’d been awake since six (three my time) for some cruel reason after only five hours of sleep. I brewed coffee in the room, showered, dressed, packed, and checked out. And left my coffee in the room. In the lobby, I met with another blogger on the way to get coffee in the lobby, and she asked about the mishaps as I put cream and sugar in my cup. “Oh, yes, we have a running joke about a family curse,” I said, “Someone always has a mishap near a holiday and it’s my son’s and brother’s birthday on Friday.”

“But you’re the only one here.”

Yes. Yes, I am. Thank you, we now have the common denominator, I thought, as I picked up my coffee, popping the lid off on one side and scalding my hand. This was a little too much revelation for one morning.

I’m not even sure how to go about describing what we saw and heard today. I wasn’t really sure what it would be – a product pitch, a focus group setting, mommy blogger brain-picking–but it wasn’t any of those things. (Although we DID get to see someone make a diaper from scratch. People, I will never toss one of those little wonders into the bin quite so casually ever again. Those puppies are engineered.) Kailani at An Island Life wrote a wonderful post (and I’m pleased that she got the same vibe as I did) and posted lots of photos. I brought my camera, but alas, the battery was dead. Of course.

They just wanted to show us who they were. And they were, to a person, extremely passionate about their mission their work, and what they could do to help moms and babies. Help a mom, help a child. Make a mom healthy and make a healthy child. An educated mom gives a child a leg up. Every single one of them believed it; each of them was building the cathedral. I was blown away.

For one thing, you have no idea the range of brands collected under the Proctor & Gamble name. When I saw the scatter gram of brands, I identified at least seventeen that were in my house this minute. Wipes, Swiffers, soap, you name it.

And since I haven’t had occasion to buy diapers in a while, I wasn’t aware of something else Pampers was doing: the One Pack = One Vaccine Program. For each marked package of Pampers diapers people purchase, they will buy one tetanus vaccine for a mother or child at extreme risk of developing tetanus during birth or shortly thereafter. Last year, 140,000 babies and 30,000 mothers died of this highly morbid disease, which can be prevented with a five-cent vaccination.

Five cents. Good God.

They are working in partnership with UNICEF USA, and we had the privilege of meeting with the CEO herself, Caryl Stern-La Rosa. After hearing abut their efforts and what people were so passionately trying to accomplish ("I believe in zero” as in, zero deaths from tetanus, someday, hopefully soon) and were well on the right trajectory.

It’s unacceptable that children die of preventable causes. Join UNICEF’s fight for child survival

It didn’t make me want to run out and buy diapers. It made me want to work there, to be a part of it. And you all know what a cynical little snot I am, so that’s really saying something. Caryl’s words and palpable dedication to her work was a staggering close to the event, and we all drifted out of the building and into the waiting cars on a wave of promises to be in touch with ideas for outreach, cards changing hands and suggestions that it not end there.

Oh, and as I was picking up a copy of Caryl’s new book, Hate Hurts, she glanced at my proffered card and said, “I read your book.” Bug Eyes. “You did? How on earth did you stumble on a copy of my book?” “I’m not sure - but I recognize the tagline on your card: Mommy Confidential: Adventures from the Wonderbelly of Motherhood.” I couldn’t believe it. But she read it! I should have asked if she liked it, but I was too stunned to get past the fact that she sat through all five hundred pages.

Thank you, Jane and all your colleagues, for having us.

Anyway, I was looking forward to getting online at the airport and then SLEEPING the entire way home. We were about five hundred yards away from the hotel when WonderGirl called. She misses me! Already! No. “Mindy, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but your flight’s been canceled.”

“No.”

“But we got you on another one that leaves in four hours.”

“Fuck me.” Heads turned for a moment in the van. “Thank you so much for getting me on another flight. I can’t believe the hustling you’re doing to make this smooth.”

Know what was REALLY smooth, though? My connecting flight was not in Houston anymore, oh no, it was in CHICAGO, and the connecting gate? Was ALL THE WAY ACROSS THE DAMN AIRPORT again.

At least this time I could walk. And when I got on the plane, I sipped a very nice glass of cabernet while the flight attendant hoped for more paying customers so she could break my twenty. Finally, she tried to give me back the money because she couldn’t get change, and I said, “Oh, hell, just give me a couple more bottles and I’ll take them home.” You would have loved the looks when she handed me three more bottles and whispered, “Now it just looks like you drink too much,” as I tried to stuff them into my bag without them clinking.

You know what’s worse than being offline for twenty-one hours? Being offline AND unable to access your parental shrine of self-absorption.

Sixteen hours ago, I rose at 4 a.m. to catch a car to the airport, where I would fly to Cincinnati for the Pampers Parenting Institute. So exciting!–and a small group, manageable, intimate, we can all hang out and get to know each other.

Enter me, stage right.

First thing I did was trip over a sprinkler getting to the car, and then spill powder on myself trying to put on makeup in the back seat. Then, we found that the airport traffic was re-rerouted in a crazy-eight such that you couldn’t get there from here without first going over there and back here. We still got there in time. JUST in time, but in time.

And that was when I exited the car and did a full-on Miss Congeniality pratfall on the sidewalk, dropping my two novels (who brings two novels on an overnight?) on the floor of the car and schmushing my glasses. Gaaarrghh. I popped right back up again a la Sandra Bullock and marched right up to a check in machine and collected my boarding pass. And then? In band camp? I tried to bend my eyeglasses back in shape, popped out a lens and snapped off one of the stems. Jesus H. Ebeneezer Christ in a sidecar eating a donut.

