Posts filed under ‘Parenting’

Mean Mommy Confessions

The whining, the nagging, the rudeness, the backtalk.  Ah, yes.  The joys of parenting.

I’m sure that whoever you are, your kids are PERFECT.  But it can’t be just me.  Can it?

Please tell me it’s not just me.  That I am not the only mother being driven crazy by her own kids.

Mama, mama, did you see my drawing, mama?
Do you like it, mama?
Mama, mama, I made my own bed, come see, mama.
Mama, mama, I ate all of my lunch.  Isn’t that good mama?
Mama mama mama mama….

It’s enough to make me want to change my name to…Dada.

This summer, my son has decided that he is going to call me mama.  And he is going to call me that twice at the beginning of each sentence, and once at the end.  Basically, the format is:
“Mama. mama (insert need for approval) Mama.”

Then there’s the food.  His favorite used to be grilled chicken.  Suddenly, he deems it “gross.”  He used to eat watermelon.  Now it’s too wet for him.  He used to like cheese sticks.  Now, only fine French cheese will do.  He’s even turning down most types of cookies.  Can you say “control issue?” Meal time has become a game of Russian Roulette — and I’m the one with the gun at my head.

nyc moms blog logoClick here to read the rest of this post at NYC Moms


August 26, 2009 at 5:32 pm 1 comment

Who’s Afraid of the Water Park? Me, that’s who.

traveling-mom-logoI have trekked through the rain forests of Costa Rica.  I have biked 18 miles up-hill to the top of  Mount Constitution in Washington State. I have traveled through Turkey – by myself – with blond hair.  But the ideaof going to Splish Splash Water Park terrifies me.

It’s not the possibility of drowning *though there is that), or the inherent germiness of being in a place where so much, and so many, are so damp. (Though there is that, too.)  I’m afraid of it because it means I’ll have to wear a bathing suit in public for an extended period of time.

To read the rest of this post, click here.

July 25, 2009 at 5:57 pm Leave a comment

NYC Moms Blog Post: My Daughter Thinks She’s Fat and It’s all my Fault

Swimsuit season is upon us.  And with it the onslaught of diet ads on tv, magazines with pics of celebs caught having actual cellulite, and me, bemoaning my post-partum, post-forty, past passing for anything but middle-aged body.

Though I am, if I am completely, intellectually honest, neither truly fat, or particularly unattractive, I have made a life (and something of a writing career) of comically dissecting my physical flaws.  I’m the self-appointed Queen of Bad Body Image, chronicling on line and in print my twenty year quest to lose the same ten pounds.  I’ve joked about the fact that my belly button seems to be frowning, that the only men who find me attractive are septuagenarians, that I’ve chosen to paint my daughter’s room the same lavender color as my newly acquired varicose veins.

Ha Ha.  Nudge nudge.  Wink Wink. Very funny.  Until this morning, when my daughter refused to eat breakfast because, she told me through her tears, the boys in her class had told her she was fat.

Want to read the rest of this post?  Click here to go to NYC Moms Blog. (and while you’re there, leave a comment, wouldja?)

June 4, 2009 at 11:04 am Leave a comment

Can I Have Mothers Day Off?

Here’s a typical day for me:

Wake up. Check mirror. Cringe. But realize there’s no time to shower. I’ve got to get the kids to school no later than 8:25. Since this is NYC, I do not have the option to get in my car in my pajamas, drop off my kids, and drive home before anyone notices me. I have to get dressed and try to achieve some semblance of presentability before leaving the house. I also have to get my kids ready, which means endless repetitions of “get dressed, brush your teeth, put your socks on, where’s your homework, sit down while you eat, you have to go to the bathroom now?, where’s your other shoe, hit the elevator button, and do you have your Metrocard?” Once we finally achieve the impossible and leave the house on time, we have to walk the four blocks to the city bus stop, hope the bus comes, hope when it does come the dispatcher doesn’t hold it there while he yacks about the Yankees with the driver and leaves all us parents and commuters seething, ride the bus across town, walk the six blocks to school from the bus stop, climb five flights of stairs to their classrooms, and then do the whole thing in reverse. All before 9am.

Once I’m home, do the breakfast dishes, make the beds, pick up their toys, check my email, look in the refrigerator for something to eat, try to get some writing done, procrastinate by cleaning out the linen closet (really just a few shelves in my bedroom cabinet, but it makes me feel better to call it a linen closet), realize that the crack in the living room ceiling is getting ominously bigger, make mental note to do something about it…eventually, open the refrigerator again as if expecting new food to have magically appeared since the last time I opened it forty minutes ago, run some errands, go to the gym, shower (finally), prepare dinner, prepare snacks, pick up kids, serve snacks, help with homework, greet the husband, serve the dinner, clean the dishes, tuck in the kids, pay some bills, do some online shopping (my son is growing at an alarming rate), knit a few rows of the sweater I’ve been working on for three years, collapse in front of the TV, converse with husband, (monosyllables, at best), wash up, put on pajamas, get into bed, and try to get enough sleep so I can do it all again the next day.

