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Mother Puckers


In the book “Outliers,” Malcolm Gladwell claims that to become a success at something you must complete 10,000 hours of practice; whether its music (the Beatles) golf (Tiger Woods) or computer programming (Bill Gates.)

Let’s just say, I think a lot of parents in my town have read this book and are frantically having their kids bang out some hours.

Let’s just say, I too, am a little competitive, and have been known to hate losing.  

I mean let’s be real people – who wouldn’t want a little Justin Beiber running around their huge mansion that he buys for me house.

So I sometimes get nervous that over here in the Gaga household we really haven’t started chipping away at the old 10,000 hours yet.

We have to find something first.

Tick – tock.

I mean these kids aren’t spring chickens……Michael is already 6. 

I think Michael Jackson already had a gold record by then – and McCauley Culkin was probably already nailing his audition for “Home Alone.”

Just sayin…..

I mean the streets of gold aren’t going to pave themselves…..

So last year – when my then 5-year-old announced that he would like to play hockey  – I thought it was a great idea.  We signed up for a “learn to skate” program. 

Some people said “You are nuts! It’s so expensive! It’s so much travel and you have to wake up at 5 am and go to games!”

I would just look at them knowingly – and explain that it was something that Michael wanted to do – so we were willing to try it out.

(In my head I thought – I am a super-awesome mom and you aren’t! I am willing to sacrifice so that my son can start his 10,000 hours and you are selfish.  5 am game time is no problem for my husband us – because we are great parents ……and you are assholes.   Have fun waiting for your short little white kid to get drafted for basketball…..losers….)

So that first day of hockey – my son fell 500 times.  It was absolutely heart-breaking to watch him flail about on the ice like a sea-lion.
 
God love him – he kept trying and he wanted to go back the next time, and so we kept going and he started to learn to skate.

But then I met …….the HOCKEY MOMS.   You have heard of the “soccer mom?” These women blow them out of the water…….(possibly with a rifle if it’s Sarah Palin we are talking about.)

It's probably not good that this is America's self-proclaimed "Hockey Mom".......

 
I quickly found out I wasn’t the awesome, superior mother I thought I was…….the “hockey moms” let me know that – real quick.
 
“Ooohhh – he’s just starting now?”  one mom said with a sad face watching Michael flail about on the ice on his belly like a beached whale.  “My son started when he was 3.”
 
“Hunter started when he was 2,” another mom said knowingly as her son zipped by us at the speed of light (backwards.)
 
“Well – Corey started when he was 3 months and now he’s 6 and looking to get drafted,” another mother added.
 
Ok – I made up the last one – but I think she was thinking it…..
 

This kid kept taking breaks to lay down - what a slacker. At least Michael did better than him......

 
So basically what they all wanted me to know was that at the early age of 5 years old – Michael was too late to start his 10, 000 hours.   Not only was I not the best mother in America like I had originally believed I was a horrible mother!!
 
So as usual – this is what I am up against in this crazy world of parenthood.   We ended up doing 20 weeks of skating last year and we were happy with our choice.
 
This year a lot of parents with kids Michael’s age (who by the way weren’t any better than Michael) – were going to put them on the town team.  This meant paying $500, and going every Saturday and Sunday at 8 am from early October until April. 
 
Michael was playing soccer until November and we thought he really wasn’t ready to play on the team (skill-wise.)
 
“Oh Tucker wasn’t ready either – so I hired Oksana Baiul’s coach.  We have private lessons 4 times a week.” one mother told me when I voiced my concerns.
 
WTF?  The only thing I do 4 times a week is laundry and who am I kidding I don’t even do  that.  If I spent the time and money for those lessons - my son better magically transform like in the Black Swan movie – into Oksana Baiul.

Strangely - this is what Tucker looks like now - after weeks of private lessons.....

 
“We did a summer camp where they played hockey all day everyday. They cried every morning that they didn’t want to go – but it helped,” another mother said.
 
Really – on a beautiful hot summer day -your kids were indoors on ice skates?Meanwhile – we were eating ice cream from the Good Humor man and going crabbing all summer….ooops. 
 
Needless to say – since I am failing miserably in the 10,000 hours department – when we picked back up this week with hockey it was a disaster.  We signed Michael up for a more advanced “Hockey Skills” class that we weren’t really sure he was ready for.
 
He was not.  He went to retrieve a puck and got stuck in the net and couldn’t get out and got demoted back to “Learn to Skate.”
 
“This is our fault! Maybe we should have done the summer camp!” I cried to my husband, “We are horrible parents – maybe Oksana is still available….”
 
“It’s more important that he had a fun summer and a normal childhood,” Mr. Gaga responded.
 
Sigh.
 
What is the right answer?? 
 
For now – we are going to work on skating for another season – and possibly sign up for a summer camp to keep up with it …..
 
(that is only if it doesn’t interfere with my “How to turn your child into the next YouTube Sensation seminar.)
 
