Fun fact: This is an old post that I took down because I got so much flack for being such a horrible wife. Now, 3 years later, I’m over 40 and frankly don’t care if you people think I’m a horrible wife. Also, if I’m being honest, we all have our meltdowns and our horrible wife moments, if you don’t than you probably shouldn’t be at this particular site. PS you know who really thought this post was funny, my husband.
Hubby: “Jenny are you busy?”
Me: “Yeah, I’m writing.” Continue reading
This picture implies that he was washing my car. He in fact, was not, but I couldn’t find a better picture of an elderly man near a car… MAKE DO.See how polite I’m being? Calling him an elderly gentleman and not an old curmudgeon? No, that would be rude and I am not rude. Well, unless you consider running a poor old curmudgeon over with your car “rude.” Then yes, I may be rude, but I have an excellent vocabulary and that has to count for something. Continue reading
Many women’s magazines have a “Mom” version of a “How To Have Better Sex,” 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)
Seriously, I’d like to disband the sex myths propagated by magazines, and have a little straight talk here? Be warned though, the side effect of discussing such truths could be a shockingly unsatisfying revelation that your unsatisfying sex life is just that… unsatisfying.
Let me break it to you (in case you haven’t figured it out already), sex after kids is often not so hot, or often for that matter. That said, here’s what I think about the most common tips given to moms about sex.
1. Tip From a Writer Who Clearly Has No Children: Don’t forget to “Set the Mood,” you know, candles, aromatic massage oils, and sexy lingerie.
Brutal Honesty Response: Are we still taking time to set the mood? I mean, isn’t that what got us here in the first place?
Listen, if there’s no lingering gas odor in the room and you’re in an old t-shirt without any holes, I say you’re as sexy as you need to get.
Work your dimmer switch and voila… ambiance. Better yet, utilize the TV as a source of beautiful ambient light. If you can get the volume to an audible level, you can work in sex without giving up The Voice. 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’ leftover Doritos corners embedded in my thigh. Wait, 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.
2. Tip From a Writer Whose Kids are Not Involved in 500 Activities: Continue reading
This time of year I amuse myself by looking back at last year’s resolutions. Ones I made with the best intentions, like learning an instrument or a foreign language. Last Hanukkah I had my husband buy me a guitar. I had all the confidence in the world that by this New Year’s, I would balk at a request to play “Stairway To Heaven,” saying something dismissive like… “Please, that’s so cliché, but why not?” or “Por favor, es muy cliché, pero porque no? Unfortunately, my guitar collects dust while my Spanish collects rust.
So for this year, I am making some resolutions that are a bit more achievable:
1. Nag More
For over a decade my husband has not picked up a wet towel, washed ketchup off of a dish, changed a light bulb, or remembered trash day without a divorce threat, I mean, friendly reminder. This year: I vow to be relentless in my nagging. I will lay immediate blame using words like always and never. As in, “I always, and you never.” I will play the martyr by saying, “Forget it. I’ll do it myself.” I will amp up the guilt with, “I do everything around here.” Or something unarguable like, “It’s obvious by your refusal to change a light bulb that you don’t love me anymore.” If all goes well, I’ll be nagging him to go to couples therapy by 2013.
2. Gain Weight
I’m going to quit all good eating habits ASAP. I vow to add carbs to my diet with reckless abandon. I’ll start each meal with a generous helping of bread and rolls onto which I will spread an obnoxious amount of butter. I’ll stuff food into my mouth with such fervor it’ll make other eaters uncomfortable to watch. I also vow to eat everything a la mode, including ice cream.
3. Workout Less
This will actually take serious effort. The only thing harder would be to shower less. If I need the proverbial cup of sugar, I will drive to my neighbor’s garage and beep until she comes out and hands it to me. I’ll take elevators in two-story buildings. Lastly, I’m going to cancel my gym membership and use the money I save to buy more ice cream.
4. Forget an Old Language
This year, not only am I not going to learn a new language, I’m going to let my brain atrophy to forget the one I already know. I’ll watch endless episodes of Adventure Time, The Regular Show and Beavis and Butthead. I’ll quit doing crosswords and speaking in complete sentences. I’ll break all grammatical rules: I will misplace modifiers, dangle participles, and end sentences in prepositions. I will express my thoughts through that African clicking language, modern dance, and a set of bongos that I intend to wear around my neck.
