Spice Up Your Inbox. Subscribe Today.

enter your email address:

blog advertising is good for you


I’ve been feeling a bit in the garbage dumps lately. My milk free boobs are shrinking faster then 1 year-old Summer can devour a roll. My husband has noticed too. This is a recent conversation.

Rick: (Staring at my chest) You’re right. Your boobs are smaller.

Me: Yeah, thanks (I respond glumly).

Rick: They’re beautiful.

Me: O.k. (Still glum).

Rick: Did I say something wrong?

Me: Very few women want to be told their boobs are getting smaller.

Rick: But you pointed it out this morning.

Me: Yes, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy about it.

Rick: Oh.

I start to wonder if my breasts could get small enough that my poochy mama belly could poke out further than my chest. Sadly, probably already the case. I decide my state is too fragile to investigate further.

I’m also in a funk over New Year’s. And then it’s a double Debbie downer that I even care a tidbit about New Year’s Eve. My husband is working so he’s doing his thing. As for me, if I stay in, capital L on the forehead. If I go out, mega moolah up the wazooh. And for what? That stupid, suspicious feeling that everyone MUST be having more fun than me. Of course, they aren’t. But they MUST be… right?! This is the time of year, when I wish I was a superstar pop diva. That way, I could ring in the new year Vegas style, charging big beans to sing all my greatest hits. You would love my stuff from the 70’s.

You know what is coming in the New Year? All those plans we put off. December is so stuffed with obligations and merriment, that many of us love to to throw these words around with everyone and the mailman:

“Yes! We’ll make plans in the New Year. Perfect! We’ll absolutely put something on the calendar in January. Happy Holidays.” With a wave and a smile, we are off.

This is what I wish I had the guts to say:

“Yes! We’ll make plans in the New Year. If not, 2008… 2009 at the latest. Worst case scenario, 2010. Happy Holidays!” With a wave and a smile, I am off.

I’m also bummed my super sassy sister Quinn went back to her home in Memphis. (Editorial note: Not to be confused with my extra sassy friend Liz who lives in New York. If I keep throwing the term “sassy” around, I will provide a sassy “who’s who” directory for your convenience). Everything is just more fun with Quinny around. She’s the kind of girl that can make you smile about small boobs and lame New Year’s Eve plans.

But no need for me to cry about any of this. As 3 year-old Dylan said to me recently, “Mommies don’t cry. They just say no.”

Well, actually Dylan, sometimes they do both.

mama bird notes

Have you met Viv and Ingrid? Oh, you must. Click on drooling over this.

The results are in. So how much tv does your kid really watch everyday? 28% of you say no evil boob tube. Another 28% commit to one hour or less. 11% draw the line at 1 to 2 hours. 28% of you allow your kids to enjoy the small screen 2 to 3 hours a day. And 5% say as much as the child wants.

Take our latest mama poll. 2008 is a bouncy, fresh start – so what is your New Year’s resolution? Come on, share mamas! Just click on your mama says what?

Finally, help another mama out. Any creative ideas on getting kids to eat at least a LITTLE more? Click on askamama.


Location: My mother’s house in Connecticut

Day: Thursday

Time: 5:38 am

Dylan: (sleeping in the same room as me) I have to go to the bathroom.

Me: Ok, honey. Let’s go.

We return from our pee break. I tuck her in and settle back into a deep, lovely slumber. Make that a deep, lovely, very brief slumber.

5:49 am

Dylan: Cough. Cough. Cough. Cough.

Me: Dylan, honey, drink some water.

Dylan: Cough. Cough. Cough.

Me: Dylan, sweetie, drink some water.

Dylan: No. I don’t want to.

Dylan: Cough. Cough.

Me: DYLAN, DRINK SOME WATER OR NO SPECIAL TREATS TOMORROW. (In my groggy state, I have no idea what special treats I’m referring to but no one is pressing me on specifics.)

Dylan: Ok. (She drinks the water.)

5:58 am

Dylan: Cough. Cough. Cough.

6:01 am

I prop her up with pillows and encourage her to drink more water. She agrees. Damn, there’s no honey in the house.

6:07 am

Dylan: Cough. Cough. Cough.

I am so pissed off I want to scream, “God, stop coughing. You are driving me #$@!* insane. STOP right now. STOP right now or you will never watch TV again. Never.” Of course, I don’t because it’s not her fault at all. She is just a 3 year-old with a cough. And I am just a mother desperate for silence.

6:17 am

Dylan: Cough. Cough. Cough.

6:18 am

Dylan: Cough. Cough. Cough. Cough.

Summer begins crying from an adjacent room.

Me: (Major sigh as I hurl myself out of bed to retrieve Summer.)

I am awake. Dylan is awake. Summer is awake.

The oh-so-happy ending: I hand them both to my mother who, thankfully, is also awake.

I crawl back into bed. I am asleep.


mama bird notes

Megan B. is the winner of the stylin’ Mr. B bag! Just for clarification, this is a different Megan than the mama who just won some other cool mama bird loot. What’s with all the Megs? Apparently, they are just overachievers. Another fab giveaway coming soon.