JUST KIDDING!!!! OF COURSE I WOULDN’T WANT MY KIDS TO BE TORTURED YOUNG POP STARS!!!   ONLY A HORRIBLE MOTHER WOULD DO THAT – SO SINCE I AM A GREAT MOTHER AND A FUNNY MOTHER – YOU CAN CLICK ON THE BANNER BELOW FOR ME!!!!  THANKS - LOVE, HOCKEY MOM (not)  LADY GOO GOO GAGA
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

What I learned….


In February of 2011 I began this little anonymous blog, as a way to vent and tell stories of my experience as a mother.

I have so loved having you all read, comment, laugh and commiserate. I look forward to much more blogging in 2012 and thank you all for your support!!

2011 was a good year for me.  I finally started to feel like I could think about doing something for myself – something besides wiping a butt or emptying a dishwasher.  (Like start a blog!!)

If I had to pick one word for 2011 it would be “blog,”  because in the beginning of the year I didn’t even really know what a blog was, and now I have my mom blog and I also have a beauty blog, and blogging has become a huge part of my life!

If I had to pick one word for 2012 it will be “Tweet.”  From what I understand this is something I am supposed to be doing already, but as usual I am behind the eight-ball with technology - so I am going to figure it out and become a tweet-aholic.

Today I want to just review the year for those of you who might have missed some important stories….with the
TOP TEN THINGS I LEARNED THIS YEAR…..(and one for good luck)

#1 – In February I started this blog and learned about other cultures at a Chinese child’s birthday party. This is where I was told to take off my shoes and wear the mother’s filthy slippers throughout the party.

#2 – In March, I came to the realization that my neighbor “Fran Drescher” is an utterly repulsive idiot.  I am so thankful that she moved across the country so I no longer have to be subjected to her filth or her children’s theater productions.

#3 – In April, I was an idiot and drove 19 hours in the car to Georgia, I learned that this is not necessarily a good idea.  As if it’s not bad enough being stuck in a vehicle for long periods of time,  I definitely learned that when one gets out of the car for short breaks, the Cracker Barrel is not the place to go.

#4 – In May, in honor of Mother’s Day I reviewed the ways “This is not my mother’s motherhood.”  Most of this list revolves around the fact that modern-day motherhood is wretched and torturous and my mother enjoyed leisure time watching the Days of Our Lives program and smoking cigarettes.

#5 – In June, school ended so I no longer had to look at or listen to Steven Keaton at the bus stop, and I figured out a way for my son to get the final revenge of the school year.  This school – year I learned that I must wear sunglasses rain or shine to avoid eye contact with any and all humans at said bus stop.

Imagine waking up every morning and having to watch this guy pretend he's going to take the bus to kindergarten.

#6 – In July, I learned that Bingo is very annoying, I will never win and it is not good for my mental health. If I continue to attend the yearly beach bingo I could possibly flip tables like Theresa Guidice.

Teresa Guidice flipping a table

#7 – In August, I learned that too much sun coupled with late nights spent watching Spongebob while his mother drinks wine, can actually turn a 5-year-old into the devil.  I got a lot of comments on this one – I think you all could relate to this story – especially when everyone on the beach clapped when we left….

#8 – In September, I was provoked by a moron in my “Moms Club” who decided to tell her 2-year-old there’s no such thing as Santa.  I learned that there is a level of horrible parenting that I was not aware of – Oooohh how I hate that woman and her husband.  In 2012 – stay tuned for more idiotic requests and questions from people who apparently can’t solve simple matters without sending out a mass email to 800 mothers.

#9 – In October, I escaped from Hell on Earth Connecticut and I learned it is not necessarily all it’s cracked up to be.  Although we had a great trip – it did take us until about Halloween to recover from the trip – and that was about the time that we had a storm that destroyed Connecticut life as we knew it.

#10 – In November, my hair turned into a Brillo pad and I learned how to survive without power for 10 days!!!!!  It took us until last week to recover from this fucking piece of shit storm and the piece of shit utilities company that we have here in lovely Connecticut.

This is me waiting for my husband to hook up the generator.....

#11  – In December, I learned that some people in this household do not value Christmas traditions and schedules as much as I do…..and Mr. Gaga asked that I also say I learned that he is funnier than me……(which of course is not true.)

What's the big deal? Why are you crying? Are you crying about coming home to raw chicken on the counter and a messy house or is it because I am an idiot?

Happy New Year!! Please start off the new year in a positive direction and vote for me was one of the Top Mommy Blogs!! XOXOXO LADY GOO GOO GAGA

Linking to pour your heart out!!

Terrified by the Dashboard Lights


Where did I leave off ?……Oh right…I did a kind act for my child and was rewarded with my “mom car” blowing up. 

The “check engine” light is flashing, a dinging noise is chiming repeatedly and another symbol is lit up on the dashboard which (a quick perusal of my car manual tells me) means essentially “Run for your life!”

