RSS Feed

Time for me to take some of my own advice…

I am sorry that I am late to post this week – 

It’s because I made a seriously bad decision….

I traveled to Springfield, Massachusetts yesterday and I took my children to Six Flags New England today.

Last year I took them to Hershey Park and I vowed that I would never do something like that again…

I forgot I guess.

Here’s a reminder of that horrific trip…and I promise to have some fresh material next Sunday – XO, LADY GOO GOO GAGA

Well this week I decided to take the kids away for a couple of days with my friend, Jane and her children.

I have always heard great things about Hershey Park and I thought it would be a great place for two little boys and for two girlfriends who love chocolate.  Every time I told someone we were going – they would tell me how wonderful and magical it was.  “The kids will love it!” everyone assured me.

Many people have also suggested more adventurous trips for the two boys – like the Grand Canyon – but I thought this would be a logical first step.

I imagined a magical place with chocolate fountains and everyone told me that as you entered into the town of Hershey you could actually smell chocolate in the air.  There were tons of rides for the kids and a water park.  Basically it would be a wonderful adventure and would secure my ranking as “Best Mom Ever.”

Ok well first of all as we were getting close to the Hershey gates, after driving for 5 1/2 hours I rolled down my windows with excitement.  We all stuck our heads out the car windows.  Maybe the factory was closed that day – or maybe fresh landscaping had just occurred but all we smelled was manure.

We were off to a great start.

Off we went to the amusement park.  We started off on a few rides and we did one pretty tame rollercoaster.  As we got further into the park we realized that several of the rides were closed. On one ride Jane and Michael waited in a half hour-long line before being told that the coaster was broken.

Michael the daredevil of the group, was getting frustrated.  We came upon a very unusual ride where you get strapped into what looks like a rollercoaster seat and then you go down a straight rail, practically at the speed of light.

We watched group after group get catapulted forward at lightning speeds into a tunnel out of sight.

“Please!! Please can I do that one?” Michael pleaded.

“Are you sure?” I asked hesitantly as I watched people’s heads jolt back from the excessive speed.


“Yes! Please!” he begged.

I relented and Jane agreed to go on with him.

We watched them get catapulted forward and waited for them to get off the ride.  They had disappeared.  We peered through the tunnel and under the trees that were blocking our view and I realized with horror that in fact the ride didn’t end with just a straight shot – but instead went on to become one of the most insane rollercoasters I had ever seen in my life.

Oopsie...there goes Michael.

Oopsie…there goes Michael.

After that whole fiasco we decided to have lunch and head over to the water park.

This part of the park reminded me of other hellish places I have been where water is squirting out from fifteen million places and a huge bucket above the area fills up with water and then tips over and drenches everyone with a tidal wave.   We were hot from milling about in the blazing 90 degree heat, so we thought it would be a good break.

As we approached we soon realized that there would absolutely be no way to watch our children.


The kids chose the longest slide and we agreed to let them go all together up the stairs to wait in line for that particular purple slide and we would wait on the ground for them.  The line was long and our skin was burning as we waited for 15 minutes while they ascended the stairs.  As I peered around there were a lot of unsavory characters in ill-fitting bathing suits.  I slipped off my flip-flops and waded in a cold puddle to cool off, counting the minutes until we could leave this area.

Fifteen more minutes passed and we looked up into the sun trying to find their little bodies on the stairwell.  We spotted them and realized they hadn’t moved ahead much.

Another fifteen minutes passed and we could no longer see them and we were starting to get nervous.

“I’m going to go the bottom of the slide to wait for them! This is taking way too long!” I told my friend with despair.

Human beings of all shapes and sizes came one after another shooting out from the slide, but not our children.


Finally, after one hour of waiting we could see our kids right at the top of the stairs, up next to come down the slide.  I walked up close so I could get a nice picture of them coming down the long-awaited slide.

But what was this that came shooting down?

This wasn’t one of our children….I took a closer look as a woman came tumbling down on her back in a big splash, legs spread wide……with NO BATHING SUIT BOTTOM ON!!!!  She leaned down and grabbed her bottoms that had slipped down around her ankles and pulled it back up.

I almost died.

Then she just walked back towards the line to do it again like nothing happened....

Then she just walked back towards the line to do it again like nothing happened….

I looked at my friend in despair – “But wait – I think our kids our next – that means – her bits and pieces just rubbed all the way down the slide!” I screeched in horror.

“Yup,” Jane said laughing as the kids came shooting down, “Here they come in the vagina tunnel…”

That was enough of that.

“Come on kids – a few more rides and then we can go to the Chocolate Museum.” I said wrapping the kids in towels and shuffling them out of the water park.

