When I had my first child, I wanted to do everything by the book. I was so nervous that the tiniest misstep would somehow break the baby. In fact, one of my first pieces was about how shocked I was that they just let me leave the hospital with this infant.
That’s my confession. Barbie hasn’t fiendishly ruined my daughter’s self image — quite the opposite — she’s helped her learn to solve problems, to be accepting, to stretch her imagination, and to have compassion.
As a card carrying Gen-Xer, I had an obsession with Barbies. I played with them until I was nearly 14, which I try not to admit in public because at that age, your Barbies are basically having make-out sessions that lead to awkward Barbie hookups, which is both ironic and also impossible – hello, has anyone seen Ken’s crotchal region?
My hair, which was never more than baby fine to begin with, started to fall out as soon as I stopped breast feeding. Yes, when everyone else was losing their hair after giving birth, I was mocking them with my luxurious locks and my big engorged boobies. Of course they got theirs – my boobs and locks that is. The tatas deflated and the follicles ran for the hills, well, my drain.
Now, as I’m getting older, my hair seems to be thinning out even more. This is why I’ve become obsessed with making my hair thicker and also keeping it in my head. It’s also why I’m debunking all the hair myths I’ve fallen for over the years, because frankly, I don’t have time to crack raw eggs on my head and mix them with mayo on a daily basis. To me, that’s egg salad, and it should stay between two pieces of bread. Continue reading →
While my washer and dryer were hard at work and my dishes were in the final rinse cycle, the ball dropped to ring in the New Year.
I had just called my kids in to watch the countdown while simultaneously thanking my lucky stars that J and Ry had missed the pre-New Year’s performance Miley gave, where she awkwardly cradled/fondled a midget, while she donned a pair of upper-vagina-accentuating gold sequin pants that did her bod no justice and oddly reminded me of what Molly Shannon would wear when she kicked and yelled, “I’m fifty,”
After wiping the sweat off my brow, emptying my glass of champagne, and making a mental note to switch the clothes from the washer to the dryer, I blew my hubby (who was sick and spent the night matching me shot for shot with a bottle of Nyquil) a kiss and then shooed our guests out the door before the clock hit 12:01. (PS I just realized I should have saved the parenthetical in the middle of ”blew my hubby a kiss” until after I completed the sentence. Poor guy — only gets it in a grammatical error.)
Anyhoo, it dawned on me, New Years used to be a romantic night (see When Harry Met Sally) … so did Birthdays, Anniversaries … Saturdays. Some of those events still are, but most of those would-be enchanted evenings have been replaced with J’s travel baseball, taking Ry to the movies, and trips to an arcade and a gourmet burger joint.
As the holidays and New Years roll around, I’m reminded of how insanely crafty and on the ball some moms can be. They make peppermint bark and post things on Pinterest that look professionally done. They make perfectly decorated cookies and design splendorous holiday scenes and dioramas. Really? a diorama???
Look, I have my moments, but I’m speaking of a specific mom we all know, the “PERFECT Mother.” She’s president of the PTA, she plans all the fundraisers. She bakes homemade goodies from scratch for bake sales. She has a position on every board. She recommends who should be room mom to all the teachers and you can pretty much call her for any bit of information. I like to joke that if you need anything changed, explained, or rerouted, you could call her and it would get done with meticulous speed and accuracy.
“Could you tell me how the Facebook algorithms work?” “How many reformers will they have at the new Pilates studio?” “Will I have to take a connecting flight on my trip to Utah?”
I also like to imagine that she walks around with a Tide Stain Stick, righting the wrongs of the slovenly.
As much as I would like to be involved in every facet of my child’s life, and on top of every box top collected or Fun Run ran, I will never ever be that chick and there are a multitude of reasons why. Here are a few: Continue reading →
For better or worse … that’s what we agreed to, right? Who new when we signed up for this by saying “I do,” that our mates would become so annoying?
Sure, we love them, but let’s face it, when you live with someone day in day out for what feels like an eternity, the little quirks that were once endearing, or at least easy to ignore, can become somewhat irritating, exasperating, irksome, maddening, and grating. Have I said too much?
Last week, my husband — who has pretty much no idea how to use most of the items in our home or where we keep them for that matter — screamed from the kitchen (after having a tooth extracted), “Hey honey, where do we keep the saltwater, or do we not have any in the house?” I was tempted to send him to the store to futilely search for a bottle o’ saltwater simply to avoid dealing with the ridiculousness of that question, plus I needed time to think of reasons I love him.
Instead, I made you this list of annoying things husbands do (well, mine at least), for the purpose of female bonding and personal sanity… Continue reading →