So what did I do?

I drove home.  I was so close – I had to do it.

I arrived home without the car blowing up.

I was near hyperventilation.  The kids were still crying about Superman.

The “mom car” had to go in the shop for repairs.  This hellish week of back-to-school and my husband’s crazy schedule, we couldn’t have only one car. My husband borrowed someone’s car and let me use his.

It was glorious.

His car is nothing fancy.   But for starters, it’s a car and it’s not red.  It’s pretty fast and it has a leather interior and heated seats.

He watched me as I was getting acclimated, adjusting the seat and changing the mirrors.  I looked up at the rearview mirror and remembered that I can possibly get some tanning done in this vehicle.  I started thinking I should just keep this as my car.

“Look you even have a skylight in here!! It’s not fair!” I said pouting.

He looked at me with disgust.

“Ok – at least get the lingo right – It’s a sunroof.”

“Oh right – apparently my “mom car” is making me stupid……I am keeping this for my car now, you can have mine.”  I said matter-of-factly.

I think he didn’t really take me seriously the first day.  But by the end of the 10- day period of time that my car was in the shop, I had a new lease on life and there was absolutely no way I was giving him his car back. 

I can feel my youth in his car.  I am lower to the ground than I have been in 6 years.  It’s not depressing and sad like my “mom-car.”   I don’t chug along dropping kids off at school or going to the store. 

I zip.

I zip to the store in my sporty little car.  I open the skylight and crank up the music. I don’t have room for more than 3 kids and a stroller can’t even fit in the trunk if I tried.

It’s wonderful.

Not to mention that I have paid my dues in the offensive automobile department.  My father gifted me with my first car which was a powder blue Chrysler Holiday.   It was mortifying and ruined my life for a short period until I totaled it on purpose  in a horrible accident – (but everyone was ok thank goodness.)

I actually couldn’t even find a picture of this ridiculous hunk of shit - but this is the closest image I could find – just to give you an idea of what my Dad thought would be appropriate for his daughter to drive to a New England prep school where all the children drove BMW’s.

Picture this in powder blue....

After that I used my father’s Ford Taurus station wagon to get around for a while until he replaced my “Holiday” with a Mercury Topaz from the 80′s. 

This is what it looked like - but don't worry I tinted the windows and got some bitchin' hubcaps to spif it up....

After that I spent a few years driving a red Ford Escort, and then finally got a little sporty car that I liked. 

Guess what happened when I paid off that car and was loving life?

I had a baby and spent the next 6 years rocking a “mom-car.”

One day when we were fist-pumping (through the sunroof!!!) to the music, with the wind from the open window blowing my hair – Michael asked “Mommy when are you getting your car back?”

I turned down the radio – “This is my car.” I answered.

“No it’s not!” he said. I stopped at a light and looked back at both kids.

“Yes it is – and do you seen how clean and luxurious it is?  Do you see how it seems as if the person who owns this car has no children?” I asked.

They both nodded their heads “yes.”

“Ok – it’s going to stay that way. No more eating in the car.  No more leaving Lego guys and itty-bitty GI Joe guns and loose crayons in the car.  I want this car to always seem like there are never any kids in it….Got it?”

They agreed to this. 

By the time my car came back from the shop – my husband had resigned himself to driving the “mom-car” full-time.

Next step – making the full swap of the cars.  Out came the shop-vac and garbage bags and my husband went to work cleaning out the “mom-car.” 

It didn’t go well.

“This is disgusting, how could you live like this?” he said several times throughout the day.

“This car has been with me for some rough years!!  Children have grown up in it!  They have eaten and barfed and pooped in it!   Your car is so nice because you only had children in it like twice.  Drive a mile in my mom-car shoes and then we will talk, and I am sorry I didn’t have time to “Armor-all” the car – because I was busy BREASTFEEDING!!!”

Whenever I need to defend myself – I usually try to work in the breastfeeding and then I automatically win the argument.  Even though I haven’t breastfed in 3 1/2 years – it actually is still effective!!

Finally I took my lipglosses and sunglasses and any other essentials and gave him his cologne and EZ PASS and we were swapped!  I felt such a weight off of my shoulders.

And really it is for the best.  If I don’t nip this in the bud right now – I could end up in one of those things for the rest of my life! I could be bringing them to college in a van!! I could be picking them up and 32 friends from the movies!!

That wouldn’t be good for my mental health.

If this "mom car" thing continues - this will be me picking up my kids when they are on a date .....and then nobody will be happy.

Why should I drive a “mom car?”  Haven’t I done enough?  

It’s not enough that I am permanently fat and unpleasant?

I have to wake up everyday and get into some sort of red mini-van that’s filled with smashed up goldfish, sand, and toys?

 I don’t have a dog. 

I don’t have 4 children.  

Why am I driving this thing again?

Oh right …..I’m not.

It was hurting my feelings – and I feel much better now.

