pyschosupermom

The Secret is 'out'

2008-04-28T20:30:00.000-07:00

I hate to admit it, but every now and then I have a serious case of schadenfreude (taking pleasure in others' misfortunes), but only in the sense of delighting when someone or something overblown gets taken down a peg. (Like seeing that ostensibly perfect mom, the immaculately coiffed one whose whole-grain fed kids behave so perfectly, losing it and screaming at her kids in McDonalds'.) So imagine my delight when I read that the various co-creators of The Secret are at each others' throats in court!

I don't claim that positive thinking has no value, but I was always struck by the hypocrisy of Rhonda Byrne, The Secret's author, who claimed that she wasn't interested in profit, she just wanted to get the effectiveness of positive thinking out to the world. If it was really so effective, couldn't she just have visualized us all getting it, and saved everyone the $19.95 (or $29.95 for the DVD)? However, apparently she has now formed a production company, which is suing the web developer for infringing on their proprietary rights, and meanwhile the DVD producer with whom she developed the original concept is suing her for not making good on their original agreement to split the profits. It's all a bunch of complicated legal tussling over profit-sharing, copyright ownership, and employment versus independent contracting - basically fighting over the enormous income stream that has been generated by a philosophy that stresses gratitude, integrity, and generosity.

I was always a bit skeptical of anyone insisting that I just had to visualize a BMW in my driveway to manifest it - I was more interested in manifesting a clean family room and a tank of gas for less than $60. But now my skepticism has been vindicated by such delicious evidence of the underlying hypocrisy. Although who knows - maybe the lawsuits prove The Secret after all, and a bunch of lawyers visualized - then manifested - the most lucrative lawsuit they could imagine!

Family Movie Night

2008-04-23T19:29:00.000-07:00

Life with boys is not what I expected when I decided to become a mom - sure, I knew I couldn't choose my kids' gender, but I was convinced I could raise my kids in a neutral way AND fulfill my maternal fantasies. So I couldn't frenchbraid their hair, but I could read them the Little House books - wrong, they preferred Captain Underpants. I bought them dolls and stuffed animals - they used the toys as guns. I'm gradually learning it's hard-wired, no matter how hard I try.
And it's not like ours is a macho, athletic household. My kids don't know anything about sports - we won box seats to a Giants' game, and they were more interested in the cotton-candy vendor than the action. (Other than Ben noticing a typical Barry Bonds move, not really hustling to run for a potential single, and very loudly he piped up, "That guy there isn't very good!") Ben takes drum lessons, David does theater and takes dance class, but they still have a boys' sense of humor, no matter how hard I try to be a civilizing influence. For example, David has invented a game where he tacks on an inappropriate phrase to the end of the title of songs from musicals. (His current favorite is adding " . . . in my pants" to classic musicals like Damn Yankees, so you get "Whatever Lola Wants, Lola Gets . . . in my pants", and so on.) (Okay, I shouldn't laugh, but I've got to give him credit for an originality!)
Our recent family movie night was a great illustration of life in a boy-dominated household. We couldn’t agree which t.v. movie to watch, because I wanted Steel Magnolias (southern women bonding in the beauty parlor with great sarcastic oneliners!), but the boys preferred Alien Resurrection (the REALLY violent one in the series, where a cloned Sigourney Weaver gives birth to the ultimate monster child, and saves the world with Winona Ryder as an android). We ended up compromising by flipping back & forth between the two, which produced a hybrid I called "Magnolia Resurrection" -
"Ripley? You’re alive? I guess this means I’ll have to kill you."
"If you can’t say anything nice about anyone, come sit next to me!"
"Keep away from me, you disgusting slimy alien ."
"Ewww, that woman needs some serious lycra on those thighs . . . . "
"What are we gonna do? The aliens are escaping!"
"That boy is so confused he don’t know whether to scratch his watch or wind his butt!"

I decided to put the movie hybrid idea into my comedy show, but when I told the boys they immediately corrected me and said, "No, mom, what would be really funny is a movie called 'Alien Erection'. . . .". (I'll leave the ensuring gestures and sound effects to your imagination.) Meanwhile, I'm going to go re-read Little Women and see if the neighbor's daughter will let me do her hair . . . .

Hair today, gone tomorrow?

2008-03-30T16:18:00.001-07:00

The other day I was lying with my legs hiked up, chatting with the charming woman who was ripping out my excess pubic hair by the roots, and Jen was telling me a few of her stories as a facialist/waxer (she's thinking of writing a book titled Pimples And Pubes). Apparently I am in the minority, since most of her clients opt for full Brazilians (everything off but a small landing strip), and I was a bit taken aback by how far we've come in our willingness to discuss (and deal with) unwanted body hair.

I'm a nice Jewish girl, so I know from body hair - I had to start shaving my legs at 11, and soon after that the hair on my upper lip started looking undeniably mustache-like. Back then, it wasn't anything I admitted to anyone - I begged my mom to buy me some Jolene Creme Bleach, which I'd seen advertised in a magazine, and ever since then it's been an endless cycle of plucking, shaving, waxing, bleaching, regrowth and repeat. Which I figured would go on forever.

Which would be fine, except why is it that when you DO want hair to grow back, it won't? LIke on that eyebrow I overplucked in high school? Or that one thin patch along my part? Sometimes I want to ask my body hair, How do you KNOW, and why are you torturing me by disappearing where I want you and reappearing in the most embarrassing places? (As I age, I spend more time in front of a magnifying mirror frantically tweezing those weird witch-like strands coming out of my chin.)

At least I've got company in my body-hair-obsession. The boys are both in full-on puberty, which produces numerous discussions of the various physical changes. Recently Ben insisted that he had real pubic hair, and David, who is 14, claimed that Ben, at 11, was too young. Ben pulled down his pants to prove his point, so David pulled down HIS pants to prove he had more. Fortunately, Scott stepped in, saying, "Boys, why are you having such a ridiculous argument?" Then Scott dropped his own pants and announced, "THIS is real pubic hair!"

After an evening like that, I think I'll go back to Jen and have some more hair waxed off - it's more relaxing!

