Monthly Archives: September 2011

“Pass the tsimmes…do you watch porn?”


Can you match that phrase to the person who said it to me at the Rosh Hashanah dinner table last night?

A) teenage nephew

B) 88-year-old great aunt

C) smarmy uncle

If you picked “B”, you are correct! Thank you great aunt H for the best laugh of the day. We were enjoying a lovely Rosh Hashanah dinner at my mother-in-law’s house and exchanging otherwise normal conversation about the type of television shows we like when she dropped that bomb in the brisket. She had shared with us that she and her husband used to watch Sex and the City, but nothing could have prepared me for the follow up question! That laugh took us right up through the Honey Cake and fortunately there were no further interrogations!
My great-grandmother (whom I was lucky enough to have in my life until I was 28 and she was 94!) used to be completely offended by, yet somewhat obsessed with sex. What a hilarious dichotomy to find in an older person. She watched soaps (as does everyone in my family) and I almost think it was for the sex. She used to say “Look at that! They’re just eatin’ each other up! Shooooot. It’s disgustin’. They ought be ‘shamed.” But did she keep watching? You bet your daytime drama she did.
So why did Aunt H feel the need to ask about our personal viewing habits? We never got back around to why, but it was a great moment and I didn’t mind. Well, at least until the inevitable happens in a day or so…. “Moooommm, what’s porn?”




Last night I did the funnest thing I have done since the last really fun thing I did. I dressed up my mom-self in leftover-from-my-twenties cosmetic glitter (I saw no expiration date) and went with a new friend to see SYTYCD! For all of you with a life beyond reality TV, that’s “So You Think You Can Dance”. The live tour was in town so off we went. We had a fantastic time! Hubs used his lightning-fast Ticketmaster skills to snag us some really great seats. We were eye level with the dancers which really gives you the full effect that you don’t get watching it on television. Demonstrating superhuman feats of flexibility and strength, these incredible young people seemed to float on stage and land as lightly as butterflies. As someone who once broke her foot just walking through the house, this seems like an amazing trick to me but they do it over and over again with seemingly no effort. I am in awe of these beautiful dancers!

Since the label “dancer” can be applied loosely and by anyone, I’ll delight you with a photo of me when I “…thought I could dance, dance, dance, dance.”

This was an early clogging recital. Does anyone outside of Stone Mountain, Georgia know what clogging is? I’m not sure if this is a national thing or not because I haven’t heard of anyone, anywhere doing it since the early 80’s. For most people, clogging is what happens to your tub drain when you wash your hair. For me, it was a toe-tapping good time.

Moving on a few years,… ta da! Doing more posing than actual dancing, here I am on the hood of my sweet ride in high school, as a proud and sexy member of the Redan High School Drill Team. I had big hair halfway down my back and spent most of my time untangling it from my sequined costume and adjusting my cinnamon toast tights and Keds. Those tights were so unnatural! Seen them before? There is only one other group of ladies wearing those exact tights with their spandex and fat white socks. I’m not saying where they are, but it rhymes with “schmooters”.

Our dance team did a wicked “windmill” move, tore it up to the cowbell, had some fierce booty shaking going on and performed for throngs of fans. Well, those are lies. Although we had confidence for days, looking back we wouldn’t have qualified for Mary’s Hot Tamale Train. As Team Captain, though, you can see I took my (starring) role very seriously. That’s me parked right in the middle. I was good at the Pretty March, and I loved that Starter track suit. So cute, I thought!

And now we come to the “do your own thing” portion of the song. I think it was Poison Clan. Time to show if you Think You Can Dance. Clearly, I thought so! Unfortunately these pictures are from the days before digital (and apparently zoom and focus as well), but there is no mistaking me for an obvious reason.

So, back to the future… last night I thoroughly enjoyed my time with my new friend Kendra. The best part was learning that we have the most random, hilarious thing in common. I don’t think I should broadcast exactly what it is, but… thanks for sharing, Kendra!! Yeah, we are the best wives eh-vah for this.

I love So You Think You Can Dance, I love that my husband supported me going as long as he didn’t have to, I love smiling all night, and I even love really don’t mind a little glitter in my eye.

Jazz hands!

good Friday


This is the story of a good Friday. Not Good Friday, just a good Friday.

