NYC Moms

Not in My Backyard

2010-02-09T02:00:00-08:00

Now that it has been determined that the terror trial of Khalid Sheikh Mohammed will not be held in NYC, I've been asking myself if I'm relieved or disturbed.

Let me explain. I live in New York City, one express subway stop away from where the trial had been scheduled to take place. I took the news that the trial would be scheduled there in stride. Other terrorists have been tried and convicted in that Courthouse. There has always been tremendous police presence in the area, escalated, of course, after September 11th.

"How could you not be upset?" My mother-in-law, safely ensconced in North Carolina asked me. "Your children are in NYC. Do you really want the terrorists in the same place?"
This did not make sense to me.

Yes, my children are in NYC, but fortunately, they are not being tried for acts of terror against the United States. (Charges involving incessant whining are pending, however.) Likewise, Khalid Sheikh Mohammed was not scheduled to be in NYC on a tourist's visa for a makeover. He is facing prosecution for masterminding the September 11th attack against the United States.

"Wouldn't it be really inconvenient?" A receptionist at the doctor's office I was visiting asked me. "The police are going practically to shut down that area of the city."

Yes, it would be inconvenient. No doubt. And I would be a hypocrite if I said that there was a part of me, the part that rushes around Manhattan and gets annoyed when I can't cross the street because Law & Order:Criminal Intent is filming in my path, isn't relieved.

But there's another part of me that is a little disappointed in myself. Because I believe in democracy and I believe in our justice system. I believe that it works, even when it is inconvenient. And I'm worried that the "not in my backyard" relief that I feel at not being inconvenienced has a price.

This is an original NYC Moms post. Marinka lives with her family in the West Village. Her personal blog is Motherhood in NYC.

Gifted? Or just lucky?

2010-02-08T02:00:00-08:00

The playgrounds buzzed last week with chatter about New York magazine’s article “The Myth of the Gifted Child,” which hit news stands just as families all over the city are gearing up to have their four-year-olds tested for admission into the so-called “gifted and talented programs” – the public schools with special "smart kid" programs of study.

The article claims that testing such young children doesn’t make sense for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is that “the minds of nursery-school age children are far too raw to be judged.” But in New York, if you want a spot in those gifted programs, you test your kid at four, get a school placement at five, and that’s that. Sure, there’s some mobility here and there—kids who don’t start in “gifted” programs can test in at 6th or 7th grade—and sometimes families decide that the programs are too intense and opt out. But given the expense of private schools and the inconsistent quality of “regular” public schools, getting a spot in one of these gifted programs is…well, a gift.

Almost exactly a year ago, my four-year-old took The Test. We went to a school and he spent an hour in a room with some strange woman (she mentioned “Star Wars” to him, which made her okay) doing god-knows-what: filled in circles, pointed at triangles, stood on his head, paraded around in a swimsuit and heels, who knows.

He couldn’t remember exactly what was on the test, afterwards, but he seems to have done Very Well. So well that we got one of those spots in one of the city-wide gifted programs.

Could he have just as easily tanked the test, refused the swimsuit competition, told the examiner that she was stupid,or refused to talk altogether? You betcha. He was, after all, four. A four-year-old boy, not a species known for sitting still and cooperating. I mean, of course he’s a genius (and yes, your kids are too) but we were still pleasantly surprised that he’d done so well—surprised and relieved, because if he hadn’t done well, we weren’t sure where he was going to go to kindergarten.

We live in Manhattan, you see, and thus are subject to the whims of the Department of Education. We got a variance for our older son to go to a neighborhood school that’s out of our district, but that was five years ago and the rules have changed. So we didn’t know if his brother would be able to go to the same school. Yes, that’s right. According to the wisdom of the DOE, siblings cannot automatically be given a variance if the family lives out of district. And unfortunately, our “zoned” school is a non-starter, one of the many public schools in the city that has fallen between the cracks (I wrote about applying to kindergarten here and here and here). Thus “TAG,” (talented and gifted) became our fallback—a desperate fallback, because we knew the odds: only kids who score in the tippy-top percentile were going to get seats in the gifted kindergarten programs.

But now we’re in this tippy-top kindergarten, with all these other tippy-top kids. I ask myself almost every day if this kindergarten is so much better than the “regular” kindergarten…and I don’t know. Gifted, in NYC, seems to mean fast—the kindergartners have been doing first-grade work since late September—and I’m not sure that faster is better. The teachers and students sometimes seem almost breathless as they race through What Must Be Covered, without much time for reflection and without much time for play. I could rant for pages about the state of public education, about the inequities of the system, and the flaws in curriculum, but I will refrain and talk only about my kindergartner.

Pobably it's good for my son to have to stretch himself to keep up with his peers; he loves the number games and word puzzles; he goes off to school pretty happily in the morning; he likes his teacher and he’s even made some friends.

Made friends, that is, with some of the fourteen girls in his class of twenty. (We started with 24; I’m not sure what happened to those other four kids.) The other five K classes have an equally lopsided girl-to-boy ratio. Maybe as a result of all those eager-to-please girls, the classrooms seem relatively free of discipline problems—or maybe that’s because all the kids are, you know, gifted.

Is my kid smart? Sure. Are there some kids who might not be able to handle the pace of his classroom? Probably. Does that mean those kids aren’t one day going to win Nobel prizes, play concert piano, write amazing novels, be productive citizens? No way. Do we need a better method for finding and teaching our strongest students? You bet your sweet bippy.

Is my kid "gifted?" Only time will tell. Were we lucky that day last February? Absolutely.

This is an original NYC Moms Blog post. Deborah Quinn also frets about the state of public school education and parenting at mannahattamamma.com

Ill-Prepared, Again

2010-02-07T03:18:00-08:00

Many Manhattan families have one nanny per a child. “It helps with the scheduling,” they reason. I do not. I have one nanny for two children and I still cringe at the word nanny. It sounds so privileged and as a harried mother of two working sporadically at home, I don’t feel privileged. Logistically, I’d much rather have a massage at the gym instead of paying my nanny to watch the kids. While I don’t divert the funds to the masseuse, I still ensure that I have at least one day a week without help. Usually a day with lots of activities scheduled.

I tried to enroll the kids in back to back gymnastics class. First my daughter would watch her one year old brother climb the equipment and then she would have her turn while my son would theoretically sleep in the stroller. The first week, the nanny went and the teacher called to tell me how famously everyone got along. My toddler patiently watched her brother take the class and then my son watched, not terribly tired while his sister participated.

The following week I eagerly brought both kids ten minutes early, thrilled that the classes would eat up an hour and a half of our day and tire the kids out for a solid two hour nap afterwards during which I’d pay bills, write in my blog, try to secure this real estate deal, return phone calls and emails. A mom can dream.

