Feeling fine at year nine!

This is the penultimate LEZZY post-the ultimate being the post I compose after all is said and done. Voting ends at midnight on the 2nd, and I'll address you all in the aftermath of The Lezzys. (VOTE HERE) Thanks to everyone who voted and is still voting for Peaches & Coconuts again and again and put up with my pleas and reminders. Your support is truly humbling.

Winners of THE LEZZY AWARDS will be announced on March 3rd on My Lesbian Radio live on The Lesbian Lounge Podcast. To listen, go to mylesbianradio.com and click on LISTEN NOW on March 3rd at 9pm ET. You do not need to register, and you do not need to be a lesbian. I’m pretty certain that there is no way of determining whether or not your IP address comes from a gay household...yet.

On that evening, however, I will not be listening to the live podcast. It’s not that I don’t want to hear which phenomenal lesbians have been voted this year’s best of the best. Win or lose, I’ve made it to the podium in two categories, and I’m beyond proud. I can’t get all bent out of shape if I don’t get the Gold. All I have to do is watch the fearless performances of the Olympians this year to remind myself how lucky I am to have landed in the top 3 of my “sport”. All the Olympic medallists and all the competitors who qualified to compete in the Olympics on behalf of their countries are worthy of our respect and millions of dollars in endorsements...as are all of the finalists of The Lezzy Awards who are committed to informing and entertaining and connecting us all with rainbow coloured blogs.

I will not be listening in along with my colleagues because the evening of the 3rd of March is our 9th wedding anniversary-not to be confused with the day we first officially started dating almost 16 years ago or the date marking our Domestic Partnership or the anniversary of our Civil Union or even our federally recognized wedding in Canada last summer. No. The 3rd of March was the date that we pulled out all the stops, spent money we didn’t have and hosted a full-on wedding with friends and family in grand style. Of all the anniversaries we have collected, this is the one that is so meaningful to us that we will go out in the middle of the week, spend a fortune on a sitter and dinner and celebrate until all hours in spite of how exhausted, and maybe even a tad bit hung-over, we will be the next morning when the kids wake up at the crack of ass and we both have to drag ourselves into work.

It has to be done-especially now that we have children who suck the living soul out of us on a good day. We must have an evening to ourselves to relive and rediscover the romance that definied that day 9 years ago. I will never forget how electric I felt all night dancing with Gabriella and celebrating with so many treasured friends and family members. I will also never forget how fit I was at the time. sigh. And now, we are suburban mummies whose weekends are strictly family-friendly.

We took the boys bowling on Saturday. We were desperate to find something to do that did not involve snow pants. They had a great time, of course. Asher focused on our scores the entire time, and Levi could not have been more enthusiastic about every ball he bowled and kicked down the lane.

Gabriella: I had a pink bowling ball once. I wonder where it is.

Deborah: You had your own bowling ball? You mean you bowled on a regular basis?

G: I was on a league. The girls bought me that pink bowling ball one year.

D: What?!? A ringer in my own house, and I had not a clue. When was this?

G: Well, I’m no ringer. I didn’t bowl nearly as well as the other girls.

D: Who are you?

G: Those were the same girls on my softball team.

D: And you wonder why people are surprised to learn that I dragged you out of the closet.

It’s true. When I met Gabriella, she was not a carpet-crunching lesbian. She was simply a bowling, soft-ball playing straight girl who worked in Technology. Hm. Well, as I always explain to anyone who wonders how I could have lured my straight little lady-friend from the hills of Sicily to the lesbo-side, I have a sales background, and I’m that good. “Good at sales, you mean?” Perhaps.

See you on the other side of The Lezzies!

I don't care for numb-buns

I’ve had it up to my gray roots with this winter! The season set in early, and it has been cold, wet and long, and I’m over it. My toes are always cold. My nose needs to be defrosted. And my tush! I’ve got numb-buns, and I don’t care for it.

