Mr. Boombastic

I spent 20 minutes this afternoon in the bathroom of a Mexican restaurant. To quote the great “Shaggy” (a.k.a. Mr. Boombastic) and every person ever arrested for a committing a crime, “It wasn’t me.” My daughter had to use the loo. She also needed to sing every song she ever learned inside that bathroom. The more I encouraged her to speed it up and do the deed, the longer it took. Obviously, I cannot leave a 4- year-old in a public restroom alone. (Thanks a lot creepy guys at restaurants.) However, I have been instructed not to look at her. So, while she sang about being a little popcorn, I faced the opposite direction and surfed the web. This story is a hot topic in our local news:

(Click for link to article. Then, come back here.)

Greece Teacher Resigns Over Foul Lamguage

The teacher is accused of using vulgar language in her classroom. A student snapped this picture last year. (Note to student, you may want to consider a career that doesn’t require a timely response. It took 365 days for the photograph to come out? Did Paul Revere deliver it to the media?)


Is it inappropriate to write the word “cocksucker” on the board? (I would have went with ass or bitch) Sure, but does she deserve to lose her job? I don’t think so. It has been said that she used this language to relate to her high school students. She should have chosen another way to reach her students. However, face it, your teenagers aren’t as innocent as you think. Now, I am not a teacher nor could I ever be. I don’t have the patience. I need a Xanax after helping my own kid with math homework. The teacher resigned soon after the school launched an investigation. I would love for the parents who got their panties in a bunch to check their child’s IPod. I’m guessing Lil’ Wayne says a lot more than cocksucker. He isn’t talking about eating actual lollipops. How about we fire teachers who just suck?

(By the way, my apologies to the person waiting to use the restroom. I think we can both agree it was a great rendition of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.)

Take this job and shove it!

Clearly this woman worked in a newsroom. (cause it looks like a newsroom) I had a similar boss at one point.  News Directors come and go like men through Taylor Swift’s dressing room.  In fact, that guy who eliminated my position via text message and email after a decade of dedicated service? (paging Mrs. Bitterman) Yeah, he just got kicked to the curb.  Karma is a wonderful thing.  Anyway, this other guy would start each morning meeting reading from a tally sheet.  “People love the homicide video. That got the most hits.”  I am so happy their loss is your gain a**hole.  There are journalists who actually care about people and telling a good story.   Anyway, resignation letters are so 1995.  This interpretive dance for her boss is solid gold.

Mid-life crisis

I have been whining for years that I need time alone. Being the mother of three, I can rarely pee without having a conversation with a child. Mom, who would win in a fight? Batman or Wolverine? Could we have this riveting debate after I wipe my vagina?

Well, I’ve finally got time to myself and I don’t know what the hell to do. This morning I sat and cried with another mother over coffee. This woman had no idea what she was getting into when she invited me. Our tearful conversation began at the cash register. The barista was training and couldn’t figure out how to key in my order. She may have been frazzled because a middle aged woman was having a nervous breakdown near the scones. An elderly man with a crisp button down shirt and pleated pants (Hello, 1994 is on hold and would like to speak with you.) was standing in line directly behind us. I could practically feel his breath on my neck. He was huffing and puffing because the line wasn’t moving fast enough. He finally tapped my shoulder and asked, “What’s the hold up?” Today is not the day to mess with me. I know you are eager to sit down and read 50 Shades of Grey while sipping coffee with a sugar substitute, but back off grandpa. That is what I wanted to say, but I was taught to respect my elders. I shrugged my shoulders and walked away. He doesn’t care about my mid-life crisis. For goodness sake, he doesn’t even care that his nose hairs are trying to escape, dangling inches from his upper lip.

It hit me like a ton of bricks today. It is the beginning of school for my children, but the end for me. The end of changing diapers, rocking a baby to sleep or teaching a toddler to walk. There are no more babies. My uterus is spent. This phase of my life is over. Sure, my children will always need me, but less and less. My daughter didn’t shed a single tear on her first day. In fact, she was eager for me to leave. I peeked around the corner to see her smiling, playing with another girl. I was proud of my confident, independent little girl. My heart ached realizing how much my baby has grown. I felt the tears welling up in my eyes, put on my sunglasses and walked out the door. I suppose it’s time to get to know myself. Well, that or beat the hell out of senior citizens at coffee shops.