“But – we only did one ride!” the kids cried.

We ignored them and did a few more rides, even though we waited in two more lines!! that shut down the ride while we were mid-line!

Finally we headed out of the park and made our way towards “Chocolate World,” which was what I had been dreaming of all day. We were to go on a tour of the chocolate factory.

I knew for sure this whole day of torture would end with a delightful cruise down a chocolate river…

I couldn't wait for this delightful tour and was so excited to hear that we would receive a fresh off the presses piece of Hershey's chocolate at the end....

I couldn’t wait for this delightful tour and was so excited to hear that we would receive a fresh off the presses piece of Hershey’s chocolate at the end….

Only the tour was a fake-ass tour with barrels of fake liquid and a fake story about how chocolate is made….. I couldn’t help but think along the tour – “Where is the barrel of high fructose corn syrup??”


This is fucking bullshit -Where is Gene Wilder?????

The kids enjoyed the tour and didn’t seem to notice that it was completely absurd and stupid. When we hopped off our beautiful chocolate river boat  motorized tour cart – I thought to myself at least we will receive a delicious piece of chocolate at the end of all of this.



We peeled out of that Hershey Park so fast gnawing on our pomegranate balls in disgust.

The next time someone tells me some place is “wonderful” I am going to have to think long and hard about this.

The first thing I am crossing off my list is the Grand Canyon.  Many people have told me how “amazing” it is there.

Guess what? I am not falling for this bullshit anymore.

I am not riding some filthy goat up a mountain and looking down into a ditch where I can fall to my death at any moment…..

I’m thinking “stay-cations” are more my speed.




Places you won’t find me this Summer

This week I am finally able to get into the summer mode.

On Wednesday, my family left for three days for a special trip.


I stayed home.

When I first met Mr. Gaga he would speak fondly of his childhood camping trips with his sister and parents.  I firmly let him know in no uncertain terms that camping would not happen anymore if we chose to marry and have children.

Clearly, I am not equipped mentally or physically, to reside in a nylon facility with a rocky dirt bed, where I could be eaten by a bear at any moment.

I will never understand how such a trip could be enjoyable.

So off Mr. Gaga went this week with his father and my two beautiful safe children.  They were plucked from the safety of their beds and and their home and driven off into the wilderness to sleep in the great outdoors.

They had a blast. They played cards and catch and swam.  They didn’t bathe for four days, ate a lot of junk food and roasted marshmallows on a real campfire like they do in the movies.

I enjoyed my time at home watching Real Housewives with reckless abandon in the air-conditioning.


Camping is not the only summer activity that I refuse to do.  There are several other activities that Americans do regularly under the guise of “summer leisure” that I find absolutely horrific.

For example:


I’m sorry but if you know full well that people are getting their legs bitten off regularly in waters near you, perhaps it’s time to just sit in your beach chair and read a book.

At what point do you disregard the huge signs letting you know that you are entering into shark-infested waters and just go take a swim?

This is called - don't put one toe in the water. Fly a kite. Read your magazine.  Take a bike ride. Don't be a stupid douchebag...

This is called – don’t put one toe in the water. Fly a kite. Read your magazine. Take a bike ride. Don’t be a stupid douchebag…

You are entering into the sea, where sharks reside and they consider you lunch.

Have you seen Jaws?  You will not beat the system dudes…

When Mr. Gaga first came to the beach on the Connecticut shoreline where I spent all of my summers, he was horrified.

When you grow up swimming in the Long Island sound you don’t realize that it’s not up to par.  Apparently to any individual who associates the beach with the ocean, it’s a huge disappointment.

The water is very still and devoid of surf.  It can be a bit green and murky and filled with seaweed.

“What the fuck is this? A pond?” Mr. Gaga asked incredulously the first time we stepped onto the pebbly sand.

“It’s the Long Island sound.” I shrugged.

“There’s no waves.” he said with disgust.

He’s right.

There’s no waves.

But guess what else there’s not…..



I fell for this Willy Wonka hoax last summer.  Expecting to be met with the smell of chocolate in the air and riding a tube down a lazy river filled with Hershey’s Special Dark, I was in for a rude awakening.

I couldn't wait for this delightful tour and was so excited to hear that we would receive a fresh off the presses piece of Hershey's chocolate at the end....

I couldn’t wait for this delightful tour and was so excited to hear that we would receive a fresh off the presses piece of Hershey’s chocolate at the end….

Meanwhile – it was all bullshit and the tour was fake with fake chocolate pouring out of fake machines.  We were devastated.  To add insult to injury – at the end of the tour we were promised a delightful chocolate treat.

