NYC Moms

Summer vacation—are we there yet?

I'm not sure who's more excited for school to end—me or my 1st grader. Frankly, I need a break from all the homework and tests.

Last week part of her social studies homework was to match up pictures of people in the community with their profession. Now, I didn't take the pencil and circle the answers, but my newly minted reader is used to decoding words like would and could, not optometrist and construction worker. Needless to say, this wasn't work she couldn't successfully accomplish on her own.

And the amount of homework they get is ridiculous. We're talking about 6 year olds. Since when was seven hours of school a day not enough? My daughter's homework adds an extra 30 minutes of work to her school day, to be continued at home.

The real truth behind the mommy wars?

A few years back I was a regular reader of The Juggle. I had to stop. I just couldn't take reading the attacks against parents in the comments section. True a family doesn't have to consist of children, but the reality is if we collectively decided to stop bearing children, then we'd cease to exist as a nation.

Pardon the cliche, but children really are our future. So, why does the United State put such a low premium on motherhood. Whether you're a stay at home, work from home, or commuting mama, chances are we can all agree that paid maternity leave is a necessity. While most countries understand this need,the U.S. is 1 of only 5 countries that has no legislation to guarantee paid maternity leave, according to a study conducted a few years ago. The countries we share this sad status with include Lesotho, Liberia, Swaziland and Papua New Guinea.

Everyday Should Be Earth Day

I get cranky around Earth Day. As I tweeted last week, it's beginning to feel like Mother's Day, Father's Day and all those other Hallmark holidays. I remember growing up my mom would say she didn't want special attention just one day. She much preferred to be treated kindly, lovingly and respectfully every day of the year. I can't help but wonder if Mother Earth feels the same way. Shouldn't we all be doing our best to lead a conscientious waste-free life every day?

Over the years, I've found it's the little things that add up to make a big difference. Thankfully, I saw in action how true it can be.  A few weeks back I took a tour of the Marcal plant in New Jersey. As we walked into the "holding" area amidst the piles of recycled paper bound for rolls of toilet paper and paper towels, I was glad to see so many of the everyday items I add to my recycling bin. I also overheard a friend say "look at those party bags, I never knew you could recycle those."

You Say You Want A (food) Revolution?

It feels like we've been talking about childhood obesity in this country for years, yet real change has been slow moving. Actually it feels like the glaciers are melting faster. Oops, bad example with global warming and all. Anyway, meet Jamie Oliver. Maybe you remember him as the Naked Chef. He wasn't really donning a birthday suit. He has however, stayed true to his early start which was encouraging people to eat real food.

Is it possible he'll be the catalyst for real change? At a time when more people consider cooking a spectator sport and the Food Network is popular as ever, he just may be the kick in the pants parents need to take control of mealtime. A few weeks ago, the internet was all a buzz and his TED speech was tweeted, facebooked, stumbled...circulated all around social media circles. The speech is long, clocking in at over 20 minutes, but I'm so glad I invested the time.

Motherhood Isn't One Size Fits All

A few years back, while working at Alain Ducasse at the Essex House, a co-worker asked why I was so involved in my three-year-old daughter's life. Sonja grew up in France and said she loved that she'd been raised by an au pair and hardly saw her parents as a child. She thought we Americans were too clingy with our children. So, it came as no surprise when I read this article in The Times UK  about Elisabeth Badinter's new book Le Conflit, La Femme et La Mère (The Conflict, The Woman and The Mother).

Happiness is a subjective feeling, yet many of us search for a one-size fits all cure-all. And others sling insults at those of us who have decided to put our children in the forefront of our lives. It is yet another example of why women are their own worst enemies. Rather than encourage other women to follow their own hearts and choose the motherhood path that best suits them, they assert there position as the one and only way of doing things.

Baked Uprising—Joel Klein is at it again

Just when you think Chancellor Klein has gone too far, he one-ups himself. Remember the old joke of concealing a file inside of a cake for a prison break? Well, apparently the Panel for Educational Policy really does deem homebaked goods as lethal weapons. My apron got in a dither after learning of Chancellor Regulation A-812, a ban on all homemade goods at public school bake sales in New York City. To think this panel of pseudo politicians stand behind the idea that Frito Lay and Kelloggs are better for our children simply because they have calorie counts and other detailed nutritional information on their packaging. Oh, the irony of calling it nutritional information indeed.