Scary Movies

2008-03-24T16:12:00.000-07:00

Seemingly overnight, I've gone from having to hold my boys on my lap during the scary parts of Wizard of Oz, to hiding my eyes when we watch movies they love. I've always been easily frightened by movies - I like to think it's because of my artistic temperament and vivid imagination, but maybe I'm just a wimp. (Actually, as a kid, I used to be so terrified by the witch in Wizard of Oz that I pretended I was rooting for her, so I wouldn't fall apart when she looked like she was triumphing; of course, I only had to resort to this strategy during the once-a-year broadcast, which we watched on our old black & white TV. We didn't get a color television until I was too old to stay home for the movie, so the first time I saw it in color, it was during a finals-week movie night in college, and when Dorothy opened the door to the technicolor of Munchkinland, I was at first convinced I'd picked up a contact high.) (Trying to explain this story to kids who don't remember life before DVDs and on-demand movies is just about impossible - even with leaving out the 'contact high' angle!)

My boys have always loved movies with explosions and technical wizardry -evil characters don't frighten them at all, and they sneer at the limited special effects in movies from my era ("Geez, mom, that exploding planet in Star Wars Episode Four is so lame!"). The new Star Wars movies were a bit too graphic for my taste (although I was even more frightened by the terrible acting!), but I kept up with the boys until the Lord of the Rings trilogy came out - David got the full directors' cut set as a gift, and he was really upset that I wouldn't watch it with him. So we struck a deal - I would sit through the 2nd one (with the really gory battle scenes) and he had to watch the 'chick flick' of my choice ("Clueless", which he ended up thoroughly enjoying).

Well, last night, we came full circle - without consulting me, Husband 2.0 rented "I Am Legend" for a guys' movie night. I came home, watched about 2 minutes and fled - explosions or global panics are one thing, but I was out of there at the first sighting of a flesh-eating zombie. The boys teased me for leaving, but at bedtime, all of a sudden they were both suddenly freaked out by the realistic premise and afraid they'd have nightmares. I made up some scientific-sounding nonsense about variations in human DNA and cancer strains and the impossibility of a mutating virus spreading that quickly, and they both settled down - it felt vaguely reminiscent of checking for monsters under the bed and reassuring them that the witch wouldn't come to get them in their sleep.

And I'm picking the next night-time movie!

Mom 3.0

2008-03-11T18:38:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I met with someone I’ve hired to help me with web marketing. Obviously she knows more about this stuff than I do, that’s why I hired her, but I’m still amazed at all the terms and phrases she tossed off effortlessly that had me scratching my head. Apparently, we’ll start with SEO (Search Engine Optimization), then develop a template for an e-zine that will interface with my database as a way to strategically enhance my network; and eventually we’ll look at web-based affiliate marketing and potential links with e-commerce-indexed social networking sites, as well as the pros and cons of DKI (Dynamic Keyword Insertion) in PPC (pay-per-click). And we haven't even started exploring algorithmic search results, link farms (places that sell pork products?), and keyword stuffing (made from bread crumbs and sausage from the link farm, I imagine)
If you’re absolutely lost here, I’m so relieved! I don’t mind feeling like a technical luddite around teenage texting, because I understand the concept and I can do it, I just don’t feel like developing that much dexterity in my thumbs. But reading about the internet is already confusing enough. I like to view the web the same way I view flying in planes; my dad, a former Air Force Navigator, drew me diagrams of air currents and vectors, but in my gut I simply don’t believe a large metal object weighng several thousand tons, full of people and bad food, can leave the ground, so I just pretend I understand how it flies. I have no idea how the internet works, I just pretend I do so I can enjoy emailing, blogging, and googling (as well as all these new verbs!)
Now, apparently, we’re moving to Web 3.0. I think I get that Web 1.0 was just stuff on the internet, and Web 2.0 is more interactive, where you can respond to things, so how much more interactive is 3.0? I remember when I bought my first Mac computer, back when it had no hard drive and 512 K of memory – ah, the good old days! – and the big advantage of Macs was that they were ‘user friendly’. So if Web 3.0 is a dramatic improvement on user friendliness, what, is it going to ask us out? Make dinner? Get my kids to stop fighting?
Come to think of it, I can think of a bunch of great stuff Web 3.0 ought to do – but in the meantime, I have to study my terminology and learn the difference between DKI and DKNY. When my marketing guru mentioned Pay Per Clicks, I thought she was talking about paper clips – I guess I have a long way to go!

How do moms call in sick?

2008-03-05T12:59:00.000-08:00

It's been over 20 years since I held any kind of normal job with sick leave, and while I relish the flexibility and freedom of being a self-employed freelancer, there are definite disadvantages, many of which crop up when I'm sick. In particular - If I don't work, I don't get paid! Plus many of the things I do can't be cancelled or subbed out (a rehearsal with 25 people needing me to teach them music, or an early-morning choral program where I'd have to notify the kids' parents 2 days in advance). As I was sipping hot tea, blowing my nose and feeling sorry for myself, it occurred to me that all moms have the same problem - at least those of us without full-time nannies who will also take care of us!

Moms can't call in sick and have a temp worker drive the carpool, find the missing ballet shoes, or figure out something new to do with chicken for dinner. I hope that many of us have supportive spouses who will pitch in, occasionally helpful older kids, or a good pizzeria on speed-dial, but there are always times when only mom will do. In our house, that tends to be right before bedtime, when I'm already half-asleep, but David HAS to talk to me about something critical or Ben can't find something he was supposed to bring to school 3 days ago.

My girlfriend and I fantasize about having a backup clone of ourselves, a version of "Anne B. Davis as Alice" from The Brady Bunch, a briskly efficient, wry, uniformed gofer who will clean house, lovingly reprimand the kids, and compete with us as to who makes the best strawberry jam. And that dream is never more tantalizing than when I really wish someone else could declutter my family room, make Ben clean out the stray papers in his backpack and go pick up David after rehearsal tonight, naturally on a night my husband has to work late. Oh well - the best I can do is to 'call in sick' to myself and give myself permission to order takeout. while I watch "Real Housewives of Manhattan" and feel smugly superior by comparison!