We were carelessly handed this by a disinterested Hershey tour guide…



After that disastrous trip – I vowed I would not do these short little jaunts.  The only time I would take a summer adventure it would have to be good.

But I am just not wowed by any trips that other people seem to find enjoyable, especially…


I mean I am sure people might miss the news sometimes.  So maybe you might not realize what you are getting yourself into…

But did everyone miss this report?


Or this one?


Or this one?


Does this actually appeal to people??

I cannot think of a worse fate than to be stuck out to sea in a huge vessel filled with sick humans.


This seems very unpleasant – yet millions of people continue to go on cruises.

It’s shocking.


I hear people often mentioning summer adventures involving the Grand Canyon.

I cannot think of something more terrifying.

“Let’s see – what should we do this summer?”

“I know! Let’s drive a goat up winding trails where we can fall to our deaths at any moment and then we can look at a huge dry dusty hole.”



I think I am best suited to just stay put in my beloved Long Island sound.

There’s just nothing like a staycation….




Sea Salt in the Wound

Every year to kick off the summer – one of my oldest friends and I hit the beach with our kids.

We grew up loving the beach together and we expect the same from our children.

We always envision this day to be us sitting in our beach chairs reading magazines and catching up while our children swim, make sand castles and entertain themselves all day.

This is us our dreams.

This is us …in our dreams.

Inevitably as soon as we sit down they are bothering us.

“We are bored – can you dig a hole?” “My eyes have sand in them.” “I got stung by a jellyfish.” “Sam’s not sharing the shovel.” “Can we go crabbing?” “I’m hungry.”

This is what actually ends up happening....

This is what actually ends up happening….

And then just when we think everyone is happy and entertained…..”Can we get an ice cream? Can we get an ice cream? The ice cream man is here – Can we get an ice cream?” repeats endlessly by all four children until we can’t take it anymore and throw cash at them.

Then once they eat their ice cream they come around again peppering us with more requests.

“Can we go to the raft? Will you go to the raft with us? Can we go to the raft by ourselves? When will you come to the raft with us? How old do we have to be to go to the raft alone? When can we go to the raft today?”

It’s fucking endless.

The raft is a floating plastic square out in the middle of the Long Island Sound.  It is a destination that is hard to get to.  The water gets deeper and deeper and colder and colder as one approaches the raft.

I grew up going to this beach and going to the same raft myself.  It can be scary.  The clarity of the water, which isn’t great in Connecticut as it is – goes away completely as you go into deeper waters. I can remember last year  as a child pulling myself on the rope in the dark cold water and having a fleeting thought that a shark could be beneath me and I would never know until it was too late.

“Can’t we just let them all go together?” my friend pleaded with me after the kids asked us to go to the raft for the tenth time.  “The water is so cold – we can’t go with them.”

“No way.” I answered definitively.

After five more requests she was really pressuring me, “My daughter is almost 12 -she will watch them, just let them go so we can relax!” she begged.

So obviously I would never let my 8 and 9-year-old go to the raft alone.

I mean we quit swimming lessons this year because of the naked old men in the locker room.

I could never let them go that far into the ocean alone….

I tried to read my US Weekly and enjoy the sun after saying no 50 times.

“Mom will you come to the raft with us?”

What can I say? I am weak.

I am tired.

And I just want my children to shut the fuck up and leave me alone.


So we agreed that all of the children would hold onto the rope that went from the shore to the raft the whole time and that they would each have a raft.  I told the eleven-year-old child that she was in charge and directly responsible for any drownings or shark attacks.

All of the children agreed to the terms and off they went into the deep blue sea without any adults.

I watched them intently and made sure that they reached their destination and then I sat back and breathed a sigh of relief.

I saw them hanging out with the other kids on the raft and I was proud of them.  Dare I say it, I was proud of myself.  I mean they should be able to go to the raft.  I have spent hundreds and hundreds of dollars on swimming lessons so that they could survive in deep waters.

There they are - safe and sound.

There they are – safe and sound.

I sat back and read my magazine.

Life was great.

I looked up periodically and noticed after about twenty minutes that they had headed back to shore.

They arrived back to shore alive with no shark bites.

They walked over to us with their boogie boards full of life and independence.

“Great job guys!” I greeted them ecstatically.

“Mom there were kids on the raft that were so bad!” they answered as they reached for their towels.

“Why – what happened?” I asked casually.

“Well they were talking fresh,” the eleven year old reported wisely.

“What were they saying?” me and my friend asked with amusement.

The eleven-year old reached over to whisper in my ear.  I waited for her to say a curse or something benign that would not rattle me.  I mean clearly nothing could rattle me because cursing is a sport that I excel in regularly.

I leaned in happily ready to hear whatever these little raft children said.