The Sisterhood of Motherhood

Getting pregnant was not something I planned, at least not the first time around. I honestly thought I was just very late—about eight weeks, if you must know, because I was on birth control and my husband was told he might likely be sterile due to chemotherapy treatment years before we met.

When I finally took a home pregnancy test, the results were negative. Something told me to try it again. I did. The results again came back negative. My heart and mind knew differently. Oddly enough I don't remember how I even told my boyfriend the news. I just remember the day I got the call at work from the doctor. Many women would've been elated to get the news I got. I cried. No, I sobbed, grateful no one else was in the office yet.

I feel guilty about that moment 'til this day. It wasn't that I didn't want my daughter. It just wasn't planned. I was at a very good point in my career, making a nice salary for a 28 year old, and I knew a job in the restaurant business would not work with my idea of motherhood. I had my daughter, and five years later her sister was born. On the same day mind you. I even had the same due date for both of them. Did I also mention it was Mother's Day each of the years they were born? Yes, true story.

Whine and Dine Me

The death of a loved one, losing a job and moving are considered the top three most traumatic life experiences. The fourth unspoken one is Valentine's Day. The pressure of making dinner plans, getting the requisite roses—I'm not partial to red either, and then getting the perfect gift. Who needs it really? Marriage teaches you that it's not about just one day. What really matters is showing your love for that special someone everyday most every day of the year (take 10% off for the arguments over laundry and dirty dishes).

I'm not one of those women who goes crazy to find a sitter for Valentine's Day, and my husband knows I'd rather save our money for a night when restaurants serve their regular menu and aren't trying to push the additional over charge of truffles in courses where they so obviously don't belong. In fact the Mr. made a comment recently while dining at one of our favorite restaurants that being there made him realize just how lucky he is at home. Delicious home-cooked meals aren't reserved for one day a year. I make them every day (the benefit of having a food editor wife). And as for massages—well, I'm lucky enough to get a foot rub almost every night when we cuddle and catch up on DVR viewing. Sure a quiet dinner sans kids is very necessary, and that's why we have a standing date night once a week. On Valentine's Day, though, I'm much happier to spend it with all my sweethearts.

Jennifer Perillo lives in Brooklyn, NY with her husband and two daughters. She chronicles cooking for her family over at In Jennie's Kitchen. For a year-round chocolate fix, check out her recipe for devil's food cupcakes with rich chocolate frosting.

Yes Virginia, There is a Santa Claus

When my oldest daughter was a baby, I serenaded her with Silent Night and Feliz Navidad during our bedtime ritual this time of year. I eagerly awaited Christmas Eve when we'd bake cookies for Santa and leave them out as a pick me up to get him through the homestretch. The first year we laid them out at the foot of the fireplace and quickly discovered we had ants in the chimney. Ever since, we've decided Santa prefers them left on the table so he doesn't crush them on his way down.

All the while, I knew one day the big question would come. Then it happened on a summer afternoon. She suddenly burst into the kitchen mid-playdate and said "Mommy, there's really a Santa Claus, right?". I did what any holiday loving mama would do and said yes. It was only a little white-bearded lie afterall. Turns our her friend said it wasn't true and I can't blame her. Her family doesn't  celebrate Christmas or believe in Santa. And so, the seeds were planted. Last year I sensed some skepticism about the big fella, but we kept up the game.

A Very Lucky Thanksgiving

We lost our cat this past summer. Not like he ran out the door. More like the poor thing was diagnosed with a rare cancer and within two weeks of taking him to the vet he had died. Our sweet, furry friend of 12 years, way before children had ever entered our lives, was gone in what felt like the blink of an eye. The only thing more difficult than accepting his passing was having to explain it to our six-year old daughter. She grew up with Sam. Pulled his string through the hallway and played the "chasing game". One year our holiday card was a picture of the two of them dressed as princesses (yes, he didn't look very happy, but was a trooper when it came to dress up).

After explaining Sam's physical body was gone but his spirit would always live with us, she proceeded to say "but he's coming back right?". There was no avoiding a more literal explanation of death. And once it sunk in, the reality of it all, I held my daughter in my arms and rocked her back and forth, trying to calm her guttural cries.