Last night, Summer and I were up watching the “The L Word” around 4 am. Perhaps, you’re thinking that this provocative and even a bit pornographic Showtime program about LA lesbians may not be appropriate tv fare for a 1 year-old.
But it was 4 am. Summer refused to sleep. She was hysterical. HYSTERICAL.
Until I turned on “The L Word.”
In my defense, it is one of Paris Hilton’s favorite shows. If you’re a Paris Hilton follower (and really, what mom isn’t?), you would, of course, want to expose your child to one of Paris’ fave shows as early as possible.
Secondly, Jennifer Beals of “Flashdance” fame is one of the stars. “Flashdance.” Tell me you couldn’t throw on a pair of legwarmers and watch that movie 15 more times. A welder AND an exotic dancer?! How cool is this chick?
AND (although unlikely that I have to defend myself any further because of the validity of the Paris Hilton and “Flashdance” arguments), the 30 minutes we watched included no graphic sex scenes. Although I wasn’t wearing my contacts, so I can’t be 100 percent sure about this. But even with blurry vision, I’m confident that I can identify a lesbian sex scene. Or really any sex scene. Or even if I’m having sex.
Oh, and one more point. The show is excellent. The kind of show you want to watch, at 4 am or any other time.
I’ve actually always been quite conservative when it comes to tv. Dylan wasn’t allowed to watch television until she was 2 years-old (you know, as recommended by the American Academy of Pediatrics). Now she only gets to watch an hour a day. And I’m very picky about what she does watch. That girl knows nothing of any L word. And her sister Summer better keep her mouth shut.
mama bird notes
Your beauty BFF Alex is here with advice on keeping your body and skin healthy in icky winter weather. Click on drooling over this to read more.
Another mama is pleading for help. She is desperate for some shut eye but she has a nighttime party gal on her hands. Click on askamama and bring on the brilliant (or at least semi-brilliant) advice.
Don’t forget to take our latest poll. Just click on your mama says what? You can also see the results of past mama polls. It’s so fun to know the dirt.
This week we are giving away the super sleek Mutsy Spider Stroller. Beautifully designed, light weight, folds easily and an amazing travel stroller. Best of all, it’s clean and new! No crushed raisins, cracker bits or ice scream stains.
To enter to win, you need to forward a mama bird post to a friend this week (girl’s honor, no spamming!) AND you must be subscribed. Not a subscriber?! It’s easy. Just enter your email address under the menu bar and follow the directions from there. I’ll announce the lucky winner at the end of the week.
I now see that our trip to the ER on day one of Boca was just a hazing ritual to join this way cool Florida fraternity. Ricky and I are officially Pi Boca Psi’s and enjoying all the perks.
I haven’t had to wrestle my girls into puffy, down jackets in days. Thanks to my very energetic and loving in-laws, Ricky and I spent a night, sans kiddos, in Miami at the hipster retro Catalina. Despite that strange feeling that we’d mistakenly left our children somewhere (Did we leave them on the roof of the car? Doesn’t someone need dinner?), we relished some chill time alone.
And at long last, I’ve found the solution to small, post-nursing breasts. This tee is bodacious and classy. A combo that tends to be elusive. The eco friendly boob sweatshirt is on backorder but I know people in the industry if you are desperado.
So in South Beach, we went to a really yummy steak and fish place called Prime 112. I could not decide between the crab crusted grouper and the sea bass. So I immediately texted the Julie McCoy of Florida, Ms. Wendi (yes, with an “i”) Lipsich. She is the gal about town and she steered me to the grouper, which was delish. As for Ricky, he ate a piece of steak the size of my carry on luggage.
All was perfect EXCEPT for this brawny server that insisted on calling me ma’am, not once, but a WHOLE three times. So at the end of our meal, I wrote on the feedback card, “Great food. Great service. But no one over 30 likes to be called ma’am, including me.” Take that SIR. I am trying to wipe out this ma’am thing one person at a time. So futile.