My 15 minutes of fame

2008-02-26T13:27:00.000-08:00

Last week I was a guest on "The View From The Bay", a local afternoon talk show which includes cooking tips, interviews with a movie star plugging his latest release, and hints on how to defuzz your old sweaters. I was on as a 'mom comic' promoting an upcoming one-woman show, and it was a wonderful taste of celebrity on a minor, mixed level. On the one hand, it was a real thrill to be asked; lots of my friends saw it (especially the ones I asked to watch!), and people who didn't even know me saw it and came to the performance - wow, TV exposure works! And it was really fun to be in 'the green room', where the producers offered me an array of snacks and water bottles, and to chat with talk show hosts who really are as personable as they appear on camera. On the other hand, the hair and makeup people were only there for the woman who was the 'After' in the makeover segment, so there I crouched trying to make myself look 10 lbs. thinner, while a crowd of experts ignored me. Plus it turned out the hosts & crew had a location shoot immediately afterwards - since I was the last guest, that meant that 10 seconds after I was done, the studio was completely empty until a production assistant remembered he'd forgotten to show me out.

But the weirdest part was realizing what that kind of exposure must be like for people who are out there every day, given the range of people we all deal with. I mean, huge celebrities probably have a coterie of attendants who follow them around, but there have got to be some B-listers who buy their own groceries and drive themselves to the mall. So there are salespeople, accountants, and aestheticians out there, seeing someone on TV and thinking, Hey, I just did his taxes! I just talked her into a brazilian bikini wax! I kept thinking, if my hairdresser sees this, she's going to yell at me, I know I didn't do it the way she does!

My 15 minutes may be over, or just starting - but it's fun to have kids in one of my classes say, Hey, I saw you on TV! You're famous!, or to email my mom a link to the website with clips, saying, Okay, NOW do you understand why I didn't go to law school?

Maternal Schizophrenia

2008-02-19T08:08:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I am overwhelmed by the combination of feelings I get for my kids. They drive me nuts AND I love them intensely. Over the past couple of weeks they both had bouts of flu, and nothing tugs at your maternal heartstrings like a wan, feverish 11-year-old looking up at you with big puppy eyes saying, “Mommy, I’m sorry I puked on the rug!” Or a 14-year-old with a horrible racking cough, worrying that he’s being babyish by asking you to sit with him and rub his back til the cough subsides. And nothing is more frustrating than having two siblings who are too sick to go to school, but healthy enough to be bored, to be cranky, and to pick fights with each other.

When I was a single mom and dating Scott (otherwise known as Husband 2.0), after a long spell of no overnight visitation, the kids finally started spending Wednesday nights with their dad. On the first weeknight, I was out of town on a gig and flew back just in time to plunge in and pick the kids up. I called 2.0 from the airport while I was waiting to board my flight, and ended up sobbing, saying, “My first weeknight off from kids, and I didn’t get a break, and I’m going right back into kidland!” The following Wednesday night, I had no gig, so I dropped the kids off and went over to Scott’s apartment, where I had a huge bout of maternal angst, worrying about how the kids were doing, how weird it was to be without them. Scott gave me a puzzled look – “Last week you were sobbing because you weren’t getting a break from your kids. This week you’re sobbing because you GET a break – which is it?” And as any mom can tell you – it’s both! They drive you crazy AND you love them intensely and I guess that’s what keeps us dealing with their fights, rubbing their backs, and cleaning up their puke.

On a less disgusting note – one night I came upstairs to find Ben, my 11-year-old, cuddled up with Scott in our bed, reading. The sight was so touching, I burst into tears, and then had to explain that I was crying because I was happy, a concept which made no sense to Ben. However, it apparently made an impression, because the next night, as I approached the bedroom, I heard Ben saying, “Quick, get over here, let’s make mom cry again!” (Like the scene in Annie Hall where Woody Allen tries to recreate the escaped lobster hilarity with an unimpressed date – it just doesn’t work a second time!)

Red Hot Mama

2008-01-27T20:56:00.000-08:00

It happened again today – I was in a room with several women “of a certain age” (too young for Medicare, too old to text proficiently) and one of them said, “Is it hot in here or is it just me?” Everyone started commiserating about her hot flashes, and I started wondering if we’re not overstating it a bit. I mean, I wake up in the middle of the night once in awhile feeling a bit clammy, but from what I’ve read, only a small percentage of women have debilitating symptoms – and yet to hear them talk, every single one of us over 35 is spending every moment of every day and night sweating uncontrollably. Apparently perimenopause (which didn’t even exist 20 years ago) lasts 15 years . . . ?

It reminds me of being a teenager when most of my friends had started their periods – they took pride in complaining about their hideous cramps, and I, as a late bloomer, felt totally left out of the club. I actually resorted to borrowing nickels once a month because, “You know”! (Okay, even if I weren’t discussing menopausal symptoms, I just dated myself – how long has it been since tampons cost a nickel?) Once I finally started, I realized that sure, cramps happened occasionally, but not nearly as often or as universally as the other girls claimed, in their zeal to fit in.

Or maybe it’s more like the first time I got high, my sophomore year of college (yeah, I was a late bloomer here too). I was so intent on figuring out exactly what I was feeling, I took notes and kept wondering (and writing), “Is this it? I don’t know if I just feel weird or if I’m really high, nahh, I don’t think anything is really happening, although gee, for some strange reason I’m really hungry and my mouth feels like it’s full of cotton.” Likewise, I keep wondering, Is this an actual hot flash?, when actually, it's just hot!

Maybe all of us are going through the same doubts – is this really it? – and figure, what the heck, it’s fun to commiserate and to be part of the gang. Besides, it’s even more fun to complain about hot flashes and to hear someone say, But you’re way too young for menopause. Meanwhile I can look forward to the real thing (and the end of cramps!)

Boys and snails and puppy dog tails

2008-01-23T08:47:00.000-08:00

I went to a meeting the other night, where the hostess had put out a lovely display of appetizers, assorted drinks, and plates which all actually matched. When one of the attendees complimented her on her lovely home, her response was to apologize that she hadn’t had time to clean the bathroom, because of some work deadlines and a new puppy. So naturally I had to go use the bathroom to see for myself – it was neater than a bathroom has ever dreamed of being in my house! (The tiny pawprint on the bathmat even looked artistic.) Several of the childless women at the meeting compared notes on their pets and agreed it was great practice for when they eventually had kids.