Relevant tangent. Asher’s teachers called me in to discuss a few challenges Asher is facing this year in kindergarten. Apparently, he hasn’t figured out what the square root of 144 is or something on an equally ridiculous par. In any event, they felt the need to call to my attention to the fact that sometimes Asher resists change. Huh. Go figure. And that when he does not choose to participate in Writing Workshop he simply leaves his paper blank and says, “I don’t care for that.” They shared numerous examples of Asher’s uncooperative behaviour mostly so that they could repeat that Asher “doesn’t care for” many things. I, personally, love that Asher expresses how he feels in a polite manner and uses that particular phrase. He may get beaten up on the playground for it, but he’ll always score mensch-points with the grown-ups. If I were in kindergarten, I don’t know that I would care for Writing Workshop either. I recall playing, cutting paper and singing the alphabet song. Isn't that enough?

My point being that in our family, there are many things for which we do not care. Asher does not care to participate in activities that stress him out, and I don’t care for numb-buns. I will remind you that heat is a luxury in this village of old, drafty homes without insulation. And if it’s a choice between cable television and heat, well we’re going to opt for high-speed internet, HD TV with a DVR on our 42 inch flat screen. (insert Snap-Snap-Snap in Z-formation) That’s just the way we roll.

For the first time in my life, I’m sleeping with socks on. I don’t care for socks in bed, but I feel that it is a necessary evil while the thermostat is set at Polar Degrees. I drink gallons of tea every day just to steam my face over the mug of hot water. Furthermore, I had to give up evening sessions of The Hooter Game. That’s where I casually whip out one boob while we’re watching HD TV on our flat screen television, and I count how many minutes it takes Gabriella to notice that one of the Ladies is on display. Just before the winter set in, she had achieved a personal best of 3.35 minutes, but now I just have to keep everyone covered until spring.

And tonight, we await yet another snow storm. Apparently, we’re in for strong winds and 18 inches of snow. I will get a phone call at 5:30 in the morning from a recorded administrator announcing that school is cancelled. I really don’t care for a call at 5:30 in the morning or the cancellation of school. I will stay home with the children, and we will plan our day in the snow. We will then spend more time dressing for the elements than actually playing in the blizzard. One child will throw a snow ball that accidentally finds the other child’s cheek and eventually drips down his neck. There will be tears, and our day in the snow will be cancelled prematurely. We will make hot chocolate, and I will allow the boys to play on the Wii for hours. I’m waiting for a special occasion – like tomorrow's snow day – to present Asher with the new Wii Curling game I got for him in honour of the Olympics. Something tells me he’s going to be a natural. The boy's got skills.
It won’t be a bad day. In fact, I look forward to spending time with the boys and wearing jeans all day. I miss my jeans now that I’m a working mom. I’m just tired of the snow and the cold and my numb-buns.

Thank goodness for the LEZZY AWARDS. It warms my heart to be a finalist. At least I've got a warm organ. Don’t forget to VOTE HERE and verify your vote with the link sent to your email address. If you add a comment, your name will go into the prize draw should we win.

Be cool. Stay warm.

My win is your win

You may or may not have noticed that some of the Lezzy Award prizes come from my dear friends Hanan & Shamim over at Enlightenment Productions. They graciously donated prizes for each LEZZY AWARD category winner.

Thanks to my uber talented and stunning friends, included in the prizes this year are:

- The World Unseen DVD
- I Can't Think Straight DVD
- Soundtrack for I Can't Think Straight, and
- An I Can't Think Straight t-shirt

Now, because I am a fan and friend to Hanan & Shamim, I already own each of these fantastic prizes. And because I am not a selfish person (except when it comes to peanut M&Ms) mmmmmm....I would like to share in my win-should I win, of course. To win one of the prizes listed, please visit vote for Peaches and Coconuts HERE and verify your vote in the email sent to your email address. After you have voted for P&C, add a comment on my site here or in any blog entry referring to this year's LEZZY AWARDS.

I will enter you in a drawing, and I will randomly give away each prize to 4 deserving and supportive and might I say gorgeous voters. 4 prizes-4 winners. Only your names will go into the drawing, and I will recruit some 3rd party officials to keep it completely fair. No need to butter me up though a pat of butter is like a pat on the back-both of which I appreciate. Remember, you can't win if P&C doesn't win, so get voting! You may vote once every 24 hours thru the 2nd of March, but you need only add a comment one time to enter the prize draw. If you already voted and commented, consider yourself entered...in the prize drawing, of course.

