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Before I begin, Senator McCain would just like to tell you that his 104 year-old great great great aunt Bertha has been hospitalized for a minor fainting spell. He sends his thoughts and prayers.

As for me… Having witnessed 3 tedious presidential debates and 1 barely entertaining, mostly grating vice presidential debate, I am just so enormously relieved that Obama turned down McCain’s original request for TEN town hall meetings.

For that reason alone, Obama gets my vote.

Sure it’s super fun to watch the candidates wander around the stage and endlessly suck up to undecided voters (How is anyone STILL undecided? I think they all just want to be on TV).

But TEN town hall meetings? In this economy, no one needs that kind of agony.

So thankfully this was the last hurrah.

And we had the chance to witness a classic, love triangle. Both Obama and McCain are desperately fighting for the affection of Joe the Plumber.

If I remember history correctly, McCain first dated Joe the Plumber and then Obama stole him away with his smooth rap and fancy economic policy.

Now McCain is trying to woo him back with his tax plan, his constant blinking and his copious note taking.

Or at least that’s how I remember it.

I hope Joe the Plumber picks the right man in November.

If not, I hope he at least comes to fix my broken washing machine.

Since moms are usually right, I end with advice from moderator Bob Schieffer’s mom.

“Go vote now. It will make you feel big and strong.”

Or my slightly tweaked version…

“Go vote now. It will make you feel super skinny, sexy and strong.”

Seriously, go vote.


So I tried ever-so-quietly to creep out of the apartment at 6:45 this morning. But seconds before leaving, I inadvertently woke up 22 month-old Summer who immediately started uncontrollably wailing at the top of her lungs.

Which woke up Rick.

And then 4 year-old Dylan.

And since I had to rush out the door, I mumbled apologies and hightailed it out of the apartment. As I made my way towards the elevator, I could hear Summer hysterically crying, “MOMMY! I want Mommy!!!! MOMMY!!”

And poor, exhausted Rick desperately trying to reason with her. “She’s coming back. Mommy is coming back. Now let’s all lie down and get some rest, ” he pleaded.

“MOMMY!!!!!” the screaming continued.

Should I go back? But I’ll be late. And it probably won’t help at all. Oh crap.

So I held my ears, hopped into the elevator and headed uptown to attend the Mommy Blogger Monologues, effortlessly and brilliantly hosted by Maria Bailey, the author of “Mom 3.0” and the host of Mom Talk Radio.

It started at 7:30 in the morning and may I say thankfully, the Mommy Blogger Monologues and the Vagina Monologues have absolutely nothing to do with each other. Because really, who could talk about their vagina at 7:30 in the morning? Way too early.

Instead, this was an amazing chance for companies to hear directly from mom bloggers on ways to build mutually beneficial relationships and successfully target the mom audience.

I was so honored to be on the panel with moms like Gabrielle Blair of Design Mom (who has incredible taste, a beautiful website AND 5 kids). Oh, and she’s one of the founders of Kirtsy. And super smart when it comes to navigating social media. Can you force someone to be your best friend? I might just try.

The other way impressive and very articulate panelists included Kimberly Coleman, Alex Martin Neely, Kim Pace, Amy Platt, Amy Oztan and Andi Silverman.

As I sat on this panel, I really felt respected as a businesswoman and a blogger.

Of course, once these companies check out my website, they’ll know I have a recent habit of lying about a nonexistent fly fishing hobby and the ability to step in my own kid’s poop.

And, of course, a visual of me in my eighties senior prom dress.

That dress just screams future successful businesswoman and respected blogger. Pink taffeta is powerful like that.


Reunions are a trippy, time travel experience. Suddenly your face to face with your past, just with a few more wrinkles, and far less bangs.

Our Staples High School Class of 1988 motto, “Was It As Good for You?”, along with, “Fornicate with ’88” (yes, really) held the promise of a rocking 20th reunion. But I didn’t really know what to expect.

The culture of high school thrives on a hierarchy – who’s cool, who’s pretty, who’s stoned and of course, who’s not cool, pretty or stoned.

But 20 years later, you don’t get extra points for smoking cigarettes in the school courtyard or throwing the best parties when your parents are away. It’s about how you view your own life. Are you happy? Is this who you wanted to be? Are you proud of the person you’ve become?

Oh ok, it’s also about how you look.

Well, maybe ALL about how you look.

So here’s me and high school gal pal Abby before our senior prom…

We kind of look 12. Are you mad I’m not showing you our hunky prom dates?

And here we are this past weekend (minus the taffeta)…

And here is me with other members of my girl posse at the reunion…

If you look closely, you’ll see contributing mama Jordana Bales.

One of the first guys I ran into at the reunion gushed over me like this…

“You look the same,” he said. “Very well preserved,” he joked.

Like I just left a botox session? Like I’m an Egyptian mummy? Like I live in a jar of pickles? Really, that is the lamest compliment ever.

I recommended that he instead use phrases like, “Wow. You look gorgeous.” and the equally popular, “How did you manage to stay so unbelievably beautiful?”

There were some strange choices – like this former classmate who put his hair into some kind of 80s inspired ponytail.

No, that wasn’t my prom date.

But mostly the reunion was about repeating this phrase, “I live in New York City, I’m married with two kids and I write a blog. So what’s going on with you?” over and over again.