This week, we’ve also had a chance to spend time with Ricky’s grandmother, the smart, funny, ultra cool Mom Mom Sylvia. Unfortunately, Mom Mom broke her hip recently and is temporarily living at a rehabilitation facility. 1 year-old Summer (far more gregarious than her reserved sister) put on a half-time show in the lobby with Mom Mom’s walker.
And I, too, was enjoying myself until a nurse, who noticed Summer crawling on the floor, said, “You might not want your baby on the floor. There are lots of staph infections and leaking catheters around here.”
OH MY GOD. How gross is that?! I’ve never even thought of combining these two words, “leaking catheters,” never mind saying them to another person. Lady, that is so nasty. I prefer to live in a world called DEE-Nial.
Summer wasn’t the only performer at this place. This guy had one smooth voice and blew away the crowds with comments like, “Ladies, yes, I’m single AND I can drive at night.” Where do I sign up sexy song boy? Don’t worry Mom Mom Sylvia, you will be out of there soon (even if Ricky and I have to smuggle you out ourselves).
Meanwhile, did you know that 12 year-olds are drinking coffee?! We were behind this pint-size girl at Starbucks and I HAD to ask how old she was. TWELVE. Turns out, she’s a regular customer. Her parents wait for her in the car. What?! So I’m thinking maybe it’s time for 3 year-old Dylan to start drinking espresso. She’ll love the buzz and she’s a big girl now. Speaking of Miss Delicious D, that girl is quite recovered from her trip to the ER. A follow-up visit to a Boca pediatrician, with a Jackie Mason accent and panda bear obsession, and she is back in action.
So unfortunately, it’s time to return to nyc where the temperatures are frigid and Ricky goes by plain ole Rick. But hell, at least I won’t have to worry about leaking catheters. I can’t leave you with that image. So instead, I’ll leave you with this one.
mama bird notes
It’s time for another mama bird giveaway and this is a rockin’ ride. One lucky birdie will win the stylin’ Mutsy Spider Stroller. Beautifully designed, light weight, folds easily and an amazing travel stroller. Best of all, it’s clean and new! No crushed raisins, cracker bits or ice scream stains.
To enter to win, you need to forward a mama bird post to a friend this week (girl’s honor, no spamming!) AND you must be subscribed. Not a subscriber?! It’s easy. Just enter your email address under the menu bar and follow the directions from there. Free, funny and fabulous. Really, what more is there? I’ll announce the lucky winner at the end of the week.
Seat belts are buckled. My hands tightly grip the arm rests. The plane starts building speed down the runway. I am not crazy about take-offs. Just get this ginormous air boat in the sky and I can relax. A little. But 3-year old Dylan diverts my attention.
Dylan: I have to poop.
Me: Dylan, really?! Are you serious? You can’t poop now.
Dylan: But I have to poop.
Me: Honey, you have to wait – just a few minutes – until we reach a comfortable cruising altitude. It will be the perfect altitude for pooping. (Dylan has just learned that sometimes you have to wait to do your business. Thankfully, she does).
As soon as we arrive in Boca Raton, Florida, I’m immediately conscious of two things. First, I’m freezing. The indoor temperature in this state is completely ridiculous. Everyone saunters around in a t-shirt and shorts (they are apparently oblivious to the 45 degree indoor weather), while I’m desperately searching my bags for more layers.
Second, after a long day of traveling, I need coffee. I convince my husband to return to the airport (after we’ve rented our car) because I know there is a Starbucks somewhere in that airport. I leave the poor guy endlessly looping around the passenger drop-off area, with our two girls buckled in the back, while I go in search of a cafe mocha in the main terminal. I approach an information desk.
Me: Hi. Is there a Starbucks in here?
Information Desk Lady: Why yes, there is.
Silence. Now I don’t want to come off as some impatient New Yorker so I wait. More silence. It’s like a staring contest at this point. I blink.
Me: Could you tell me where?
Information Desk Lady: Right down there by terminal C. But it’s kind of far.
Me: That’s ok. Thanks.
