Denise put out a tweet about a post Shash (say it shushy and breathy like Posh) did regarding BlogHer. It was brilliant in its “Let’s-have-a-little-fun-but-offer-some-pearls-at-the-same-time theme.” I pledged to lift the idea and use it here.

The difference with the Primer About Amanda for BlogHer is I am not technically going to BlogHer. I went last year and had an experience I’ll never forget. It wasn’t like Mrs. Flinger’s, but it was incredible. This year I am flying to Chicago, but have no pass to the conference, though I did diligently sign up for the waitlist. I’ll be shacking up in the conference hotel with the sure-to-be-divine Mommentator and the I-bet-she’ll-be-awesomely-fiery Texas Red , this is to say, I’ve never met either of them.

I’ll also be hanging with Mrs. Flinger, I say hanging with, but hanging on may be more appropriate, because while Shash alluded to a certain emotional sitch that might flow through the conference, I’ve got my own. See, as I sit here, I am waiting for the For Sale Sign to go up in our yard. It isn’t a bad thing, we want to sell our house, are looking forward to the next chapter and transitioning from a brilliant first home to a home that will fit our family of five.

We did this three years ago and it was hard. I was pregnant, we had a kitten, a toddler and a growing business. Then we got an offer. Our buyer died. It was heartbreaking, feeling angry and disappointed and then slapping ourselves because, my god, the poor man died out of nowhere.

I am nervous about the reaction to the For Sale Sign and I am anxious about what may happen. This is compounded by heading to BlogHer without a baby or a pass. It leaves me feeling naked, uncertain and compelled beyond my normal 150% determination, to accomplish something.

This is a bit long, let me get right to it.

My house is for sale.
I am traveling without my last nursing baby.
I am unsure of what’s ahead.
I want desperately for it all to coalesce into something that provides more for my family.
I am terrified* and exhilarated** and hopeful***.

My name is Amanda, what’s yours?

*I hate flying.
**I may actually make friends.
***I have, and will continue to, bust my ass for my family’s gain.