Category Archives: parenting

How Well Do You Know Your Vagina

Why do we need to “know our vaginas,” anyway? I’m happy keeping mine at arms length. Yet, I’m told we should be more acquainted. I have to be honest, I think we’re good, me any my hoo-hoo, that is. I’d definitely miss her if she wasn’t around, but we’re not conversing during long walks on the beach, though we do like to take them (so we have that in common — which is nice).

Could you pick your va-jay-jay out of a va-gyne-up?

Recently, in the pediatrician’s office, I was reading a pamphlet on puberty. Please, it’s better reading than an outdated TIME, or a Highlights where all the hidden pictures are already circled (and they always are). Anyhoo, it suggested that ‘tweens (I’m assuming that’s who it was for) should and I quote, “GET TO KNOW YOUR VAGINA.”

If there are any preteens reading this just know, you shouldn’t be — now, go google One Direction and stop reading my columns.

Now that they’re gone…

I began to think about how WE were schooled on puberty. Oh, those awful videos that hadn’t been updated since the 60’s and 70’s, so the people still had combs in their back pockets, bell-bottoms, and afros. I don’t remember the exact details, but I know most were grainy, some slightly resembled School House Rock, and I’m pretty sure one of them convinced me that you could get pregnant from dry humping — if the guy came — which I’m pretty sure no cool guy ever did.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m certainly no “dry hump” virgin. Nope, I know more than a thing or two about the friction caused by two pairs of button fly jeans rubbing uncomfortably against each other, on a waterbed, the bucket seats of a Nissan 300ZX, or the ultra-suede of a basement sofa. Look, I’m a Gen X-er, that’s what we had. Also, I was a good girl (who liked to fool around), which means I was forced to be a “dry hump” slut.

For years, I was convinced that sperm, being so powerful and microscopic, could travel through a guys boxers and Z Cavaricci’s and past my Guess jeans and little Bloomies straight into my cervix. This may be a sign that I didn’t know much about sex… but at least I was on trend.

See, we weren’t told to get to know our vaginas. In fact, I’m a bit concerned that at nearly 40 I don’t know my vagina at all. Frankly, I couldn’t pick her out of a line-up. Seriously, could you? I mean, I could probably narrow it down, like they taught you to do in SAT prep, but any vagina with the same grooming, coloring, and general size — could be mine. How sad is that? I don’t even know if my vagina has any defining marks, characteristics, or other traits that make it uniquely my own.

To make matters worse, the pamphlet may have mentioned that each vagina has a distinct personality. WTF is that all about? She has a personality? Maybe we should be conversing more, I haven’t the foggiest idea what she’s all about. Is she saucy, shy, extroverted? I don’t freakin’ know. I mean, I know she’s obstinate, yet easily swayed. That counts, no? She’s highbrow, well groomed, extremely particular, and yet, I like to think she’s adventurous.

Oh, the contradictions.

My vagina is a flippin’ onion, so many layers. How could anyone claim to truly know her? They, you, I… we couldn’t, so stop trying.

Do you hear me people? I’m saying back off — give my vagina some space. (If I had a nickel for every time I used that phrase…)

And you pamphlet writers, who are either men making a ridiculously misguided attempt at feminism or clueless guidance counselors disconnected from modern ‘tween society, could you work on being a bit more creative? Telling teens to get to know their vaginas and expecting them to take it seriously, REALLY? That’s fodder for parodies. In fact, all I could think of, while perusing your literature, was the SNL skit “You and Your Uvula,” which I’m sure dates me even more than the School House Rock reference. If you must tell girls to get to know themselves, at a bare minimum, slap a picture of Justin Bieber on the cover.

http://img.metro.co.uk/i/pix/2012/07/13/article-1342181591190-140C03F8000005DC-366763_466x310.jpg

YOU, should get to know your vagina!

Most importantly, after pondering this piece and spending some QT with my vag — you know, dinner and a movie, non fat no foam lattes at Starbucks, a raucous round of kegals, panty shopping… I’ve found vaginas, like their owners, are complex creatures, who deserve the right to be themselves, to roam free, to explore. That’s right, we not only deserve better pamphlets, but free range va-jay-jay’s as well.

