The seminar was excellent. Each of the panelists brought a unique perspective to the subject matter, and the bloghers in the audience, they were in inspirational bunch as well. Top discussion points included “how to have sex while wearing an insulin pump” and a brave blogher who described her husband’s reaction to her blog post about how she felt about losing all of her hair to Alopecia.  The person who stood out the most to me, was a woman by the name of Loolwa Khazzoom, a journalist based out of California and the founder of Dancing With Pain. Loolwa struck a chord with me because she didn’t start out as chronic pain expert. She started out as a self-described “über athletic chick: an avid cyclist, swimmer, and jogger, a women’s self-defense instructor, and most importantly, a dance fiend”. She wrote the book Consequence which chronicled her decision to respond to sexual harassment physically and aggressively. That’s a far cry from where she ended up. How did she get here? Did her readers come with her as she morphed from cool punk rock chick to a pioneer in the chronic pain management field? And does she care? Should she care?  When the seminar wrapped up, I was left a bit overwhelmed.  While I wanted to write about it immediately, I felt like I needed to process my thoughts for a few days.

The next day, as I headed back to my room to rest up for one last night of partying, I saw out of the corner of my eye the one and only Loolwa.  I wanted to say thank you to her, to tell her how she had inspired me to want to write more honestly, more raw, and to not worry about what other people thought, to just be true to my story, whatever that is.  I figured it would be a quick “omg you’re so awesome!” moment.  But it was so much more.  Loolwa asked me to sit down and chat with her.  She was touched to know how much hearing her speak had meant to me.  She wanted to hear my story, and Max’s story.  And not for one moment did I feel like she was waiting to talk, waiting for me to shut up.  She was sincere, and real, and empathetic.  We talked about how much music has helped Max, and how music affects her differently on any given day.  We talked about how vibrations can heal, and that there is so much more out there than what old school medicine would have us believe.  She confided in me that the very editors who had turned down her pitches two years earlier because her ideas were “too out there” were now coming back to the table and embracing these very same concepts as cutting edge and relevant to their readership.  

There is a stack of over 100 business cards in my purse, blogs I need to go check out and add to my daily reading. I feel like my posts while I’ve been here have been very high level, that there is so much more to say but I need to process it all before it will come out as anything more than “OMG I just talked with Loolwa Khazzoom for the past hour and she is the most wonderful person evah!!“. My eyes have been opened up to so many writers that I never would have known had I not come to BlogHer. This community of women is powerful. We are more than mommy bloggers, we are story tellers, renegades, and some of the funniest people on the face of the earth. Time to finish packing and head home to my wonderful family. I will post again tonight once the kiddos are in bed. Thank you Mabel’s Labels for this life changing experience!

So, as you can imagine, I was thrilled when she decided to join me in Chicago for BlogHer, because it really would not have been as much fun without her.  At lunch today, the Mabels ladies announced that they had already decided what their BlogHer contest would be for next year – the Wish You Were Here?? Come to BlogHer’10 in NYC contest, I couldn’t wait to spread the word.  If you are at BlogHer this year, and have a friend that you wish was here, you should enter.  It’s totally easy, and who knows, you could win a trip for you and a bosom blogger to NYC next year!

After dinner, we returned, ready to get our party on. These ladies know how to have a good time, as you can see by this shot of Julie, Caitlyn and I wearing tiaras at the “Mommy Needs a Cocktail” party. There were also many drunken tweets and a very odd unicorn cake.  I added another 50 blog cards to my collection of sites to check out, and had some rather personal conversations that may or may not have involved me giving women I have just met underwear.  Yeah, it’s that kind of conference.  Bring on Day 2!

Once we landed, it was fairly smooth sailing to the hotel. Except that President Obama is in town (maybe Michelle will speak at BlogHER?!) so traffic was a nightmare. When we arrived, Fin was starting to fuss (I didn’t blame him, I was tired and hungry too), so we dumped our stuff and found food and “beverages”. I somehow managed to be late to all of the parties (People’s Party and Room 704 Party) so I continued to miss out on the awesome swag getting doled out! I need to get on top of my game! I did get to meet some of my favourite bloggers, Cecily, Deb, Lotus, and Heather, all on the first night, so that was a real thrill. And of course, I met a bunch of other awesome ladies who I will now be reading up on.

