NYC Moms

Trying Mushrooms

When my oldest child turned seven I decided to quit my job to stay home with the kids.  It turned out to be the opposite of what most of the other moms were doing.  I'd thought I was joining an amazing network of wonderful stay at home moms, but turns out they, after nurturing their infants into elementary school, were ready to hit the job market again.  I hadn't had much interest in the days in and days out of little babies--so many unreasonable marbles rolling in so many directions--but got really interested in being around to influence homework habits, have the kinds of conversations you can have with fully formed kids, do things with them that they might remember, etc.

So with all this time on my hands and with no other neighborhood moms to do yoga and lunch with, I started to cook real meals for my family.  I like to think I'd have been motivated to do that anyway, but there's no way of knowing. 

Until that point my kids had consisted on chicken nuggets, velveeta shells and cheese, goldfish, ramen noodles, take-out Indian food, and ketchup.  Not necessarily in that order.

When Enough Is Enough

....cross posted from our sister site, Chicago Moms Blog.

I was watching Oprah yesterday when Barbara Walters, of all people (I can't stand her), says something that just struck me to my core. She was talking about her special needs sister and how hard it is for parents of children with autism and that, although they love their children and would do anything for them, sometimes they think "it's just too much."

It's just too much.

I tear up as I even type that right now because really, what is so difficult about saying, "it's just too much" ? Why do I feel like I can't say it out loud when that's really how I feel? And so I did. I said it out loud. And it felt good. I am not the parent of a child with autism. I have been through my share of rough times. But it's just life in general right now that is overwhelming me. Whether it be as a Mother, wife, friend, or plain ol' human being. And I feel like I should pull up my big girl panties and just get over it. Toughen up. Get through the day. But I'm wiped out. I'm exhausted. I'm barely making it through the day and I have to say that this is no way to live, just barely getting by. I've had enough.

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I Hate Housekeeping

"Home, Sweet, Home."  Sometimes, it's messy.  Somtimes it's clean. 

If, for instance, you showed up right now, you might think we'd been robbed.  There are piles of laundry; a tangle of strollers, coats and shoes in the hallway; a pillow and blanket "fort" in the living room; a traffic jam of trucks and cars, leading from room to room; and of course, a fine layer of crumbs on the kitchen floor.   

On the other hand, if you stopped by around 8:00 tonight, you'd find a different scene.  You'd see bins stuffed with toys; pillows neatly arranged on the sofa; shoes in the shoe rack; strollers in a row; and a neat stacks of newspapers and magazines.  The dishwasher and washing machine would be humming in harmony.

Strut your stuff

There are many days that I wonder whether it’s worth it to work. Generally, they are the days where my email is silent as my three year old is in school and my son naps, only to start beeping like crazy as I get email after email from editors demanding instant changes – once my son is awake and only wants to be held and my daughter is begging me to play chase, of course. They are the days when it is beautiful out, and my part-time babysitter gets to take my kids to the park while I sit up in my home office trying to finish an article. And then there’s tax time, when a year’s worth of untaxed paychecks come back to haunt me. Some days, it really doesn’t seem worth it.

But then, an opportunity comes along that I wouldn’t get if I didn’t work. Last month, it was a chance to sit down and chat with Katie Couric. Last Sunday, I had the chance to participate in a mother-child fashion show at Macy's at Herald Square, presented by RoleMommy in honor of women who pursue their passions while raising children.

The Stage Mom

I think I've become one of those moms.  In a matter of milliseconds, I went from being a proud mother watching her daughter take part in a low key ice skating competition at the local rink and in an instant, my pride turned to aggravation. As she took her place in the middle of the rink in her adorable cranberry velvet bedazzled figure skating outfit, we were poised to record one of those lasting memories from your kids' life that you never forget.   The music started - it was Michael Buble's "Everything" (not that I had anything to do with that selection...well sort of, and off she glided.)

Anyway, she was doing beautifully when all of a sudden, a loud alarm started blaring, over and over and over again.  We watched as our daughter continued to skate as best she could and she managed to finish the routine without any mistakes.  But it didn't matter because we were fighting mad.  Instead of giving her the chance to skate again without the incessant sound of a fire bell piercing her eardrums, they decided to stick with the routine she had just performed and move on to the next skater.

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Our Own Private Barenaked Ladies Concert

I love living in NYC.  I love my neighborhood, I love my friends, and I love that unexpected and exciting things happen all the time, with no warning.