Ones, who don’t need to be pigeonholed into one personality trait, but can be all things at once (just like us): Happy, sad, elated, shy, giddy, self conscious, confident, and insane.

Have you never seen a woman simultaneously laugh and cry during an orgasm?

I rest my case.

PS – Take a good hard look at your va-jay today, it would be really embarrassing if she ever got arrested!

Why They Should Have Cat Boxing at Camp or What Happens When You Have to Send Letters About Your Boring Summer

Sometimes the best ideas are generated during periods of total and utter boredom. Also, in the shower but there’s never anything to write with so, I imagine lots of great stuff is lost. Like time machines, renewable toxic waste, alternatives to Obama Care… Well, this is one of those brilliant ideas that I dreamed up and had the good fortune to get on paper.
Shit, someone needs to invent a pad and pen that you can write with in the shower… Continue reading →

Why is Sending Kids to Sleepaway Camp So Freakin Stressful

Sending the kids to camp is supposed to be this delightfully awesome time of freedom and reprieve, but it’s not for me.

So, as you can tell from the last post, (Confessions of an Irrational Mom), I’ve been totally anxiety stricken lately.  I wasn’t able to put my finger on why, until I looked at my finger and saw that I’d done this to my beautifully manicured gel nails.

Since this pic, I've ripped the overlay completely off with my teeth and bitten them to the quick. Annie, I'll see you in a month.

Then it dawned on me, it’s camp.  Sending my son to camp makes me mildly certifiable.  Knowing I  have NO control over whether my baby puts on sunblock or brushes his teeth, or eats Fruity Pebbles everyday for breakfast, lunch and dinner, or runs with flip-flops on rocky terrain, or doesn’t make the intercamp team, or gets taken advantage of.

Look, I get it — Continue reading →

Confessions From an Irrational Control Freak Mom

Before having children, I had no idea how much of a control freak I actually was. Yes, I always had the anxiety part, but even that grew 10 fold. My hubby and I lived in an apartment in NYC, where he was able to mask his inability to do simple household things like, change lightbulbs, hang pictures… use a screw driver. We had people to do that. Yes, the maintenance men were my BFFs — a small tip and they were caulking or hammering away.

Then we had kids and moved to the ‘burbs, where I realized that not only was my hubby not the type to do stuff around the house. I was not the type to delegate. My anxieties and need for perfection made his work seem incomprehensibly inferior. (The cause of many an argument)

So, Continue reading →

Who Says Moms Belong on the Sidelines

A League Of My Own   -A mom’s story of humiliation and triumph… on the little league field, duh.   Nobody puts mommy in a corner! Moms are IN the Game, in every sense of the word!
Saturday was my son’s “Kids vs. Dads” Little League game. Yes, it was named that, maybe to imply that moms were not invited, maybe it was too much of a mouthful to say Kids vs. Parents.  Maybe the sign makers couldn’t afford the extra letters, or worse, those 3 letters would take too much time and energy to paint.  Damn those crampy handed, arthritic kids, they always recruit to make the signs.  Though, I have a feeling it’s just one of those unwritten laws, “Moms are welcome to play, but we prefer you not, didn’t you not read that implication on our signage?” Continue reading →

We May or May Not Be Dirtbags | Depends on Who you Ask

Jake’s Friend: What happened to the big cushion on your sofa?

Me: We removed it because it was too comfortable and we weren’t able to get people to leave our house when we wanted them to go.

Friend:  Really? Continue reading →

Siblings are Not Supposed to Compete for Parental Favoritism | is This True

What, are familial relationships not about winning? I’m sorry, I’m an only child, I never had to compete for parental favoritism with siblings. And I must admit, my son’s essay puts him slightly ahead of his sister in the race for my love. I’m totally kidding. I love them both, but you can’t love them the same, can you?…

As this is the end of the school year, all of my children’s work has slowly trickled into the house. You know, like the way Andy Dufrene releases the bits of wall in Shawshank? Tests, artwork, essays, scraps of scribble.

One of the prizes in the huge pile of things that will never make it to the circular file was a piece on who my son admires most. It started with this line, “I look up to my Dad and my Grandparents, but the person I admire most is my Mom.”