What’s in store for today? Breakfast and lots of coffee first, then sessions all day! I think I’m going to check out:

Room of Your Own 1: Realllly Personal Blogging – How much info is TMI?

Room of Your Own 2: Blogs & Body Image: What are we teaching our kids?

Identity/Passions: PatientBloggers – You Are Not Your Disease, You Just Blog About It Every Day

Time to go – the ladies of BlogHer await!

I probably shouldn’t admit this in such a public forum, but I have a thing for office supplies.  Meaning, I fancy really nice, top notch pens, rulers, paper, notepads, mechanical pencils, paper clips, scissors and staplers.  If my work doesn’t happen to supply my preferred brand of a specific office product, I will bring my own from home.  Yes, I’m that particular, specifically about my stapler.  But my stapler – it isn’t just any stapler.  It has a special history.  It is a burgundy, Swingline stapler.  And how do I say this nicely?  No, you CANNOT borrow my stapler.  Uhh…I mean, of course you can borrow my stapler, just please be sure to bring it back to me when you are finished.  And be gentle with it, it was a gift.  A Valentine’s Day gift.  Specifically, my first Valentine’s gift from my husband after we got married.  But, you know, no pressure.  However, be aware that if you scratch it, dent it, or ding it, I will never speak to you again.  Otherwise, we’re cool.  There is also the fact that it matches my Blackberry Curve perfectly.  I know…that’s just crazy talk, I mean, who accessorizes their office equipment?  Probably the same type of person who labels it…

Don't you touch my stapler!

The labelling thing, it started out as a way for me to keep the kids organized, to make sure their stuff came home from daycare at the end of the day.  Then, I realized, after leaving my notebook in a meeting room for the 3rd time in a week (I guess my brain is still in mommy mode), that I could use some labels too.  Hey, if it works for the kids, why wouldn’t I label my stuff too?  That way when I leave my stuff behind in meeting rooms, the local coffee shop, or my boss’s office, everyone will know who it belongs to and everything will find its way back to me.  Mommy brain problem solved, right?

You can take the girl out of the Mabel, but you can't take the Mabel out of the girl.

So far my strategy has proven to be successful.  But I might have overdone it, just a bit.  You see, in an effort to ensure my highly prized office supplies (like my much loved Swingline) are always returned to me, I labelled every square inch of my desk.  I have a feeling my coworkers are now afraid to borrow anything from me, because I seem a bit “attached” to my stuff.  But maybe that’s not such a bad thing?  Maybe my label strategy is actually two pronged – it helps people return things to me when I have forgotten them, and encourages them to not borrow things in the first place, as they will inevitably look like a thief when my visibly labelled stapler sits, waiting to be returned to me, on their desk, my name label a beacon, calling out to me in the night “Katrina, Katrina, Come Save Me!!”.

Wow.  My stapler is talking to me.  And I thought Izzie was nuts.  I need to get more sleep.

Katrina Carefoot, Mabel BlogHer correspondent, from Fickle Feline, is guest blogging for the next two weeks while Julie recovers from the birth of her 6th baby – welcome Finian Aloysius!

Me at the beginning of my 1st week back at work.

I survived my first week back at work.  I’m not going to lie, the mornings came early, the days were long, and most nights I fell into bed not long after my kids.  But I made it, and I learned some important lessons along the way.

Ten Things I Learned My First Week Back At Work:

1. Coffee tastes better when you don’t have someone pulling on your pantleg.  So does lunch.

2. A 5:30am wakeup call always feels like the middle of the night, no matter how early you go to bed.

3. My kids will be okay if someone else takes them to doctor appointments and therapy sessions,  but it still kills me that I can’t be there for everything.

4. My baby sleeps better when she spends the day at daycare – in fact, she sleeps through the night!

5. I like getting dressed up every morning (with a regular bra rather than a nursing bra) and putting on makeup.

6. It’s not such a bad thing to get a chance to miss your kids, it makes you appreciate your time with them.

7. Sometimes it seems like a good idea to just go to bed and not lay out clothes, prepare lunches, and set up coffee for the morning…but what takes five minutes at night seems to take a half hour in the morning. 

8.  Morning traffic isn’t so bad, except when you have a 9am meeting.  Who schedules 9am meetings?? People without kids!  

9.  Most mornings, somebody’s going to poop right when you’re trying to get out the door. Note: It’s never me, and it may not be one of my children.

