The Suburban Jungle

CBS 4 featured ME as the news segment.    Yes, it’s true, I wasn’t commenting on whether to spank or not, or talking about the holidays; I was talking about the blog (That you all read!) and the book that I contributed to. Frankly, I’ve found myself news worthy for some time, I’m just glad someone else finally thinks so.  My local girls rocked it and it was so freaking fun.  That’s right, I said the “F” word and I totally meant it.  Check out the footage (click the video in the top right corner).

Thanks for your support,

Jenny From the Blog

Why is it so hard to cancel a gym membership when it’s so easy not to use it?

In light of the recent findings that say women must workout 1 hour per day, I’ve decided to revamp my workout schedule.  First on the list… Leave the Athletic Club, which I have not used in a year…then use the money I’m saving to buy bigger clothes.

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I realize that 13-14 year olds, Crackheads, homeless people, cheap hookers, and teenage pop stars should not be having children. I’m not, however, taking a stance on moral or political issues; I’ll leave that to Paris Hilton. As a pretty normal adult, with the means to raise a child, I admittedly had no clue what I was doing with my first. I remember leaving the hospital thinking, “He’s mine? I own him? You guys trust me to walk out that door and raise a child because I made the obligatory bowel movement, and I demonstrated my ability to put him in a car seat?”

Isn’t it baffling that everyday people like us are allowed to procreate without first passing a test or getting some kind of license? Think about it, you need a library card to take out a five dollar novel, because you can’t be trusted to return it in a period long enough to read it four times over. You’re also required to pass a test to drive a car, sell a house, or be a lifeguard. You can take a class to learn how to give birth, but once that baby’s out, you’re on your own.

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Today, I took my daughter to the pediatrician for her 5 year check up. I know I probably should have been concerned about how she was going to freak out about the 4 vaccines and finger prick that are required to move on to Kindergarten, but I was too preoccupied what she was touching in the waiting room. I am one of those irrational parents that is forced by serious neurosis to take my kids to the doctor over every phlegmy cough. Unfortunately, I am also one of those parents who is quite sure that bringing kids to the doctor’s office pretty much guaranties that they pick up some other snotty kid’s infection, which is far worse than their own. So, you can imagine how going in for a well-check really throws me for a loop.

As I surveyed the waiting room, I noticed that the plastic kitchen in the corner was dripping with mucus. No, I didn’t bring my black light but, a baby had just finished mouthing the oven handle and I’m quite sure his sister picked her nose and tried to cook her reward in the faux microwave. (more…)

It has recently dawned on me that somewhere along the way, my sense of accomplishment became a product of my ability to be a good homemaker.  The creative energies I once used to design jewelry and dress celebs are now spent trying to build intricate forts and streamline the laundry process.  For instance, I’ve found that by rolling towels one can save considerable folding time, while providing the added benefit of a spa-like appearance.

When did this happen?  When did I accept the job as Master of the Mundane?  I remember the ad, it read:  Seeking highly motivated person, who requires little sleep, to cook, clean, wipe tushies, noses, and countertops… oh, and provide occasional sex to employer.  Person will be overworked and underappreciated.  It is preferred that you have no prior experience or references.  Always on duty.  Will pay nothing. (more…)

As a child, I too encountered the dreaded “Because I Said So.” My parents usually yelled in frustration or hissed between clenched teeth. No matter what the method of delivery, it signified the end of the discussion. I remember wondering, what exactly does that mean and why is that a remotely valid argument? It was a parental trap; there was no way to fight it, and yet I felt unsatisfied in conceding to my parents.

Now, at 30 something I finally know what it means. It means the adult is losing the battle with a child. Yep, “Because I Said So” is the phrase used when you are being outsmarted or out-debated by an 8 year old. The truth is, sometimes their reasoning makes sense… a lot of sense. (more…)

(If you haven’t read this piece, it’s sooo worth it.  If you have, and got a message on 3-10-10 to reread, I apologize.  I don’t know why that just went out!  Feel free to read License to Procreate, if you haven’t read it, and I will try and figure out the technical shit that baffles me everyday, in the mean time.)

This time of year I amuse myself by looking back at last year’s resolutions. Ones I made with the best intentions, like learning an instrument or a foreign language. Last Chanukah I had my husband buy me a guitar. I had all the confidence in the world that by this New Year, I would balk at a request to play “Stairway To Heaven,” saying something dismissive like… “Please, that’s so cliché, but why not?” or “Por favor, es muy cliché, pero porque no? Unfortunately, my guitar collects dust while my Spanish collects rust.