The instructor told me I was ten minutes early and the kids could not yet play. When she did open up the floor and we were the only people waiting, my toddler was still not allowed on the equipment.

“What did you bring for her?” the instructor asked. I, uh, stuttered. “You didn’t bring a coloring book?” she shook her head in disbelief. My daughter had eaten the special snacks I packed on the walk over. I have Dora and Blues Clues on my iPhone but I try to discourage her eyes being mesmerized by cartoons, so I did not offer that. In the beginning of the class, my daughter sat in the folding chair with her arms in the air pleading with me to carry her. Why hadn't the teacher last week commented on how my daughter entertained herself during her brother's lesson?

I politely asked one parent if she had any extra toys to share. She handed me a Yo Gabba Gabba doll that my daughter was convinced needed batteries. Another parent (two parents were free to attend this class?) sat with my daughter and even brought her to the bathroom.

When it was my daughter’s turn, my son cried in the stroller, unable to sleep. I pushed the stroller, I fed him, I handed him the iPhone. All to no avail.

Leaving the class, I decided to send the nanny next time.

This is an original post for NYC Moms Blog. Helen P chronicles other misadventures as Milf Alert.

Boyfriend visit

2010-02-05T02:00:00-08:00

When I was in college and my boyfriend (eventually husband) came to visit, my mother let us stay in the same room. When we visited Rob’s parents, his mother insisted we stay in separate rooms. We put up with this charade until we got our own apartment. It was absurd to us that she knew we were living together, even stayed in our apartment, but she had to keep us apart when we visited. Rob won his first legal argument when he explained the hypocrisy to his parents; his older brothers had all lived with girlfriends who were allowed to stay in their bedrooms when they visited, and his status as the baby of the family shouldn’t infantilize our relationship.

All well and good when we were 19, but now I have an 18-year-old college daughter. She brought home a boy over Thanksgiving – not her boyfriend – along with 2 girls, and the 4 of them crashed in our basement. I thought the girls should be in one room, Will in the other, but Hallie, my ever wise teen, noted that Will, who lives next door to her at college, sometimes crashes on her floor at school. What would be the difference here? Then last weekend, we went to party where a friend told Rob that his 19-year-old daughter brought her college boyfriend home, and they were staying together. His excuse, one that many New Yorkers can relate to: in a city where so many are starved for space, they don't have a spare bedroom for overnight guests.

There is also the issue of how it looks to the younger kids. I also have a 16-year-old daughter who dates and some of her friends are having sex. Can I let boys (OK, men) sleep with girls (er, women) and then keep my younger daughter virginal?

And when my daughters are 19 or so, and if they have boyfriends, will I let them sleep in the same room?

This is an original post to NYC mom’s blog. Read her latest post at Travelveggiemom.

The Very Late Mom

2010-02-04T02:00:00-08:00

I'm always early to pick up my daughter from preschool. I will run like a mad woman (so get out of my way) just to make sure I get there on time. I was raised by a single, working mom and I just remember that I was often the last kid picked up from preschool. I remember the waiting and then the relief and joy when I finally saw her face. So if possible, I want to be on time whenever I can.

Except there is this little boy named Daniel who's in my daughter's class. During pick-up, all the 2 and 3 year-old's sit patiently on a mat waiting for their parent or babysitter. Their faces just light up when their person comes into the room. Except for Daniel's. Because his mother is always always late. And I mean, always.

Daniel just sits there. Waiting. Watching the other kids reunite with their mom or caretaker. His mother is not working long hours. From what I can tell, she is not pulling a double shift, trying to make ends meet. She is just late or distracted. One time she lost track of time when she was working at someone's home as a decorator. Sometimes she is just on her cell phone outside the school. She complains that the school is too far away and the turnaround too short.

One day, she was so late that she had to bring flowers for the teachers the next day as an apology. I think she owes someone else an apology too. Her son. I really hate to judge another mom. Because I am far from a perfect mother and I prove it every single day. But this situation just tears me apart.

Every day at pick-up, I can't bear to see the look on Daniel's face. So I always say hello to him, ask him about his art project and his day. I know the teachers have spoken to his mother several times and they have told me, Daniel is not my responsibility. I know that.

Whatever damage is being done can't be undone by me. I'm not his mom. But at least he knows I'm an adult who cares about him. And that's all I can give him.

Original post to NYC Moms.

Kelcey Kintner is the creator of the mama bird diaries, a smart, funny and always unpredictable take on motherhood. Kelcey also dispenses advice you can't possibly live without at The Mouthy Housewives.

Gentrification, I think I Love you...maybe

2010-02-03T03:21:00-08:00

Costco. BJ's Warehouse. Home Depot. Best Buy. Bobs Discount Furniture.

What do all of these stores have in common? Until recently, none of them was in New York City. Times have changed.

BJ's opened in Flushing this past weekend. Costco opened this fall on the Upper East Side. Home Depot has already been in Chelsea for years And I'm not quite sure what to think about it.

When I was in High School, walking in the West 80's along Broadway was a exercise in dodging hookers and bums. (This was in the olden days, before the PC moniker "Homeless People" was invented.)Today, walking on Broadway's Upper West Side is an exercise in dodging baby strollers and fresh produce carts on the corner.

Gentrification, I love you.

Back in the ancient days (when I was in High School), walking around on the Upper West Side meant browsing in stores like Liberty House, where a teenager could find a reasonably priced pair of earrings, and a therapist (they're all on the upper west side) could buy the sort of flowy afgahn thing only therapists wear. Now, you can go to the Gap. Where, I ask, are the therapists shopping now?

Gone is that quintessential NY Bakery, Grossingers, and their oddly delicious ice-cream/coffee cake. Gone, too, is that seeming fixture of the neighborhood,Morris Brothers, where many an upper west side kid bought the name tags that got sewn into everything he brought to camp.

What's there now? Coach. Godiva. A Barnes and Noble Mega-Store. We've got Staples, Victoria's Secret, and A Children's Place. When did my neighborhood turn into a suburban shopping mall?

Gentrification. I don't love you so much any more.

Part of what I've always loved about New York is that it isn't like anywhere else. Smalltown USA doesn't have transvestites, senior citizens, and families living next door to each other as a matter of course. You can't find Ukrainian food at 2am, or a book reading to go to any night of the week (for free!), or find yourself sitting next to a movie star at the movies on a Tuesday night. (Kevin Bacon, the six degrees between us have dissolved to NONE!) I love that "Italian Food" is not synonymous with Olive Garden, that there are more museums than you could ever visit, that more languages are spoken in New York City (heck, probably just in Queens) than just about any other place in the world.

