My DVR is empty. Which led me to watch a few minutes of “Two and a Half Men” last night. PLEASE. I know. I just said the DVR is EMPTY. When I wasn’t engrossed in the clever, Emmy winning (really?), comedic banter, I was looking at Charlie Sheen. What happened to that guy (I mean, other than lots of booze, drugs, hookers and 3 wives)?
Remember when he did that 1986 bad boy cameo at the end of “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off?”
Juvenile delinquents are so damn hot.
The hair? The expression? The shady past? Where are his teeth? I don’t know. Not so smokin’.
Meanwhile, some guys seriously improve with age. Remember Patrick Dempsey from 1987’s “Can’t Buy Me Love?”
Add TWENTY years and this is what you get…
Hi Patrick. I love you. Love me.
Luckily, my husband is enormously secure. Speaking of my husband Patrick, I mean Rick, we decided to take some family photos. We figured since we have no wedding album (Really, I’m getting around to it. Soon) and Summer has no baby book (completely almost done, well… almost started), what we really need is more photographs to feel guilty about not organizing.
Ron Holtz, a creative, awesome and extremely patient photographer spent a few hours with us on Sunday. He was super energetic and positive, shouting out comments like, “Great job Dylan and Summer!” as they picked their noses and leisurely inspected city grates.
So we brought in Rick to try to work some daddy magic on the girls…
Rick growled and hooted and hollered….
Until the girls finally smiled he hurt his jaw and neck.
Well, that made me laugh. He’s fully recovered but no longer applying for jobs as a photographer’s assistant.
And Rick did coax an itty bitty, sort of smile out of Summer and Dylan (clearly rockin’ Ron’s photo, not mine below).
Well, Barack Obama certainly has something to smile about. After a long arse primary campaign, he finally secured the Democratic presidential nomination. Big congratulations to Miss Thing (AKA Rick’s cousin Wendi) who loved Barack Obama before any of us had even heard of him.
And don’t they make the cutest couple?! True. Love. Forever.
Remember my dad? He’s the atheist guy who doesn’t believe in souls or an afterlife or anything but still wants me to drop by his grave site once in a while for some unexplainable reason… many, many years from now.
Yeah, that guy. He’s back in town.
He’s really the most inquisitive person I’ve ever met. A conversation with him can become an unintended interrogation session. He’s just super, insanely curious. About everything.
Like when we walk around New York City, a city of roughly 10 zillion gadillion buildings, he’ll peer up at a random one and say, “What’s that building?”
Of course, I don’t know. First of all, as you can clearly see from my lack of a uniform or a clip board, I’m not a city tour guide. Secondly, if you’re not pointing at the Empire State Building or the building I live in (which pretty much covers my citywide building knowledge), how the heck should I know?
Except I feel super dumb that I don’t. Like I should be spending more time studying Robert Moses and the architectural history of New York City. You know, when I’m not taking care of children or doing laundry or washing dishes.
And I’ve never come up with a great technique for slowing down his fast and furious questions…. until this weekend.
I was rummaging around in my purse for the 10 millionth time (looking for my keys that are lost INSIDE my little apartment) and this was sort of hanging out.
“What’s that?” my father asks.
“Umm… It’s a tampon,” I respond. It’s actually a tampon cleverly disguised in this cute carrying case called a TOMtote (as in Time Of the Month) by Lexie B. Designs. I feel like I just dived into the seedy world of product placement but that really was not my intention. I actually use this TOMtote thing.
“Oh,” responds my dad.
Nothing else. No follow-ups. No other questions.
Just, “oh.” And then silence.
It’s so obvious now. Why didn’t I think of this sooner?
37 (crap, almost 38) years of searching desperately for the correct answers to all his detailed, obscure questions and all I had to do was utter the word “tampon” to stop him cold.
Except there is something really weird about uttering the word “tampon” to my dad. Or your dad. Or really any dad.
Despite its initial brilliance, it seems this tampon idea of mine sort of sucks.
Ok…. so now can someone help me find my keys? The last time I was this frustrated Summer’s baby doll was missing. And that runaway doll showed up after a couple days. The keys have been missing in action for a week.
I’ve ransacked the apartment and grilled Summer, the likely culprit, about their whereabouts. As usual, she’s playing it all cool and keeping mum. I’m just hoping my dad has a few follow up questions for that girl.
mama bird notes
Contributing mama Daphne Biener writes a moving piece about her baby Acadia who is off to kindergarten and perhaps a baby no more. Click here to read more.
Kelsey Kleiman is the winner of the “Sex and the City” giveaway! Ok, not really. This is Kelsey’s entertaining comment on the mama bird diaries this past week…
“I would prefer not to win the Sex In The City Soundtrack so I won’t tell you which character I am most unlike.”
Hmm… she sounds like a Miranda. The real winner (picked randomly) is Erin Butler. Yes, the contributing mama herself. Congrats Erin! Email me your address please!
I really skeeved some of you out with that picture of my girls on the pay phones. Honestly, I never thought about how many germs might be on those receivers.
Look, I never said I was the smartest mum out there.
Although, I did make Dylan stop sucking on the Starbucks’ counter the other day after the barista was nice enough to point it out to me. So I get a bit of street cred for that, right?
Those germ infested pay phones don’t bother me much, but I’ve had major angst over fresh mouse droppings in my apartment.
After the last mouse sighting, I thought we had sealed every hole and crevice in the joint. Apparently not. So I’ve been ranting and hollering at my super to DO SOMETHING which is all so pointless because he doesn’t actually view mice in my apartment as a real, pressing problem that needs to be addressed.