Thank you and Good Luck!

Much Ado About Lezzys

VOTE HERE! EVERY 24 HOURS THRU MARCH 2ND.

February 22nd was Be Humble Day according to my Oriental Trading Wall Calendar. So, I decided to wait until well after that date to announce that PEACHES & COCONUTS is up for 2 count them, 1....2, LEZZY AWARDS!! No time to be humble in the world-o-Lezzys, I’m afraid.

I commit to you that I will not dedicate each post this month to the Lezzy Awards. That being said, there are a few things that I will share before moving on to weightier subjects such as Things Gabriella Can Not Find Because They Are Most Likely Up My Vagina. It just so happens that I can’t find a necklace that I usually wear with my favourite earthy toned wardrobe items. I’m hoping that it is in the usual place because I would be very sad to have lost it.

First and foremost, thank you so much for pushing up Peaches & Coconuts like a Lift Gel Underwire Bra to the top 3 in the Lezzy categories: Best Humor & Best Personal Blog. Much as a nice pair, I’m feeling attractive and uplifted thanks to you all. And for your efforts, I will reward you with a visual aid supplementing the description of said pair (be it not my own pair because that would be an attempt to win your sympathy rather than an opportunity to reward positive voting behaviour).
Now that we’ve made the qualifying round, it is time to win Gold like Lindsey Vonn on the downhill. I’m not nearly as athletic or blond, and I don’t even own a ski suit, but I may just have a chance given that most of my friends have been around long enough to have numerous email addresses -not that I’m encouraging that kind of voting.
I am delighted and thrilled to be on the slopes with some amazing talent. We are a force, we Lezzy Bloggers, and you can’t go wrong reading any of our blogs. As far as voting goes, the Gold is in your supple hands. Choose well.

If you’re anything like many voters in the United States of America, you may turn to your BFF or your partner and ask, “Honey, which bloggers do I like best?” at which point your votes may be influenced by someone else. While I personally think you should take a look at these worthy candidates, it is my pleasure to give you my thoughts on some other Lezzy bloggers.

I “met” Alix of A Brown Girl during last year’s awards. She never disappoints with her honest observations and thought-provoking questions. She’s up for Lifetime Achievement Blog. Vikki at Up Popped a Fox and I also “met” as nominees in last year’s Lezzy Awards, and it’s been my absolute pleasure to be a Fox-Fan ever since. Her blog is funny and smart and always entertaining. Whether you vote for her or not, I insist that you check out her blog. Like my sister the anti-blogger, you’ll be hooked. Vikki is nominated for Best Personal Blog as am I, so I should direct you to vote for Vikki in the Best Parenting Blog category. But, if I were to tell you to vote for The Mighty Fox for Best Parenting Blog, I would be asking you to negate the prolific and profound writings of Polly at Lesbian Dad who is as warm and genuine as she is talented. Don’t make me choose, please! It’s like Sophie’s Choice except much happier.
I’m up against Grace the Spot in Best Humor Blog, and Spot-readers are decidedly numerous. Grace the Spot is a great piece of blog, therefore I may be toast in that category...perhaps.

Where does that leave you? More confused than ever? I do apologize. Where can you find the answers? Well, they are most likely not where I left my favourite necklace. Do you what you need to do, and do it often...and then come vote for Peaches & Coconuts HERE.

Last year, a fair number of my supposedly educated readers voted but did not verify their votes as instructed by selecting the link sent to their email address(es). Let’s show the world that P&C readers CAN be taught. Now is the time to do it right...every 24 hours....thru the 2nd of March.

I'm off to acquaint myself with the other nominees. I hope you'll do the same.

Diverse and perverse

The Diversity Fair at Asher’s elementary school is next month. It’s an annual event hosted by our PTA. Sadly, this year’s volunteer organizer is a friend. It’s not that I am sad that she is our friend, mind you. I’m sad that we have been roped into human-ing not one but two Diversity Tables where we will represent whichever flavour of society needs representing. Normally, I would just say manning tables, but since it is Diversity Day, I feel the need to be uber correct.