I know it’s a bit of a pain – but if you have a minute please vote for me as one of PARENTS MAGAZINE’S FUNNIEST MOM BLOGS!!

AND IF YOU CAN’T DO THAT YOU CAN VOTE FOR ME AS ONE OF THE TOP  MOMMY BLOGS….I AM VERY POPULAR:)

Linking to Shell at Things I Can’t Say and Boobies, Babies and a Blog and

Seven Clown Circus

Beach Mode


We are on vacation – which means that LADY GOO GOO GAGA is no longer interested in parenting or caring for her children.  Her top priorities are eating food, drinking wine, and reading US Weekly on the beach.

As a result, my children now eat a steady rotation of CARS 2 cereal, Fluffernutters, and hot dogs.  (Add in an ice cream from the ice cream man and that about rounds out the daily meal.)  As I have mentioned before, I am Italian and I take food very seriously – so this meal plan is a clear indication of how “checked out” I actually am.

The other day on the beach I was attempting to read my book, The Hunger Games Trilogy, and ignoring my children.  I was rudely interrupted  by mothers screaming from the boardwalk that my children were spitting water at each other – and apparently getting their saliva on others in the process.  I had to put my book down and get up and walk to the boardwalk.  On my way, a mother – (from what do you know – my hometown!!! They follow me everywhere) says…

“Your children are spitting at each other…and getting water on everyone.”

You know what? It’s the effing beach….so I don’t care if someone got a little spit on them – we just swam in the Long Island Sound all day.  Do you really think a little water and saliva from a 4-year-old is going to make or break the germ situation?  Why did I just have to put down my beach book to deal with this bullshit? I AM ON VACATION.

This isn't me - but we are thinking the same thing - "I don't know where my kids are - and I don't care."

This isn’t me, it is Britney Spears – but we are thinking the same thing – “I don’t know where my kids are – and I don’t care.”

All parenting is on hiatus.  Oh – what’s that?  One more episode of Spongebob Squarepants?? Sure. Sounds awesome.  Let me just have another glass of wine.

Oh, what did you say?  Your brother just catapulted you out of the hammock and you hit your head on the metal pole? Oh – that’s sad for you – here’s an ice cream sandwich.

What? I can’t hear you over the sound from the blender making Miami Vices!  You want to go climb on the rocks by the beach and pee on them instead of going to the bathroom?   Sounds great!!!

Poor kids – hopefully the slight relief of helicopter parenting will benefit them – maybe one day they will say – “Remember when we were little and we would go on vacation to the beach – and Mommy never watched us or talked to us and let us do whatever we wanted? Good times…”

JUST BECAUSE I FEED MY KIDS CARS 2 CEREAL DOESN”T MEAN I AM A BAD PERSON!!!  PLEASE CLICK ON THE BANNER BELOW TO VOTE FOR LADY GOO GOO GAGA!!! ONE CLICK COUNTS AS A VOTE!!!  THANK YOU!!!!

LINKING TO SHELL AT “POUR YOUR HEART OUT” and MAMA KAT’S LOSIN IT

Wardrobe Malfunction


My kids just went to NY with their father to visit with my in-laws without me.  The plan was for my in-laws to take them to a family party while my husband went to the Mets game.  I did all the packing of course, with clear guidelines about what clothing was to be worn to the party. 

When they came home this morning the party clothes were in the bag, clean as a whistle, untouched.  I asked the kids what they wore to the party. 

Michael said “My super-heros shirt.” 

Sam said “My Unicorn shirt.” (I’m sure Ralph Lauren would be thrilled to know that his polo player emblem could be easily mistaken for a unicorn.)

By the way, the clothes they were talking about were the ones they wore to school on FRIDAY, when it was 85 degrees, and then sat in a car with them for 4 hours to  NY.

“Um – those clothes were dirty.” I said with horror.

They both looked up at me innocently, “We know….we just kept wearing dirty clothes all weekend.” Michael said with a shrug.

Ok – it’s not the end of the world, but I would prefer if my kids didn’t go to family parties with people that we don’t see a lot, wearing dirty, filthy “Unicorn” and super-hero shirts like a couple of homeless people.

I threw the bag down and went in the backyard to question my husband.  Michael followed me trying to protect his Dad…”No Mom, it was all Granny’s fault!”

“Um – the kids said that your mother made them wear their dirty clothes to the party instead of the nice clothes I packed.” I said, hoping for a logical explanation.

He was leaned over filling up the kiddie pool, sweating. 

He looked up – rolled his eyes, and said “They’re lying.”

Ok – it’s Father’s Day – I decided to let it go.

I went inside to help the kids get into their bathing suits.  I told them to take off their cargo shorts and shirts and leave them on the bed to change back into after they were done with the pool. 

“But we have been wearing these clothes forever!” Michael
said.

“Yeah – these are our pajamas,” Sam said as he tossed them into the hamper.

“What are you talking about?” I demanded.