That's why, while I'm glad I can walk along Broadway without having to explain to my kids why that lady in the doorway is wearing only a bra and a mini-skirt (my mother told me she must just be very warm, and anyway it was a bikini.) I'm a little upset at what it's cost us.

But then there's that list of stores at the top of this post. And the truth is, while I could live my whole life quite happily without ever stepping foot inside of a Victoria's Secret, never getting to go to Target or BJ's, well, that would really bum me out.

I love the Big Box stores. I love the way Target makes good design affordable. I love how BJs saves me money on the basics I need, in sizes that can fit into my apartment. (Full disclosure, I recently attended a blogger event hosted by BJ's where they fed me and sent me home with a basket of goodies. Try their house-brand Pineapple Upsidedown Cake. Delicious.)

I love the convenience of those stores. I love being able to go to,say, BJ's and get a cheese platter for a party, a vat of Tide for a song, a pair of sweatpants, a diamond necklace, and a TV. Talk about one-stop shopping. You just can't do that in Zabars.

So I guess it's OK to trade a bit of character, for a bit of ease. Maybe we NY'ers are too obsessed with our otherness. The rest of the country may be onto something: big stores mean big convenience, and savings, plus it’s fun to shop in a mammoth warehouse.

So bring on the BJ's. Because as long as The Town Shop stays open, Zabars sells smoked salmon and Barney Greengrass throws plates of eggs at me with a surly stare, it’ll still be NY. And I’ll still be home.

Original Post to NYC Moms Blog.

Nancy Friedman writes and rants at From Hip To Housewife.

Where's Pop Pop?

2010-02-02T03:26:00-08:00

Nine months ago my father passed away. I’ve been dealing with my grief while also living my life here in New York with my husband and son. My siblings and my mom are 200 miles away all within a half hour of each other.

The week before my father suffered the heart attack that ultimately claimed his life my son had spent a week with my parents while my husband and I had our first “no child” vacation since our son was born.

During the week spent with his grandparents at their house, my son had a blast. He hardly noticed our absence, played with all of the new toys, enjoyed all the space at their large house with a sprawling yard, and visited with his cousin, Aunt and Uncle. He wasn’t even two yet so who knows what he’ll remember of this time when he grows up. But my mom sure remembers it and my dad passed away having spent a week getting to know his only grandson more than he had before.

When we went to visit my mom at my parents house for the first time since my father’s passing, my son quickly asked “Where’s Pop Pop?” even though it was 1:00am when I carried him in from the car while he was half asleep. During our visit he looked for him, identified him in photographs and identified some of his things around the house as correctly belonging to his Pop Pop.

When he sees my dad’s old cell phone, which my mom uses, my son correctly identifies it as Pop Pop’s cell phone. He recognizes him in photos around our apartment regularly. As time passes, though, he’s now stopped asking “and Pop Pop?” when we reference Grandma. Will all of the references fade? Will he really remember his Pop Pop as he grows up?

I was 5 when my grandfather passed away and quite honestly, I don’t have many memories of him. I can picture him sitting in his recliner smoking his cigar. I also remember that someone called for him while we, the grandchildren, were at my grandparent’s apartment during the funeral. That’s it. No memories of holidays, family outings or playing with my Popsie.

Because of his age, we actually haven’t sat down to discuss with my son why he doesn’t see or speak to his Pop Pop anymore. He doesn’t express confusion and we haven’t offered an explanation. How do you talk about death with a 2 year old? We could try what my brother has done with his daughter, which is to say “he’s gone away.” It’s not that we think we never will, we just think he can’t understand it yet and we should wait until my son is a little older.

Now we have another son. I was 10 weeks pregnant when my father passed away. He knew I was expecting. I still grapple with anger and confusion over how he could leave us. I tell myself it was his time. At my son’s bris I couldn’t help but recall how emotional my father was at my older son’s bris. This time my father wasn’t standing in front of us but his presence was felt as we named our new son after him. There is a Kabbalistic belief that you name your children after someone you want them to emulate. There are many qualities of my father’s which we hope his namesake will possess. As we raise him and tell him about the man he is named for, we hope it will leave both of our sons with memories of their Pop Pop.

This is an original NYCMoms Blog post. When not visiting her extended family, Debra lives on the Upper West Side with her husband and two sons.

Ferberizing My Teens

2010-02-01T02:23:00-08:00

When I was 16, I had a part-time job 20 hours a week after school and on weekends. I made my own bed, breakfast and lunch, knew how to make coffee for my parents and fold laundry. Sad to say, my kids know how to do none of the above and I have no one to blame but myself for their ineptitude.

I have given my kids very few chores to do around the house. They have to feed the dog and load their dishes into the dishwasher after dinner. Most of the time the dishes do get loaded by them, but feeding the dog (for whom my daughter lobbied for years) typically gets done after multiple reminders.

One of my New Year's resolutions this year was to teach my kids more responsibility and train them to become more independent. My friend Jen termed this "Ferberizing Your Teen". Anyone who had a baby who didn't sleep through the night is likely familiar with Dr. Ferber's book "Solving your Child's Sleep Problems". Dr. Ferber was my sleep guru and he basically taught me that in order for your baby to sleep through the night, they need to rely on self-soothing to get back to sleep when they wake up during the night. Parents shouldn't come into the baby's room at every whimper to rock them, pick them up or stick a pacifier in their mouths. In order to accomplish this, you basically have to allow the baby to cry themselves back to sleep to break them of the bad sleep habits that you (the parent) helped create.

So how to "Ferberize" my two teens? Changing habits that have been created over 13 and 16 years respectively is not easy. Frankly, it takes me a minute to feed Roxy and at least five minutes to corral my kids downstairs to do the same. It is easier to do it myself sometimes, but as of January 2010 I am taking the extra time to make them do it. Through past actions, they have gotten wise to the fact that I will pick up their slack and that thus far there have been no consequences if they forget their chores.

I am attempting to set realistic expectations. I realize that times are different today, the workload that my kids have: anywhere from two to four hours of homework nightly plus team sports, play rehearsals, tutors, etc. make it nearly impossible for an after school job. My workload in high school consisted of thirty minutes to an hour of homework done while watching General Hospital so I had a lot more free time. That however should not excuse my kids of not being able to take care of themselves and become more responsible. After all, my daughter will be in college in a few years without me.

I am hoping that by the end of 2010 they will be able to make breakfast, lunch and even a simple dinner for themselves (boiling water for pasta counts, ordering take-out doesn't); set their alarms for school and get up and dressed without my having to check that they are in fact out of bed; throw in a load of laundry, fold it and put it away. It is a short list, but these are life skills that are needed and they are more than ready and capable of acquiring them. I am sure that just like when they were "Ferberized" as babies there will be some tears (or vehement complaining and eye rolling) but I will steel myself for it, and realize that it takes a while to effect change, but it will be well worth it for all of us when it happens.

