I'm here to make friends.

In my first “real” job, I had a difficult manager. She micromanaged my coworkers and me, she took credit for our work and she loved reminding us often that her husband was an attorney.

She said it so often that a few times, we played our own version of buzzword bingo during staff meetings.

Because I was young and still had a healthy dose of know-it-all in my system, her intensity and management style didn’t sit well with me. Once, during a meeting with our boss, we practically shouted at each other over whether or not “agreeance” is actually a word.

(It’s not. Like I said. She insisted on looking it up in the dictionary, and just proved that I was right.)

Looking back, I realize that I was part of the problem. Ugh. That’s so hard to admit. But it’s true. And while I still don’t think I’d enjoy working under her, I will tell you that she taught me a lot in the two and a half years we worked together.

One thing I learned is that for me, work is a lot more enjoyable when I can be friends with my colleagues.

After being hurt by a co-worker/friend several years ago, I went into my next job carefully. I smiled, I was polite, a good team player, but I didn’t reach out to anyone. Not for several months. But eventually my outgoing tendencies (also known as “I like to talk. A lot.”) got the best of me, and I found myself becoming close to several co-workers, some of whom I’m still close to despite us all having moved on to different companies.

The same thing happened at my current job. For the first year and a half, I was stuck at a corner desk – not to be confused with a corner office, which it was not – where I was basically told to sit down and shut up. But about seven months ago, I moved into a space with my manager and two other women.

It has made the biggest difference in my work life! I feel like a PERSON again. We brainstorm ideas, we vent about difficult situations, and we debate the best contestant on American Idol. Though my workload and job description didn’t change, a different physical location allowed me to connect with my coworkers and enjoy my days so much more.

So when I saw a video a couple weeks ago on Rachelle Gardner’s blog, I had to laugh. The video is a compilation of reality show contestants claiming that they’re not on the show to make friends.

Guess what phrase my old manager said even more often than, “Well, you know my husband is an attorney”? Yep, that’s right. She told us soooo many times, “I’m not here to make friends.”

And she didn’t.

But I’m glad I did. Besides, as Rachelle put it, “'I'm not here to make friends’ is a common attempt to justify being a total jerk.”

So true. And now that I think about it, it’s true for so many situations: work, church, blogging.

I've made so many good friends - most of my best friends, really - in places I never expected. In a Sunday school class with people who seemed so different than us. By blogging about the random things that run through my head on any given day. At a job that I never really wanted.

Unexpected friendships are kind of a double blessing, and I'm so thankful for mine.

Here’s the video if you haven’t seen it. (Warning: I don’t think this is necessarily rated PG. It is a montage of reality show clips, after all.)



Have you ever made a friend in an unexpected place?

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Saturday Review: Harry Connick, Jr.

As I mentioned on Facebook, I do realize that I could not possibly look more awkward in this picture. But the fact remains: I am standing just feet away from Harry Connick, Jr. And I have a picture to prove it!

When I heard through the grapevine that our “surprise guest” would be Harry Connick, Jr., I was beyond excited. I have loved him since my days in high school jazz band, and I could not believe he would be performing for me.

You know, me and 500 of my closest blogging friends.

But I’m not to that part yet.

Let’s start at the beginning, shall we? (After all, I tried to keep this simple on Facebook, saying only that I shook his hand. And you people went crazy! And demanded answers! Details! Dirt! Okay, maybe not exactly crazy. But still. I’m pretty sure you want to know more.)

Originally, Harry was scheduled to perform on Saturday night after the final sessions and keynote. But then the New Orleans Saints got in the Superbowl, so Harry had to move our little shindig back a day. To make room for his Superbowl party. Or something.

Whatever the fancy celebrity reason for rescheduling, I’m glad. I was so wiped out by Saturday night that I’m not sure I would have made it to the concert. As it was, I wasn’t convinced that Harry really needed me to put on a dress, heels and eyeliner.

But I did. Which is a good thing. I’d hate to have wobbled into the Opryland’s hip nightclub (do not even start with me about the humor in that statement), past the roped off line and security, in my stretched out jeans and tennis shoes.

The nightclub was exactly what a nightclub should be – and exactly what I don’t love about nightclubs. It was dark and crowded and loud and sweaty. I tried to be sociable; I did. I joined some of my (in)courage friends in a booth in the back. But they’d already paired off into [shouted] conversations, so after snapping a few pictures, I headed back to home base.

Also known as, wherever my roommate Hillary was.

That worked out well, as she’d scoped out a premium spot with a great view of the still-empty stage. Not too long after settling in, the action started.