She told me quietly what a boy had said loudly on the raft for everyone to hear.

I screamed at the top of my lungs and fell off of my beach chair into the sand.

I blacked out from the horror.

top view of a slim woman is lying on the beach

When the children resuscitated me – I made her repeat herself.

“The boy said, “I’m going to F%*^& that girl in her P*#$&y”

I mean……

Here I am thinking I am letting my children loose into the ocean to survive the world of waves and sharks and tides….

Only to be met with the evils of teenage American sex-crazed children.

So what’s the lesson here?
I’m still not sure.

Is the lesson – let go. You can’t control everything.  Let your children go out into the world.  Let them swim. Let them experience the earth and the ocean and all that encompasses and you cannot possibly control everything that they will encounter…

Or is the lesson – never let them go.  Do not leave their side. Do not let them swim away into the sunset – enjoying and experiencing the world even if it includes un-pleasantries.

I am really not sure.

But for now I think they won’t be going back alone anytime soon.


Making Mr. Gaga

I am just such a typical narcisstic blogger that I sometimes forget that the stars of this blog  my life – have feelings too.  They are real people.
Mr. Gaga is one of those people – he is a real live person that I am very thankful to have in my life.  So in honor of Father’s Day I am re blogging this post from two years ago – that describes how he came to be “Mr. Gaga.”

Because it’s Father’s Day I had to not ask Mr. Gaga to do anything, I had to not complain about anything in the house.

I had to not be bitchy or snippy.

I had to bite my tongue when he was watching Rocky in the middle of the day for no apparent reason, and I had to smile robotically when he said he had to go to my brother’s house at 2 o’clock in the afternoon “because smoking wings takes hours and we need to start early to have them ready for dinner.”

As a result I am totally mentally drained.

This week I am offering a very short and sweet tale.

Mr. Gaga wasn’t always Mr. Gaga.

He used to have his own hopes and dreams that didn’t include me.

Even after we were dating for a while, he repeatedly attempted to break it off.

“I don’t think we should go out anymore….we have to break up.” he would say.

“No.” I would answer back.

“I am going to go out with other people.” he would plead.

“Yeah, no…’re not.” I would calmly answer.

“I don’t like you.” he would say when he was at the end of his rope.

“Yes you do…you love me.” I would answer back.

It wasn't that I was completely was just that I knew we were meant to be....

It wasn’t that I was completely insane…it was just that I knew we were meant to be….

Finally when nothing he would say would stick he would just throw his hands up and say “Ok fine – forget it.”

I was always making this poor guy do things that he didn’t want to do.

I had visions of romance and love and I would make him to take me to fancy restaurants, buy me fancy gifts, write me fancy letters.

I was 19.

One night around the time that he kept trying to break up with me, I had planned a romantic night in watching movies in my college dorm while all of our friends were out at a bar.

We were about to start the movie, and I excused myself to go to the bathroom.

When I came back Mr. Gaga was missing.


I looked out the window.

This guy was so determined to get away from me, he jumped out a second story window, landed in some bushes and I could see him running down the street towards the bar.

Thinking quick on my feet I tossed aside my lounge clothes and put on my “Break up shirt.”

*Because Mr. Gaga was frequently breaking up with me, I had special clothes I wore during tumultuous times, called “break-up shirts” that basically allowed me to go out naked, ensuring I would receive much attention from men out at the bar. 

Oh well, I'll just drink this whole bottle of vodka and I am sure someone else in this bar will be happy to watch a movie with me....

Oh well, I’ll just drink this whole bottle of vodka and then I am sure I will find someone else in this bar who will be happy to watch a movie with me….

In the end, no matter what he did, he just couldn’t manage to escape.

He stopped trying after a while, and we were in love.

Then we had kids, and though we still love each other, things can get hectic around here and sometimes I yell at him or act a smidge bitchy.

Also I started a mom blog in which he stars as “Mr. Gaga.”   I mean what more could a guy want?

Sometimes he might secretly dream of jumping out that window, running like the wind into the night and drinking shots and beers until he can’t stand up.

Thankfully, he no longer acts on it.

He’s learned over time that there’s no use trying to escape….he will be Mr. Gaga forever.




Nutella and Pepperoni here we come…

The kids have 2 days left of school.

Many mothers dread the end of school but I welcome it.  It means summer is near.  It means that there are days on the horizon that involve a good book on the beach while my children play in the sun and surf.  This is welcome change after we all had a long cold winter spent in some sort of institutionalized situation that involved fluorescent lighting.

After months of torture involving school PTO, horrible weather, spending hours and hours watching wretched baseball and basketball and soccer games, it’s time for some relaxation time!!  There’s a whole lot of bullshit shenanigans that go on during the school year….and I am done.

