Category Archives: mommy blog

Someone Stole Our Money Tree

And other perfectly plausible excuses for not spending in this economy… Frankly, with the amount of times my children ask for something — from $2 gems for Dragonvale to a dress from Justice to a new iPhone, I’m assuming they believe that money either grows on trees or at the very least flows to us on a river of gold.

“Someone cut down our money tree.”  This is the line I used to explain why my son would not be getting the new iPhone 5 the moment it hit shelves, like some of his other friends, who shall remain nameless.  “That’s right, just yesterday I was fanning myself with fresh dollar bills, off the darn thing and today… gone,” I waxed.

“I remember the old days, circa 2000, when times were good, the tree bloomed so plentifully.  I would walk out and stare into the buds, too blurry to tell what they would blossom into, but so excited by the prospects.  The beautiful $20’s and even a rogue $100 here or there, opened in glorious subdued hues of matte greens.  Benjamins and Jacksons — the good ol’ boys.  Recently, the soil has not been as “rich,” if you will, and Washington, old faithful, as I like to call him, has been the only one to flower.

The spots once reserved for George and Abie became clusters of kernels, heavy copper and silver colored nuts, that plunked down on our heads at even the slightest gust of wind.  Every once in a while, a seed would hit with concussion causing force… “Damn Susan B.”  I’d curse at it, and then plant it, in hopes of growing another tree.  Alas, the bush it bore only sprouted subway tokens, which are of no use in the Florida suburbs.

Each Tuesday, I would pluck all the ripe bills from the tree, as Wednesday is the day the lawn people come.  Well, need I say more.  It’s so hard to find honest help these days.

But today, well today… I don’t need to worry about picking the fruit, because the tree is gone.  All that’s left is a hole in the ground and some scattered pennies that even the horticultural filchers found not worth risking back injury for.

“So, no new iPhone 5 for you OR ME, for that matter.”

My son walked away confused and mildly appeased.  Next I will explain to my husband why the boot fairy made a recent visit to my closet.

The True Bane of Suburbia

The bane of suburbia… the teenage wannabe gangsta.  Beware their 8 Mile lingo, tee-shirts with moderately offensive sayings, and fro-yo addiction.  They’re hoodlums alright. Well, they wear hoodies and they live in the hood, well, the middle class suburban neighbor’hood.  

So the last two days I’ve taken my son to the skate park at the Kirshberg YMCA in middle/upper class USA.  Be careful with the bigger kids, I warned my son, I don’t know if they’re so good.

“What, those kids are bad?  How do you know?”

“Well, for one, none of them are wearing helmets or pads.”

“Mommmm.”

“Plus, none of them is lucky enough to have his mom cheer him on from the sidelines.”

“Come on.”

“Oh, aaaaand I saw one of them smoking!”

“No way.  No one was smoking” my little innocent said, aghast.  (Kids are really anti-smoking these days.  If only they knew what chimneys their grandparents were.)

“Yo G, I got 4S” one of the older kids yelled to the others.

“No way, Seri is my bitch, yo.” Another yelled back… through his braces.

Wow, you know who thinks these kids are baaad? They do.  I mean, really?  Is this what happens when you’re so bored of suburbia?  Can their parents stop laughing long enough to tell them how ridiculous they sound?

“WHAT’S UP WITH ALL THE LITTLE KIDS?” inquired one of the white suburbanites, who got dropped off in his momma’s Beamer.

“I know, yo.  Is that one on a rip stick?” The one wearing the unfortunate fashion statement of a tee-shirt, which said, “Smell my Bag,” asked…  referring to MY little kid.

My ears perked up, ready to jump in with something like, “You got a problem with my son biatch???”  Oh, I can do “thug wannabe” just as good as these pishers.  Plus, I’ve actually lived in a city, that’s street cred, G… Props.

“Shit, that kid is bad ass, that’s hard to do.” One marveled.

Phew, he’s lucky he called my kid “bad ass,” ‘cause homie was about to get a beat down.  Plus, he  IS bad ass.  I wonder if he knows it?

“Mom, mom watch me do this… mooooooooommmm watch!  Are you watching???” Jake yelled, unaware.

Well, that answered that question.  