Diverse Friend: We need someone to sit at the Gay Table. I figured since you’re our resident Lezzy Nominee, you should be there.

SHAMELESS PLUG TO CONTINUE YOUR NOMINATION EFFORTS HERE

Deborah: Uh huh. What other tables are going to be there?

DF: We’ve got people representing Germany, Norway, Haiti, England, China, Trinidad, the UK...

D: And Gays? When did we become a People? Just because we have a flag... I could dig out the ol’ skull and cross-bones and sit behind the Pirate Table. Aargh, matey! Or what about Scuba Divers? They have a recognizable flag...well, I guess if you’re a scuba diver anyway. Does that make them a People deserving of representation at The Diversity Fair?

DF: It’s not just country tables. We’re representing different cultures and families. We have a table representing Adoption, African-American families, Special Needs...

D: Ok, ok. What do I have to do?

DF: Generally a table is decorated to reflect the diversity. A lot people have pictures or literature.

D: You want me to pass out photos of what we really do in bed? I can do that.

DF: I’m ignoring you. You could have gay-friendly books for kids on display.

D: I’m sure we have a couple of those “I’m ok, you’re ok” – type books lying around somewhere.

DF: If you can’t find any, I’ll give you some of ours. Each table will have an easy craft or game for the kids because the entertainment really boils down to the activities at each table.

D: Hmm, a gay craft. What DO our People like to do?

DF: I’m sure I don’t want to know what you have in mind. Also, try to provide candy or some finger food.

D: Finger food? Why do you hand me these things? Why, I had a girlfriend once I affectionately referred to as Finger Food. Wonder if she’s available that day. That would be entertaining. Well, if I’m really going to represent the lesbians, I’ll make it potluck, and I’ll ask everyone to bring their own vegetarian option to our table.

DF: You’re representing girls AND boys.

D: Right. Rainbow colored Skittles should suffice.

DF: Try to find some inexpensive give-aways, too.

D: Like dental damns? They come in all sorts of flavors these days…I’ve been told.

DF: Like the glow-stick bracelets we handed out last year.

D: Oh.

DF: We don’t have anyone hosting the Italian Table. Would Gabriella do it?

D: I’m sure she’ll be thrilled. She’ll hand out Pope on a Rope Soap with a slice of pizza.
DF: Just be at the Cafetorium at 11:45 for set up.

I had to find a way of getting Cafetorium in there. That is, in fact, what the school calls their multi-purpose room, and I know there are a number of parents who shnort and giggle every time they hear the word. You know who you are, neighbours! It’s the kind of word you just can’t take to the streets because no one will know what the hell you’re saying. But we families of Ye Ol’ Diverse School know that the Cafetorium is where the magic happens. And on the day of The Diversity Fair, Gabriella and I will try to conjure up some Queer, Dego Magic of our own.

It's Lezzy Time!

The Lezzys are here!! The Lezzys are here!! And this time, it’s personal.

Can you believe it has been an entire year since I stood metaphorically at your window and clawed on the glass with a "paned" look of desperation in my eyes and begged you for validation? Me neither!

But oh, Happy, We! Now is the time for Yes We Can – Lesbian Style, and I’m kicking Don’t Ask Don’t Tell to the curb. My platform is clear. I will ASK for nominations. And once Peaches & Coconuts makes it to the Final 3, I will TELL you to vote and you will TELL everyone you know to vote so that we can clinch the win like Suzanne Somers clinches that Thigh Master between her legs.

We ran an honorable race last year, and I know that between us all...and your friends (even those Facebook friends)...and your family...and your neighbors...Peaches & Coconuts will reign victorious, and we will all feel the glory of the win. I'm up for BEST HUMOR BLOG, BEST PARENTING BLOG and BEST PERSONAL BLOG. You can nominate P&C for one or all of these HERE.

Need to spread the love? I'm not greedy. Nominate P&C for BEST PERSONAL BLOG and Up Popped a Fox for BEST PARENTING BLOG (www.uppoppedafox.com). I have the Lezzys to thank for getting to know The Mighty Fox. She's so good, even my anti-blogger sister, Rachel, reads her religiously!