For example, I am no longer making anyone in this household a lunch.  Any of my longtime reader know how I feel about modern day “Lunch-making.”

When I had little babies if someone had complained to me about making their kids a lunch before they went to school for 8 solid hours, I would have slapped them.  Yet somehow it really sucks making lunches…it’s arduous and horrible.  It’s organic and peanut-free and packed in BPA Free pouches and healthy and perfect. FUCK YOU FAT KIDS AND MICHELLE OBAMA NOW WE CAN’T SEND TWINKIES AND CHIPS.     It’s just very labor-intensive.

ln the old days you could throw a PB&J in a brown sack.

Now some fucking asshole is sending their kid to school with this:

Is that a CAR? Made out of a piece of Wonder bread and a two grapes and a cheese??? Seek counseling.

Is that a CAR?  Or TITS?   I can’t quite figure this out – but it seems to be something made out of a piece of Wonder bread and a two grapes and a cheese??? Seek counseling  crazy lunch making mothers.

When I was complaining recently, a friend mentioned that she never made a lunch for any of her children, that range in age from 12 to 5!

“Mrs. Bell doesn’t make lunch for any of her kids!” I informed my lazy useless children that evening, “So maybe I should stop making lunch for you guys this summer…”

“I can make myself a Nutella sandwich everyday,” Michael said with a shrug.

“Yeah my sandwich will be Nutella with fluff and pepperoni….and I can eat Doritos,” Sam added seriously.

I pictured the dirty kitchen, everything covered with fluff, coupled with the extremely large consumption of red dyes and sugars in the described lunch.

"It's a deal," I said, "I will never make your lunch again."

“It’s a deal,” I said, “I will never make your lunch again.”

Laundry is another whole situation that will get better when school is over.  It’s not enough that everyone in the Gaga household has something to cover their butts and peeps in public.


These motherfuckers need specific items each morning!!!

“Mom can I have underwear?” “Mom can I have socks that match?”

I am just constantly peppered with stupid questions.

So I direct them to the baskets of clean laundry that I haven't folded yet.....

So I direct them to the baskets of clean laundry that I haven’t folded yet…..

On top of it – I am expected to have their baseball and soccer and football and basketball uniforms readily available and clean.

On top of that! Apparently boys wear “cups” that are constantly tossed in with the dirty laundry.  Said “cups” need to be found at a moment’s notice when the child needs to go to his practice or game.  This “cup” locator job is apparently my problem as laundress.

Maybe I should lose all the cups and let them experience life without a cup.

They might keep better track of things…


Now that all of the sports are done with, the stress of laundry deadlines is gone. I don’t care what people wear in the summer, I don’t care if they match, and better yet it’s flip-flop season so socks won’t be an issue again until September.

The other thing I won’t miss is the homework.

I have stated before that I don’t know how to do the math homework of my 2nd and 4th graders.

Even though I can’t really help them on paper, in theory I can help them by chasing them around telling them to do their homework or they will be huge homeless losers.  I also help them to understand the instructions of their homework and I am also often held responsible by teachers to “check their work.”

During the summer I don’t give a fuck about learning.  It struck me the other day at the book store when I saw a huge selection of workbooks that are available for “good” parents who make their children do math homework over the summer.


Do you think that a girl doing a wheelie on her bike surrounded by numbers is going to trick me into becoming a math teacher over the summer?? It’s not.

I am certainly not doing any workbooks over the summer with my children.  If they forget everything they ever learned over the summer – is that my problem? No it’s not.  It’s their teacher’s problem.

I purposely did not become a teacher.

I also purposely live in America.

If I wanted my children to learn and be smart during the summer I would live in China.  I purposely live in America so that we can eat Nutella pepperoni sandwiches and spend the summer being fat and dumb and forgetting everything we ever knew.

I am looking forward to it.



Spirit Week Redux


June is hectic.

There’s a lot of baseball happening, coupled with end of the year school ceremonies and shows.  In addition, Mr. Gaga’s work schedule gets crazy in June and also my part-time job picks up as it’s a popular time of year for people who need “bras.”

We are just tired and hot and sick of everything – so I was secretly happy when Michael came home in the last week of MAY! and said that his teacher said there wouldn’t be any more homework.

“Why not?” I inquired.

“I don’t know….there’s a Jewish holiday?” he shrugged.

“What? The last day of school is June 19th..” I said looking at the calendar.


Is there a Jewish holiday that’s 20 days long? This sounds suspiscious….

Could it be that besides being Jewish your teacher is very lazy??”

“Oh well – I guess you won’t have to be stressed about homework during baseball season.” I sighed.

