How do you want to roll?

Before the sessions and the swag and the swilling of cocktails at BlogHer begins, I will be spending some time talking about something I haven't really talked that much about -- cars.

I've opted to set aside the shoe obsession for a day to meet with other bloggers and the people at Ford to discuss what women want in a car. In the past, I've really only had these conversations with The Ex and with my dad, and most of that time was spent hunched over a Consumer Reports or Kelly Blue Book. Now that I am a single mom, my needs have changed and those needs are the sole focus of the conversation. Thankfully, even with my dad as a guide when I do make my next big car purchase, I never have to consider again how many golf bags the trunk will hold.

When I sit down at the discussion tomorrow, I will happily put my single mama needs on the table. And I freely admit that since is the first time in my life I am only focusing on my own needs, I peeked (and swiped) what I heard some other mamas saying (thanks, ladies...I'm still learning).

I want a car that easily accommodates a car seat, preferably with ample room on each side for other back-seat passengers.

I want a car that gets great gas mileage and I would love it to be a hybrid.

I want a car with enough ports to plug in my iPod, charge my laptop and juice up my phone.

I want a car with a place to stash my bag.

I want a car with a dash and windshield that does not create horrible blind spots for shorter (ahem) drivers.

I want a car that looks sporty and comes in fun colors and that I feel really reflects me.

I want a car that has top-notch reliability and doesn't cost a fortune to repair or replace with one tiny, hard-to-find part.

I want a car that has airbags that will pad every part of each passenger's body with any kind of serious impact.

Above all, I want my car to be safe.

Now, it is your turn. What do you want in a car, wimmins?

Ford wants to know and tomorrow, I'd love to tell them what you're thinking.

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7 ways to make sure your feet survive BlogHer (or any other big event). Especially if you insist upon wearing sassy shoes

You are all on your way to BlogHer, if you are not already here. My own BlogHer began last night, sitting around a table with some of the women who inspire me, support me, and make me laugh, think, and tear up the most. These are my friends. Seeing them was like finding my way back to the circle with my tribe.

One of them, the illustrious and lovely CityMama, challenged me to do a post of shoe recommendations for BlogHer. That was weeks ago. It has yet to be written. But I will tell you that I was shocked to see that the Crocs sandals she swore up and down to me really were cute but that I skeptically had to see in person actually (God love you, honey) really were cute. They are red and strappy and very sassy. She also swears they are comfortable, but only two days tromping through a giant hotel and around the city to an endless string of parties will reveal that (usually counted in number of gummy blister bandages).

Since your shoes are already on your feet, packed tight in your bag or lost at O'Hare somewhere, I will offer you these  7 tips for gracefully sashaying through the BlogHer weekend. Remember, kittens, hangovers subside but callouses are forever.

Do break in your shoes. I know you don't want to hear this and I know you will probably ignore me. But do know that even one night of clomping around your hotel room can help break in your shoes. Even more importantly, it is enough time to develop some red flags streaked across your toes and heels that will tell you exactly where to strategically place Band-Aids when you put them on to actually leave the room.

Don't worry if someone stops by for a libation or some pre-conf goss. If they've been to BlogHer before it won't even faze them why you are wearing clicky shoes with your yoga pants and last year's swag t-shirt.

Do fill your toiletry bag with Band-Aids and blister bandages. And not the generic kind that are way cheaper. Trust me. You will regret it. Instead, opt for the good kind. Band-Aids that are plastic-y (not the fibery ones or clear ones) that match no one's skin color stay put the best. When you are choosing blister gear, get the bandages that are gummy and protect existing boo-boos as well as prevent rubbing. You feet's pain and misery is well worth the eight or ten bucks you throw down for them, trust me.

Do buy a package of cushy inserts to take with you. I wear heels a lot, so I have a stock of these at the ready in my shoe organizer. If you don't pick up a package of three when you are buying Band-Aids. I recommend the pre-shaped ones you don't have to cut (recognizable as the cheap kinds, once again) that have adhesive tape to easily fit (and stay) in your shoes. If you do not use them, do stash them in your bag. If the balls of your feet start burning or your shoes unexpectedly start slipping off your heels mid-day, you will thank the goddesses of all things shoe whoreish that you have inserts handy.

Do carry a pair of flip-flops in your bag. I will not do the sensible thing and wear flats or tennies, so I will be sure I have relief in the form of flip-flops with me at all times.