Frankly, Jake had no problem with these boys.  He climbed up to the highest ramp and chilled at the top, as all the suburban gangsta’s tried to decide where to go next.  (Hollister, Starbucks, Jamba Juice?)  I know, you wouldn’t want to run into them in a dark alley. It would look like this (insert squiggly dream sequence lines here.)~~~~

“Yo bro, where do you think you’re going, BIATCH?”

“Umm, I was going to Abercrombie, but take what you want…”

“F@ck that, we were going there too!  I got a sick coupon, G.”

As I contemplated the irony of this scene a new playa‘ walked up to me and asked, “Are my eyes ridiculously dilated?”

Oh, this one’s the real deal, huh? Doing drugs at the park and flippant enough to ask an adult about his “tells”?

“Um. yep, kinda.” I answered, “Why do you wanna know?” I followed.  Look, if he’s insolent enough to ask, I get to ask back.

Oh, because, I just went to Dr. Rothberg, you know the ophthalmologist?  He did those drops and I don’t know if I should skate in the sun before they wear off.” He replied like a kid debating whether to wait the full half hour after eating, to go into the pool.

“Well, sure sure not a great idea.” I said, trying to squelch my laughter.

“Ok then,” he said as if I had given him sound parental advice.  Then he walked into the ramped- up hockey rink and yelled to his boyz, “F@ck this shit, I’m gonna get a f@cking smoothie, yo.”

“Yeah f@ck this, let’s get smoothies,” Smell my bag, concurred.

“No way, bro, I want fro yo, yo.” piped another…

And they were gone, those crazy hooligans arguing off into the sunset about toppings and calorie counts, and spoiling their appetites.

f@ckin’ thugs.

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How Many Vibrators Does it Take to Turn On a Blogger?

I know, you’re thinking, wait, haven’t I heard this one before? And now you’re wondering, Are any of the bloggers blond or Polish? Well, it doesn’t matter, because the answer is the same.

6.

Yes, the number is 6. Shit I kinda ruined the suspense on that one, huh? I shoulda’ made you wait until the end. Yes, it was premature elucidation, which is fairly common when talking vibrators.

More importantly, you should be wondering, How did you calculate this number and what does one do with so many vibrators?

I was wondering the same thing. See… Continue reading

We Swore We Would be Fun Parents | What Happened?

I am EXACTLY the parent I swore I would never be.  Are you?

I’ve journaled all my life and I very distinctly remember writing things that sounded somewhat like this: When you’re a mom always be fun. NEVER make your kids eat vegetables. Let them have soda whenever they want, stay up until Johnny Carson is over, and stay home from school to play Atari, Mr. Mouth, and Parcheesi, at least once a week.

As I hit high school… Continue reading

We May or May Not Be Dirtbags | Depends on Who you Ask

Jake’s Friend: What happened to the big cushion on your sofa?

Me: We removed it because it was too comfortable and we weren’t able to get people to leave our house when we wanted them to go.

Friend:  Really? Continue reading

Siblings are Not Supposed to Compete for Parental Favoritism | is This True

What, are familial relationships not about winning? I’m sorry, I’m an only child, I never had to compete for parental favoritism with siblings. And I must admit, my son’s essay puts him slightly ahead of his sister in the race for my love. I’m totally kidding. I love them both, but you can’t love them the same, can you?…

As this is the end of the school year, all of my children’s work has slowly trickled into the house. You know, like the way Andy Dufrene releases the bits of wall in Shawshank? Tests, artwork, essays, scraps of scribble.

One of the prizes in the huge pile of things that will never make it to the circular file was a piece on who my son admires most. It started with this line, “I look up to my Dad and my Grandparents, but the person I admire most is my Mom.”

My first thought?

I won! Yep, you heard him. He admires you other people too (or maybe he just wrote that to be politically correct), but I’m in a class by myself. He said so… Continue reading

Productive Things to do While Doing it – The Cure for Boring Married Sex

You might be thinking, “Jenny from the Blog, the Jen X’pert, silly girl – that’s just you. My sex life is as hot and heavy as ever.” Well, to you I ask this, “When was the last time you had sex on a surface that didn’t have sheets?” (Hmmm? been a while huh?) “Ok, when was the last time you had sex not between kids asleep time and you asleep time?” I rest my case – B-O-R-I-N-G… Continue reading