My first thought?

I won! Yep, you heard him. He admires you other people too (or maybe he just wrote that to be politically correct), but I’m in a class by myself. He said so… Continue reading →

The Most Embarrassing 80s Moment You Never Had | But I Did

Actual skates - oh, I keep them for parties and stuff! No, seriously.

Actual skates – oh, I keep them for parties and stuff! No, seriously.

The other day I was attempting to parlay these NBC segments I’m doing into a piece for a national magazine.  As I typed away, touting myself as an “expert,” trying to seem way more important than I actually am, and rambling on about my amazing qualifications to an Editor in Chief (whom I shouldn’t have been writing directly in the first place), Eddy Grant’s “Electric Avenue”came on and I was immediately transported to SKATELAND in Cockeysville Maryland, circa 1984.

It was Girl’s Skate and the disco lights had taken over the floor.

Now, if you’re unfamiliar with roller skate culture, Girl’s Skate is the precursor to Couple’s Skate.  During Girl’s Skate, your job, as a girl, is to look as totally awesome as possible.  You have to rock your Flashdance style off-the-shoulder-shirt with splatter paint detail, and your acid-washed jeans.

The boys watch from around that short wall AND If they likes what they sees, they put out a hand for you to slap.  The “hand out” also implies that they would like to Couples Skate with you.  SO, if you think the boy is cute, you slap his outstretched arm, buuuut if you think he’s too dorky, you hold your hand super close to your body in an overly dramatic fashion that says: “I’d rather be caught dead than be seen skating with you.”

Yep, it’s an exercise in fostering self esteem.

On this particular day, I had my eye on a very cute older boy; he may have even been a preteen!  I spotted him from across the crowded rink, as my dad laced up his skates trying to catch up to my speedy entrance.

Oh, I didn’t mention that my dad skated with me every week?  How could I forget that detail, this story is about how cool and awesome I was, right?

There I was, doing my best tricks:

  • The speed up and glide.
  • The Shoot the Duck (crouch down and stick one leg forward).
  • The professional leg cross weave around the corners.

I looked around at the outstretched arms, while Electric Avenue played in the background.  As a sensitive kid, I was an equal opportunity slapper.  So, I’d slap the hand of anyone that put it out there.  Well, unless they were super nerdy and everyone else was avoiding them, obviously!

Then I spotted him, that cute preteen.  He looked bad.  I mean, good — bad. He probably drove there on his motorized bike…  Skates hanging from the handle bars and a switchblade style comb in his back pocket to flush up his mullet.  He was definitely from the wrong side of the tracks. You know, like Matt Dillon in Little Darlings

Matt dillonI noticed that he wasn’t really offering his hand to too many girls and in a defensive action, started to skate towards the middle.

As I got closer, he did it.  He eyed me and then threw out his hand.

Holy crap, that’s for me and now I’m so far on the inside I’ll never make it, and then we won’t get to Couples Skate.  I won’t be able to hold his hand, which I’m sure will be cool and big, not small and sweaty, like the other boys I always couples skated with.  He may even be good enough to do the envied backwards hands on hips skate! My life is officially over.

Move Jenny, move!

I weaved through a few of the slower girls and reached as far as I could to touch even a fingertip.  Then in a crushing blow he pulled his hand back and pretending to slick his hair.  Holy shit, he gave me the “psyyyyych,” before the “psych” was actually invented!

To add insult to injury, my arm had overstretched to meet his teasing gesture.  I felt myself going down.  Think slo-mo in some cheesy 80‘s film, “Ohhhh Nnnoooo.”  I grabbed at the short wall to pull myself in ricocheted off it and slammed straight to the ground a few feet away from him.

Yep, COOL, I was!  (if you say that with a Yoda accent, it has the truest effect.)

I got up quickly and ran to the bathroom to cry in a stall, while Couple’s Skate started without me.  Seriously, it just began like normal, as if the most horrifying incident had not just occurred on that concrete slab of rejection.

I remember the song perfectly, it was Air Supply’s, “All Out of Love”  I also remember the pain.  Oh, the pain and the “uncoolness.”

“I’m so lost without you.”

