Too old

I had an epiphany while strolling down an aisle in Target. I am too old to wear Uggs. Two teenagers were steps behind me when I overheard one say, “If my Mom wore Uggs I would throw mine in the garbage.” They both let out an evil cackle. I was crying inside. I still feel like I am in my twenties, but alas, I am not. Was I dressing appropriately for my age? It’s not like I am running around in a half top. I rocked that s**t in the 9th grade, but those days are gone. Mama has a stretch mark maze on her belly.

A podiatrist made the decision for me. Apparently, at my age, I need a shoe with “more arch support.” I might as well stock up on nude, knee-high panty hose. It’s only a matter of time before I will be sporting polyester pants and hanging out in the lobby of the YMCA. You want yourself a silver haired beauty? Hit up the Y around 10 a.m. It’s like a geriatric rave.

I hawked my Uggs on a virtual garage sale site and bought a new pair of jeans. It is my first pair of skinny jeans. I’ve lost a few pounds and inches on my cankles. I used to struggle in the dressing room. I think wrestling a crocodile would have been easier. Grunting, huffing, tugging, wiggling, etc. It wasn’t pretty.

I felt like a million bucks in my new jeans. (…which I bought on clearance. Boo-yah!). Well, that is until my 6-year-old questioned, “What are you wearing? Those are way too tight.” That’s how they are supposed to look! Honey, I am a damn supermodel at Walmart.


Unicorn + Peacock = ?

I love Christopher Columbus.  Regardless of whether or not he actually discovered America, my kids get the day off from school.  So, we won’t be late today!  It doesn’t matter what time I get up something always comes up that delays our departure.  Just recently, we were late to school because my daughter wanted to draw a unicorn.  Let me repeat: she refused to leave until she drew a unicorn.  She is obsessed with an imaginary animal.   Dear God, please don’t let her grow up to play Dungeons & Dragons.
She will draw unicorn-dogs, unicorn-birds, unicorn-cows, etc.  They all  look alike.  Her creations are nothing like this picture posted on Reddit.   A 4th grader was asked to come up with a new animal by combining two that already exist.  The end result is fantastic.



Little girl’s last wish for her daddy

A dying father who always hoped to see his daughter marry has been granted this final wish after a special ceremony was held in his hospital room.  It is beautiful, yet heartbreaking.  Watch the video.  Then, read the full story here.

Nasty to the core

“Oh no! What day is it,” my 13-year-old set down his fork,  suddenly panic-stricken while eating pancakes.  “It’s Thursday.”   He took a deep breath,  cupped his face in his hands and said,   “That means we have to do Carnegie Math on the computer.”   It is another part of the “Common Core State Standards.”  Forty five states and the District of Columbia have adopted the new curriculum.  The standards are more challenging for K-12 students.  What’s wrong with that?  Every teacher must revamp their style of teaching to match the new standards.  They are given binders with scripted lesson plans.  The lessons are boring.  Many teachers say they have been told to limit free time.  My 6-year-old came home from school several times this year complaining,  “My teacher played a trick on us.  She said we could go on the playground after we did our work, but we didn’t.”  They ran out of time.   There is no time for fun.  A simple project to make applesauce in the Fall is frowned upon.  It is not part of the ‘Common Core.’ Teachers are forced to sneak in arts and crafts during lunchtime.  Field trips aren’t part of  ‘Common Core’ either.   I understand my child is going to school to learn, but do you think Number Bonds motivates a child to learn?  No, it’s playing a silly game to master counting by tens.  It’s the science experiment where you make a tornado out of a plastic soda bottle.  Forcing children to sit through ridiculously long scripted lessons is insane. (What the hell is a number bond anyway? I don’t even know how to do first grade homework.)

‘Common Core’ is an experiment.  There is no proof this way of teaching is any better than what we have done for decades.  We are taking 5-year-old children and demanding they learn what used to be taught in first or second grade.  The stress we are putting on these children is disgusting and will no doubt lead to greater problems.   This is what the ‘Common Core’ expects of kindergartners:

Common Core State Standards for Mathematics  Kindergarten

10 Counting and Cardinality

•Know number names and the count sequence.

•Count to tell the number of objects.

•Compare numbers.

Operations and algebraic thinking

•Understand addition as putting together and adding to, and understand subtraction as taking apart and taking from.

