Recently in And then he called me Mama Category

And I mean that in the most eloquent, and non-boob way possible…

You’ve all seen it by now. In fact, it’s old news and I’m way behind the times — clearing the buffers out of my brain that are filled with apple sauce, toy tractors and soy milk. It takes me a few days to clear my head, wipe the oatmeal from my eyelashes and say… What does that say? But the ‘Mom Enough Time Magazine’ cover that was released ever so obnoxiously, Pre-Mother’s Day weekend. Yeah. THAT ONE. The one that forces all to look where most try not to out of a little thing called PERSONAL SPACE. Because– not only is she sending a message about how awesome your arms can look with daily Pilates, but hello? Camouflage on a 5-year old? GROUNDBREAKING. My son has been wearing the military pattern for years, much to the chagrin of his leftist Preschool (Not that there’s anything wrong with that political standpoint. Get over yourself.) It’s FASHION, people. Even TIME MAGAZINE agrees.

Really TIME? You had nothing better to do than to sift through the Goddess files to find the one 26 year old, self-righteous (in her own right, because I’m non-confrontational) woman that wanted to stand up, say F-YOU, I BREAST FEED to the universe? Never mind the rest of us that — in one massive uproar, sheltered our cubs under massive butterfly wings and said, “ARE YOU TALKING TO ME?!?!” Because women, MOMS in particular, are not defensive at all. Go team YOU.

Admittedly, I didn’t read the article, so while I feel the need to write this post — I can’t speak for the content beyond Time’s cover. Apparently, you have to buy the issue if you want to read in detail and by the time that I reached the newsstand, the angry mobs of Moms had already had their kill. All I could find was a trampled issue of Saveur Magazine — the Bread Issue, which — half-gnawed on must have served as substance to one of the blood seekers. I would go into detail over what they did to the Vogue Scarlett Johansson issue, but really — the images are too graphic for my descriptive ability. HOWEVER, I did read the online interview with Miss MOM ENOUGH (in capital red letters) on Time’s website — I don’t know, aside from the weirdness of shoving her boob into a her kindergarten-aged children’s mouths, she seems okay — a little loopy, but what Mom isn’t? And whatever, if that’s your thing — DO IT. Obviously, someone at Time Magazine is happy that you did — sitting in an accounting room, counting dollars upon dollars where the once dilapidated and tired magazine was, just yesterday, scrounging for pennies…MUHAHAHAA, WHO CAN WE PISS OFF NEXT?!?! While many would have been perfectly fine not knowing, and NOT getting angry over imagery and words that point and accuse. Blood pressures would have remained normal — and those of us with a sense of humor wouldn’t be wondering if we need to be careful about our boobs and what mouths they end up in. But whatever, who’s to stop those that feel compelled to share — in all seriousness, or not.

via the lovely blogger lateenough

Ugh. It’s Sunday. My timing is off. Never post on the weekend, right? And while I know I’m completely alone here, in this massive void called the Sunday Internet, I am happy to see that not much has changed since my last posting — oh so many days ago. Because, the time in between has been spent up with family stuff– a birthday, Baptism, and gobs of (lovely, mind-you) guests.

I’ve also continued to work on projects, managed to read The Hunger Games at rapid speed and get myself all wrapped up in a self-deprecating diet that IN NO WAY reminds me about being anywhere near a South Beach. Bastards — WHY DIDN’T ANYONE TELL ME? Although reading about the avoidance of starvation while starving has made for an interesting juxtaposition. Perhaps Katniss, (die-hard main character of THG, for those of you that are in denial) should have considered the South Beach Diet before heading into the arena to face the possibilities of going hungry… then she TOTALLY would have known how to starve. The book is supposed to be eons into the future — safe to say that SOMEONE wasn’t paying attention in history class. And, whatever, I know she is victorious (TOLD YOU!) but it wasn’t until the Gamemakers decided to allow two people to win that the book really begins to sink down into the depths of teenage romance. Which is about as deep as a pint of Ben & Jerry’s…. which I would totally go Hunger Games all over the place for right about now and I don’t even like ice cream. Dammit.

And now I’m hungry again.

So, as you can imagine, I’ve been rather busy these past few weeks and therefore don’t have very much to write about. Hence my internet absence.

But while I’m here….

There. There it is. My son throwing the largest rock he can manage into the bay next to our house. Impressive, right?

Well. Whatever. I’M IMPRESSED.