We all shuffled toward security, past where the food court used to be, and all the way to the first baggage carousel to get to the end of the line, which then snaked back around past one, then two, then three baggage carousels, back past the food court, to the first of three amusement park cattle courses and then finally to one of the six (six!) lines to go through the metal detector. Where the woman in front of me was in a wheelchair.

I thought, oh, she’ll go right through the little gate. No, she was going to stand. She got up, shakily, while half of us readied to catch her or jump away and the other half winced. She baby stepped all the way up to the gate where she stood, flapping her hands, terrified of stepping up and over the little rise of the metal detector’s frame. Her attendant, an airline employee, stood at the ready, watching the woman inch her way across the threshold and not setting off any alarms to our collective relief.

But then the attendant had trouble getting the wheelchair through, and then seemed confused about going through the detector herself. Presumably, being an airline employee pushing a wheelchair for a passenger, she had permission to cross the threshold as well. But she wasn’t entirely sure. Perhaps she was surer before her charge nearly fainted negotiating the thing. Finally, she grasped her employee badge and held it up in front of her like an amulet and I SWEAR TO GOD closed her eyes before ducking through. These are the crackerjack security folks keeping America safe? I’m sorry, but standing there, barefoot and juggling two bags, a laptop, my shoes and three bins, it felt like the terrorists were winning.

Anyway, the flight to Chicago… was a flight to Chicago. What can I say? I hate flying into O’Hare. I lived there for fifteen years and am no longer charmed by the flashy lights and New Age music in the tunnel connecting the United terminals. On the flight, I bought one of those mini meals to stop the growling in my stomach (and to help keep my internal organs down), and as soon as I ripped open the box, I dropped the little plastic knife. No matter, I’d eat the applesauce first. And that was when I discovered that I could neither find the knife, move anything out of the way to look for it, nor open a single bloody packet without it. The peel-off lid on the Rondele? Would not peel. I tried pressing and then jabbing lightly on the foil with the spoon. The spoon broke. At that point it was either start crying or go to sleep. I slept.

To my great joy, we landed at Concourse B! No tunnel! I could hardly believe my luck. I still had about fifteen minutes to board my connection but, alas, it was cancelled. They had put me on standby in three hours.

PR WonderGirl to the rescue! I phoned my contact and agreed I’d started walking toward the later flight’s gate (in Concourse C! Newman!) while she checked to see if she could get me on another airline. I cursed the entire way through the tunnel, refusing to look up and go oooohooh, and hoofed it all the way Back to C. At which point WonderGirl called to say I was confirmed on another flight! Woohoo! Oh, but it was boarding in five minutes On Delta Fucking Airlines, in Concourse L. For Loser.

Does anyone know how far that is? I made a map of my journey. See for yourself.

I jogged over to the nearest information kiosk to confirm L’s location, where I had a small heart attack, took off my shoes, and pelted the mile or so across the airport. I OJ’d my way through seven concourses, skirting every single security line in the place. People stepped quickly out of my way. Children clung to their mothers’ skirts. I was going to make that flight.

One the way, clutching the phone to my ear, I scrambled for something to write the flight number on. How can I not have a pen? Who goes out of town without a PEN? What kind of a writer AM I? Jeebus.

I found a pale blue colored pencil deep in my bag, whipped it out, and asked WonderGirl to repeat the information. That was when the pencil flew our of my grasp, landed exactly on the point, and then the tip snapped off and did a full gainer with a twist before rolling under a door marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.

There was nothing to do but dig out my DS and pictochat with myself to retain the gate and flight number. Yeah, I know.

Five minutes later, sweat pouring down my forehead, back, and arms, I was still only halfway there. I was that guy in the Olympics who could only make it to the finish line in bare feet. Shoes couldn’t help me now. Actually, if my heart gave out it wouldn’t matter.

Finally, I skidded to a halt and collapsed at the counter at the gate, heaving and gasping. “My flight was cancelled… GASP… and they put me on…GASP…this flight…GASP… and I should have a boarding…GASP… pass!”

“Let me see.” Her nails clacked over the keyboard. Back and forth. Typity type, ENTER. Tyyyyypity typeeeee ENTER. Was she playing Tetris? “Yes, you’re confirmed. Let me just print your boarding pass and then you can have a seat until we begin boarding.”

WHAT?

They were supposed to be in the air already, I lost seventy percent of my lung capacity in the sprint over, the rose thorn lacerations all up my leg were on fire, and the plane was late taking off. I had like ten minutes to relax. WHICH I COULDN’T because my heart rate was through the roof and my knees were giving out but wouldn’t bend so that I could sit. Not that anyone really wanted me sitting there.

It must have all been for a reason, because my seatmate in the emergency row was a scream, and we talked and laughed all the way to Cincinnati. I didn’t even know we’d been in the air until the beverage cart came and he bought me a glass of wine for breakfast and a Jack and Coke for himself. We traded kid stories, talked about work, and realized that we knew a whole slew of the same people in Chicago, Colorado Springs, and California. We even knew some of the same places in Tijuana. You don’t even want to know. And then he said he’d once played for the A’s, The baseball team Logan idolizes! If he’s not wearing a Shark’s jersey, he’s decked out in green and gold, head to toe. I got an autograph. He said, “There won’t be a baseball card.”

“Just sign it. To Logan.”

“ I was only on for like five minutes, and then I got cut.”

“The point is that you were THERE. You wore the uniform. Logan is going to love this.”

Best of all, he and his son had just returned from Beijing, where Phil and I are going in two weeks! It was a great trip except for the cough that lasted ten days after he landed. The air’s a little thick over there.

There was sooo much more to this day, but I’m beat and have to check out at 08:30 tomorrow. My dogs are barking and my head’s telling me that the second martini at dinner really wasn’t all that necessary

Nite, all.