NYC Moms

Bye Bye Blankie

When my kids were babies, I prided myself on never using a pacifier. I wasn't one of those moms whose kids walked around with a tooth-deforming hunk-o-rubber in their mouths. No, my children would be soothed by a washable, all natural cotton security blanket.

By the time they were four, my kids were still hanging on to their "blankies." I asked their pediatrician when I needed to take it away: "When they're 40." he said. He explained that since it wasn't doing them any harm -- and since he'd never heard of a kid going off to college with a security blanket, I shouldn't worry about it. He added that it wouldn't even be so bad if they kept a little square of it in their wallets as adults. "Hey," he said "anything that makes them feel more secure, as long as it isn't hurting them...why not?"

Luckily, I had selected Comfort Silkie on the recommendation of a friend, so I could buy them by the dozen, yellow for him, white for her. My kids slept with them, they were quieted by them in the car and on airplanes.(I think they saved us from the wrath of those-in-the-next-row on many a flight) No dental issues, and no worries about having to take them away. All was right with the world.

My own personal Suburban Sprawl

I hate people who sigh and say "I'm never HUNGRY in the summer. It's so HOT. I ALWAYS lose weight."

Oh yeah?

I'm always eating in the summer (who said hunger has anything to do with it?), when it's hot, I always gain weight. 

Mostly, I attribute it to Suburban Sprawl.  Not the rape of the countryside, the never-ending expansion of the suburbs, I'm talking about my own suburban sprawl. The one that comes from spending too much time in the car.  The one that comes from too many langorous meals with my extended family. The one I'm sitting on right now as I type this post.

See, I'm spending my summer with the kids in my parents' house in "the country," as we city folk like to say, and instead of my usual 3.5-4 miles a day of walking just as a matter of course, I'd say I do about, oh, I don't know, ten feet of walking a day.

My Daughter Thinks She's Fat and it's All My Fault

Swimsuit season is upon us.  And with it the onslaught of diet ads on tv, magazines with pics of celebs caught having actual cellulite, and me, bemoaning my post-partum, post-forty, past passing for anything but middle-aged body.

Though I am, if I am completely, intellectually honest, neither truly fat, or particularly unattractive, I have made a life (and something of a writing career) of comically dissecting my physical flaws.  I'm the self-appointed Queen of Bad Body Image, chronicling on line and in print my twenty year quest to lose the same ten pounds.  I've joked about the fact that my belly button seems to be frowning, that the only men who find me attractive are septuagenarians, that I've chosen to paint my daughter's room the same lavender color as my newly acquired varicose veins.

Ha Ha.  Nudge nudge.  Wink Wink. Very funny.  Until this morning, when my daughter refused to eat breakfast because, she told me through her tears, the boys in her class had told her she was fat.

In Defense of Twitter

Twittering gets a bad rap.  It's too self referential, people say. Or "I don't care if you're on line at Starbucks."  Or "why can't you just pick up the phone?"  Or "It's just a big time suck."  Well, ok, so maybe that last one is true.

Anyway, I got up this morning determined not to get sucked in by the virtual coffee klatch that is Twitter and got dressed to go to the gym.

But am I at the gym?

Nope.  I'm Twittering and emailing, and blogging, and reading some of the blogs that I like.

But I am wearing exercise clothing -- which must count for something. (Doesn't intent burn calories?)  I am moving my fingers at astonishing speeds. (Thank you Mr. Henry, my tenth grade typing teacher.) I must be losing weight, just by using Twitter.

Leave Carrie Prejean Alone

There is nothing wrong with having nude photos taken. I’ve even done it.  I was nearing my tenth anniversary and the idea just popped into my head as a gift for my husband.  As in, "Gee, I could buy him a beautiful pair of cufflinks at Tiffany's or humiliate myself, naked, in a front of a stranger." The photos were arty and black and white…and no one but my husband will ever, ever, ever see them.  So I don’t think nude photos per se are a bad thing. 

But this woman did not become Miss USA on a whim.  Nabbing that title takes a lifetime of work and parental exploitation determination.  It’s not as if she didn’t know, while flashing her ta-tas, that she was a professional beauty pageant contestant who might, one day, live to regret her choice.