But do you know who really isn’t impressed?

Josephine. She turns one and suddenly has NO REASON to smile about rocks. While I’m all “YAY, NICE ONE!” she’s scowling at me like “OMG, Can we GET ANY LAMER!”… in the driest sense possible. In fact, after chastising me for wearing my hoodie hood OVER my jean jacket this morning, it was apparent that we are all in for a major lashing of the vanities. That is, if she ever allows us to be seen with her. Plead with her for a family make-over and maybe she’ll smile….

While she silently judges… That’s right…. At least that’s what we keep telling ourselves.

And Spring Break. So… I have no time this week, although I did take this picture (gratuitous self-back pat). I managed to convince the Eastern Long Island wind to die down to about 50 miles per hour, twisted my upper half into a pretzel-like position, balanced the soon to be 1-year old in my left hand while occupying the 4-year old with my right foot — stuck my tongue out for ultimate concentration and clicked. The good news is that, day 3 into staycation, and I’m only beginning to wonder about what to do next — Meanwhile, he’s only asked to go back to school about 900 times. What do those disturbingly happy preschool teachers have that I don’t, huh?

In other news — take a look at this nice little pluggy plug from Studio 30+ — Doesn’t it make me sound a-m-a-z-i-n-g? The praise isn’t going my head. Nope. NOT AT ALL.

But even as they have both completely let it go for the night, I’m sitting here watching this thing over and over again. Curse the devil that made me buy an iPhone. I will now attempt to embed this little video of love into this blog.

You know the blog where I feel weird about sharing too much about my kids… Yes, that one. Don’t let your heart explode, you know, because of the love.

And it only took me 30 hours to add this clip to my post. What? It’s not like I own a ukulele and post ridiculously cute videos of myself on a weekly basis. That design company I owned came with it’s own PROGRAMMERS. This is all jam and jelly cake to me, YO. Lay the hate down.

But whatever… I hear you. BIG DEAL. The cute kids run and crawl back and forth, laughing, smiling… EMULATING. But…but, but… DON’T YOU SEE IT? They’re both HUGE, and moving around and making noises and attempting to play with each other. It’s called INSANITY, and I am now on the cliffs of thensuch. See you never.

I’ve been busy this and last week with design projects (can I get an AMEN!) and my new passion for becoming a film-maker. Yes. Maker-o-Films. I’m sure all of this excitement will result in mass quantities of manic behavior in the weeks to come, which can only lead to blog abuse. Hold tight.

UGH.

I have the flu. THE FLU. Influenza…(insert prescription medication commercial voice– I call her Linda) is commonly referred to as the flu, is an infectious disease caused by RNA viruses of the family Orthomyxoviridae (the influenza viruses), that affects birds and mammals. The most common symptoms of the disease are chills, fever, sore throat, muscle pains, severe headache, coughing, weakness/fatigue and general discomfort…. — Just in case you were wondering, and thank you Linda. I’ve been entertaining both Linda and the Flu since Tuesday — or at least that’s when they decided to tap me on the shoulder and notify me of their presence. Now, every time I get the chills, Linda monotonously chimes in “Chills or rigor is a shaking occurring during a high fever. It occurs because cytokines and prostaglandins are released as part of an immune response and increase the set point for body temperature in the hypothalamus. “Rigor” is sometimes considered a synonym for “chills”.” Because I needed to know.

And, I hear you. WHAT DO YOU MEAN? But, YES. I did get the flu shot — months ago. WE ALL DID. Even Allergy Boy was allowed to get one this year. We aren’t anti. In fact — WE LOVE to be vaccinated… HOWEVER, apparently the FLU is just like people and comes with many different faces, or as Linda calls them “Strains” (variants of plants, viruses or bacteria; or an inbred animal used for experimental purposes) and what people are vaccinated for is really just the BIG FLU. Not this little flu, of which I only have a mild touch of– making me cringe at what it must feel like to have the BIG FLU…. As I lay around freezing and sweating — every part of my body screaming “JUST TAKE ME NOW”, as I grab my own shoulders yelling “MAN UP!”. It’s a delicate dance and it really doesn’t help that Linda sits around here laughing and dropping bits of popcorn all over the house. The dog won’t eat popcorn.. so now I have to clean.

