Culture Clash?

Ever wondered what happens when a distinctly Asian flavor meets good old Canadian maple syrup?

It's a delicious dust-up and you can check it out over at Don Mills Diva Recipes and Reviews.

DMD: you complete me

I was certain I was destined to be a lifer.

I had an excellent job in an industry I love. I had been there nearly a dozen years and everything about it felt as comfortable as an old shoe. I was deeply appreciative and rightfully so. I told myself I would be a fool to go anywhere else. Ever.

What I didn't admit, even to myself, was that I was scared.

I can see now that the birth of my child coincided with the slow, steady death of my nerve.

I grew up presuming that fate would smile on me, but the trauma of Graham's birth showed me that fate laughs at presumptions. I had always assumed that my baby would be perfect and yet I was forced to consider that he was not.

Several stressful events occurred in the months immediately following his birth and almost overnight I became a worrier. I worried about everything. I felt insecurity creep over me at the strangest times, like a rogue dark cloud on a sunny day. I mourned my old self, but felt powerless to truly reclaim the loud, brassy girl, brimming with confidence, who always thought she would rule the world by the age of 40.

I know now that Don Mills Diva was a last-ditch effort to rescue that girl - a way to try and write myself back to the place where I wanted, needed, to be.

I wrote my way through a heap of pain this winter. I wrote brave, declarative statements when I felt the most shaky. I reached down inside myself, gathered together my shredded guts and sent them across the Internet, desperately hoping the the bravado contained therein would reflect back and somehow restore me.

And a funny thing happened: it worked.

The more I wrote the more confident I felt. The more confident I felt, the better I wrote. I found my voice, in every sense. I gained a lot of readers. I met - virtually and otherwise - a lot of people who expected that Don Mills Diva would be a woman of strength and confidence.

And I found, quite suddenly, that she was. Once again.

I travelled to San Francisco for the BlogHer conference and I met dozens (hundreds?) of you. I dressed up and acted sassy. I even bogarted the microphone at a packed seminar.

And then this week I started a new job: the kind of job I had started to resign myself to never getting.

Thanks to Don Mills Diva and to you, I now feel certain that I am indeed destined to be a lifer - here on the Internet anyway - where I will write my way into whatever my heart can imagine.

Worth staying awake for

Last Friday.

It is past midnight. Graham and I are laying together on a double bed at my parent's house, a novelty which so excites him he has resisted sleep for hours. I am weary. Past weary. Cuddles and whispered endearments have long since given way to hissed admonishments.

"Mama?"

"Shush."

"Isn't it soooo fun to sleep on mommy's bed?"

"Shush!"

"Mama?"

"SHUSH!"

"Mama?"

"Go to sleep."

"Sorry mama."

"Sorry 'bout that."

"Mama?."

"We can talk tomorrow."

"But mama-"

"Tomorrow Graham!"

"Mama?"

"Shush Graham, go to sleep!"

"But mama-"

"WHAT?! WHAT IS SO IMPORTANT IT CAN'T WAIT FOR MORNING!"

"Mama, I just wanted to tell you that your hair looks terrific and that you are pretty like a princess."

"Oh...okay...well, thank you."

"Mama?"

"Yes Graham."

"Isn't it sooo fun to sleep on mommy's bed?"

"Yes Graham. Yes, it is."

Show me the money sister

I would love to be rich.

Like, really, really rich.

Rich enough that the day-to-day of stress of paying mortgages and bills would be a thing of the past for me and the people I love. Rich enough to travel the world with Graham and teach him first-hand about politics and culture.

Rich enough to start a foundation to provide seed money for poor women who want to start small businesses. Rich enough to buy a penthouse in New York, a beach house in the Caribbean and a farm with lots of horses and dogs north of Toronto.

Rich enough to....umm, okay you get the point.

The point is, like 99% of the population, I can always find ways to spend extra money. And that means, straight up, if my writing here at Don Mills Diva allows me to earn extra money, I will accept it gratefully and with no sense of shame for having somehow sullied myself.

But I do have a few rules:

1. My ads will be found in my sidebars only. I am not interested in pay-per-post and I will not slip product reviews and pitches into this middle column.

2. I am thrilled to accept money and/or free stuff in exchange for writing on my review blog: that's what it's there for. I will write a teaser here on my main blog and readers may or may not choose to click over and read the product review.

3. I will always try to express my opinions freely and not be influenced by how people might react to my words. I freely admit this is a constant struggle, in life and on my blog.

(Note: I don't curse here. Not because I'm afraid to offend potential advertisers but because I endeavor not to curse in real life. Also, I don't reveal gory details about my family life here because, well, some things are private, thank you very much.)

It's pretty simple. I don’t think it’s terribly controversial. I write to the very best of my ability. I work my butt off. I endeavor to entertain and enlighten and perhaps even incite and if I do it well enough, for long enough, I could make some money. If that happens, I think I will deserve it. If it doesn't, well, I probably deserve that too.