Noon: Took the guys out for lunch to celebrate the first week of school and to butter them up to go to the grocery store with me. They eat sushi like other kids eat Cheerios- two-fisted, then pointing and grunting for more. What sophisticated little cavemen!

5:00 pm: While making this dinner, I was reminded (don’t really need reminding) of how much I love vegetables. Just love ’em! Look at this picture. It’s so beautiful I should make it my profile picture for every website I use. I would make it my driver’s license picture if I could. It’s called a Vegetable Tian and it’s spectacular.

5:45 pm: Dinner is in the oven so we work on an art project to make an air freshener for my car. When a 4-year-old says your car smells like a skunk, you should take him seriously. ‘Cause he has a lot of experience with things that are skunk-like. It was fun and effective. Just ask the Skunk Detector!

6:15 pm: Still cooking, so time for a little Fun with Wigs. I made this picture of him…

…and then he made this picture of me. Separated at birth? Yes, actually, his.

6:30 pm: Dinner is ready! Look at those gorgeous vegetables. Why aren’t I skinny? Oh yeah, see previous entry about ice cream.

6:35 pm: Husband arrives with flowers for no particular reason other than “just because.” The best thing about receiving these is the thought of his sweet self taking his usual public transportation route home from the city with his backpack and headphones, carrying a dozen roses. I keep replaying that image in my mind. Seems like something I might have snapped a black & white picture of if I saw him from my car. So stinkin’ cute!

Hope you’re having a good Whatever!

“Excuse me, sir…”


On Sunday I had the distinct pleasure of being able to walk up to a man I didn’t know in Wegman’s with this very serious inquiry: “Excuse me, Sir, do you have Schweddy Balls?”  His quick reply was “Yes, I do!”, and much to my delight, he led me there. Thank goodness, because I had looked high and low for them!

I am a connoisseur of the double entendre. I live for it, seriously. Luckily, I also live with a man who rivals my passion for teenage boy-type humor and we live a pretty tickled existence. Ben & Jerry’s just came out with a “Schweddy Balls” ice cream flavor which unfortunately isn’t actually as good as it sounds. Based on a classic, fantastic skit with Alec Baldwin on Saturday Night Live, Schweddy Balls is a reference to his character’s family recipe. Love it, love it, love it! Unfortunately the ice cream didn’t do it for me, but I think I may be alone on this one. Maybe because it’s ice cream and was actually a bit too…creamy. The first ingredient is cream. Cream! Kind of grosses me out to think about it, but not so much that I didn’t eat it. It also had malt balls in it which make me feel like I’m eating chalk nuggets, so all in all this was not the place I wanted to waste calories.

Right after making this picture, I left it on the counter and walked away… for 3 hours. Came back to warm, melted schweddy balls and had no choice but to finish them off.

It was okay, but I wouldn’t buy it again because I’m waiting on the Dusty Muffin.

Good Times…

Desperately Seeking Supermom


I’m trying here. I’m really trying. But there are a lot of things in the way of my success and efficiency. Like….well….I guess actually I am the only thing in my way. I get in my own way a lot. Like right now, for instance. Pile of mail to my left, dishes to my right, toys behind me, disappointed dog at my feet, laundry downstairs and yet I sit, typing. Does typing accomplish anything when its not done to, say, appeal for help with your charity or write a speech for the President? It’s helping me, and that’s all that matters at this very moment. (So deliciously selfish! I can hardly stand it! I’ll take seconds, please!)

School started this week, and all moms gave a collective sigh of relief. (Can I get a “Word!”?) It’s been a month since camp ended and I have been at my Fake-Supermom best. We’ve traveled, we’ve talked, we’ve cooked and we’ve baked, we’ve done science experiments, we’ve read, read, read. We’ve crafted and created and, throwing germ-phobia to the wind, we’ve even been to Chuck E. Cheese. But I have to admit, by the first week of September, even I was out of ideas. E needed structure and I needed to go to the grocery store without an entourage.