This is an original post for nycmomsblog.com.

Pamela W. is the co-author of "City Baby": a resource guide to having a baby in New York. The fourth edition will be available September, 2010. She is also the co-founder of Mind Your Own Business Moms (MYOBMoms.com) a business dedicated to helping women return to the workplace.

Please Leave a Message After the Tone

2010-01-31T02:00:00-08:00

When call waiting first appeared, the telephone company offered the service for free for two months. We had all seen the commercials on television indicating how easy it was to click the flash button to switch calls but I remember how excited I was to hear that initial beep. “I have a beep,” I squealed to my mom. “What do I do?” She walked me through the single step just as I had two days earlier when she heard her first call waiting beep.

Every subsequent call waiting beep was answered without any guidance. Yet, I’m still amazed at how many answering machines still leave directions for callers. Is the “please wait for the tone” absolutely necessary? Even my two year old toddler knows to wait for the tone before leaving a message. Yet so many voicemails have that greeting.

In college, I had played around with my voicemail greeting, whether it was singing a song or pretending that I was actually answering the phone. I loved hearing someone talk to me and then thirty seconds into the message ask if I was really on the phone. My father once called me with his friends conferenced in and was disappointed to hear my voice. “I wanted to show off your answering machine message,” he said.

Today I have a dull greeting inviting callers to leave a message and my father’s cell phone voicemail directs callers to leave a message at his office or risk not having their calls returned. I know at least several people who find the message offensive and smug, but I appreciate the honesty. My sister rarely, if ever, checks her messages. If her greeting warned callers not to leave a message, she could avoid confusion and resentment.

This is an original NYC Moms Blog post. When Helen P is not screening her phone calls through the answering machine, she blogs at Milf Alert

So much time

2010-01-29T02:00:00-08:00

Not that long ago, I had days with my newborn where I didn’t have time to shower, go to the bathroom, comb my hair. One of those days, when Hallie was particularly fussy, my husband came home from work and asked if I’d picked up his shirts from the dry cleaners. When I said no, I hadn’t even brushed my teeth, he gave me a credulous look. “What did you do all day?” he wondered.

Well, I fed the baby on demand, 10 or 12 times. Do the math – I changed at least 10 or 12 diapers. And had to change the baby’s clothes a couple of times, when she spit up, peed on her onesie, had one of those explosive poops. Yes, that is spit-up on my shoulder, and down my back; I didn’t have time to change my shirt. The cat? Nope, didn’t scoop her litter.

My sole interaction with another human being past toilet training age came when the UPS man delivered another package. No, I didn’t write a thank-you note yet.

Fast forward 18 years. That baby is off at college, and her two younger sisters, 12 and 16, have activities and obligations that often exclude me. This past weekend, for example, the 12 year went to a bat mitzvah that started at 9:30 and went till 1:30 or so. The temple is right in our neighborhood, so Nora walked herself over there, and by the time she stopped talking to her friends and came home, it was about 2:30. She had to return to the party at 6:30. Our only obligation, besides buying a present, was picking her up at midnight.

Sela has soccer practice on Saturdays, and since it is winter, there is indoor practice at a gym on the upper west side. She and a few teammates take the subway there (this is so much better than driving the usual car pool) and back. This takes about 5 hours total, since they go out for a snack after practice. Sela comes home, showers, does homework, and goes out with her friends. Our only obligation in all this? Making sure there’s a cold Vitamin Water in the fridge.

Ok, I exaggerate slightly. Nora has to have her Honey Bunches of Oats (no almonds!) and skim milk; Sela needs a clean uniform and a Metrocard. But on Saturday, my husband and I spent the day lazily reading the New York Times, working out and catching up on the shows we DVR’d. We went for a walk. Had dinner with friends. And when we passed a couple with a screaming infant, I actually missed that time. A tiny bit.

This is an original post to NYC mom's blog. Read Judy's latest blog at Veggie Mom.

SV Moms Group Blogs about Haiti

2010-01-29T00:17:00-08:00

Collectively, we have a powerful voice. Our messages and stories of aid, sadness, fear, shock and even hope made its way through the internet and social media tools upon learning about the devastation in Haiti. We want to help and let the Haitians know that they are not alone. In both small and large ways, the blogging community is here, getting the word out and using our united voices and sites to share love, concern and messages of hope.

CLICK HERE TO SEE ARTICLES WRITTEN BY SV MOMS GROUP CONTRIBUTORS ABOUT HAITI ........

Let's Talk About Sex

2010-01-28T02:00:00-08:00

When I was a child, my mother never talked to me about sex. When I started asking questions, she handed me a book. When I had questions about what was in that book, she gave me a different book.

I was determined to do things differently with my children. I've talked to my 12-year-old daughter about sex and sexuality ever since she was small, using age-appropriate language. When I was pregnant with my son and she asked how the baby would get out, I told her. Later, when she asked how the baby got in there in the first place, I told her.

When she was about eight, she found a condom in my bedroom and asked what it was. I gave her what I thought was a simple, basic explanation, and then she asked, "So Mom, what did it feel like? You know, when you and Dad were having sex?" So I've always had my hands full with this one.

The official talk was the easy part. The harder part has been filtering the messages from books, television, movies, magazines, music and her friends to help my children, particularly my daughter, develop a view of sex and her burgeoning sexuality that is healthy and natural, yet morally conscious.

A New York Times book review I read around the time my daughter was asking me how sex "felt" provided the morality framework for our later discussions. The book being reviewed was about a man who learned to renounce his sexually promiscuous lifestyle, thanks to the teachings of a monk who became his lifelong friend. The monk taught the author that his principal failing wasn't sex, but selfishness -- in particular, the selfishness of using another person for your own pleasure, which diminishes both the other person's humanity and your own.

Although I never actually bought or read the book, and don't remember the name of it or the author, I've used the selfishness concept in conversations with my daughter about sex and have found it quite useful as a way to reframe and critique those messages that bombard them daily.

One thing that makes it harder now, is that she thinks she knows everything already.

When a rap song comes on the radio, I am quick to point out the rampant misogyny and hyperbolic boasts in the songs. My daughter is equally quick to let me know that she not only knows all the words that are half-edited out, but fully understands the salacious meaning behind them.

The other day, a song came on the radio in which the rapper instructed his lover that good "lawn" maintenance was essential if she wanted to enjoy his company.

I changed the station.

"Mom, you know I know what that means," she said.