What can I promise you once we win? More entries regarding current events? Thoughtful pieces on gay marriage? Parenting? The importance of Kegel exercises? Would you like to see more photos of my beautiful family? No? What?!? You want T&A shots of hot lesbians playing naked Twister? Say, you can try to disguise your voice, but I know who you are back there on the home office laptop. Must you constantly try to defile my wholesome, family-friendly blog in such a rude manner? (pssst. I’ll email you some pics if you get all your friends to nominate...entre nous, of course.)

So, let’s rally, Sally! Let’s go, Joe! We need a win here at P&C!!

Direct from the The Lesbian Lifestyle website:

The 2009 Lezzy Awards are HERE!!! Nominate your favorite lesbian authored blogs in 11 different categories. Nominations run from Monday February 15th to 12:00 am Monday February 22nd. You are allowed 1 nomination in each category every 24 hours. Make sure to click the link in the nomination email you will receive in order for your nominations to count.

SELECT THIS LINK TO NOMINATE!

Nominate blogs every 24 hours. Multiple nominations are kosher and encouraged! The blogs with the most nominations move on to the finals.

Don’t forget to verify your votes by selecting the links delivered to your email address. Nominations don't count unless you verify them.

Thank you.

Crap day at the office

We went out last night-dancing in the city for a friend’s birthday party that kicked off at 9pm, and we were toast by 12:30am. It’s not that we’re so old that we can’t stay out late, but our kids wake up at the crack of ass no matter what time Mom & Mommy stumble home. Missing the party was not an option. In addition to the fact that we could not possibly miss this friend’s celebration, we had to walk the talk and prove that we really DO take advantage of New York City even though we are bridge & tunnel moms.

Spending time in Manhattan has become even more of a priority since I started working in Jersey. I have now come face to face with the real Jerseyans. These are the people who do not make any excuses for living here as we occasionally do. They love it here and what’s more, they have little to no desire to traipse into New York City for dancing or theatre or museums or shopping or any other cultural activity that is most likely in their very own state. I should say our very own state. You see? 3 ½ years in, and I can’t admit that this is my state, too.

It’s the water cooler talk at the office that reminds me that I’ll never really be a Jerseyan. Last week, my colleagues, Ernie & Bert (for lack of better aliases) were discussing the entertainment world-a subject that normally pleases me.

Ernie: The fun is over on American Idol. Ellen’s on tonight.

Burt: Too bad. I just don’t get it with her. She’s not funny!

E: I know what you mean. My wife thinks she’s hilarious, and I have no idea what she’s talking about. I’ll tell you the only good role she ever played was Dory in Finding Nemo-maybe because I didn’t have to look at her flinching while she talks. Seriously, I can’t stand to even look at her.

B: Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming.


E: But I don’t think she’s funny in anything else she’s ever done. That guy who played Nemo’s dad, Marlin? He was perfect for that role. Albert um...

B: Albert Brooks? From Broadcast News?

E: That’s the one. I don’t like him. He’s always so nervous and jittery. Not funny. Kind of like Woody Allen, you know? All anxious. Is that acting?

I know you’re thinking what I’m thinking. Wouldn’t it have been funny if I had said what we’re both thinking out loud? Well, I did.

Deborah: You’re killing me people! First you hate on Ellen because she’s not a train wreck with a low-cut top like Paula Abdul. And then you go after the Jews. Albert Brooks and Woody Allen? You just hate Jews. It’s ok. My people are used to it.

Ernie and Bert laughed. At least they understood that it was a joke...coming from a history of deep pain, of course.

Truth be told, I’ve never been a huge fan of Woody Allen’s work or personal comportment, but insulting him is like insulting my mother. Ok, bad example. It’s like insulting someone else’s mother. No matter how much trash a person talks about his / her mom, you’d better keep your thoughts to yourself.

There was no talking to these people. I had to call my sister. She loves Ellen more than I do.

Deborah: Rachel, my co-workers hate Ellen.

