Tag Archives: Jenny Isenman

Why is My Little Brother So Hairy | Ryan’s Baby Banter

Okay, here goes. I don’t like to harsh on people because we are all special. That’s what the purple dinosaur says. Even though he’s an over sized geek, I think he’s right most of the time – everyone is special. That being said, I don’t understand why my little brother is so hairy. I know, we’re all different, but he’s really hairy. I mean like, head to toe fur ball.

I’m worried about him. He doesn’t seem to be developing the way other babies do. Frankly, he just seems to be getting fluffier.

What to Say When Your Kids Catch You in the Act

Talk about awkward. Here’s my take on explaining the unexplainable.

I always say it’s not a matter of “if” your child will walk in on you and hubs doing the deed, it’s a matter of “when.” Sure, there are lots of excuses: “Mommy and Daddy were just wrestling… naked.” “Oh, mommy slipped and her clothes fell off and dad was helping me up. Why are his off too? Well, he didn’t want me to feel silly.” “This is a special dance we do for rain, you know like on the National Geographic channel? Damn that drought and global warming!” And of course when they’re over a certain age, there’s just no explanation other than, “Okay, you caught us.”

Interested in Babies Would Say if They Could Talk?

Baby Ryan, based on someone I know all too well, is the knew blogger on Baby Banter, which is run by the fabulous site SheKnows.com. I say it’s time for those kids to pull their weight. Chicken fingers, pizzas, and hotdogs don’t pay for themselves, you know? Once my kids hit Kindergarten it’s time to pay the piper. So, along those lines, Ryan is a working baby writer. Sure, it was hard to teach her how to type, but I put her in front of the keyboard and told her she couldn’t have dessert until she could type 60WPM. Let me tell you about the power of a black and white cookie.

She also happens to be hilarious!!! I will list her posts here and if you’re intrigued click the link. Here’s her bio, so you know what you’re in for.

Ryan “The Rockstar”
Whassup, I’m Baby Ryan. Here’s what you should know about me, first of all, I’m a girl — people get confused by the name and lack of hair on my head. As you may have guessed by my advanced vocabulary, I’m crazy smart. I have an uncanny knack for telling it like it is, but deep down I’m still a big mush. Sure, I’ve been called ornery and stubborn, but those qualities are certain to help me at Kindermusik when some stinky little crybaby tries to steal my tambourine.

Contrary to common belief, I understand everything you weird, cooing people are saying. I’m also pretty sure that I’m royalty of some sort because you all act like my servants. It seems that many of you are simply here to entertain and amuse me, while the rest of you wait on me hand and foot. I don’t have to walk anywhere, scrounge for food or even lift a spoon for that matter. I can get insanely dirty and someone just cleans me up. Even more astounding, when I get you people dirty, you simply laugh and wipe the pureed bananas out of your hair. Best of all, I don’t have to poop in that crazy hole that sucks out your soul through your bottom. I simply need to cry (I wish someone would get me a bell) and you’re at my beck and call. Being a baby rocks!

Ryan’s Profile:

Age: 9 months

Likes: Catching sight of my future BF Zuma Rossdale in a magazine

Hates: The short annoying kid they call my brother and my “Spit Happens” bib

Favorite Word: No

When I grow up: Me and Zuma will live happily ever after

Post: Seriously? Not the Pea Plane Again!

