Killing two bloggers with one stone

Like that would ever happen. I played first base so, consequently, I have no arm. I couldn't hit the broad side of a blogger if I tried.

Not that the bloggers I met this weekend had a broad side. I didn't notice any broad sides. I was too busy trying to talk myself out of saying really inappropriate things like, "Wow, you're hair is really shiny in person. Can I touch it? How about if I just sniff it?" to notice if they had a broad side.

As a matter of fact, I should just drop the whole broad side thing all together. This is exactly what I told myself I would not do when I decided to go off in search of real blogging women, outside of their computers - say stupid shit. I guess I just can't help myself.

To reiterate, there were no broad sides. But there was shiny hair. And, no, I didn't sniff it.

Anywhoo...

Part of my Mother's Day gift to me was to get the hell away from the computer and meet some of these amazing women in real life. So I headed off to the book store - yes, the book store - to meet Boston Mommy, Meredith O'Brien, one of the women writers that inspired me to start my own blog. Meredith recently wrote a book, did you know that? A funny one. A book about motherhood that takes off the gloves and laughs in the face of competi-mommies everywhere. And on Saturday she was at a local bookseller signing copies of A Suburban Mom: Notes from the Asylum - a book that I really must insist that you go and buy right now - and I had a chance to shake her hand and chat with her for a few minutes.

Do you know what? Not only was she gracious and funny but she was also stunningly good looking. Really. Gorgeous in that way that you just can't hate a woman for because she just seemed so genuinely nice. I hate to harp on another woman's physical attributes but it's hard when you're talking with someone and you keep thinking "She's got three kids and her skin looks great. How does she do that?"

It was a pleasure to meet Meredith, and I would have loved to have had more time with her, but her public was waiting and I had bogarted enough of her time already. So I went off to the coffee shop to wait for my next victim blog date with the lady of Cape Buffalo.

And I waited.

And I waited.

(hey, at least I had a good book to read)

And I waited.

When in she came, frantically apologizing, with her adorable daughter in tow. I couldn't fault her for being late because 1) I was sitting in a coffee shop, sipping iced coffee, and reading a book without a toddler trying to get my attention, 2) I'm the one that's usually late, and 3) She had just taken her 7 year old to get their nails done. Would you be ticked off at a mom who took her kid to get pedicures the day before Mother's Day? Didn't think so.

I knew I was going to like Kara as soon as she sat down. Those of you who know her will back me up when I say Kara is just one of those people you want to be friends with. I don't know what it was about her but she put me instantly at ease, which is no mean feat since I'm usually a bundle of nerves when I meet someone for the first time. But then she told me a story about losing one of her cats in my hometown years ago, when she lived no where near my hometown, so I figure we must be cosmically linked some way. Yeah, it's fate. I truly believed after hearing that story we were destined to be BFFs, have slumber parties, and braid each other's hair, but then, as she and her daughter were helping me pick out some books for Chicky, she took a call from a friend who, as luck would have it, is adopting a puppy very soon. And Kara told that friend that she didn't have to search for a dog trainer because she had (to paraphrase) the best dog trainer in the area to recommend to her.

That would be me for those of you playing at home.

I'm thinking of making her my agent. Or my pimp. She can sell me to whomever she wants as long as she keeps saying nice things like that.

I'm so easy.

So, that was just Saturday of my Mother's Day weekend. This doesn't even cover Sunday, a day that started with getting to sleep late, included a picnic and a gift, and finished with Coq au vin and a good bottle of Chianti (somewhere a French chef's head is exploding) prepared from scratch by my husband. The chicken, not the wine. If he could cook and make wine I'd keep him locked in my basement so no one could steal him. But if you had tasted his Coq au vin you might want to steal him anyway. It was to die for.

Come to think of it, I wonder what size shackles my husband would need?

Hope all you moms enjoyed your weekends!