Neat how that works, huh?

So why do we, and by we I mean women, make it so complicated?

Monetizing your blog or blogging for bucks was a popular seminar at the recent BlogHer conference and the notion that women should dare earn money from - GASP! - writing about family life was a hot topic of discussion.

Yawn.

To steal a line from Scarbie Doll - This is why we don't rule the world.

Can you honestly picture thousands of men wringing their hands and clucking their tongues over whether accepting payment for something they do well is tantamount to defiling themselves?

I didn't think so.

I learned at BlogHer that there are 36 million people in the blogosphere every week: that translates into an awesome economic opportunity for people like me, whose fondest dream is to earn money from their writing.

I would do this for free. Hell, I practically do do this for free.

But if one day, by writing on my own terms in my own space, I manage to earn enough readers to actually make me rich, I'll be damned if I'll demure and giggle nervously like some modest, 19th century maiden.

I will stand proud. I will accept my due. And I will cash the check.

Just like a man would.

Attention!

I interrupt this series of provocative, issue-oriented, BlogHer-inspired posts to bring you...

"Gratuitous Cuteness", a true story of a boy and his french fry, told in four parts.

Regularly-scheduled programming will resume tomorrow when I discuss monetization and blogging for bucks - you know you don't want to miss that!

Oh, and also, if the sight of Graham stuffing his pie-hole has got you feeling a bit peckish, hop on over to Don Mills Diva Recipes and Reviews where I've just posted another of LeeAnne's fantabulous creations.

Privacy? Schmivacy.

My name is Kelly.

My husband is Rob and we have a son named Graham. We live in the Toronto neighborhood of Don Mills. He is a sound recordist and mixer for television and feature films and I work in communications in the same industry.

I could go on. I have gone on. You can read through my archives and check out a movie I produced, figure out where I grew up and went to high school. Where I used to live. You can read about my mom and dad and his faithful dog and even where I like to vacation.

And that doesn't scare me.

There was a very popular seminar on mommy blogging and public parenting and privacy at BlogHer last weekend and I wasn't there. I didn't go because I'm not interested in that debate. I refuse to wring my hands or gnash my teeth. I get that some people are deeply conflicted about exposing themselves on the Internet and I do, truly do, empathize with them.

But I'm sorted. I'm good. And I'll tell you why.

I am a writer - a writer with a fairly extensive background in reporting and writing for newspapers and I bring this up again not to make myself feel important (okay, maybe just a little) but because it is relevant.

In the lifestyle section of every newspaper in every community across much of the world, columnists publish under by-lines with their real names. Their photo is often featured and they routinely write in first person and reference their families.

We have columnists in Toronto who I feel I know personally and I'm quite sure that's their intention: that's their job and several of them have been doing it for many, many years.

And that's what I do here. I build relationships with my readers by writing about the beauty and poignancy of family life. And I reject the notion that because I do it on the Internet I am somehow more careless and tawdry than those who do it in my local paper. (I'm probably actually safer because only a tiny fraction of my readers are within striking distance of me and my family were they so inclined).

I find it endlessly ironic that I was lambasted for "pimping" out my child in Canada's national newspaper when that same paper often proudly features a sexy, young columnist and single mom who routinely discusses parenting as well as her sex life and personal relationships in far more detail than I ever have. (Read my response here).

Repeat after me: this is not a diary.

It is a column. A lifestyle column, featuring a working mom named Kelly, her husband Rob and a beautiful boy named Graham.

I hope you will continue to enjoy it and if you're ever in Don Mills? Do look me up.

Mommy blogging: a facking radical act

I have always been a rebel in my own mind.

I’m like a lot of people out there: I adore the notion of myself as daring and fearless when, in fact, there is little about the way I live my day-to-day life that could be considered radical.

I am a working mother. I am a wife. I’m a bit of a smart-ass, but when the chips are down I’m loath to actually offend people. Sure I fly float planes in my spare time and it’s an interesting pursuit, perhaps even brave, but I’m about 70 years late to the aviation revolution.

What I do here, what I write about on Don Mills Diva, is not courageous. I’m fluffy and I have always owned that. I am a manipulator. At my best I can choose and position my words in such a fashion that the tears and chuckles of my readers are almost involuntary.

I’m shameless, really.

This blog is not my personal diary and it never will be. My intimate struggles - and you must trust me when I say I have intimate struggles – are not detailed here.

I am not Mr. Lady, who stood beautiful and alone on stage at BlogHer, read this post, brought the facking house down and goddamn-broke my heart. I am not Maria – she of the shirt - who teases me for saying facking when I really mean…well, you know.

So why did I grab a microphone during a BlogHer discussion entitled Is Mommy Blogging a Radical Act? and declare “Hell yes, it is!?”

Because I am a writer.

