Spice Up Your Inbox. Subscribe Today.

enter your email address:

blog advertising is good for you


To the staff of Bar Six,

As you may remember, I recently had lunch at your lovely, quaint bistro. My girlfriend Liz and I popped in for a quick midday meal with our three adorable children (ages 1 – 3). You found us a perfect table with two high chairs and space to park our strollers. You also may remember my 3 year-old daughter Dylan whined and sobbed because she wanted to sit at a DIFFERENT table. Isn’t she just darling when she gets all passionate about something? We just love that girl’s spirit.

Right away, let me apologize for a few things that might have dropped (or perhaps were thrown with great fanfare and gusto) onto the floor.

straw cups
wind-up dreidel toy
horse purse
baby doll
toy train
cell phone
mini etch-a-sketch
french fries
turkey burger

While we’re on the topic, let me apologize for those same items being thrown two and three more times on the ground. Frankly, there is just no excuse for that.

I know 20 month-old Henry feels just awful about ripping apart your paper table cloth, and then drenching it with water. You all were so kind to hurry over with a new one.

And you certainly were right that the turkey burger takes a bit of time for preparation. I explained that repeatedly to 1 year-old Summer but I’m not a 100% sure that she got it. Perhaps that explains her immediate and vocal need to get out of the high chair before the food arrived. That Summer has a lot of spunk too.

I only wish we had kept things more contained. It seems we started using the adjacent table to hold some of our stuff and as a resource to constantly replenish our napkins and flatware.

Please also pass on our apologies to your other patrons, who just seemed to find themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’m sure they were quite surprised by the amount of time it takes to pack up three children and head out into the rain. Of course, I’m just so sorry for Dylan’s shrieking as we headed out the door. That girl has never been a fan of the plastic rain cover. At home, we always use tinfoil. Not a scrap of Saran Wrap in the apartment.

In the end, it really is hard to believe that we were only there for an hour. I’m sure you received our generous tip. But somehow it just doesn’t seem enough. To express our gratitude even more deeply, we promise to never come back. We hope this is sufficient thanks. If not, let me know and we will send more money.

Most warmly,

Kelcey Kintner

mama bird notes

It’s time for another mama bird giveaway and I am LOVIN’ this stuff below. To enter to win:

1. Comment on the mama bird diaries this week (smart, sassy commentary is encouraged but not required. Feel free to simply write, “I want the free stuff”).

2. Send a mama bird post to a friend. Cool mamas don’t spam so don’t worry, you aren’t selling out your gal pals. Just click on the pink “send to a friend” box at the bottom of this post and follow the directions from there.

One oh-so-lucky mama bird fan will win ALL of the following…

A super cute kid’s t-shirt from Little Green Star. You show them who has the coolest kid on the block with a “My dad recycles more than your dad” t-shirt. Size: 4T. So green and groovy for your offspring or makes a terrific gift.


This yummy peppermint set, from Butterfly Buggas, includes everywhere spray, all natural handmade soap, whipped body butter and a body pouf. It’s all made by one creative, talented mama and smells simply divine.


“Daughter of the Bride” by Francesca Segrè. This truly entertaining novel is based on Franchesca’s real life experience as the daughter of the bride. This girl (29 and single at the time) walked into bridal salons with her mother and had to explain that her MOTHER was the one shopping for the big white dress.


Herbal Serenity Show of Hands Instant Manicure. By January, my hands are so crazy dry. Lotion alone just doesn’t do it. But this exfoliating scrub leaves hands soft, smooth and moisturized. Just ask beauty mama Alex. She’s a fan too.


And a Sephora metallic make-up bag. Color: silver. The perfect way to carry your make-up essentials and it’s thin enough to throw in practically any purse. It’s also great as an evening clutch. Throw in your keys, phone, cash and credit card, wave goodbye to the babysitter and you are off.


