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July 2014

#BlogHer14: A puffy-eyed view of the real people behind the power strips and surge protectors.

It was exactly one week ago today, after boarding the first of two flights it would take for me to get to the 10th Anniversary BlogHer Conference in San Jose (because California is about as far away as you can get, from Jersey!), I thought I was going to vomit on my flip flops.

I blamed lack of sleep...a nervous stomach...finishing work well after my husband had fallen asleep...on the couch...for the last month...or two...with the dog...he also has a REAL nervous stomach...the dog, too.

This morning, after another unsuccessful night of readjusting to post-conference life, I read my first BlogHer '14 recap and felt that oh so familiar churning in the pit of my stomach.

Personally, one of my FAVORITE moments from this year's conference happened pretty quickly: the BlogHer '14 opening video: I am BlogHer, where bloggers show us what it means to be a community utilizing two of my favorite online mediums -- in words and in pictures.

Sense of community, finding your tribe, being with your people -- these catchphrases, in my opinion, are the very foundation of BlogHer and what organizers have continued to build on, the last 8 conferences I've attended, anyway.

Words are powerful, like that.

On the other hand: this is my 3rd conference actually working behind the scenes, so I feel it safe to say reading feedback that borders on personal and attacks the integrity of our work...(thanks for helping me with that sentence, Melisa)...well, excuse my Jersey...it's a friggin' punch in the gut.

Words have impact, like that.

On the OTHER other hand: what you may or may not know is many of the BlogHer team are bloggers and some of us have been a part of the blogging community for many years, too.

Many of us are also members of the BlogHer Ad Network; some of us have been from the very beginning **raises hand** and I'm pretty sure it's why I was hired in the first place -- especially, when talking with brands about recruiting bloggers for their special events.

Blogging is complicated, like that.

Explaining the process wasn't always easy and there were mistakes made, for certain...(stupid Eventbrite!)...but now, misinformation is being tossed around like expletives on a hot summer night...(here, in Jersey anway!)...so, yeah, it's REAL tough not to take these sort of things to heart.

Moving on, it's no secret, rather than believing that there is a behind-the-scenes conspiracy...(that one is mine AND Melisa's)...that is meant to encourage a society based on exclusivity...trust me when I tell you, no there isn't.

These are real people...trying to do a good job...and, more importantly, do right by their community.

Liz Thompson OUT!
after visiting each and every conference attendee's blog and social media accounts, you guys sure can write about a lot of stuff.

Oh, and she probably looks a lot like this: still in pajamas, all glassy-eyed, wearing a matching set of heavy eye baggage and complimentary stress zits on her chin...YO!!!

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© This Full House 2003-2017. All rights reserved.

I expect they'll be fighting over who gets to change "my" diaper, too!

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making parenting look like a piece of cake since, never mind when!


A long time ago (i.e. about two kids in diapers, one in pull-ups and one losing her first tooth, ago) and way before I worked up enough nerve to go ahead and push "publish" on this old blog, a bunch of my mom friends and I would make a little extra diaper money by working with local marketing research companies and participate in consumer focus groups.

We were sort of like bloggers, but without blogs. Yeah. That's right. Bloggers without blogs. You heard it here, first.

Aaaaanyway, because we had a houseful of kids under the age of I don't remember anymore, we were real popular with the toy companies. And the toy companies were real popular with our houseful of kids, too.

Flash-forward I don't remember how many years: the phone rings and all four of my now teens and adult children will NOT do anything about it, until a robotic voice tells them to.

Call from...Focus...R...Us...

These guys haven't called us since forever ago, so I holler to let the machine get it which, if you have teenagers in the house then you probably already know, is totally unnecessary.

Call from...Focus...R...Us...

Parenting pro-tip: kids under the age of 10 will usually put themselves in charge of answering the phone, with or without your permission.

Beeeeeeeep...click.

They didn't leave a message, so now my teen and adult children are all like, who the heck is Focus-R-Us? Halfway into my explanation, they lost interest. Until.

"Remember the time when Papa came over to babysit and didn't know how to change Hopey's diaper?"

True story. My mom and dad used cloth diapers. My mom was in charge of changing the babies. My dad would take the diapers down to the laundromat and, considering I also have a twin brother, that's a lot of dirty diapers. Can you blame him?

"Seriously, Papa didn't know how to change a diaper?"

 Cloth diapers, yes. These new-fangled disposable diapers, no. But, considering our youngest daughter waited until I left the house to surprise her Papa with a big load of stinky, he was willing to try.

Only, my 2 year-old son REFUSED to show him where the disposable diapers were kept.

"Yep, you made Papa look for them!"

A few hours later, I came home from Focus-R-Us with my two oldest (they were asked to give their opinions on the latest Christmas line, and oh boy did they, but that's another blog post, you're welcome!) to find my son pouting in the corner (come to find out later that he put himself there, not my dad) and my father was very, very proud of himself for having changed his very first diaper, EVER!

So, I then pulled my son aside, knelt down next to him and whispered into his ear.

"Why wouldn't you show your Papa where the diapers were?"

My blonde-haired, blue-eyed, precious little baby boy pulled the pacifier from his mouth, put his hands on his hips AND explained EXACTLY why.

"Beeeeeee-caws, dat's Mommy's job!"

Aaaaaand oh how my now teenage son and I laughed...and laughed...his sisters, though...ummmmm...not so much.

"In case you're wondering, it isn't!"

Although, my now 13 year-old is taking great delight in claiming, "Papa changed my poopy diaper, NOT yours!!!" from now on. You're welcome, Hope.

©2003 -2014 This Full House with a fan page on Facebook, a way for you to subscribe to receive This Full House blog post by Email and everything! 

© This Full House 2003-2017. All rights reserved.