That being said, she was a kid when she did it, and kids can’t be held (as) responsible for their mistakes.  Thank goodness I’ve never been held accountable for some of the TRULY stupid things I did in my teenage years.  The real problem here is not posing topless, not being anti-gay, not even Carrie Prejean herself, but the fact that our daughters are being told – through beauty pageants like Miss USA, that pretty is all that matters.  You can be a homophobe, you can be borderline incapable of literate speech, you can be stupid enough to do something that has the potential to ruin your life’s dream…but if you’re pretty: here’s a crown, here’s some money, here you are being put out there as a role model to girls across the country.  

Since when is "Mostly Naked" a Fashion Statement?

I am old.

Not because of  my saggy knees, or brown spots, or my elbows that look as if they’ve been crumpled up in the back of a drawer for a few decades.  No, I am old because I am horrified by what “young girls” are wearing. (plus, I refer to anyone under thirty as a young girl - I'm old for sure!)

With summer-like weather upon the city, (though this week things seem to have cooled down) everyone is letting everything hang out.  Manhattan is suffering from TMI of the body: and frankly, I don't want to see it! 

I mean, is there some rule that if you are female and possessing of a bustline you must display it so prominently one is tempted to insert a coin, grab your arm, and go for the jackpot?

Did I miss the memo that said your skirt must be so short that when you raise your arm to wave to your friend across the street, you reveal a thong so deeply wedged in it reappears on the other side?

Attack of the..... Who are these people anyway?

Here are some of the choice things said to me recently by friends and family:

As I was on my way to the gym:
"I so admire you, Nancy.  I could never leave the house looking like that."

As I was entering a dressing room to try on bathing suits:
"Are you gonna fit in those?"

As I was apologizing to another mother whose son my own son teased:
"Well, a lot of the boys have been teasing.  But of course that your son's fault."

As I was saying goodbye to a mother who had come to my apartment to pick up her child from a playdate:
"Is this space adequate for you?  With two children? You find this adequate?"

As I was discussing a family issue with a visiting (house-guest) relative on my husband's side:
"Well, you're an outsider, so you can't really understand."

As I was debating putting up bookshelves in my kitchen:
"Well if you want it to look like a cook book shop in here, go ahead."

Nintendo DSi: You Finally Got Me

Nintendo, Nintendo!  How could you do this to me?  How could you tempt me with the Nintendo DSi?

First you seduced me with the Nintendo Wii, then, once you had me, sucked me in even more with the Wii Fit, and finally, you made me fall for you all together with Wii Music. I'm a Mom who doesn't like her kids having too much screen time. It seems anti-social to me, to be staring at a screen all day. (Only when they do itm though.  When I do it, I'm writing.  And that's OK.  No really.  It is.) I'll admit.  I've given in. But only because you've made electronic gaming palatable to me by making it physical and interactive.  My kids can play Wii and be social, and get exercise.

So you got me.  Happy now?

Evidently not. 

Skype: International Friendmaker

Yesterday, my son had a playdate with my friend's son.  They showed each other their Pokemon cards.  Which wouldn't be such a big deal except my son is here in NY, and my friend and her son are in Australia.

How he do this?  Skype. I'm sure I'm the last person on Earth to discover this: but SKYPE TOTALLY ROCKS!!!

Skype - for those of you who have been living under a rock (as I was, apparently, until recently) is a FREE online video phone service that makes it possible for you to talk to and see your friends - no matter where in the world they are -- FOR FREE.  You can use Skype to call land lines, too.  For Free.  (Did I mention it's free?)

A Love Letter to the New York City Sanitation Department (really)

Dear NYC Sanitation Department,

I know that things between us haven't always gone well.

There was the time I was stuck behind a garbage truck on my way to give birth to twins, and cursed you as I worried that some cabbie was going to deliver my babies right there in the back seat.

There was the time I was stuck behind you when the kids were late for school.  And the other time they were late, and the...well, you get the idea.

But all that is behind me.  Right now, all I'm feeling is as warm and fuzzy and the moldy cream-cheese I put in the garbage just this morning.  Because yesterday, we had the biggest storm in years, and today, the streets were clear.