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I misplaced my brother-in-law earlier this week.  I know, first the shrimp and now an actual person.

My brother-in-law is this super sweet, charming Memphis boy who maybe should not be navigating the streets of Manhattan alone.

I spoke to him at 3:30 in the afternoon and gave him directions from Midtown to the West Village.

About a 30 minute trip.

Except an hour and a half later, there was no sign of Memphis boy.

I’m obsessively calling his cell phone and wondering how exactly I’m going to gloss over the “missing brother-in-law issue” when my sister arrives in New York later that night.

“Hey sis. Welcome to New York. Where’s Erik? I’m sorry, Erik who? Oh, you mean Erik your husband!  I didn’t realize you were referring to THAT Erik. It’s a pretty popular name. Of course, not as popular as the name Michael.  But still, pretty damn popular. What? Oh, where is he? Well, you know that crazy guy. He’s probably off scouring the streets of Manhattan for some decent BBQ or a good Elvis impersonator.”

After 2 hours, Erik finally showed up and I was so relieved. He apparently took a very creative route downtown. I wasn’t taking my eye off that boy. He safely watched “Elmo’s Christmas Countdown” with the girls.

We got to spend Thanksgiving with lots of great family and even the driving wasn’t too bad. Although for a large portion of the 3 hour trip, Dylan insisted on having the window open with a strong 40 degree breeze because her “back was sooooo hot.”

After amazing food, my sister Quinn did the traditional reading of “Lucky” magazine to the youngins.

And the next morning, Quinn introduced us to The Gobbler…

Yes, that’s a bagel with turkey, stuffing and cranberry sauce.

May The Gobbler find its way into your lives this holiday season.


My 4 year-old daughter Dylan really digs seafood.

In the past week, she’s eaten salmon sushi rolls, mussels and fried calamari.

The girl will not touch the “cake” part of a “cupcake.” But mussels? Absolutely.

So recently I went to the grocery store and bought some shrimp to saute for her.

Two days go by.

And I realize that the shrimp are strangely MIA.

Not in the fridge.

Not in the freezer.

Not in the stroller, thankfully.

So I just let the shrimp go, trusting that the universe will take care of those sweet, lovely shrimp, wherever they might be. And I am at peace.

And then I notice an odd smell in our coat closet. And after a quick search I find those shrimp in one of my reusable cloth shopping bags. Apparently, the universe just dumped them in there. How rude.

So, umm… I guess, no shrimp for dinner.

Instead, I cook up some eggs for my girls and put the frying pan in the sink.

At which point, I am quickly reminded that super hot pans melt plastic. See….

Yes, that tupperware and elmo cup are stuck to the pan.

So as you might have concluded by now, I kind of won’t be cooking Thankgiving dinner.

We are headed to my Aunt Terrell’s in Connecticut and we will bring alcohol (already distilled), a pie (already bakery made) and an Asian salad (already a well received dish at previous Thanksgivings and a very simple recipe).

By the way, if you like to shop at the Citarella on 6th Avenue, you may want to avoid the loaves of French bread for the next day or so. Because there was this little girl touching all the loaves. I don’t know who she is exactly but I think she might look something like this.

I hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving.

I am so grateful for all of you who take a few minutes from your insanely busy lives to read this blog. I am grateful for all your funny, smart, fabulous comments.

I am thankful for my handsome husband and cute little girls that can’t keep their sticky fingers off fresh loaves of French bread.

mama bird notes:

Yes, all you google cheaters were right. That was singer and songwriter Neil Sedaka, sitting next to actress Kathleen Turner at Juror Appreciation Day here in New York.

I’m sending the mama bird bonus prize to Aimee because in her comment she admitted to throwing up very publicly during jury duty. So the poor girl deserves a prize.

All the celebs were looking up at this.

And yes, Vera Wang was there. Not wearing a wedding dress.

And just so no one is bitter about Rick’s free jury pass, please know he has served multiple times on juries. In fact, just four years ago, he and his other jurors let a drug dealer go free. Yes, seriously. So please don’t think he’s not doing his part for the American justice system.


Do you remember the last time you had jury duty? Kind of boring, right?  A lot of sitting around.

Well, my friend Lanie did serve on a defective penile implant case.  But even penile implants get seriously dull after a couple days.

So my husband Rick goes off to jury duty last week but Mr. Fancy gets to participate in Juror Appreciation Day. This is a day when “notable New Yorkers” get excused from their jury service in order to tell the rest of us why we should freakin’ love jury duty.

See, there’s Rick between Nathan Lane and Katie Couric.

Oh and yes, that’s actress Kathleen Turner all the way to the left.

The first person to name the guy between Kathleen Turner and Nathan Lane definitely gets some kind of mama bird bonus prize.

So you can imagine my delight to learn that my local TV news anchor husband is a “notable New Yorker.” I’m now realizing that I need to give that boy more respect at home.

After Rick’s high profile day at the courts, I wanted to make sure his weekend was just as glam.

So we went shopping for a new toilet seat….

We spent time discussing the merits of a $25 toilet seat vs. an $11 toilet seat. I mean, would my arse truly feel the $14 difference?