I shrugged. "Oh, I'm sure you do," I chuckled. "But that's not why I changed the station. Why is he insisting that she mow her lawn? What about his lawn? What's his lawn care situation? I'll bet he's not mowing the lawn and trimming the hedges."

She laughed. I could tell that wasn't the response she had expected. So I continued.

"You don't need some man telling you what to do with your lawn. The way I see it, if I want to let weeds grow in my backyard, that's my business."

She took "backyard" to mean something I hadn't intended.

"OMG! MOM! MOM! Mom, that's gross! That's disgusting! Weeds in your backyard! Ew! Ew!"

I didn't correct her. I think it's okay for the pre-teens to think there is more to this sex stuff that they don't really know yet. Stuff parents know that they don't. Especially since it's true.

Most recently, I found a Zane book in her room.

If you're not familiar with Zane, Zane is the pseudonym of an African-American author of hardcore erotica, erotic fiction that can best be described as "nasty."

And by nasty, I don't mean shocking, titillating, and heat-inducing. I mean base, vulgar and crude.

I couldn't really complain. I was reading Harold Robbins novels at her age. Now there was a man who could write a sexy sex scene!

I wasn't upset by the presence of the book, only disappointed that she didn't have better taste in smut. "Really, dude? Zane?"

"It's not mine!" she said. She admitted she had read some of it, then went on to tell me a fairly plausible story about who the book actually belongs to.

Not that it matters, but I believe her. My daughter's taste runs more to sexy vampires. Still, there was no point in letting her think Zane books represent appropriate sexual behavior, any more than rap songs do.

"Throw it in the trash," I said.

She willingly obliged, which all but confirmed that the book wasn't hers.

I was all geared up for a morality discussion about selfishness and using another person for self-gratification, but she was way past me. "I suppose if you don't know anything, you might look at some of it and go, 'Ooh,' but for me, it was...actually, it was kind of boring."

I let it pass. I'm not going to get mad about a dirty book. Later, of course, I fished it out of the trash. The book was definitely nasty, in a gag-inducing sort of way. But there was nothing erotic about it. And after a few repetitive scenes, it was kind of boring.

Curiosity is normal and natural. But at the same time, I am maintaining a watchful eye over her.

I hope my daughter continues to come to me with her questions and worries and concerns, the way I never was able to with my mom at her age. Books are fine -- both as sources of information about sex, as well as enjoyment -- but I know from my own experience that they can generate more questions than answers. Open communication is key.

In the last few years of her life, my mother finally started to talk to me about sex. It was uncomfortable at first, because it was so unexpected. But my mother had finally come to relate to me not just as her youngest child, but as a woman, and our "no holds barred" sex talks are now among my favorite memories of her. I hope my kids remember our "talks" with fondness instead of discomfort or shame.

Original to NYC Moms Blog. Carolyn Edgar is a lawyer, writer and single mom who lives with her two children in Harlem. Carolyn also writes about her life experiences on her personal blog (http://carolynedgar.wordpress.com).

Coco Chanel & Igor Stravinsky by Chris Greenhalgh: A Silicon Valley Moms Group Book Club

2010-01-28T01:00:00-08:00

Love affairs in Paris, culture, style, genius. Typical mom stuff, right? Join us as Silicon Valley Moms Group bloggers talk about the book Coco Chanel & Igor Stravinsky by Chris Greenhalgh.

Sophia from Moody Mommy ponders Me? Naked?
Christina from Hooey Critic explains that in German it would be called 'Ehebruch'
Sam from Temporarily Me Dot Com thinks about Love. Elsewhere
Lisa from Hannemaniacs' revels in her luxurious life
Melanie from Tales from the Crib discusses faithfulness
Jessica from It's My Life has a little Coco Chanel flashback
Heidi from Coast 2 Coast Mom wonders how Coco Chanel would have done a mom uniform
Leticia from Tech Savvy Mama finds that member-only sale sites feature Coco Chanel and designer duds for less
Kim from I'm Not the Nanny found herself examining family vs career aka SAHM vs working moms
Erica from wellthoughtoutspot wonders what Coco would say about her unfashionable side
Vanessa from Chefdruck Musings Puts Down the Paintbrush to Find the Right Tool for her Creativity
Stacy from Laptop TV Mom discusses Coco Chanel and Tiger Woods
Michelle from Wife and Mommy reveals her special talent
Ana from Finding Bonggamom has a love affair with pearls
Linsey from Me Too You talks about independence and balance

Silicon Valley Moms Blog is hosting the book club discussion this month. Please leave a comment below and join in the discussion.

Past Silicon Valley Moms Group Book Clubs have included:

See Mom Run by Beth Feldman
Close Encounters of the Third-Grade Kind by Phillip Done
This is Where I Leave You by Jonathan Topper
Do One Nice Thing by Debbie Tenzer
Birth Day by Mark Sloan, M.D.
What Happened to the Girl I Married? by Michael Miller
Testimony by Anita Shreve
Comfort Food by Kate Jacobs
Much to Your Chagrin by Suzanne Guilette
It Started with Pop-Tarts by Lori Hanson
Who By Fire by Diana Spechler
The White Trash Moms Handbook by Michelle Lamar
Writing Motherhood by Lisa Garrigues
The Vaccine Book by Dr. Robert W. Sears
The Other Mother by Gwendolen Gross

Click here to read all about the Silicon Valley Moms Group Book Club.

This is not a paid for post. The publisher of this book did provide free copies to Silicon Valley Moms Group bloggers to use for this book club.

Flying the (Not) Family-Friendly Skies

2010-01-27T02:00:00-08:00

Of all the ways your life changes when you have kids none is more drastic than the way you travel. Gone are the days of a small carry-on with a book, an ipod and some trashy magazines. Suddenly your carry on is like Mary Poppins carpet bag - full of snacks (both salty and sweet), stickers, markers, DVD players, DVDs, coloring books, activity books and depending on the age of your kids, diapers, change of clothes, wipes, ear drops, maybe some pajamas and even a change of clothes for yourself (yes I learned the hard way that mishaps on the plane tend to land in my lap, or down the front of my shirt). Early on when my twin daughters were just babies we were like a small army going off to war as we marched down the jetway. Two strollers that we could fold in 5 second flat, two car seats unlatched and ready to load, and an industrial sized diaper bag that just barely fit in the overhead.

Luckily for me my daughters are long past the nightmare travel age. They wheel on their own small carry-on bags filled with but a few key possessions - a DS, an ipod, a treasured toy and a book. But, I remember well those days when every passenger on the plane eyed us with dread as we boarded and made our way down the aisle. You could see them secretly praying, please don't sit near me, please, please.