The next day Michael came home from school and ripped open his backpack excitedly to reveal a paper he had received from his teacher.


He proudly put it on the refrigerator talking about how he would be wearing his Mets jersey to “sports day.”

I distractedly looked it over and went on to do something else.

I mean Spirit Week is nothing new.  We all participated in these days growing up so I wasn’t too interested.

This Monday started the week and the kids went off to school with their jerseys on and baseball hats.

They came home with tales of people with all sorts of fancy sports paraphernalia.

That night after dinner and showers, the kids were in their rooms busily preparing outfits for “Crazy clothes day.”  They both picked out mismatched outfits that they planned to wear backwards and Michael found a very funny hat in his closet.  He came out of his room with the outfit on to show me and Sam.

“Very wacky!” I chuckled.

He smiled to reveal the piece de resistance which was a pair of fake rotten teeth.

“Awesome Michael!!” I said, “This is a great outfit!”

Sam was quiet.  I looked over at him and asked what was wrong.  “His outfit is so good and mine is horrible!” he wailed bursting into tears.

Michael and I quickly found another “wacky hat” in the closet and that calmed him down.  Both boys put on their outfits and laughed at each other in the mirror.

It was time to go to bed.

“Wait!” Michael said as he peered at the paper outlining the rules of Spirit Week.

“No hats allowed!”

Screw you PTO!!!

Screw you PTO!!!

Sam threw his hat on the floor and threw himself on his bed in tears again.

“What stupid twat is behind these spirit rules?”  “No worries Sam!!” I said cheerfully while Michael frantically dug in his drawers to find something as exciting and wacky as the hat.

He came up with some shinguards and a headband and glasses that seemed to make Sam happy and the kids went to bed.

The next day they came home and were stressed out about Hawaiian Day.

I knew that neither child had a Hawaiian shirt and so I rummaged through their t-shirt drawers looking for something suitable.

“How about this?”

I held up a “JAWS t-shirt.  “Ugh, Mom – it’s not decade day.”

“I think Hawaiians have to watch out for sharks though…” I said as I pulled out two t-shirts that had surfboards on them. “Hawaiians definitely surf.” I said confidently.

They stared at me skeptically.

I pulled out bathing suits to pair with the t-shirts and Hawaiian leis leftover from Sam’s birthday party.

“Perfect!” I said proudly.

The next afternoon they came storming in.  Sam threw down his backpack with disgust.

“Mom – do you know that all the boys in my class had shirts on today with “Beach trees” and flowers on them?” he asked with exasperation.

“Ok – well since you aren’t Magnum PI- I am sorry that we didn’t have beach tree shirts available.” I answered back.

Does this like the kind of outfit that a 1st grader should have readily available?

Does this like the kind of outfit that a 1st grader should have readily available?

“And…” he continued, “this lei is made out of plastic.” he spat out while he took off his Oriental trading lei that cost 40 cents.

“Yeah…” I answered expectantly.

“Well, me, Michael and one other boy in the whole school had plastic leis!” he yelled.

“What are you talking about?” I asked with confusion.

“Everyone else had REAL leis!” he yelled.

“What’s a real lei look like?” I asked positive that he was very confused.

“They had real Hawaiian necklaces made out of real flowers! And girls had real flowers in their hair too!” he cried.

I stared at him in horror trying to figure out how people got their hands on real Hawaiian leis.

“And grass skirts!” he added.

“Ok Sam! Let’s just concentrate on the next day coming up – what is it?” I asked afraid to look at the evil spirit week flier.

“Oh, it’s decade day!” he said excitedly. “Me and my friends are going to be rappers.”

“Oh ok – from the 80’s- what will you wear?” I asked cheerfully.

He grabbed the ipad and found a picture of LL Cool J and explained that he would need gold chains and a hat.

Michael casually asked what decade the hippies lived in. I answered the 70’s and he matter-of-factly announced he would be a hippie.

This was the fourth night of this stupid ass week and I was at the end of my rope.

I went upstairs and stared at all of my gold chains leftover from the 80’s.  None of them looked like LL COOL J’s.

I thought about if I knew how to make a tie-dyed shirt and would it be ready in time for school tomorrow.

The answer was no.

I couldn’t take this week anymore, I was losing my mind.

I put the kids in the car. A quick trip to the nearest Party City and $40 later and everyone was happy.

The next morning when the kids got ready – I felt confident that there would be no complaints.

Clearly I was the best mother ever.

Their picture is blurred to protect their identity - but please know that there is a leather jacket, two sets of glasses, a peace necklace and a a gold ring and dollar sign necklace involved....

Their picture is blurred to protect their identity – but please know that there is a leather jacket, two sets of glasses, a peace necklace and a gold ring and dollar sign necklace involved….