I kept myself from laughing out loud, but only with difficulty. I mean, you can train a dog to do all sorts of things for an occasional biscuit or pat on the head, but I have yet to come up with a bribe (or punishment) that will ensure my boys flush the toilet, much less put the seat down. Sure, puppies need training and company and supervision when they’re young, but they’re housebroken at 2 or 3 months – honey, it takes a BIT longer with a human. If your dog needs a bath, you give him one (or take him to the groomers), you don’t have to convince him that after a day including PE., ultimate frisbee, and walking home from the bus, he smells terrible. and needs to shower, and by the way, please remember to wash under his arm. Dogs don’t need help with homework, they don’t need rides to rehearsals or lessons or practice (or require 5 cross-referenced carpools), and they never say, “Eww, dog food again? I hate this brand!” (However, in fairness to my boys, they’ve never chewed up any of my shoes or burrowed in the kitchen garbage.)

So while I chuckle at dog owners who really think they're prepared for motherhood, I'm glad I have both boys and a dog, and there is nothing sweeter than cuddling with a sleepy boy on one side and an affectionate mutt terrier on the other side, even if none of my appetizer plates match and my downstairs bathroom is a science project.

"Today I am a man"

2008-01-12T08:38:00.000-08:00

Those are the cliche words from barmitzvah speeches - which David didn't actually say - and of course it seems ridiculous to regard a 13-year-old boy as a man, but at what point does he make that transition? With girls it's easy to point to the day she starts her period, but boys don't have any milestone that specific. Is it his first shave? his first nocturnal emission? his first paycheck? For us, the turning point may be the fact that over the past 2 months, David has become taller than I am, seemingly overnight. For a couple of weeks we were the same height, and suddenly, I'm wearing 2 inch heels and looking up at him. I realize that many mothers go through this when their sons are 12 or even younger, but it still feels like a major transition. And naturally I've got 2 boys on opposite ends of the spectrum - David is a 'late bloomer', and Ben had underarm hair (and the accompanying body odor) when he was 9.

This is yet another instance where my mom can claim Mother Nature is having her revenge on me (just like when David was a preschooler and turned out to be as picky an eater as I'd been). She dealt with 2 daughters at dramatically different developmental stages - I'm the oldest and didn't need a bra til I was 17, whereas my sister, 3 years younger, was a C cup in 7th grade. I worried for years that I'd never have a period and I'd be barren forever; two months after I finally started (at 15), my sister had her first period and promptly announced she wanted a hysterectomy.

Dad had read an article encouraging fathers to treat the onset of menses as a special occasion, so he announced he'd take us each out for a fancy brunch after we'd 'become a woman'. (Of course, this was when I was 9 - it was a LONG wait!, but worth it.) Nancy, on the other hand, decided it was disgusting (she had decided she couldn't leave the house, because everyone would "know"), so she informed Dad that brunch would have to wait until menopause (which is, naturally, sneaking up on her faster than it is on me, according to our recent comparison of hot flashes.)

I love the idea of celebrating my boys' development, but I still haven't figured out a logical occasion. David's hebrew teacher encouraged us to commemorate the bar mitzvah the way his mother had: "Son, in the eyes of Jewish law, you are now an adult. Here's how to do your laundry" - but that's not quite it. I guess I'll wait til they get driver's licenses and can drive me to brunch?, but in the meantime, I'll enjoy the fact that David actually does his laundry - occasionally - and I'll keep shopping for higher heels!

OMG: We srvivd b4 txtng, FYI!

2008-01-04T10:49:00.000-08:00

Has texting gone a bit haywire? Teens don’t talk on the phone, they don’t even email, they just send cryptic abbreviations that have english teachers worrying about the future of accurate spelling. I feel like the old curmudgeon, complaining that kids today don’t know how to parse a sentence or churn their own butter, and reminiscing about the good old days of fountain pens that leaked and cars without power steering.

I’m all for keeping up with technology – I love email for transacting business or keeping up with friends whose schedules don’t jive with mine, and an iPod is much more convenient than those old bulky walk-mans (not to mention 8-track tapes). However, this texting craze seems to have gotten out of hand – it’s one thing to send a quick text to someone in a meeting, so you don’t interrupt anything (Pls PU kds @ 3, thnx), but I had to institute a no-texting rule in my carpools, because apparently teenagers can’t wait 15 minutes to reply to an urgent message about who said what to whom about you know what, RUOK?, and the incessant clicking sound from 3 competing phones was driving me crazy.

I’m actually lucky – I have boys, who aren’t nearly as committed to texting as most girls. And my younger son is the only 11-year-old on the planet who doesn’t have a cell phone (am I also a neanderthal in that area? I think he can wait til he’s 13, since it's the big incentive for him to go through his bar mitzvah, and besides, this way he has something else to complain about, on top of our house having no 2nd t.v., no wii, game cube, etc., and the only mother in the world who makes her kid read occasionally).

I can decipher the lingo, BTW, I jst dnt thnk its gr8 2 tlk w/o vowels or punctuation. So I'll allow some texting, but minimal, and let the kids have even more to complain about. Oh well, I thought my parents were behind the times because their idea of a wild night out was their contract bridge club and I introduced them to recycling. I can’t wait to see what my future grandchildren think of my boys!

Boys' Town

2007-12-31T08:42:00.000-08:00

As the lone female surrounded by males (3 boys - my 2 sons and my husband), it's a struggle to preserve even a bit of civility. Oh sure, I insist they open doors for me, I make them help me in the kitchen, but to give you an idea of the testosterone overload around here, their favorite game is Dodgeball In The Dark, where they go in the backyard and throw things at each other. Yesterday was a good snapshot of the dynamic in our house: We wanted to watch different movies on t.v., so we compromised by going back and forth between Alien Resurrection and Steel Magnolias. Five minutes of female bonding and lines like "My personal problems will not interfere with my ability to do good hair!", then five minutes of flamethrowers and slimy monsters with dripping tentacles. (Although in a way, both movies dealt with maternal love . . . .)