Add to this that the baby is teething. Which isn’t only a comedy of errors, but also a juxtaposition of fate SO UNFAIR that one can only sit at the edge of their seats in frozen horror. One must COMFORT the baby that won’t sleep because a pain larger than any adult human can stand is attacking her very being — but not too close, you have the FLU!…. I know you’re watching.

Shut it, Linda.

But the good news is that I’m on the “upside” of this little touch of flu… Now if we can just get that tooth to appear, maybe sleep will reenter our lives as well. AND Speaking of something that has absolutely NOTHING to do with the Flu, but could be relatable to teeth in some zoned out health starved mind, is that over the weekend we discovered FROZEN BASIL. Which, to say we discovered it is a bold and, albeit beautifully brandished lie — Because Not Martha told us about it first.

We freeze our own Basil at the end of each summer, so when I first saw the Dorot packages in the grocery store freezer I was overcome by the sillies and laughed my way through the shopping aisles like a mad person. Even the guy that talks to his pocket protector while he stocks the shelves looked at me like I was Dr. Evil. But by this time of the winter, nearing Spring, our Basil supply is gone and the scraps are rather freezer burnt, so we hang our heads and wait — over salting and turning to the dried out options. I had honestly forgotten about the freezer aisle incident until about a month or so ago when Not Martha was brave enough to try.

The end result of our throwing a few cubes into our sauce over the weekend was really, quite pleasant — AND it’s nice to know that there are a few little cubes of fresh love in the freezer should we need, you know… Basil. But I do recommend that you head on over to read Not Martha’s review, because– not only are her pictures filled with slightly more deliciousness, but Linda is worried that you’ve been here a while now — and who knows if I’m still contagious…. “The boundary between contagious and non-contagious infectious diseases is not perfectly drawn….”

In 1997 my best friend and I visited the Château de Versailles.

And, yes. That is me… running around like a weirdo in front of Le Petit Trianon. “Petit” because of it’s tiny scale next to the other Trianon, the “Grand”. It is also important to note that Versailles is referred to as a “château” — not because it is a castle, but because it is located in the countryside. Got that… NOT because it is a castle. Because, CLEARLY, Versailles is NOT a castle. NO. You’re WRONG.

I told you. NOT A CASTLE.

Now you are confused. Not in the sense that I’m a weirdo that likes to run around like a goofball in front of historical grandeur, but because you thought this post was going to be about Versailles. Which it sort of is, but not really.  No. This post is about Birth Control.

Yes. That’s right. Another annoying post about Birth Control. And people calling each other sluts and whores. And advertisers pulling contracts out from under ugly words that should never have been said. And the Jehovah’s Witnesses I just kicked off my front porch. Because, looking back at the world and all of the things that have gone on over and over again… Marie Antoinette was only 14 when she was expected to produce an heir to the French Throne. Her husband was only 15. And, oddly enough, the very last thing that either of them were interested in was sex. It took them YEARS to figure it all out. Freaks.

So, while I understand that the news is news — and we live in 2012 where the media RUNS SOCIETY, I’d really like it if for once, when I turn on the the tellie in the hopes of catching a glimpse of this week’s forecast — I’d REALLY LOVE IT if the end result wasn’t my FOUR YEAR OLD asking me about BIRTH CONTROL. I mean… One can only assume that if there were teenagers out there NOT thinking about sex — they are clearly lying, but with all this talk about birth control, WHAT ARE THEY THINKING NOW? As we sit around hoping that they aren’t thinking about IT, while all we do is talk about IT. No. They didn’t get any ideas from us. HOW COULD THEY?

So — can we tone it down a bit on the whole TALKING ABOUT IT stuff? Clearly we aren’t getting anywhere anytime soon. And lots of people are getting really angry….. Slamming the door in the Jehovah’s face as she said “These are really angry times…”. NO KIDDING. But I’m not going to sit around TALKING ABOUT IT. No. Instead, I’m going to just sit here thinking about those poor kids at the Château…. that never really even stood a chance.

I went online this morning to look up how to beat Pneumonia, but apparently it isn’t on the top of Google’s list…

But WHY NOT?  Because, Will is currently moaning after every Pneumonic cough. Josephine is coughing as well, but with only a cold we hope. And I — well let’s just say that I’m attempting to keep my head above the sea of mucus that I’m currently drowning in. Gross, I know… And apparently — Google doesn’t really know anything about priorities, although deleting Facebook might find us a healthier society… you know, one that doesn’t obsess over Superbowl commercials staring Clint Eastwood.

