Follow My Sorry Ass

Monday, January 7, 2013

Squeee: MamaCon 2013!

I am so. so. stoked. to be going to MamaCon in Seattle this May. Like, unreasonably excited. I've never been to this conference before, but it looks cool. The speaker list from 2012 included the fascinating and beloved Amy Lang, whom I had the opportunity to hear when she was a guest speaker for our preschool co-op back in 2006. Squeee!

It's nice to be taken seriously, to have a conference of one's own, as a mom. It's kind of neat that there are speakers, therapists, and community educators who recognize that professional momming is not a fancy description for sittin', eatin' Sketti, and watchin' Honey Boo Boo. Where the heck is one of these conferences for SoCal moms?

I never really thought I would want to come back up to Gotham City, even for something as awesome as a mom conference. We fled Seattle a few years ago when we could no longer stand the daily gray grind of the weather. But I miss the people terribly--the moms (and dads, and grandparents, and the teachers) who are so much in step with the emotional and spiritual growth of their kids. Gah, we should not have stayed, we could not have stayed, but it brings tears to my eyes, the loss of that particular group of people. If our neck of southern California has a collective consciousness of parents that are half as committed to the development of thoughtful human beings as those I met in our Seattle-area preschool, I would love to make its acquaintance.

There ARE nice folks here. There are! But an alarming number of moms and dads I have met in these parts are stereotypically "SoCal" distracted, and their deepest commitments are elsewhere. They are deeply committed to polishing a boat or the doors of an RV with a cloth diaper, or deeply committed to culling the perfectly bronzed, unnaturally rounded boobies that only plastic provides. Their kids stare up into their faces for solidarity and perspective, but mom or dad (if she/he is not working 80 hours a week) is texting or pretending a hipster-clothed bulldog is an infant.

But anyway, the conference, oh joy! Doesn't matter if the sun comes out that weekend, because I will be inside with my people, listening raptly.

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