Mommy with a Penis

Days 2 & 3: Rockefeller Center and NYFD It seems my days leading up to Christmas were a delicate balance between enjoying the very adult New York I remembered while searching desperately for the kid-friendly New York that would keep my children from throwing themselves in front of subway trains. Now, I'm not saying there isn't anything for little ones to do in the Big Apple, but when I typed children's activities NYC  (or some similar prompt) in the Google search box it seemed as if the same ten things kept popping up, most of which were seasonal, and I was in the wrong season.  The tree at the Americana in Glendale, CA with 15,000 twinkling lights, 10,000 ornaments and a superimposed Kringle Sebastian and Maxwell may have bah humbugged the Christmas tree at the Metropolitan Museum ( refer to last entry ), but it was a new day, the sky had cleared and I was determined to impress my kids with the Christmas tree of all Christmas trees. That's right, ...

My husband taught me to enjoy free stuff .  Whether at a fudge counter in Solvang or a sex shop in Sausalito I have heard him query, "Could I get a sample of that?" This is always delivered with a smile, usually with a flirty air, and people seem to be attracted to and then comply with what I used to think was an unreasonable demand. And Michael is so good at flirt-asking  that not only does he secure the taste or spritz, but I have seen him walk away with free bars of designer soap and the occasional complimentary glass of Pol Roger Champagne. Now, I'll be honest, his unabashed groveling shamed me for a while, but over the years my position has softened and I have learned to enjoy the gratis  whatchamajigger every now and again. While maintaining this blog, I have been offered free stuff from time to time, most of which I've turned down. (Although there was that extra large mommy t-shirt that looked like a extra small leotard on me...not a pretty sight.) But befo...

On December 19th I arrived with the children at Newark Airport around ten in the evening, got to the hotel about eleven, reunited with Michael and the four of us took our first walk to Times Square close to midnight. At one point, Maxwell, who'd never seen such hustle and bustle, slowed down to a halt and asked in a small voice filled with apprehension and wonder, "Can we just stay here?" Ah, yes. I remember that fresh off the turnip truck feeling only too well. The Big Apple is very special to me. It was my home for twelve years, not to mention it was also where Michael and I met and professed our undying love, so I couldn't wait to visit my old stomping grounds, walk the streets, ride the subway, see shows on the way  identified as Broad, and chow down eats that are in direct conflict with my diet: pastrami on rye, late-night slices of Ray's, street-vendor falafel, and an honest to gawd toasted New York bagel with a schmear. One significant difference fr...

On many an occasion have I woken my daughter out of a dead sleep (to go to the bathroom or from a car seat nap) and after doing so she has uttered something quite unforeseen: "I'm afraid of spiders," or "Matisse is my best friend." But last night, I could not have imagined when rousing her from my bed to move her to her own room that I would hear her expound, "Princess Celestia!" Princess Celestia is a sparkling, pink unicorn from the My Little Pony series that Maxwell chose yesterday above all of the other toys at Target to be her present from Uncle Krik. Truth be told, this is no ordinary unicorn; she is really quite...well...celestial with multicolored ringlets, and wings that light up when you push the cheeky button on her rump. As it turns out, she is also a chatterbox, spouting ear-cringing inanities. Now, I would never expect a toy with the unwieldy moniker Princess Celestia to extol the virtues of world peace or recite Portia's soli...

It's important to note that the following article was first published in G Man Magazine, a deliciously  wonderful online publication that you all must check out. (I'm on page 36.) Just click on the Happy Holidays button.  Happy Holidays! Michael  and I are scathingly honest with our kids. Well...maybe not Aunt-Bessie-got-shitfaced-and-fell-into-the-holiday-punchbowl honest, but honest in that age appropriate sort of way. For instance, Sebastian and Maxwell both know they are adopted, they also know we are a multiracial family and some of what that implies, my son understands he has learning disabilities, and my daughter is keenly aware that her black, kinky hair is a bitch for a white man with stumpy fingers to care for.  Now, I've not chosen to be honest for some principled reason. I simply find it's directness an easier way to motor through life. To tell a lie or be decidedly vague to my kids and then have to remember and support that lie every time ...

So many partially written blog entries...numerous, unformulated, yet juicy ideas bouncing around my over-crowded noggin... while visions of sugarplums danced in their heads... just waiting for me to jot them down, and still I haven't been able to write. I'll admit it, I've been stuck... like a truck in the muck ...mired in apathy, self-involvement and evidently, too much children's literature... that Sam-I-Am, that Sam-I-Am, I do not like that Sam-I-Am . And then, to make matters worse, I made a sweeping, grandiose statement in my last blog entry (which was in July... yikes ) that I am going to write a book. A BOOK for Seuss sake! What the fuck was I thinking? Just as I'd make headway with a possible chapter, the kids would start reenacting an episode of Phineas  and Ferb , or my ancient fourteen-and-a-half year old husky would have a seizure on the kitchen floor making me wonder whether it was time to call the kindly man with a lethal injection, or I'd hav...