If only he was real...

In my parallel fantasy world, I've found the next sucker I'd like to knock me up:

Don Draper.

Just give me a baby, baby...

Someone to carry on that brooding, sensual, dark legacy...

I'll be your concubine, your mistress, your baby mama.

Call me.

Snooze away...

So I'm sitting on the steps of BAM, waiting for my date to arrive. He's late. Shocking.

Once he arrives, we chat for a second, a dialogue that includes the following information:

LateDate: I was super-tired, so I took a nap late this afternoon.

HardAssMe: Didn't you have an alarm set?

LateDate: I hit the snooze button.

HardAssMe: (slack-jawed) You snoozed me?!?! Really?!

The conversation devolved from there; I thought I got over it pretty quickly, but apparently LateDate was nowhere near in the mood for forgiveness of my impertinence.

Talk was tense, advances rebuffed (my advances, his rebuffication). I asked a lot about his week, he acted like my life held no interest whatsoever.

Cut to drop-off:

NotSoHardAssAnymoreMe: Wanna come up? Have a drink? (This having been our usual evening trajectory, I wasn't expecting a late-game denial to go with the earlier rebuffication).

LateDate: No, I have a ton of stuff to do. Tons of emails to read and answer.

Um, I think he just told me in man-speak that he has to wash his hair.

Fine, be that way. Give up an hour of heavy-petting with hot Brasilian mom because I suggested snoozing me was a bit, uh, indicative of his (non) excitement at seeing me.

What a girl.

Three days later - day before we are supposed to have mulligan date: he thinks it's best we part ways, as he doesn't see how we would find a happy medium with one another.

Thank god.

Saves me the work of typing the words: Um, I don't really think we're a Match (wink, wink). Thanks for all the dinners. Good luck in your (probably never-ending) search for a soul-mate!

xes and ohs.


Calgon, take me away...

It's been one of those weeks - lots of weird news, lots of deep breathing, plenty of wine and beer. And now, the farm where we were to go apple-picking tomorrow is infested with poison ivy. Will the madness never end?

The good news is that as moms, we are trained from the births of our children to adjust to the changing scenery of any kid's day (I suppose dads should be included here, but there are no dads in this household, so I have no personal proof they share the chameleon-like abilities of mothers). Which means that when the babysitter falls through, and the movie is sold out, and the scheduled playdate gets canceled because of sickly children, and a trip to the park turns into a trip to the emergency room...we act all nonchalant, like nothing extraordinary is going on, and we go into MommyKnowsHowToFixThisEveryoneStayCalm mode and find a different way to make everything okay.

So we're going to a different apple-picking farm.

And I'm looking for a job.

And a weekend subscription to the NYTimes will have to do.

And Nancy's having a baby...with a Mexican druglord.

And the Halloween costumes will be homemade.

And Don Draper has nowhere to go.

And all my dates have disappeared.

Bring it on.

I'm a mom, godammit.


It's a police state

Get your fingers out of your nose!

Stop sucking on your fingers!

Hands off the peepee!

Finish your dinner or no dessert!

You better be brushing your teeth!

You're about to lose some privileges!

You better not be doing what I think you're doing!

Stop aggravating your brother!


love and logic

Me: Luca, could you please go get my phone upstairs?

Luca: I don't want to.

Me: I didn't ask if you wanted to.

Luca: But MAMAAEEE (groans and grumbling)

Me: It's not like I WANT to pick up after you all day, or like I WANT to wake up in the middle of the night to get you water.

Luca: But it's YOUR phone!!!

Me: And they are YOUR games! And YOUR underwear!


first day of school

The boys have started school - RAD school, that is. Revolutionary Artistic Development School of Brooklyn. Couldn't we have predicted my kids would end up somewhere like this? Having done my due diligence in researching the local public schools and applied (unsuccessfully) to the only private school I would send my kindergartener, I decided our little pseudo-homeschool was the best option for him and for his little brother. So they are both getting an alternative education. I say alternative only because they are the only kids in the neighborhood not reciting the alphabet on a daily basis and having flashcards flipped while their eyes and brains glaze over. They are, instead, enjoying copious outside time; learning the art of listening to friends; tending to their own plot at the Fort Greene Park Garden and eating the lettuce they grow; and ending their days in a Compliment Circle, which should be mandatory for all of us, frankly. I think there would be fewer wars in this world. Yes, I am a product of hippie parents, but the RAD school seems like the most relevant, sensible solution to my issue of how to educate my kids in this world.