So good luck birdies! We move on to other mama bird updates:

Contributing mama Daphne Biener (hopefully rested from a little vaca in Mexico) is trying to figure out why her kids claim to never be tired, cold or hungry. To read more click on contributing mamas.

Mama Liz is expecting number 2 and wants to know what she needs to accommodate a second child. And while you are doling out the brilliant mama advice, she’s look for great toy ideas for her 20 month-old. Ok, the ideas don’t have to be brilliant. Just pretty good. Click on askamama and help a fellow mummy out.

I’ve got a new eco website that I’m drooling over these days. Click on drooling over this and check it out.

Finally, for you nyc mamas, the Center for Attachment Research, is looking for mothers of daughters (between the ages of 24 and 36 months) to participate in a study looking at the relationship between moms and daughters with regard to body image. 2 hours of your time. The leaders of the study promise it’s fun for the kids, interesting for the adults and you get to bring home a free dvd of the experience. Interested? Email Tiffany at tifhaick@gmail.com.


I’m really getting no RESPECT around here. And unlike that greedy Aretha, I don’t even need the whole word. I’d settle for a little R.E.S.P. Or these days, maybe just the “R.” 1 year-old Summer is a full-on, don’t-even-look-at-me-if-your-name-is-not Rick Folbaum, daddy’s girl.

At least, I can usually count on my girl, 3 year-old Dylan, to give me the sugar. But today she passed on our special alone time to hang with Kira, the babysitter. Kira is a ball of creative, energetic fun, but hey, look at me, I’m your super fab mama. Dylan, are you listening? Kira, can you get Dylan’s attention for me?

And I do A LOT of gritty work around here. Summer made another gigantic, turbo poop. Her number 2 is more like 4 or 5 these days. It was just before bedtime, so once I got Summer scrubbed down, I popped the two girls in the tub. Moments later, little drips of poop started surfacing. (Note to reader: I know this is totally nauseating. Stay with me. We’ll get through this together. Don’t abandon me now.)

“Dylan, GET OUT OF THE TUB.” It was “Caddyshack” (unfortunately without the Baby Ruth) as I desperately tried to evacuate the waters. I wrapped Summer in a towel as I waited for that nasty bath water to drain. And of course, her gratitude was plentiful. Summer proceeded to poop again – this time in the fresh, white towel. At that moment, I was grateful for a huge stash of wipes, a washer/dryer and wine (all in the apartment).

portable-potty.jpgBut as you all know, Dylan takes care of her potty needs. Quite of few of you were interested in that portable potty. Here it is. Of course, this pic is not Dylan. Just some poor sap who will probably still be known in high school as the “potty boy.” Well, he sure does look happy now, going potty in the street and all. I hope he got paid a lot of cash. You know his parents spent it all on fancy meals and not a cent went to his college fund. I mean, that’s what I would do.

Let’s move on because there has been quite a bit about bodily fluids this week. Really more than I can handle. And people, we’ve got a presidential race going on. I don’t really discuss politics at home but I did put on coverage of the New Hampshire primary on Tuesday night to see what was going on. Dylan was SHOCKED that I turned on the TV for something other than Elmo or Mr. Rogers and was very inquisitive about the whole thing.

Dylan: What’s this?

Me: It’s the New Hampshire primary. These are the candidates who are running for President.

Dylan: Pes-ee-what?

Me: President. The President is the person who leads the country. Our country is the United States.

Dylan: Oh.

Me: Our current President is George Bush.

Dylan: George Bush?

Me: Yes, George Bush is the President.

Dylan: George Bush? Yuck.

I don’t know where she came up with the idea that George Bush is the equivalent to broccoli or spinach but apparently that’s how she feels. I’ll let you know if she shares anything about the current field of presidential hopefuls. Right now, she’s off to do some polling and perhaps nominate Kira, the babysitter.

mama bird notes

Our beauty girl Alex is here with an amazing product for those dry winter hands. Just click on drooling over this to read more.

Finally, need a little feedback from other super smart mamas on this crazy job called child rearing? Or advice on anything else that’s stressing you out? Just email me your question or problem and I’ll post it under askamama. Questions can be anonymous.


I have spring fever. I’m ready to hit the quad after Economics 201 and then head to the Boot for two for one pitchers. What?! I have children to care for? No, no, no. I’m a sophomore. Children? Egads! That’s years away. I don’t even know who I’m taking to semi-formal yet.

There is something about a sixty plus degree day in January that can make you feel DY.no.mite. I ran into an acquaintance on the street today. I’m not sure which I savored more… having an actual discussion about politics and the various candidates (wait… did I just talk to someone for 7 straight minutes without discussing poop, sleep habits or preschool?) or watching his expression as my 3 year-old Dylan used her portable potty on the corner of West 12th and Greenwich. Sorry hipster real estate single guy. The girl’s gotta pee… now.

I’ll tell you something else I’m totally groovin’ on these days. Fred. I’m with Fred. Not the candidate. The Rogers. Listening to that guy is like playing one of those meditation tapes I remember my mom listening to when I was a kid. The guy is so freakin’ CALM. The fact that he died in 2003 probably helps keep his blood pressure down. But seriously, didn’t anything piss him off? The topic of today’s show? “Talking to friends and picking out shoes.” Fred, those are like two of my all time favorite things to do. I mean, this dude might be a hair outdated but he still knows what a girl needs.

Once in a while someone will come over when 3 year-old Dylan is watching The Rog (that’s our little neighborhood name for him) and he or she will innocently say, “Isn’t he… umm… isn’t he…?” My heart seizes. “Shhhhhh! Yes, he is D-E-A-D. But Dylan doesn’t know that.” Zip it. Let us just enjoy the magic of David Copperfield and his 1970’s do as he and his hair visit with Fred. Now, that’s a good episode.

lady-elaine-2.jpgThe only thing that unsettles me a bit is Lady Elaine Fairchilde. Not exactly a looker that one. And I’m trying to be nice because it is a warm and fuzzy kids’ show after all. But I do like her because she’s the cranky, neighborhood trouble maker and as we’ve learned from The Rog, nobody’s perfect. And in the end, it’s all about Fred. I just feel so relaxed listening to his voice. So peaceful and full of love and patience. He’s the kind of guy that could make you forget all about that boyish, unseasoned Michael Cera. Yeah, you heard me right.

mama bird notes:

This week contributing mama cool single gal Abby Siegel reflects on life after Britney. Looks like the pop princess STILL hasn’t hit rock bottom but at least Abby has an immediate solution for us music fans (and it doesn’t involve Dr. Phil). Click on contributing mamas to read more.


Long before there were little people constantly around, who like to consume my time, money and soul, there was just me. And I alone went to the grocery store one fine day and bought sandwich bags. The very next day, I was attempting to jam my turkey sandwich into one of these bags when I realized something. I had accidentally bought something called SNACK bags. What the hell is this miniature, too-small-for-a-turkey-sandwich plastic bag? And what kind of unfulfilling, minuscule food would ever fit in it? Annoyed, I tossed the whole box of ‘em into the trash. (This was LONG ago… before it was cool to be all eco and whatnot).

Of course, now I get it. A snack bag holds something like… oh I don’t know… maybe veggie booty, pirate’s booty, cheddar bunnies, chocolate bunnies, baked chips, tomatoes, grapes (cut of course), raisins, crackers, apples slices and about 10,000 other things in the perfect child portion.

So this I get. This I don’t get:

1. Why once I have changed a massive poopy diaper, and I have washed, scrubbed and disinfected my hands no less than 3 times – do my hands STILL smell like crap, but my baby smells like a field of fresh spring lavender?

2. Last night, I slammed my foot down on what appeared to be a cockroach and sent that little nasty vixen down the toilet. But my building super insists it’s JUST a water bug. O.k. the term water bug certainly sounds nicer and more fun. I mean, I’d rather invite a gregarious water bug to cocktails and a party than a cockroach. BUT really, when it’s crawling around your kitchen floor, does it matter what it’s CALLED? Just get a pest control guy over here so I can stop bumping into new roommates in the apartment.

3 . Why would my 3 year-old daughter rather leave three pieces of macaroni on her plate (and lose out on dessert), than just finish her dinner and enjoy a chocolate sundae? And the follow-up, why can’t I do the same?

4. Why can’t someone help Britney? You know which Britney I’m talking about. And I’d prefer someone other than Dr. Phil. But I’m not going to be picky.

5. Finally, when we are outside and 3 year-old Dylan requests her sunglasses and I explain that we left them at home, and then she cries and whines and complains endlessly about the bright sun and how she desperately needs her shades and she can’t see (even though it’s overcast) until we finally arrive back at home and then she forgets she even wanted the glasses in the first place – why is that exactly? Oh wait. I know this one. Because she’s 3. And she’s tired. And oh yeah, she’s 3.


dylan-with-pigtails.jpgIt was a very exciting morning around here. 3 year-old Dylan was getting ready for her first solo sleepover at Bubbie and Zaydie’s (her grandparent’s) house. How fun! We load up her backpack, kiss kiss, hug hug and she’s out the door.

Me: Bye honey. (She leaves with my husband Rick who is dropping her off.)

Door Shuts.



1 year-old Summer is looking at me like I’m a jackass. For God’s sake woman, it’s only 24 hours and that neck pinching, chatter box, crazy girl will back. Summer has a point (if that is indeed her point – there is some guesswork involved here).

A night away from Little Miss Bossy isn’t such a bad thing. And she is BOSSY. For instance, every time we use a public restroom, Dylan wants me to look away and cover my ears so I can’t see or hear her pee. I’m like one of those hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil monkeys. THEN, and only when she has deemed it the appropriate time, I’m supposed to turn around and say, “Yay!” It’s all very carefully orchestrated by Miss Dylan, the porcelain goddess.

Dylan: I peed. Ok, say “yay.”

Me: YAY!

Dylan: NO. Too loud. Say it softer.

Me: Yay.

Dylan: Now clap.

Me: Ok that’s enough. (I’m not a trained chimp.) I’m proud of you. Let’s wipe and wash your hands.

So a little peace might be nice.

summer-with-hat.jpgAnd it is. Summer can’t believe she has the run of the pad and no one is tearing purses or baby dolls or wooden fruit out of her hands. For Rick and me, caring for one child (which at one time seemed beyond overwhelming) is now almost relaxing. There are no diversions. Just Summer. She seems to relish the attention.

Meanwhile, over at Bubbie and Zaydie’s in New Jersey, the girl who normally eats two bites of toast for breakfast, devours two waffles, an apple and a piece of challah toast in the morning. She is delightful. Perfectly behaved. No bossy girl to be found. Anywhere.

Before long (has it really been 24 hours?), our big girl hurricane is back.

But I must say, it feels good to be back in the storm. Below, a self-portrait by the regionally recognized, at times temperamental but promising young talent, photographer Dylan Reece Folbaum.


mama bird notes

So how do you explain the death of a family pet to a 3 year-old? Click on askamama and help a fellow mama out.

The results are here. What are you all striving to accomplish in the hopefully great o8? 40 percent of you want to shed the extra weight. Another 20 percent want to get organized. 13 percent want to break a bad habit. Another 13 percent want to learn something new. 7 percent are focused on getting out of debt and a final 7 percent of you want to spend more time with your family. As for me, I’ve already forgotten my New Year’s resolution.

Click on your mama says what? to take our latest poll. This week, we want to know what happens AFTER the fight.

And coming very soon… our January mama bird giveaway package. The chance to win cool, free stuff coming your way.


kelcey kintner


you can also find me here