I’d say that I’m going to do something about this… get angry and mad that it always seems to be ME searching for the answers when there are so few. But no. I’m tired… SO VERY TIRED. So, here… while we’re getting better, this is what we looked like last week — when life was fair and noses were simply running and Dirty Harry was, well…. DIRTY.

Currently accepting love and sympathy at an arms distance.

There is this guy in town named Fred who rides his bike everywhere he goes.

I know Fred from the library where Will and I met him last summer. Older, but not old, he was hanging out in the rose garden when Will ran up to him and then stood frozen in time. Clearly he wasn’t expecting anyone to be sitting on our favorite bench, where we read the books we’ve just checked out. Fred looked over his bifocals at Will and calmly said “And who are you, young man?”.  Silence. “Answer him, Will”, I said as Will began to back into my legs. “Will — now that is a great name. My name is Fred, and if you look over there by that tree, you’ll see my bike.”

And that was it. Will was sold… we both were. Now, every time we see Fred anywhere — riding around town, sitting on various park benches, there is a roaring announcement from the backseat… “FRED!!!! There’s FRED!!!!!”.

And, as I take a step away from my nice little story here, you’ll notice that I am not titling this post. I’ve decided to stop with the titles and this has nothing to do with the whole Obama is an entertainer factor….And in saying that, I have just insinuated something that can only be perceived (i before e but not after c) as racist. No. In fact — I quite love the fact that he decided to sing Al Green at the Apollo theater. It was cute… CHARMING, even. But no. Titles lately seem like evil F-Bombs that give each and every one of us the ability to point fingers at each other like little kids. Because, if you sing in public — then you are entertaining, regardless of being white or black…. just like Fred, who is one of the little joys that we have in our town… and he also happens to be black. A fact, yes — but a completely meaningless one.

And so, the other morning, as I was thinking about titles and the evils of the media, what to make for dinner, the missing flip flop and our ever questioning society — I drove away from the beach and down Little Plains Road to go pick Will up from school. The weather unusually warm as the rain was subsiding. Fred was on his way to the beach just as the sun was breaking through the clouds, passing me, heading towards the beach with the biggest most admirable grin on his face I’ve ever seen. I attempted to capture this moment while not looking like a complete lunatic and scarring Fred for life — possibly never riding his bike again and/or giving up the gift of being the friendliest man alive… but I did get him on the ride-away. His smile now burned on my brain and making me smile, for no apparent reason.

Some days just can’t be duplicated…On our way to school today….

“Mom. Why do the clouds move?”

“Well…. the wind blows them around. Look at the clouds today — don’t they look like the comforter on your bed?”

“Yes, they… They look like a big mattress!”

“Yes, you’re right — all puffy…”

“And COMFY! I bet they’re bouncy. I bet the man that drives the sun is laying on them.”

“The man that drives the sun?”

“Yes — he’s friends with the man in the moon. He sleeps ALL THE TIME.”

“Really…”

“Yes, but the sun is too hot. Like the radiator in the little bathroom.”

“I know. That radiator is hot …. but the sun is a million times warmer…”

“MOM. I touched that radiator last night and it was really hot.”

“You shouldn’t touch it.”

(after a minute of thought while driving past McDonald’s)

“Mom. Did you need to go into Old McDonald’s today?”

“No…. Dad bought me a coffee this morning.”

“Oh. Well. MOM.”

Yes.

“If you need a coffee sometime and Dad doesn’t get you one, you can just go to the Old McDonald’s drive-thru.”

“That’s true, Will.”

“If Dunkin’ Dounuts had a drive-thru, then you would go there, right?”

“Probably.”

“Maybe tomorrow Dad won’t bring you coffee?”

“Maybe.”

Long title, I know… but I couldn’t help it. May the search engine Gods look the other way, because this is all about SELF PROMOTION.

We baked really yummy bread over at Will’s Kitchen… I have two new design projects up over at Ryan Salinetti Creative… I posted earlier this week about gender fearing parents at Sprocket Ink AND I just posted another piece about the wonders behind Kelly Osbourne, Rose McGowan and Pamela Anderson (together at last!). I also started a little Tumblr project and plan to finish my time travel machine by the end of the weekend. You may think I’m on drugs, but sadly– no. Also, I’m going to BJs tomorrow for diapers and Dino Chicken. I know… seethe the jealousy. Off to fold the laundry! Weeeeeeeeeeee…..