Cray Cray Crazy Beautiful & Busy Life

Oh my goodness. Today I ran around like a one-armed wallpaper hanger on crack and speed. Or are crack and speed the same things? I don’t know, I’ve never been very fluent in drug-lingo, having never partaken of things like crack or speed, and also I’m not a cop and I’ve never appeared on an episode of Miami Vice.

Regardless, today was crazy busy.

It was my first day back at The Stir. I wrote about silly school districts unintentionally giving kids heat strokes, and also Miley Cyrus’s VMA debacle. You know, because that hasn’t been talked about enough. Can people please stop talking about Miley? Oh, I should take my own advice? Hmmm … well then let’s just say I wrote some social commentary about teen culture in America.

Also in there somewhere, I carted the kiddos to school, which is now a 30-minute commute, saw my therapist and went through the usual emotional meat grinder and came out a lovely sausage at the other end (or something), picked up my brand new kindergartener at the ‘transitional’ 1 pm pick-up time, ran home for an hour to relieve Furbaby and cuddle with said kindergartener, ran back to school to pick up the fifth grader, and ghostwrote a couple of fundraising emails for my other job. Also laundry, dishes, breakfast, lunch, dinner, homework, and bedtime stories.

I’s is a leetle bit tired. And I can’t wait until next week when I can pick both kids up at 3 instead of this skewed pickup time nonsense. But only one more day of that for me, because Leif is in charge of them from tomorrow evening until Sunday! Holla! Don’t get me wrong, I miss them like nutso when they’re gone, but I’m glad they love their daddy, and honestly, it gives me a few days to play catch up. I might even put that pile of clean laundry away! Hahahahahaha — I almost believed myself there for a moment.

So many people have asked me over the past several months … how are you going to live? It’s been asked in various contexts (emotionally, financially, sanely, etc.), but the answer to them all is one day at a time. At least for right now.

It’s odd and strangely freeing to not know exactly where I’m going to be a year from now. I’ve always been the girl with The Plan. The Plan has changed every now and then, because hey, life requires adaptation, but right now there is No Plan other than love my girls like crazy, work hard enough to pay the bills, and rely totally and fully on God.

I’m sure His Plan is better than My Plan anyway.

Here’s to a good night’s sleep. Goodnight and God bless!

Back to Political Commentary? Sure, Why Not?

Months and months ago, when I was going through the emotional throes of holy crap I think my marriage is over and what the eff am I supposed to do about that, a friend said to me, “Can you please make a decision so you can get back to snarky political commentary? In case you hadn’t noticed, there’s quite a bit going on.”

Whatever. The president said they were all phony scandals, so he must be right or I’m a racist. Pfffttt.

Last fall when I was on the Romney campaign, we weren’t really allowed to tweet. Well, we could but we couldn’t. Sometimes except certain times. Only if it was a good tweet, but not too good. Never on Tuesdays or after dark. Unless there was a debate. In other words, the tweeting policy was clear as mud.

Because nothing says Voter Engagement like reclusiveness.

I finally gave up trying after I was chastised for tweeting, “Lady smarts > lady parts.” Yes, I cried, because I’m a TOTAL PROFESSIONAL. Seriously though, if I couldn’t win with that tweet, then the whole thing just seemed hopeless. I should’ve known right then that we were going to lose.

Anyway, I was talking to Justin, one of my favorite friends in the Boston trenches with me about it, and said that once the campaign was over I wanted to go back to commentary. “I think my first tweet after the campaign shall be, ‘I’m back, bitches.’”

Then he blushed because he’s LDS and doesn’t say the B-word.

Er, um … neither do I. Except sometimes.

Obviously, my cussing policy is very similar to the Romney tweeting policy, which can basically be summed up as: Don’t get caught by the wrong people. Sorry if you’re reading this, Dad.

Of course, it’s been nine months since the campaign ended (nine months!!!), which is not only the correct amount of time to grow a human, but also apparently just about right for getting over a spectacular political loss. Not to mention a bunch of personal crap.