Rachel: WHAAAAAAAT?!? What kind of hell-ho....RON!! RON!! Do you know what kind of hell-hole Deborah’s work is? They don’t like Ellen!! Deborah, when are you quitting?

D: What? And leave WTF.com? Don’t be ridiculous. Why, I can’t imagine a more enlightening or intellectually stimulating job as this. Just this afternoon, after excusing myself from the gay bashing anti-Semites, I made some sales calls over lunch.

This is when I weasel my way into the offices of anyone in the area who wants to buy a hairbrush. No, not really a hairbrush, but I can’t really give away too many details about my job lest the WTF.com alias is stripped away like a cheap prom dress. Suffice it to say that I call on a number of different companies who are not always keen to chat let alone schedule a visit.

R: Uh huh.

D: Like this afternoon when I called on a doctor who performs colonics. You know the procedure where you get flushed out the back door.

R: Ew.

D: And I said, ‘Hey Dr. Enema!’ That’s not really his name.

R: I got that.

D: ‘Let’s schedule an appointment. Can we find some time this week or next?’ and Dr. Enema said, 'Now’s not a great time. I just need to, well, clean something up.'

R: Oh no he didn’t!

D: Oh yes he did. I’m working in a rundown dump of a building in the heart of The City of the Great Unwashed surrounded by a limited people who hate lesbians and Jews. And on top of all that, I’ll never look at lentil soup in the same way again.

R: Ew.

D: Double ew....as in Double-ew T F.com! Get it?

R: You’re not as funny as Ellen. I’m going now.

D: Bye.

I break chains

My friend Angela over at Camp Wolff tagged me in a game going around on flikr. I was to take a self portrait within five minutes of reading her blog post and then post it to my own blog to report what I was doing.

I don't usually do these things mostly because I'm lazy and also because I prefer to make my own rules on my blog and in my life. But Angela is, as they say, good people, and I don't mind promoting her blog. So I am playing along against my better judgment.

Asher and Mommy were playing backgammon. I was actually ignoring them playing backgammon so that I could play on the computer. But who wants to see me playing on the computer when you can see Asher playing backgammon? Rhetorical question-don't answer.



Lest you thought that I had abandoned my role as party-pooper, I will not tag anyone else. So there. If you would like to play, be my guest.

Stupid arguments lesbians have

Deborah: Bye, Gabriella. Have a good day at w....ARE YOU WEARING MY BOOTS?!?

Gabriella: I’m walking to the shuttle, and it’s cold outside.

D: What am I supposed to wear?

G: You’ve got the car. You don’t need winter boots.

D: Yes I do! My feet are always cold especially in this house. This happens every season. You realize you don’t have the appropriate foot wear, and you help yourself to mine.

G: Is that a problem?

D: Well yes it is. I have delicate, narrow feet and you....well you are going to stretch out my boots and they won’t fit me anymore. And you didn’t even ask.

G: FINE!! I’m going to take them off and then I’ll miss my train.

D: Forget it. Just wear them.

G: If you’re going to be like that, I’m taking them off.

D: Oh no you don’t! Don’t go stomping upstairs to change. I said wear them.

D: You’re stomping the stairs!! If you miss your train, don’t blame ME!

G: There! Are you happy?

D: You’re wearing another pair of my boots.

G: They've got those reinforced toes. They won't stretch.

D: They look much better with your sweater anyway.

G: I’m leaving.

D: Fine. Those boots do look much better.

G: Whatever.

Three days later.

G: Oh, I forgot to tell you about that morning you made me change my boots.

D: Someone told you they liked your boots, didn’t they?

G: No. I got to the shuttle stop late.

D: Yes, I know. I made you fashionably late-literally.

G: And this woman drove up and stopped the car and asked me if I needed I ride.

D: Is this where I’m supposed to cue the 70s porn movie soundtrack? That boum-chicka-boum of yesteryear? Let me guess. You got in her car, stripped down naked leaving only your hot boots on, of course, and then fogged up the windows of the Lexus for an early morning romp on heated leather seats?

G: Um, no. She was a lovely woman who realized I had missed my shuttle and offered to take me to the train station. We chatted a bit, and it turns out, she’s a very good friend of Matt Shminkler, Editor in Chief at Shmoomberg. What a great connection!