We had one flight where another baby screamed the entire time while our daughters miraculously slept, yet when we disembarked a passenger came up to us as we struggled to get the girls into their car seat strollers without waking them and she sneered at us saying, "thanks for the worst flight of my life." I didn't correct her and tell her that it was another baby crying the whole time, not ours. What was the point? It's hard enough to travel with your kids, I didn't need to rat out another parent who obviously had a terrible flight herself.

I always think about those early years flying with my daughters when I see a family piling onto the plane with their gear and child in tow. This past Christmas we flew home the day after the underwear bomber tried to blow up a plane in Detroit. We were flying home from a small airport in Mexico, which even under the best circumstances is a model of inefficiency. Boarding the plane took over an hour because they decided to recheck every single carry-on bag by hand and then pat down every passenger. But the kicker for the families with young kids was when the pilot ordered that everything now had to be put away - all books, all electronics, all blankets, for the entire last hour of the flight. To a parent of a young child an hour is equal to five childless hours. The happy little toddler in front of us who was spaced out watching Little Einsteins for most of the flight, a blanket wrapped warmly around her, turned into a raving lunatic when the mom was forced to turn off the DVD player. Children all over the plane began to wail and fuss as their preferred mode of entertainment was turned off, or blankets and pillows were removed from their sleeping bodies. I couldn't help but think that the terrorists had won in some small way when an entire plane is subjected to the raving unhappiness of preschoolers and toddlers and the poor parents are pushed to the brink of insanity trying to calm and subdue the inconsolable.

There was never anything easy about traveling with children but every time the airports and airlines put in yet another layer of inconvenience it makes family travel exponentially more difficult. No liquids? We adjusted and suck it up at the airport when we now have to pay three times more for water or juice than if we had been able to bring that juice box from home. Take off your shoes at security? We remember to wear socks. But now they charge for checked bags, a necessity for parents of young kids. So tag that on to your travel costs. Incredibly full flights - well you better get that "lap" infant a seat because you will never just luck out and get an empty one next to you. And my new favorite is not letting parents book seats ahead of time on the plane unless they want to pay for it. I love when an airline computer puts a child in a middle seat between two strangers. Of course nothing gets people swapping seats faster than the chance to move away from your sticky fingered, diaper clad, ear clogged kid.

If nothing else it would be nice if airlines had a family line at security the same way the used to let families with young children board first (another thing that seems to have disappeared). The easier to fly airlines and airports can make it for families with young children the easier it will be on all the passengers. Why they don't get this I don't understand. Until then, all those childless people out there should find an ounce of sympathy and be happy it's not them with dried spit up down the front of their shirt for the duration of the flight. And if that fails they sell some very nice noise canceling headphones right in the airport.

This is an original nycmomsblog post.

Rebecca Levey is a freelance writer and mother of twin girls. She lives, works, parents and tries to maintain her sense of humor in New York City. You can follow her travels and adventures, via air and otherwise, at www.beccarama.com

Live in the Moment

2010-01-26T02:00:00-08:00

Life unfolds in the present. But, it seems the present can easily slip away without us even noticing what we just missed. We are always worrying about what comes next, or what we have to get off our to do lists, and on and on. I find this is especially true for me when I am with my children. Instead of just enjoying the moment with them, I often find myself checking my blackberry, or sneaking in the laundry or stealing peeks of a magazine or thinking of all I have to do once I get them all to bed, and how I have to wash their hair tonight, and wash their towels, and order new shoes...you get the picture. There are definitely times when I do feel "in the moment," but I would like to increase my ratio of being in the moment versus not.

I recently watched my children conduct a very involved imaginative play game with their stuffed animals and I realized that they are the best examples of being in the moment. They were not thinking about what happened at school, or what they were going to eat for dinner. When my daughter took a certain animal from my son he was upset and started to cry, and in that moment that was all he cared about. And, when we straightened out the fight, he went on happily with play and didn't hold a grudge.

I realized that my children are a great source of inspiration for me to leverage as I begin my pursuit of living in the moment. I do believe the world we leave in today makes it incredibly challenging to just be with our thoughts instead of pushing them away or holding onto them. I know that takes a tremendous amount of practice. However, I do believe that this is a challenge worth pursuing because it is my life and I do not want it to pass me by, nor do I want to look at pictures in ten years of my children and not remember enough about what we were doing, or what stages they were in, or what our family dynamic was like in that moment in time.

This is an original NYC Mom Blog Post.

Thanks, But I'm All Set With Blessings From God

2010-01-25T02:08:00-08:00

I must be getting grumpy in my old age. I used to spend hours every day playing Tetris on my first computer. In the office, I misused the intra-office "IM chat" function to gossip with friends on a daily basis. Palm Pilot Solitaire was my constant companion when I had an hour-long commute on the train. I can definitely understand the appeal of getting caught up in some form of on-line entertainment, either with others or alone. But when the on-line habits of others waste my now-precious free time, I find it highly annoying.

Home with 3 kids, I allow myself 5 minutes at a time to check email or Facebook...if I have to spend the first minute of Facebook time scanning requests for me to donate "untraceable cell phones" (Mafia Wars) or "grab a boyfriend" (Sorority Life), it bugs me. Today I found myself hiding "Blessings" and "Inspirational Quotes", and I wondered if maybe I am unreasonably irritated.

So far, games I've hidden from my "News Feed" include Sorority Life, Mafia Wars, (Lil) Green Patch, Bejeweled Blitz, Tiki Farm, Farmville, Fishville, Daily Horoscope, Cafe World, Pet Society, Petville, and Pillow Fight. Every day a new game seems to pop up...there seems to be no end to the stream of add-on applications. Before I figured out how to hide the specific game from my news feed, the page would be clogged with entry after entry about lost sheep and found lambs (Farmville), extra food (Cafe World), and the latest high score at Bejeweled Blitz. No offense FB friend Bill, but unless your Bejeweled Blitz involves a design on Project Runway, I don't want to hear about it.

I'm also an equal opportunity hider. I've ignored multiple requests to join "Circle of Moms", even though (1) it sounds like it would be right up my alley and (2) I have no idea what it is. Still, the idea of having yet another activity to eat up my precious time is more than I can bear. Facebook is already cutting into my laundry time, and I really don't have any more to spare for another time suck.

Perhaps I would enjoy raising schools of fish in Fishville if I just gave it a chance. Maybe when my kids are older, I won't mind watering a virtual tree in a virtual Green Patch once in a while. But for now, if you send prayers my way via Facebook app - just know that my receiving prayers function is currently disabled, so I won't hear about them. Come to think of it, it'll be just like the old days, when prayers were sent quietly before bed at night - recipients blissfully unaware.

This is an original NYC Moms Blog post.

Parenting by Social Media - Is this our future?

