Asking someone to vote for me goes against almost everything I believe in this online world. They have these popularity contests all the time online—vote for “The most amazing blogger!” or “The funniest blogger to write about dirty diapers!” or, you know, “The coolest person who wishes she never had to wear pants!” Truthfully, I’m not usually nominated for these things—probably because they know that I don’t ask people to vote for me. You think I’m awesome? You’re a very, very wise person. You don’t think I’m awesome? That’s cool too. What usually ends up happening with these contests is that the BEST in the category usually doesn’t win and then I look at the winner and I’m all head-scratchy and it’s all very Anne Veal-like HER?
So, I’m uncomfortable doing it, generally. But right now, I’m a part of something. Something BIG. Something that’s so much more important that witty writing about baby crap. Something that made me drop everything and say yes, YES! I want to be a part of this. I want to help spread the word about what Right To Play is doing in West Africa because it’s really, truly incredible. I wrote about it here. And here. And yes! I’d love to be the one of the six parent ambassadors who wins the trip out to the field in Africa, because I can hardly think of a better opportunity. But what it means is asking people to vote for me. It’s really hard for me. It would be way easier to just write about Right To Play. It would be way easier to be able to support all of the other good projects and the other awesome parent ambassadors. But, alas.
It’s a funny thing, this voting thing; this one little click of a button. Click here! Find WE HELP CHILDREN LEAD. Click the red vote now. Someone, somewhere should do some sort of psychological study on it. On the hows and whys. It has been a fascinating thing to watch. It has been both ego boosting and ego shattering, sometimes all in the same minute.
I would never survive the social game on Survivor. Never.
So, all of this is to say—if you have voted for me and are continuing to vote for me, it has not gone unnoticed and I will never be able to thank you enough. I would so love the chance to go to Africa—but it’s really, truly rewarding enough to just be a part of this. It’s true what they say, it’s an honor just to be nominated and, I guess, there are no pesky malaria shots to have to worry about.
PS. It would be worth the malaria shots, by the by.
Yesterday, I took a break to do my 110 squats. Oh yes, I’m doing these almost daily now. It’s kind of incredible, actually, that my body is able to do these. Some mornings-after, I regret said squats, since toilet-sitting has become somewhat of a challenge, but mostly I don’t regret them, and I’m actually proud of myself for pushing my body to do something that just a few months ago could not be done. See also: push ups. Anyway, I did my squats. And then I got into the shower. And then I heard the phone ring.
I actually have this sickness. It’s called, “WHY IS THE PHONE ALWAYS RINGING WHEN I’M IN THE SHOWER?” The truth is, the ringing phone? It’s a phantom ringing. I hear phones ringing (and sometimes the doorbell too) except that they aren’t ringing at all. I also sometimes hear babies crying, even though I don’t even have any babies anymore. I’m a little bit of a crazy person—I’m sorry you are finding out this way.
But yesterday! It really rang! I jumped out of the shower, half clean to answer, thinking to myself, if this is the goddamn Boris the mover I’m going to give him a piece of my mind.
“HELLO. This is your child’s school. Isabella fell off the monkey bars and has a possible concussion. Please come and get her right now.”
Braless and soaking wet, I showed up at school.
“Mama. Are you wearing Emily’s pants?”
So, I grabbed my possibly concussed 2nd grader and brought her home for Concussion Watch 2012. She was tired and cranky and tired and just wanted to go to sleep so I did everything in my power to get her to just not fall asleep (there may have been some candy involved—don’t judge). She didn’t sleep (hooray!) and by the late afternoon, the fact that she was bored and whiney made me think that perhaps she was on the mend, even though the doctor recommended no extreme physical activity for a few days. (No squats for her! Or, you know, mountain climbing.) So, I decided that it was probably okay for me to attend the two events I had last night—The sneak preview of the new LOFT at Yorkdale and the American Express screening of Breaking Dawn, part 2. Okay for me to go, not okay for the husband to go. So, I dragged Emily to LOFT and forced her to watch me try things on in the small dressing room. “Mama, can you aim your nudey bum in the opposite direction?”
“What do you mean…I have been doing 110 squats! My nudey bum should be awesome right now!”
“Ahem. I should probably tweet that.”
“You probably shouldn’t.”
She was a sport, no doubt.
So then, this happened. She had no idea it was coming.
“So, Miss Emily, if you could pick the one thing you’d like to do tonight, what would it be?”
“GET AN IPHONE?”
“Pick something else. Something with more popcorn.”
“OMG OMG OMG OMGOMGOMGOMG! BREAKING DAWN! VIVA LA JACOB! THIS IS THE BEST DAY EVER!”
Needless to say, she was pretty happy with this surprise. I couldn’t even get a decent photo of her, due to the copious amount of jumping.
She smiled, laughed, gasped, and cried her way through the movie.
(I might have done the same.)
“Thanks, Mama. I so appreciate you taking me tonight. I’m so lucky to have you as my mama.”
“You should probably tweet THAT.”