[Nerdy] Boy Talk

Anders: Did you know that polar bears build igloos, dad?

Doty: Anders, I don't know where you heard that, but polar bears do not build igloos.

Anders: They do. I read it. They build them from ice.

Doty: No. Eskimos build igloos, but polar bears do not build igloos. They lack the dexterity and general know-how. 

Anders: Well, I don't know what you have been reading, but escalators are not alive.

Doty: No. Not escalators. Eskimos. But to be completely correct, I believe they prefer to be called Inuits. Inuits build igloos.

Anders: The word Inuit just broke my brain. 

Vaguely Threatening Fortune Cookies

I'm having one of those days where I am ruining all of the things!! Even the Chinese delivery guy agrees. 

I Know It's May, But Here's What I'm Getting for Christmas

A little over a month ago, while clawing my way through a busy terminal in JFK airport, my phone rang. I smiled when I saw that it was my baby sister calling. I was at the end of a weekend spent away on business, I was exhausted and homesick, and a little sister chat was exactly what I needed.

I picked up the phone, but before I managed to say hello she began.

"I have a question. What does it mean when you take a pregnancy test and there are two lines, but one line is darker than the other?" It was a tone of voice in which I'd never heard her speak. It was shock mixed with terror and just a dab of cautious excitement.

"It means that the person who took the test is pregnant. Is that person you?" I asked, my heart pounding.

"Well, yes, but I think the test is broken. Let me text you a picture of it. I definitely don't think this means I'm pregnant."

Seconds later a photo of a positive pregnancy test appeared on the screen of my phone and I spent the next hour sitting in a crowded airport convincing my sister, along with the help of the other two tests in the box of three she purchased which also showed two lines, that she was going to be someone's mother.

Despite my sister's years long vehement denial that she would ever have a baby, I knew that one day we would be having this conversation. I knew we'd someday share something beyond a childhood, that we'd have more in common than our mother's hands and a love for reality television.

One day we would both be mothers and we would raise our children alongside one another. I knew it despite the way she wrinkled her nose and recoiled in horror when I took her hand and placed it on my belly so that she could feel her nephew kick during my pregnancy.

She certainly was not enamored of the process, but once Anders arrived her cover was blown. My baby sister who was briefly the lead singer of a rock band, who claimed to only have eyes for high fashion and expensive coffee, practically radiated maternal instinct.

We talked that night until the flight attendant demanded I power my phone down to prepare for the flight's departure. We discussed the ways in which her body would change in the coming months and about life with a new baby. We debated when and how she would share this with the rest of our family. 

Her husband was working late and for that hour in time the news that she was going to be a mother was a secret shared between only the two of us. It reminded me of the way we laid in bed as little girls, quietly whispering in the darkness to one another, secrets between sisters.  

Today was Kala's first ultrasound, an appointment where she learned what it was to fall deeply in love with a flickering heartbeat on a monitor.

I can't wait to watch her grow into the mother I always knew she would be. 

My Life in Chaos

A week from Friday will be my last day on the job as a chemist. Well, at least as that chemist in that job. (Only fools say never, right?) It took a few days, but the time for the wringing of hands has passed and I'm confident that this move is the one I am meant to make.

It was perfect timing that one of my very favorite people, Sarah Bryden-Brown, asked me to share my story in her "My Life As A Blog" series, first, because writing it brought about priceless self-reflection and, second, because now is as good a time as any to let you in on the project I am crazy excited to be joining that has enabled me to make the final jump from part-time to full-time freelance writer and editor.

So, if you are interested in my journey from there to here or learning more about my upcoming mighty adventure head on over to Sarah's place and read on.

In the mean time, I owe you the rest of the story on my dramatic hospital stay (Spoiler alert! It involves a hipster virus.), a tale of what it's like to stand in the middle of Times Square in your swimsuit (Cold with a hint of "lady of the night"), and I have a fun announcement planned for this afternoon. 

No worries. I'm writing this all down...literally. And once I put these last two weeks in an office behind me, The "Daily" Doty will finally have the chance to live up to its name.

Team Meek

In any situation where one must interact with people, here is what makes or breaks the moment: a sense of belonging. Some people find this naturally. They slide in, they find space, or make room. It is easy. They speak with voices that don't quiver. Their handshakes are firm. They don't tug at the hem of their shirt or bite their lower lip.

The ones who do it best possess their own gravitational force. They stand in the center as the world around them rolls to the middle, their hem is tugged by others, their attention is something to be coveted.

