Women Who Snub

FDR Memorial


And by the way,


For me, and I am assuming most women, feeling snubbed is one of the most immediately painful reactions we ladies can have. As my husband beautifully stated, snubbing is one of the most effective ways a woman has to punish another woman. The deep sting and simultaneous hurt of someone else purposefully invalidating and rejecting us is a pain like no other.


To be snubbed can actually be a gift. It was for me.



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New Mexico: Blogging and Our Ten Year Anniversary


Us. Sante Fe, NM, 2008


The Process that took me to now  . . .  June 18, 2008

I am sitting here on the airplane. Dave and I are flying back to Salt Lake City from New Mexico. We were in Santa Fe and Taos celebrating our ten year wedding anniversary. We were both sick. I loved being away, and I am glad to be going home. I don’t know if the person behind me can read what I am writing. Does it matter?  I was typing with one hand until now.  I finished my drink, motioned to Dave and dumped my ice cubes in his glass, careful to slide my cup underneath his.  We are flying home from New Mexico on the end of our ten year anniversary trip. Dave is looking out the windows.  He is trying to get my attention. He grabs my arm as he says, “Lake Powell.” He points out the window. I look.  The lake is so huge, even from way up in the sky.  I concentrate on my music. iPods are great for flying. Staralur by Sigur Ros (an Icelandic Band) is playing. The melody is beautiful and as the music crescendo’s my heart fills.  I can breathe. Today I am afraid of flying. The music lifts me away.  I take my headphone out of my left ear, lean over and ask Dave how to spell “crescendo.” I have spelled it so miserably that Spell Check could not find the word. “C r e s,” he says. “What?”  The plane is loud and my Icelandic music even louder. “C r e s c e n d o.”  He spells it for me twice.  I wonder why I did not take the headphone out of my right ear. It is the ear closest to Dave. I probably could hear him better.


I see Dave fiddling with his GPS.  I look at him.

“I want to find out where we are.” He says.
“What?” I say.
“We are definitely flying over Colorado right now.” he responds.

I see the man in the aisle in from of me. He is watching “Band of Brothers.” I would rather be watching a movie. I am a writer and it has been hard for me to write. I took my website, www.crazyus.com down in August 2006. Since that time, except for tiny little bits here and there, I have avoided this method of expression (blogging). I always have something better to do than write. Always.  Damian Rice is playing, I love this song,

“I look to my Eskimo friend . . . when I am down, down, down.”

I wish you could hear the music play. It is helping. I can feel the rumblings of the plane beneath me. I listen more intently.

“Harder now with higher speed . . .”

And the Crescendo. Thank God for Crescendos. If you are afraid of flying, may I suggest listening to music with lots of Crescendos. The plane is rumbling harder.  I am nervous.  My stomach jumps.  The song is has reached its loud, opera-like part, and I am trying, trying to forget the rumbles.

There is a pause in the music.  Dave is talking to me about soccer and I want to stop and fast-forward. I want to hear music. I need music.

…My life has taken me to a better place. In this moment, I do not miss my blog. I thought I would. I know for quite a while I tossed around the idea of blogging again. I like to write. I do not like the dramatic energy bloggers draw to themselves– myself included. As I write the word, “Blogger,” I keep thinking how odd the word is. Ten years ago or a little more than ten years ago, the blogging medium really did not exist. Now blogging is on the forefront of global communication. Many people make a living from the words and information they release into the world on a daily basis.

I think I forgot or better, could not grasp, when I was blogging that my words were getting out there to. I hurt my friends. I hurt my family. As hard as I tried not to, I hurt my mother.  I wanted desperately not to hurt anyone. I tried to be responsible, yet I also hastily vomited words out to the world, words that sometimes did hurt, embarrass, sting.

I wanted recognition for my writing. I did not want to hurt anyone and I did. I can reconcile the fact that I cannot have it both ways: public writing with no hurting.

A few months after taking my website down, I was sitting with a very good friend at the building site of our new home.  He and I talked about my blog. He told my how it hurt. He looked at me and said,

“Beth, we have been friends for more than ten years. We are good friends. You and I would go out to lunch, have a great time.  A few days later I would read your website, this piece of information that was out there for the world to read. It was through your blog that I would find out how sad you really are. It did not make sense. I am your friend. Why didn’t you tell me you were sad? That is what hurt. I am glad you took your website down.”

His words broke my heart. I stumbled. I paused. I looked him and the eye and I apologized.

“I don’t ever want to hurt you.”

As much as I was hurting at the time and I was.  I had to listen. I had to be responsible for the words I put out there.

I do not miss that. I do not miss the self-censorship. I do not miss the-hiding-behind-your-keyboard-yet-offensively-putting-it-all-out-there aspect of blogging. As I became more popular as a blogger, I did not enjoy navigating the rules and etiquette of blogging. I did not enjoy my on-screen-off-camera relationships. I would have to say that most of my friendships formed around, through and in association with blogging have all gone away. Once I logged off, there really was no reason for people to connect with me. To my surprise, I actually did not mind. It was a relief.  Wait. Hold up. Blogging was not all bad [wink wink]. I enjoyed exchanging emails. I enjoyed feeling as though my words had a positive impact on others. I even enjoyed the horrifically painful and bad experiences. Ok, maybe I did not enjoy those. They actually sucked. Let’s just say that I am finding my namaste regarding them.

