Man, you all are pushy. And because I’m a believer in succumbing to peer pressure, I’ve posted a picture of my belly below. Now you just have to figure out which one is me. And extra points if you can identify the other baby bumps. I’ll give you a hint. One of these ladies is definitely Heidi Klum.

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Things NOT to say to a pregnant woman carrying twins:

You look gigantic. Are you due this month? (Now the mom-to-be fears she is carrying amazon children.)

You look tiny. You’re a peanut. (Now the pregger mom fears she is carrying midgets.)

Your belly looks pointy, like a dart. (The mom doesn’t know what to think. Now she’s anxious that she doesn’t even know what to worry about.)

Are you getting full-time help? You’re going to need full-time help. (Not unless you’re paying.)

Did you get all the equipment you need? (Umm… no.  Actually, we are in desperate need of a house. We are trying to buy a house first. Wait, what equipment?)

Are you getting a new car? (We might stick with our Toyota Highlander Hybrid for now. Rick is threatening that we need a minivan.  Please don’t side track us. First we need a house.)

Do you need a broker? I have a great broker. (I’ve got plenty of brokers. I’m actually having a shortage of houses.)

Do you know how to take care of twins? (Is that a prerequisite because I think I missed the course.)

You’re going to be tired. (I think I’m tired right now.)

Four is A LOT of kid (I’ve always wanted four. We couldn’t feel more grateful.)

Did Rick want four? (I think he might have held at two. But I keep telling him that the “f” in four stands for FUN. Please don’t tell him any differently.)

Things you SHOULD say to a pregnant woman carrying twins.

You’re glowing.  (It’s bronzer.)

You’re not carrying your pregnancy in your booty.  (At least not yet.)

Your face looks normal. It’s not bloated.  (Does it look young and fresh and 20 something?)

You look beautiful.  (This compliment works for all women – pregnant or not.)

You already have two kids. You’ll know how to take care of two more. It will be easy peasy.  (You’re probably lying but I don’t care. I love you anyway.)

You look like a pregnant Heidi Klum.  (Ok, now I know you’re lying.)

I think I may be in danger of having to rename this blog The Mama TV Diaries. Maybe I should focus more on parenthood. But before I mention my girls, can I talk about the Oscars for a minute?

Rick and I almost didn’t see the Academy Awards because of a fight between Cablevision (our cable company) and ABC. WABC pulled its signal from the air on Sunday morning and things did not look promising.

As it got closer to showtime, Rick and I were pretty bitter. Now being married to Rick is like being married to a spoiler alert. The guy is incredible at picking the Oscar winners. We used to win bags of money at our friends’ Oscar parties.  But for some reason, we don’t get a lot of invites anymore.

So since we couldn’t watch the awards on TV this year, he just told me all the winners. I tried to get him to act out the Neil Patrick Harris opening musical number but apparently my husband has his limits.

Thankfully, 20 minutes into the show, ABC put the Oscars back on the air.  We were thrilled despite the fact that we missed some kind of super awkward Kathy Ireland moment on the red carpet. But we still had plenty of time to wonder why Demi Moore had such a great seat. I actually love Demi Moore but did “GI Jane 2″ come out or something?  What was she doing in like the 3rd row?

I’m so glad I didn’t miss the tribute to John Hughes. Because I love every John Hughes movie and because Judd Nelson was clearly making a silent public plea for help. Let’s all work together to get that guy a makeover or a job or a brush or something.

Messy hair was definitely in. So were movies that I haven’t seen. I’ve only seen two movies in the past year: “The Hangover” and “It’s Complicated” and neither was nominated. “The Hangover” should obviously have won Best Picture. And as my friend Meredith pointed out, “It’s Complicated” was a shoo-in for Best Awkward Middle Aged Sex Scene. Such a better category than Sound Editing.

As far as I’m concerned, it was Sandra Bullock’s night. She looked fabulous with her sassy, shiny locks and I’ve always thought it was a travesty that she didn’t win an Oscar for “Speed.” And Kathryn Bigelow beat out her ex-husband James Cameron for Best Director. Go girl power.

Ok enough of the Oscars. Back to my kids. In the words of Ryan Bingham, who picked up an Oscar for Best Original Song, Dylan and Summer… “I love you more than rainbows.”

I have no idea what that means exactly but it sure sounds sweet.

Because I’ve been wondering what Jerry Seinfeld has been doing for the past 12 years (other than figuring out where to park all his cars in Manhattan), I decided to check out “The Marriage Ref.”

Man – that debut show was hard to find with NBC sticking it in the middle of the Olympic closing ceremonies.  Nothing pays homage to the beauty of the Olympic spirit and nations coming together like a break to focus on a couple squabbling about stripper polls (more on that in a moment).