I am not one of these people. In crowded rooms I find walls and cling to them, I listen attentively, but don't speak unless prompted. My lips are pursed, glued together by a fear that I might say the wrong thing, that one errant word could cost me my place at the table. 

When I am left off a list, picked last for a team or not at all, when a phone call or email goes unreturned, I lose my sense of belonging. My confidence is so intertwined with this desire to belong, when I am given reason to believe that I don't, I turn my back to the world. Because the only thing worse than the absence of a sense of belonging is allowing those around me to see that without the steadying hand of another I spiral. I lose my grip. I lose my identity. 

I don't know whether my place is in a laboratory or a corner office, if I should be typing away behind a computer screen or speaking into a microphone. I don't know if home is a small southern town or New York City, but I know where I want to belong most of all, where I want to feel comfortable, where I want to relax, feel confident, stand tall...

My own two shoes. 

Because if I'm not comfortable in those I certainly can't walk with head held high into a crowded room and take a seat at the table. 

The One Where I End Up in the Hospital

The day after I got back from Miami I felt weird. I'm not just talking about that uncomfortable feeling you get after spending five days on a tropical vacation away from your responsibilities, when you go to the bathroom for the first time at home and your three year old climbs onto your lap mid-business and manages to flush the toilet three times before you actually finish. 

No. I'm talking the chills and body aches kind of weird. By Tuesday afternoon my eyes were swollen, my head was thumping, my heart was pounding and my mom had called five times to ask if I had seen a doctor yet. 

Here's what you must know. I am notorious in my family for what I call the "drink a glass of water" therapy. It's simple really. No matter what is ailing you, it can be cured by drinking water. Common cold? Drink water. Headache? Drink water. Snake bite, gout, too much tequila? Drink water. It is infallible.

Unfortunately, I hadn't been drinking any water at all that day. I spent most of Tuesday lying in bed alternating between shivering and sweating and cursing the guy on the plane beside me on Sunday who spent the entire flight in slumber mouth-breathing on me. 

Around 3PM I stumbled into the kitchen and took my temperature. 

103.1

Unless my thermometer was picking up radio stations (I checked. It wasn't.) it seemed I would be forced to see a doctor. I hate when my mother is right. Once there, I was ushered back immediately where a blood pressure and heart rate check (170 beats per minute) saw me hooked up to an EKG. 

"How'd you like to spend a couple of nights in the hospital?" My doctor asked, peering over the paper strip of my EKG. Only, his tone was more "How would you like to have some vanilla ice cream with that apple pie?" 

"Um. No thank you? Can you tell me where the nearest water fountain is?"

I didn't escape the hospital stay but I managed to barter my way out of an ambulance ride since my mom had already made her way to the office in hysterics. 

On the way to the hospital my mom asked lots of annoying questions like "Do you have your insurance card?" (No) and "Do you have any identification?" (No) and "Is your cell phone charged at least?" (No) and "How can you call yourself a grown woman, Amber?" (As a general rule, I don't unless the teenage cashier at the grocery store cards me for wine when I've, as usual, forgotten my ID.)

Finally, we arrived at the hospital where I was admitted, issued a backless gown that did nothing for my figure, and my veins immediately became the hottest place to be for every fresh-out-of-school phlebotomist with a shaky hand and poor eyesight. 

More tomorrow.

Turn and Face the Strange

Here's something exciting: I put my two week notice in at my job. I can't believe I typed that and that it is true or even that I sat in an office across from my boss and uttered the words "I'm going to have to stop you right there because I need to resign" like I was the white girl version of Kanye West. 

But it is true. It did happen. I am taking a chance on myself and all it took was a life-threatening illness and a three night stay in the hospital to make me decide I was worth it. 

That whole hospital bit is a story you must hear and I must tell and I'm going to get to it soon, but first I have to go on an adventure with Brittany to take part in this in New York City. Because what better way to kick off chasing your dreams than to stand in the middle of Times Square in your bathing suit?

If you want to follow along I'll be documenting the whole crazy journey on Instagram and Twitter over the next few days. 

Mom 2.0 in (Slightly Crappy) Photos

I'm about to do two really obnoxious things. I'm going to post tons of pictures of my trip to an exotic locale and a photo of me taken via my phone inside of a bathroom. I am not, however, making the duck face in the photo and since I've snapped it in a hotel bathroom there is not a pile of dirty clothes in the background so I've committed only 1 of 3 photographic sins. 