Something kris kringle crazy happened to me this Christmas. I was completely satisfied. Get. over. myself. I’m serious.

For the first time, 3 year-old Dylan was understanding and buying this whole big, overweight guy in a red suit is breaking into our apartment and bringing you gifts thing. Solid. Christmas eve, she dictated a letter to Santa. It read, “Thank you for the gifts. I would like a kitchen in a box. Watch out for the mouse traps.” We left St. Nicky skim milk and low fat animal crackers. If the guy has a heart attack, it won’t be on our backs.

Turns out wrapping gifts in newspaper (although totally eco-friendly) looks completely ghetto. Plus it leaves nasty newsprint all over everyone’s hands. Nothing jingle or jolly about it. Must find cool recycled wrapping paper option for next year’s festivities.

Plus, Santa somehow forgot to put the kitchen set together the night before. God, no one is full service anymore. So tired, draggin’ Rick had to pick up the Santa slack on xmas morning. Still, Dylan was in holiday heaven opening all her gifts and (when no one was looking) Summer’s presents too. And Summer was blissfully climbing on the half-assembled kitchen set and smittenly gazing at her pop. Could everyone really be this happy? Where’s the morning meltdown?

Then we drove to Connecticut to visit my family. Not a smidge of traffic. Not even a slight slow down from 65 mph to 60 mph because some guy is pulled over, taking a whiz on the side of the highway. Nothing. Speaking of urine (such a gee-ross word), I had to pee twice on the 2 hour drive. 3 year-old Dylan, only once. That gal has better bladder control than her mother. Or maybe, she didn’t drink a grande skim mocha just as we got onto the West Side Highway.

I just ADORE Starbucks for being open on the holiday. Oh, don’t feel sorry for the baristas. I wished them a very chipper, cheery Merry Christmas. Come on, I’m sure they make time and a half. Don’t they?!

On the drive, we also learned that age old baby proverb to be true, “If your 1 year-old is too quiet in the back, she is probably eating a chocolate flavored lip smacker.” And the lesser known addendum, “She will be very angry when you attempt to take the lip smacker away and substitute it with a different food source.” But Summer, in the spirit of the holiday, quickly got over it. Because apparently, as my brother-in-law Erik like to say, that’s how she rolls.

The remainder of the day just kept going like that. Presents. Laughter. Cocktails. Yummy eats. Chocolate mint brownies. More good times with funny, fabulous family. I was practically nauseous from all the happiness. These aren’t the holidays I remember. I guess the tinsel times they are a changin’. I think I’ll roll with it.

mama bird notes

mrb_runnerbag.gifDon’t forget to post a comment this week AND send a post to a friend (I would never ever spam your friends. What kind of mama would do that?) to enter to win this sleek, stylish Mr. B bag. $50 value. I’ll announce the winner at the end of the week.

Plus, another desperate mummy needs your brilliant ideas on teaching her son some manners.Click on “askamama” and share your super smarts.


Someone is stalking my husband. I knew this would happen eventually. He’s a news personality in New York City. And he’s very friendly to everyone (not in a smarmy way but in a what-a-nice-guy kind of way). So I knew, at some point, some lady would fall hard. Turns out, it’s one of MY ladies.

1 year-old Summer is stalking her poor daddy. It’s gone beyond love. It’s the girl’s obsession. No matter where he goes, you hear her little hands and knees padding across the floor. She will find him. He can not hide.


summer-carbs.jpgI think it’s a carb thing. I’ve never known two people on this doughy planet who love carbs more than Rick and Summer. The girl can down a whole bagel and then be scrounging around on the floor for cracker crumbs or a lost, stale potato chip. As for Rick, he has a deep, unwavering lust for the white kaiser roll. So it seems natural that these two carb souls would one day meet and fall for each other.

Yes, I’m a bit envious. It’s not the carb connection. I’ll take chocolate over a hunk of bread every time. But I feel just a teensy bit jealous of this thing they have going on. It comes just as Summer and I are losing our thing.

Yes, it’s finally done. Or at least practically done. I cut out Summer’s final night time feed. I just loved breastfeeding Summer because she was so content when nursing. So happy. But she’s slowly adjusting to a ta ta free world. As for me, I’m a melancholy mama with aching boobs.

Summer, her boyfriend, Dylan and I all went to see Santa today. I knew it was getting down to the wire with his big night to shine quickly approaching. Oh, this is not my kid sitting on Santa’s lap. In fact, I don’t even know her. Just some sweet, lovely gal who’s putting in her toy order.


This was as close to Santa as my 3 year-old shy girl Dylan would get. Girlfriend don’t give St. Nicky no love.



Sore boobs. No cute Santa pic with my girls. But we still have this…


mama bird notes

mrb_runnerbag.gifDon’t forget to post a comment this week AND forward a post to a friend (remember, this girl doesn’t spam) to enter to win this super smart Mr. B bag. $50 value. I’ll announce the winner Friday, December 28th.

