Believer

  • Alice: When will the Easter Bunny come today?
  • Me: Oh, he's not coming.
  • Alice: Why not?
  • Me: He only goes to boys and girls who believe in Jesus
  • Alice: I believe in Jesus. I love him.
  • And to all of my Christian friends who celebrate, Alice is joining the fold. The power of chocolate covered Jesus is too strong.

This kid is having her first big girl sleepover at her best friend’s house tonight. Like no duh, stop being such a loser. Whatever.

How am I this old? All I want to do is shove her back in my uterus, just for a little while.

Spanx No More

Last night one of my cousins got married! It was beautiful - the rabbi kept the ceremony short and made an appropriate Woody Allen reference, the bride looked beautiful, the location was awesome and the food was delicious.

I rented a Helmut Lang little black dress that was super sexy and cool, however it was so tight that Spanx were a pre-requisite for wearing this dress. When I rented the dress I had to sign a waiver saying that I would not exit my home or enter any new venue in the dress without industrial strength spandex wrapped around my entire mid section. Ladies, you know you have signed this waiver before. Helmut Lang makes me do crazy things. I signed.

The entire night my intestines felt like they were in a choke hold and so my face was contorted in unnatural pain. The dress was so short that I am sure there were moments that the bottom of my spanks were sticking out. My Spanx line - the line that cuts into the space between your boobs and your rib cage was in full swing, and I had a tiny muffin top / back fat line all night. Not to mention that I was tugging on this uncomfortable spandex torture chamber the entire evening. All of this in an effort to cover my baby paunch, even though all night everyone was asking me about the kids. It is not a secret I have children, and despite the effort my undergarment put forward to cover it over, everyone knows. I am not sure that my Spanx actually made me look “better”.

Spanx, we need to talk. I am not in love with you anymore. This wedding made me realize that I love breathing more than I love pretending that my torso is unnaturally smooth like a Barbie doll. Listen, I’m meeting my friend Lena, Lena Dunham for a drink, and we are going to eat some carbs and talk about how we are totally ok with having belly buttons and underwear lines, so I might not be here when you leave. It’s been a good time. Maybe we will see each other again when Oprah profiles me as one of the best writers in the universe and I pick another Helmut Lang dress to wear on the show, and I forget about all of the pain you put me through. Truthfully, I am not sure Oprah would stand for that. We’ll see, we’ll see. Until then, I know you will find another woman to love you.

Owen Has Two Daddies

If you are a religious reader of Quick While The Kids Are Sleeping (what other kind of reader is there really? Hi Mom), you know that Owen’s vocabulary is limited. You also know that he is so handsome it doesn’t even matter and that Peter does all of my laundry. None of these things are related, but I do repeat myself to make it really easy on my readers. One day there will be a pop quiz, and I just want to make sure that I have prepared you all appropriately. For example, a sample question might be:

What is the name of Alice’s boyfriend when she comes home to visit on Thanksgiving in 2030?

Is it a) Lucas b) Skylar c) Jim or d) Jack

If you answered c) Jim, you are correct. I hate the name and he has disgusting hair. Nicely done.

Owen, as you all know, is a toddler of few words and many grunts, however he has named me. I am Daddy. What’s worse is that Peter is Dada. He knows that it is totally f-ed up too because every time he says it he smiles from ear to ear, points at me and sweetly squeaks out ” daddy” and cracks up like he is telling the funniest yo mama joke ever spoken. Rarely do I care about stuff like this - I mean Alice practically runs our household like a skinny candy seeking terrorist and I keep calm and take nothing personally. This feels personal.

This is Owen’s first step toward telling me “You’re not the boss of me” or “OK mom, I promise to clean my room. Not. Later losers”. This is definitely his first time experimenting with obstinance and I don’t like it. If he didn’t have yummy cheeks and let me smooch his cutie pie lips I would stick him in his crib until he mastered the following phrase “Mommy you are my sun and my stars.”

So for now, Peter and I are going to start to live as a gay male married couple. Clearly I am the bear in the relationship and he is the femme. We figure we may as well adapt rather than fight it. When Owen decides to call one of us Mommy, we may go back to living a Hetero lifestyle, but I really don’t want to confuse the kids.

Good Sport

Mouthguards were the only awesome thing about field hockey. Boiling the plastic, shoving it in your mouth even though it was still burning hot, and then biting down to create the perfect protection for your thirteen year old brace face. Standing in my kitchen getting ready for the season, those were my fondest memories of playing field hockey. Otherwise field hockey is the worst. Do you know how hard it is to sing “More Than Words” with a moth-guard in your mouth while wearing a kilt in 20 degree weather and having a 150lb eighth grade girl from a parochial school charging right at you? It’s a miserable experience, especially if you are a sport-spaz like myself.

I hate sports. All of them. I am bad at playing them, I don’t care about winning, and I am generally underwhelmed by athletes and the mystique of the sporting industry.

I happen to have a rocket for an arm, but that does not make up for my lack of interest or lack of ability to run without feeling like my lung is going to birth an alien. If sports ceased to exist, I would not notice, I would not care and life for me would not skip a beat except for the fact that I married the ultimate fan.

Peter loves sports in a way that I sometimes worry that his version of “Sophie’s Choice” would be your family or The Jets and we would all be dead. We are currently in the period of the year that I like to refer to as “fucking torture”. Basketball season is wrapping up with March Madness AND the pro season is still going, hockey season is rocking and baseball season has just begun. Peter is in heaven and I want to fling myself from our roof so I don’t have to be subjected to the sounds of the roar of the crowd. There was actually one night this week that he was flipping between four different sporting events.

