So maybe I need to clear something up.
No, I did not duct tape my kids in a corner, as Allison T. suggested, to keep them quiet during my interview with Better TV. Mostly because I don’t currently have any duct tape in my home.
This is sort of how the interview went at first…
“So are you stressed about the holidays?” asked the producer.
“Well – it does get a bit crazy this time of -”
“Mommy, I can’t find any of the hats for the potato heads. And they need hats,” Dylan interjected.
“New shirt. Need new shirt,” Summer insisted because she likes fresh attire every 23 minutes or so.
“And feet. The potato heads need feet. Can you help me find the feet? Where are the feet?” Dylan continued.
“NEW SHIRT!!!!” Summer whined.
Then they both veered off message and decided to immediately change into princess gowns. And Dylan chose to be all Britney and go cammando. So I explained to Dylan, “As a general rule of thumb, we try to keep our underwear on when we have guests over.”
And then I put them in front of the TV to watch a little “Sesame Street” while I finished the interview. No duct tape, scotch tape or any other adhesive needed. 21st century parenting in action.
Meanwhile, I’m such an idiot for complaining about Dylan pooping like clockwork at Whole Foods every week. Where was my gratitude?! (Thank you MN Mama for reminding me about gratitude.)
So here’s my newest rule of thumb. Anytime a kid poops in a toilet, you should just be grateful and shut the hell up.
Because yesterday Summer pooped in the tub. Of course, this has happened before. But it never gets any less gross. So I evacuated the tub, scooped out the poop, cleaned all the toys, scrubbed the tub and then refilled it for Summer and Dylan.
But Dylan was seriously unimpressed with my cleaning efforts.
“I still see poop crumbs,” she said.
But I’m telling you there was not a poop crumb, whatever that is exactly, in sight.
See, now just a few weeks ago, we were all engaged in a spirited debate about the future of this country. And now, I’m blabbering about poop crumbs.
I better go watch Obama on “60 Minutes” and try to pull myself together.
The rest of you, make sure to keep your underwear on if you have guests coming over.
mama bird notes:
Robin S. is the winner of the Ugly Dolls Babo’s Bird and the Hey Ugly Icebat Journal from Psychobaby! Congrats Robin. Please email your address to Kelcey@mamabirddiaries.com and your ugly winnings will be on their way to you.
So every night Rick and I put the kids to bed by 8 pm and then four minutes later, it’s midnight.
It’s stunning how fast time can go when you’re just peacefully tidying up your home or sacked out on your couch, watching “Gossip Girl” and wondering what is up with Jenny Humphrey’s crazy, Joan Jett inspired eyeliner?!
She used to be so sweet and pretty and innocent.
So each night I promise myself that I will go to bed earlier but, of course, I absolutely never do.
And then I saw this sign in my neighborhood….
Now the solution is so obvious. I don’t need more sleep. Just more caffeine! Perfect! I can definitely drink more caffeine. Way more simple than trying to get more rest. I mean, what a waste of time that would be.
Oh wait, maybe I shouldn’t be taking advice from someone who can’t spell “deprivation.”
The person who wrote this can’t exactly be a genius. Or maybe they are just very very tired.
I recently met a gal who seems to have plenty of energy… Marianne Mancusi. Beth Feldman of Role Mommy connected us. 30-something Mancusi has written 12 books. Wow. I’m starting to think she doesn’t waste her time watching “Gossip Girl” and critiquing Jenny Humphrey’s eyeliner. Although she is currently focusing on teen novels, so maybe she does.
And when she’s not writing, Mancusi is also a producer for BETTER, a national syndicated lifestyle show. She interviewed me about the stress of holiday gifts and tipping during this troubling economic downturn.
Stress?! You want to hear about stress? Well, let me tell you about my daughter’s pooping addiction at Whole Foods. And the school admission process in New York City. And trying to decide whether we should flee to the suburbs. And just trying to keep the kids from destroying the apartment until after this interview. And–
Oh, you don’t want to talk about that? Ok, let’s stick to the holiday season.
I don’t know when the piece is airing but I’ll link to it when it’s available.
By the way, I just heard Jingle Bells on the radio and Starbucks has transitioned to their festive red cups so I think the holiday season is full on.
My mother has been terribly concerned about my well being.
She is worried that I may be suffering from some kind of “post election withdrawal” like this girl.
I assured her that I am completely fine.
But now, I think, she worries that I am suffering from “post election withdrawal denial.”
A slightly different but still serious disorder. I’m totally not. Seriously, I’m not.
I am actually feeling very hopeful and calm these days.
Except at the supermarket.
Because as you might remember, my daughter has a pension for pooping at the grocery store.
Every single week at Whole Foods, Dylan announces that she has to poop.
And it’s always at the hot prepared foods section.
Why is that exactly?!
So I have to immediately get a Whole Foods employee to escort us to the bathroom in the back, do the whole pooping production with Dylan and then convince Summer that yes, she truly does want to be buckled back into the shopping cart. And as Summer whimpers, it’s back to the hot prepared foods section to finish our order.
At this point, we’ve gone to the bathroom so many times at Whole Foods, that I try to seek out new employees to escort us to the back. What if the workers start to think that I have some kind of weird disorder where I won’t let my kids poop at home?
And why doesn’t Whole Foods in Chelsea have a normal, public bathroom? You know, one you can visit WITHOUT AN ESCORT.
Once, I actually revolted against the Whole Foods buddy system and went back there without my fancy escort and they totally yelled at me.