I casually mentioned how annoying all of this was to my brother.

“Well that’s your fault – Mom would’ve rubbed her cigarette ashes all over my face and told me I was a bum.” he said with disgust.

“A bum? That’s not even a category…..” I answered.

“She would have said “there are bums in all decades and sent me on my way…” he quickly answered.

He was probably right – but like everything else with these children – I was succumbing to this over the top bullshit as a result of what the other parents were doing, creating an environment where my children think it’s normal to have a real fucking lei made out of exotic fresh flowers.

“So….did everyone love your outfits today?” I asked when the boys got home the next day.

“Oh yeah, three people had the exact same outfit as me in my class.” Michael mentioned casually.

“WHAT???” I screeched.  “So everyone is buying costumes at Party City for this?? It’s like Halloween?  No! It’s like a week of Halloween!” I said with disgust.

“What about you Sam?” I asked.

“Well – everyone wanted to wear my gold ring, but there was a kid in my class that wore a full Michael Jackson outfit and he had a red leather jacket and a glove that had sparkles all over it….” he answered with resignation.

I couldn’t wait for this week to be over.

“Ugh – what’s tomorrow?” I asked with disgust as we cleaned up dinner. “I can’t wait for this stupid week to be over, I wish Michael just had spelling homework and I didn’t have to work on full costumes every night like I am the costume designer for a Broadway show.” I complained to Mr. Gaga.

“Why?” he asked lightly.

“Well because apparently gone are the days when you can just wear a backwards shirt and a Mets t-shirt.  This is very intense!” I explained.

“I wish we were Jewish so we could have a 20 day holiday and the kids could just skip school….”

Mr. Gaga rolled his eyes.  “It’s about the kids being excited to go to school.”

“That’s the point of all of this? Are you fucking kidding me?? They stop teaching the children a solid month in advance of the end of the school year and then they think that if they dress up like they are at Woodstock then it will make a difference in their spirits?” I yelled.

Mr. Gaga ignored me as usual.

“Also – tomorrow is pajama day!! Why is it a treat to wear pajamas all day long? It’s slovenly and weird and disgusting.  How could that possibly lift anyone’s spirits?? Only losers that have no job and nothing to live for wear pajamas during the daylight hours??” I was getting very fired up.

Sam and Michael were already upstairs weighing their pajama options and Sam was once again for like the 5th time this week on the verge of tears.

“What now Sam?” I demanded.

“Well it’s just that my friends have pajamas that have different teams like the Giants or Jets on them….”he said quietly while he stared into his pajama drawer.  I picked out a pair of Superman and Mario Brothers and held them up.

“No, Mom those are embarrassing.” he pleaded.

Michael was having the same dilemma in his room.

“Ok well it’s going to be 85 degrees tomorrow, so I don’t know what to tell you.”

“We don’t wear NFL licensed sleepwear during the summer -and I’m not buying you pajamas for this stupid day.” I snipped while pulling out the clothes that they usually wear.

“This is what you should wear tomorrow – because this is what you wear to bed and you shouldn’t be embarrassed about it.” I said tossing the bedclothes on their beds and turned on my heel.

They weren’t happy but they listened to me.

Fuck you pajama day and the horse you rode in on....

Fuck you pajama day and the horse you rode in on….

I don’t know if the kids’ spirits have been lifted or not by all of this hippie and Hawaiian bullshit but all I know is that I can use a break from the pressures of parenting school-age children!!

Onwards and upwards – we are halfway through the 20 day June Hanukkah so that means a mere 10 days left of school!!!

Thanks GOD!!!



Get me the Hell out of Here!

Sometimes I worry that I will run out of stories to tell you.

Lo and behold – Goopville never lets me down.

Last week when I took Sam’s friend to a baseball game for his birthday, we took 7 friends that he chose.  This was considerably less than years past when he would invite 20 kids to a party at our house.  When some of the chosen 7 mentioned how they were excited to go to the game for Sam’s birthday at school, other who were not invited – heard and were disgruntled.

Instead of having manners and some self-respect they let Sam know that they were mad.  They demanded to know why they weren’t invited.

“Just tell them it was my fault,” I said with exasperation when Sam came home on the day of his party distraught. “I’m sorry I’m not taking 20 kids to a baseball game and P.S. you aren’t even friends with those people.”

Monday after the game, Sam came home from school and told me how he had said ‘hello’ to his friend Julian in the hallway.  Julian had responded “Don’t talk to me…I hate you.”

I told Sam that Julian’s behavior was rude and unacceptable and suggested he not bother trying to talk to him any more.