Plus, another mama needs your ideas on teaching her son some manners. Click on “askamama” under the menu bar and help a mummy out.

Contributing mama Daphne Biener is monday morning quarterbacking. No, she’s not talking about football. Please. It’s all about the princesses. Click on “contributing mamas” to read more.

Finally, did you take our anonymous tele poll yet? There’s nothing new on the tube anyway, so gives us the dirt. Just click on “your mama says what?”



My extra sassy friend Liz (and please call her that if you ever meet her) pointed out recently that we adults have to work too dang hard in our children’s activity classes. Man-oh-man do I know what she’s talking about.

I once took 3 year-old Dylan to this super cute kids’ yoga class. Well Dylan, as per usual, wasn’t a tidbit impressed. She sat there glumly while I did donkey kicks, flapped my arms like a wild butterfly and roared like a fierce lion. At one point, I was actually winded. Aren’t we paying for this? Shouldn’t it be a little more relaxing for us adults? I can upward dog all day long for Dylan and Summer at home. No need to shlepp to 6th avenue and 14th street for the opportunity.

Plus, why should I pony up big om bucks when I can take Dylan on fun, free errands instead? I’m really starting to get this parenting thing. Today I took her to Crate & Barrel. As far as I’m concerned that place is a toddler amusement park. We rode the escalator multiple times (no line to get on by the way). Dylan played drums on an abaca ottoman and turned a silicone screen (apparently a splash screen for deep frying) into a big easy musical washboard. All the trash cans with step lids needed to be tested. We did lots of dancing to the Crate & Barrel holiday hits CD. And she had a lovely almond snack on a pivot dining table. In case you go, it’s BYOA (bring your own almonds).

All of this for the very reasonable price of free. FREE… well, except for all the money we spent on ornaments and a gift for our babysitter. And a house warming present for a friend. Plus, there was the ornament that Dylan accidentally broke when she playfully swatted it. I had to threaten no more escalator rides if she did that again.* And there was the cost of the cab ride (there and back). O.k., so maybe not free. But at least I didn’t have to kick like a donkey and try to engage my toddler in some dumb, cheery class. Plus, I checked a couple things off my “to do” list.

These days, I’m just jonesin’ for ideas on what to do with my 3 year-old, energetic, cup of capuchino. Her school is on a holiday hiatus for the next two weeks and I’m starting to run out of indoor activities. I recently read about these parents who do cocaine and then take care of their little ones. Wow. Intense. They’re addicted to blow? Not me. I’m a preschool addict.

A few months ago, I dropped Dylan off for the first day of school with such trepidation. Was 3 mornings too much? Was she ready? Now I’m impatiently waiting for school to rock and roll and whatnot again. Dylan follows me around saying, “What can I do? What can I do now?” I give lists and lists of dynamic and innovative ideas but few ever catch her fancy. As my father-in-law suggested, maybe she could just throw in a load of darks?

Or perhaps another visit to Crate & Barrel is on tap. I need to return something anyway. I’m hoping to exchange my 1 year-old for something a little quieter at night. I didn’t technically buy Summer at C & B and I don’t have a receipt but I’m thinking they might let that slide. You see, last night she was up crying from 2:30 am until 6 am. See the problem? I’m trying to cut out that final nighttime nursing feed and Summer is holding her own one-baby revolt. It’s a showdown of wills between the two of us. Sigh… if only I could bridle the energy of those two girls and get them addressing the lonely stacks of holiday cards on the counter. Now that would be a Christmas miracle.

*Alright, that broken ornament didn’t really cost us anything. I pushed it, with my foot, under a festive holiday display and pretended it never happened. My mother would be disappointed in me. I should have paid for it.

mama bird notes

First, the results of our mama survey. So how do you keep the magic alive in the bedroom? 58% say there’s no magic. You just do it. 16% refuse to admit what goes on behind closed doors (now I really want to know). 21% rely on porn to keep things sizzling. And 5% close your eyes and imagine you’re with a handsome superstar.

Click on “your mama says what” to take our latest anonymous poll. It’s all about tv. How much does your kid really watch? Spill it mamas.

Contributing mama Jordana Bales is finally able to use her psychology skills to outsmart her toddler. Thank goodness she’s willing to divulge her secrets. Click on “contributing mamas” to read more.

mrb_runnerbag.gifAnd finally, it just seemed too darn sad to wait until January for another giveaway. So the mama bird diaries is giving away this smart and mod Mr. B diaper bag. $50 value. Easily clips on to a stroller or simply use as a shoulder bag. Comes with a changing mat. Your diaper changing days are behind you? No problem. Use as a regular bag for around town. You have kids. So I know you still have a lot of crap to carry.

So how do you win this super fab item? Post a comment on the mama bird diaries in the next week AND forward a post to a friend. Just click on “send to a friend.” All email addresses are confidential. Your friend will never be contacted by me. And that is a promise. Because it ain’t cool to spam.

I’ll announce the winner next Friday, December 28th. Good luck birdies!

kelcey kintner


you can also find me here