Since then I’ve been plodding along, keeping up with some news, doing some behind-the-scenes freelance writing for some candidates, and doing other very important things like learning how to curl my hair. Yes, I was 30 before I learned how to properly work a curling iron. Stop judging me. Judgey people are only allowed to visit between 2-4 pm on the sixth of never.

Anyway.

A couple of weeks ago I got a message from the lovely Christine, who knew me from being on with Chip and LaDonna once upon a time for the whole Victoria’s Secret hullabaloo. She’s now producing for Rick Amato’s new Internet TV show, and would I like to come on?

Rick and I go way back, like three years or longer! I’ve been on his radio show a handful of times, and we’ve spoken at some of the same Tea Party events.

Would I like to do a media appearance to comment on some current events from a conservative mommy blogger’s perspective? Um, yes.

All that to say … I’m back, bitches.

(Sorry Dad.)

So I was on a panel yesterday, Token Female Style, to discuss expatriates and gender-bender issues. I’ll post a clip when they get it archived.

Thoughts on Record Expatriatism

There’s this new law that’s killing Swiss bank accounts, because the U.S. is now demanding that all financial institutions report on American citizens’ bank activity — anywhere in the world. You know, so they can be sure to squeeze every last drop of blood out of people’s wallets in the name of taxes.

So people living and working abroad are denouncing their American citizenship in record numbers. The tax rate is capped in Hong Kong at 15 percent.

And liberals scratch their heads at this phenomenon, because paying taxes is supposed to be patriotic.

Meanwhile in California

Jerry Brown signed a law that says all students in public school grade K-12 get to pick their own gender. No really. It’s supposed to combat bullying, because if a little boy wears pigtails and a skirt, the bullying will supposedly stop if he’s allowed to use the girls’ bathroom.

*Insert eye roll here*

Actually, I don’t really care. I don’t have an opinion on raising little Johnny as little Joannie. You don’t tell me how to raise my kids, and I won’t tell you how to raise yours. Just keep ‘em healthy, happy, and reasonably under control in public please.

I think the real issue is going to come into play when Johnny/Joannie is 17 and wants to play basketball on the girls’ team. Boys are naturally better athletes than us women-folk, stuffed bra and close shave aside.

We were also going to talk about Bob Filner, but ran out of time. So I’ll just say he’s an ass. And I voted for Carl DeMaio.

Also I think it’s funny Hooters won’t serve him because he’s too big a boob even for them.

Sometimes the headlines write themselves.

Blueberry Farming

blueberry group shotRemember I had that list of things to do before I turned 30? Well late is better than never, right?

Besides, if ever there was an excuse for putting something off temporarily, the total implosion of a marriage might be it. That or death. Or just plain laziness. But it was definitely the marriage thing in this case.

So here I am, a day late, but not a dollar short (metaphorically at least — this chica is on a budget), and I’m back to trying to do some of the things on my list because gosh darn it — life is for living.

C running through blueberriesVisit a ‘You Pick’ orchard and pick too much fruit

Last week, one of my BFF’s Nancy and I packed up all six of our kids and visited a blueberry farm. That’s two car seats, two boosters, half a bottle of sunblock, 12 shoes that are bugging at least seven feet, and that’s only because the other five have been kicked off at some point. Oh, and two mamas with cameras. And cameras I mean iPhones. Because it’s 2013.

So we got the place and sauntered shambled in to find out how the process worked. Each kid was given a small bucket. Each bucket had a capacity of two pints. Each pint cost $5. Six kids, six buckets, sixty dollars.

YOU MAY ONLY FILL YOUR BUCKETS LESS THAN HALFWAY!

We screamed that at them as they tore off down the rows of blueberry bushes.

We needn’t have worried.

blueberry spoilsI’m going to go ahead and guess that blueberries are friggin expensive because they’re so dang hard to collect. After 10 minutes or so, the kids all had at least three blueberries each.

Eventually we ended up with four pints of blueberries altogether, which may or may not have been too many, but when you think about it … who can have too many blueberries?