In his words, “I’ve never seen someone so mouse sensitive. It my house in Maine, mice are all over the place.”
Hey dude, I don’t live in Maine.
But now I feel downright silly for being such a vermin wimp because Jennifer H has to worry about this.
Yes, mountain lions. So I’m going to shut up about the damn mice.
Mouse and mountain lions aside… it’s movie making season in New York City. This week, Uma Thurman and her crew were using my local playground as a backdrop for a scene in Thurman’s new movie, “Motherhood.”
They hired a bunch of clean, well groomed kids, who don’t use gross public pay phones or suck on counters, to play on the playground equipment while they shot their scene. This guy in the green…
had the job of keeping all the kids in line. He would shout out to all the child actors, “Ok, quiet down guys. We’re rolling.” You see they wanted the kids to play. Just not TOO loudly.
And then once in a while, a very committed stage mom would scream out to her uncooperative child, “GET BACK ON THE SLIDE RIGHT NOW AND PLAY! I SAID NOW!” And the poor, tired offspring would trudge back to the slide. Show business is a biatch, kid.
Here is a shot (not taken by me) of Uma in character.
Ouch. Not so glamorous, right? Listen Uma, if I was some BIG, FANCY Hollywood leading lady like yourself, I would refuse all parts that made me look even the least bit unattractive.
Like I just wouldn’t do the Charlize Theron in “Monster” thing.
Critical acclaim and an Oscar? Yeah, so not worth it.
mama bird notes
If you just haven’t had enough, check out my piece, Playground Wars, on NYC Moms Blog.
Just leave a comment on the mama bird diaries telling me if you are more like a Carrie, a Miranda, a Samantha or a Charlotte and you are entered to win the soundtrack and a $25 Fandango movie ticket gift certificate.
Good luck mamas!
Rick, the girls and I hit the Jersey shore this past weekend. The 2 1/2 hour drive took a leisurely 5 hours.
If you can endure hours in a car, with your hungry, agitated spouse and even more cranky, ants-in-their-pants children without actually demanding a divorce, then I believe you are true soul mates.
You may not be speaking by the time you arrive. But really, that would be gravy.
Traffic aside, it was a beautiful, fab weekend. But I jetted back early to the city to see my sister, visiting from Memphis. And by “jetted,” I mean, I sat on the bus from Atlantic City to New York.
I’m really really not a bus person. Give me a train, a plane, a scooter, snow shoes, anything. But buses are just sort of cramped and bumpy and nauseating.
Still, this particular bus route has quite a reputation. I heard about folks nursing their slot losses and bringing on board cartons of Chinese food and big buckets of fried chicken and chowing down along the Jersey Turnpike. So you can imagine my immense disappointment when I saw only one guy with a dinky McDonald’s cheeseburger. What a letdown.
And not a single drunk, despondent gambler causing a ruckus. See? The bus just sucks.
That night, I tagged along with my sister and her friends. They all met in law school and decided to reunite in New York. Here’s my sister Quinn and her friend Erin.
Erin (on the right), at the decrepit, decaying age of 26, can’t find a good man. If Erin wasn’t so hilarious and so nice, I’d hate her for being a spring chicken. Anyway, if you know any tall men (Erin INSISTS that they be tall AND male… some people are so friggin’ picky) who lives in New Orleans, let me know and we will make like Chuck Woolery and connect these two southern love birds.
She’s not looking for a short cop. Long story. Just trust me on that.
Don’t find a hottie for my sister Quinn. She’s very much married and I don’t need my brother-in-law kicking my arse Memphis style. Whatever that means. I think it involves bbq sauce.
Now I know my single friends in New York are thinking, wait…Kelcey, why don’t you use your mystical mama bird powers to find me a svelte, McDreamy prince? All I can say is, this is not Match.com for gosh sakes, ok? But I’ll do my very best. So if you know any single bachelors in the 30 and 40 something range in Manhattan, pass those along as well.
Short cops are absolutely acceptable.
Finally (and this has nothing to do with cops… tall or short), ever since the cell phone craze began, I’ve always wondered who uses all those pay phones sprinkled around New York City (assuming they even work).
Well, the answer is so obvious that I now feel like a complete dufus.
mama bird notes
Click on “drooling over this” to check out a tale from the Method cocktail party circuit.
I know I promised the boy baby bundle next. But apparently, I’m a liar. Because in the spirit of “Sex and the City” mania, I’m giving away the movie soundtrack (see songs below) and a $25 Fandango movie ticket gift certificate.
That’s cool, right? Just leave a comment on the mama bird diaries by Friday, telling me if you are more like a Carrie, a Miranda, a Samantha or a Charlotte and you are entered. And I promise, the baby boy bundle giveaway really will be next. Mama’s honor.
Sex and the City Original Motion Picture Soundtrack
1. Labels or Love (Fergie)
2. All Dressed In Love (Jennifer Hudson)
3. The Look Of Love -Madison Park vs Lenny B Remix (Nina Simone)
4. New York Girls (Morningwood)
5. All This Beauty (The Weepies)
6. I Like The Way (Kaskade)
7. It’s Amazing (Jem)
8. How Deep Is Your Love (The Bird & The Bee)
9. The Heart Of The Matter (India.Arie)
10. Auld Lang Syne (Mairi Campbell & Dave Francis)
11. Kissing (Bliss)
12. How Can You Mend A Broken Heart (Al Green featuring Joss Stone)
13. Walk This Way (Run-D.M.C. featuring Steve Tyler and Joe Perry of
14. Sex and the City Movie Theme (The Pfeifer Broz. Orchestra)