Last night, I got an email asking if my daughter and I could go to the Fox 5 Good Day New York studios to be in the audience while the Barenaked Ladies sang songs from their new kids album, Snacktime.  Being a huge BNL fan, my initial reaction was "Do I have to bring a kid?"  But of course I did have to bring a kid.  Actually, the email didn't specify my daughter, but I didn't want to bring my son. He's a lot less predictable, a lot more likely to run up onstage during a live TV broadcast.  So I told him it was only for four-year-olds.

So, Fiona and I hopped on the subway super early (no time for breakfast!) and arrived at their upper east side studios, and the person sent to meet us in the lobby had no idea what to do with us.  She showed us to the green room while she went to "find where they put the other kids."  We walked into the green room, and there's the band!  Eating bagels and hanging out!

Parenting my shy child

Growing up, I thought that being excluded, embarrassed, or teased was the worst thing in the world. But as a parent, I know that watching as your own child stands off to the side while other kids play is much, much worse.

My daughter is only three and a half, so navigating social situations is a new skill she’s working on. She’s a bright, articulate, and funny child – when she’s comfortable. But take her out of her element – the first visit to a schoolmate’s house, for example – and she clams up while trying to wedge her tiny body between my legs. At a recent birthday party, she just watched as all the other kids ran around laughing and jumping on the bouncy castle. When the mother announced that the kids were going to play musical chairs, I knew that it was my timid child who would be pushed to the side first.

My first reaction was to ask the mother not to take any chairs away, so that no kid would ever be “out.” After all, they are only three. But then I wondered whether that was really the right response. By not competing she may not lose, but she’ll never win, either. At some point I know that I’ll need to step back and let my daughter learn how to fight her own battles. I just don’t know when – or how – to let that happen.

A Ziploc? For THAT?

At a recent visit to Washington Market Park, I was witness to a most shocking event. A little boy (“The Pee-er”; names have been left out because I can't remember them) of about 4 years of age, was aided by his caregiver (“The Holder”) in the process of peeing into a Ziploc bag (and I checked, this wasn't on Ziploc's list of suggested uses on ziploc.com). The Holder was laughing and joking with other caregivers about how great of an invention it was, and about how The Pee-er was “too wiggly” and had to keep still.  It should be noted that this child was fully potty trained with regular underwear on - this wasn't a training exercise.  Now, I'm fully aware of how painful (for all parties) it can be to extract a child from the playground for a bathroom trip. But this “solution” left me stunned.

The Perils of NYC Birthday Parties

Usually I’m great at planning parties. I can easily throw together brunch for 12 or New Years Eve for 150 but I just can’t seem to get my kids’ birthday parties right. It’s not as if the date changes. It’s just I’m conflicted about the whole big-birthday-party-thing especially here in New York City where it’s not just about picking the cake but about picking a venue. It requires the systematic skill of a tightrope walker balancing your child’s happiness on one side of the pole with your sense of values on the other side.

Last year, my youngest threw me for a loop. We had celebrated her birthday with the family when she announced she wanted “a disco-dress-up-princess-pirate-sports party” for her friends. At first I was confused. Then my brain shut down completely. Whatever large-life-issues I had swirling around paled in comparison. My fair-haired child with the pixie smile was not only asking for her first party but she had something highly specific in mind and frankly I was not sure I was up to the challenge.

I’d gotten off to a rocky start planning my eldest child’s first party too. I’d picked the Carousel in Central Park only to learn it was the same day as one of

I Love A Good Spanx-ing

My parents always told me: you can be anything you want to be.   Sure, I thought, except a football player (wrong gender), a mathematician (wrong skill set), or a fashion model (just plain wrong). I'm not saying that I'm unattractive, but neither am I runway material...unless the runway is in the supermarket and I'm headed down the cheese aisle.

All that changed, however, when my friends from Role Mommy organized a mother-daughter fashion show at Macy's and invited my daughter and me to be in it.  My daughter, whose first word was “shoe,”  was beside herself with excitement. Me? I wasn’t quite as ready to tackle the runway.

I knew my daughter would look pretty. She’s smiley, she’s (naturally) blond, she’s got the little turned up nose I had until puberty robbed it from me. She’s eight. What could be bad? But what about me? Would I look pretty? Well, I wasn’t gonna look like a fashion model, that’s for sure. I mean, how many Jewish, 5’ 7”, frizzy-haired, size ten fashion models do you know? Something had to be done.

An Embarrassing Lesson in Asserting Myself

I've never been the most assertive person.  I mean, I have my moments.  I dig my heels in once in a while.  But it's usually when I've been thinking about something for a long time, rehearsing in my head what I'm going to say.  When caught off guard, however, I have a hard time pushing for what I need.  This was painfully obvious today, and I ended up making a fool out of myself in front of an audience and cameras because of it.