Rick started chatting it up with another customer to get his advice.  Why? I guess because it’s so darn fun to talk to strangers. And who better to make our plumbing decisions than some random guy wandering down the Home Depot toilet seat aisle.

Finally, we splurged for the $25 seat.

Just Rick and me doing our part to jump start this economy.

And because you just know that ritzy Katie Couric isn’t sitting on some $11 cheapo toilet seat.


This week I had the NICEST cab driver. I think it’s the city’s way of saying, “Don’t leave, Kelcey.  C’mon.  I’ll be nicer to you.  I promise.  You’ll hate it in the burbs.”

I finally went to the doctor after feeling just miserable for weeks.  I had to take along my two girls and it’s always a bit of a production to usher them into a cab, while also trying to hold onto my purse, their stuff and a fold-up stroller. Winter coats, hats and mittens just add to the frenzied experience.

As we pulled up to the doctor’s office, the cab driver hopped out of the driver seat, and opened my passenger door to help me and the kids get out.

Very, very nice of him.

Except I’ve never in my many, many years of living in Manhattan EVER had a cabdriver open my door.

And I happened to be leaning over, trying to stuff all my kids’ snacks and wipes and straw cups back into their bag, which meant that my butt crack was kind of on display.

Well, VERY on display.

Now, I didn’t invent low rise cords so please cut me some slack.

And the way I see it, it was just sort of a little bonus for him, on top of the tip. I mean, if he’s into butt crack.  Which he totally might not be. I didn’t actually broach the subject.

So I finally get my pants in order and haul my kids up to the doctor’s office where the other patients stare at me like I’ve just carted in two baby alligators.  They’re just children, people! Unpredictable, uncontrollable little creatures.  Don’t look so damn nervous.

The doctor mercifully called me in right away.  He wasn’t too thrilled to learn that I was already half way through a Z-pack of antibiotics that he had NOT prescribed.

“Where did you get the Z-pack?” the doctor asked.

“Oh you know, one of the moms at my daughter’s preschool sells them.”


“Oh I’m just kidding.  A doctor prescribed it a while ago and I never used it.  My husband told me to take it. Totally his idea.  Please don’t yell at me.”

“Way to throw your husband under the bus.  In the future, just give me a call, ok?”

“Well, ok.”

And on the return trip, I once again had this super helpful, incredibly nice cab driver.

So maybe the city has a sweeter, gentler side after all.  And the always entertaining Marinka of Motherhood in NYC certainly makes a strong case for staying in Manhattan.

And I think I’m inclined to agree with the brilliant PAPA who recently commented that Manhattan is like a bad boyfriend. Sure, you can leave him.  But chances are you’ll just end up coming back.

So yeah, I’ll probably leave this city.  But guaranteed, at some point, I’ll return.  It’s the kind of cool, gritty town that appreciates a little butt crack.  And I like that.


Rick and I recently joined some friends on a Sunday afternoon for Baby Loves Disco here in New York City. Have you every been to one of these?  Basically you get to drink beer, dance to old Bee Gees and Michael Jackson tunes and watch your kids be happy. Seriously happy. See….

Well, Rick at least looks seriously happy.

Listen, no one invites us to weddings anymore, so we crave us some afternoon drinking and dance floor action.

Basically, Baby Loves Disco transforms night clubs across the country into child-proof discos for weekend dance parties. I’ve thought the idea was brilliant for a long time and often curse myself for not coming up with this genius idea. Or at least figuring out a way to secretly steal it.

Summer and I quickly found our groove.

They also had lots of snacks and drinks for the kiddos. I had never heard of these low sugar, juice drinks from Honest Kids. I’m thinking they should hire Summer as their juice model.

By the way, do you think Summer looks like the young Olsen twins from “Full House?” Because I hear this frequently. In case, you forgot what the great, sassy Michelle Tanner looked like…

Hmmm… maybe I’ll try to turn Summer into a cash producing, media empire like the Olsens. No, that sounds ridiculously exhausting. A juice model sounds like a better goal for a lazy stage mom.

Anyway, back at the disco…

Dylan, who does not like big parties of any kind, was not exactly feeling the dance fever. Where’s Ren McCormack when you need him? C’mon, you don’t have to click. You remember Ren, right?

So Dylan simply refused to take off her jacket and hat for the first TWO hours.

That girl really knows how to commit herself to something.

But eventually, with the help of a bubble machine, even she got into the disco groove…

And so did contributing mama Jordana Bales and her two girls…

On a separate note, if you have been racked with wonder about my weekly trip to Whole Foods…

Yes, we went this week.

Yes, Dylan declared her urgent need to poop.

Yes, she mentioned this in front of the hot prepared foods section.

In a time of economic uncertainty, job instability and an erratic stock market, isn’t it nice that there are some things you can count on? I think so too.

mama bird notes:

In my latest “drooling over this,” you’ll find some sweet, groovy dolls.

And Contributing mama Daphne Biener has a habit of keeping some pretty interesting things in her basement. Is she just sentimental or has this mama gone a bit too far? Click on contributing mamas and weigh in.

kelcey kintner