So for this year, I have made some resolutions that are a bit more achievable:

1. Nag More

For 10 years my husband has not picked up a wet towel, washed ketchup off of a dish, changed a light bulb, or remembered trash day without a friendly, “How many times do I have to tell you?” I vow to be relentless in my nagging. I will lay immediate blame using words like always and never. As in, “I always, and you never.” I will play the martyr by saying, “Forget it. I’ll do it myself.” I will amp up the guilt with, “I do everything around here.” Or something unarguable like, “It’s obvious by your refusal to change a light bulb that you don’t love me anymore.” If all goes well, I’ll be nagging him to go to couples therapy by 2011.

2. Gain Weight

I will add carbs to my diet with reckless abandon. I will start each meal with a generous helping of bread and rolls onto which I will spread an obnoxious amount of butter. I will stuff food into my mouth with such fervor it will make other eaters uncomfortable to watch. I vow to eat everything a la mode, including ice cream.

3. Workout Less

This will actually take serious effort. The only thing harder would be to shower less. If I need the proverbial cup of sugar, I will drive to my neighbor’s garage and beep until she comes out and hands it to me. I will take elevators in two-story buildings. Lastly, I will drop my membership to the gym and use the money I save to buy more carbs.

4. Forget an Old Language

This year, not only am I not going to learn a new language, I will let my brain atrophy to forget the one I already know. I will watch endless episodes of Sponge Bob and Chowder. I will stop doing crosswords and speaking in complete sentences. I will break all grammatical rules; I will misplace modifiers, dangle participles, and end sentences in prepositions. I will express my thoughts through that African clicking language, modern dance, and a set of bongos that I will wear around my neck.

5. Stay Out of Touch

This time of year, I am reminded of the many friends I have let time and space interfere with. I intend to further that distance. I will start by rejecting any new Facebook or social network requests. I will also attach a note that reads “I never liked you in the first place.” I will cuss out and hang up on people who call in hopes of fulfilling their own resolution to rekindle old friendships.

6. Be Less Patient

I will be aggravated, exasperated, and ready to blow my stack at the slightest misstep. The next time my son wants help with his homework I’ll say, “That’s it! Clearly this whole Elementary Education thing is not for you. If you don’t know how to spell December by now, you never will…Now, go get a job! Oh, and take your sister with you, she sits on the potty way too long.”

7. Hold Grudges

This year I will forgive no one. I don’t care if you step on my toe, or pay me the five bucks you owe me, a day after the assigned due date. I vow to hate you forever and never forget how you wronged me.

8. Stress More

I will lose sleep thinking about planning parties, redecorating my house, trying to budget, missing appointments, teacher conferences, and health issues. I will laugh an evil cackle while erasing all the plans from my PDA, and then cry over what I’ve just done. I will empty our bank account on frivolous investments and watch it dwindle away. Oh, wait…that already happened. Well good, more for me to worry about.

9. Become Addicted to Something

Smoking, alcoholism and Starbucks are so trite. I’m thinking something unique like nasal spray or hand sanitizer. Or at least something beneficial to my endurance like crack. Look, I already have a shopping addiction; maybe I could offset the bills with a robust gambling problem.

10. Gossip More

I vow to talk about everything you do in the New Year. If I see you at the pediatrician for so much as a flu shot, I will tell everyone your child has hand foot mouth, so you can be verbally assaulted when you show up at a birthday party the next day. If you look too skinny, I will assume it’s a divorce or an addiction. If you look too hot, I’ll call it a torrid affair. If you look too young, it’s an addiction to surgical procedures because you’re getting divorced, due to a torrid affair.

I will start a rumor phone tree and a blog called “WhatPeopleAreReallyUpTo.com.” I may even have a megaphone installed on my “Gossip Mobile,” so I can drive through town amplifying the skeletons in your closet to all within earshot. Oh, wait… I’ll just write about it in next week’s column.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

My Other Resolution: GET MORE READERS TO THE BLOG SO I CAN SELL ADS AND RETIRE!!!
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I have added a Tip o’ the Mornin’ to my regular repertoire of hilariously funny, thought provoking and possibly award winning articles.