So, I’ve been thinking a lot about what makes a mom “super”. Back when I had The Business, other moms used to say really nice, flattering things about me being Supermom. What an embarrassing compliment to take when you feel like a ginormous mess on the inside, just trying to get your kid to school on time and not fumble your infant on the way. Now being on the other side of the Major Fail that was The Business, I guess I see what they were talking about. All moms have something that other moms admire. Case in point: After feeling pretty good about myself for spending an afternoon making homemade crayons with E, I had dinner with a girlfriend who has a PhD in Child Psychology or some other major that had to do with knowing how to speak to children without acting like a child yourself. Well crap. She might not have made any crayons that day, but you can sure bet she wasn’t screaming at her 4 year old to “have more patience!” that morning. Oh, the irony!

Would Supermom have to put herself in time-out to keep from smashing her own head into a wall a la The Situation? Would Supermom’s kid have to miss karate practice because she couldn’t get it together in time? Would Supermom have let her baby accidentally take a big swig of her Iced Chai Latte because she was holding him and the cup in the same arm? Would Supermom write a blog when she should be writing a grocery list? Negative to all of the above. None of these things warrant a call to DFACS, but they also won’t win a Mom of the Year award, either. I definitely don’t deserve the title, but I will always strive for it. If this were my old “paid” job, mediocrity wouldn’t fly. Neither would being late, wearing junky clothes or not straightening my hair (my rule, not theirs). I wouldn’t yell at the clients, I wouldn’t spend an hour on the phone with a friend, and I wouldn’t play loud and offensive rap music just because I thought no one was listening. (Well, actually I used to do that one a lot.) I am not SUPER but I think I am really good. In E’s karate class they are asked every day how they are doing and they like them to say “Good and getting better, Sir!”,  so I’m making that a personal motto. I’m good, and I’m only going to get better… Sir!

So I guess it’s time to get back to my version of responsibility and start working on Halloween crafts and goodies. We already started the other day by crafting mummy candle holders out of spaghetti sauce jars, cheesecloth and googly eyes. So cute! So fun! So early! Now on to those magnificent fall goodies… everything will have pumpkin in it. I eat pumpkin the way other people eat chicken. It goes with everything and my world starts turning orange right about… now.

Congrats on whatever makes you SUPER.

Sincerely, a super mom

Just a boy…in a cape


E loves a superhero as much as any kid, so this past Spring I used my sick glue gun skillz to put together a Batman cape any 4-year-old would be delighted to wear. Or at least they better. I did invest $10 and an entire hour in this. Seeing how it turned out so well (IMHO), I quickly banged out another one in pink with some razzle-dazzle on it this time for a little girlfriend of his turning 4. We don’t know much about princesses around here, but a princess can be a SuperPrincess, right?

This photo says “Fabulous!” Peep the shoes. Do you think the actual Batman knows that he could have been fighting crime in this stylish ensemble the entire time? Instead of squeezing himself into that unitard every night, he could have just cruised the streets around Gotham in a plaid RL shirt, navy cargo shorts and signature Batman Crocs? It would have given him the suburban street cred he’s been missing all along.

This is a serious man. Do not get in his way. He’s got a pocket full of trail mix and he’s not afraid to use it. If you see him, do not look straight into his eyes, lest you be pierced by his gaze.

So, a few months later a costume is needed for “Superhero Day” at camp. I thought we were good to go with the cape until he is eating breakfast on the day of and asks assumptively where to find his mask. “What mask?” I ask. “My Batman mask,” he replies confidently. “There is no mask” I mumble without looking directly at him because I know exactly where this is heading. What is he talking about, and how serious is he being right now? The tears begin to well, and the lip begins to quiver. “But, without a mask, I’ll just be…a boy…a boy in a cape.” Now had this been delivered any differently, I might have told him to put his hand on his face and peer through his fingers all day, but I was, in fact, manipulated by sincerity, if that is even possible. Off I go to the workshop to MacGyver a mask out of (obviously) hot glue, pipe cleaners, felt and elastic in the time it took him to eat a bagel. Not saying it looked good, but he was convinced, and now I’m on the hook for an entire Bat Family for Halloween. Sort of psyched about it, though! We’ve got Batman, Batgirl, Batdog, The Penguin and one more that we’re not too sure about yet. SB was supposed to be The Joker until E keenly observed that we would have a hard time with his hair.

Tutorial to follow, if anyone is ever following.

And…he’s outta here.