Fireworks: Friend or Foe? |Jenny from the Blog

Okay, I may have mentioned I’m a guilt ridden parent once or twice or a thousand times. Well, I also have 4^th of July guilt. Yep, I feel guilty if my kids don’t get to see fireworks on the 4^th of July. Like many parents, I go to great lengths to make sure they get this Independence Day experience; long car rides, busy parking areas, throngs of people smooshing into parks and harbors… you know the drill. Continue reading →

Do Husbands Take the Backseat in Modern Marriage? | Jenny From the Blog

According to the barrista at my Starbucks, I’m an awesome wife. No, I’m not putting out for lattes like I once threatened to do and I’m certainly not ironing clothes for the lady who swipes my card –or even my husband for that matter. I simply showed up at 7:45 AM to buy my husband his coffee on Father’s Day. The staff at my Starbucks were taking bets on how many of their regular customer’s wives would show up for a Father’s Day coffee run. The results: 2. Yep, 2 wives, myself included. They cheered when I entered, “Jenny, I knew I could count on you,” the manager said. I thought I’d won a prize, maybe a frappe “my way?” It seems I deserved one; when I walked in to get my coffee the next morning they were still talking about it. They were talking about how shocked they were that on Mother’s Day they saw all the dads with the kids, letting moms sleep in and on Father’s Day the husbands still got the coffee. I guess the men are the “weekend coffee getters” in our society. Sure, they used to be hunters and gatherers, protectors, and providers, but now apparently getting coffee is as manly a task as we can bestow on our husbands. Continue reading →

How to Stop Nagging -Ask Jenny From the Blog

In The Suburban Jungle’s newest segment: Ask Jenny From the Blog, I answer important marriage and parenting questions with honesty, and wit. Please do not hold me responsible for tantrums or divorce.

Recently a friend asked, “How do I stop nagging my husband?” I used the decade of marriage as a basis for my answer and gave it to her straight, “You don’t. You just learn to nag more efficiently.” The definition of nagging is to ask or criticize someone repetitively, to the point of being bothersome. Well, if they learned the first time you said it, you would be a brilliant wife and he would be husband of the year. Let me impart a truth I have discovered after a 10 years of nagging. You have to train a husband, which is not unlike training a puppy. Except that a husband takes much much longer. If you saw my 6 month old puppy actually chewing the wall, this truth could send you running for the hills.

The key is to open the lines of communication and reward rather than reprimand. I know that sounds cheesy and Dr. Philee, but it is something you may not realize until you’ve wasted much time trying to mold your man through bitter seething complaints and snide remarks.

I am still training my husband… everyday. If I had known when I was first married what I know now, I think I would be giving much less correction, and much more Snausages. I remember the conversation that started a new path to less nagging. It was not so long ago. I said, “there has to be some word, some signal that I can give to tell you that I am about to complain and possibly correct something you’ve done. The signal would imply that what I am about to say may be critical and will most definitely annoy the crap out of you. I know that, but I must get it off my chest if I am to remain happy. I need you to hear me without sneering, ignoring, focusing on a mindless commercial or diverting your attention towards the kids.

Seems easy right, asking someone to listen and absorb when alerted to do so? Well, men are stubborn creatures. So, to make it fair, I agreed that the signal could be whatever he chose, as long as he agreed to open his ears and keeps his eyes from rolling. He decided I should say, “I suck and you are awesome.” Please, is that the best you can do? In return for your full attention, I would have said, “I’m a psycho bitching wife who doesn’t deserve such a strapping specimen of a man, while flashing you and doing a jig, but we’ll just go with your suggestion.”

This is your chance to set some ground rules and have some fun while doing it. Pick a signal that is totally disarming and let him know that the only person who hates nagging more than he does is you. Most importantly, when he does a good job, don’t forget the praise… and the Snausages.

Please send questions to [email protected]

Disclaimer- Jenny is not a trained professional! Though you may find her brilliant and insightful, she has been called odd and insane. Please keep that in mind when following any of her advice. Also, no animals were harmed in the writing of this piece (in case you were wondering.)