So I begin my journey. And I’ll wager that Information Desk Lady is not a long distance runner. Because 20 yards later (yes, I just happened to be carrying my yardstick), I’m standing in front of a Starbucks. Suddenly Boca is the land where your dreams really do come true. I’m clearly inappropriately euphoric over a cup of coffee.
That night we leave Dylan and Summer with Ricky’s parents and we dine at Sal’s Italian Ristorante where we are greatly relieved to learn they still have the buffalo wings on the menu. Because what’s fine Italian dining without wings?
Then comes sleep. For about 46 minutes.
Dylan starts coughing and wheezing. Her breathing is labored. Is it Croup (a virus that causes inflammation of the airway)? She’s sobbing. I’m getting nervous. She’s shaking. This is the most distress I’ve ever seen my little girl experience. She’s had Croup before but never like this.
We rush to the hospital. These are the words that seize my whole body. The nurse says, “We have a 3 year-old who is having trouble breathing.” I keep telling Dylan that everything is going to be fine. My arms are wrapped around her. But I’ve lost all faith. Inside I’m hysterical.
We quickly learn there is no pediatrics department at this hospital. But they begin treating her. A nurse nebulizes her with adrenaline and another gives her a dose of steroids through an IV. She screams, vomits and shakes.
Slowly, way too slowly, her normal breath begins to return. She stops quivering. Her body starts to calm. My faith returns. Ricky and I start smiling. We can laugh again.
We start to wonder why no one looks like McDreamy, McSteamy or Katherine Heigl here. It seems doubtful that any of these residents are sleeping together. We catch no one hooking up in the examining rooms. We are a bit disappointed.
3 hours later, at almost 4 am, with the diagnosis of Croup confirmed, we check out of the hospital and bring her home to my in-law’s. Dylan gets a gigantic Hershey’s bar as a special treat for her bravery. Needles = chocolate. She is starting to see the upside of a trip to the ER. I am so drained. So tired. So grateful. I fall asleep. One night of Boca under my belt.
Men seem to be strikingly different from women. Which is completely fine unless you live with one of them. This is how it seems to go.
My girlfriend Alex was oh-so-kind to loan me a few baby clothes for our trip to Florida. 13 month-old Summer balked at wearing her long T’s and cords in 80 degree weather. High maintenance, that girl.
So here are the directions I gave my husband Rick.
Me: Can you please pick up a small, blue bag from Alex’s doorman? She’s loaning us a few shirts and a couple skirts for Summer.
Rick: Yeah, no problem.
This is what Rick (a very smart, talented and successful guy) brought home:
A gigantic, tall, white kitchen garbage bag, with the name, “Ellen Goodman” taped to the side, stuffed with something soft. Definitely could have been clothes. Like someone’s entire sweater drawer.
Me: That’s not THE BAG. It’s not small. It’s not blue.
Rick: Well, I never heard you say anything about blue.
Apparently, he heard bag and he, indeed, picked up a bag.
And further proof that we are a bit different…
This past weekend I cleaned and organized our computer desk. That newly clutter free, smooth, polished and buffed desk fills me with unbridled, exuberant joy. It’s so CLEAN. AND. ORGANIZED. As for Rick, when it comes to the desk, he’s not even close to anything unbridled or exuberant. Unless I put a seasoned pork chop on it. Or his iPhone. Or maybe some chicken parmesan.
And if you are still not yet convinced…
There’s the HDTV. Oh, you know, that life altering, high definition, it’s jumping into your living room, experience.
Rick: Look at that. Isn’t it incredible?
Rick: The picture. The detail. It’s like you are at the stadium. You feel like you are on the field. God, it’s amazing. Look at that.
Me: Wait, I’m watching it right now?
Rick: YES. It’s HD. Don’t you feel like you are on the sidelines?
Me:I don’t see it. And I’m sorry for this because I love you very much. But I just don’t.