And if you do, you put them in the freezer and make pie out of them in December.

P.S. The kids pretended they were ninja power ranger super spy blueberry farmers. They had a blast.

P.P.S. The majority of them declared afterward that they hate blueberries and how dare we suggest they eat them.

This Is Not a Post About Church — It’s About Target.

So hi.

I had this big long post all typed up for y’all about the church drama aftermath, but I forgot to save it.

Just kidding. Jesus saves my soul, and I save all my writing just about every other sentence. The truth is that it’s long and messy and super sad and I’m trying really hard to have a positive attitude and not get trapped in the quagmire of crap surrounding this particular situation.

There’s more to life than that. Which is why I use words like quagmire — because that’s seriously a great word.

So I’ll tell you that Leif, to his credit, has decided to take the girls to church elsewhere on his Sundays.

And that’s all I have to say about that, because a dead horse is not worth beating.

Now onto more interesting things — like shopping at Target.

You may or may not have heard, but I’m a single mom now. And single moms aren’t exactly rolling in dough. Also, I’m the one that moved out, and I took very little with me. So now I have this mostly empty house that needs some stuff.

The girls took care of the lack of a dining table by turning the dining room into a campground. Done. And they have beds, I bought a couple cheap couches, and there are stools at the kitchen counter. We’re making do, and honestly, I’m enjoying the minimalist lifestyle for a bit. Cleaning is much easier this way.

But I really wanted some backyard furniture. The girly girls have been loving having a yard after years of condo-living, plus I’m one of those I-love-nature girls, so I’ve been wanting a place to park my rear that wasn’t the retaining wall or the plastic child-sized picnic table my parents let us nick from their house.

Enter Target. I took the girls to get some sunscreen, a kiddie pool, and a box-o-wine, and looked up to see this:

Target girls on chairs

 

And then I saw this:

Target chair price tag

Which led to this:

Target cart

But then on the way to the register, I saw these!

Target stools

And this:

Target stool tag

And so with one hand pushing the loaded cart, the other carrying one stool, Thing 1 diligently carrying the other, and Thing 2 dancing along backward behind us, we made our way to the register.

The lady took one look at us and asked, “Would you like some help out today?”

Yes. Yes I would, thank you.

Then this happened:

Target trunk

And that, my friends, is Target done like a boss.

When Life Hands You Lemons, Grab the Remote

I’ve been living without a man around the house for just over a month now, and there are definitely some things I’ve had to get over. Spiders, for instance. I’ve had to kill numerous spiders all by myself. I tried to make the girls do it, but they were too busy screaming bloody murder at the eight-legged freaks to obey me. We’re going to have to work on that. Or something.

Then there was the time Godzilla snuck in my front door. WHAT DO YOU DO WITH A FOOT-LONG LIZARD IN YOUR LIVING ROOM? Trap it under a box, that’s what. Out into the garden he went — I spared his life on the promise that he’d eat any spiders before they wandered into the house. He has not been keeping his end of the bargain. Moral of the story? Never trust a lizard.

I’ve had to do all my own dishes. Leif used to do that. (Credit where credit is due.) Also, I don’t have a working dishwasher at the moment, so it’s all by hand. Ugh.

Money. Is. Tight.

So far, a toilet hasn’t clogged yet, but I know it will eventually (hello, I have kids!), and then it will be my responsibility to fix it. *Skipping off to knock on wood*

But there are some pretty neat things too. Since I’m a silver linings kinda girl, I’m taking great joy in the little things. Things like catching up on Nashville. Once the kiddos go to bed, my time is my own — yay! I started watching Nashville in Boston, and just got caught up on the season. Oh my gosh, I thought my life was full of drama! Such a good show, and highly recommended.

Routine and schedule. The girls and I have gotten into a groove already. It turns out that predictability is awesome. Who knew?

Sleeeeeeeeeep. Sweet sweet sleep. No snoring, no sleeping on the couch. Just sleeping in my own bed. All night long. Ok, I still get up to use the ladies room at least once, but then I go right back to bed and fall asleep again.