How to Steam Up Your Sex Life, Steam Out Your Pores, and Steam Clean Your Carpets

Every women’s magazine has its version of a “How To Have (insert saucy adjective here)” sex list, most of which make me feel like I should keep an extinguisher by the bed, along with a bucket of cold water to douse on myself and my partner when we begin to spontaneously combust from sheer passion. “How to Keep Your Love Life Hot, and Your Sex Life in Flames.” “10 Ways to Reignite Your Marriage.” “How To Turn Up the Heat In the Bedroom, Without Singeing the Sheets.” (Oh, I like that last one)

I will actually disband the relationship myths propagated by magazines, and give it to you straight. The side effect of such truth could be the shockingly unsatisfying revelation that your unsatisfying sex life is just that… unsatisfying. If you are faint of heart or an optimist, stop reading now.

When you have babies, sex is often not so hot… or often for that matter.

Tip From a Writer with No Sense of Reality: Time your trysts around nap time. Snarky Response: There is nothing women like more, when trying to have an orgasm, than the sense of pressure and urgency that having time constraints puts on the experience. Nighttime is better, IF you can work in a romp around heavy eyelids. Little babies make for long days restless nights and disinterest

Do realize that once the kids are out of the crib, the question isn’t if we get caught, but rather when? You’re just counting the days, I mean lays, until you must explain why Daddy is wrestling with Mommy… naked. “Well you see, Mommy tripped and her clothes fell off, and Daddy was trying to help her up. Oh, and he took off his clothes so she wouldn’t be embarrassed.” So, please have a better story than that.

Tip From a Writer Who Clearly Has No Children: “Set the mood.” You know candles, aromatic massage oils, and sexy lingerie. Brutal Honesty Response: If there is no lingering gas odor in the room and you’re in an old t-shirt without any holes, work your dimmer switch and voila… ambiance. Better yet, realize the TV is a beautiful source of ambient light. If you can get the volume to an audible level, you can work in sex without giving up Grays Anatomy. It’s called multi-tasking, something we moms are all too familiar with.

As for a massage, I’m lucky if I don’t get one of my kids’ left over Dorito corners embedded in my thigh. The sexy part is when I ask my husband to flick it out and slide the remaining crumbs off my tush like sand paper. Does that count as a massage? Well, arguably, it’s more like an exfoliation, but it’s undeniably hot.

Tip From a Writer Whose Kids are Not Involved in 500 Activities: A date night once a week. Reality Check Response: I like this one, because in theory it is legitimately a good idea. It’s definitely worth trying every week, but unfortunately, it assumes that there will be a night each week when no one is sick or has an event, that there is a babysitter available, and neither of you are too tired or worn out to go to dinner –A meal in which most your conversation will revolve around the kids.

Tip From a Writer With More Than 24hrs in Her Day: (My personal fave.) Don’t forget the foreplay. Multitasking Mom Response: Really? As it is, I have to have sex while catching up on my Tivo, reading US Weekly, having a healthy protein snack, and repeating the words, “lettuce, milk, eggs” over and over until I can get to a pen. Now I have to add something else to my repertoire? We forgot foreplay a long time ago. Well, my husband didn’t, he calls it brushing his teeth… which I am thankful for.

Tip that Makes me Say, “Are You Out of Your Cotton Pickin’ Mind?” –That’s right I said cotton pickin’ and I meant it! Start Your Day With a Bang So, you’ve had a long day and the odds that you’re going to be up for a raucous romp, or even a guilt induced one, are slim. Set your alarm an hour earlier and have an uninterrupted top-o-the-morning. Bitchy Unsensored Response: First of all, what ambitious magazine writers think an hour is necessary? Six minutes would do the trick and still, I’m not down with that idea. Do you know what I like to do before I wake up in the morning? SLEEP!

Do yourself a favor, throw out those, “spice it up” manuals and top 10 lists. Don’t be too concerned about the quantity of the sex you’re having. You have to figure out what works for you. I recall a friend asking, “Do you ever wake up to your husband having sex with you?” I remember thinking, “No, in my house, we call that rape.” Now I’m thinking, “Hey, whatever works.” If you can have a roll in the hay while hitting the hay, consider yourself a professional multi-tasker.