Because I have always been a writer. Because I have spent my whole life searching for an audience and now I have one. Because I had piece after piece rejected by (mostly white and male) newspaper editorial boards and now their opinions don’t matter. Because you are here, reading me and, presumably, it is my writing brought you here and my writing that can drive you away.

I start my dream job on Monday after submitting a resume that prominently featured Don Mills Diva. I’m going to be the director of communications for these people, partially because I used this little humble space on the Internet to prove that I can write: to prove that I can compel people to want to read the things I choose to write about.

And no, I do not choose, and will not in the foreseeable future choose, to detail how my family has been touched by pain and stress and mental illness.

But I will continue to write and I will endeavor to entertain and I believe with all my heart that my hard work and dedication will continue to expand my readership.

Pretty facking radical isn’t it?

The party's over...

And this is the last time I shall post pictures documenting the revelry, I swear.

I shall commence shortly with issue-oriented posts born of BlogHer panels. I shall weave in some of the highlights and the revelations and I shall entertain and incite you, I promise.

But I do have a few more party pictures and just to placate you and to thank you for your indulgence I reveal to you the back of Maria's shirt.

It says: "Just kidding. Jesus loves you!"

And so, onward to the pictures...

Yours truly and Backpacking Dad hamming it up for our adoring public.

Mandy and Greeblemonkey at the wild and crazy cheeseburger party,
which hotel security shut down after less than an hour.
Thank goodness Ronald and I made up after our infamous dust-up.
Otherwise I would have felt a little hypocritical stuffing my face like I did.

Mrs Flinger and Bossy

Thanks for journeying with me - it's off to sleep and real life tomorrow...

Diva gone wild: a hair story

My husband begged me not to fall back into old habits.

"You're better than that now," he said. "You're worth more than that. We may not be rich, but we've come a long way since those days".

But I missed the excitement of it, you know? The thrill. I missed just being young and adventurous and not caring about long-term results or consequences. Truth be told, I craved the excitement of something just a little bit dangerous.

And so, the night before I was due to leave for the BlogHer conference in San Fransisco, I threw caution to the wind and I did it.

What wild and crazy thing did DMD get up to on the eve of BlogHer? Scoot on over to my Shooting For Hip column at Better Than A Playdate for all the deets and pictures too...

All in good time

This ain't just a party.

There are so many things to write about: deep things, profound things, issues and ideas about blogging as a radical act, mothering in an on-line community, privacy, monetization and personal power.

And I will write about those things, I promise. I will let all of the ideas swirling about my still-recovering-from-Thursday-night brain marinate and then I will write.

But until then, enjoy the party - I wish you were here.

Redneck Mommy and Mr Lady.

OHMommy and Mr Lady

VDog, Kim, Maria, OHMommy

OHMommy and DMD

Maria

OHMommy, Maria, DMD, Busy Dad, Kim, VDog

Kyla and Mimi

I'm hurting but I'm here

I expected it to be overwhelming and it is.

There are 1,000 people attending this conference. There are corporate and media representatives everywhere.

It. is. intense.

Is is also a lot of fun. So much fun, in fact, that I spent my first few waking hours this morning nursing the first hangover I can remember suffering since Graham's birth.

But I feel better now. And I am learning a lot. So far I have learned that mommy blogging is a radical act and that I simply must be on Twitter.

And I have definitely learned that these days five glasses of wine is waaay past my limit.

A few people I've been hanging with...

Kellan and JCK

Mandy

Mother Bumper (Happy birthday MB!) and Scarbie Doll

Old friends, new friends

You might think that ruining my parents' anniversary was the highlight for me this past weekend.

But you'd be wrong.

I neglected to mention that one of the other reasons I journeyed up to my old home town was an informal high school reunion / dance that was held at the local Legion Hall Saturday night.

I am one of the few people who will freely admit that I thoroughly enjoyed high school, so there was no question that I would accept any invitation to walk down memory lane. I dragged Rob along and we both had a great time, dancing and chatting and generally staying out way too late.

Here's me with some friends I have not seen for nearly 20 years. That's me on the right. The guy in the middle? He was my first-ever boyfriend. Our scandalous romance started when I was a ninth grader and he was in grade 13. He still has the quick wit and sense of humor I remember and a great time was had by all.

So let's talk about new friends...

Just one more sleep til I go to BlogHer and make a whole bunch of new friends and memories. I'm rooming with this lovely lady, sitting beside her on the plane, meeting these guys at the airport and have plans to hang out with her and her and her.

I've read a lot of posts in the last few weeks about how nervous people are about traveling to San Francisco and meeting fellow bloggers in person but I'm not scared, just excited. Perhaps it's because I really am a diva, or perhaps I lack a certain self awareness or perhaps the caution that "it's kinda like high school all over again" actually sounds like a good thing to me.

Especially because I know I will not be committing this fashion faux pas again.

See you in San Francisco peeps!