5. Stay Out of Touch
This time of year, I am reminded of the many friends I have let time and space interfere with. I intend to further that distance. I’m gonna start by rejecting any new Facebook or social network requests. I will also attach a note that reads, “I never liked you in the first place, Sucka!” Lastly, I will cuss out and then hang up on people who call in hopes of fulfilling their own resolution to rekindle old friendships.
6. Be Less Patient
I vow to be aggravated, exasperated, and ready to blow my stack at the slightest misstep. The next time my son wants help with his homework I’ll say, “That’s it! Clearly this whole elementary education thing is not for you. If you don’t know how to spell “Discerning” by now, you never will…Now, go get a job! Oh, and take your sister with you, she spends way too much time on the potty.”
7. Hold Grudges
This year I vow to forgive no one. I don’t care if you step on my toe, or pay me the five bucks you owe me, a day after the assigned due date. You will go on “The List” in permanent ink and I will twirl my imaginary handlebar mustache as I think about how to get revenge. I vow to hate you forever and never forget how you wronged me.
8. Stress More
I vow to lose sleep thinking about planning parties, redecorating my house, trying to budget, missing appointments, teacher conferences, and health issues caused by stress. I will laugh an evil cackle while erasing all the plans from my iPhone, and then cry over what I’ve just done. I will empty our bank account on frivolous investments and watch it dwindle away. Oh, wait…that already happened. Well good, more for me to worry about.
9. Become Addicted to Something
Smoking, alcoholism and Starbucks are so trite. No, this year I vow to pick up a unique dependency that people can really talk about like nasal spray or hand sanitizer or sniffing hot glue from class projects. Or at least something beneficial to my endurance like crack. Look, I already have a shopping addiction so that’s out and I do love me some reality TV; maybe I could offset the bills with a robust gambling problem.
10. Gossip More
I vow to talk about everything you do in the New Year. If I see you at the pediatrician for so much as a flu shot, I will tell everyone your child has hand foot mouth, so you can be verbally assaulted when you show up at a birthday party the next day. If you look too skinny, I will assume it’s a divorce or you’re a raging bulimic. If you look too hot, I’ll call it a torrid affair. If you look too young, it’s an addiction to surgical procedures because you’re getting divorced, due to a torrid affair.
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
My Other Resolution: GET MORE READERS TO THE BLOG SO I CAN GET A COLUMN IN A SHE SHE MAGAZINE AND LEAVE ALL YOU READERS FLOUNDERING! MWAHAHAHA!!!
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On Wednesday, my day started as such: I dropped off 6, yes I said 6, rowdy elementary schoolers in carpool. I then hurried to get my piping hot latte to bring back to school to volunteer. After purchasing my piping hot latte I proceeded to rest it on my center console as my dashboard cup holders were filled with important necessities like barrettes, Polly Pockets, and a part from a McDonalds happy meal toy. Insert sound of plan screeching to a halt here. I’m sure you know how this story goes… despite my best efforts to hold the coffee in its cardboard cup holder carrier, it flipped out and splashed onto the middle row of my oversized (Due to carpool needs) SUV.
So, here was my dilemma:
Do I run home,ring out my car so it doesn’t reek of spoiled milk and race to school to be an on time for volunteering?
or
Do I run back into Starbucks, while the coffee seeps deeper into the carpet? Wait in another line to get a new piping hot latte and clean my car with those brown Starbucks napkins, which wouldn’t absorb the contents of an eyedropper. And of course be late for volunteering?
Well, it goes without saying that I chose the obvious. The taste of that latte was enough to mask any guilt I may have felt when I saw those sad Kindergarteners. It did not however mask the odor of milk rotting in the sun, which hit me like a Trenta sized latte when I re-entered my car. No worries, I’ll rush home, clean the car, write the article that’s due at iVillage in less than one hour and be on my way to the pedicure I’ve been dreaming of all week. Well, as it turns out, getting 16ounces of coffee out of a car without a wetvac is yeomen’s work. 40 minutes later, I was without an article and needed to be on my way to my pedi. Ok, I can do this, I will grab my new latte and my netbook and write the article while getting my relaxing, long overdue, escapist pedicure. Well, scratch the escapist part, mainly because it’s used in the wrong context and also because it would now be out of the question.