Apparently, you can’t get too cocky in Cockeysville or anywhere, because someone will put you right back place. Unfortunately or maybe fortunately, I’ve been put in my place more times than I care to remember.

Even as an adult, a simple song can bring back an experience that sends you to rock in a corner.  I guess you’re supposed to dust yourself off and get back in the ring or the rink as the case may be.

So back to my pitch:
Dear Editor in Cheif – I AM A kick ass writer and I’m not half bad on a pair of skates…

PS : I got that job – eat your heart out mullet boy, everyone knows rat tails are like way hotter anyway!

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How a Friend Saved Lives After the Death of Her Baby – Facts Every Mom Should Know

A story of my dear friend, what she knows now that could have saved the life of her child and thousands of others, what she’s done with that knowledge, and why you should know it too.

  I know, it’s not my usual humor column fare, but it’s nice to be able to tell the important stories every once in a while…

Phyllis seeing me off to a boyfriend's prom circa 1990. (Please ignore the hair. Oh and the eyebrows, duh.)

I became friends with Phyllis in the 7th grade. I wasn’t exactly the coolest 7th grader. In fact,… Continue reading →

40 Things Every Woman/Mom Should Have and Should Know by 40

botox ecard

Everyone says that time goes by so fast, but I never saw it pass… it just did.  In the blink of an eye I went from 20 to nearly 40.  For those of you that are nearing 40, turning 40, or past the big 4-0, here you go…

I so enjoyed Glamour’s article, 30 Things Every Woman Should Have and Should Know by the Time She’s 30. Shockingly, I could check many of those items off my to-do list.  What’s more shocking is that I’m not 30 anymore, not even close.

A whole decade has passed.  Where did it go?  An amazing husband, multiple careers, a recession, two incredible children, and the blink of an eye later, I’m here, turning the corner on 40. There are many subtle yet life-changing differences a decade makes.  (This may not be as sentimental as it’s predecessor, but hey, I’m a humor columnist):

By 40, you should have… READ ON, IT’S WORTH IT! Continue reading →

How I Overcame my Fears and Learned that Virtual Friends are Even Sexier in Person

This is for anyone who’s been somewhere alone and had to overcome fear of being too shy, too lame, or like my fear: turning into an awkward stand-up comic and ultimately offending people.

Yes, it’s true, like many of you, I have lot’s of virtual friends.  Whether they’re old high school buddies that you communicate with mostly on FB or blog commenters, the entire twitter community, or exes you have kinky late night sexting with (I don’t judge), you’re aware that this tech bond exists.

I’ve been blogging for about 4 years, and over that time I’ve made many many many virtual friends.  I don’t want to brag, but tons of people, who don’t know me, really like me.

Wait, I feel that came out wrong.

Anyhoo, I got to meet many of those people this weekend and I think some are still my friends. Though these meetings didn’t come without their share of fear and trepidation. Yes, I was in the 7th grade this weekend – a grade I categorically erased from my memory after I did a solo performance of Madonna’s “Get Into The Groove” at that year’s talent show, during which I fell to the floor and cried.

I attended my first real blog conference, MOM 2.0 Summit, which is the ultimate in upscale blog conferences, as I’m sure you already know, I mean, DUH?  It was at the Ritz – obvi.  The peeps were successful, the speakers were brilliant, and the liquor was filled with alcohol.

I spent the first hour walking back and forth from my room to the registration area, as I was scared to talk to anyone – and I had nothing else to do with myself.  After the woman in the sign-up suite looked at me for the 5th time and said, “Um ma’am just give us 3 more minutes.” in a Why the f@ck do you keep lollygagging and peeking in? You clearly don’t belong here and simply want to steal a DOVE gift bag – well, I’ll throw off my bifocals and beat you down to the ground – BITCH. Kinda way.  What? I can tell what people are truly thinking.  It’s a gift.

Hour 2 and 3 – I spent at the pool – by myself.  On a lounge chair – alone. Ordering and eating my lunch – solo.  Staring at my phone and pretending I had a ton of work to do on my iPad, which was in fact, dead.  Yes, I was somewhere between giggling and crying as I wrote pretend emails, in reply to pretend messages.
Continue reading →