You might wonder why we didn't just watch our respective movies on different televisions - as my boys will tell anyone, we are the only neanderthals in the world who don't have a second t.v. (I didn't want one in the boys' rooms or the living room, and then my husband read somewhere that couples without a t.v. in the bedroom have more sex, so that was it for us!) Besides, having just one set is so much more educational: I got to watch Sigourney Weaver bond with her alien spawn, and the boys got to hear Dolly Parton say, "That boy is so confused, he doesn't know whether to scratch his watch or wind his butt!"

The Happy Homemaker - not!

2007-12-30T15:03:00.000-08:00

Lately I’ve been having these odd domestic urges; I love the idea of making hearty stews from scratch, getting rid of clothes the boys outgrew 3 years ago, decoupaging the driveway. Usually I take a nap instead. But this time of year lends itself to domesticity – colder weather, shorter days, kids home on vacation whining about being bored. I was actually cooking the other day while Ben watched t.v., and a commercial came on urging moms to order a cake-decorating kit, which brought out all my insecurities. I hadn’t even baked cookies in ages, and here, for the low low price of $19.95, I could get everything I needed to produce professionally decorated cakes at home! As the announcer continued, “But wait, ladies, there’s more!” and the camera panned over various bags, tips, and stencils, I actually started toward the phone until I heard Ben say, “Mom, that’s totally stupid!” I snapped out of my trance, thrilled that my 11-year-old had either seen through slick advertising techniques or developed early feminist leanings. Beaming with pride, I asked him why it was stupid, and he responded promptly, “Duh, mom, it doesn’t even come with a cake!”

Out of the mouths of babes . . .

If at first you don't succeed . . .

2007-12-24T08:44:00.000-08:00

Sometimes you have to keep trying - with kids, work, training husbands, etc. And sometimes you accidentally stumble on a solution. So here are a few examples (of perserverance and accidental genius) to inspire or to reassure you . . .

- I hit the wall last week with general disrespect, messiness, bickering, complaining, etc. (you know, the usual) and finally got fed up enough to draw up a contract (listing privileges they now had to earn, and the behaviors I expected). The list itself wasn’t all that unusual, but what made it effective was that I posted it on the refrigerator – the thought of a friend or neighbor seeing it was mortifying, so now all I have to do is threaten to put it out again, and they improve dramatically!

- Post-it Notes came from an adhesive that didn’t work very well – things kept falling off, so the inventor repositioned it and voila!

- Meredith Wilson was a semi-successful bandleader whose biggest claim to fame was working on Tallulah Bankhead’s radio show and responding to one question a week with “Yes sir, Miss Bankhead.” He worked for 8 years on a little show about his hometown, and finally got it produced when he was 55. For non-theatre-buffs, the show was “The Music Man” – perhaps you’ve heard of it? – As someone approaching the big 5-0, I love this story of overnight success after over 30 years!

- One of the more memorable features of the original “Bob Newhart Show” was his distinctive fashion sense (using the term loosely – do you remember the orange plaid jackets with green houndstooth trousers?) Turns out the show had a wardrobe coordinator whom everyone adored, but who happened to be color blind – no one wanted to hurt the man’s feelings, and thus a look was born.

Moral of the stories: If I hang in there for years, I can turn accidents into success, and embarrassment is highly motivating!

Celebrity moms make us look good!

2007-12-21T10:33:00.000-08:00

I've read dozens of interviews with celebrity moms who insist they're just like us (only richer, thinner, and more touched-up?) -Holly Robinson Peete unwinds by doing yoga breathing with her kids, Teri Hatcher loves to bake cookies with her daughter (without ever eating them, apparently), and Katie Holmes loves creating holiday rituals with her daughter & stepkids "just like any normal family" (who subscribe to a religion given to us by aliens, but whatever). But hearing from these blissfully serene moms will make anyone look inferior, so here are some examples to make you feel better about your mothering skills:

Of course, if you haven't been in a monastery, you know about Britney's pregnant kid sister, and you may have heard about the mom's parenting advice book which is now 'delayed although still planned'. (This announcement came from the publisher, a Christian book company - am I the only one who finds that amusing?) What's more, Jamie Lynn met the boyfriend in church, and mom Lynne can't believe it happened since "my daughter has never missed a curfew" (I guess abstinence-only education teaches people that you can't have sex before 10 p.m.?)

I also happened to pick up Joan Collins' autobiography, in which she describes herself as a dedicated mother whose children are the center of her universe. She enjoyed them so much that she was sometimes willing to stay home and "babysit on Nanny's night off". So, see, when we decide not to go club-hopping, we too can be devoted moms who babysit our own children!

Have you heard about the new Jennifer Lopez? Impending motherhood has made her "trade the fast lane for the carpool lane", so this newly down-to-earth mom is spending most of her time decorating the nurseries. Yes, that's a plural - planning kids' rooms for 3 houses is time-consuming, but fortunately friends are buying most of the items for which she registered at LA boutique Petit Tresor, including silk crib sheets and a $590 designer diaper bag. (I'd hate to see what she would have wanted before she became so down-to-earth!)

I don't know why, but these stories make me feel much better!

Thanks for the mammaries?

2007-12-19T06:21:00.000-08:00

I'm not sure if I'd be thinking about breasts in any case, given my advanced age and the advancing effects of gravity, but they're certainly on my mind because of my boys and their different perspective. (I'm referring to all 3 boys, my kids and my husband!) Ben, the younger one, is curious about everything, and I find myself repeating, "I'm not sure why nipples aren't a private place for boys but they are for girls, and no, you can't see mine!" David's only reaction to me is to express abject horror when my attire reveals the slightest glimpse of cleavage – he will only reveal his curiosity to my husband. The other night, David tentatively asked Scott about the first time he got to ‘second base’ (can you believe kids still use that antiquated terminology and yet still think sex was invented in 1990?) Scott blissfully described the time a girl took off her shirt and let him fondle the coveted objects. David seemed disappointed. “That’s it? You just touched them?” Scott nodded, happily ensconced in his memory, and unsure why David seemed to be expecting a better climax to the story (pun intended).