Time to recharge. When Leif has the girls, it’s completely guilt-free time to myself. I know they want to see him and vice versa, and that they’re with someone that loves them (almost) as much as I do (they lived in me — trump card!). Of course I miss them, but I’m glad that they have a relationship with their dad. Every girl needs a daddy.

Did I mention total control of the remote? So what if my cable is so basic I only get 10 channels? That’s what Hulu is for.

Yeah, life is going to throw you challenges, but it’s how you cope with them that matters. Life is messy and complicated, and it’s too short to live negatively. So when your marriage falls apart (or whatever is getting you down), find the very cool, maybe somewhat selfish things to do that make you happy. Do the things you couldn’t really do before. Spend time getting to know yourself again. You might even like who you find.

Now. Has anyone seen my remote? It’s around here somewhere, and I have some very important flippant channel Hulu surfing to do.

The Things People Say

“Jenny, I only have one comment on your blog posts this week.”

“Yes?” Here it comes. The Judgment. Whatever, I’ve been so judged throughout my life and especially recently that it barely registers anymore. I’m a conservative woman that works in politics and now I’m a Christian wife separated from her husband — I’ve dealt with more than my fair share of Judgey McJudgersons.

“You didn’t slam him. Good job, Mama, I know that must have been very hard, but your kids will reap the benefits.”

THANK YOU!!! Yes, that’s the kind of encouragement and support that’s appreciated right now — as opposed to the accusations (both veiled and bald-faced) that I’ve been getting about what went wrong in my marriage and/or how I’m acting wrongly now. Because yeah, that’s happening.

There are no less than 8,497 reasons I filed for divorce and moved out with the kids. Like I said, there was no one big event that led to this … it was a slow erosion. Death by a thousand cuts, if you will. It would be easy and momentarily satisfying to air our dirty laundry and garner some sympathy, but I’m thinking long game right now.

The long game is that we have children and I have a conscious. Leif is their father and their hero, and there’s no reason for them to feel otherwise about their daddy. Being a loving dad was never an issue.

Side note: I just went back to first blog on this to get the link above, and I made the mistake of reading the comments. What was I saying about Judgey McJudgersons again? Just … wow.

Anyway. Leif is a good dad, we have amazing kids together, and I hope and pray that at some point we can be on the same page.

Now. To the people that seem to be under the mistaken impression that I’m a selfish, selfish girl … I roll my eyes in your general direction. Here are some of the comments I’ve gotten and how I would like to respond.

Marriage isn’t a joyride — it requires a lot of hard work. Tell me about it! It requires extra hard work when one person thinks everything is just fine and the other is miserable. You can only drag the horse to the water so many times and watch it not drink before you throw your hands in the air and walk away. Sometimes it’s not about giving up; it’s about letting go.

You’re hurting my feelings by blogging about your separation. Wow, I’m so sorry that talking about this instead of shutting up about it is hurting *your* feelings. I’m also sorry someone tied you to a chair, propped your eyelids open, and forced you to read my blog. If I were to force someone to read something it would probably be Steinbeck or Fitzgerald, but to each their own.

It’s not fair to Leif to be blogging about this. Look. I’m a blogger. Before I was a blogger, I was a sharer. I’ve been telling stories about my life to anyone that would listen for as long as I can remember. Leif has often told me that the first time he really noticed me was when I was 17 and speaking to our entire church congregation about a mission trip to Mexico I’d just gotten back from.

Talking about my life and experiences is who I am. He knew it when he married me and he shouldn’t be surprised by it now.

Jenny, you need to humble yourself to God’s will. Seriously? No, really … SERIOUSLY?? Please tell me again how you know more about God’s will for my life than I do … Was it your tarot cards or your crystal ball? Because you sure as heck don’t know what happened in my marriage, let alone what’s happened in my heart and brain.

I love you but … I’ve been hearing an awful lot of I love you buts recently. No. You either love me or you don’t. Just because you preface something diminishing with an I love you doesn’t make it ok. Love does not boast, even about itself.