After some words from Barbara Jones, one of the conference organizers and, I’m pretty sure, the woman responsible for getting Harry to come hang out with us, we watched a video about Harry’s work in New Orleans, rebuilding the music community after Hurricane Katrina.

And then the band strutted onto the stage. I know we were there to see Harry, but I have got to tell you: that trumpet player was ahhhh-mazing! He got the crowd dancing and singing even before Harry stepped on the stage, and two songs later when he played the longest note I’ve ever heard in my life? Well, I was out of breath just listening to him!

Harry and his small band played four songs, finishing up with a football-themed When the Saints Go Marching In. He talked about strong women and building community in New Orleans, and he made some lame jokes that aren’t even worth analyzing here. And it was So. Much. Fun.

I told one friend that I’m not sure anything makes me as happy as live music. And his particular brand of live music – Dixieland jazz, if I’m remembering my Jazz Appreciation lessons right – made it impossible to even remember how bad my feet hurt or how few hours of sleep I’d gotten or how I kind of wished I hadn’t set my drink down and forgotten it.

The music made me dance. It made me sing. It made me grin a goofy grin. And it made me cry. Just a little. Happy tears, of course.

After the first couple of songs, we knew what we had to do – move to the other side of the room, so we could line up to meet him! And that’s exactly what we did – me with shoes in hand, because seriously, those suckers hurt.

I’d like to say that everyone in that dark, crowded room behaved nicely as we formed a line to meet Harry. But apparently manners didn’t fit into everyone’s little party purses. At one point, I started wondering if those women shoving and pushing their way to the front had been given more than two drink tickets. And then I thought that maybe this is what it feels like to be at a European soccer match.

Though I did get squished against the wall, I survived (thanks in part to Lisa). and got my shoes back on my feet, just in time to get to the front of the line. They took six women in at a time, and only the designated photographer was allowed to snap a quick picture.

As we fluttered around Harry, jockeying for position (yes, I lost that battle), I turned and shook his hand. And in that moment, when I could have said so many things, I said, “Thank you.”

That’s it. It’s not as if I wanted to say, “I love you!!!!!!” That would have been awkward. But still. My “thank you” and the way I said it really felt like, “I carried a watermelon?”

And then it was over.

Amy squealed and told me – and then demonstrated ON me – exactly how tightly Harry had held her as we posed. Hillary and I just grinned at each other. And I swore I’d never wash my hand again.

That declaration lasted for about 24 minutes – until we got back to our room for a bathroom break between parties. I mean, not washing would have been gross. And weird.

So there you have it. Not the most thrilling adventure, I’m sure, but it’s my adventure. And now you have all the details as I know them.

But wait – there’s more! Here’s a video of Harry’s final song, from The Southern Plate:



Do you like jazz? Who’s your favorite artist?

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The most perfect Valentine's Day ever . . . almost.

When I was a freshman in college, I decided that it was time for Mark and me to get engaged. After all, we’d already planned to get married after my sophomore year, so we needed to get the ball rolling. Wedding planning takes time, you know?

So I told Mark about this. Don’t be alarmed. He started asking me to marry him when I was just 16, so this was only good news for him.

Shortly after that conversation, we flipped the calendar to February. Which, as you know if you’ve ever been in any sort of relationship, means expectations and plans and all that good stuff.

Chocolate may even get involved.

I assumed, because my experience with romance novels and chick flicks told me it would happen this way, that Mark would propose on Valentine’s Day. And so, I planned accordingly.

A few weeks before the big weekend, I made lasagna at home. It was no Pioneer Woman dish at that point, but it was (and still is) Mark’s favorite thing I make. I froze two servings and took them back to school.

I like planning events, and this Valentine’s Day was to be quite the event. I had a white sheet to use as a tablecloth, and I draped it over a coffee table from the dorm lounge. I [illegally] lit candles and had a bag salad ready to dump into a bowl. My friend Nicole picked up breadsticks from Fazoli’s, and I had an elaborate plan to get Mark out of my room while I threw it all together.

Except . . . my plan didn’t work out quite right. I asked Mark to return a couple movies I’d rented, but when he got to his car, he realized he needed directions. So he came back up to my room and knocked on the door.

Because I thought it was Nicole, delivering the breadsticks, I opened the door without a thought. And Mark saw me with scissors in my hands and rose petals scattered behind me.

He thought I was mad at him and destroying the flowers he’d brought me!

I was actually cutting open the bag of shredded cheese for the salad, and the rose petals were to decorate our makeshift table. From a rose I’d bought myself.

