DadWagon Q&A: Alice Bradley and Eden M. Kennedy Panic about Babies

As I learned at South by Southwest, one way that blogueros like me can turn their little passion project into something resembling an income stream is to write a book that builds on their blog. For a masterclass in the alchemy of turning successful blogs into a book, however, look no further than Let’s Panic About Babies, a new book co-authored by bigtime bloggers Alice Bradley (Finslippy.com) and Eden M. Kennedy (Fussy.org). I could write more about the book’s eviscerating sense of satire–and its occasional notes of redemption–but the subtitle says it all: How to Endure and Possibly Triumph Over the Adorable Tyrant who Will Ruin Your Body, Destroy Your Life, Liquefy Your Brain, and Finally Turn You into a Worthwhile Human Being.

Alice and Eden were kind enough to join DadWagon for an online chat about blogging, bookmaking, and Descartes’ gerbils in the brain.

Q: Why write a book? You’ve both got great blogs. Isn’t that enough?
Alice: You can’t bring a blog into the bathroom.
Eden: Yes, you can.

Q: Have you seen the bacteria counts on iPhone screens?
Eden: GAAAH

Q: Is this the first book for you both?
Alice: This is the first book for us both, yes. And in honesty, you can play around in a book in a way you can’t on a site. You can have fun with the persona of the authority/author… I don’t know. I’m pulling this right out of my ass.
Eden: Nice.

Q: That’s also bad hygiene.
Eden: I get what you’re saying, though, Alice. The Internet is incredibly flexible, but if people just stumble onto your site and think you’re serious, when in fact long-time readers get that you’re not being “you”, you get a lot of confused hate mail. (More on DadWagon.com: Toilet-training, the Freaky German Way)

Q: This is a funny book.
Eden: I agree.
Alice: IT IS?!

Q: But it seems like babymaking is serious business: big industry, big science, big freakouts.
Eden: Life and death, basically.

Q: Is there something about the way we get pregnant, have babies, and well, panic, that needed some satire?
Alice: Yes. NEXT QUESTION… Eden is writing something smart. I’m making fart noises with my armpit.
Eden: I think getting pregnant or trying to get pregnant or finally getting pregnant after trying (or not trying!) just automatically produces anxiety, and that internal pressure needs to be released somehow.

Q: Men can relate to that phrasing.
Eden: YES MEN LOVE ME.

Q: Did your partners/husbands get a first read?
Alice: I don’t have to get my husband’s permission to make fun of him.
Eden: My husband didn’t read it until it was in galleys.

Q: Any particular feedback, Eden?
Eden: He said “You’re some funny broads.” That’s the way he talks. Ironically sexist! (More on DadWagon.com: Men’s Rights: Not as Ridiculous as it Sounds)

Q: How did you two split up work on the book?
Alice: First we wrote a detailed table of contents, really more of an outline. And then we each took a chapter–I did the odd chapters, Eden the even ones. We also got together a few times, and then it was a little more fluid–we’d pass sections off to each other, talk stuff out, etc.
Eden: At the end, we read the whole thing out loud at one point.

Q: Alice, you live in New York; Eden lives in California. So which coast has the crazier parents?
Alice: I’m not interested in categorizing parents as crazy or not crazy. We’re making fun of the people who’ve typecast parents–not the parents.
Eden: Anxiety seems to flow from coast to coast, you know?
Alice: We all go a little crazy. Parenthood is terrifying.
Eden: There are all different levels of control-freakedness wherever you go. The idea is to find a way to step back, breathe, and realize that you can let go and the world won’t fall apart.
Eden: Laughing at yourself helps.