2010-01-24T02:00:00-08:00

It's not enough that today's tweens/teenagers are preoccupied with obsessively updating their friends via texts, Facebook and Twitter but now they are literally trying to parent us parents by forcing us to change our decisions via social media.

This weekend's New York Times chronicles one Queens, New York teenager's efforts to overturn her parent's recent punishment for what she deemed "an honest late-night mistake." How? She formed a Facebook fan page group "1,000 to get Tess ungrounded."

So what was her honest late-night mistake. She was caught drinking at a party and missing her 11:30 curfew by an hour. Did I mention she is only fifteen? And for this offense, she was grounded for 5 weeks that included no parties or sleepovers.

Is that we, Web 2.0 parents are in for going forward? Anytime, we yell at our kids, make them do their homework, banish them to practice the piano, take away their electronic toys or ground them, they are going to put it up on Facebook or tweet about it??

While I admire her chutzpah and ingenuity, I think it is somewhat disrespectful to her parents to have done this. Did she really think they were going to change their mind?

She is lucky that her parents gave her access to the computer during the five week grounding so she could even create the fan page. I know I would have included taking away her computer access as part of her punishment.

Fortunately, I have a few more years before my six year old daughter discovers Facebook or Twitter so I have time to brainwash her that homework is good, internet is bad. Yeah, right!

This is an original nycmomsblog post.

Linda G. is a single mom (by choice) of a six year old daughter. She is the founder/editor of www.newyorkcitysinglemom.com, which she started after being laid off from a Tarp bank in December 2008.

She is working on a book about her adoption experience adopting as a single Japanese/African American woman, while she seeks her next career.

First Comes Marriage

2010-01-22T02:00:00-08:00

I can’t believe that my husband and I will be celebrating our sixth wedding anniversary next week-don’t worry mom and dad, that’s the Hebrew date-the English calendar is still the same.

Whether I celebrate the Hebrew, English, or both dates of my wedding anniversary, it is amazing how much I have grown in a person, wife, and mother since that day I stood under the Chuppah and got married. I had only known my husband for six months when we were married-you can close your mouth now-my parents had the same reaction. We only dated three months when I got engaged. Why would I feel like I knew who I was marrying after three short months of dating? What if it didn’t work out? I left those answers to a higher authority, and the rest was up to me and my husband. Let me explain.

I found myself at somewhat of a quest for my purpose in life when I was in my middle thirties. Little did I know that I would find the answer right in my very own backyard, so to speak. I was born Jewish, but did I really know what that meant? After all, I didn’t keep kosher, I didn’t go to Synagogue on Shabbos, and I certainly did not date Jewish men. However, when it came time to think about marriage, I never thought that my heritage would be the deal breaker. It took a very nice non-Jewish boyfriend and a visit to Israel to “bring home” how important Judaism was to me. When I mentioned this to my non-Jewish boyfriend he replied that it was just as equally important for him to have his religion-Catholicism-in his home. I learned so much from this person and realized that religion-Jewish, Catholic, Muslim, Agnostic-should be agreed upon before marriage. And that is when we agreed to go on our own separate paths. It was very painful, but as they say, no pain, no gain. It was at that juncture that I took on finding my Jewish Orthodox husband.

In Jewish Orthodox dating, men and women refrain from – Shomer Negiah- before they get married. I thought this concept was all wrong until I found myself falling in love with a man I had never kissed. I know it sounds crazy, but it all made so much sense to me. We spent our dates talking to each other about our life goals, family, regrets, dreams, and new found appreciation for Judaism. We had been living parallel lives for so many years, and we had so much in common. I would have never met him if it wasn’t for, yes, a matchmaker.

Matchmaker. Matchmaker. Make me a match. That matchmaker knew my husband and knew me, so he had us meet. What the matchmaker didn’t tell me was that this man would be my Beshert. That was obvious after I was treated with the utmost respect on each and every one of our dates. How did I know he wasn’t putting on an act? I had confided in some of my closest friends and mentors and they provided me with invaluable information. They even contacted my potential husband's Rabbi and other members of his community to see if his attributes were good enough to be true. When all the reports came back positive, I knew that he was it.

Even though I did not “know” my husband in an intimate way-TMI (Too Much Information)-I did know that we had everything else of importance in order. It was amazing that I had such butterflies in my stomach on my wedding day. They weren’t butterflies of “what am I doing, I barely know this guy” but feelings of excitement about the life we would be building together.

There were other factors that helped clarify things about my potential husband when dating in a non-physical way. I loved that he was passionate about his career and that he was employed. When I met his parents it was as if I had known them already. However, I had also met some very nice men that were not employed or had come from divorced homes. When I hear that they have since married and now have families of their own, I can’t help but smile.

Am I happier than my friends and family married but not living the Jewish Orthodox life that my husband and I do? That all depends on who you ask. I recently listened to the results of the Orthodox Union Aleinu Marriage Satisfaction Survey, which found the following, “Many studies indicate that couples who participate regularly in religious activities (e.g. church attendance) report greater marital happiness and satisfaction and may be less likely to divorce compared to their less religious counterparts”. It’s as if I answered this question in my own mind when I was dating for marriage. I am so happy that I found my own heritage to be as in love with marriage as I am. Here’s to many more!

This is an original nycmomsblog post. When Esti isn’t finding the latest kosher healthy food and beverages for her family to nosh on, she likes to share her life experiences here and at http://www.primetimeparenting.com.

Tips From A New Power Mom

2010-01-21T02:00:00-08:00

As 2010 approached, I made two resolutions. I usually don't even make one. The first, exercise more (I know a cliche). The second, eat well (egad, another awful cliche). The most horrible part is I capped off all these cliches, with a final cliche cherry on the top--I have accomplished neither resolution #1 nor #2. So, that makes for a demoralizing beginning to 2010. Now I sit with my non-exercised rump at my desk eating a Reese's cupcake (a mini one. Could I be on the road to resolution #2?). Digging my resolution hole a bit deeper, I resolved (not an official resolution, more of a thought with purpose) to write my New York City Moms Blog entry the first week of 2010! Yeah! Get a head start. Well, that didn't happen either. My explanation: it isn't nice to depress others. So, I saved my dear readers (hi, Mom!) from the potential contagion of my lack of resolution.