I had the wonderful opportunity to be in a fashion show at Macy's Herald Square, with my kids.  The show was being presented by RoleMommy.com and was in celebration of moms who are pursuing their passions while raising families.  This was definitely something that I wanted to be involved in, and I was excited.  I mean, who wouldn't want to strut her stuff in front of an audience!  Who wouldn't want people oohing and ahhing over her adorable children?

The fitting on Friday went fairly well.  I did feel like all of the clothes that were pulled for me by the stylist seemed a little old, but I had spent the afternoon reminding my kids that we all had to wear what the fashion show people told us, so I was trying to set a good example.  We finally found an outfit for me that the stylists loved, and while I didn't think it looked all that great on me, I'm not a professional stylist.  In fact, I can barely dress myself.  I go to Old Navy and Target a few times a year and buy what fits.  So I believed them that the outfit looked good.

I Have A Feeling We're Not In Park Slope Anymore

Yesterday I had to go to Manhattan  on the subway with BOTH kids, and not just Manhattan, the Upper East Side, a world away. Logisitics are easy- you just strap em in, strap 'em on and go, it's the frame of mind. You know, people, including myself, make fun of Park Slope all the time. But it is kind of like your mom- only you can make fun of her, the rest of you- back off. I love my small town Brooklyn neighborhood, I feel safe here. Feeling safe to me now means being able to nurse in public without death stares, not worrying about a tantrum, wearing Old Navy Jeans and having an intentional stripe in your hair is ok.

Take My Mother-in-law--PLEASE!! Hahaha

I don’t have a mother-in-law.  By the time my husband was 25, both of his parents were dead.   All I know of his mother was she was pretty, driven, a smoker who played Mahjong, and my daughter’s namesake.  She raised a wonderful boy.  And I am extremely grateful to her for that. 

It may be this lack of a mother-in-law that has led me to romanticize the presence of one.  I see my friends’ mothers-in-law picking up their grandchildren from pre-school.  Mothers-in-law showering grandchildren with affection and adventures. One of my friends has never had anyone but her mother-in-law and her own mother as babysitters.  Still, it seems that none of my friends actually like their mothers-in-law. Why, I ask?  They’re dominating.  They tell the daughter-in-law what to do and/or how to raise the kids.  They give the kids late afternoon snacks.  They play too loudly with the child.  They feel entitled to the child’s time.  Okay, these all sound potentially annoying, but is it that bad?  Yes, they say.  And their own mothers?  Totally different. Their own mothers are a huge help.  They ‘get it’.    Their own mother might bother her, but not like this! Hmmm.  Well, what about you?  You have a son.  You might be a mother-in-law one day.  What will you do?  Then there is either silence or nervous laughter. 

One afternoon, I was having lunch at E.J.s Luncheonette with my son when an older woman sitting next to us struck up a conversation.  She had raised two sons and had a young grandson.  Her sons lived far away and she saw them for major holidays.  Then she said, “You really raise a son for other people.”   I

Ring Around the City

My daughter is four and her friend Zed is 3.  He was over the other day and they played like they usually do, all over the house.  A little tv in the living room, some upper bunk time in my son's room, some action figure exploration, some water play in one of the bathrooms, sometimes they manage to sneak cookies upstairs and I end up vacuuming her bed with one of the funky hose attachments, to get rid of all the crumbs.

At one point the two of them started walking awkwardly across our oriental rug near the kitchen.  They were kind of measuring out their steps and holding hands.  She announced to all of us (Zed's mom, and several older siblings who were doing homework at the kitchen table) that she and Zed were getting married and we'd all have to yell out 'yip yip yerray,' at the right time. 

Katie Couric on Mean Girls (And Boys) Online

The hullabaloo over Miley Cyrus has died down.  My mom said in her inimitable way that “Vanity Fair should be ashamed of itself.”   I think it’s a shame that the magazine, her parents and her managers didn’t handle it better, and there is  nothing  more  troubling and insidious  than  the premature sexualization of teen stars, and really the oversexualization of just about any woman on TV today.  But that’s for another time.

A lot of Moms I know have been thinking about the dark side of the Internet.  I’m not talking about porn sites and pedophile chat rooms, but the idea that the Internet has become a dumping ground, literally, for cruel comments, ostracization and just generally rude and uncivil behavior.  Are some of these sites playing to our basest instinct, the very worst of human nature?

I’ve always been slightly amazed at the vitriolic nature of some blog postings I’ve read, and the exchanges between those who are not “like minded” to say the least.  But now kids are heading to places where they not only unload on their friends and classmates, but unleash the most scurrilous and cruel critiques--all anonymously.