Q: That’s the pitch for this book, right? Something like, “you can’t make the baby shut up, but you can have a laugh while it’s in the other room?”
Alice: That’s the pitch? “You can’t make the baby shut up?” That’s the worst pitch ever! But seriously: Our point is that it’s the constant flow of information and news directed at parents that feeds all the anxiety.
Eden: Exactly.
Alice: It doesn’t create it, not all the time, but it doesn’t help. (More on DadWagon.com: Admissions Anxiety, or Tilting at Kindergarten)

Q: One of the things I love about your book is that it has the veneer of offering helpful information…
Alice: A very thin veneer!
Eden: Thin but highly polished.

Q: …but then it comes up with something like, Descartes believed in gerbils in the brain.
Alice: PROVE THAT HE DIDN’T.
Eden: He did!
Alice: Eden channeled him.
Eden: I was a philosophy major!
Alice: Fact-checking is the worst. So boring.
Eden: That’s a good point, though. Why do parents believe what they hear on the fear segment of their 6 o’clock news? WHAT EXPERT WROTE THAT? ‘Apple slices cause autism! Film at 11!’
Alice: And no matter how savvy you are, part of you falls for it.
Eden: YES. Just in case they’re right.
Alice: Because the stakes are too high.

Q: Alice, what books did you read before the baby was born?
Alice: What books didn’t I read? What to Expect While You’re Expecting… Oh my god, every book Dr. Sears wrote. I was going to be an attachment parent. HAHAHHAAAAAA. Also, every breastfeeding book I could get my hands on. I figured if I studied hard, it would all work out.

Q: Because breastfeeding is really about booklearning.
Alice: I would study the pictures of breastfeeding infants as hard as I studied movie scenes of people making out when I was ten to make sure I knew how to do it… Did I just admit that? Yes, I did. (“What are their tongues DOING?”)

Q: Your baby was no doubt impressed by your reading.
Alice: Oh, he could tell I had really studied up on the subject. So when he tried to nurse in my armpit and WOULDN’T GO TO THE RIGHT PLACE I just calmly read him the chapter on nursing, and voila! (More on DadWagon.com: Scorcese Didn’t Need a Book!)

Q: So where does this book fit alongside Sears and other classics?
Alice: It’s just humor. We just want people to laugh, a lot. Whether it’s a new parent, or someone remembering that part of their lives, or someone worried about it all happening someday. Everyone, basically. We think everyone should have our book.
Eden: Kids like it, too… if you black out certain words with a Sharpie.

Q: I assume there are plenty of fans of the blog who come out to your readings. What’s it like running into them in the, um, meatworld?
Eden: Meatworld!
Alice: It’s really fantastic, actually.
Eden: It’s wonderful, because you can meet people you’ve only known online.
Alice: Everyone is gracious and enthusiastic, and they’re all really interesting in their own rights.

Q: Where next with your blogs?
Alice: I don’t have a direction or a business plan, which is probably why I don’t make a lot of money with it.
Eden: I don’t know, I guess I’ll just keep chugging along, I like doing it.
Alice: I just write whatever makes me happy.

Q: So it’ll survive your kids growing up?
Alice: For me, it’s becoming less about Henry. I barely write about him.
Eden: I probably write more about my dog at this point than my son.

Q: Last question: is there another book on the way?
Eden: If this one does well, yes!

Q: That’s sorta blackmail. Buy this book or we shoot the next book project.
Alice: I never thought about it that way. You’re really dark.
Eden: We get lots of suggestions. “Let’s panic about menopause.”
Alice: “Let’s panic about death!”
Eden: Someone suggested “Let’s panic about marriage,” but then we’d have to get divorced to write the obvious sequel.
Alice: Whatever it takes, Eden.
Eden: I agree.

Toilet-Training, the Freaky-Ass German Way

Not so long ago, my wife, Jean, sent me a link to something called “Potty Training in Three Days or Less.” With Sasha now more than 2 years old and already starting to get used to the idea of the potty, both at preschool and at home, this was an intriguing link.