The subject came up again (good grief, I can’t stop myself) Sunday when we attended a dinner for Scott’s band and their families. (One of Scott’s various jobs is singing with a big band – yep, I’m married to a wedding singer, and much cuter than Adam Sandler!) The boys and I ended up sitting near a new mom, and when the baby got fussy, the mother matter-of-factly began nursing at the table – with no discreet blanket or covering. I realized I’d never seen anyone nursing that openly since I’d done it myself, and to my complete surprise I felt a faint prickling, like the phantom limb feeling amputees describe. I looked tenderly at the former infants I once suckled – Ben was openly staring, with a gleeful smirk on his face, and David alternated between trying to ignore her and sneeking peeks. Gosh, they grow up fast!

Mom, how'd you do it?

2007-12-16T16:08:00.000-08:00

I wrote earlier about how things were simpler for our moms (no working vs. stay-home mom debate, no agonizing through thousands of child-care advice books), but in the interest of fairness (since my mom might read this!), progress has resulted in some real sanity-savers, and not just the big obvious ones like cellphones and minivans with cupholders. Here are a few advantages we have over our moms -

Ziploc bags - Think of all the uses to which we put this underappreciated invention, especially when our kids are younger (snacks, pacifiers, diaper wipes when we lose the travel size pouch and don't want to carry the Costco 500-pack in our purses), but they also come in handy as pastry bags, cosmetic organizers, or a way to bring home the goldfish your kid won at the raffle. Granted, these days we're supposed to pack school lunches in re-usable containers, but I'm sure most of us revert to the occasional ziploc bag, which is so much easier than the waxed paper I vaguely recall from childhood. (Waxed paper is right up there with other memories of obsolete items shared by our generation, like rotary phones, 8-track tapes, sanitary belts, and E-ticket rides at Disneyland.)

Self-adhesive postage stamps - Does anyone else remember those contraptions that had a small water bottle attached to a sponge-tip? Or the home-made one of a wet sponge in a saucer? I don't really miss the taste of postage stamps, but it is weird to think that our kids won't know what they tasted like (joining other sense memories like the sound of chalk squeaking, the smell of purple mimeographed papers, or the sound of the little bell instructing the teacher to advance the film strip).

Stretch jeans - I don't buy jeans anymore without that lovely hint of spandex, just enough to make them comfortable. In jr. high I remember buying jeans, lying down in a bathtub and soaking them while I was wearing them, then letting them dry to achieve a decent fit. But they never felt right until they'd been worn and washed so much that they were barely held together by the remaining threads (which of course meant you had to cover the really embarrassing worn spots with embroidered flowers and peace signs). That was fine when I was 13 and weight 85 pounds - but it also explains why our mothers never wore jeans!

In trying to find more example of the benefits of progress, I considered including cable t.v., tivo/dvrs/vcrs, all the various ways that let us watch what we want when we want, but I also miss the days when a scheduled t.v. special was a real event. We used to make a big deal out of the yearly airing of The Wizard of Oz - when I was really young, I would try to convince myself I was rooting for the witch instead of Dorothy, so I wouldn't get so scared! In those days, we only had a black & white t.v., and by the time we got a color set (here's another bit of pop culture history - our color t.v. was a Heathkit that my dad and my uncle built!), I was in high school and too busy with activities to stay home on Wizard of Oz night. As a result, I never knew about the color section in Oz, until I got to college, where during finals week the film society would lighten the mood with one night of kiddie movies (and one night of porn, but that's another story). When Dorothy stepped out of the house and things burst into lurid color, I just figured I'd picked up a contact high from all the smoke in the room.
Note - I've told an edited version of this story to my kids, and of course they react to my story of a black & white t.v. the way I reacted to my mother's stories about using an outhouse on the farm where she spent summers. My kids also can't grasp why I didn't just rent the movie, or tivo it - after trying unsuccessfully to explain life without videos, I gave up, and they gave me the look we gave my dad when he claimed he'd had to walk 20 miles to school, uphill in both directions.

Oh please!

2007-12-12T16:40:00.000-08:00

I'm reading an article on iVillage that purports to be about 'shocking mom confessions', where moms oh-so-honestly admit their failings. Are you shocked by this? - "Some nights I don't pick up all my son's toys because he'll just take them out again tomorrow." Or are you horrified by the mom who sheepishly owns up to making pbj's for dinner when she's tired?, or the one who shamelessly reveals that when her toddler falls down, if he's not hurt, she helps him laugh off his fall? Come on, iVillage - you couldn't find any worse examples? Or are you staffed by a bunch of Stepford moms who really think those are shameful confessions?
They should've asked me for better ones. Like when Ben was a toddler, he was a frightening combination of incredibly active and very heavy, plus he hated being carried and wouldn't hold my hand, so most of the time I had him on one of those leash contraptions. Let's just say we got some REALLY dirty looks, but I never considered giving up my precious leash. And am I the only mother who's had one (or two, or dozens) of those sleep-deprived brain-burps where we forgot to change a diaper, left the house without the baby, or put the bottle in the freezer and the teething ring in the microwave? How's this for bad mothering - Even though I'd been warned about the inappropriate language, I took my kids to Jersey Boys (how could I resist?, I knew someone in the cast who offered us a backstage tour), and I laughed as hard as they did at the worst (and funniest) swearing. And my husband isn't immune - granted, he's 'husband 2.0' and thus not the boys' father (although he's a terrific stepdad), but this supposed role model of adult male behavior will arm-wrestle his stepsons for the last bowl of Lucky Charms in the morning. One night the boys were arguing over who had more pubic hair, so naturally Ben pulled down his pants to prove he had some. David pulled down his pants and claimed his was more genuine, so to break up the dispute, Scott announced, "You wanna see REAL pubic hair?" and dropped his own trousers. (That's what it's like to be the only female in a testosterone-infused house!)