Then I would head to the bar for another glass of sauvignon blanc and repeat life summary to familiar looking girl from 9th grade algebra class who’s also standing at the bar.

Once in awhile to mix it up, I’d mention that I do a tremendous amount of fly fishing in the Hudson River. My exact phrase, “You fly fish? Me too. In fact, I fly fish the sh-t out of Manhattan.”

But mostly, I tried to stick to things that were actually true.

So how do I feel now that it’s over?

I think I’m just sort of relieved that I’m no longer in high school. “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness.”

No, I never read the book. Just the cliff notes. Did anyone really read the book?

But I think Charles Dickens got it right.  He was definitely talking about high school.


On Wednesday morning, I asked myself one of the big parenting questions of our time….

Is it acceptable to bring a cup of coffee on a school tour?

My husband and I are currently looking at public and private school options for my daughter Dylan. This means an abundance of school tours across the city. So the coffee question is at the very front of my caffeine-starved mind.

Is it inappropriate in some way? Like showing up to a job interview in jeans, with an Egg McMuffin and a newspaper?

Somehow it just felt wrong.

But as I trudged down Hudson street, at 8:20 on Wednesday morning, to attend my first Kindergarten public school tour, I felt the desperate need for a little caffeine.

I decided to grab a small cup and toss it if it seemed disrespectful in anyway.

When I arrived at the school, all the parents were ushered into a big room and one of the parent coordinators stood up to welcome us to P.S. 3.

He had dyed red hair.

A goatee.

8 thick, silver rings on his fingers.

And he was holding a cup of coffee.

Ok, I was definitely in the clear.

Then I looked around at the other parents and spotted actor Paul Rudd, also holding a coffee.

Now I’m way in the clear.

If Paul Rudd can drink coffee, I can certainly drink coffee. Isn’t that the celebrity transitive property or something?

Speaking of celeb sightings, the other day I strolled past Debra Messing of “Will and Grace” fame. How funny and entertaining and sassy and red headed is she? I just love her. I am so glad I was wearing lipstick. Can you just imagine seeing Debra Messing and your lips are all naked and chapped?

I spotted her on 12th street, in front of Industria Studio, in full hair and makeup, wearing a bathrobe and smoking a cigarette.

I guess she was on a break and in the middle of a wardrobe change for some kind of shoot.


They drink coffee! They wear bathrobes! They smoke cigarettes!

They really are just like us!

Why do I ever doubt US Magazine?

mama bird notes:

As many of you know, my friend Kristin recently lost her husband Mario to cancer. Next week, I am joining her, and their 4-year-old daughter Julia for the Light The Night Walk.

The walk pays tribute to the thousands of patients battling blood cancers and remembers the ones who have lost their lives. Please consider donating on Kristin’s page.

Also this month, Silicon Valley Moms Group has partnered with DonorsChoose.org, to help spread the word about the lack of funding and support needed for our public schools. Through DonorsChoose.org, teachers request what they need and explain how the money will benefit their classroom. Please consider giving a donation (even a small amount) to one of the following regions…

Thanks mama birds!


I really wish November would just hurry up and get here already. Even after an historically long primary season, it’s the last few weeks that seem to be endlessly dragging.

Yes, I hunkered down and watched the town hall debate between McCain and Obama.

Sure, the networks had some cool angles where I could see the socks and shoes of undecided voters. And it was fun to see how many times McCain uttered, “my friends.” Please tell me someone counted. And I’m endlessly intrigued by Obama’s pronunciation of Pakistan (Pah-kee-stahn).

But really, do we need a third debate? What could they possibly say that we haven’t already heard?

I am just so anxious about the election. And I am completely drained from the political pundits examining every nuance of this horse race. Yet, at the same time, I’m completed addicted to it.

I am getting very close to canceling my subscription to the New York Post. Their political reporting is so egregiously biased that it makes me furious every morning.

But then I think about Page Six with all that fun celebrity gossip.

And I really like the TV section.

And the Post’s headlines are just so damn clever and funny sometimes.

But wait, what about journalistic credibility? What about delivering the news in an unfiltered way? I should really cancel.

But I can’t. I am so WEAK. I won’t even give up my tabloid addiction?! Damn, what happened to the generation who sacrificed everything for the greater good of their country?

My husband Rick, who is an independent, has chosen his candidate. Since he’s a journalist, he won’t publicly disclose his preferred ticket.

But we did have the following conversation…

“Honey, if you had your choice of the Phillies winning the World Series or your candidate winning the election, which would you chose?” I asked.

“Umm….” Rick gave the question deep thought.

“Well, it’s a tough one, ” Rick said as he mulled over the issue some more.

“HONEY! We are talking about the future of this country. You’d prefer some BASEBALL team win the world series than have your chosen candidate be in the White House?!!!!! That is totally, ridiculously insane.”

“Well, it would be a really tough decision but I guess I’d give up the World Series for the Presidency.”

I’m not sure I believe him.

mama bird notes:

For New York area mamas, are you looking for something rockin’ do with your kiddos this weekend or next? Check out this off-broadway show described as “Sesame Street meets the Go Gos.” Click on drooling over this to read more.

kelcey kintner