Last night after five attempts to cajole Daughter to go to sleep and before walking on the treadmill during 24, I launched this newly designed site for my blog. Let me say this: I love writing and I hate tweaking blogging software.
I hired some experts to help me. Thank you Tia Phillips of Teeyah Creative and Imagemark for the beautiful header design. No, that isn’t me or Daughter. Yes, Daughter’s blonde. No, I don’t wear jeans nearly that snug - comfort is a key criteria for me. Especially, while I’m sitting cross legged during storytime or squatting to wipe a snotty nose.
But, I wanted an image that makes mommies feel good when they visit my site. Sort of like a a brief moment of “oh, yes, there are beautiful, carefree moments amidst all the daily challenges to my sanity!”
And thanks to Frank at Our Gig, who moved all my posts, launched four templates before I settled on one I liked, and listened to my crazy kids in the background while I tried to understand why Search wasn’t appearing at the top of the page.
Excerpt from one of our phone calls (at 5 pm):
Frank: Is this a good time to talk?
Me: Uh, sure. Daughter is pulling on my leg. Son is screaming that I didn’t perfectly align his shoes when I put them back in his room.
Ssshhhhhh! I’m on the phone! I say to the kids, turning my mouth from the phone so Frank won’t think a mommy blogger would actually scream at her kids. Daughter pulls me into the bathroom.
Frank: Are you at your computer?
Me: Just a sec. Daughter pulls down her pants to reveal an…. ooops. I flush it down. Wipe her somehow while cradling the phone and not hanging up on Frank.
Frank: You just need to to make sure to save changes after you install the widget.
Me, murmuring: You don’t even want to know what I’m doing right now.
Finish cleaning up daughter, give her some apple juice. Go to computer.
Me: Okay, now I see. Wait, where did the widget go?
Frank: What did you do? You broke it!
Me: What? How could I break it? Daughter comes to door, screaming. I tell her I need a minute. Daughter pours her apple juice on the floor. I grab her, march her upstairs and plop her in her crib.
Frank: Are you at your computer? What, does Daughter’s bloody murder screaming give me away?
Me: Just a sec.
Frank: Why don’t you take care of things there and I’ll take a look at this and we’ll talk in a little bit.
Me: Okay. I hang up, mortified. This nice man down in Miami Beach must think I’m:
1. A terrible mother
2. Totally unqualified to write a mommy blog, of all things
3. The highest maintenance time-suck client he’s ever worked with
I check on Son, who gives me an angry scowl. But… the house is quiet. Daughter is reading a book in her crib. We’re all at peace once again.
And someday I’ll blog about all this.
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