10. Blackberrys are highly addictive.  I am not sure why I waited so long to get one.

Me at the end of my 1st week back at work.

As I prepare to head into week two of going back to work, I will admit that a) I’m already looking forward to my first statutory holiday and b) I’ve already scheduled some vacation time.  I do like my job, I really like my boss, and I think I’m going to be okay.  But check back in with me in a few weeks and make sure I’m still standing!

Blink. Is it over already?

After spending the past year on maternity leave with baby #2, I’m heading back to the corporate world tomorrow and shedding the mommy uniform (at least between the hours of 9 and 5). To be honest, I haven’t let myself think too much about the fact that I’m going back to the working mom role. Up until this past week I was operating business as usual, my days were filled with taking care of my baby girl, shuttling my Autistic son, Max, to therapy, doctor’s appointments, and assessments, and trying to keep our household running as smoothly as possible. So, as usual, the dishes were overflowing from the sink, we were all out of clean socks and underwear, and emergency calls were being placed to my husband for him to pick up milk on the way home.

I’ve put a lot of preparation into going back to work, just not in the way I did when I went back to work after having my first baby. The focal point this time around was trying to figure out how we would juggle all of Max’s therapy –specifically the to-ing and fro-ing. We are very fortunate to have support from my husband’s parents, who will be picking the kids up from daycare every day. They will also be helping us get Max to his therapy appointments twice a week. I have been training one of our friends to take Max to therapy once a week as well. My daughter, Cameron, has been easing into daycare for the past 3 weeks. The first week was rough, but it has been progressively easier each week. I’m hoping we can all keep the tears to a minimum on my first day back at work, lest my mascara end up running down my cheeks.

Getting everyone else organized is one thing, but I’ve been trying to figure out how to get myself back into the “professional woman” head space. When I look in the mirror, I don’t see a Marketing Manager, I see a worn-out mommy, and that just won’t do. How do I update my exterior in hopes that my interior will start believing the hype? I started with a trip to the salon to get my hair done. Instead of doing the usual highlights, I opted for some lowlights to break the colour up. I also got more layers cut in so I’ll have something to work with when I’m styling my hair. Note – I used the term “styling” loosely. Usually this involves flipping my head upside down for a quick blow dry and then speedy work with my flat iron and a spritz of hair spray.

My hair was only the tip of the iceberg. My hands and feet were in rough shape, begging for a mani and pedi. My eyebrows were far from kempt and my skin was looking dull and uninspired. Feeling like I not only deserved some time at the spa, but my career clearly depended on it, I booked myself in for a two-and-a-half hour appointment with my trusted aesthetician, Emily. She worked her magic and after a morning with Emily, I left feeling shiny and new. I may in fact have proposed to Emily during my facial — she has the magic touch.

Hair? Check. Face, eyebrows, hands, feet? Check x 4. Undergarments? FAIL. I haven’t worn a real bra in almost 2 years. Once I got pregnant with baby #2, I immediately ditched my underwire bras for soft cotton nursing bras that make me look like I have uni-boob (comfort is king when you are preggers, perky boobs be damned). My underwear drawer was in an even sadder state. Worn out and faded jockeys that do nothing for my figure, let alone my self-esteem, and they show off ugly underwear lines (because, you know, I’d HATE for anyone to be thinking I actually wear underwear). I trekked out to The Bay today to buy some new bras and panties – the kind that match and make you strut and feel like a million bucks even if all you are wearing on top of them are a white blouse and black skirt. I hate to admit it, but I had no idea what bra size I wore. I wrestled with the measuring tape for about a minute, and then threw it in the corner, opting instead to bring a range of sizes (practically everything from 32AA to 40DD) into the fitting room so I could figure out my bra size by trial-and-error.

After trying on a million bras, I finally settled on a white bra, a black bra, and a hot lacy number with a matching thong (it was on sale and it’s nice eye candy for hubby). I also bought the dreaded pantyhose — is there any escaping them? Now that I know I’ll be well-groomed and have new undergarments on, I think my first day back at work will be manageable. I may not feel like a deal-making, moving-and-shaking, no-B.S.-taking professional woman, but I’ll look the part. Deep breath in, deep breath out… Wish me luck!