RealSelf.com

Well in answer to the question, Do I need microdermabrasion?  Yes. yes you do.  I don’t know exactly who you are but your skin is probably dull and the elasticity is probably slack.  Okay, I may be projecting, but along with suffering from dull slack skin, I selfishly envy fresh faced youth. It always makes me feel good to drive by a highschool, hang my head out the window and scream at the cheerleaders.  Things like. “Your pores may be small, but your such a slut and everyone knows it.” or “So what if you don’t have any wrinkles now, one day your kids will stretch your nether regions beyond recognition and your HS sweetheart will be a cheater working a dead end job, and your face will show it all.    I know what your thinking, Can I come?

If you think there’s a better way, then maybe you should try microdermabrasion.  First it sandblasts your skin with an abrasive material or ultrasound, then it vacuums your pores clean like a shag rug in the bathroom and last it stimulates new collagen production.  I have been trying to coax my collagen into regenerate for months now, so if this works, I can stop begging!  It costs $100-$200 a blast and should be done by a licensed professional –it can cause damage in the wrong hands.

Will it minimize wrinkles?  Probably not, but it can help with fine lines,  sun worshipers with skin damage and those who went through that awkward teen acne.  Who am I kidding, I still break out at “that time of the month.”  That’s when I go to an old age home, hang my head out the window and scream, “I may have a zit or two, but at least I still get my period.”

If you have an experience with microdermabrasion, please share.

OMG, I have to tell you guys something.  I often turn to my iCarly diary with my darkest secrets, but this one is just too juicy.   Here goes…  I slept with Tiger Woods.  You guys are probably freaking out, as Tiger’s reputation has been sooo perfect up until now.   Let me be the first to tell you, he’s not the squeaky clean Jonas Brother, he pretends to be.

Our affair was rather recent.  I must confess, he was passed out when I met him.  Sadly, that’s not the first time I started an affair with an unconscious man.  The other time was when this guy was hit by a subway car and I went to visit him in the hospital.  His family showed up and took me for his fiancé.  I went along with it because I was lonely and it was the holidays.  Eventually, he woke up and I married his brother.  Oh wait, that wasn’t me.  DUH.

Anywho, with Tiger it was different.  He was admitted to the hospital (where I am a candy striper) after a rather harsh battle with a fire hydrant.  –See, it’s different already.  It appears he and his wife play late night golf and he took his car to search for a stray ball, when the confrontation occurred.  I can only imagine how far one of Tiger’s balls can fly (well, I don’t have to imagine anymore).  –That was a sex joke, in case you didn’t catch on, LOL.

As it turns out, it was lucky that his wife was caddying for him, as she was able to use his iron to pull him from the wreck and beat off the fire hydrant.   I didn’t even know fire hydrants could come to life, but I saw this movie about a car named Christine and she came to life.  So, I guess anything’s possible.

Tiger  even promised me a signed Fat Head of his best friend MJ.  I can’t believe he can get in touch with Michael Jackson, but after the stint with the fire hydrant, I can see Tiger’s special.  Other people can see it too.   He also had sex with my friend Luanne who mops the floors.   And then Gertie, who resides in the nursing home area.   Oh, and Becky who was in the pediatric unit to have her tonsils out.  I ran into him wandering around the Nursery.  He says looking at the babies calms him.  I get it, they’re so sweet and innocent.

I confronted him about all those other girls, but he said, “don’t worry honey, you’re my hole in one.”  He said if we do it enough I can be his “double bogey.”  I don’t know anything about the golf but the nicknames sure are cute.  Oh yeah, he made me swear I’d never tell… Shit.

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One of my biggest pet peeves in Disney movies is the killing off of moms. It truly irks me that when I go to a “kid flick,” I have to worry that it will reinforce the innate fear that children have about confronting their parents’ mortality. Yes, I am aware that some Disney movies are based on fairytales which date back hundreds of years. Most of these stories involve the loss of the mother prior to the beginning of the story, hence the existence of the wicked stepmother. With this said, what about Disney movies that exterminate the moms with scenes that could give Steel Magnolias a run for its money? I haven’t even let my children see Disney tearjerker’s like  MORE…

-Dealing with a lost pet can be extremely daunting… even if it’s a ladybug.

I can still hear the faint murmurs of my son Jake’s 40-minute meltdown when his pet ladybug, “Lady,” flew away. We kidnapped this 4 year old (or 4 day old bug – whatever the spot things mean), at the top of Mount Aspen. Jake loved her, cared for her, nurtured her, taught her to ride a bike, and started a 529 plan in her name. About a quarter of the way down the mountain, Lady flew to the ceiling of our gondola and made a mad dash for freedom.

