Showing posts from March, 2009

Über Mom

I was at preschool with my daughter, who was arm deep in a water tray full of bubbles. I happened to make what I thought was a safe observation, "Of course she into this, she loves bubble baths." Safe, right? I couldn't imagine anyone criticizing my parenting skills by that statement. But one mommy looked at me with a cocked head and let out a high pitched, "Oh." You know the kind of "oh" that immediately demands your attention, like a dog whistle to a Bichon Frisé. I didn't know what was to follow, but I silently cursed because my deflector shields were down leaving my undersides vulnerable. Mommy continued, "You let your daughter take bubble baths?" Spoken in the same tone my mother used to ambush my father: You’re not really going to wear that tie, are you? The seemingly innocuous question packed with overtones. The conversation became as dangerous to navigate as class five rapids. I answered mommy’s query as if I was caught at the

To Big Sur With Love

It started out with a wedding. My good friend from high school. We actually knew each other in elementary, however our friendship didn't solidify until we were roommates. I drove north, just shy of San Jose, and achieved the impossible. I went without Michael or the kids, and I didn't go to San Fran to visit Mom or Dad or the sibs. This one was only me. This solo journey was Michael's idea. I haven't been out of Maxie's reach since the second day of her life, and evidently the stress of mommydom was taking its toll. Everything I asked of my kids was accompanied by the tone , "What did I just say!!!" And my brow was maintaining a permanent scowl. Even Sebastian secretly told my husband, "I think Papa needs to go away." Okay, then. Away it will be. The wedding was a good one. A Jewish wedding in a Jesuit winery. Can't get any better. Doubt I'll see another. Then it was just me. I didn't finalize plans until Saturday, the day I tucked

Cross Dressing Children

What will we allow our boys to wear and what toys can they play with? A girl wearing fatigues and playing with GI Joes barely raises an eyebrow. But Junior wanting a Barbie and fairy princess dress still makes us dads squeamish. Even me, and I'm gay for Pete's sake. You'd think I'd be all "woo hoo, party over here!" when my son clomps around the house in plastic pumps. But truth be told, there's a kernel of discomfort buried deep within my free wheeling, cool gay dad exterior. The above picture was my son's idea. He plopped one of his sister's tutus on his head and pranced about in his version of a la-de-dah lady, something not seen since the grand ol' days of vaudeville. He then convinced Maxie to put a tutu on as well and demanded a photo shoot. It was campy and a lot of fun. The merriment ebbed. The tutu came off. He then got dressed in his uniform: jeans, tee shirt, hoodie, sneaks, and was off to school. Bash is beginning to develop his o

Would You Introduce the Mystery Guest Without Blindfolds?

I feel sorry for my husband. He is slogging through the series finale of The L Word . I saw the train wreck last night and wished the episode had a warning: You will never get this hour back . EVER! On the whole, I love series finales. They give the creators and writers leeway to wrap up their creations in their own unique, pretty pink bow. And there have been some doozies , Six Feet Under and The Sopranos come to mind . And let's not forget Newhart , when Bob Newhart woke up in the arms of Suzanne Pleshette , his TV wife from his previous show. Turned out his Vermont existence as the owner of the Stratford Inn was a horrific dream. If only someone told me The L Word was the same. Unlike Newhart , which used wit and humor to tell its final moments, The L Word was a mishmash of storylines , many left open ended, most noticeably the plot they splashed across their own ad campaigns, "Who killed Jenny Schecter ?" This publicity carries with it various unwritten pro

Bad Mommy 4: A Political Assassin Walks into a Gay Bar...

I might have indulged a bit last night. Michael and I went to a bar. This peculiar, edgy guy showed an interest in my husband. He went on about Michael's energy, how they connected when their eyes met, how he had not seen a light in someone's eyes since his meeting with the Dalai Lama. Let's call him Crazy. And Crazy pulled something out of his pocket for Michael to see. My husband then smelled this something, let out an appreciative "Mmmmm" and said I should give it a go. I leaned in to see a gooey brown substance on Crazy's fingers. Having two young ones who often secrete gooey brown onto various parts of their bodies, I was immediately suspect. Did that stop me? Of course not. I inhaled and smelled chocolate. Hold on. Not just chocolate. Chocolate mixed with something. Chocolate and pot. Crazy told me to open my mouth. And evidently, this is when my common sense decided to take a road trip to Tijuana. In a convivial display of "why the hell not?"

Stop Looking at my Can!

My blogging buddy MadMadMargo found this softdrink generator and I laughed my can off. Go make your own!

Poisoning My Kids

This morning Sebastian was rambling about someone named Maria. "What's her name? Maria? Wait. Who's Maria? Is she the one who's a nun? Yeah. And she lives in that big house." And without a breath he breaks into, "How do you solve a problem like Maria?" I smiled to myself. We haven't watched The Sound of Music for quite a while and I wondered what triggered that nugget. He went on for a while, trying his best to remember the tune and when his memory ran dry, he shifted gears, "They tried to make me go to rehab, I said no, no, no." And what struck me as he warbled from Rodgers and Hammerstein to Amy Winehouse was how all parents poison their kids. Admit it. We do. With our likes and dislikes, the way we turn a phrase, the food we eat, our personal style, the television and movies we reference. (My white son does a spot on Miss Celie from The Color Purple .) Amy Winehouse was Michael's introduction, although not The Sound of Music

It Just Keeps Knocking

I didn't think this would happen in this way. I assumed, one day, I would end up on television talking in a heart felt manner about some cause, which I may or may not really give a rip about. Such is the life of a celebrity. Well...this is not television, but this week I have been propositioned TWICE by people who want me to help get their word out. One is for a cause, the other a reality show. And both of these requests came from folks who read Mommy With a Penis. This blog is going to take me somewhere dammit. So before I get to the nitty gritty, let me bask in my very own Z list celebrity status...just one moment longer...I'm getting to it..I'm basking, I'm basking. Alright...and on to the main course. The cause first... The cause: Planned Parenthood The event: Food Fare The place: Santa Monica Civic Auditorium The date: Thursday, March 12th EAT, DRINK AND BE DISCOVERED AT PLANNED PARENTHOOD LA’s 29th ANNUAL FOOD FARE LA’s Premiere Culinary Celebratio

Bad Mommy 3: Why I Oughta...

It was one of those days. My two year old determined NOT to be content. She wants the princess outfit on. She wants the princess outfit off. Hello Kitty t-shirt on with pink panties. No, scratch that. With Sleeping Beauty panties. She throws a box of cereal on the floor. Hello Kitty t-shirt off. Panties off. Yells at dog. Pees on floor. Slaps my face. For lunch, she wants chicken, cucumber, yogurt. She spits out chicken. Ignores cucumber. And knocks her Danimals all over the kitchen counter. She refuses to help clean up. Idonwanna accompanies each action. Her whine so insidious , I'm a vibrating violin string ready to snap. Phone rings. It's Hubby: MOMMY WITH A PENIS: Maxie almost went through the window. HUBBY: (With terror in his voice.) What happened? MOMMY WITH A PENIS: I almost threw her threw her through it!