The plane is slowing down. The wheels or something is jiggling. The plane is still slowing down and things are getting bumpy. My palms are sweaty, (of course). My stomach is in knots.  My poor man’s Valium has worn off (Benadryl). It feels like we are riding a roller coaster in the sky. The guy in front of me, who came drunk on the plane, is awake. He is more frightened than I am. Security offered to escort him off the plane before we left the gate. He assured everyone he would just fall asleep. Now he is awake. He is quiet and looking out the window.

“Please do not freak out.” I whisper under my breath.

This drunk and frightened airplane passenger actually brings reminds me of something. When I blogged every single day, I realized that I was constantly an observer. I was safely disconnecting from my world, simply observing every aspect of every day, carefully plotting out my stories. How would they end?  Could I kick the scared, drunk airplane passenger in front of me?  Could I startle him to improve my story?  The outcome would be much more interesting if I did?  Think of the story I could tell?  Could I tweak it just a little? How could I provoke?  I read bloggers thoughts on depression, horrible lives as parents, bad marriages, crazy kids and wondered if it was all really that bad?  Perspective? Tweaked or even not tweaked? Was it really that bad?  I had to get out.  You know what I mean?  I do need to provoke the man in front of me. I do not need to pay attention to him. He is not my story. He is an observation.

It is much more painful to be present.

That being said, now that I am reconnecting with my tangible world, I feel much more joy.

The plane has settled. I can talk about the blog again.  It is so weird. I cannot help myself. I am thinking about posting this. Is it good enough to post? And just seconds ago I was saying how I did not miss blogging. Funny how moods shift. What a stupid question!  Am I an addict?  Maybe that is why I stopped. Maybe that is why I have stayed away. I am wondering how this will all be perceived. Maybe Dave’s response will be enough. I hope it will. Dave, here is the part where you need to lean over and tell me how great my words are and how much they meant to you — even if you are lying.

Maybe that is why I blogged. Maybe I was not feeling fulfilled enough in my own life and was desperately searching for something to fill it.  Maybe I just am freaked out and getting all end-of-life like sitting in this very bumpy plane. Words and feelings I may forget once the wheels touch the ground.

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Blogher-PaW-loo-ZAH 2006

Me, the Mommy Blogger Beth a.k.a CrazyUs.com
Me, the Mommy Blogger Beth a.k.a CrazyUs.com

Needless to say I left my camera in my hotel room all weekend long.
With the sleep deprivation and estrogen overload, this weekend is kind of a blur. Of course I think I was the only person there who did not have her own personal business cards or digital camera strapped around her neck. (Yes, I am a DORK and I am still mad about leaving my camera in my hotel room.) I want to thank all of the people I met. You totally opened up my world. I also want to mention a few of these many wonderful people, people who gave me wonderfully designed business cards, shared a room with me, hugged me and made leaving my kids for a few days worth every single second. This has been a difficult time and going to Blogher, away from my safety net, enabled me to FINALLY CRY, something I have needed to do for three weeks.


I learned a lot this weekend. Mostly, I learned how small I am in all of this. There are some amazing women out there. I also learned a brutally hard lesson once again and face-to-face that once you put something out there, you can never ever ever take it back. Please count to ten before posting something you may regret and please, please be careful with what you say. You may think people will understand your intent, but you never ever know how it will be received.

[UPDATE 2.19.13: Oh how fun it would be to Mystery-Science-Theater-3000 some of these old posts, even a Director’s Cut would do.]

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“The Sun is the Earth’s lightbulb” Eli

The other day, we were standing in our front yard when Eli began looking up at the sky. That is when he stopped and I could see his brain wheels churning. Then he giggled:

Hey Mom, did you know that the Sun is the Earth’s lightbulb?

Of course I asked him if he learned this amazing fact on television and he giggled once more and replied,

Nope, I just thought of it myself.

Easy E

The boys have found their Halloween costumes and have put them on. I have just re-painted my toenails because I seriously smudged my hot and sexy pedicure. I don’t get pedicures often, but I wanted one for this weekend. Why? Because I bought myself a last minute plane ticket and I am going to Blogher. I still can’t believe I am going, but thanks to good people, I am. I am nervous and nervous to leave my boys. If you happen to be reading this and also happen to be going to Blogher, if you see me, please stop and say hello or drop me comment or an email. Sometimes I am shy and sometimes I am terribly deep in thought.

P.S. I have felt better this week. Oddly enough, my Yoda post really helped. Thank you all for your input. It really does make a difference.

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Everyone needs their own Yoda . . .

And frankly, right now I am feeling a little like Luke Skywalker. I don’t think it hurts that odds are my Dad is really Darth Vader [wink].

Darth Vader

The problem with me is that I do GET IT . . .

I would say that I have been suffering some sort of gigantic mind/body/spirit disconnect. Because I am still disconnected, I don’t know how to articulate that, of course, the logical portion of my brain can see what I need to be doing, but my emotional/spiritual self is still all a-jumble. My logical brain completely owns that I had a miscarriage and consequently, knows how I should move on and appreciate my life. And mostly that is what I have done; I have moved on.

Then the other night I was talking to a friend — one of the first people I have tried to open up to since having a miscarriage. Before I would even allow myself to really talk about things (protecting myself), however, I made sure she knew that I was aware of the following:

Continue reading “Everyone needs their own Yoda . . .”

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