In the interest of saving time I took out my iPhone and started recording what I was going to write in my article on Dragon Dictation (voice recognition software). I prayed it would comprehend enough of my speech to enable me to simply edit while getting my relaxing, long overdue pedicure.
While holding the phone directly at my mouth, allowing me to enunciate perfectly, I drove past a policeman on a motorcycle. He looked me dead in the eye with utter disdain. Look, another Jappy girl blabbing into her phone, I should pull her over. I looked as he pulled behind me and… phew, he was moving to the other lane. I wasn’t speeding, well speed talking. Let’s face it, I could have been like all the other “Road Pirates”: typing with one hand and watching the road with one eye. I was being responsible and I gave myself a pat on the back. Of course to him I was just some distracted blabber and he doubled back into my lane and turned on his lights. Over I pulled, ready to explain my responsible choice to use a voice recognition app, but what would he care? It’s not illegal to talk on the phone in Florida.
Cliché cop with graying moustache: “Yes, license, registration and you’re insurance card.”
Naive me: “Um, was I speeding?”
Officer: “Nope, you have an expired tag ma’am. Are you aware of that?”
Dumbass Me: “Yes, my husband just sent in the check” Why didn’t I tell him that I wasn’t just gabbing to some friend? I’m working mom trying to make ends meet. Or maybe I could have told him how badly I needed a pedicure and shown him my dried out calloused feet or at the very least flashed him my tits. But noooo, I went with the ‘check’s in the mail.’
I rummaged through my glove box to find nothing, but the original car sticker, some McDonald happy meal Barbie toys, 6 pairs of 3-D glasses that I keep so I don’t have to pay the extra $3 and a rubber-band.
Me trying to infuse some humor: “Ummm, no registration or insurance card. I’m sorry, I’m not very good at this being pulled over stuff, am I?” oopsie, silly me. Boop boop be do.
Smiling Officer: “Don’t worry ma’am, I got all I need. Even though you clearly don’t.”
Sexy Me: “Oh, I got what you need right here, Mr. Officer.”
Okay, the last line didn’t happen… This wasn’t a scene from Cannonball Run.
As he went back to his motorcycle to write me up, I emailed iVillage that my article would be late and called The Strand salon to tell them my feet would be late. As the policeman got to my window and began to explain my infractions, The Strand’s receptionist picked up. I gave the policeman the “just a sec” finger and proceeded to alert the receptionist of my current predicament. Holy shit, did I just give the “gimme a minute” sign? it was a natural reflex, I didn’t want to be rude to the receptionist, I mean duh? I really am bad at this being pulled over stuff.
Apparently, he could have given me something like 74 violations, but he only ticketed me for one. I imagine signaling him to hold his horses didn’t make him feel too intimidating, but he seemed to take it well. In the end, I had to get a relaxing, escapist, long overdue pedicure and turned in my piece an hour late. Then I locked myself in my house until morning.
This week in Jenny’s Momtourage Column, Jenny from the Blog asks: Why do I find it so hard to say “no” to my children when they clearly have no problem saying it to me? She also gives 5 tips to help any parent stand their ground. Good Luck! READ MORE
Mark Twain once said, “I have been through some terrible things in my life, some of which actually happened.” This week, Jenny from the Blog asks, “How many incidents do we fear as mothers?” “How much stress do we expend fearing them” and “Why is it so easy to be a What-iffer?”
Excerpt “…But, my mind was quick to figure out the real danger. Nope, this was not a police issue and frankly those petty slap on the wrist repercussions didn’t concern me; this was an act of terrorists or at the very least the owners of the mall were going to blow up the parking lot in order to put up a Neiman Marcus.”