“Mom – Granny made us wear these clothes as our pajamas last night.” Michael said with a horrified voice for effect.

What the hell goes on? Why would small children be put to bed in khakis?

I didn’t push it with my husband – seeing as it is Father’s Day and all.

Later my sister-in-law called and I told her the story – she laughed and said “It’s worse than you think – Sam went to the party in just a wife-beater.  His other shirt got
dirty at the park.”

This is a picture of my 4-year-old at the graduation party - that's appropriate right?

Ok – nobody was hurt and my MIL made a point to tell me that she bathed them twice, and she watched them, etc.  But really – sending my preschooler to a party like a crystal
meth addict and my 5-year-old to bed in heavy constrictive clothing is CRAZY!!  Mothers cannot leave their children’s side for a minute!!  

This is the "pajama top" my son wore to bed with his cargo shorts......

I was going to go on and on about how I can’t trust my husband to make sure things get done properly; but that would not be nice in the spirit of Father’s Day.  I will save that for another post.

The fact is - even though Moms usually do everything perfectly – there are some times when Dads come in quite
handy.  He does the yard work, he kills the bugs, he puts together toys, he grills, he takes out the garbage, he plays sports, the list goes on and on of activities and chores that I refuse to do – and thank God – he does!  

I love my husband – and even though he (and his family) have no regard for my wardrobe guidelines or proper party attire he is a great Dad. We are lucky to have him (upstairs right now doing air guitar with the boys to music) while I finish my blog.

Happy Father’s Day!!!  Please click the banner below!! 
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REPOSTING THIS FOR LITTLE TRIP DOWN MEMORY LANE FOR

F.U. FRIDAY!!!

and MAMA KAT’S WRITING WORKSHOP

Baby mama (not)

Baby mama (not)

Even though I have been waiting almost 6 years for this…now that I am not going to have any children in the 3 and under category,  I feel a little bit like a slacker. 

I know – you think I am crazy – but I feel like maybe my life isn’t as torturous as it once was, and maybe I am not allowed to complain anymore.  I mean when I see Moms lugging strollers and diaper bags into the library or the store, with bags under the eyes, it seems like a million years ago that I was in their position.  But what I would like to know is – can I still say I’m tired? Because I really am!!   I truly don’t remember the last time I wasn’t tired. 

When I am out and about in town, I wear my sunglasses at all times to not make eye contact with people I don’t like, to hide the fact that I look like a bag of shit and have had chronic dark circles for 5 years. My sunglasses of choice have been an old pair of black Pradas that are the perfect shape to cover a good portion of my face and are really dark – so nobody can see my eyeballs.  They have been sat on, dropped, thrown in the sandbox, etc.  I can barely see out of them because of all the scratches.  It’s borderline insane that I wear them, if you look at me when I’m wearing them – you will just see crazy scratch marks all over both lenses.  When people ask about the situation I just say – “I know its horrible – I just haven’t had a minute to get new glasses.”  Which is true – but what now – do I have to throw them out?  What’s my excuse why I can’t do something so simple as get a new pair of sunglasses?

"Oh hi - I'm just here to pick up my son from preschool."

Even this past Christmas – I was arguing with my brother, who just had a baby, about where we would meet in the morning to open gifts. 

“I’m not lugging my kids – taking them in and out of all of their seats and straps and carrying them into your house in the freezing cold – only to get back in the car to go to NY like an hour later.” I argued.

“What are you talking about? They are grown men! The get in and out of their booster seats by themselves and walk to the door!” he replied.

“Oh right…..Damn it!!”

Also – can I still look like shit? Or do I need to start getting my act together?  For a long time after I had S – people would ask me how old he was and I would say the wrong age.  For example, if he was 7 months I would say 3 months – so people would think I looked good for having a 3 month old.  Or my favorite was when S was 6 MONTHS OLD!  and someone asked me when I was due.  I said “Next week!” And they were like – “Oh you look so good!”

How long can I call this “baby weight?”  I think when the last child is age 4, we have officially left the “baby-weight” stage and moved into the category of “Fat person.” 

Aside from the fact that I am morbidly obese – I also think that I have to try to look a little more presentable in the wardrobe department.  When I grab a shirt (from the pile of clothes in my room that I never seem to have time to put away) if there’s something on it, I don’t think I can say “Oh….the baby must have spit up on me!” when someone notices anymore. 

In general, I have pretty much let myself go.  I used to do weekly waxing appointments for lip,chin, brows, etc. color my hair every 2 weeks, cut every 8, manicure every week.  Now the best way I can describe my maintenance schedule is by showing you the picture below of my facial hair as of last week before I finally couldn’t take it anymore and waxed it.

If I don’t have babies keeping me up all night, who am I to have this kind of moustache? Or gray roots showing?  What’s my excuse to have my feet and toenails look like my grandfather’s?