I remember being in my 20's and flying back to New York City in an airplane listening to my Tony Robbins tapes. Here I am years later, without my resolutions and he is now Anthony Robbins with Robbins Research International. I don't think he'll be asking me for any product testimony. After TR (extra big letters because he's tall), I moved onto the kinder/gentler Chicken Soup for the Soul. Now they have Chicken Soup for the Soul - Power Moms. Back then, I knew that by the time I was married and had children I'd have it together. I'd be a power mom (sounds invigorating!) I would get up and smile in the mirror and have neat hair (counterintuitive). "Good Morning, Power Mom!" I would be seizing the day with my children and maybe balancing a career (note to self: buy new edition of The Artist's Way). There would be no piles in my life: laundry, stuff, junk, to be handled, bills, cute stuff, pants, wires of various kinds etc.,. I guess I thought I would be a very resolved person at this point. I would have clear and definite purpose. How could this not be? How does Tony Robbins have the Robbins Research International and I haven't put a bra on yet and it's 12:30PM. Where is my publicist? Oh, yes. Well, I won't sit by the wayside any longer. I will be resolved. I will offer advice and tips (need to finish cupcake first) because according to Nielsen's description, I am already a Power Mom and I haven't done a blessed thing today. The PM does it all--the house, the kids, the shopping (yummy!), the job, the bills but what does she do to them? Isn't neglect an act even if it is the absence of an act? If your child was neglected to be called on today, didn't something happen?? So, here is my first list of Tips as a New Power Mom. Maybe someday, there will be a little girl on an airplane somewhere listening to my tips on tape!

Tips and Advice from A Neophyte Power Mom

1) Staying up at night worrying about every catastrophe that can befall you, your husband, children, parents, siblings, community, city (or town for those of you with a fireplace), politicians, country, world, earth -- does not do anything except make the Power Mom look very tired and old, not a good way to start the Power Mom Day!

2) Walking, even to the kitchen, car etc.,. is exercise. You are moving your body! This is not open to interpretation. If you are aggravated and walking you may also be sweating. Good for you!

3) Not showering, while not to be a regular Power Mom practice, does save water. Go, enviro-Mom!

4) Piles are a way of organizing one's possessions. Imagine a world without piles? Why, it would be chaos. Think of piles as lumpy, misshapen "files".

5) Do you ever think, 'Hey, why make my bed when I will only sleep in it again?' Or, do you get bogged down by the Sisyphus-ian repetition of everyday acts. Me, too! And I am a self-appointed Power Mom! It's okay. Don't keep doing things over and over again. That's for Monoto-mom.

6) Does being an aspiring Power Mom make me a regular and frequent Hippo-crate with my children? Do I ask them to finish tasks and bathe? Yes! Every Power Mom needs minions. To be explored further at a later date. Power Mom is getting sleepy from complications due to tip #1.

7) Although this seems unrelated and untimely, many PMs find the holidays exhausting. It isn't just from trimming trees and dusting off menorahs. It's from the teacher gifts and winter concerts (barump-a-bum-bum), blinking lights and smiling. These are crazy-making. Just keep saying, "Power Mom must get to January 1st!" over and over again. January 1, will come. It will be cold as hell for many of us, but it will come and you get to start all over.

8) Skip all New Year's resolutions.

This is an Original NYC Moms Blog Post.

Change your Bra, Change your Life

2010-01-20T03:27:00-08:00

A new ad campaign from the lingerie store {intimacy} has hit subway station billboards: "change your bra, change your life" it says. Really? I thought. I'm going to change my bra and suddenly I'll be taller, thinner, and sexier?

Let's face it, motherhood - Demi Moore notwithstanding - is not particularly sexy. Yep, nothing says "come hither" more than a spit-up covered shirt, pureed peas in your hair and five days of stubble on your legs. I’m at the stage when dimmed lights and soft music just make me want a nap. And it's hard to feel desirable when you haven't had time to shower for three days. Plus, after pregnancy and nursing, it's hard to remember what it was like when your breasts didn't hover somewhere around your navel.

So I had to try it. (Plus, in the spirit of full disclosure, I was invited to try it, and got a gift for doing so.) So yesterday, I went to the new {intimacy} flagship store on 62nd and 3rd and had a fitting by none other than The Bra Whisperer herself, {intimacy} Founder and Chief Bra Fitter, Susan Nethero, (a five-time Oprah guest. FIVE!). And I learned quite a bit about bra shopping. Turns out, I was wearing the wrong size. Evidently, while my cup size is still horrifyingly huge, my "band width" is a 32, instead of a 36. Evidently, I am petite! Already my life has changed.

Guess what? You need a new bra, too.

Now, before you go getting all offended that I’m insulting your bustline, listen to this: 85% of all women are wearing the wrong size!! 85%! That means that next time you are at a swanky cocktail party (and yes, mothers of little ones, there will be a next time) two out of ten women will be fiddling with their straps all night, two others will be sporting some serious back fat they couldn't see in the bathroom mirror, and the other four are gonna be showing a little more than they intended when they bend over to grab a canape. Unless you are one of the 15% in the right size bra, that canape flasher could be you.

It turns out that the wrong size bra does not just turn you into a flasher, it makes you look shorter, fatter, and accentuates that bane of my existence, back fat. A well-fitting bra can fix all that, insists Nethero. And what’s a well fitting bra? Well, 90% of the support should come from the band – NOT the straps. Nethero says you should be able to take off the straps and still be held up. News to me. Also the clasp should be in the middle of your back – not somewhere around your shoulder blades. "Think of the bra like a see-saw," said Susan, "When the back goes up, the bra falls down." Yikes. And this last tip has to do with back fat: it comes from bras that are too BIG, not too small. Go figure.

But wearing the right bra is about more than looking your best. It’s about feeling your best, feeling ---dare I say it –sexy.

In the swanky new dressing room,of the swanky new flagship {intimacy}store, there is a sign that says (among other things) "Your Breasts are Perfect." Well, no, I thought. My breasts droop where they should be perky, they slope where they should climb. They have been filled and then depleted of breast milk. They have stretched out sweaters, worn down the straps of bras and bathing suits, fed babies and titillated lovers. They have survived a pregnancy that made my breasts swell to a horrifying F-cup—who knew they even made F-cups? -- and now, they are decidedly NOT perfect.

That's where the Bra Whisperer comes in. Without a tape measure, she determined my (new) size, and then brought in bras for me to try. I put on the first bra -- and right away, there they were: the breasts I remembered. High, firm, standing out from my body rather than plastered down to it. Who was it again who didn't have perfect breasts?

Of course those retro tatas come at a price. It's like I always say about bathing suits: The worse you look, you more you pay. But I think it was worth it. Because as I type this I’m wearing one of my new bras. (I bought some…you know, as long as I was there.) And while I may not be in Demi Moore territory, I do feel a little bit sexier – like a have a secret on under my ratty old sweater.

"Change your bra, Change your life." Hmmmmm.

Original Post to NYC Moms Blog.

Nancy Rabinowitz Friedman blogs about her momming, aging and her twenty year quest to lose the same ten pounds at From Hip to Housewife. You can read her essay in the new book See Mom Run.