He wants to change. Into what? A pumpkin? If he wants to change, he’ll do it. I hope he does some self-reflection. Everyone needs that.

God hates divorce. Yes he does. But sometimes He allows it. When did getting divorced become the biggest sin outside of murder? I missed the part in the bible that says God cares more about marriage than His people.

This is a sad situation. I know there are lots of people upset that I’m being vocal about it, but for every one of those there are ten people offering encouragement. And I’ll take 10-to-1 odds any day.

Divorce & Piety

Before I begin ranting, I would like to take a few sentences to thank every single person that has reached out to me in love after yesterday’s bombshell. I hold you all near and dear to my heart, and appreciate you more than you’ll ever know. My most appreciative thanks to every woman that recognized herself in my words and took a moment to tell me that what I wrote mattered to her … I can’t even express my love and compassion for you right now.

Now. To those that would condemn me for this. I have something to say to y’all.

One of the hardest things for me to face when deciding whether or not to leave my husband was the censure from other Christians that I knew I’d be exposed to. In the secular culture, divorce is sad and all, but more or less accepted. In my world, it just isn’t an option. Especially when it’s between two believers that haven’t had affairs.

I used to be full of righteous judgment for Christians whose marriages fell apart. I believed they weren’t faithful enough to God, had lousy communication skills, and/or generally put their own selfish desires above God’s commands. As little as a year and a half ago, a dear friend told me he and his wife were splitting, and my response was an immediate, “You can’t DO that!”

To this friend, and to every other person I have judged without knowledge of what lay in their hearts or where they stood with God — I’m sorry.

I’m sorry I assumed you were giving up … now I know you were moving on.

I’m sorry I thought you should try harder … now I know you tried everything but selling your soul.

I’m sorry I thought you were putting yourself ahead of your kids … now I know that your children were never, ever an afterthought in your decision.

I’m sorry I thought you were stumbling in your walk with God … you might have been, but that wasn’t for me to judge.

I’m sorry I thought I was better than you … I am the same as you.

To every person that has insinuated or even flat-out accused me of sinning by separating from my husband after years of prayer, reflection, denial, realizations, more prayer, begging, and even more prayer — please un-bunch your pious panties and go read Matthew chapter 7. There’s something in there about a log and speck you might find particularly interesting.

I needed a time-out for my marriage — possibly a permanent one. But every person that tells me I’m going against God’s will by separating from my husband drives me further away from wanting to reconcile with him.

Details aren’t needed. Leif is the father of my amazing children, and I want nothing more than to be his friend again someday, regardless of what happens in our marriage. But things have been very broken between us for a very long time, and it took every ounce of courage I had to take the step that went against everything my religious culture told me but somehow I knew God was telling me was right.

To be told that this beautiful, wonderful thing I have learned exists in my soul, this thing that gives me the strength to flip my life over when nothing else has worked, this thing that has made me braver than I thought possible, and made me rely on God more than I ever have in my entire life … to be told that this is a perversion of His plan for me? Well, it would suck, but things have been so full of suckage the past few years that all I can really do is roll my eyes.

Now I understand all the eye rolls I once got. I hope that you never do.

10 Years, 9 Months, 12 Days, and 2 Kids Later …

I filed for divorce.

So there’s that.

This decision was arrived at neither casually nor mutually. While Leif would be quite content to stay married forever, I am not, for reasons I do not feel the need to discuss at this time.

I know the question you want answered: What happened? Sorry to disappoint you, but nothing happened. We could blame the fact that we got married too young or too fast, or had kids too soon, or worked too many long hours, but the fact of the matter is that lots of relationships include those variables and turn out just fine in the end.

There is no one moment in time a person can pinpoint and say, “Aha! That’s when it all started to fall apart!” You don’t just wake up one day and say to yourself, “You know, I think I’ll file for divorce today. For kicks and giggles.”