Question of the Day: What’s the best “Spice up Your Sex Life” tactic you’ve learned since you had children? Please Comment and leave your twitter handle (I’ll be sure to follow:))

My Wakeup Call that the Economy is Officially Kicking my Ass

Woman with empty wallet On Monday morning while half asleep and lying in bed, I reached for the remote, as I do every morning before my daughter wakes up and begs to play “Barbies.” I gently squeezed the “ON” button and received a wakeup call that I could not push “Snooze” on. Your lifestyle is going down the toilet, well actually it said, You No Longer Have Direct TV Service. Please Call Us, Deadbeat! Okay, there was no “deadbeat,” but all of the above was implied. In a frenzy, I switched to my “Tivo List” looking for a prerecorded episode of Jersey Shore, to calm my nerves, but the Tivo service was also, no longer available. “WHY?” “Say it isn’t so.” and “What does this mean?” escaped my lips almost simultaneously. Hello, the Bachelor narrows his bevy of possible flight attendants down to 12 ladies tonight, and what am I supposed to do while that’s happening… read?

Maybe this isn’t the first sign of my financial woes. Has the proverbial alarm been buzzing and I’ve been sleeping through it? Is it possible that being down to one credit card, that I randomly opened at Costco, was some kind of indicator that times are tough? Is the credit card Roulette I play at check out not a real game? You know, when you grab a card from your wallet at random and pray you don’t hear the dreaded “You’re Declined” which is followed by mental buzzer, while the contestant –me– fishes through for another possible loser to swipe.

Now, in hindsight I feel almost silly. I think there may have been other signals I missed. Like when we cut out our annual vacations, or when we lost our savings in the market. Darn it, have I just been phoning it in? I’m not sure if those other signs are worth investigating, but the thought of missing the new Grey’s Anatomy/Private Practice crossover (that they haven’t stopped touting) could send anyone into a deep over-advertising induced depression.

In response to my wakeup call, I’ve done what any pop culture/ TV addict would do. I pulled out my Costco American Express and called it in. I know, it’s not tightening the purse strings, but I intend to skip grocery buying this week to make up for the loss. Eating is overrated… especially after the holidays. The truth is, I have a perfectly tasty cat just walking around the house. Taunting me like a steak on wheels. That’s ridiculous, why would I eat my cat when my dog is 40lbs heavier? I may be poor, but I’m not stupid.

Tip O’ the Mornin’ : How to Survive Holiday Visitors

family fighting

So, the holidays are upon us. Christmas has just passed and visitors are abundant, but their welcome is wearing thin. I know, we all look forward to this time of year, but often in the midst of it, we realize the heavy meals have expanded our waist lines and our relatives have stretched our patience.

In-laws can be the toughest during the holiday season. I’m not talking about mine; they’re amazingly wonderful and never bothersome, NEVER. Mine aren’t even in this season, but I have heard tales of other in-laws who cause stress and frustration. The way they handle a turkey, as if it is not a breeding ground for salmonella, or the way they screw with the table settings that you took a painful amount of time arranging to look haphazard and shabby chic. I know, my “friends” sound like a joy to be around over the holidays, right? I am simply relaying their stories, I am in no way referring to specific incidences that may have happened in the past, which have caused me anxiety or to count to 10 by the medicine cabinet, while searching for Zanex .

Let’s face it, it’s harder to have tolerance for those who didn’t raise us: friends and non-immediate family included. We have a certain forgivability factor for our blood relatives; they can get away with more and feel the wrath less. We also tend to offend them less as they too have a forgivablity factor, towards us. Thank goodness.

So, while you count the hours till your guests get on their merry way, I suggest heavy drinking. Use the holiday traditions to mask your quick bout with alcoholism: Manischewitz on Chanukah, egg nog on X-mas, and champagne on New Year’s.

Remind yourself that you’re probably getting on their nerves as well. This is also not a problem I have, as I am always filled with an almost addictive amount of holiday cheer, but logic says: If they’re annoying you, you’re most likely annoying them. (Or did I read that on a fortune cookie?) Well logic or Confucius says that.

Grandparents, especially in-laws, really aren’t there for you in the first place. They’re there for your children. You’re just an obstacle. You and “Your Way” are hurdles to be tip-toed around, not jumped over. They don’t agree with your techniques, your rules, and your methods of punishment — or lack thereof. Though this is a point of un-verbalized contention between you and them, look at the positive. They would love for you to get out of the house, so that they can do and say what they please without feeling like you’re critiquing and judging their every movement – which, by the way, you are.

Don’t over think this one! Go out and let them babysit!!! And while you’re out, drink heavily.

Disclaimer: No in-laws, parents, or guests were harmed in the writing of this article!

I Slept With Tiger Woods

TigerWoods OMG, I have to tell you guys something. I often turn to my iCarly diary with my darkest secrets, but this one is just too juicy. Here goes… I slept with Tiger Woods. You guys are probably freaking out, as Tiger’s reputation has been sooo perfect up until now. Let me be the first to tell you, he’s not the squeaky clean Jonas Brother, he pretends to be.

Our affair was rather recent. I must confess, he was passed out when I met him. Sadly, that’s not the first time I started an affair with an unconscious man. The other time was when this guy was hit by a subway car and I went to visit him in the hospital. His family showed up and took me for his fiancé. I went along with it because I was lonely and it was the holidays. Eventually, he woke up and I married his brother. Oh wait, that wasn’t me. DUH.

Anywho, with Tiger it was different. He was admitted to the hospital (where I am a candy striper) after a rather harsh battle with a fire hydrant. –See, it’s different already. It appears he and his wife play late night golf and he took his car to search for a stray ball, when the confrontation occurred. I can only imagine how far one of Tiger’s balls can fly (well, I don’t have to imagine anymore). –That was a sex joke, in case you didn’t catch on, LOL.

As it turns out, it was lucky that his wife was caddying for him, as she was able to use his iron to pull him from the wreck and beat off the fire hydrant. I didn’t even know fire hydrants could come to life, but I saw this movie about a car named Christine and she came to life. So, I guess anything’s possible.

Tiger even promised me a signed Fat Head of his best friend MJ. I can’t believe he can get in touch with Michael Jackson, but after the stint with the fire hydrant, I can see Tiger’s special. Other people can see it too. He also had sex with my friend Luanne who mops the floors. And then Gertie, who resides in the nursing home area. Oh, and Becky who was in the pediatric unit to have her tonsils out. I ran into him wandering around the Nursery. He says looking at the babies calms him. I get it, they’re so sweet and innocent.

I confronted him about all those other girls, but he said, “don’t worry honey, you’re my hole in one.” He said if we do it enough I can be his “double bogey.” I don’t know anything about the golf but the nicknames sure are cute. Oh yeah, he made me swear I’d never tell… Shit.

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This Mothering Stuff is Tough

I have something to tell you; please don’t spread it around, as it’s somewhat of a secret. I screamed “shut up” at my son today. “SHUT UP!” not “shush” or “sshhhhh” or even “ferme la bouche.” No, “Shut Up.” I didn’t say it in a whisper, or even hiss it through clenched teeth. I yelled it in a vein popping tone, and it felt sort of good, aside from the fear of having an aneurism. I hate to admit it, but in the moment I actually enjoyed the shock value.

In my house, “shut up” is still the “S” word. That and “stupid”…fine, it’s “shit” also (look, we’re not Amish). “Shut up” is a phrase that I – a person who has managed to use“Shniekees” and “Gaylord Focker” in place of harsher expletives for the last 7 years – have never uttered to my children.

Had I witnessed you on the street saying – no, screaming – that to your child, I would have judged you with disdain. I may have even considered calling child services on you. Now, I’m the one with the scarlet letter. I’m just a few more outbursts from a knock at the door.