How things have changed since we were kids

2007-12-11T10:05:00.000-08:00

Sometimes it's fun to reminisce about how our childhoods differ from our kids' (and how they're similar). In so many basic ways, things are basically the same, in that I grew up in the suburbs, went to school, had after school activities, a dog, carpools, etc. Kids are pretty oblivious to the things that make a practical difference to moms (microwaves, ziplock bags, disposable diapers, aromatherapy, spanx). Of course there are the obvious changes in technology - our kids can't fathom life without cellphones, email or gameboys, but in practical terms, all those devices just help us do what we used to do (communicate or play) more efficiently - leaving us more time to surf through 900 channels instead of 9, and still find nothing to watch.
I'm more fascinated by the weird side effects of technological change. For example, I just read about a new psychological disorder in young kids, complicating their toilet training because of their fear of automatic flush toilets. My kids are old enough to have been completely toilet trained and then some before the invasion of automatic toilets, which at least around here (suburban California) are pretty recent. But toddlers are freaked out by toilets that go off without any warning - frankly, it scared the daylights out of me the first time! - and there are now child psychologists who specialize in treating this phobia. (Side note - I just heard from a friend who has lived in Japan: apparently toilets there are incredibly high tech, with automatic seat warmers, various buttons to activate different digitalized sprays, sanitizers and washes, and now some even higher-tech toilets can process and analyze urine samples. I shudder to think what those contraptions will do to toilet-phobic toddlers!)
Another side effect of technology that cracks me up - disposable diapers advertising a new feature, a "feel wet liner". Apparently, disposable diapers are SO effective that kids don't mind wearing them, which is another disruption of toilet training. So now when you think your kid is ready to be trained, you switch to diapers which are intentionally LESS effective, so the kid feels less comfortable and is more willing to sit on the potty seat. My mother likes to remind me that all 3 of her kids were toilet trained before our second birthdays - but we weren't precocious, we just didn't like sitting in soggy cloth diapers. My younger son's toilet training ran just a bit later than the introduction of new sizes of disposable diapers, fortunately, because he was (and is) a big kid; so just when I despaired of him ever being out of pullups, they introduced size 5, and then size 6 - and then he finally gave them up, just before I would have to have switched him to Depends.
I'll write again when I can think of some non-bathroom-related examples of technology gone awry.

Thank goodness for small giggles

2007-12-10T09:32:00.000-08:00

This is a generally stressful time of year - hell, our lives are stressful all year round, it's just crazier (and colder) right now. But just when I'm ready to snap (or to start crying at stupid Hallmark specials), it's nice to have something remind me not to take it all so seriously. Yesterday I had to go to a family-education-day at my boys' religious school (while normally I get the house to myself on Sunday mornings), and in a fairly heavy session on 'The December Dilemma' (dealing with Chanukah in a secular Christian world, not to mention interfaith families, which is my situation), one dad told us about an ad he'd seen, reminding customers to 'order their Chanukah Ham!' (Okay, it's only funny if you know that ham isn't kosher, so even jews who don't keep kosher know better than to eat ham or shellfish on jewish holidays. But in the middle of a deep discussion, it made me laugh!)
That night, I went to see a friend's cabaret show, and while I wanted to be a supportive friend, I was stressed getting out of the house and wishing it was scheduled on a different weekend, and as a jewish mom in an interfaith family in a neighborhood overloaded with Christmas, I wasn't exactly excited about yet more Christmas music. A few songs into the concert, her guitarist began this fun, funky lick, and they went into a crazy jazz version of "It Came Upon A Midnight Clear" - and I started laughing. Out loud. So much so that the singer noticed, and commented, "Gee I guess Lauren likes this arrangement!" (I felt a little like Mary Tyler Moore in the Chuckles The Clown Funeral episode - I'll blog about that one later, if you've never seen it . . . . . )
So now I'm keeping my eyes and ears open for those unexpected moments that crack me up - while I'm simultaneously looking for examples of super moms imploding! (That's both funny and incredibly evilly satisfying!)

Getting older

2007-12-06T14:44:00.000-08:00

I can't lie about my age - I made the mistake of letting my kids know how old I was, several years ago, and naturally, they can't remember what day of the week it is, but they remember that one instance and can even do the math to figure out how old I am now! So I'm 49 today. Not as impressive as the big 5-0 but getting there. Tom Lehrer is a comedic songwriter from the 60s, who warped my perspective early on with songs like "Poisoning Pigeons In The Park" and "The Masochism Tango" - he used to get a huge laugh with his line, "When I want to get depressed, I think about the fact that when Mozart was my age, he'd been dead for 5 years." My equivalent version is realizing that when my mother was my age, she was already hinting about wanting grandchildren! My brother was in graduate school, my sister was married, and I had already lived the starving artist life in New York for 5 years after college graduation, and had moved to San Francisco in an attempt to meet straight men.
This morning, the Today show had a panel of men talking about turning 50. How timely, right? Most of the discussion involved how men struggle with talking about and acknowledging their feelings, and let's just say, that's never been my problem. My kids are actually pretty used to it - one evening I came into our bedroom, and my husband was snuggled up next to Ben (the 11-year-old), reading together before bedtime, and I was so overwhelmed, I burst into tears. The next night, Ben tried to recreate the moment, telling Scott how to sit, saying "Let's make mom cry again!" (Side note - medical studies have analyzed the chemical composition of various types of tears, and there is a stress hormone released in emotional tears which is not present in tears shed when your eyes water from irritation or other sources - so actually, it's GOOD for us to cry!)
Anyway, listening to these men talk about the various issues they were facing, and how rare it was for men to have those conversations, made me grateful yet again to be a woman, and to have women friends with whom I'm comfortable complaining about perimenopausal symptoms or reassuring each other we're still cute enough to shop at Forever 21.
And at least so far I'm fine with this whole aging thing. When someone asked my father if he was upset about turning 70, he said, "Hell, no, not when I consider the alternative!" That's one way of looking at the glass half-full - but I also have so much to look forward to, and while it would be fun to do all those things with 20-year-old knees and a less sagging jawline, I wouldn't give up my wealth of experiences for a return to the bounciness and cluelessness of youth. I may feel differently next year - but for now, I'm wearing my Forever 21 top and fun dangling earrings and feeling pretty darned cute!