We laughed when he came back and told me what he'd thought, but I was so sad that he’d been worried. (And I was worried that he thought I was such a crazy woman that I’d cut up his beautiful flowers!)

Then to top it all off, the poor guy did not, in fact, propose. He gave me a Martina McBride CD with the song Valentine on it. The song that I’d sung at our spring concert the year before. The song that I’d really been singing to him from that stage in our high school gym.

I’m ashamed to tell you that my first reaction was not, “Awwwww! That’s so sweet!”

No, I behaved sort of like the kind of crazy woman who might cut up a bouquet of roses. I wasn’t angry or too ugly about it. But I wasn’t gracious and kind, that’s for darned sure.

We still had a great weekend together, and I am still proud of the way I pulled together that little romantic dorm dinner. (And I still love that song, by the way.)

But we would have had a much better start if I’d been giving up on perfect holidays back then!

I don’t think we’re doing anything at all for Valentine’s Day this weekend. We’ll probably rent a movie and order a $10 pizza. And I’m tossing around the idea of starting potty training. So, it’s going to be exciting.

Do you like Valentine’s Day? How will you celebrate – or boycott – the holiday this weekend?

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Poppies and purses and pretties.

One of my favorite parts of Blissdom was meeting some of the people behind the handmade products sold by (in)courage.

Lindsey, Maggie and Lisa are beautiful women who create beautiful products. I love what they do, but more importantly, who they are. They just impress the heck out of me!

Check out what they do:

Lindsey is The Pleated Poppy. I mean, she’s not actually a flower herself. She’s actually a delightful, funny woman. But she makes the cutest little poppy pins, among many other crafty goods.

Lindsey gave me a cute teal poppy pin, but this isn't it.
This photo is from her site.

Maggie is Gussy. And by that I mean, yes, she is Gussy. And Gussy makes lots of pretties with ruffles.

Gussy made a cute, ruffly laptop bag for all the (in)courage writers.
This is her photo.

And Lisa is, well, Lisa. Like the photos she shares on her blog, she is colorful, peaceful and lovely. And, oh yeah, she makes some jewelry.

Lisa made a BLISS necklace for every single person who went to Blissdom.
She's amazing! (And this photo is mine.)

I’m thankful for the gifts these women gave me at Blissdom. But way more than any pretty present, I’m thankful for the chance to get to know these ladies. These artists. These friends.

This post will be linked to Things I Love Thursday at Diaper Diaries.

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Top 10 Moments of Blissdom

Where do I even start? I got a couple extra hours of sleep last night and though I woke up with a cold or something that's making my throat hurt and my nose run, I think my body is pretty much recovered from the weekend.

My brain, though? Not even close to recovered.

So I'm not ready to share all the wisdom the fabulous panelists dropped on us at Blissdom. My plan is to get those thoughts organized by this time next week. Feel free to hold me to it!

All I can do today is tell you about some of the best moments I had at Blissdom.

1. Lunch with Hillary and Monica on Thursday. They met at last year's Blissdom, and I started the lunch feeling like the odd man out at their reunion. And that feeling lasted for about 30 seconds. And then we were just three friends sharing a meal.
2. Meeting - and getting to hang out with - Sarah Markley. She is even more beautiful in person than she is on her blog, and I'm talking inside and out.
3. Eating a good ol' Southern breakfast (ala Cracker Barrel) with my (in)courage sisters. Holley and Stephanie are incredible leaders and friends, and the way they've put together a group of diverse women who are somehow immediately at home with each other is just amazing. 
4. Making a couple women's day just by telling them I read their blogs. I didn't realize how excited they would be to meet a reader and fan, but that's silly. After all, every time someone told me they read my blog, I felt pretty giddy myself!
5. Seeing Harry Connick, Jr., perform. In person. Right in front of my face. (Yes, I'll share more details later this week. I promise!)
6. Hanging out with Annie. I know I'm not alone when I say I love this girl. But I do. She's so darned funny and smart and just my kind of lady. I love her. The end.
7. Having a three-night slumber party with Hillary and Jessie. These girls are so sweet, so crazy, so funny, so talented, so smart! And they are SO my friends.
8. Meeting bloggers I've been connecting with online for several months (like Amanda, Mandi and Jill), spending time with bloggers I've met before and can't get enough of (like Nester, Emily and Jo-Lynne), and being introduced to incredible artists (like Gussy and Lindsey).
9. Meeting and hanging out with Lisa and her twin sister, Chrissie. These women were so welcoming and sweet and gentle and funny. And I love them, too.
10. Walking out of my gate at the airport and hearing the sweetest voice say, "Mommy!"