Jake jumped out of his seat and bounced towards the door. This caused the gondola to start swinging. According to the warning sign that pictured a man falling out of the gondola to his unexpected demise, wild swinging was strictly forbidden. “Jake, you can’t jump around. Do you see what happened to the unfortunate man on the sign?”

Jake continued searching, intensely focused on the whereabouts of Lady. “Hey, do you guys hear her? I can hear her. Do you hear her?” he said desperately, like someone who could put a straight jacket to good use.

Though we tried, we could not decipher the cries of his lost ladybug through the cranking sound of our transport. “There she is!!!” Jake screamed with the delight of a boy finding his long lost puppy (or recently lost ladybug). Regardless, it was with total elation that he offered her a stick, which she eagerly climbed onto. A few more minutes of bonding, and she playfully climbed up his shirt. “She’s sooo happy,” Jake cooed.

His joy quickly turned to horror as Lady made yet another stab toward freedom. I caught her, only to have my daughter Ryan beg for a turn. I put her on Ryan’s hand as Jake frantically tried to woo her back to his stick. She crawled up Ryan’s arm, pulled out what appeared to be a miniscule pair of binoculars, and scoped out the opening in the window. She looked back at Jake, with a tear in her eye, and with one final heroic effort, vanished into the thin mountain air.

A guttural wail came from Jake’s mouth… “I TOLD YOU NOT TO LET RYAN HOLD HER!!! I TOLD YOU! She loved the stick! She hated that spot on Ryan’s arm, and now look what you did! Sheeeeee’s gooonnne! I want Lady back.  I WANT LADY! She loved her stick, and she loved me! She wanted to live with me on her stick!”

Mark and I looked at each other, him losing it, and me wiping away a smile as not to diminish Jake’s loss. Calmly, I looked at Jake. “Honey, she’s a ladybug. I think she wanted to go free. That’s why she found the open window and flew out of it.”

“NOOOOOOO, she loved her stick!” Jake cried, tears uncontrollably streaming down his face. “I want my ladybug, I want my ladybug! I want her!”

Now both Mark and I are openly laughing. Well actually, I am laughing on the inside, which is causing me to cry.

“Jake, in the short time I was lucky enough to know Lady, I knew her to be a free spirit. Yes, she liked you, and your stick, but she’s not the type of bug to waste what might be half her life on a single stick. She wanted to explore and see as many sticks as possible.”

“NO, NO!!! She hated Ryan’s arm and it made her leave! I told you not to put her there!” Jake continued, as I officially lost it. While holding up the stick like a lighter, I started singing “Lady.” A song we later recalled was ironically sung by STYX. It went something like this: “Lady, LAY-EE-DAY Why’d you have to fly out the wi-i-i-in-dow?”

“Mommy STOP it! It’s not funny! I MISS LADY!” Jake wept, reverting to a grief-stricken state. Mark and I looked at each other in awe of this display of inconsolable, illogical, Oscar worthy, unceasing hysterics. “Jake…honey…baby, she lives on this mountain. She’ll find us at the bottom, I promise.”

“No-She-Won’t!” Jake screamed, stamping his foot on each syllable. “I promise she will,” I said, resolved to find another ladybug, or spend the rest of our trip trying.

He then paused, and answered with the irrefutable rationale of a six year old: “She won’t! She doesn’t even know which hotel we’re staying at!”

You know that stare? That annoyed stare that passersby, strangers and even family members give to let you know (what you already know) that you’ve completely lost control of your child? All moms know it. When my son was little he hated stores, any stores—Starbucks, Rite Aid, even my beloved Target. Maybe it was something about the shared air or the music that piped in from the ceiling, but he sensed the difference in atmosphere the second we entered. He screamed. He wailed. Sometimes fellow shoppers (likely other mothers) would help me out, give me the “go ahead” to cut them in line, or even unload my purchases onto the belt to speed me through. Most people just stared though, with that judgmental air of superiority. Their eyes were saying, “Tsk, tsk, you are a sucky parent! I could handle this sooo much better than you.” Some pairs of eyes simply stated “Shut that kid up!” What was I supposed to do? Stop getting groceries or, even more unthinkably, give up my non-fat, no-foam grande latte?

I remember being mortified after the first couple of episodes… Read more: http://parenting.ivillage.com/gs/gsbehavior/0,,g67prcgc,00.html#ixzz0W2OgU4UO

(Sorry, I am not allowed to reprint the article on my site.)

Don’t forget to check in on today’s Nickelodeon ParentsConnect “Me Time Challange” I don’t have time to: Go to the Doctor!