For a long time having two baby boys 18 months apart, was something that got me off the hook.  I wore my weathered, ragged look like a badge of honor.   I was such a good mother – that I only could put all my energy towards raising these babies and had no time for frivolous matters like waxing my beard or putting together a matching outfit.   I mean how does Betty Draper do it?

I guess having these kids grow up has some disadvantages.  What’s next?  I’m expected to have a clean house?

Go to Work


So my son apparently has hit it off with someone in his kindergarten class.  I don’t know this because he told me.   I know it because this kid’s “stay-at-home dad” accessed my info through the handy school directory, and told me via email.  He suggested getting the kids together for a play-date and mentioned also that his child has a twin brother that will be “tagging along.”

Great!! These are always the kind of messages I enjoy finding in my inbox.  So, I invite both children to be dropped off for a little while one day after school.  Stay-at-home Dad says “Great, but I don’t usually drop the kids off, do you mind if I hang out for a while?”

I ran upstairs to my husband to consult on how to respond.  Always the one to save the day, he says, “Well just let him hang out for a while.” 

“No!! I have things to do! I thought they would play and I could clean and do stuff around the house. I don’t have time for these stay-at-home dad games, I’m busy and I’m not interested in hanging around in the yard with some creepy weirdo.”

“So just say that.”

“Seriously?  Say I don’t like to hang out in the yard with creepy weirdos?  Thanks for your help.”

UGGHHH.  Now I had to email that I understand and that we would be happy to meet in a park for an hour.  Now my afternoon will be spent awkwardly with some man I’ve never met.  These are the little episodes my mother never had to deal with.  In the old days all Dads went to work, but even if they worked nights or something allowed them to be home during the days, then they would get another job or build decks around the house and maintain their lawn to perfection.  They wouldn’t sip a latte at the park with my mother (and by “park” I mean the backyard with a metal swing-set and a ball for my brother.)

So off I go to waste almost 2 hours at a park with this guy making small talk.  Thank Jesus I have a sparkling personality and get along with almost anyone!!! (NOT)  And the guy is perfectly fine and nice – but I don’t care.  I don’t care if he was Brad Pitt, I am not interested in hanging out with him.  I have THINGS TO DO!!  Just because you are the only man I know that has NOTHING TO DO but go on play “dates” with women that you don’t know…..

“Well I don’t think I will make that meeting I have to run home for my playgroup, and then I have Kindermusik at 3.”

So of course, he promptly emails me for another “date” and I keep blowing him off until he finally gives up.  Then everywhere I went all winter– I would see him!! It became a joke, my husband would say “Your friend is here.” And there he would be, ice skating randomly one random morning, at a hockey game, in the hallway waiting for our teacher conferences!   The other day I was picking up my kindergartner from school in a huge rush and practically ran by him and said “Hello,” as I passed.  He called after me,

“So could Michael have a play-date with us soon?”

I said “Sure,” and kept running.  Can this guy take a hint?

Look dude – there are a few issues here:

A – You and I have both made some poor choices regarding our careers resulting in our spouses making significantly more money than us.  So much so that we have been designated of more worth home with the children.  It sucks sometimes, you’re bored, …I get it.  However, I have my own husband’s ego to stroke.  I’m not on this earth to entertain you and your kids…I sometimes wonder if I’m even qualified to entertain my own 2 kids, and my husband will vouch in that I rarely entertain him.

B – Join a “Stay-at-home Dads” group – and hang out with them if you need to be with your kids all the time.  But in case you haven’t noticed you have 2 six-year-olds that are in full-day kindergarten. They are self-reliant and almost in first grade.  Don’t you think they can go on a play date without you?

C – Having already established that the kids are in school all day, this leads me to my third point.  Tony Danza called, he wants his apron back.  Get a fucking job and stop bothering me.

I linked this post to Adventures in Mommyhood:

Top ten ways this is not my mother’s motherhood….


#1 – On weekends my children would go outside after breakfast and not come back until dinner.  They would never bother me to tell me how hungry, thirsty, bored they are.  And during this playtime, I wouldn’t really know where they were, I might have a vague idea of the vicinity, but that’s about it. This would be fine and I wouldn’t worry about sexual predators or the guy across the street that waters his telephone pole every morning.

#2 –In the afternoon/evening my kids could watch Sesame Street, Mr. Rogers, and Electric Company, back-to-back every day (that’s 2  ½ hours people!!) and I would have zero guilt or worry that they were going to be stupid or violent or fat.  I would just make dinner and talk on the phone the whole time.

#3 – I would never have to attend or host a playdate.  My kids would play with whoever lived on their street.  Even if it was someone they would never ordinarily be friends with, or someone weird or annoying like Fran Drescher’s kids, too bad. They would just play with who was available and make it work.

#4 – Plus even if someone asked me for a playdate, I wouldn’t be available because I would have lunch and then from 1-3 I would have to watch Days of Our Lives and Another World.  Then I would have to take a nap.  Also – my husband wouldn’t be available because he and all the husbands I know would be at work (out of the house.) There would be no chance that a Dad would show up for a playdate or birthday party.