Look, I don’t need that kind of grief. I’m just trying to buy some organic, locally grown, trade free, guilt free, plastic bag free, environmentally friendly, paraben free, SPF 30 groceries. Hmm… I think that’s the Whole Foods promise. Something like that anyway.
So yes mom, as you can see, even without the poll checking, phone banking and campaign obsessing…my life is still full and meaningful.
Really, I promise.
So Rick and I have been kind of, sort of looking at houses OUTSIDE of New York City.
Like in Westchester.
And can you even believe we are considering leaving Manhattan?!
Here I am pretending to be some cool, hip urban mom while secretly scouting out wrap around porches and manicured lawns.
Are you disappointed in me?! Look it’s not a done deal. We’re just looking around. I may not even be funny in the suburbs. I just don’t know.
But let me thank my brilliant, longtime friend Margo who advised me not to name this blog, “The Manhattan Mama Diaries.” I told her I’d be in New York City FOREVER. She said, you never know. That girl is quite a visionary.
Our potential dash to the suburbs is being spurred on by several defining moments.
We have been turned off by the New York City private school application process. At one required “playdate,” the Director of Admissions was just grilling my shy girl Dylan in this really chipper, friendly, relentless way.
So do you have a dog? Did you eat breakfast today? What’s your favorite food? What’s your favorite color? Can you make a snow man out of playdough? Can you count these little plastic bears?
Man, even I was starting to have heart palpitations.
I finally turned to the Director of Admissions and said, “She’s only 4. This is too intense. We’re going to leave.”
Which is a polite way to say…. Get someone else to count your stupid, crappy plastic bears.
And then there was this recent bitter cold, rainy day where I could barely hang on to my umbrella in the crazy gusts of wind, as I tried to maneuver my double stroller through the narrow streets of the west village.
All freakin’ day long.
And then another afternoon, Rick took the girls to the Hudson River Park and both Dylan and Summer started scaling the most perfect, climbing tree.
Until Rick was notified that it’s a $1,000 fine for climbing trees.
Kids should be able to climb trees, right?
So that’s how we ended up somewhere in Larchmont, NY on a Saturday morning.
The town was charming and lovely, with vibrant leaves falling so eloquently, so perfectly – that we started wondering if we’d somehow been transported to an elaborate movie set. But I think it was actually real because I never saw any craft service spreads.
And then another weekend, we found ourselves meandering around Montclair, NJ.
And Dylan, who has a real passion for New York City payphones, seemed to really like the Montclair ones too.
And they must have less germs, don’t you think?
But for now, the suburban payphones and the climbing trees will have to wait.
Dylan is still a city kid.
Enjoying a perfect, glorious fall day here in Manhattan.
mama bird notes:
Don’t forget to enter our Psychobaby giveaway this week. We are giving away the Ugly Dolls Babo’s Bird and the Hey Ugly Icebat Journal. To enter, just leave a comment on the mama bird diaries and mention the word UGLY. Good luck mama birds.
Yesterday I was walking down Bleeker Street and I saw a van make a super speedy left hand turn, almost running into a pedestrian trying to cross the street.
“Hey man, watch where you are going!! I have the right of way you jerk,” the pedestrian yelled.
“You’re a dick,” the driver shouted back.
So I guess the New York City Barack buzz has officially worn off.
Heck, all the smiling, pleasantries and feel good energy between strangers was getting tiresome anyway.
So now that I’m not obsessively phone banking, pouring over polls and stressing like a mad woman, I can actually focus on other issues… like Summer’s tattoos.
Two weeks ago, we went to a princess party and both Dylan and Summer got Cinderella tattoos.
Dylan’s tattoo washed off in about 24 hours.
Summer’s? Still perfectly fixated to her arm after TWO WEEKS. Despite aggressive scrubbing.
Now I didn’t actually see Summer get her tattoos which leads me to believe that maybe they had some actual seedy tattoo parlor in the back room of this so-called “Princess Party.”
And I don’t have a big beef with Cinderella, but I think Summer might start getting ridiculed by her classmates if these suckers don’t come off by middle school.
Nearly 2 year-old Summer seems completely unfazed. Sort of surprising because this is the same girl who changes her shirt and pants about 364 times a day because she has found some kind of imperfection or water droplet. (Did you notice that subtle shout out to Obama’s 364 electoral votes? I’m in political withdrawal people).
Anyway, I just want you to know I’m now focusing 364 percent on my kids. Those days of letting Summer eat her lunch, while standing at the counter in my high heels, just so I can grab a few minutes to check Real Clear Politics, are so over.
Well, this was yesterday. But totally the last time.
mama bird notes;
See if you can find me celebrating the Obama victory on New York Insider TV. Umm…. I might be the one wearing those flashy Obama glasses on my head. Listen, those glasses have a very short shelf life. I mean, how long is it acceptable to go around wearing them post election day?
Are you trying to be a little greener and use less paper towels? I’ve got an idea for you. Click on drooling over this to read more.
A friend has asked for prayers for a 5 year-old boy recently diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor. So please send your love and prayers to Max.
Finally, we have a little giveaway this coming week, thanks to a cool site called Psychobaby (funky, fun clothing, accessories and other stuff for newborns to age 8). We are giving away…
Is he ugly and lovable or what?
And the Hey Ugly Icebat Journal
Your little one can write or draw the ugliest monsters ever in this plush journal.
To enter the giveaway… Just leave a comment this week on the mama bird diaries. Try to mention the word UGLY so I know you’re really in love with these guys. Good luck mama birds.