I’m not going to tell you what my son did, but just know, he started it! Fine, I’ll tell you. He was yelling at me, telling me “No,” contradicting me, and being incredibly obnoxious all at once, and all at warp speed. He never took a breath. I didn’t know whether to punish or have him try out for the swim team.

The funny thing is, I just finished writing an article about the Spanking / IQ study, and here I am doing exactly what I said I wouldn’t do… “ensuring my child will need hours of therapy.” Way to go Jenny. Though I don’t believe in it, I would have been better off calmly putting him over my knee; at least I would have had more self-control.

The worst part of this whole confession inducing incident was the look on his face. It was somewhere between “Uh-oh, you said a bad word!” and a lip biting, “Sniff, sniff. You said that bad word to ME?” As I’ve said before, I subscribe to the book of damage control parenting. Doing as little damage as possible, and controlling the damage you’ve done. This was one of those times I had to control the damage. Somewhat in shock myself, I had to regroup and think of my options: Apologize, use candy or some other bribe to gloss over it, or explain my actions. I went the obvious route, and when he finished licking the Kit Kat residue off his fingers, I said I was sorry.

I’ll tell you, when my kids were little, I would have sworn this day would never come. How could you look at those sweet chubby cheeks and imagine they could ever frustrate you so much? Conversely, when I told a few of my friends the story, they were shocked at how long I’d held out.

Wait a minute, I think there’s some praise in there. I amazed people with my nearly infinite patience. I deserve a medal, not a scornful eye. I take it all back… I am the best mom; it took me almost 8 years to tell my child to “shut up.” Wahoo! See, if you practice patience (but not too much), and bottle up frustration like seltzer (that your kids can agitate until it pops), you too can astound people. Then you can start a blog, and when you do terrible horrible things, you can seek contrition by telling hundreds, dare I say thousands, of people about them.

***This article is featured on the Sun-Sentinel.com Show the love, and please copy any comments on this link!

My Gecko is Cleaner than Your Gecko

gecko

Alright, please don’t take that as a sexual reference, it means exactly what it says. My gecko is cleaner than yours… so, don’t challenge him to a clean competition, ‘cause he’ll win.

As it turns out living in Florida is like living in a remake of Jurassic Park, on a smaller scale. Like the miniature Stonehenge, for all you Spinal Tap fans. The bugs are the size of softballs and the reptile life runs rampant… through my house. Anyone who has been to Florida knows that lizards cross the roads and sidewalks with the frequency of jay-walkers in NYC.

Up north, where I am originally from, you might be lucky enough to see a majestic deer or cute little baby bunnies bouncing through your yard, but here you see the kind of things that eat cute little baby bunnies. What I am shocked at, is how used to it I have become. So much so, that I showered with a gecko the other day. Please, all you sickos, clearly there was no funny business, though I did loofah his back for him. He was just hanging out on the wall and rather than go get the cup to catch and release him, I simply went about my normal showering process. You know, lather, rinse, repeat.

It gave me a little chuckle, but what really made me laugh was when I told my son that evening about the shower scene and he said that he too showered with the same lizard an hour before. He of course played with the little guy, which makes me question whether soap ever made it to any of my son’s parts at all. Though I’m sure the gecko got a thorough cleaning and is certainly missing his tail. I said, “We must have the cleanest gecko ever,” which actually sent us into hysterics.

When my husband got home, we relayed our tale to which he said, “Yeah I showered with him this morning.” I don’t know what this says about my family. Are we all too lazy to remove a lizard? Are we a bit promiscuous, taking showers with any Tom, Dick, or Lizard that enters the stall? or Have we become so accustomed to them, that we are part of their ecosystem? Like Jane Goodall and those chimps.

I do know that if you come to my house, you’ll see a shiny lizard that smells like grapefruit conditioner and prefers air drying over being briskly toweled off. Well, Jake would know more about that.