To read the full insanity of this piece and see if you know the feeling: CONTINUE READING
In case you haven’t heard, Starbucks will now Super-Size your iced Venti 2 pump, 4 sugar, super skinny, double wide, whip it good, mocha-chaita-cino-o (or whatever you order) for 50 cents extra. Yep, the voluminous Venti has officially been dwarfed by the trendy Trenta. Why? Because everyone needs a coffee that’s larger than their stomach capacity– duh? Oh, I kid you not, the 31oz Trenta is actually 16ml more than the average stomach size. It can hold an entire bottle of wine – with room to spare. The Trenta is the Dirk Diggler of drinks, the Dolly Parton of pick me ups. Seriously America, why are we so obsessed with all things larger than life, and larger than necessary?
The sign at my Starbucks counter reads “Bigger is Better,” but is it? Is it ALWAYS better? A 24 oz Venti Caramel Macchiato is 300cal, 39g of sugar, and 150mg of caffeine. Therefore, a Trenta version could be as much as 5000 cal, 300g of sugar and 2 billion grams of caffeine or something like that…math isn’t my strong suit. Unless you’re a trucker who’s being held at gunpoint while hauling a shipment cross-country, I can’t imagine the need for such a beverage. Of course, you’d also have to be a trucker with an enormous stomach, as your belly would otherwise fill to capacity before you finished your drink. That last sentence was just silly, as truckers are rarely known for their svelte bodies. Oh gosh, now I’ve offended all truckers reading this article. But, I digress.
It seems as if nothing is ever enough for us Americans. So, what’s next? Men trying to enlarge their penises? No, wait, my inbox is already swollen with ads for that procedure. Will fast food joints make a burger so big, that they’ll need to give a defibrillator as the toy surprise? Nope, we’ve done that too. The Triple Whopper with Cheese has an eye-popping 1230 cal and 82 grams of fat! Somehow I think “Triple Bypass with Cheese” would be a more fitting moniker. Even J Lo’s derriere has been super-sized; you’ll find it on Kim Kardashian.
It’s pretty clear our desire for excess is boundless, so who can blame Starbucks for cashing in on this universal infatuation? I asked a patron with a Trenta why he bought his quart sized coffee. His response, “I’m thirsty.” Well, there you have it, thirsty people everywhere will be ordering this larger than life, yet miraculously still able to fit in a cup holder, beverage. Pretty soon we’ll simply order a troth of coffee, and of course, they’ll call it a Trothe`. That’s right – we’ll thumb our noses at obesity, diabetes, and high blood pressure. No matter, we’ll be too hopped up on caffeine to give a damn.
This article was originally posted on my Seriously? column at Hybrid Mom
This weeks’ TOP 5 Segment. It’s not that moms are lazy, we’re just worn out… and rightfully so, we do it ALL! Here are the top 5 ways to put more spring in your step, more perk in your parenting, more wahoo in your work, and more hyperactivity in your homemaking! Okay the last one sucked, but you get the picture.
Maybe it makes me a bad parent, but a quick meal on the way to some after school activity or when we’re rushed is sometimes essential for my family. I don’t have the time or the patience to force feed veggies that make my kids gag at every meal. Nor do I have the skills to hide broccoli in brownies and cauliflower in cupcakes a la Missy Chase Lapine. While all the moms at a playdate are talking about processed cheese stuffs and how they would never go to McDonald’s, I’m worrying there is evidence of a recent visit in my car and hoping no one needs a ride. Continue reading
I went out shopping with my mom the other day and I felt guilty, not because I was breaking my necessary self-imposed shopping ban, but because I had left my kids. I had left them not with a babysitter, but with my husband. They were not doing child labor; they were simply going to a movie.
I couldn’t pinpoint the cause of the feeling I was having. Maybe it was guilt brought on by the fear of sending them off alone with their dad. Would something happen without my guidance? Continue reading
Seriously, who thought of this petri dish in the first place? For those of you not lucky enough to have encountered the Euro Bubble, it’s a clear plastic beach ball that rolls on water and can fit someone up to 150lbs, (according to the website) though I saw teens much larger attempt to walk on water at the local Kaboomz Party Playground. This is how it works: you pay a fee to have your child stuff him/herself into a plastic bag while a man with no more than 7 teeth shoves a tube excreting stale air into a leak proof hole in order to blow up the ball. Hypocritical? Umm, I did just spend the last 6 years saying, “NEVER stick your head in a plastic bag” and now I’m like, “Well, if the toothless guy says it’s okay, go for it.” Continue reading