So you know what I want for Mother’s Day? A day off. I want to wake up in a nether world where my kids don’t want anything from me other than to shower me with praise and love. I want to live in an apartment where the beds are made by invisible imps who don’t come to you with their problems, don’t put away your favorite jeans somewhere you can’t find them, and never ever ask for a raise. I want to go to the gym and not worry about how soon I have to be back, or whether or not it’s fair to my husband to have to stay home with the kids when he’s been working all week and I’ve been able to go to the gym whenever I want to (Ha!). I want to shower in the morning, and have time to blow-dry my hair. I want to make one thing for dinner and have everyone eat it. Or better yet, have someone else make it, and do the dishes afterward.

It’s not that I don’t realize that I’m lucky. My children are healthy. We are not poor, or starving, or displaced by war, or floods, or fire. I have a loving husband, a caring family, a comfortable home. I am not ill, or in peril. I get it: I’m one of the lucky ones. Which makes me feel all the worse that all I really want for Mother’s Day is a day off.

I want a Mother’s Day Off. A day off from the guilt, and the worry, and the responsibility. A day off from the whining and complaining, and instant refusal to try any new food, even if it’s just a different brand of chicken nugget. I want to have a day where no one talks back, everyone does as they’re told and my breasts miraculously return to their pre-I’ve-breast-fed-two-kids state, and pass the pencil test with ease.

I want a bouquet of freshly picked flowers, sunshine and warmth without that

New York

humidity. I want to be like a character in an old Fred Astaire movie, burst into song, know all the words, have a full orchestra accompanying me, and dance the foxtrot like nobody’s business.

Ok, well, maybe I’m getting carried away.

How about I just knock it down to wanting to sleep in and not have to do the breakfast dishes? Oh, and if I do decide to burst into song, I don’t want anybody to laugh.

Hey, it’s Mother’s Day. Is that really so much to ask?

May 10, 2009 at 7:00 am 2 comments

Leave Carrie Prejean Alone!

carrie-prejean-photoSo Carrie Prejean, the controversial Miss California USA (not for long?) once posed for nude photos.  Is anyone out there surprised?  Let’s face it, these days, there are LOTS of girls sending nude photos of themselves out over the internet.  One of them is even being prosecuted for distribution of child pornography – for sending out photos of herself!

The real problem here is not posing topless, not being anti-gay, not even Carrie Prejean herself, but the fact that our daughters are being told – through beauty pageants like Miss USA, that pretty is all that matters.  You can be a homophobe, you can be borderline incapable of literate speech, you can be stupid enough to do something that has the potential to ruin your life’s dream…but if you’re pretty: here’s a crown, here’s some money, here you are being put out there as a role model to girls across the country.

Wanna read the complete post?  Check it out (and please leave a comment, if you do) at

May 9, 2009 at 10:31 am 1 comment

Bagels are Kosher for Passover, right?

ICB064028 had a bagel for breakfast today.  Normally, that wouldn’t be a big deal.  Maybe not the wisest choice, given the tagline of my blog– but not such a big deal, either.

Except that I’m Jewish, it’s Passover, and I’m not supposed to be eating bagels. I’m supposed to be eating Matzoh.  So I’m feeling a bit guilty.  Mind you I don’t feel guilty the rest of the year when I eat cheeseburgers (I’m not “supposed to” mix milk and meat), lobster (no bottom feeders, either), or fry up some bacon on a Saturday morning. (Too many “not supposed to’s” to count.)  I’m not a religious person at any time during the year.  My husband and I even belong to a Humanistic Synagogue, which celebrates and affirms the cultural and ethnic aspects of Judaism, without all the higher power stuff.

I’m not kosher ; I almost never go to synagogue (even the Humanistic one); and though my family and I do celebrate Shabbat most Friday nights, it’s about a two-minute ceremony, after which I may serve roast loin of pork. Seriously.

And yet.

I feel guilty for eating a bagel. -Click to read more about what a bad, bad, Jew I am!>

April 11, 2009 at 2:46 pm 1 comment

The MOMcademy Awards

1095615_74746244Unless you’re living under a rock (or a large stack of diapers), you must know by now that The Academy Awards are tonight.

Honestly, do these people need an excuse to look even more fabulous than usual?  Do they really need to celebrate themselves?  They’re already rich, famous, and have way better hair than the rest of us.  So this year, I’m hosting my own awards: The Momcademy Awards: awards given to mothers who go above and beyond the call of duty every day of the year.