D: You’re welcome.

G: Thank you.

Working mom blues

As soon as I walked in the door after work, without even acknowledging my presence, Levi turned to his babysitter and cheerfully said, “Buh-bye, Jenny!” He was thrilled to see her in the morning when she arrived and equally happy to see her go when Mama got home. Asher, on the other hand, well, we’re having some issues with this working mom role of mine.

Asher started to bounce around the house fueled by sheer hatred and shouted “NOOO MAMA!! GO – A--WAY!! GET OUT OF HERE!! YOU’RE NO FUN AND JENNY IS FUN AND YOU NEED TO GO AAAY – WAY!!”

I have only seen him as possessed as that when he dropped his nap at the age of 4. He used to transform into some sort of mythological creature from the darkest recesses of Hades at about 4pm every afternoon spitting hellfire and slamming doors. This went on for months until he adjusted to his new sleep schedule. Transition is no friend to Asher. And my working, is a big, fat, hairy transition that will rage on until we all forget that life was any different.

My return home indicated to Asher that playtime was over and oppressive regulations and lack of entertainment was once again his reality. Jenny is the mommy I can never be. She’s that mommy who bundles the kids up no matter what the weather and takes them out to run around and get fresh air and exercise. She’s that mommy who plays every game upon request. Countless rounds of Hide & Seek, cards, pillow fort construction. You name it, she’ll play it. She’s that mommy who bakes zucchini bread with the boys and adds that something special secret ingredient that results in an irresistible treat.

Asher’s vision of utopia is the undivided attention of a grownup who will focus entirely on him unconditionally and without interruption. Utopia is Jenny. A child’s hell of Dickensian proportions is Mom. When Asher hurled resentment in my face, I knew exactly from whence it came. I was the alarm clock making that hideously loud buzzing noise interrupting the best dream ever, and all Asher wanted to do was throw it out the window.

I took a deep breath and remained calm. “I’m so glad that you and Jenny are having a great time. She’ll be back tomorrow, and you can have more fun with her then. But now, we have to say ‘thank you’ to Jenny and let her go home to her own family so that we can spend time with ours.” Asher was screaming while I was talking.

“Bye, Jenny!” said Levi again. Asher screamed some more. I was left alone to serve yet another dinner that Asher refused to eat followed by bath and bed. The low point was when I finally got Asher into bed-exhausted from the tantrum marathon. I turned off the light and leaned in to give him a good-night kiss. “Bed time is so BORING! I don’t want to go to bed!! I’m so BORED and night time is so LOOOONG! BO-RING!!”

I snapped.

“You think sleeping is boring, do you?!?” I ripped the covers back and dragged Asher into the family room where a heaping pile of laundry was waiting. “You can stay up for one more half-hour, but only if you fold laundry. No talking, no games, nothing else-just laundry.” I thought he’d sulk off to bed, but instead he held back the tears and said, “ok.”

Asher and I folded all the laundry, and he liked it. Yes, yes, he probably just wanted to spend time with me no matter what we were doing. Thank you for pointing out what a cruel mother I am to force him to work for my attention. I gave him a quarter when we were finished and told him that he could continue to stay up a half-hour later but only to help me work around the house. He was thrilled.

Somehow, I made it to the other side of bedtime. And when I sat down with a big mug of herbal tea, I sobbed. I felt sorry for myself. I was sorry for losing it with Asher. I was tired. This could not be life as a working mother, could it?

The next day I sought counsel from my working mom friends. One of them told me that she is forever “Mean Mommy” and that from the moment she arrives home until bed time, all she does is assign time out after time out to each of her three children. Another mom of the crunchy-granola persuasion told me that she and her sons bake bread together. They love pounding out their frustrations in the dough, and they take great satisfaction in participating in the family meal. I’m not so sure that nights with “The Yeastie Boys” are in my future.