I spent last week at the Ritz-Carlton in Key Biscayne, Florida for the Mom 2.0 Summit. In what is probably the best decision I've made in months, Heather and I arrived a day early to decompress before things got under way. 

It was glorious. 

The hotel was so wonderfully luxurious, beautiful, gracious, and accommodating I almost forgot that the beer in my hand cost $10.

(These guys were everywhere. Apparently, they are like the squirrels of Key Biscayne.)

If you are a blogger and are trying to decide which conference will give you the most bang for your buck, I cannot recommend this one enough. It was magic. Laura Mayes is a born event planner. Probably because when you meet her she has the best energy. You can't say no to her and you want to work with her. 

Taken at a party at the Versace Mansion. Yes. I'm serious.

Behold! The offending photo. This shift dress is now my favorite thing that I own and surprise! It's white. A color I'm normally terrified to wear, but was forced to try due to the fact that one of the parties was, true to Miami Beach tradition, a white party. I feel like a million bucks in it and every woman deserves to feel that way. Right?

My favorite take away from the conference? Advice given by Karen Walrond during her panel. 

"Find what lights you up." Simple and brilliant.

Also, this presentation by one of the most wonderful, friendly, and compassionate people I met at the conference, Helen Jane, was pure awesome. Just check out those slides. Girlfriend has got skills.

There is no way I would have had the experience that I did, though, without my roommate, Heather. Anxiety disorder is a monster I'm still taming and having her introduce me around helped me resist the urge to hide in the room all week.

You guys, she is one of the most truly good, big-hearted, and genuine people I have met in a long time. 

And I think that's all the gushing I'm allowed to do in a blog post that already contains a camera cell phone self-portait taken inside of a bathroom. So, I'll wrap this one up right about here.

So, A Blogger Walks Into A Plane

Do you ever have those days at work where you do nothing but online shop for a sled even though it's July because holy shit! those are probably so cheap right now or stare into space contemplating something really important, like who should play Christian in the 50 Shades of Grey movie, for hours on end? Maybe it's Monday and you're tired because you stayed up until 3AM watching "Downton Abbey" on Netflix while eating all the marshmallows out of your kid's cereal or maybe your boss is just a dick and you open your email to find that guy Harry in accounting has gone on a reply all bender and the sight of your inbox makes you feel justified in taking a mental vacation so you decide to half ass everything that crosses your desk until 5PM.

I've totally never had a day like that and it's definitely not because I suspect my boss reads this blog, but every time I board a plane I assume that this is the kind of day at work that my pilot is having. That's why when they greet me when I board the first thing I do is try to trip into them accidentally and smell their person for alcohol or sometimes I just throw out a casual question like "Hi! So glad to be on your flight today. Can you tell me where the bathroom is and also the square root of pi?" I feel like if you're going to fly a plane 37 thousand feet into the air with hundreds of people on it you should be, well, omnipotent. 

Even after two years of college physics, I remain unconvinced that planes don't stay in the air by magic. 

When I boarded the plane I'm sitting on right now the pilot met me at the door. It went something like this:

"Welcome aboard. Don't look so tortured, ma'am."

"Sorry. It's just I'm pretty sure I'm about to die and also you guys made me check my well-within-regulation-size bag. "

"Well, good luck and we'll be sure to lose that luggage for you."

I shit you not, you guys, he wished me luck on staying alive and told me he planned on losing the bag that contains all my most treasured possessions like my 10-year-old yoga pants with the hole in the crotch and all of my xanax. 

I've got a thing about booking flights too. Once I get my flight number I have to say it over and over out loud. If I decide I don't recognize it I'll poll my husband and then my friends, co-workers, and strangers I run into on the street. 

"Can you tell me how to get to Lee Street? I'm a little lost. Also, have you ever heard of American Airlines Flight 1004? No? Good. Thanks."

Why? Well, because I assume someone I meet or am acquainted with has to be ever-so-gently psychic whether they know it or not and might have a feeling or premonition about my imminent crash if they hear the number. 

THIS IS ALL SCIENCE. DON'T QUESTION IT. 

I've been doing a lot of flying lately. This is my sixth flight this year and, to my disappointment, this is  not a fear that has diminished in any way. It's not something I'm going to eventually get used to and come to accept as part of my reality like going to the bathroom with two children and the dog in attendance or Nicki Minaj. 

I am, however, excited about the things I have in the works that have necessitated all of this traveling and I can share them with you so soon. 

Life is a mighty adventure, friends.