But in all fairness to NBC, the orchestrators of the closing ceremonies had started pulling out the inflatable beavers and moose so maybe it was time to cut away.

If you somehow missed the 637 promos for this new Seinfeld show, a marriage ref settles a dispute between a husband and a wife after a 3 person celebrity panel weighs in.

Panelists include relationship experts like Alec Baldwin (who has a contentious relationship with ex Kim Basinger and once famously called his daughter a rude little pig) and Madonna (who is twice divorced and fully embracing cougarville).  I’m sure they’ve both sought rigorous therapy and now know how to help other couples avoid similar pitfalls.

So far the marriage disputes are things that come up in every relationship like a husband who wants to keep his dead, stuffed dog as a shrine in the living room, a wife who regularly flosses in bed and a husband who wants to install a stripper poll in their bedroom.  I can still recall that fierce fight Rick and I had over what color to paint our stripper poll.  I still contend that a soft peach would have been just the right shade.

Did I mention that “Today Show” host Natalie Morales makes a sad appearance at some kind of news desk as the fact checker for the show? (I can only imagine the money was very good).  And even Marv Albert worms his way onto the program. I’ll be shocked if Lorena Bobbitt doesn’t make some kind of appearance very soon.

If you’re looking to save your marriage, this show ain’t going to do it. Frankly, I’d put more stock in The Mouthy Housewives to solve your problems.

But I did laugh out loud a number of times. And Alec Baldwin should be on every week because despite his personal failings, he is quite talented. But I’m not sure “The Marriage Ref” has a long shelf life. It just feels too staged and hokey.

But at least I know… the next time Rick and I have a dispute over a dead dog, we now have some guidance on how to reach a peaceful resolution. Thank god for TV.

My husband Rick really likes new gadgets.

Like thanks to some kind of new wireless tech thing in our home…. when I take some pictures on my digital camera and walk in the house, the photos are automatically uploaded to our computer, sent to Shutterfly and delivered to my husband’s email inbox.

I mean what the heck happened to a little privacy for the lady of the house?

Of course I guess this means I can’t take photos of my neighbor who has a knack for walking around in his skivvies while leaving the drapes open. Now I’ll have to set up a painting easel in his front yard to capture these beautiful moments on canvas and frankly, you can imagine how that whole situation could get awkward.

So given Rick’s love for technology, I thought he would be all about this new clock…

It’s supposed to help kids sleep through the night by turning blue at bedtime and then yellow when it’s time to wake up. It sounded perfect for Summer who thinks 6 am is an ideal time to kick start her day, and ours too.

Except when Rick took the clock out of its box and set it up, it didn’t work.

And then he tried again. This time it woke our girls up in the middle of the night with some kind of fairy dust story and music.

We unplugged it. And let it sit there for weeks.

But because a man who’s monitoring his wife’s every digital move doesn’t want to be outdone by a kid’s clock and because Summer still had a penchant for early morning wake-ups, he tried again.

And this time, on a trip to the bathroom in the middle of the night, I noticed that the clock had turned yellow to signify wake up time at 3:38 AM. Hmm…. perhaps it was time for the lady of the house to get involved.

Not that I want to brag (but it is my blog so I can really do whatever I want)… I read the manual, spent a couple minutes setting it and it worked flawlessly.

Well, the clock.

Summer still wakes up at 6 am.

I watched the ice dancers do no jumps and wear outfits that even my preschoolers would turn down.

I watched 53 McDonald’s commercials and truly attempted to work its Olympic champion sweet chili sauce into every meal.

I watched the beautiful and inspiring Canadian Joannie Rochette somehow win the bronze in ice skating after the devastating death of her mother.

I watched the American men win gold in the Nordic Combined for the first time ever yet still,  I could not explain Nordic Combined if you offered me a year of free babysitting. Ditto for curling.

I watched the aerialists somehow defy gravity, doing crazy stunts in the air as their mothers cheered them on. I would be begging my child to take on another sport. Like curling.

I watched Apollo Anton Ono try to bring back the bandana for the third Olympics in a row. You can’t say the guy doesn’t have perseverance. And if he and Bret Michaels can’t do it, then we all have to accept that no one can.

I listened to the announcers say things like, “That one mistake is going to haunt him forever” and “That was the performance of her life” and my personally fave, “He left it all on the ice” 432 times each.

I watched Dick Button as a commentator and really tried to imagine him as a svelte figure skater in 1948. I think I failed.

I watched skier Julia Mancuso prove that even Olympic champions wear tiaras.

I loved the Olympics.

But I have never been so happy to see the closing ceremonies. Because I am tired, people. And cranky. Apparently the Olympics was on for 2 weeks. Can we all agree that it was more like 2 months?