I'm forgetting some things, I'm leaving out some things for now, and the moments I just mentioned are not in any particular order. And they don't even begin to include the hotel, the swag, the speakers and the many, many times I was moved to huge laughter or quiet tears.

Blissdom was an incredible conference, and I'm looking forward to processing everything I saw, did and learned over the next few weeks. And I'm thankful for the opportunity to attend, which was made largely possible by my sponsor, United Country Real Estate.

Did you go to Blissdom? If you're a blogger who didn't go to this year's Blissdom, have you gone or do you plan to go to a blogging conference?

This post will be linked to OhAmanda's Top Ten Tuesday and Musings of a Housewife's Blissdom Recap Roundup.

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It had to be . . . Harry.

Image by DawnMHSH

Yes, it's true. I met Harry Connick, Jr., at Blissdom. I'm not saying we sat and chatted over coffee. I mean, first of all, I don't like coffee.

But I did shake his hand. And I can't wait to tell you more of the story. But tonight, my brain is mush and my bed is calling. So until then, tell me: have you ever met anyone really famous?

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Live from Nashville: airport ramblings.

 

Image by Jsome1

I'm sitting at the Nashville airport, waiting for Hillary to pick me up. I suppose I could just grab a shuttle to the hotel, but, well, I'm cheap.

You'll be happy to know that I got on my flight as planned this morning - as opposed to the flight I missed going to SheSpeaks. Yep, I got to the airport not so bright and early, so I wouldn't have a replay of that little event.

So early that I had about an hour to kill. Which means, of course, that I'm almost finished with my book.

Oh well. The good news - aside from simply MAKING my crazy early (yes, 8 a.m. is early for a flight when you factor in getting ready, last-minute packing, drive-time and check-in!) flight - is that I just had the best flight EVER.

See, I'm not a good flier. Not at all. But this morning's trip was great! Of course I knew the flight would be short (just over an hour), but I didn't know it would be practically empty.

Imagine my pleasant surprise when I got a WHOLE ROW to myself! It took everything I had not to pop up that other armrest and make myself AT HOME.

Instead I read a little more and half-slept, half-eavesdropped on the much-too-chipper guys a few rows back.

Little did I know that I should have been listening in on the folks a few rows UP. Because those guys? Those guys were MUSICIANS.

What clued me in? Well, I suppose it could have been the fact that they were on a flight TO NASHVILLE. But you know, that doesn't necessarily mean anything. (After all, they could be tea partiers, or whatever that OTHER convention going on at my hotel is about.)

Nope, I know they're musicians, because as I walked ahead of them and then behind them (then ahead again and behind again - their unsteady pace REALLY made it difficult for me to properly eavesdrop), they were singing.

Singing. In the airport. And laughing. And saying, "That's great! That will be my first single! Hahaha!"

I know. My deductive skills are amazing.

As I was working much harder than I should have to on five hours of sleep to listen in on this fascinating display of, well, SOMETHING, I also tried to get a good look at their faces. After all, until I heard the words "FIRST single," I thought maybe they're really famous. This is Music City, right?

Well, I'm pretty sure they're not famous. Yet. Maybe they will be. I'll let you know if and when I hear that phrase they repeated all the way from our gate to baggage claim on the radio.

And with that, I believe I'll log off for a bit. I don't see an outlet anywhere, so I'm depending on my laptop's battery. And as said laptop is actually a dinosaur that has never heard the word "netbook," much less the hideous "iPad," I'm guessing I've just about exhausted its poor little battery.

Oh, one last thing, though: my bag that I painstakingly packed late last night, folding each shirt and pair of pants into tiny squares and placing them JUST SO? Yeah, it got inspected. Thankfully, even MacGyver couldn't turn way too much plus-sized women's clothes for a four-day trip, a lint roller and a cheap plastic hairbrush into a bomb.

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Hey, jealousy!

In the past couple of weeks, I’ve started implementing my company’s social media strategy. Or kicking off our social media campaign. Or entering the world of social media.

I’m not really sure what we’re calling it. I just know that it means I get to do a lot more fun stuff during the day.

It also means that I’ve spent more time on Twitter than normal. And because Blissdom is this week, I’m hearing a lot of conversations about the conference. What to wear, what to pack, how much snow does Nashville really have?

But I’ve noticed other questions, too: Will I fit in? Will I be awkward? Will I embarrass myself?