#5 – I could put all of the cereal in the lowest cabinet in the kitchen and teach my kids how to fend for themselves, so I could sleep in the morning while they get themselves dressed, get breakfast, MAKE THEIR OWN LUNCH! and get ready for school.  And if they aren’t disciplined enough to do this and miss the bus, they
could walk or ride their bike to school to learn a lesson.

#6 –I wouldn’t spend 5 minutes every time I got into a vehicle, strapping people into various boosters and car seats like they were preparing for a space shuttle mission.  They would sit (or stand) in the backseat with no seatbelt.  For a special treat, (if we weren’t in the Blue Ford Hornet that had doors that blew open when you turned a corner) I would even let them sit in the front passenger seat.

#7– While in this vehicle I could smoke cigarettes with the windows closed using my built-in ash-tray and listen to whatever I wanted to on the radio. It might be the oldies station, Imus in the Morning, or Howard Stern but the thought would never cross my mind to drive around town listening to the Imagination Movers or Big Time Rush.

#8 – Also, if I needed to stop for my daily milk and cigarettes, I would just park the car and run into the store and leave my kids in the second-hand smoke bomb car.  Or if it was my mother-in-law’s motherhood, I wouldn’t even leave my house.  I would just give my kid $5 and send him on foot to the nearest convenience store with a note that said “Please give my son a gallon of milk and a pack of Marlboro 100’s.”

#9 – When I needed a babysitter, I could just leave my children
with their 85-year-old great-grandmother who was A – off the boat from Italy and doesn’t speak a lick of English and B- could only walk with a walker.  I would just keep my fingers crossed that nothing bad happened that would require an adult to contact the authorities( requiring use of the English language.)  Also, hope that if the kids did something wrong like run baths for their Cabbage Patch Dolls and leave the water running for so long that it’s pouring through the downstairs ceiling, she will stop watching church and doing the rosary long enough to notice.

#10 – I would have given birth at an appropriate age so that when I had a child in kindergarten, instead of being a fat , weathered  35 year-old, I would be a young, skinny and vibrant 27-year-old with my whole life ahead of me. I wouldn’t have gray hair yet, or saggy boobs or fat stomach, so I think I would be in a much better mood!

Oh well, that was motherhood in the 1970’s.  Can you think of a way that your motherhood is different from your moms’? Let’s hear it – Leave me a comment!!

Happy Mother’s Day!!

x0x0x

Lady Goo Goo Gaga

I linked up with Adventures in Mommyhood for

Reposted for MAMA KAT!

Riches to Rags


I recently did what I call my seasonal “rag rotation.” It’s when I put away my winter “rags” and take out my summer “rags.” I don’t know quite how I got to this point…..

It began obviously enough, when I first got pregnant in 2005, my maternity clothes moved into my closet. I gently nudged my “real” clothes to the side, knowing that I would be wearing them again in 9 months. YEAH RIGHT!!

Little did I know that most of my tops would be “half-shirts” when I ever got around to trying them on. Oh – well great news – half-shirts are back in style!!

Picture this but where J LO has a nice smooth belly, imagine a huge muffin top hanging over the sides….not good.

Sometimes I found a shirt that fit, but it would immediately be destroyed by formula, spit up, etc. So I started shopping at the OLD NAVY for disposable clothing, figuring I would go back to my stylish self when I was done being fat.

Except I got pregnant again, and seasons kept coming and going and I never threw out my “disposable clothing.” What I actually did throw out was my designer half-shirts, and settled into my “mommy uniform.” (long-sleeve t-shirt, jeans and UGGS in winter, wife beater, capri, and flip-flop in summer)

I pretty much just checked out. Even my “rags” starting getting ratty. Apparently when you get on your knees to zip jackets, tie shoes and change diapers 500 times a day the knees of your jeans can actually get worn away. But when you pay up to $200 for said jeans you just wear them anyway.

“Oh, um Bon Jovi called….he wants his jeans back.” my husband greeted me one day.
“That’s the style!” I protested weakly.
(See below…See this is exactly how I look when I leave my pedicure and go to pick up my preschooler….what’s so bad about that??)

One time I even cut them into shorts in an attempt to salvage my favorite pair of jeans.

“Nice jorts.” was my husband’s comment that day.
“What’s a jort?” I asked.
“A jean short.” he answered matter-of-factly.
Ok – when my husband, who currently wears sunglasses that he got at the gas station, makes fun of me, things are very bad.

But now the problem is that I am so far gone, I don’t even know where to begin!! Apparently if you are wearing “jorts” and a “Who Farted” t-shirt its pretty hard to navigate your way back into fashion.

“I think we have to start shopping at Ann Taylor.” my best friend said to me recently.
“What? Why? What are we going to get there? Slacks and a blouse?”
“I don’t know, but any mom I know that looks put-together shops at Ann Taylor or Ann Taylor Loft.” she answered.
UGH.