Hair Bow Obsession

I am obsessed with hair accessories for my daughter.  She doesn’t leave home without a bow that compliments her outfit.  Why?  I think they are pretty.  I also like it when people compliment her.  It must suck to have ugly kids. Actually, if your kids are ugly you should accessorize even more.  Relax, I am kidding. (sort of)  My daughter can be feminine and kick ass on a soccer field.  Someday,  she may refuse to wear them, but until then here is a sample of our collection:











I could not resist buying more bows today when I saw a sale on Very Jane.  They only cost $1.50 each. You can’t even buy a bottled soda for $1.50.   I know, I know, I am out of control.

Very Jane has a new deal everyday on boutique merchandise.   They have everything from clothing, jewelry to unique items like these personalized serving platters.

A platter would make a great gift when you attend  a summer BBQ.  I never knew you were supposed to give the host/hostess a gift until I worked as a nanny in the Hamptons.   In my neck of the woods we just brought our own beer and lawn chairs.  My Bridgehampton boss shopped for parties before receiving a single invitation in the mail.  She had a closet stocked with host/hostess gifts.  She also paid to get her hair blown out everyday.  She paid someone to dry her hair.  I color my hair at home and sometimes it shows. (My hair dresser is shaking her head. )

Speaking of BBQ’s,  how cute are these chalkboard stands to label food at a buffet.   I don’t organize parties on a regular basis because the idea of people going in my house to use the bathroom freaks me out.  I don’t want to clean toilets my own children have used.  I certainly don’t want to clean the neighbor’s shit stain off the bowl.  Plus, how do I know his kid isn’t a Kleptomaniac.  I don’t need anyone stealing my gold tone jewelry.  However, I would totally use these if I had fancy parties.  They are cute and you don’t have to answer the annoying guy who has to ask, “What’s this?”  and “What is this?”over and over again.  He can just enjoy the free food and shut up.

I would love to buy these pillow covers. The pillows included with our patio are covered in palm trees and pine cones.  I am pretty sure the two don’t go together.  Of course, my children would never allow me to rest my head, but at least my pillows would look good.

Full disclosure:  I am affiliated with Very Jane, but I wouldn’t promote crap I didn’t like.


Daily Boutique Deals

Road Rage

I am guilty of road rage.  Well, it’s actually watered down road rage.  I am not a complete lunatic.  I haven’t crashed my car into another vehicle or assaulted anyone.  I bite my tongue most of the time when my children  are in the car.   However, when you are going through perimenopause some things are out of your control.  Most recently, I yelled at a driver who didn’t turn right when the light was red.  “It’s right on RED,”  I shouted through my windshield. He didn’t hear me because we were separated by glass and metal.  My kids were watching Tangled Ever After for the millionth time at an ear pounding volume. You aren’t tied down Rapunzel.   Jump out of the damn tower already.   “Come oooonnnn!  Right on red. Right on red!”  My low pitched screams sounded eerily similar to “Red rum! Red rum!”  Listen,  I was late to an appointment.  I am always late.  At this point I was perspiring and close to foaming at the mouth while Mandy Moore sang in the background.  “Oh, what the hell!  Go, you idiot!”  My daughter asked, “What’s wrong Mommy?”  I took a deep breath.  Mommy was acting like a complete fool.   Comic Louis CK has a great bit about road rage.  It makes me laugh out loud every time I watch it.



I almost made the news this morning and that’s not a good thing. When I dropped my son off to school I noticed three boys were teasing other students. They would follow each kid who walked by their group. I don’t know what they were saying, but it wasn’t “Good morning.” One boy tried to lose them by turning around, but the bullies were relentless. They were not only mocking kids, but intimidating them. Little bastards! I reached for the door handle and then froze. I had an outfit on that would make Rachel Zoe vomit more than her breakfast, lunch am dinner. I was wearing gym shorts, a tank top and a puffy winter coat. I looked like a homeless woman on the upper west side. If I got out of the car my 13-year-old would be humiliated. Yeah, that was my braless Mom chasing 8th graders.

I know there are people who make light of bullying. “Sticks and stones will break my bones, but names will never hurt me…..” is a bunch of bullshit. It does hurt. I still despise the girl who bullied me in high school. I don’t know that you ever forget. She made my life a living hell with name calling and threats. I was afraid to go to sporting events or parties for fear she would torment me. I went anyway and pretended not to be bothered. This is her now:



I didn’t get out of my car this morning. I flagged down the crossing guard who promised to tell the assistant principal. Yes, this is the same crossing guard I battled last month. We bonded today over our hatred of mean kids.

I teach my kids to treat their peers with respect…and talk about them behind their back. It’s the right thing to do. Seriously, I don’t tolerate bullying. My kids would be in hot water if I ever found out they behaved like those three boys outside the school. They are tough guys now, but revisit them in twenty years. I always tell my son that the “cool” bullies will be bald, fat and working at the Sunglasses Hut. You don’t want to be them.