Divorce is tragic. It rips families apart. It leaves emotional scar tissue in its wake. God hates it. It is never to be taken lightly. It is an option of last resort. Well, except for murder, but that’s illegal and I hate blood, and oh yeah, it’s evil and I hope I never hate anyone enough to even entertain that idea.

I know there are questions, so I’ve done my best to preemptively answer some of them below. Because I’m a blogger and I like to share.

FAQ

Q: How can this happen when you guys seemed so happy?

A: Once upon a time we were happy. Not every couple’s story ends with a “happily ever after.” Once you start to realize you aren’t happy, there’s a very long period of time spent in denial. I am happy, dammit! Things are just rocky right now, slowly transforms into, ok, I’m a wee bit miserable, but I’ll be happy again soon.

This doesn’t happen over weeks or months, but years. Then you start to question your sanity, because there are some good times sprinkled here or there that glimmer of hope that things are changing and the heat wave will break and beautiful flowers will bloom on the morrow.

If you’re a blogger, you share the good times and only occasionally the bad, and you hold fast to the belief that things will get better. Behind the scenes, you hope and you pray and you beg and you try everything to make it work. You yell and you cry and you apologize and try to ignore the fact that there’s been no real resolution.

You remember how happy you were to walk down the aisle and say, “I do,” and promise your heart to another. You hold onto those memories with a vice-like grip. You look at your children, little human beings that you made together, and think things can’t be so bad, because look at this amazing goodness that came from your union. It will get better, right?

In other words, denial is a powerful thing, and not everything is as it seems.

Q: What about the girls?

A: They are bright and wonderful children who are very loved by two devoted parents. With some counseling and time to grieve and adjust, they will be just fine.

Q: How can you call yourself a Christian?

A: If you call yourself a Christian, you have no business asking that, you hypocrite. If you don’t, then the only answer I have is that I believe in the saving grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, and that my soul was bought at the price of His blood shed on the cross. That doesn’t change with my marital status.

Q: Have you thought this through?

A: Gosh, no I didn’t! I didn’t think at all about how much this will hurt our friends and loved ones, how it might affect my daughters’ romantic relationships later in life, the grief of our happily married parents, the awkward social situations that are bound to arise, the inevitable financial strain …

Q: Do you know how hard life is as a single parent?

A: Probably not. I didn’t know how hard motherhood was going to be either. No one can fully anticipate what trials the future holds. One day at a time, baby.

Q: Is there any chance you guys could work it out?

A: It’s unlikely, but I have agreed to hold off on definitively answering that question or finalizing anything until some of these festering emotional wounds have had a bit of time and space to heal.

Regardless, I believe that ultimately all things work together for God’s glory, even the nasty bits. So even if we don’t work out, I know everything will work out in the end exactly as it’s meant to be.

Q: Are you still living together?

A: No. (Please see previous Q&A and note the ‘time and space’ contingent.)

Q: Where are the girls?

A: They’re living with me, and Leif has visitation. We’re working on figuring things out. It’s been all of less than three weeks since the fit hit the shan, so we obviously don’t have an ironed-out schedule at this point. So far we’ve been making sure that they know when they will be seeing the other parent next, because apparently stability is important.

Q: Is this why you’ve been so quiet on the blog front this past year?

A: Basically. My life has been consumed with getting through my days, aching at not being able to get through to my husband, questioning my grip on reality, questioning our history, and questioning God. And tears — lots and lots of tears.

In other words, it’s hard to think up something to share with y’all when all I wanted to write was, “Sooooo … my life is falling apart around me and the scotch tape I’ve always used to hold it together doesn’t seem to be cutting it anymore…”

Q: What can I do for you?

A: Please be respectful. Don’t assume anything. No one knows what goes on inside a relationship except the people in that relationship, and even then it occasionally often gets convoluted.

Pray for us. Don’t take sides. Don’t pray for reconciliation and don’t pray for divorce. Pray that God’s will be done — no matter what the outcome. Because guess what? It will be done. God is kinda almighty like that. So I guess … please pray that grace be plentiful all around as we wade through this crap.