How did I get here? When I worked in NYC I was always pining away for a new bag, shoe, or pair of jeans. Any spare pennies I had were applied towards clothes, make-up, shoes, expensive hair-cuts, skin-care, waxing, etc., etc….the list was endless. I used to love going to Brasserie 8 1/2 because you could eat an egg off the bar for dinner, and spend your only $15 on a cosmo, and not worry about starving to death. This was around the time I bought my first pair of Chanel shoes. They were gorgeous and worth every rumble of my stomach.

Now look at me. My Chanel shoes are in a box in my husband’s closet,(my closet is filled with UGGS and flip-flops) along with all the other relics from my past. There are some shoes and clothes I just can’t give up, and keep hope alive that they might fit someday.

In the meantime, if you are looking for me, I will be at Ann Taylor Loft.

I linked up with Adventures in Mommyhood for

Mommy tip #1- Don’t ever join a playgroup; they suck


I recently saw someone who looked familiar.

“I know you don’t I?” she said eyeing me carefully. When we made eye contact I knew that she had been in a playgroup with me.

“No, I don’t think so,” I said breaking into a cold sweat praying for the store clerk to hurry up with my purchase.

“Yes, you have 2 little boys…..” she trailed off.

Caught, I had to engage and pretend that I just remembered who she was. I escaped after some quick small talk. As I left the store, I reflected back on those early years when I was stuck home with my first baby, wandering the world aimlessly in search of any activity that would kill time. There was a community place we would go for two hours every Wednesday, where kids could play and moms sat on couches, glassy-eyed, chatting about potty-training, making homemade baby-food, nursing, and other riveting topics. One day a mom I had made small talk with in the past, approached me and said “I told my playgroup about you and they said I could invite you to join us!”.

She was so excited to tell me this great news, and I was so caught off guard, that I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I would rather gouge out my eyeballs with sharp objects than join her playgroup.

“Um, ok….when is it?” I asked.

So of course I got sucked into this playgroup after being home for about a month with my one-year old. This was essentially my first taste of the world of stay-at-home “Mommy-hood”, and to say it was a shock is putting it mildly.
First off, there were 5 of us in the group, and I was the only one who had not emptied out my dining room and transformed it into a playroom.

“Oh, but where’s your table and chairs.” I asked staring at the heaps of toys, baby swings and train tables.

“Everything is in storage,” they would say with their soft robotic voices.
“Your china and silver?”
“We don’t need it anymore,” they would say smiling lovingly at their two-year olds.

WTF?

Was I the only one who someday dreamt of eating a meal with
another adult off of something other than a Wiggles paper plate while actually sitting down on a chair??? As I went from house to house and saw the same set-up I started to wonder if I was naive or maybe selfish.
It became increasingly more and more clear to me that I was not like these women. Myself and one of the other girls was pregnant and two others had just had their second. Being home with a one-year old all day was exhausting and extremely difficult while pregnant, and I seemed to be the only one to complain or be tired.  They all were always smiling and seemed to love very minute of being home with small children.

One time they were all talking about when the older kids turned 3 and went to preschool, how we would deal with the trauma of leaving them at school.

“Honestly, I’m going to drop him off, peel out of the parking lot and chain smoke cigarettes all the way home,” I joked.

Crickets chirped.

A tumbleweed rolled by.

4 Stepford wives stared at me in horror.

It got to the point where I dreaded going. I began to feel more and more guilt for not basking in the joy of motherhood and wondered every week if maybe i was just a miserable horrible person. My son didn’t really care about playing with any of the kids and I basically went to kill 2 hours, but hated every minute of it. I couldn’t just quit though. What would be my reason?
“You guys are all just a little too happy, and seem to love your children a little too much…..I quit.”
My plan was to claim I was too overwhelmed when I had my second
baby in the summer and quit the group. June couldn’t come fast
enough.

The “playgroup leader” came to visit when I had the baby. (I’m not making up that title in case you all are thinking that sounds a little crazy, this is what I was dealing with.)

“So, it’s really crazy having two babies 18 months apart, and I don’t think I’ll be able to make it to playgroup anymore….You make it look so easy,” I said.
“Oh well, I’ve been taking drugs for postpartum for three years, so nothing upsets me,” she said with her smile that I could now see was a little dopey.
Nervously, I changed topics, ” Well, Lena makes it seem like a
breeze too with her two boys,” I said focusing on another playgroup member.
“She is heavily medicated,” she answered matter-of-factly.
“Okay…..what about Jill and Kelly?” I asked incredulously.
“I’m pretty sure they are still taking something to take the edge off too,” she said as though we were talking about eating m&m’s.
So here I was for 9 months feeling bad about myself and hating this playgroup and these bitches were in drug-induced fogs the whole
time!!!!
I could not believe it. I quit the playgroup and now whenever I see a mom that seems just a little too happy, I think to myself, it must be the Zoloft.

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