My dad just turned 60, and to celebrate my brother and I took him and his wife to a Nets game at Barclays. They were all excited about the game, I was excited about the food court. Everybody wins. During half time the Nets dancers come out and do their thing, and I was on my phone googling “Barclays architectural influences”, when all of a sudden my beer spilled all over me and all of the people around me. Apparently it was the time of the game where the Nets Robot comes out with his super huge t-shirt cannon and shoots t-shirt bullets at the fans. Well, the t-shirt bounced off the proscenium, my dad’s wife’s knee and into my beer. This was the last bit of evidence I needed to know that sports are truly not for me.

Owen is showing signs of being a meathead in that he knows three words and one of them is “ball”. He also grunts and says “dat” when football is on. Fortunately he is also showing signs of being really into dancing, the kid can’t control himself when he hears music. He shakes his little body like a salsa dancer. Alice runs like the flash and scales the sides of mountains like she is a tree monkey / puma. As any mother would be, I am extremely proud of their athleticism and skill. I just hope that neither one gets really into sports. I will have a really hard time caring. Hopefully they will both getting into glass blowing or something equally awesome that won’t require me to sit on a folding chair in the cold protecting my cocktail from flying balls.

Learning To Read

  • Alice: Do you know the P word?
  • Me: Um...Penis?
  • Alice: Very Good. And Pee and Poop. Those are all P words.
  • <p>Thank goodness we spend all of our money on pre-school. Relieved to know that the foundations of literacy as well as a solid career in stand up comedy are being cultivated now.<p\>

DJ Lance Rock Is My Personal Jesus

5am. Owen’s preferred time to begin his mornings these days. The only things preventing me from selling him on the open baby market are that he opens up his mouth and leans in when I say “give me a kiss” and that he has learned to say “Gabba” to ask for an episode of Yo Gabba Gabba. Otherwise he would fully be living with a very nice family in Nebraska right now.

For anyone who has been living under a rock for the past five or so years, Yo Gabba Gabba is this generation of toddler’s much more hallucinogenic version of Sesame Street. It intends to educate children and entertain their parents. They have well known musicians and celebrities on all of the time, and have segments like “Biz’s Beat of the Day” where Biz Marque teaches kids how to beatbox.

Owen loves this show and remains completely silent and still for the entirety of an episode. This allows me to nap, blog, and frankly not pay him any attention when he decides to be a total selfish jerk and wake up the entire house at a completely inappropriate hour. It is the only point in the day when is is completely still and doesn’t need me.

The show had the same effect on Alice when she was a baby. I feel like I should buy the show a thank you gift. Probably an Edible Arrangement or something. The note would say ” Dear Yo Gabba Gabba. Thank you for babysitting my children for the past five years. I am not sure if your show is sending them subliminal messages or is brainwashing them, but whatever you are doing to manipulate their minds, it is working. Keep up the good work and don’t change a thing. You have helped to give this mother at least one hour of silence a day and for that I am forever indebted. Here is to many more years of you guys creating shows that are essentially a twenty minute long tweak session. My kids love it.”

Last Night / This Morning

  • Last Night During Bath Time
  • Me: How much do you love Owen?
  • Alice: More than the outer space and the earth.
  • Me: How much do you love daddy?
  • Alice: More than a giant.
  • Me: How much do you love me?
  • Alice: I love you more than anyone.
  • My heart explodes and we all go to bed.
  • This Morning At Drop Off
  • Alice: You made me lose my earrings, you made a line in my ponytail and you didn't tell me to bring my stickers AND YOU DIDN'T EVEN GIVE ME A FROZEN EGGO FRENCH TOAST STICK! I never want to talk to you again. You are mean. This is all your fault.
  • I don't know what happened last night, but apparently she became a teenager. Is it inappropriate to get a Bloody Mary before work?

Random Teenage Moment

  • Me: Alice, look over there! Those guys are flying kites!
  • Alice: Um, I did not need to see that.
  • Me: Uh, why? What's the problem?
  • Alice: That is so not OK.
  • Me: What's wrong with flying kites?
  • Alice: It's not cool at all!
  • Me: What is cool?
  • Alice: Candy and games. Only candy and games are cool, mom
  • I really don't know when I became so out of touch with what the kids like these days. Who knew that kites were out and candy was in?

I’m About to Go Crazy On Some Closets

I had a rare day off today. Accomplishments include:

1. Annual Gyno Exam

2. Sorted out a Financial Mystery (but needed my dad to help close the loop. College funds, yada-yada, blah blah blah. Perhaps my attitude is the reason we had a financial mystery to begin with?)

3. Alice’s Kindergarten registration - almost. All of the forms are done, including immunization forms (incredible), but the registration office was closed for no apparent reason. I showed up with everything, including her birth certificate which was no where to be found as of 10pm last night. Even though this one isn’t complete, it still goes on the accomplishment list. I mean, she’s not dead and she’s going to be registered for Kindergarten eventually. Accomplishment.

4. Lunch with mom. Not a major feat, but really nice none the less. It makes the list.

5. Awesome haircut! Spring can begin.

6. Appointment to have my eyes examined because I can’t see a damn thing, and I have been dying for a spiffy pair of specks. Bonus, my vision insurance is amazing and would basically cover me to get 24 karat gold and emerald encrusted glasses. Not sure I am going to opt for that model, but it is nice to have options.

Now it is time for me to attack my front hall closet with the fury of all of the hell fire in Hades. Alice’s baby shoes, Barbie heads and random mittens will be banished to the garbage and I will have another item to the accomplishment list. Turning on Heart, tying my bandana and getting prepared to go 1979 on my closet. If this house is a rockin’ come a knocking and join me. Getting things done is awesome!

Next on the list. Write a kids book called “Getting Things Done Is Awesome” featuring me on a good day. Sequel book to be titled ” Why Does Mommy Have Snacks On Her Face?” featuring me every single other day of the year.