I need my life back. I no longer want to be up at midnight, teary-eyed over a medal ceremony. I want “Gossip Girl,” “Project Way” and “Modern Family.”  I no longer wish to be inspired by television, but only somewhat entertained. I want to sit on my couch and not second guess my decision as a kid to hang out with my friends in the local pizza place after school instead of pursuing Olympic dreams at the ice rink. I just want to be mediocre. And happy.

So let me off the hook for 880 days. And then I’ll embrace the summer games in London. Because who doesn’t love the Brits and gymnastics?  It’ll be bloody brilliant.

Recently my 5 year-old daughter told my mother-in-law that I don’t put toilet paper down on a public toilet seats. Thanks, Dylan. I really appreciate you having my back like that.

For the record, it’s not true.

I often do put toilet paper on the seat but by the time I get the girls up onto the seat, half the paper has already fallen into the toilet. It’s not an ideal system. When do girls learn that fantastic skill of squatting over a toilet so their butt cheeks never even skim the seat?

Nothing about public restrooms is ideal.

Take our recent trip to Cape Cod -  we stop at a local coffee shop so I can use the bathroom. I swing open the door to the ladies’ room and there indeed is a lady sitting on the toilet right in front of me. She looks at me. I look at her. That millisecond felt like the length of a James Cameron movie.

I utter “I’m so sorry” and slam the door. And then I go into the mens’ room and lock the door.  I pee and then wait.  I try to allot enough time for her to finish up her business, wash her hands, grab a cup of coffee, leave the establishment, write a full length novel and train a Shetland pony before I exit.

I am not interested in having small talk with this woman about her preference for sitting vs. squatting and whether she puts paper on the seat.

I join Rick and the girls out front. I mention nothing to them. We pick out snacks and then turn to pay the cashier.  And OF COURSE the cashier is the same woman from the bathroom.

As she handles our food, I think, oh I really hope she did wash her hands in there.

And I really wish this had been my only awkward moment of the week but I finally took those boots (the ones that Summer threw-up in) to the shoe cobbler to be cleaned. Are we all still using the word “cobbler” or did I just time travel to 1834? Anyway, I had cleaned them extensively at home (inside and out) but felt they needed the hands of a professional.

When I pick them up (all shiny and buffed), the shoe guy says to me, “What exactly was in those boots?”

And because I believe in total honesty and serving as an example for my children, I look him in the eye and say, “I don’t know.”

Thankfully, my children aren’t with me so I am able to lower the honesty threshold just a hair.

And the shoe guy looks at me with an expression that clearly says – Don’t lie to me, lady. I’ve been cleaning shoes for decades. So just go ahead and tell me the truth.

So I add, “My kids were playing with them. I don’t know what happened.”

Because I think every shoe cobbler knows that’s code for “vomit.”

mama bird notes:

A couple reminders on the BlogHer 2010 front…

Last chance to vote for us (yes, I’m groveling)! The Mouthy Housewives and Mommy Wants Vodka have put in for a Room of our Own on how to create a super fabulous, entertaining advice site.

So please just click here, log on to BlogHer and then click “I would attend this session” (it’s just above the title: Dear Abby 2.0). After you click it, it will miraculously say “I would not attend this session.” This means that your vote for the session has been successfully registered. Thank you!

And if you like cocktail parties… The Mouthy Housewives are throwing a happy hour party at BlogHer this summer!! If you want to find out all the details and how to sign up when the time comes, join our Facebook group by clicking here.

On Sunday, we headed to Cape Cod for my dad’s surprise retirement party.

Frankly I wanted to find out what he was doing with his new found freedom other than consistently sending me Calvin & Hobbs cartoons from Go Comics. Can you make a day of Calvin & Hobbs? My dad can.

My dad knew he was having dinner with close friends but had no idea that Rick, Dylan, Summer and I and some other out-of-town friends were coming.

So we all gathered at a friend’s house and our look-out man (a 10 year-old by the name of Samuel) gave us the sign that my dad was approaching. All the out-of-town guests (including us) rushed into the bedroom so we could surprise him. And then there was a slight hiccup with our plan.

5 year-old Dylan refused to come into the bedroom. Suddenly, she was all Miss Anti-surprise.

I pleaded with her to come back. She cried. I told her to come back into the bedroom or she’d get no dessert later. She sobbed harder. (Why do my brilliant parenting ideas never pan out?!) I pulled her back into the bedroom and she howled. I hugged her and tried to calm her down while scanning the room for duct tape. Her deep sobbing reverberated through the entire house.

You might have concluded at this point that Dylan is not the best person to invite to a surprise party.

Despite Dylan’s persistence, we did end up surprising my dad (he thought the crying was someone else’s salty granddaughter) and he was thrilled to see us when we bounded out of the bedroom.

And we got a lot more details on his plans for the future.

Turns out his retirement plan so far consists of watching every moment of the Olympics, which is a pretty good plan except for the 3 years and 48 weeks of off time when the games aren’t on.