Why we're so neurotic, part 2

2007-12-03T13:52:00.000-08:00

Here's another thought - until very recently, motherhood was something that just happened to most women. (My father likes to point to a photo from my parents' 40th anniversary party, where they were surrounded by all their grandchildren, and say, "See, here's a dynasty that basically started because I was horny!") Couples got married and kids followed - but these days, because of the miracle of birth control, motherhood is a choice, and consequently we feel all this pressure to make it an all-encompassing, thoroughly blissful, utterly rewarding choice. "I wanted this - I should feel more blessed!" And then when we have those moments of frustration with our kids, exhaustion, boredom, etc, we feel guilty for not enjoying it, for not being consumed with gratitude.
I'm not advocating going back to the 50s/60s model of parenting. That wealth of information that confounds us also taught me that there are better remedies for teething pain than rubbing bourbon on a baby's gums. And thanks to birth control, couples don't have to get married at 19 to have sex, and I was able to choose when I had my kids. But like any huge social change, this evolution of motherhood is bound to be a bit rocky for those of us in the trenches. So we need to give ourselves permission to keep what worked from the 50s motherhood model - I read one article by a well-respected pediatrician who advocated less helicopter parenting and more 'benign neglect' - let your kids be bored, let them figure out how to make their own snacks, let them fail a test if they don't study, let them be hungry if they don't like what we're serving for dinner. We survived! (We also survived lead-based paint, station wagons without seatbelts, and sunbathing without sunscreen - kids are pretty darned resilient.) Our mothers had a host of other problems with which to contend, but for the most part they didn't drive themselves nuts worrying about whether they were good mothers, or feeling guilty because they occasionally didn't like being mothers, they just did it, or sent us out to play and figured we'd come home when we were hungry or bleeding.
Maybe we can embrace what works about modern parenting (helpful information, knowing that we are an important influence on our kids) but retain some of the common sense our parents practiced, and remember that we're all just doing the best we can at any moment, this is an incredibly difficult job, and no one is perfect. And a sense of humor always helps - when my boys are driving me crazy with their fighting, I try to remember when they also crack each other up with hideously inappropriate humor. (My 14-year-old taught the 11-year-old a trick from doing musicals, where the boys would add ". . . in my pants" to every song title. This resulted in such boy-friendly jokes as the song list from Music Man, including "76 trombones in my pants", etc. . . . . ) Ah, the joys of being a mom!

Why we're so neurotic

2007-11-30T14:40:00.000-08:00

It's not just our imagination - it IS more complicated to be a mother these days. Don't get me wrong, there are all sorts of ways in which life has improved since the 60s and 70s (computers, fat-free microwave popcorn, equal rights, etc.), but being a mom is so much more challenging, no wonder we're so crazed.
- When our mothers were in our shoes, there was ONE book widely available - Dr. Spock. It contained such revolutionary advice as "Feed babies when they're hungry, not on a set schedule". He told parents - trust your gut, your instincts are sound, you know your kids better than anyone, so relax! Now there are over 78,000 parenting books just on Amazon.com, 691,000 websites if you google 'parenting advice', not to mention t.v. shows, magazines, and more. No matter what your instinct is, there will be an expert out there telling you you're wrong, and we are so bombarded with conflicting information that it's impossible to sort through it all.
- More and more women are delaying child-bearing and work before (or during) child-rearing. So you have an unprecedented number of stay-home moms who used to work (and put all that energy, drive, and organizational ability into raising perfect kids) , plus the economic necessity for more women to work while they raise kids. Thus we have the stay-home-vs.-working-mom war (where each side seems to need to show how much better its choice is). Plus older moms have more invested in their kids; women who left the work force need to prove that their kids were worth it; and working moms feel the need to compensate for the games/shows/assemblies they miss. And no matter what your working status is, there are numerous studies and articles to prove you're doing irreperable damage to your kids. (This is a real-life variation on the Jewish mother joke, about the mom who gives her son 2 ties, and when he puts one on, she complains, "So you didn't like the other one?" My grandmother told my aunt that all her kids' problems were because she stayed home with them and smothered them; meanwhile she told my mother that all our problems were because she worked and neglected us!)
40 years ago, a working mother was a rarity, and just 'being a mom' was considered plenty to do. If a woman worked, it was usually either because she was particularly good at something or because the family needed the income, and either way, the neighbors understood and pitched in to help. There was no working vs. stay-home mom war, and also no pressure on women to be amazing executives (or whatever) while cooking gourmet meals, wearing a size 2, and attending every self-esteem-building assembly.
- Then factor in all the pressures on us to be perfect in other ways. For example, 40 years ago, the average fashion model weighed about 5 % less than the average American woman. Now, that discrepancy has exploded, so the images we're seeing in the media are of women who weigh 35-40% less than we do - is it any wonder we're more screwed up (and frustrated) about body image, diet, and attractiveness?

Okay, I can't change all these societal issues single-handedly - hell, I can't usually manage to find my keys on a given day, much less make homemade cupcakes. But at least I can tell other moms - you're not alone!

Am I too old to blog?/Messy boys

2007-11-29T14:49:00.000-08:00

I'm not sure I get this whole blogging thing. Sort of like a journal except you let people read it? I feel like such a dinosaur - I haven't read many blogs at all, and I wonder a) if anyone will ever read mine, and b) how people who read blogs find the time? Is a grown woman starting a blog the equivalent of an adult talking in text-ese? (OMG, I have to text my BFF ASAP, it's so LOL!)
So - if anyone is reading this and thinking about coming back for more, let me assure you that this blog will not be a minute-by-minute description of the boring details of my day (except if a small part of it is really funny), and I promise not to go into poetical accounts of diaper changing. (I'd hope not, my kids are 11 and 14!) By now I've gotten over that new-mom sense of being the first and only woman who really understood the joy of having a baby.
Speaking of which - new moms may not want to read any further! See, of course it gets easier, in that my kids can bathe and dress and feed themselves, and occasionally we even have interesting conversations! But 95% of it is tedium, or aggravation, or hassles. So this blog will express what most of us feel but are afraid to admit - sometimes this job sucks! Right now, I'm feeling particularly aggravated with my boys - they are slobs, let's not mince words, and oy I'm getting tired of living in a pigsty. Not that I'm Martha Stewart or even particularly neat, but teenage and preteen boys drop their crap all over the place, leave dishes out, and their feet smell awful! (No, I don't smell their feet - this knowledge comes from the shoes they leave out). I've tried nagging, deducting from allowance, reasoning with them - right now I'm planning on starting a new program, where I take left-out items hostage, and they have to pay a ransom to get them back. The way my kids strew their belongings about, this should provide enough money for me to buy a book on blogging!