Musings About Life... After Birth

In addition to being the Deputy Editor and Beauty Director for The Family Groove, cyberspace’s coolest parenting magazine, and a regular guest on XM Radio’s “Broadminded”, I do a lot of freelance writing for various magazines and websites. Generally, these topics center around beauty and skincare (most of which appear in Self Magazine, so check it out), but I also I do a lot of writing on dating and relationships for match.com, which often runs its content in the dating and relationships sections of msn.com and aol.com.

My match.com gig is funny to me and the Momtourage for a number of reasons: #1, I am not single, #2, I am not dating, #3, I am not an expert on either. “Sustaining a marriage for nearly 6 years makes you an expert on these issues!” one Momtourage member said to me when I joked about it. Perhaps she is right, but I still think that in light of the fact that my idea of a date involves going out with my husband to a place that does not supply high chairs, my being DC’s version of Carrie Bradshaw is a bit of a laugh.

Recently, I began writing some pieces for match’s gay and lesbian dating section ( #4, I am not gay), and in contacting some authors for expert quotes, they sent me copies of their books. Recently, my home has been flooded with titles like “Girl Meets Girl” and “Gay and Single Forever?”. One author sent me her latest book, the meant-for-hetero-AND-homosexuals “I Love the Female Orgasm: An Extraordinary Orgasm Guide”, which I received this morning. I opened it as my nanny, Rosalba, fed my son breakfast.

“Oh my…what is this book?” asked Rosalba, setting my son down on the floor. He ran over and grabbed the book, opened it and started leafing through the pages. Awesome.

“Uh,  I think it is a book about sex and the art of pleasing women,” I replied. Why mince words?

“I think it is good they have those books. Men need to read them. Maybe I need to read it!” she said. Who knew Rosalba, in her 50s and the mother of a grown daughter, was so saucy?

My son turned to a page with an entry marked “Zucchinis, Cucumbers and Squash”.

“Oh look, a recipe!” Rosalba said.

As cool of a lady as I am sure Rosalba is, I chose not to correct her.

Brandon Rogers: Totally, completely boring. Like some pretty decent karaoke performance. I think this dude is overrated. He must have a big family, because I am not sure who else is voting for him.

Melinda: Good, fine, whatever. I think she’s totally talented, but she seems like, 40 to me. I’m just “eh” on her.

Chris Sligh: I totally agree with Randy - he needs to bring back the glasses; it’s part of his look. Embrace your inner dork, Chris! There are lots of kids in America who probably got their asses kicked in dodgeball when they were young too! Anyway, the song just depressed me. I have to say, I absolutely LOVE “Endless Love”, and he butchered it with that Coldplay-esque rendition. I can’t talk about it anymore…it’s too upsetting. Can he please sing some Blues Traveler and rock it already?

Gina: I’m not buying the whole “I’m soooo edgy!” thing, sister. You can’t shove the fact that you sleep on a pillowcase decorated with photos of your niece and nephew on it and expect me to thing you’re punk. Her voice is fine, but she’s annoying.

Sanjaya: I heard a rumor that all of India is voting for this dude, and considering that it’s one of the most populated places on the planet, I guess that’s why this talentless wet noodle is in the top 12. I want the Haitian guy from “Heroes” to come and erase the memory of his performance from my mind permanently, because it was so bad that I may have nightmares about it tonight. And maybe tomorrow too. Excruciating. Jillian, my editor-in-chief at The Family Groove, says “We call him Man-Gina—because he probably has a va-Gina”. Just looking at him gives me the willies.

Hayley Scarnato: Ugh, I though her performance was bad too. Hayley, you are a sweet, cute girl, but please get off stage and just go be a second grade teacher on Omaha or something.

Phil Stacey: He looks like a Halloween skeleton meets Jim Carrey in “The Mask” to me, and he sounds like Rick Astley. He just creeps me out, and don’t even get me started on the fact that he missed his kid’s birth to try out for Idol. Dude, when your wife squeezes a human out of her vagina, get your ass there and hold her hand. I was too focused on my annoyance with him to watch his performance.

KiKi: The song choice was “eh”, but damn, this girl can sing. Looked smokin’ too. I kinda wish she had chosen a more recognizable, classic Diana Ross song and “brought it” a little more, but it was still great. It’s so obvious Paula likes Melinda better because she always gives LaKisha a blandly nice comment, but nowhere near the orgasm she has when she hears Melinda sing.

Blake: First off, Blake, stop dancing. The whole “I’m so young and cool and modern” thing is getting old for me. Is it just me, or does this dude look like he was plucked from the set of “The O.C” by the Idol producers, who thought he was destined to so much more than Ben Mackenzie’s” Ryan” stunt double? He’s too Cali for this East Coast girl, I guess. I just don’t get him. I think he is total cheese, and he’s already starting to get that Idol Contestant sense of self-importance, which nauseates me. Oh - and the “cool” light show? I felt like I was back in the Starlight Roller Rink in my Strawberry Shortcake skates, it was so 80s.