Rick: How can you not see it? (Sigh)
Rick is dumbfounded that I still record my fave tv shows on the NON high definition channels. But why?! It would take me a whole 4 minutes to reset my recording preferences. Actually, about the same amount of time it takes to pick up the correct, blue bag from a doorman.
mama bird notes
For New York City and Philadelphia mamas, isn’t it time you did something cool and cultural with your little babe? Or even (gasp) alone? Check out drooling over this for the dish on some super savvy metropolitan moms.
Life is good. I had a dream last night about Juno’s Michael Cera. Oh, mamas, its NOT like that. We just enjoy each other’s company. I tell him how funny and talented he is. He tells me how talented and funny I am. It was only coffee.
Plus, 3 year-old Dylan and I have been in a cool groove. Yesterday, I came up with the brilliant idea that I stole from someone else to give each other foot massages. First, we did some yoga poses and during our shavasana, we did lavender lotion foot rubs. DEE-vine.
Later in the day, she turns to me and says, “Do you know Jagger?” Jagger is a boy with adorable shaggy hair and a heartbreaker face from her preschool class.
Me: Yes, honey, I do.
Dylan: How did you meet him?
Me: We were at a cocktail party together and a mutual friend introduced us. He’s a writer too. We may collaborate on a project together.
Me (for real): I met him at preschool honey. Just like you.
Dylan: I like Jagger.
Me: Me too. Seems like a cool little boy.
This preschool just happens to be tucked between a firehouse with handsome, ready to save you in a moment because you think it’s ok to leave mail on the stovetop, firefighters AND a Joe’s coffee house. With a location like that who cares if your kid can recognize shapes and letters? There are more important things people.
So Monday we leave for a week in Florida to visit Rick’s 371 relatives in Boca, all of whom still call him “Ricky.” The Jewish people just really seem to love that Boca. Warm breezes, sunshine, maybe some golf, a little mahjong, a quick snooze and a mid afternoon dinner. Not too shabby sista. But it’s the getting there that does me in.
The packing. I can’t even talk about it. The schlepping to the airport. The argument with Rick on the way to the airport because HE has we’re-going-to-miss-our-flight anxiety. The argument with Rick on the plane because I have this-plane-is-too-big-to-fly and I’m-sure-the-pilot-is-12-years-old-and-drunk-and-doesn’t-even-have-a-pilot’s-license anxiety. I’d actually feel better if I was flying the plane myself. No, I don’t have control issues. Why would you possibly think that?!
But I’m hoping Dylan will watch Elmo, Summer will crawl all over her boyfriend Rick and I will read Elle Magazine. If you don’t hear much from me next week, please know I’m just wrapped up in a super tense match of shuffleboard. Those senior Boca gals can be fierce.
And so far my fave moment of 2008. It will be a hard one to surpass. 13 month-old Summer starting to walk (please ignore all the drool on her shirt).
mama bird notes
So I hear all the hip mummys are shopping at The Little Seed. Never heard of it?! Click on drooling over this.
The results of our latest mama poll are in. So what do you and your spouse do after a fight? 70% of you just apologize, make up and go back to enjoying each other’s company. How civil! 13% simmer and brew in an attempt to build a lifetime of resentment. 9% drop it and pretend it never happened. Another 4% apologize, make up and head to the bedroom for more making up. And I thought make-up sex was rampant! Guess not. Finally, 4% of you claim to never fight. How is that possible? I just don’t know. Check out our latest poll. Just click on your mama says what?
Rachel W. (a self-described schwag-whore) won the mama bird giveaway! Couldn’t have happened to a nicer schwag-whore. Really.
Thank you to Little Green Star, Butterfly Buggas, Francesca Segrè, Kristen Maas + Herbal Serenity Show of Hands Instant Manicure and Sephora. You all rule.
In our next mama bird giveaway, one lucky birdie will win this super cool Mutsy Spider Stroller. Oh my gosh, I love this ride. Beautifully designed, light weight, folds easily and an amazing travel stroller. Best of all, it’s clean and new! No crushed raisins, cracker bits or ice scream stains. Isn’t that dreamy? Details to come après-Boca.