Number and operations in Base ten

•Work with numbers 11–19 to gain foundations for place value.

Measurement and data

•describe and compare measurable attributes.

•Classify objects and count the number of objects in categories


•Identify and describe shapes.

•analyze, compare, create, and compose shapes


I have heard the argument for making changes, Other countries, like China, are far more advanced than we are.”   They are also lead by barbaric dictators.  China still has a one-child rule.   Women 7, 8, even 9-months pregnant are  injected with a chemical to kill their unborn baby because they cannot afford the fine for having a second child. We are far more advanced.

Administrators will tell you the  ‘Common Core’ is “to ensure that schools prepare students with the knowledge and skills they need to succeed in their careers.”  Ask any teacher and they will say ‘Common Core’ is depriving our children of the chance to just be children.

Minivan Mix

I am a big fan of Bruno Mars.  So, when I heard a radio DJ introduce his new song I cranked the volume.  Pump up the volume, pump up the volume, dance, dance.   Mama knows how to rock out in the minivan.  Then, this happened :

“Here is Bruno Mars’ latest song, Gorilla”

Okay,  the song is about gorillas kids.  That is one of our favorite exhibits at the zoo. (turns up the volume even more)
Ooh I got a body full of liquor
With a cocaine kicker
And I’m feeling like I’m thirty feet tall
So lay it down, lay it down

Mommy, what’s cocaine?  I think he meant Coca Cola honey.  Soda.  He prefers Coke to Pepsi.

You got your legs up in the sky
With the devil in your eyes
Let me hear you say you want it all
Say it now, say it now

Clearly, his friend fell down while riding her scooter.  That is why her legs are in the air.  Those are tears in her eyes, not the devil. 

Look what you’re doing, look what you’ve done
But in this jungle you can’t run
‘Cause what I got for you
I promise it’s a killer,
You’ll be banging on my chest
Bang bang, gorilla

Ooh, yeah
You and me baby making love like gorillas
Ooh, yeah
You and me baby making love like gorillas

Oh my, panic sets in.  Fumbling for the dial.
Yeah, I got a fistful of your hair
But you don’t look like you’re scared
You just smile and tell me, “Daddy, it’s yours.”
‘Cause you know how I like it,
You’s a dirty little lover

He should not be pulling on her hair.  That is not nice.  No, he is not her Daddy.  Bruno, you’re killing me.  This song will not make the minivan mix.





My bologna has a first name….

I cook dinner (almost) every night. It’s not because I am a subservient wife.  I have three children who demand to eat three meals a day.  I know, who do they think they are? Some days we grab take-out and my husband is left to fend for himself when he gets home from work.  Then, there are days when I just don’t feel like cooking and they eat sandwiches.  Bottom line, my husband does not expect a hot meal on the table when he gets home at night.  He is grateful when I do cook. (As he should be) When I read a story about a woman in New York who was making her boyfriend sandwiches to earn an engagement ring, I nearly spit out my Twinkie.  (How the hell did we live without those for so long?)

As the story goes, Page Six reporter, Stephanie Smith’s boyfriend made a snide comment that she should’ve made him a sandwich when she woke up. (They don’t have any kids so it was probably after noon. Remember what that feels like? Yeah, me neither.)  “Sandwiches are love,” he says. So, she made him one.

As he finished that last bite, he made an unexpected declaration of how much he loved me and that sandwich: “Honey, you’re 300 sandwiches away from an engagement ring!”  I paused.  Was our happily ever after as simple as making him a few sandwiches?”

First of all,  I wouldn’t have made the first sandwich.  In fact, he probably wouldn’t have eaten the rest of the day. Miss Smith got cooking and started a blog documenting each and every sandwich she created.  (I must admit, the sandwiches look delicious)  The article continues:

Ten sandwiches or so in, I did the math. Three sandwiches a week, times four weeks a month, times 12 months a year, meant I wouldn’t be done until I was deep into my 30s. How would I finish 300 sandwiches in time for us to get engaged, married and have babies before I exited my childbearing years?  My mother was the voice of reason. “Relationships are a marathon, not a sprint,” she said. “Take it one sandwich at a time.”