I’d be lying if I said I don’t have any of those same thoughts flying through my head (along with my packing list, flight agenda and the tax rates for the hotel room I’m sharing), but I’m also relieved to be meeting and sharing that overtaxed room with two good friends.

They may not know this, but I’m assuming that if all else fails (read: I cry in front of a big, famous blogger I adore – again), they’ll still be there.

It’s interesting, this world of blogging – and by that, I guess I mean this world of blogging women. We can be so insecure, so conflicted, so scared, can’t we? And while it’s easy to hide our fears, weaknesses and insecurities behind well-written articles, a witty username and punny post titles, it’s not so easy to be that confident in person.

At least it’s not for me. A good friend asked me yesterday how she could pray for me while I’m gone, and one of my requests (I kept it to four, okay, people? And not a single one included, “Please, God, let me meet Harry Connick, Jr.!”) was to not be awkward.

(I’ll keep you posted on how that works out.)

I especially don’t want to be awkward around “the cool kids.” Because, you know, they’re cool. And I’m not. And I want to be.

Whoa, there! Hold the phone! Chill out! (See, even when I talk to myself, I’m kind of dorky.) It’s just that easy, though, to start down the path of doubt and envy.

“They’re cool. I’m not. I wish I was like her. Or her. Or her.”

I know I’m not alone in this. Between the whispered fears on Twitter (And yes, we all recognize the irony of “whispering” something by broadcasting it on Twitter. Just go with me here.), the panic-laced e-mails (And yes, these may have been mainly coming from me and not to me), and the blog posts I’ve read lately about jealousy, I’m seeing a pretty distinct pattern.

[I started to say “trend,” but Lord knows that even at my most confident, I don’t fancy myself a trendspotter.]

I’ve loved these posts, and I thought you might, too. Posts that say yes, jealousy and insecurity are real, but you know what? We need to get over it. Because odds are, we don’t actually want that other person’s life (or stats or design or whatever) as much as we think we do. And odds are, too, that someone out there looks at us – small, insignificant (in our own eyes), scared us – with the same envy or admiration.

• Rachel Held Evans: On Resenting Anne Jackson 
• CJ Darlington: The Comparison Trap
• Penelope Trunk: How to Make Yourself More Likable (or, in my words, Why I Shouldn’t Be Jealous of The Pioneer Woman) 

What do you do when you find yourself comparing yourself to others or getting wrapped up in jealousy?

This post will be linked to Your Life, Your Blog at Real Life.

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Huggies is gonna be ALL OVER this blog post.

I have a confession. And you're going to think I'm crazy. But I've got to get this off my chest tell you.

I don't want to potty train Annalyn.

At first I thought it was just because I'm afraid it's going to be difficult. After all, my little sweetheart can be rather, how you say, willful. And even though she loves to talk about pee and poop and potty and panties 24/7, who's to say that reality is going to be as exciting as this idealized world of big girl bodily functions?

And then our schedule is a factor, too. I work full-time and Mark works evenings, so Annalyn spends her days with three different people in two different places. And in a few weeks, we're moving her from an in-home babysitter to a daycare. So we have plenty of complications to deal with here.

But today, someone asked me if my reason for being hesitant to start potty training is that I don't want Annalyn to grow up.

WHAT? No. NO! Of COURSE not! Um, wait . . . Yes, it is.

She's my BABY! And babies wear DIAPERS! They NEED their mamas! And I know I should be anxious to put these days behind me, ready to put that money to better use, all about leaving the diaper bag and wipes at home.

But I'm not.

It's going too fast! She used to be so tiny, so quiet, so BABY. And now? Now she's a walking (yay!), talking little person. She's a chicken nugget eating, princess loving, slipper and monkey jammies wearing, movie watching, silly song singing girl.

Where did this baby go? And what's so wrong with diapers, anyway?

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Short week, long to-do list

I leave for Nashville early on Thursday morning. If I'd been more on top of things, I would have used this past weekend to get caught up ahead on laundry, grocery-buying, etc.

You can probably guess that I didn't.

I did, however, have some sort of stomach bug, so that's something. And now that Annalyn is in bed, I've found the living room floor again, so that's good.

But I am SO far from ready to go on a four-day trip! The next three days are going to be crazy. Getting ready is definitely do-able, but it's going to be a stretch.

How do you do it? When you travel out of town, do you have a routine? Are you a packing list type person (guilty.) or a throw-it-in-the-bag-and-go person? Plan for weeks or scramble at the last minute? And does anyone have a truly sanitary way to store a toothbrush?

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