So during those rare moments when the Olympics are on hiatus, he wants to relive his college glory days by joining the recreational senior ice hockey circuit. Ice hockey at 67.  What could possibly go wrong?

The next day, we all went bowling where I finally smartened up (upon your recommendations) and used the gutter guards myself.

And I STILL lost. To my 5 year-old and 3 year-old. It’s humiliating, people. But then I did whip Dylan’s arse in air hockey so I gained back a morsel of self respect. I really showed that preschooler.

And judging from the comments on my last post, you all think I’m the only one wearing a tiara in our family.  And I just want to assure you that is most definitely not the case.

P.S. I really wish this photo had been “staged” but the guy actually put this on without my input.

P.P.S. Obviously this is not an endorsement to drive while wearing a tiara. We all know how dangerous that can be.

mama bird notes:

Do you like to do good? If yes, here are a couple great opportunities….

Help out a fellow blogger, Utterly Chaotic by visiting MSNBC today to read more about Rett Syndrome. Her 13 year-old daughter suffers from this serious disorder. And if you’d like to donate, click here.

If you are in the New York City area, The Children’s Cancer & Blood Foundation is holding a fundraiser at American Girl Place next Monday (March 1st) to raise money to treat children with cancer and blood diseases who can’t afford care. American Girl is underwriting all the costs, so 100% of the money helps out these kids.  Tickets are $75. Get more information here and buy tickets or donate here. Thank you!

Visit to the aquarium. Check.

Trip to see old dinosaur bones. Done.

Showed girls Olympic pairs skating. They were delighted. Showed girls Olympic curling competition. We were all confused. Check.

Wore tiaras and made finger puppets. Yup.

Gymnastics at the Y. Done.

Visit to the library. Check.

Trip to see Ellen Watermelon perform. Check.

Summer refused to ever take off her coat at Ellen Watermelon. Double check.

Outing to the grocery store. Went again. Maybe one more time. Went out for pizza. Visit to the local toy store. Got smoothies. Had play dates. Ate ice cream. Read books. Naked flashlight dancing after dinner (just girls, not Rick and me). Painted pictures. Ate snacks. Ate more snacks. Puzzled as to why no one is hungry at dinner time. Played Candyland. Told Dylan for the 157th time to stop cheating at Candyland. Picked up toys. Picked up toys again. And yet again.

Check. Check. Check.

Condition of mother at the end of the week?

Days until the next “vacation?”

35.

Rick and I have decided that in all likelihood we will become Olympic pair skaters. He wants us to skate together so that some other man wearing a flashy, sparkly jumpsuit doesn’t have his hand supporting my lady parts during the lifts.

I, on the other hand, think we should have different partners because can you imagine skating with your spouse? And then he falls? When you’re in medal contention? How do you work that out in couple’s therapy?

I guess you’d meet your girlfriends for a coffee and complain, “Not only does my husband consistently forget to empty the dishwasher but did you see how he fell during his double toe loop and killed our chances of even a bronze?! 10th place in Vancouver? Who needs that crap? I really could kill him sometimes.”

If for some unexplainable reason we don’t become Olympic pair skaters, then we are going to, at the very least, try to work more snowboarding lingo into our daily conversation.

For example, when we go out, I would normally say, “Are you going to order a martini?”

Now I’ll say, “Your usual double Mctwist 1260?”

Or when we’re driving, instead of saying, “Look. There’s a parking spot. But it’s small. Do you think you can parallel park it?”

Now I’ll just say, “Honey, that parking spot is tight. Do you think you can frontside double-cork 1080 it?”

I can only imagine how much cooler everyone is going to think we are with our new fancy Shaun White inspired vocab. By the way, I showed Dylan and Summer Shaun White’s snowboarding performance at the games and Dylan said, “SHE’S really talented.”  Since he won gold, I doubt he cares.

Meanwhile, I’m currently on a radio strike because I turned on NPR for two minutes the other day and they announced who had won the gold in the women’s downhill skiing (before I had a chance to watch it that night).

Dear NPR,

I’m very nice to you. I give you money. I listen to your long arse stories about water rights issues in Washington state. I put up with your callers that are so long winded that it take three days to finally formulate their question or comment. The very least you can do for me in return is to give a spoiler alert before you announce Olympic results because I (like many fans) are watching the competitions at night.  Just give me a couple seconds to lunge towards the radio and change it to my favorite soft rock.

Because I no longer trust you during the Olympics, I won’t be listening for the next few weeks. Tell Leonard Lopate that it’s nothing personal. Still a fan, Kelcey in New York.

mama bird notes:

Seems like weight loss is a big issue these days with everyone running from the thin mints. Contributing mama Erin Butler is determined to do something about it and she found a super cheap personal trainer. Click on contributing mamas to read more.