The basic idea is that you set aside three days in which the kid runs around the house with no pants, with short outside breaks on days two and three. And then, voilà! Your kid is toilet-trained. Or something. Frankly, we’re all too busy to even attempt to do three days, so Sasha’s move to big-kid-dom will likely progress as it has, in fits and starts, with the occasional accident and reported-by-her-teacher success. (Apparently, she uses the potty most often when her friend Katerina is around.) One day, I won’t have to wipe her ass or change her diapers.

Or perhaps we’re going about this the wrong way. Perhaps we should be following the lead of the über-insane Kelly Family, a German super-group that apparently shames its children into bladder control. Witness:

Put Down the Earphones and Be a Perv, Boy!

I am writing this post from the “sunport” (also known as an airport) in Albuquerque, New Mexico. I’m returning from a reporting trip to interview a Catholic priest who believes he is Jewish, keeps a menorah on the altar in his parish church, refers to God as Adonai during the Mass, and for matters unrelated to his Jewish ambitions, has received an official excommunication warning from the diocese. Interesting guy, but he isn’t what this post is about.

On the way out here I had a long layover in Washington, D.C. Joining me at the gate was a group of Albuquerque high school students returning from what appeared to me to be a class trip to France. This meant my Internet time was interrupted by a screaming posse of Justin Biebers and The-Next-Female-Pop-Star-Disasters. I was bored and they weren’t too objectionable, so I actually found it rather interesting to observe them, flirting, gossiping, wrangling for attention, calling their mothers, charging their phones, working on their hair (the boys mostly), swapping secrets, and referencing TV shows.

I tuned in to one conversation, though, that disturbed me.

Two boys, of what looked to me to be the Popular Species, as far as I can still recognize it, were discussing the merits of noise-canceling earphones. The first boy was examining a pair owned by the second. They were a nice-looking piece of equipment, brand new, ruby red, battery-operated, and came with their own carrying case. These were an object that apparently both boys had given some consideration. Then the first boy brought up a pair of earphones owned by another child.

“Did you see Jonah’s earphones?” the first boy whispered (Jonah was in all likelihood nearby).

“Yeah,” the second boy replied, unimpressed.

“Exactly,” said the first whipersnapper, as if the case against the offending music-listening device had been satisfactorily closed. “And he thought it was better than [name escapes me],” he added, merely for spite.

“Really? He said that? Come ON. I mean, they’re nice, but seriously…”

“Right? I know,” the other boy said. “They were fine earphones, but not as good as these,” holding up the ruby red pair, “and not even in the same LEAGUE as [some stupid brand I didn’t catch].”

This went on for a while, as I tapped away at my email and wondered why these fucking teens weren’t staring at the tits of the girls on their trip. Young, nubile, naïve, insecure, young women surrounded these boys, begging to be asked to the prom or get tattoos or whatever it is kids do these days, and these two mooks were talking earphones?

“[Who fucking care]’s were the BOMB.”

“Yeah, I need to get me some of that.”

I decided to stare at teenage booby on their behalf, and thereby condemn myself to Hell, which is where I was going anyway as I am a bad man and a Daddy blogger, which is frowned upon in the next life.

DadWagon’s Ongoing Attempt to Sell Out

Over at Time.com, our beloved Nathan heads to SXSW to figure out how we can turn this here little logorrheic dadblog into a revenue-generating entity:

After 18 months of doing it simply for the pure squee of self-expression — racking up a million pageviews in the process — we are ready to think about racking up some money.

Along the way, he meets various Internet gurus who tell him that to earn the big bucks, he—and I guess this means Theodore and me as well—is going to have to do some real work:

You’re not going to make money until you learn how to get in touch with your readers as well. And that would require us to stop being wallflowers and dive into the broader community of fathers, perhaps with a product we’re selling: something that would require real outreach and effort.

What does this all mean for DadWagon? Will we become the corporate shills you know we’ve always wanted to be? Or will we reject the siren song of advertising kopeks? To find out, please send us $7.99 via PayPal. The answer will be revealed forthwith.