Because even thought movie stars walk the red carpet, and all we get to do is vaccum it, even though they get high-brow swag and all we get is middle-aged sag, we Moms deserve awards too.

So roll out the scotch guarded carpet, get your g-rated acceptance speech ready, and put on your best pair of staying-at-home sweats because it’s time to say…

And the Momcademy Award goes to….
1. Best Make-Up: To the mom who manages to look well rested though she has five kids: three sick ones, one whiny one, and one permanently attached to her right hip, she hasn’t slept through the night in six months, her blow-dryer is on the fritz, and the closest thing she’s had to a facial is when the baby spit egg onto her face.  This woman does wonders with a tube of lipstick, a little mascara and a vat of Vaseline.

2. Best Set Design: To the Mom whose house looks neat enough for company only four minutes and thirty-two seconds after her four year old twins decided to have a Finger Painting Festival on the (white) living room couch.

3.  Best Art Direction: To the mom who looked at her four year old’s painting and correctly identified the green part as the sea (not the lawn), the square thing with windows as a boat (not a house) and the bright yellow blob in the sky as herself. (note to self: speak to colorist)

4. Best Supporting Actress: To the Mom who smiled endlessly at an incredibly boring business function because she was there supporting her husband even though said husband can never manage to support her by taking the kids to even one lousy movie on a Sunday afternoon so she could have a moment — just a bit of time — all to herself.

5. Best Costume Design:  To the Mom who realized she had left the only dress that still fits her at the dry cleaners just fifteen minutes before she was supposed to be at the biggest social event of the year. Yet still managed to make herself a fabulous outfit from a bed-sheet, a pair of pantyhose, and a Hannah Montana costume from her daughter’s dress-up box.

6. Best Adaptation of a Story for the other Moms at School: To the bragging mom on the carpool line who told everyone her son was invited to a special, invitation-only, think-tank for teens.  (For which he left, escorted, in the middle of the night.  Plus it’s in Utah, in the wilderness, and he’s allowed no contact with the family for the first three weeks.  You figure it out.)

7. Best Performance by a Mother feigning nonchalance in a publicly embarrassing situation:  to the amazingly composed mother of a five year old who began screaming out in the restaurant: “Mommy!  Mommy!  Look!  That fat lady over there is eating french fries!  It’s just like you said: French Fries aren’t good for you!  And look!  She’s eating french fries and she’s FAT!” (That would be my award, by the way)

8. Best Show of Self-Control: To the mother who did not throw an entire pot of pasta out the window when, after having asked fourteen times what the kids wanted for dinner, verified that pasta and chicken nuggets was indeed what they wanted, then cooked the stupid tortellini and chicken, had both kids say that they no longer wanted chicken nuggets, no longer liked tortellini, and wonder whiningly how come she never makes anything they like, anyway.

9. Best Actress: To the Mom who pretends to be Barbie (with smaller boobs, and able to stand on her own. Except for that one New Year’s eve a while back.  But let’s not go there.) Then pretends to be a My Little Pony, then a stuffed bear, a baby, a slice of pizza, and finally Abraham Lincoln giving the Gettysburg Address — all within one afternoon spent with her child.

10. Lifetime Achievement Award: To the mother with a house that’s mess, kids that won’t eat anything, a dry cleaner who lost that “sole” dress that still fits her, who finds out that the fingerpaint the kids used isn’t washable, and who has she just discovered that she’s “late., ”  — and who still manages to feign surprise when her two year old pops out of the hamper for the thirty-second time that day, to say exactly the right thing to avoid a(nother) tantrum from her four year old, and to get dinner and home-made cookies (ok, ok, slice and bake cookies) on the table in time for dinner.

11.  Best Picture:  To the mother who figured out how to use the timer on the new digital camera that also takes video, sends text messages, and makes pannini, got all three kids, the dog, and the husband smiling and looking into the camera for the annual holiday card.  Of course she, herself, was only half-way into the shot, and that half was,needless to say, her bad half.  But still, everyone else looked good, and if you’re a mom, well, what else can you hope for?

Thanks for joining us for this year’s Momcademy awards.  Join us for the next awards ceremony: The Mammy’s: best musical interpretations by tone-deaf moms, wanna be performer moms, and the kids that love them.

February 22, 2009 at 9:00 am 3 comments

Older Posts

Click Below to Subscribe to My Blog!

Give me a Thumbs Up!

More Birthdays. Less Cancer.

I Blog Here, Too!

travelingmomblogger nyc moms blog logo

Here’s What I’m Tweeting These Days

I Got a Halo