There’s an honesty box you can opt for on your Facebook page that can be a blank slate for anonymous insults from your “friends.”  Then there’s this Juicycampus.com--a website where college kids post completely anonymous gossip about classmates.  At last count it was available on about 60 campuses already, and there’s no telling how many people have been hurt by the nasty comments. You only have to think of the devastation this can have on fragile, developing psyches.  Malicious gossip and back stabbing are nothing new, but somehow when you see it up there in black and white, it’s really disturbing.

I read that a college junior from Baylor was called “the biggest slut on campus,” students at UC Irvine discussed the “most promiscuous sorority girls” at their school.  The Juicycampus website says it has guidelines about defamation, but do the unfortunate students who’ve seen their names there believe that?

Drawing the Line: Helpful or Critical?

The other week I was sitting with my son and another mom friend at my new outpost, Le Pain Quotidien. It was teeming with mothers and children, all happy to have a spot where the strollers fit through the isles and the bathrooms don’t smell. A small toddler, who looked to be about 16 months old, came over to me and my son. After exchanging a few “words” with this pleasant chap, I looked around to see where his mom or dad might be. A man smiled and waved from across the room where he, a woman and another boy, maybe 4, were sitting.

The toddler ran from table to table, as social toddlers do, and I casually tracked him. I think I did mostly out of guilt because my own toddler was relegated to the stroller because I am too lazy to run after him and really wanted to sit and drink my skim latte.

As I glanced up from my sweet froth, I caught the sweet head of curls that belonged to this toddler whizzing by…towards the door. The door was open. The busy city street was steps away.

Grapes of Wrath

What do you say to the mean mom at your day care?

You know the one. She makes underhanded comments about you or your kid that feel like a slap in the face.

This morning my MM struck again.

I've got ten minutes to do my day care drop off before booking it to the train. So I put my little 2-year-old-ticking-time-bomb in a chair at the table and am fetching her Tupperware of strawberries. MM's little angel (a few months younger than my tot) is also sitting nearby silently eating. Leah asks for grapes, because she's got a good vocabulary and likes to ask for things I didn't pack. Before I can sweetly respond, MM butts in and says "no grapes," very matter-of-factly. I almost think she did it out of habit. But the reply was heard and set off the morning tantrum I was trying to avoid. My kid falls into tears of rage, throws her dish across the table and screams.

While I'm trying to talk Leah back to calm, I hear MM make a snotty comment to her son like, "don't you ever push away your bowl like that." And then explain to the teacher she only said no to grapes. As if she

Who's Parenting in Hollywood?

After seeing the recent Vanity Fair cover with Milie Cyrus, I think it’s time to remind Hollywood parents of appropriate 15 year old girl old behavior. It’s disturbing to think of any 15 year old minor being positioned as a sex symbol on a magazine distributed to adults.  And it’s even more upsetting to imagine our eleven and twelve year old daughters aspiring for similar attention.

However, I’m sure it’s difficult to keep things in perspective in Hollywood.

As I live my non-celebrated life in New York City, it’s easy for me to be outraged by the semi-nude photos. After all, I’ve never received a phone call from the powerful Vanity Fair Editor, Grayden Carter, requesting my child to grace his magazine cover as well as be photographed by the infamous Annie Lebowitz.

Milie is obviously NOT calling the shots here. Her parents who were part of the photoshoot and the magazine editors are making decisions on her behalf.   Even if we assume that she is remarkably comfortable with her body, she has yet to come to terms with her sexuality.  I’m sorry, no young girl can handle being a national sex symbol at only 15. Who is responsible? Her faded rock star parents or the greedy magazine editors?  Both.

Don't Judge the Mommy Makeover

My friend whispered it across the table at a coffee shop on W. Charles Street.

What?

She whispered it again.

You got a what?

A boob job.

I was surprised. Definitely surprised. But you know what? I totally get it.

There were things I, myself, expected from pregnancy. I knew it would be hard to give up coffee and wine and other yummy things. I knew it would be difficult to lose the weight after childbirth. I knew I would be very tired.

But I did not expect my body to look like this. I lost my baby weight. I do yoga. Even a little cardio. So where the heck is my former body? Where are my perky boobs? Where is my flat stomach? Why do I still look pregnant when I no longer am?  My bikini days are so over.

My friend Rebecca (the name has been changed) didn't like what she saw in the mirror either. "After I stopped nursing, my boobs were completely deflated into nothing and I didn't feel like a woman... I didn't want bigger boobs. I just wanted the air put back in, so they looked the same as before I had a child."

A few months ago, she paid $12,000 for silicon implants.