I did get some excellent, practical advice from a mom who knows. We’ve instituted a few new practices which have alleviated some of the transition trauma and have provided Asher with the routine and control that he needs. Asher helped me make a weekly menu so that there would be no more arguments over what was for breakfast, lunch or dinner. Once a week, we go out for pizza so someone else can prepare meals and clean up while we focus on each other. We're getting a little better at planning our weekends better so that we do something fun all together as opposed to letting Asher make up for all the television he can't watch during TV Turn Off in the week. I'm considering a weekly family meeting where we talk and share and just spend time together.

There are still nights when we’re all tired and cranky and nothing can prevent the boys from bothering each other and me. Occasionally, I still lose patience. Jenny is still super-mommy, but she introduced a behavior chart, and she’s not afraid to use it. Asher loves charts. We're going to find our groove-hopefully sooner than late. And I'm going to continue to put Asher to work. Where did I put that feather duster?

Happy Kazoo Day (belated)

Apologies for the oversight. I neglected to wish you all a Happy National Kazoo Day this past Thursday the 28th celebrating the 160th birthday of the kazoo. Of course, it was only yesterday that I learned of National Kazoo Day in my Oriental Trading Company wall calendar. Such a wonderful collection of junk made in China, no doubt, manufactured by small children under ghastly conditions pouring toxic chemicals into plastic moulds and shipping useless junk to a country who loves cheap, disposable tchotchkis. And yes, I gave in and ordered a bunch of crap to reward my Sunday school kids for turning in homework assignments.

I don’t begrudge them the odd missed homework. I see how much homework my kindergartener gets, and I know they pile it on higher in every grade. No Child Left Behind was George W’s way of instituting his own version of ARBEIT MACHT FREI (Work sets you free).
Heavens me! Did I just compare George W. to a Nazi war criminal? Hm, waddya know? That is irresponsible journalism, isn't it? Good thing I'm not a journalist. My point was that I don’t want to add to the “concentration” of work, so I choose simply to reward those who find the time to squeeze it in with small, imported, hazardous trinkets. I’m on a budget, people! If you’d prefer to donate your organic, free-trade or homemade items for my class, I would be touched, honoured and delighted to distribute them to my budding scholars.

Back to Kazoo Day. Thankfully, my new year’s resolutions did not include observing all holidays as I have already missed 11 holidays in January including The Festival of Sleep on the 3rd, National Nothing Day on the 16th and Opposite Day on the 25th. The list goes on, and I know that there are still holidays that have not been represented on my new wall calendar from The Oriental Trading Company. At least I’m going to get a head start on Thank A Mailman (sic) Day on February 4th, Umbrella Day on the 10th and Be Humble Day on the 22nd.

As any responsible blogger would do, I researched each holiday only to find that the majority of the Oriental Trading Company holidays are not national holidays meaning they are not recognized by congress but are random holidays without known origin. So, how do these holidays come to be? How do they end up printed on the Oriental Trading Company’s wall calendar? Most importantly, how can I create a holiday of my own?

Where’s the holiday-making corporate office where I can submit my plans for National Glue Stick Day when we must cover our naked bodies with glue stick glue and adhere ourselves to someone we love for the entire day? Or how about Ignore Your Children Day? No, you’re right. That day might not be any different than any other day for many of us. I always thought that Mother’s Day was National Ignore Your Children Day, but my children learned otherwise. Mother’s Day isn’t really a happy day for mothers until children move out of the house and send flowers or take mothers out for brunch and then go back home.

Ok, well I’m committed to instituting Love Your Nozzle Day. On this day, all Americans commit to clean out the clumps of soap or lotion or gel that have coagulated for months inside the tips of our hand-pump nozzles. We shall forever prevent our loved ones from forcing down that stuffed nozzle and ejaculating soap clots and projectile liquid gel sprays across the room. Of course, there would be no need for this day if SOME people would occasionally clean out the nozzle clots. I’m the only one in the house who does it. Gabriella is not accustomed to cleaning out my nozzles on a regular basis.

Upon reading this entry, Gabriella informed me that the claim that she does not clean out our household nozzles is a, and I quote, "bald-faced lie." Let me state for the record that Gabriella does, in fact, attend to our hand-pump nozzles. That's not to say, however, that all nozzles in the house receive the appropriate amount of attention.

Happy Belated Kazoo Day, everyone!