Do wear wedges if you must wear heels. Wedges have a wider area to distribute the stress placed on the foot from being cranked up in high heels (as opposed to two tiny pressure points of the center of the heel and the ball of the foot). I find that I can wear wedges comfortably for hours beyond the adorable jobbies that look fabulous but are not meant for standing more than ten minutes. I bought a cute pair of satin and cork wedge sandals that I am hoping look and work just as fine with my jeans as with my party dresses.

Don't have any shame about skipping out on a session or meet-up to go up to your room and soak your feet in the tub. Fill the tub with just enough warm water,and bubbles or gel soap, and relax for ten or fifteen while you and your tootsies take a much-needed break. Consider it self-care from the very bottom up. Don't fret about what you are missing since you will re-emerge refreshed, re-energized and ready to stomp it out.

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Aren't we all just holding on?

This is a big week. It has already been a big week. A big week followed by a big weekend.

Aside from all of the BlogHer business that has already begun, there is always more work and too many emails to keep up with. Did I mention that I always need groceries? And that my laundry pile has nearly reached from floor to door handle, leaving me no way to escape without hauling the dirties to the basement?

There was also a day-long play date and summer camp and negotiations with my mother and The Ex. All of it, all of it amassed like the whites in with the brights on my hallway floor, has me exhausted before the really big stuff has even started.

But before all of this, back when we were still in the big weekend part, back on the precipice of meeting more than a thousand amazing blogging women, corporations, sponsors, colleagues, and press, there was this one moment of complete stillness.

We were at the lake house. My parents were hosting a family reunion there and Lil E and I drove three hours each way just to spend the day with cousins, many of whom we barely know. But it was fun and it was good and there was sunshine and splashing.

There was also a bunch of kids, which delights Lil E, who normally begs adults to play some kind of Star Wars-Batman hybrid role play game with him. There were kids older than he was to help him on to the rafts floating in the lake and kids close enough to his age to get as excited as he was about the pile of squirt guns and light saber water shooters.

And then there were the younger kids. The toddlers and babies that my son danced for, kissed on, and fawned over with a sweet and silly smile for every one of their gummy, drooly grins.

One of those younger kids, an almost-three-year old with red hair cropped close and a confused and slightly serious look on his face even as he waded in the water and covered his wet legs in warm sand, carefully boarded the pontoon boat with us for one of many rides that went out and around the lake that afternoon.

My own son is at home on this boat, easing on to my dad's lap for his position as pontoon co-captain. He moves around, surveying the water and pointing out what other lake house owners are doing in their yards as we pass by. He peers over the edge in a way that once made me gasp and grab for the back elastic of his swim trunks but now makes me happy to seem him so at ease on the water -- or at least on indoor-outdoor carpeting on revving 10 MPH engine on the water.

As he took his Titanic spot at the helm of the kiddie cocktail cruise, the almost-three-year old wiggled free from his grandmother's hold and stepped with the same slow, confused seriousness he wore on his face.

His grandmother called to him in the way I used to grab at Lil E's pants for security, asking him where he was going, what he was doing.

"I want to go up front with that boy," he said, pointing right at Lil E.

His grandmother nodded, he moved toward the front.

"Lil E," I called out, mostly into the wind. "You're the big boy now. Hold his hand so he can sit next to you."

I didn't think about it before I said it, but once I did, I knew Lil E would listen. As Almost-Three approached, Lil E reached his small hand up to an even smaller hand, guiding him forward, helping him scootch in close on the floor.

They sat like that for the rest of the ride. Even when Almost-Three changed positions, leaned out a little too much, then pulled himself back in more jilted by his realization of it than his grandmother, Lil E purposefully held up his hand for the younger one to take again.

I watched as my boy watched the other boy each time he shifted or turned to see something new pass by. I watched Lil E take him in, take responsibility, take on this new role as the bigger boy.

I watched their hands, firmly clasped, and it got to me. It was this one quiet moment of kindness, of connection.

And because I am his mother, it was a brief pause that filled me with great pride. That was my son, reaching out his hand to another boy.

I worry about him -- you know, as an only child among so many adults. But there he was, reaching, watching and really quite brotherly.

Now that we are immersed in all the busyness and business of the week, I keep mentally wandering back to that moment. To those little hands, holding tight while everything whirs by at a frantic 10 MPH pace.

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