Stephanie: Love that you’re from Georgia, Stephanie. I think it’s a shame she’s in the competition with Melinda and LaKisha, because she’s probably going to be in their shadow for a while. She’s good. Nice job, but I sorta wish she had done the up-tempo part too.

Chris Richardson: The kid is cute. Very cute, and that’s good, because I think he’s only marginally talented. The disco song choice and performance was weird and theatrical. He kinda looks like a cross between Justin Timberlake and Chad Michael Murray. I bet Justin is really only that talented too, when you break it down, so maybe this kid has a huge future. He’s just OK, but damn cute. Did I mention I think he’s cute?

Jordin Sparks: Cheese-tastic song, but she really sang it well. I guess I like her okay. She’s fine, whatever. All these talented female singers of color are starting to run together for me, I must admit. I hate saying that, but it’s the truth.

The best of the night: LaKisha

My pick to go:  If the voters have ears, Sanjaya.

I love the website Trendy Tadpole. They have really cool, hip t-shirts for kids, my favorite of which is this one:

Hilarious. And true for my kid, I am sure.

While most people don’t fret too much over having to spring forward or fall back on account of daylight savings time, parents loathe it. As excited as I am about it not getting dark at 5 PM any more (which means a 5 PM stroll to Starbucks for a Cafe Vanilla Light Frappuccino will not only become a possibility, but a probability), this joy is tempered by the dread of knowing my kid’s sleeping schedule will get messed up.

This morning, as my husband and I predicted, our son rose at around 8:30 instead of his normal 7:30. That wasn’t too bad, except when we met two pairs of unmarried couple friends out for brunch at 11:00, Junior was not in his best shape. Usually we can push his nap back a bit, but today apparently wasn’t the day to attempt to do so. There was lots of banging his cup on the table, writhing around in the high chair and wanting to walk around and play with the stacks of booster seats in the (thankfully, kid-friendly) restaurant. Pretty much he was the kid who before I had kids I used to see in the restaurant and think, “Seriously, those parents need to get a hold of their kid”. My husband and I barely got to chat with our friends, and I’m thinking our kid probably set those four back at least a year in their family planning - or at least reminded the women to take their pill that night.

When we got home, he went down for his nap right away. Though unquestionably exhausted, his nap lasted only 1.5 hours as opposed to his usual 2-3. Let me tell you, that extra 30 minutes to an hour makes a hell of a difference. My husband and I, exhausted after brunch, used this time to nap ourselves. When we heard him begin to make noise, we were both like, “No. Please no. No, no, no! Dude, seriously, are you kidding? Please, for the love of God, go back to sleep!” Our son followed no such instruction. We both groaned, and then I said, “I got him this morning”. Unable to argue with that truth, my husband walked, bleary-eyed, into our kid’s room to get him.

The little guy got pretty cranky this evening too. En route to the Thai restaurant, we parked near a construction vehicle - some sort of forklift, I think. Because of my son’s tractor obsession (to him, all construction equipment falls into the category of “tractor”), we knew he’d be delighted. We were right - you would have thought my kid had seen Michael Jordan - his eyes grew wide and he was filled with glee.  We hung around the tractor for a bit, and then decided it was time to head into the restaurant.

Our son was not so into this decision. He started wailing as soon as we walked away, screaming “Tractor! Tractor!”. We figured it would stop once we got to the restaurant and gave him some food, but we were sorely mistaken. Tears streamed down his face and he kept pleading to return to his beloved “tractor”. Occasionally we’d distract him, but before long he’d bring the t-word back up again. By that time it was 8 :00 PM, which though my husband and I both thought felt like 7:00, clearly our kid was thinking 8:00, his bedtime. He was in full-on “put my ass to sleep” mode and they hadn’t even brought us the Pad Thai. Oy.

The “TRAC-TOR!” continued throughout dinner as my husband and I alternated shoving food in our mouths and attempting to placate our kid with everything from crayons to the plastic flower that sat in a vase on the table (one good did come from the experience: he now knows how to identify the color pink). Eventually, we decided it was time to give up.  Had we been at the Factory, it would have been another story, but the not-especially-kid-friendly Sweet Basil was a different story. I hurriedly paid the bill while my husband took our kid back outside to see the tractor (which, of course, calmed him down completely). After my son was fastened into this car seat, my husband and I looked at each other and rolled our eyes.

“The whole ‘we should have kids’ thing’ - what was up with that?” I asked as we drove home.

I’ll be on XM Radio’s “Broad Minded” tomorrow at 5:20 PM EST (with replays at 9:20 and 1:20 a.m.) to discuss how to get your eyebrows whipped into shape (it’s all about seeing a professional, ladies). Stay tuned to channel 155, because after my “As tried on Broad Minded” segment, I’ll be sticking around to join The Broads for their American Idol wrap-up. You know I have a lot to say on that topic (Antonella, you skany thing, get off my t.v. set!!!)......

