Mommy with a Penis

On this, my son's eighth birthday, I made waffles. One would think I planned waffles as a special birthday breakfast. (When I was a kid my mother's birthday breakfast for us was oatmeal with a big scoop of vanilla ice cream on top, sprinkled with brown sugar. Absolute heaven.) But no, the idea behind waffles had nothing to do with "birthday breakfast," it was born out of necessity. We are going out of town for the holidays and I'm trying to make do without going to the market. We have no milk, no eggs, no bacon, no oatmeal and for that matter, no vanilla ice cream. And so, the only breakfast staples I could think of that didn't require any of the above were waffles and that frostbitten package of sausage links stuck to the back of the freezer, purchased in aught eight. I did have my concerns. For some unfathomable reason my children have professed a dislike for waffles. I know, how can they not like waffles? If I had my way as a kid, I would have eaten them t...

Now that I'm back in the throes of monitoring school homework, packing lunch boxes and driving to and from numerous extracurricular activities, it's hard to believe that not six weeks ago I was sipping mai tais poolside on the beautiful island of Maui. You know how folks develop that special place they go to unwind? Well, Hawaii is that place for me. The second the plane's wheels scrape rubber on the tarmac I feel transformed. I've come home. You see, I was born in Honolulu, just like Barack Obama and Bette Midler. (And like Barack Obama and Bette Midler, I too can show you a valid birth certificate.) And even though I only lived there the first nine months of my life, the islands feel familiar . The fragrant Hawaiian breeze is mother's milk, the loamy earth and brilliant colors my pablum. That doesn't mean our special getaway wasn't without incident. I somehow managed to get both sinus and ear infections, Maxie got a bladder infection, Sebastian, five stitc...

SEBASTIAN: My daddy's a satyr. ANY STRANGER WHO WILL LISTEN: I'm sorry. SEBASTIAN: My daddy is a satyr. ANY STRANGER WHO WILL LISTEN: Your daddy eats Seder? SEBASTIAN: (With increasing fury.) No. He's a satyr. ANY STRANGER WHO WILL LISTEN: You mean a sailor. SEBASTIAN: A satyr. ANY STRANGER WHO WILL LISTEN: A settler? SEBASTIAN: A satyr! ANY STRANGER WHO WILL LISTEN: A senior? A sadist? A sitarist? SEBASTIAN: No. You are not listening to me. MY DADDY IS A SATYR!!! As a parent, I never expected to hear that uttered from my child's lips. The problem is twofold. No one expects a little kid to announce that his father is a mythological creature, and many folks don't know what the dickens a satyr really is. So, let's start by demystifying. In Greek mythology, a satyr is a follower of Dionysus, and on vase paintings is portrayed with with a swinging horse tail and perpetual erection. It wasn't until Roman times when the upper body of a man was attached to the lowe...

One hundred sounds really old, doesn't it? Come to think, I don't think I've ever met anyone who was one hundred. But this isn't about any one , and we're certainly not celebrating any thing that has achieved one hundred status. I've not made a replica of the Hollywood sign with one hundred sugar cubes, for example, or swallowed one hundred fireflies. This isn't even my hundredth blog entry, it's my seventy-eighth for those of you who are counting. But this is a monumental anniversary, nonetheless. It's Mommy's birthday. And by Mommy, I don't mean Sally, my biological mommy, her birthday is Income Tax Day. No, today Mommy With a Penis is a spry one year old. Birthdays are usually a time for self reflection, for looking back at the previous year and weighing achievements vs. missteps. It's a good time to create lists for the upcoming year, to meditate on future blog entries. For instance, do I reexplore the train wreck that is Carrie Pr...

Last Thursday was Maxie's birthday. I derive a sense of security from the day of my daughter's birth. Not only was she born on Father's Day, which becomes all the more significant when two fathers are involved, but she was also born on the same day as Isabella Rossellini , Carol Kane, Roger Ebert, Paul McCartney, E. G. Marshall, Jeanette MacDonald, William Randolph Hearst III, John D. Rockefeller IV and in the center square, Mr. Uday Hussein. You see, all these folks, along with my darling three year old were born on the Day of Financial Security. (Not that that helped Uday .) My sister, a while back, gave me one of those birthday coffee table books that has never lived on my coffee table. It's called The Secret Language of Birthdays , and in it the reader is given insightful information about " personology profiles" for each day of our calender year. Now, I couldn't tell you the special name for the day on which I was born. Nor could I tell you anything...