And of course, the most important thing is our children. Hearing negative things about either of their parents will not benefit them in any way, shape, or form, and as my great grandma always said, “Little pitchers have big ears.” So if you have something negative to say about either one of us, I kindly ask you to take a deep breath and remember that there are children involved.

Good Morning America & Nail Polish & Tutus (The Important Things)

Oh my, what a crazy couple of days! In case you missed it, the Good Morning America spot aired yesterday. Then an article went up in the Daily Mail. Why yes, it is surreal to see your own face on websites that you check daily for news, why do you ask?

For my eight readers that are asking, I will have the opportunity to do more media on this to expand and clarify my position. I can’t say when or where or what yet, but I’ll keep y’all posted.

It does crack me up that I’m getting so much attention for talking about underwear. I’ve been blogging about news and politics for over four years now, having probably at least touched upon every topic there is to touch upon, and I’ve even worked on a presidential campaign as a senior copywriter. But panties?? LET’S TALK ABOUT THAT!

In all seriousness, I do believe it’s a topic worth addressing, and I’m looking forward to doing so in the near future.

For now, please enjoy this picture of Furbaby, back from the doggie spa. Yes, her nails are pink. She tried to lick the polish off. Is it wrong that I laughed at her? Then I don’t want to be right.

 Furbaby Pink Nails

And this one of Thing 2 dressed up as Thing 2 for Dr. Seuss Day last week in her kindergarten prep class. Because if you’re going to dress up, always find a way to incorporate a tutu. And pom poms.

Thing 2 Dr Seuss

Seriously — I die of cuteness on a daily basis.

Good Morning America Emailed Me & Asked Me to Come Talk About Underwear — No Joke!

*Tap tap tap*

Is this thing on? I know it’s been awhile — a long while. Like I said in my last post OVER A MONTH AGO, I haven’t had much to say. I’ve been staying in touch with my bff the Internet on Facebook and Twitter, and of course writing very in-depth stories about celebrity pregnancies and babies over at The Stir.

Hey, it’s a living and I’m a capitalist. Besides, I also get to write about things that actually interest me, like how I don’t think kids should be used for political gain, a sweet couple that’s been married 80 years, and how the Canadian Parliament is preparing for the zombie apocalypse.

One of the things I wrote this week was about Victoria’s Secret and how they seem to be targeting teens. Appropriate? Inappropriate? My take on it was essentially — so? What’s your point?

I mean really. I’ve been wearing a bra since I was 11, and filling one out since I was 14. Where do you think they came from? Thing 1 is nine, so bra-shopping time will be here in the next two blinks, if I’m calculating her childhood correctly. A trip to Vickie’s will be in order.

Anyway, I had fun writing it, especially because I love writing things that show that not all of us Republicans are stuffy old prudes. I love fun and life and my kids and even pretty underthings. I want my girls to feel good about themselves, and if that means pretty panties and bras from a classy Big Girl store — then so be it.

Fast forward to this afternoon when I got an email with “ABC NEWS” in the subject line. I clicked it because it was Sunday afternoon and email is slow and I was bored-ish, so why not? Figured it was spam. Then I read it four times.

It was freaking Good Morning America. Well, a producer from GMA. She liked my article about teen lingerie, thought I had a reasoned approach, and would I mind giving her a call?

Um, ok. I still kinda thought it was someone pulling a prank or something. It wasn’t.

So here’s the plan — GMA is supposed to send a film crew to my house tomorrow afternoon to tape a segment that should air this week. Of course, the whole thing could be canceled, or they could cut it, or a million other things and I probably shouldn’t be telling you all this until it’s in the can, but dang it feels good to write something on here, and besides, if the whole thing falls through, at least I’ll have had something actually interesting to tell you. So … yeah.

Also, my friends know me well … “Good MORNING America…? Um, what time is this all taking place?” When I tell them they’re prerecording in the afternoon, the respond with some variation of, “Phew! Because you’re totally not a morning person.”

It’s true. I’m not.

See y’all on a major broadcasting network.

*Happy Dance*