My Mom would have said, “Tell him to make his own damn sandwich.”  You need to throw him out with the week old salami.  Did Beyonce teach us nothing?  If he likes it he should have put a ring on it.  You shouldn’t have to earn a diamond.  A day after this article ran in the paper women wearing Birkenstock’s and carrying portraits of Susan B. Anthony stormed delis across the country in protest.   Miss Smith recanted.  She now claims it was just a joke.  Talk about a poker face.  She just made sandwich #177.    My bologna has a first name…..


Make it work

I am a model bitches! Well, I was for an hour. I didn’t get the full experience. I opted for french fries instead of cotton balls for lunch. My friend Kevin is a talented photographer. I needed a new head shot and he wanted pictures for his portfolio. Apparently, all that he is missing is the ‘middle-aged Mom with a kangaroo pouch’ shot. He sent me a text message a few days before our scheduled shoot.


I nearly spit out my milkshake reading it. High fashion? Does the clearance rack at Target count? What about the white, oversized, v-neck t-shirt I wear around the house? Now, I was nervous. I just wanted a new Twitter avatar. I do not have Rachel Zoe on speed dial.

Seeing all the lights and equipment set up in his studio was intimidating….at first. Then, my inner Giselle Bun-whatever the hell her last name is kicked in. I was 13 again making model faces in the mirror, Tim Gunn whispering, “Sofia” in my ear. (Wait, wrong show. I mean, “Make it work.”)


It was empowering. I never felt beautiful growing up. I was a wallflower at school dances. I didn’t have a lot of boyfriends. (Trust me, the girls who did blossomed way too soon.) When I finally got the courage to call a boy he made me feel worthless. Last check his hot body deflated (side effect of quitting steroids), never became a professional hockey player (shocker) and is a crackhead. (Allegedly) I don’t care if my kids are popular. I just want them to be confident, to realize they are perfect just the way they are.

I am sure a few of my Facebook “friends” are texting one another Who does she think she is? The only thing she can model is Spanx. Valid point.


When I left today my 6-year-old said, “Why does he want to take your picture?” He doesn’t think I am a troll, but just a regular old Mom. (Emphasis on old) After I showed him a picture he said, “Wow. You look like one of those famous people in a magazine.” I felt beautiful.


Call me, Maybe?

So, that’s a maybe? The President of the United States gave a primetime speech to say “Maybe?” Odd. No, I am not getting all political on you. I hate politics. My husband ran for congress and it was a nightmare. I’m talking “1, 2 Freddy’s coming for you…” scary. It’s a dirty sport especially when you are not rich. Scoring $14.30 in soda cans doesn’t buy much. Well, a top local politician didn’t think he was worthy of running in the primary. Apparently, for some the whole We love the troops thing is just BS. “What have you done besides kill people?!” he screamed, spraying the room with his venomous saliva.

I don’t get into political debates. It’s just not my thing. Now, if you want to discuss the future of the RHONJ, I am your girl. My head isn’t completely in the clouds. I actually know and care about what is going on in the world. I worked as a journalist for a decade. (She says throwing a fancy title at you to prove her intelligence) I will admit, however, I have a hell of a time naming all the U.S. states on a map, though. The corners are easy. Those middle states can trick you up.

I was forced to watch cartoons during President Obama’s speech, but DVR’d it. How lucky are we that a simple button records whatever we want? Remember how, back in the day, you would have to program the VCR or press Record & Play simultaneously. I got burned many times by pressing one or the other, missing a good Debbie Gibson video. So, why were we watching cartoons at 9 p.m. in my house when my school aged children should be in bed? Clearly, allowing my daughter to eat Bit O’ Honey before bedtime was not my best move as a parent. She made this sweet pouty face and said, “please, Mommy.” I couldn’t help it. What other 3-year-old begs for Bit O’ Honey? Next thing you know she will be asking for poppyseed dressing on the side.

I can report that Milli, Geo and Bot won’t be invading Syria. Will the U.S.? I guess, the president is telling congress, “Sike! You don’t have to vote yet.” When they do I assure you a few politicians will go with go with the My mother told me to pick the very best one and you are not it… process of elimination. President Obama threatened to spank Syria, but is giving it another chance. (But if you do this again mister you’re in big, big trouble.) My 13-year-old walked into my bedroom and asked what the president decided. “Maybe?”