Ask any parent and they’ll all tell you the same thing: no matter how many fancy toys you buy your kids, they’ll always prefer some totally generic household item. My son, for example, is obsessed with boxes. Not what’s in the box, but the box itself. To him, the Fed Ex guy is Santa Claus.

For Momtourage member Jamie, her son found his preferred form of entertainment in her bathroom cabinet:

She says he can play with them for hours -  in the box, out of the box, line them up, stack them up, dump them out…..really, the possibilities are endless. She thinks this will make the perfect form of blackmail for his teenage years.

I think she should be proud he’s in touch with his feminine (protection) side.

absolutely suck.

Can I please get some crackers to go with all of that cheese?

LOVE the Oscars. LOVE, LOVE, LOVE them. My husband thinks all of the pageantry is silly. What does he know?

In my opinion, here are the evening’s best looks:

This past weekend we took my son to get his first haircut. His blond, curly hair had recently morphed into quite the Isro (the Jewish version of the Afro), so my husband and I both agreed it was time.

I took this “before” photo to document its wild condition. Note that I got my son to look as “before” as possible, just like in those magazine photos where they show “before” women wearing no makeup, with these sad looks on their face (as contrasted with their glossy, “I’m so happy that I no longer look like Lindsay Lohan after a hard night partying” after pics):

I suggested that we take our son to the mall’s kid-friendly Cartoon Cuts in Virginia’s Tyson’s Corner (despite being previously dissed by their holiday festivities) for the shearing. My husband wasn’t overjoyed about visiting one of the country’s largest malls on a Sunday afternoon, but he agreed that it would probably be the best choice. As we were getting ready, my husband asked our son if he was “ready to go to the mall?”, to which he replied, “Linda!”. Apparently the numerous hours she and I have spent at the mall with our children has created in him somewhat of a Pavlovian response.

When we got there, the place was off the hook - it was like Grand Central Station meets Disneyland meets Supercuts. We stepped up to the counter and added our kid’s name to the waiting list (it should be about “5-10 minutes”, the receptionist said, almost as if we were waiting for a table at a restaurant), and took a seat in the tiny waiting area. Luckily, there were some toys, so the little guy was entertained.

As I glanced around the salon, I noticed that the chairs were filled with kids of all ages and strangely, a few Dads too. After seeing one guy get his hair washed underneath the salon’s elephant hose and then settle into a blue plastic chair opposite a tiny television blaring Dora the Explorer, I nodded at my husband. “Too bad you got yours cut last week,” I said, trying to keep a straight face. He rolled his eyes and groaned at the thought. “So like, do you think the dads like getting their hair cut here, or is it just like one-stop shopping - the kids get their hair cut, and then they just sort of figure they might as well too?” I asked. He assumed it was the latter, reasoning that a certain point as a parent, the degree to which you pay attention to your looks changes. I imagine that for most Dads, it’s relatively easy to lose concern for their appearances, probably because most don’t care that much to begin with. One day it’s ignoring the stains on your shirt, and the next day, you’re OK with getting your hair done at Cartoon Cuts.

My husband and I jumped after we heard out son’s name called, and we awkwardly stumbled over to the empty chair where we were greeted by Michelle, his stylist-to-be.  Perhaps thinking he was in for a trip to the doctor, my kid began crying, and my husband and I exchanged worried glances. Michelle, who had clearly done this before, suggested we sit my son on my husband’s lap and position him so that he could watch Elmo on Sesame Street.

We reconfigured the setup, and all was well. She placed a blue smock on my husband and then on my son, and the snipping began. My son wasn’t exactly sure what he thought of the whole process, as indicated by his “Dude, seriously, what the hell is this woman doing to me?” expression:

Eventually, thanks much in part to the efforts of Elmo and Ernie, he settled down and let Michelle do her thing. After taking a little off the back and sides, it was time to take off the blue smocks. He was a new man, a definite “after”. I gotta say, he looked great.

As we exited, Michelle gave us a “My First Haircut” certificate and gathered some of his hair in a little plastic baggie for us to take home. I know she does this kind of thing all the time, but I wanted to give her a hug. I always thought that the sheer chaos and cheesiness of Cartoon Cuts would be what would drive me to tears, but it was realizing that my little boy is day by day becoming a big one.

Perhaps next time, my husband will let Michelle take the scissors to him as well.

In my previous post about how I loathe when moms judge each other, I made a note that judging other moms when they display “grand-scale dumbass mom behavior” is A-OK. Below, are two examples of such behavior.

Today’s New York Observer features an article called “Bungalowing Iraq” by George Gurley. In this piece, Gurley went to Bungalow 8, a New York City club (that any vaguely in-the-know Manhattanite would tell you is very so-5-minutes-ago),  to ask its see and be seen-obsessed crowd how they felt about the war in Iraq.

I find the following quote hilarious, as it includes one of the most pathetic uses of the “I’m a mother, so therefore ___” statement justification I have ever seen: