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Dylan has been on spring break all week. With her three rigorous mornings a week of preschool, she was really ready to blow off some steam.

So she’s been getting totally wasted on Milwaukee’s Best Light and raging hard with her gal pals down in Ft. Lauderdale.

Well… actually, she’s mostly been hanging out with me and Summer. I guess the flights to Florida were booked. Or she just thinks her mum is super cool. Or maybe it’s because she’s 3.

But she’s still living it up toddler style.

She felt the sand between her toes at a Tribeca playground and flirted with 8 year-old Michael.

She REALLY wanted to help Michael build his sand castle but the guy was a bit of a loner. Or maybe he’s just coming off another relationship and the timing isn’t right.

Anyway, Dylan got over Michael real fast, and moved on to a somewhat older crush, Jimmy the plumber.

I was practically in love with Jimmy too, with the way he arrived on time and fixed my bath drain. Dylan thought Jimmy was way cool but just so damn focused on his work. Don’t you hate when guys are like that?

Dylan even started a diary this week. She can’t keep all these exciting vacation adventures bottled up inside.

She narrated out loud as she pretended to write, “Summer had major poop. So big we can’t believe it. It was so big we had to go to the doctor and then I got a cold.”

Well, the poop part is accurate. I must say Dylan was fibbing a bit with the doctor and the cold part. But let’s cut the chick some slack because who hasn’t exaggerated a little when telling spring break tales.

Then we had the opportunity, to watch a young boy pee this morning on a flower bed of fresh tulips, as we walked to the coffee shop. I guess sometimes you really gotta go… on someone’s beautiful flowers.

But the very best, most awesome part of this week was meeting this gal… Lila Drew Bales.

Yup. Even better than accosting Michael Kors. Congratulations to contributing mama Jordana Bales, her hubby Michael and big sis, Ava. But mostly to Jordana who had a VBAC with the little miss who weighed in at 9 lbs, 12 ounces. That is some strong work, girlfriend.

And I saw pictures people. Very graphic pictures. Vagina. Blood. Baby. Placenta. Seriously.

I love the name Lila Drew so much I’m thinking of changing my own name to Lila Drew. Is that creepy? She was so scrumptious and sweet and fuzzy that maybe I’ll just…

Or crap… BIG sign about facing serious penalties if you leave the floor with a newborn. Can you believe that I’m bossy enough to make poor Jordana, after giving birth to a 9 lb plus baby, take snapshots of me pretending to steal her baby?!

Fine. I’ll give Lila back. Jordana deserves her. She did carry her for 42 crazy long weeks.

And congrats as well to the Bowyer/Cruise family on their new little boy, Samuel Alden Lester Cruise. If Lila, an upper east side girl, has a thing for downtown boys then maybe a little something can be worked out here. Not too early for those baby lovebirds to start planning spring break ’28. The Milwaukee is on me.

mama bird notes

As a parent, I sometimes feel like I’m on fast forward… especially during the bedtime routine. Contributing mama Daphne Biener got a lesson in slowing down by the great Mary Poppins. Or at least someone fitting that exact description. Click on drooling over this to read more.

We have an awesome giveaway coming next week from Maidenform. Details to come…


You know I’ve dabbled.

Not long ago, I invaded the personal space of Penn Badgley. You still don’t know who he is? My god, what do I have to do to get you to watch, “Gossip Girl?” Anyway, he’s one of the stars of the CW show and as you may remember, I, inexplicably, tapped him on the arm one day and gushed, “I love your show” like some kind of weird, 30-something stalker mom.

And you may also recall that I recently felt compelled to talk to Saturday Night Live performers Amy Poehler and Seth Meyers when I saw them having a private dinner in the West Village.

But I considered these encounters just two unexplainable, unsettling incidents after a long history of make-believe celebrity indifference. I mean, I’ve spent years pretending not to notice the likes of Heidi Klum, Liv Tyler and Julianne Moore in my very own neighborhood.

And I can still say proudly that I have NEVER, EVER asked for a celebrity photo.

Until last night….

I am just disgusted with myself.

What the heck is wrong with me? In my defense, it’s fashion designer and brilliant Project Runway judge Michael Kors. And if I simply told you (without the mega pixel proof) that I met him at the Publicolor fundraiser (which was a super cool, colorful event), I’m so sure you’d say, “Likely story Kelcey. You know, you don’t have to make stuff up like celebrity friends to be loved.”

But now you can see for yourself. I feel ashamed and embarrassed. Yet somehow… happy.

But I don’t even trust myself anymore. Seriously, how long before I ask for someone’s autograph? That would be rock bottom people. Rock friggin’ bottom.

Anyway, Michael was very nice about the photo. And it’s not his fault that he looks so oily because it was very hot.

And now I can’t wait for the next season of Project Runway because you just know he’ll be rattling on and on about that stylish, mysterious woman he met at the Publicolor fundraiser and how she would just make the most AMAZING model if only she was a lot taller… and a lot younger… and a lot more like Heidi Klum.

Auf Wiedersehen!

mama bird notes

Looking for some green mother’s day ideas? Click on drooling over this for my best ten.


On Saturday, we shoved my atheist father between two jumbo car seats in the back of our Jeep and headed to my husband’s parents’ house for a boisterous Passover seder.

Best Moment of the Seder: Singing “There’s No Seder Like Our Seder” to the tune of “There’s no business Like Show Business.”

Worst Moment: “When a 4 1/2 year-old instructed me how to pronounce, “Haggadah.” Look, if I went to Hebrew School, I would so know too. Plus, she jumped in so damn quickly. I’m sure I would have figured it out.

On the way home, my daughters, Dylan and Summer, drifted off somewhere near exit 6 on the Jersey Turnpike and the conversation turned to the light and breezy topic of GOD.

I asked my father if he believes in God or a Higher Power. He does not.

I asked him if he believes in reincarnation. He does not.

I asked him if believes we reconnect with our loved ones in some kind of afterlife. He does not.

He feels that we have one life and then that’s IT. DONE. And he’s actually comforted by this thought. He’s satisfied to play his minuscule part in the history of evolution.

Jeez Dad, way to bum a girl out.

Wait… I’ve got it! What about the white light? People, who have near death experiences, always talk about that comforting, peaceful white light. That must signify a heaven, an afterlife, the path to enlightenment… something!

“Maybe it’s just peaceful and comforting to die, ” my dad responds.

It’s kind of dark out on this highway and this guy is really spooking me out.

I respect his opinion but I just can’t accept it. We are such emotional, connected beings. We love so intensely. We feel so much. We are so draw to certain people in our lives. I just believe that someday my soul (minus the poochy, saggy post babies’ belly and forehead wrinkles) will reconnect with the souls of my loved ones.

In future spiritual realms, will my soul be hanging with my bitter, curmudgeon building superintendent Kent who believes every apartment problem can be fixed with some tinfoil and a McDonalds’ plastic tray? No way.

Will I be swaying, like I’m in some kind of Corona Lite ad, on an eternal hammock by the ocean with my husband? I hope so.

Will I be googling ex-boyfriends, 3-thousand years from now, just to see what they’re up to and if they still have hair? I’m so sure.

I really hope they have cafe mochas and google in the afterlife. And sushi. And Project Runway. On Bravo or Lifetime. I’m flexible like that.

Later that night, we returned to New York City and put the girls to bed.

My dad, who was staying the night, came over to me and said, “You know, I really hope you’re right.”

Me too Dad. Me too.

mama bird notes

When you think of a Higher Power, do you think of Land’s End? No? Ok, me neither. But they do have some cute kid’s stuff. Click on drooling over this to read more.

Do you have a Blackberry baby? If yes, click on NYC Moms Blog to read about my “youngest child.”

Finally, Valerie is the winner of the The ART:archives giveaway. Congratulations Valerie!


The other day I was dustbusting croissant crumbs off my 16 month-old….

Wait, you don’t do this? You really must try it. Your kid will be clean in no time. No paper towels or wipes. But let me warn you. You might not want to try this method with a toddler. Because in general, they are not amused if you come at them with a loud, sucking vacuum. But a baby? Dustbust him or her shiny and new.

So anyway, I was cleaning Summer and totally in the dustbust zone, when my mind began to wander and I started adding up all the missing items in my home.

It’s like a scavenger hunt around here without any clues.

Our tv remote from the bedroom was missing for more than 2 months. We searched. We researched. We surrendered. Yesterday, 3 1/2 year-old Dylan pulls one of her many backpacks out of her toy closet and guess what turned up inside… THE REMOTE. I practically hugged that thing.

I know Dylan was responsible. But Dylan is blaming her younger sister, Summer. And Summer isn’t talking. Not really the girl’s fault. She only knows like 6 words and three of them are “Elmo.”

Summer’s homeopathic teething tablets have also vanished. Dylan admits to moving them. But can’t exactly pinpoint where she put them.

And the shoes. There is a lot of taking shoes from mommy’s closet. (It always spooks me out to talk about myself in the 3rd person. Must stop doing that.)

But not a lot of returning going on. And wouldn’t you agree that the “returning” of the shoes should be the key part of this scenario?

Meanwhile, it’s been just too long since I showed you a snapshot of Dylan using her portable potty. It seems cruel to make you wait any longer.

So here she is at the park. And her preschool friends are WAITING patiently for their turn. Dylan, the portable potty princess, went first.

Then Julia and Chloe gave it a try and I don’t mean to brag but Dylan was the only one who actually made something happen in that potty. Even Summer sobbed until she got her turn on the plastic throne.

No, I’m not trying to potty train my 16 month-old. Way too lazy over here.

By the way, it was kind of a momentous week. My mother-in-law turned 60 (Just wait until you hear the torid gossip about that woman. Oh wait, she reads this blog everyday. Never mind.) and my dad turned 65. I told him we are going to start looking into assisted living facilities first thing in the morning. Is it too harsh to mock a guy that just recovered from shingles? I hope not.

mama bird notes

If you are wondering about Rick’s Juno hamburger phone that I gave away (and I’m absolutely sure you’re obsessed with it), it’s found a lovely home with mama bird reader Allison T. and her family.

Rick might think that phone is lost somewhere in our home.


I dated for a very long time. About 7,000 years. I may have rounded that up a bit, but I’m telling you it was an incredible amount of time.

I remember Charlotte of “Sex in the City” proclaiming, “I’ve been dating since I was fifteen! I’m exhausted! Where is he?” A single girl myself at the time, I watched from my couch, nodding my head vigorously in agreement.

Where the hell was he?

And then Rick finally showed up.

We had our first date in 1996 and our second in 2000. Like Diana Ross told us, you can’t hurry love. But it’s really our third date where things got interesting.

Sitting at the Evelyn Lounge on the Upper West Side, Rick leaned in and asked, “Would you ever be willing to convert to Judaism?’

I’m sorry. What?! I think we’re going to need more cocktails over here. Hold on there cowboy. You’re cute. You’re nice. You’ve got a full head of hair. But Judaism? On the third date? Bold move boy. Really? Have you seen how much Christmas rocks? And that Easter Bunny. With the chocolate?

The answer was no. I wasn’t willing to convert. And it wasn’t about the chocolate. It’s just not who I am. In this case, Charlotte and I took different paths.

But I did (many nights later) agree to raise our children Jewish.

With the help of a team of non-denominational attorneys, we hammered out an inter-faith agreement where we would celebrate and honor the Christian and Jewish holidays but raise our girls with a Jewish identity. Oh, alright, there weren’t any attorneys but it was tense. Very tense and very emotional.

It was extremely important to Rick for our children to be Jewish and it was my gift to him.

But no one ever said one single word about “Paul Zim (aka The Jewish Music Man) and Seder Nights.”

It should have been in the agreement. I knew I needed an attorney.

I’ve always feared the Wiggles in my home. I never saw Paul Zim and his Seder Nights coming.

This past weekend we went to a Passover celebration at The Museum of Jewish Heritage and received this glorious CD in the goodie bag. Dylan, who is very musically inclined and has mastered the use of the CD player, started playing this Passover sing-a-long CD over and over and over again. She particularly has a passion for, “Dayenu”, which ironically means “enough” in Hebrew.

Click below to experience it yourself.

Paul Zim rocks Dayenu

Look, it’s a catchy, festive song.

The first few times I heard it, I’m sure I swayed with the beat.

I may have even sung along a bit.

But that was the first 35 times I heard it. And that figure is projected to rise significantly over the next few days.

Is she trying to drive her Christian mother mad?

I don’t think so. I think she just really digs that guy Paul and his kickin’ Seder Nights.

Someday the girls will be Bat Mitvah’d. But Rick and I haven’t yet brokered a deal on whether our girls will attend Jewish sleep over camp.

Rick has very fond memories of his summers at Camp Harlam. Mostly I think because of something called, “bush time” that has nothing to do with our current President (Yes, George W. is still in charge) and everything to do with horny adolescents spending a few moments in the bushes with their camp crushes. Absolutely true. Just ask Rick.

But if the Jewish Music Man has anything to do with Jewish camp, the girls can attend a nonsectarian arts and crafts day camp.

See, this is the kind of stuff you have to deal with when you marry a nice, cute Jewish boy. So worth it. Just ask that Charlotte.

mama bird notes

Don’t miss our giveaway this week. The ART:archives will photograph your child’s art and turn it into a beautiful custom digital presentation on DVD. Set to classical music, this is an incredible way to preserve your child’s creations. Includes a backup DVD and a CD of the digital photos. $350 value.

To enter, just leave a comment this week on the mama bird diaries and forward a post to a friend (it can be any mama bird post and your friend will never ever be spammed). Just click on the “send to a friend” box below.

On another note, if you live in the Bay area, please consider coming out this Saturday (April 19th) for the Silicon Valley Moms Bone Marrow Drive. Click here for more info. Your support is truly needed. Thanks California mamas!

kelcey kintner


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