Edgardo the bartender is something of a fox and I’m not ashamed to say that I think so. He’s also a VERY good listener and photographer. VERY.
So on Saturday night when I was in Seattle at Mamacon, I said to myself, SELF – you have nowhere to put a phone or any other crap in your gaudy prom dress with shoulder pads so you should leave it in your hotel room. Myself agreed. It’s quite lovely not to have ANYthing but a few bucks and a room key stuffed in your bra while dancing the night away with a couple hundred other lunatics in a hotel ballroom across the country from your home at the Mom Prom.
And anyway, I knew I wasn’t going to get any calls and there was a photographer at the prom AND I know damn well that so many other moms at the prom who would have to have their iPhones pried out of their cold, dead hands so why the hell would I need mine? Turned out I DID need it, but I’ll get to that in a sec.
And so………..me and my new friend Rebecca were speaking of all things deep and amazing while admiring Edgardo the bartender when we realized that our speech wasn’t slurred because of booze, but we were starting to sound and look like sloppy drunks who should have been cut off hours prior. It was time to go to sleep and I felt full of lame-awesomeness. I know. Confusing.
Lame, because HOW could I be so tired and want to curl up in a hotel bed (that I’m sure has been the scene of a few thousand dirty-cool sex acts), instead of continuing embrace the last bit of freedom I had here in Seattle for the Mamacon conference and keep getting my freak on with Becks the British Bombshell? It just didn’t seem right to turn in when I was wearing such a beautiful thrift store velour dress with shoulder pads, a hot pink tulle (tool, tule, tooole tuilele, however the h.e.l.l. that’s spelled) shawl, a tiara and an entire can of aerosol hairspray. How?
Because I was sofaking TIRED. I swear to weird that yesterday it was becoming more exhausting for me to be away from my kids than to be with them. Swear to weird. But also awesome because I was bumped up to the bar having the most FANTASTIC conversation with likely one of the most interesting and holy shit hilarious people I have met in years, yet I could not keep thoughts of my family out of my mind. This is not an exaggeration.Lame awesome, see? Oh and each time I had called home during my trip, it was as if hearing from me was as interesting to my kids as watching paint dry.
Me I miss you guys.
Them Ok. Bye.
Me I love you. What are you doing?
Them Ok. Bye.
After over eight years at home feeling isolated, missing my career and over mauled by all things kid, I was without parenting responsibilities, doing a professional thing and surrounded by group of brilliant women (fellow writers, professionals, mothers, and of course Edgardo the sexy bartender with mad listening skillz), just as I had dreamed of being for a good number of those eight years, yet I was yearning for the smell of my daughter’s neck, the sight of my husband and son’s big toes moving as they sat the recliner together watching television during our family movie nights and the sound of my dachshund yapping her fat, idiot head off in the backyard.
It actually wasn’t until I saw THIS fella (see photo) passed out in the hotel lounge when my uterus really started to ache like it had just pushed out a baby within the last five minutes
So I did what any asshole would do to a complete tool, drunk enough to pass out in public. I put my delicate rhinestone tiara and hot pink tulle on him and enlisted Edgardo the handsome bartender with a smart phone as my photographer. I should have brought my damn phone. And props. It was one of those times when I wished there were more props around because my head was spinning with ideas that were very “Weekend with Bernie,” and I suppose I could have dug some up had it not been for two things.
The first thing was the short circuiting of my brain. I got as far as the bad 80’s movie association just as my brain cells were spontaneously combusting within my skill cavity. I could feel it. The second thing was the smack in the face reality that the shit-faced bozo (who I thought was Mark Zuckerburg until I remembered that he was busy getting hitched) was somebody’s child. His Momma would not be happy to know that her son was drooling like Quasimodo and twitching like a sleeping puppy all passed out in a bar. Stupid mom instincts were kicking in all over the place, making me want to care for this ridiculous kid AND yearn for my own who were snuggled up in their beds approximately 2/3 of the way across the country from me. Sob.
But not sobby enough to resist having Edgardo email me the pic so that I could write about it. Also, Edgardo took care to make sure the young buckaroo was escorted safely to his room (however at the breakfast bar the next day, Edgardo told me that it took some doing to get Princess Piss Drunk up and about). I guess what I’m trying to say is that seeing that kid all foolish and fubar really hit home the reason I even went to the conference in the first place. Mamacon was created by two moms, Kim Estes and Amy Lang, who are also parent educators. They dreamed up the brilliant idea for a conference completely dedicated to the profession of mothering. It’s genius, really. A weekend all about being a mom, THE most important job in the whole fucking world – PERIOD.
All kinds of other professions have conferences chock full of education, networking, eating and funning, so why the hell not create one for moms and make it just as fantastic and supportive as the stuff out there for other people trying to learn more about their craft and excel at their jobs?
So they did and invited me to speak about something important to me and one in 88 other moms: Autism. I won’t lie, I also drank a bunch of cheap wine, listened to speakers, got a make-over, ate my face off and then ignored the granola environmentally conscious rules of Seattle by using a full can of aerosol hairspray on all two inches of my hair to make it look like it did when I was meeting up friends at the mall in 1987 to hear Tiffany sing, “I think we’re alone now.” But I so wasn’t alone. I was surrounded by a tremendous group of my kind of peeps, MOMS!
Just below I have provided links to all the things Mamacon. In my mind I keep hearing myself say the words, if you build it, they will come, and imagine that Amy and Kim heard the same words over and over as they were working on the conference. They built it and people came. They did. A shit ton of us did!
They conceived the idea, the grew it and nurtured it and took care to respect how precious it would be and then POW BANG BOOM they birthed it this past weekend in Seattle (Bellevue if you need to be specific). Much like childbirth, there was some blood, sweat and tears shed in order to enjoy the fruits of their labor, but they owned every bit of the responsibility for what they had conceived and the responsibility they had to make sure to be conscientious about how each decision would affect their creation. And now it’s alive.
Mamacon is ALIVE and it will grow. Trust me on this, I was there for the birth of something great, something you will want to be a part of, something just for us moms because we wanted it, needed it and dammit we deserve it. I had the time of my life and I can’t wait until next year………Mamacon 2013 in Chicago?
Bring it, Bitches.
Yep. It’s too late for this year, but Mamacon is coming to Chicago in 2013. I shall be there. Tell your son not to pass out at the bar in the hotel where I am staying because next year I’ll have props and a camera.
Amy Lang - Founder of Mamacon and Birds and Bees and Kids
Kim Estes – Founder of Mamacon and Savvy Parents – Safe Kids
Myla Rugge - Founder of Seattle Mom Prom (and quite frankly, a seriously babe)