Tuesday, Sam came home and said that despite my suggestion he had taken it upon himself to say “Hi Julian,” yet again to this devil child and the child had responded, “Don’t talk to me – I still hate you.”

I was now starting to get annoyed.  “Well Sam why do you keep trying to talk to this very troubled individual?”

“He’s my friend!” poor innocent Sam replied.

“Well he’s obviously a very angry person and I don’t think you should bother with him anymore….” I said dismissively. “Also -clearly you are not good at one-liners – here let’s do some play-acting.”

I took some time with Sam pretending to be the rude child in the hallway – and made him practice what to say back the next time he said something mean to Sam.


“Great! You are ready!” I assured him.


Sam came home and made no mention of Julian so I thought the drama was over with.

“Did you see Julian today?” I asked while I prepared dinner.

“Oh yeah,” Sam said with tears in his eyes…


“I saw him at recess and I said “Hi Julian,” and he punched me in the stomach.”

I lost it.

I slammed down my knife on the cutting board and stared at Sam.

“And so I hope you kicked him in his junk!” I screeched like a lunatic.

“No! Mom!! I didn’t do anything!! I didn’t want to get into trouble!!” he pleaded.

“I have had it!! YOU DON’T LET MENTALLY UNSTABLE BIRTHDAY-PARTY OBSESSED LOSERS PUNCH YOU! What is wrong with you?? You better punch him in the face next time he pulls this shit – and you better hope your father doesn’t find out about this or he’s going to go to your school and take care of this.” I ran over to the computer.

“I am emailing his mother right now and this is going to stop right away – trust me – or I am going to go to the playground tomorrow during recess and I will give this kid a piece of my mind!”

I may or may not have mentioned a few of my other thoughts about this child....but I can't be sure because I was blind with rage.

I may or may not have mentioned a few of my other thoughts about this child….but I can’t be sure because I was blind with rage.

I dashed off an email to Julian’s mother outlining the events of the past few days and demanding that she speak to her son about his behavior.

Shortly afterwards I noticed she had called my phone and left a message.

In the message she rattled on about how she was sorry that this happened.

She said, ” I’m surprised that this happened!! Julian was so upset about not being included in Sam’s party – so I put up a bounce house in our yard during Sam’s party – to distract him!! I thought that would help – but I guess he’s still upset!!”

She put up a BOUNCE HOUSE!


“Am I on “Candid Camera?!!” I yelled to the kids….

bev on phone

I deleted the bizarre message and assured Sam that Julian wouldn’t bother him any more.


“How was your day?” I asked Sam sweetly when he arrived home.

“Oh good!” he responded positively, “I had to leave my classroom to have a meeting with Julian and the school psychologist, Dr. Smith.

“I’M GOING TO GO INSANE!” I screamed.

Just so you have the proper imagery – please imagine my sweet innocent child meeting with a monster child and the school psychologist.  Picture a woman who can only best be described as Martin Lawrence wearing a cardigan and pleated, elastic-waistband polyester slacks.  Also imagine this person to be very dumb.

Sorry - but I don't feel comfortable with this woman pulling Sam out of class to meet with a child with a behavior problem.

Sorry – but I don’t feel comfortable with this woman pulling Sam out of class to meet with a child with a behavior problem.

“No – mom! It was to talk about why Julian was mad!” Sam tried to convince me.


“Well, Dr. Smith said that Julian knew that punching me in the stomach was wrong – and he feels bad.” Sam said happily.

“Well unless he’s a total moron – I would think that he would know that.” I answered shortly, “And then what happened at this stupid asshole meeting?” I said impatiently.

“MOM!!!” Sam started to get upset, “I shouldn’t have told you!”

“What else happened?!” I demanded.

“Well Dr. Smith said that Julian feels bad but he’s not ready to say sorry yet….Dr. Smith said maybe another day we could meet when he’s ready to apologize.”

I thought my head would explode.


So my sweet innocent child with a bruised abdomen had to be removed from his learning environment to talk with Martin Lawrence in circles about how another child’s bad behavior?

On what planet do I live?

“Is that even legal??” I demanded of Mr. Gaga after firing off an email to Sam’s teacher explaining that he was banned from fruitless interventions with lunatic children and Martin Lawrence, “I mean is it normal that a child doesn’t get in trouble for punching another child over a birthday party?  We have now spent hours talking about this all week!! Hours that we will never get back!!!”

It’s the end of the school year and I just simply don’t have the patience or desire to speak to anymore Goopville parents, administrators or rotten children.

The only good thing that has come of all of this – is that I had yet another stellar story to tell you.

And I know that many of you will ask – “Did that really happen?”

Sadly – yes.




Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 2,503 other followers

%d bloggers like this: