theundercovermom

Nobody Puts the Feldmans in a Corner

noreply@blogger.com (Role Mommy) — Sun, 17 Feb 2008 13:57:00 +0000

Last night, we decided to take our kids out to dinner with us on our usual "date night." Our son had just been diagnosed the day before with strep so rather than risk infecting his grandma, we took the pair out with us to somewhere new. One of my mom friends recommended this Westchester restaurant on her website so I figured, even if we had to drive 40 minutes to get there, it still would be worth the trip.

When we arrived, we were told there would be a 35 minute wait, even though I had called earlier and they said we wouldn't have a problem getting in. And so, while the kids whined about the fact that they were "starving," we took a seat near the bar and ordered a pizza while we waited to be seated.

After about 45 minutes had passed, the hostess finally came over to get us and pointed to a table that was a few feet away from where we were sitting. At first, we figured if the kids made noise, that spot would be perfect, but then reality set in. Every time someone opened the door, we'd instantly feel a 20 degree drop in the room temperature. Then, it took about 10 minutes for the waiter to come over and take our order and when I asked for a chardonnay, it took him another 30 minutes to come back and inform me that they had run out of the wine he had recommended. Annoyed, I ordered a diet coke - which didn't arrive for another 20 minutes.

But the most aggravating part of the evening was the bar scene. If you plan to take your kids to a restaurant and they seat you next to a bar and there is a long wait for tables, expect to start feeling incredibly claustrophobic when the crowd starts spilling over to your table. As dozens of people entered the bar, I watched as two women inched closer to where we were sitting. At one point, I think my son got slugged in the head with a handbag and we would have offered them an appetizer if someone had finally brought some food over to us. And as the bursts of cold air, lack of a beverage and overcrowding situation worsened, I went ballistic and was ready to bolt.

My husband then complained to the hostess for sticking us in the worst corner of the restaurant and when he told her we'd like to take our check and leave, she called over the manager and he instantly found us a table inside. As fate would have it, the table was next to another door which opened continuously and caused a draft every time someone opened it, but at least it was away from the bar scene.

My whole beef about the evening was a simple one - why do restaurants discriminate against families? I mean, I wouldn't want to eat at a place where there were screaming kids around who were causing a scene, but my children have been trained to be well-behaved since we eat out all the time. I've had it with the poor service, putting us in a bad location and the obliviousness of other people who have no problem standing within two inches from our table while they're waiting for their own.

So what's our takeaway from this experience? Don't trust other people's restaurant recommendations? Don't bring your kids to a restaurant that's not kid friendly? Suck it up and deal with poor service? Or just eat at home? While we may not dine at that restaurant again, what we do know is that if we ever get faced with a situation like this again, we will make one major request: nobody puts the Feldmans in a corner.

My Candidate is Better Than Yours

noreply@blogger.com (Role Mommy) — Mon, 04 Feb 2008 19:37:00 +0000

3rd Grade Language Arts Homework by Rebecca Feldman Assignment: Use the words divergent, career, humble, boastful, humility and memorable in a sentence: My mom and dad have divergent views of who should be the next president. My mom is voting for Hillary Clinton and my dad is definitely not. My mom admires her career and thinks she is a humble woman. However, my dad thinks she is a boastful person who lacks humility. I don’t know who will be president this year but the election will be a memorable one. If you thought Maria Shriver and Arnold Schwarzenegger were the only married couple in America who have opposing views of who they believe is the best candidate for president, think again. Tonight, on the eve of Super Tuesday, my husband and I will not be arguing over whose turn it is to take out the garbage, we’ve got bigger fish to fry. I’m digging in my heels and supporting Hillary Clinton, as he prepares to stand by his man, Republican frontrunner John McCain.

How could two people who are compatible in every way veer off in a completely different direction when it comes to politics? It beats me, but as long as I’ve known him, my financially savvy spouse has always leaned toward the right, while me, a creative spirit with a bleeding heart, is as left as they come. And now, even our kids have taken sides.

When we asked who they hoped would win the election, my daughter announced she was supporting Hillary Clinton because she wants her to become the first woman president. My five year old son took a simpler approach - selecting Republican Mike Huckabee because he likes the sound of his name. So tonight, as we gather round the kitchen table debating the merits of our respective candidates, while we may be pulling different levers on election day, it doesn’t mean we love each other any less. It’s just that when it comes to politics, sometimes you can agree to disagree.

Searching for Becca Fisher

noreply@blogger.com (Role Mommy) — Sat, 19 Jan 2008 21:52:00 +0000

When I read about the untimely death of champion chess player Bobby Fisher, I really didn't think much about it. I vaguely remember the movie I saw about him being a chess-playing phenom as a kid, but other than that, the news of his passing didn't make that much of an impression. That is, until this morning.

As we prepared to spend a day running errands or figuring out what to do with our kids, my daughter came running into the den waving a form in my face. "Mommy, my chess teacher said I need to be in this tournament and it's today." Nothing like a little advanced warning.

After re-reading the sheet about five times, I reached the fine print section and noticed that after I forked over $50, my daughter could enter the chess match and compete. Lucky for us, one of her best friends was selected by the teacher to play too, so our friend drove them over in time to register and we decided to meet her there - thinking we'd spend about 1-2 hours watching her play a few rounds.

When we arrived, the hallways were teaming with kids of all ages - from kindergarteners to fifth graders - who knew that chess was so popular? While kids played chess in carefully guarded classrooms, parents were instructed to stay far away from the door so that we didn't screw up their concentration or shout out pointers. If only my dad weren't allowed to watch my tennis matches when I was a kid - I probably would have won a few more games. But back to Becca...

After spending four hours at the school - doing whatever we could to entertain our son (thank you Nintendo), Becca emerged exhausted and victorious. She won the first round, lost the second, tied the third and won the last round - which meant she qualified for a medal! Even better, after all the points were tallied, her school came in first place out of seven other schools - earning them the championship trophy. The parents couldn't have been prouder and the kids were thrilled - for a moment I felt like I was in that "Akeelah and the Bee Movie." As other kids trotted around with private school jerseys and t-shirts promoting their chess club, my happy go lucky kid who attends public school won a medal at her very first chess match. Today the school championship, tomorrow the state!

And just think, I started my day thinking we'd be buying bananas and luncheon meat. Sure I don't have groceries, but I do have a chess-playing daughter who can also crochet, ice skate and is pretty damn good at gymnastics too. My Becca never ceases to amaze me. And that's the ultimate joy of being a parent - watching our kids try their best and pursue the things they love. Gotta bolt...Becca is giving me my very first chess lesson!

The Uninvited Guest

noreply@blogger.com (Role Mommy) — Thu, 10 Jan 2008 02:33:00 +0000

I officially had the grossest experience to date in my ongoing quest to be a free wheeling Manhattan entrepreneur. While lunching at Maggie's in midtown with a former colleague, I placed my bag on the floor and didn't think much about that decision as we caught up on lost time. After lunch, I grabbed my bag, slipped it on my shoulder and walked over to my new office near Grand Central Station. While I checked in at security, I looked down into my bag and saw IT peering up at me.

It must have been the size of my hand - okay - it wasn't that huge but all I knew was it was big, brown, with tentacles flaring and it was taking up residence in my monster purse. I'm convinced it was a cockroach, water bug, cricket or some other humongous creature that had pranced into my bag and was creeping on top of my folders, Jenny Craig snacks and my laptop case, searching for something to nibble on.

As the security guard attempted to take my photo so he could print out my temporary ID card, I could hardly speak. I then started wriggling around, trying to figure out how to get rid of the roach. I finally managed to ask the guard for a napkin and he still couldn't understand why I was freaking out until he came around the bend to inspect my bag and saw the creepy crawler ducking for cover. He then handed me a towel and I crushed the thing, like a bug. Wait not like a bug, I actually crushed the bug and handed the towel back to the guard. I then smiled and posed for my picture.

As Cindy Adams says, "Only in New York kids, Only in New York."

Was it Something I Said?

noreply@blogger.com (Role Mommy) — Fri, 28 Dec 2007 01:44:00 +0000

I think I have a complex. Or it might just be a rude neighbor. You see, a few days ago, I was shopping with my husband and kids and we noticed a mom I knew shopping with her young daughter and when I walked over to say hello, she snubbed me. I mean, I even called out her name and she did that "I'm pretending not to see you look" that I've used dozens of times on people I don't want to say hello to because then I'll be caught in a conversation with someone I really don't feel like speaking with in the first place.

Wait a second. Did she pull "the snub" on me because she wanted to avoid me? Am I annoying? Or someone she doesn't want to even acknowledge even though I practically see her every day at my kids' school? Was it something I said, or didn't say? I have to admit, it was rude of me to not buy her a baby gift when she gave birth about a year ago, but I didn't think she'd hold it against me.

Come to think of it - she's not the only person who purposely snubs me even though I know she knows exactly who I am. There's one mom in particular - I actually wrote about her about a year ago in a post called The Witches of Preschool - she is by far the Queen of all snubbers in my neighborhood. I can't tell you the dozens of times I've seen her at school, in the supermarket, the post office, and even at my own kids' birthday party and she pretends not to see me or will carry on a conversation with another mom and act as if I'm not in the room. I don't know what I did to her either, but she is by far the rudest snubber I've ever met - except of course for my cousin.

Yes, my own relative has snubbed me on numerous occasions. Even though we live approximately 1/4 mile from each other, we are practically in another country - I'm in New Rochelle, she's in Scarsdale - in a gi-normous mansion. I've never been invited to her home and have told my parents on numerous occasions that we should just ring and run just so we can check out her expansive foyer. One time, she even snubbed me as we were walking into a Chinese restaurant and she was walking out. She gave me that "I'm looking over your head" so I don't see you snub - a classic.

I am really growing tired of being snubbed by rude women and relatives and while I may be partly to blame, why can't people stop being oblivious for a change? I know I'm guilty of snubbing people from time to time, so maybe in the New Year, I'll make a point to smile when people try to catch my attention. Say hello when someone calls my name and never ignore my neighbor. Wait, I just discovered the 11th commandment - Thou Shalt Not Snub.

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Old Feet and Other Commuter Pet Peeves

noreply@blogger.com (Role Mommy) — Fri, 14 Dec 2007 00:49:00 +0000

I hearby make a citizen's arrest. In the name of cleanliness, manners and plain old decency, I proclaim this fellow commuter guilty. Guilty of assuming that his seat aboard a Metronorth train doubles as a Lazy Boy recliner. Last I checked, thousands of people sit down exactly in the spot where those foul looking feet were parked today. And trust me, while I managed to sneak in this shot, you should have seen him go to town on his ear wax.

I know when you step on a train many of us get lost in our own world - listening to music, watching a DVD, reading the newspaper, a great book, or in my case, meeting my favorite girlfriends for the most enjoyable part of our day. So when I see someone plant his feet on the very spot where Robin, Mardene, Susan, Lauren and I sat earlier today, I just get utterly disgusted.

There have to be some commuter rules to follow and if you violate one of them, you get taken to task by the commuter police or by me and my 8:48 posse. So here are seven tried and true commuter rules to live by and if you happen to have been riding the 4:23pm train to Scarsdale today in your bare socks, I hope you're paying attention:

1. Do not under any circumstances take your shoes off on the train and stretch out your odor eaters on the seat in front of you.

2. If you choose to sit in a six seater and five talkative women nudge their way in so they can launch into their early morning coffee klatch, make sure your bags are off the seat and do not roll your eyes when they cover 10 topics in 33 minutes. Besides, you may learn a thing or two if you decide to eavesdrop on the conversation.

3. If someone is talking loudly on their cell phone, you are allowed to tell them to keep it down. If a working mom is talking on her cell phone - back off Buster - she's either on a conference call or trying to take care of all the loose ends in her day and make it home in time to relieve her nanny. If you attempt to rattle her cage, trust me, she'll bite your head off.

4. If you accidentally spill a beverage on the floor and the liquid proceeds to roll down the aisle and seep next to the leather briefcase of a fellow commuter, don't pretend you don't know whose drink it is. Use those extra napkins you swiped from that Dunkin Donuts dispenser and mop up your mess.

5. Don't leave your newspaper on the seat after you leave. Who do you think is going to clean up after you? Your mother? It's your responsibility to clean up after yourself - not the train conductor.

6. Don't interrupt the poker players. If you see them congregating in their favorite four seater with their oak tag spread out on their laps, a serious game of five card stud is taking place - either observe and be amazed or move to another row - those poker games can get rowdy.

7. Deodorant may be bad for the ozone layer, but it's required for rush hour train rides.

The commuter code of ethics isn't tough to follow - so think before you do something offensive aboard your train, subway or cross town bus - you never know when the undercover mom is watching.

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The Sanitation Mom

noreply@blogger.com (Role Mommy) — Mon, 10 Dec 2007 00:00:00 +0000

Can someone explain to me why I am the human trash can in my family? It's not like I've volunteered for the job but somehow, when my kids are finished with their gum, their drinks or their tissues, they don't hold onto their refuse. Oh no. Why do that when you have the Sanitation Mom sitting right in front of you chauffering them around from one activity to another?

Picture the scene. We're running late, as usual and I've given the kids a quick snack so they won't complain that they're famished the minute we hit the open road. Within one minute and forty five seconds one of them has finished their juice box and granola bar and I can feel little fingers tapping me on my shoulder as I'm trying to make a right turn.

"Mommy, here's my garbage, take it."

I don't know when I became the wastebasket but even when my husband is around, they instantly hand me their half eaten snacks so that I can magically make the garbage disappear. And when we're outside of the car, my role as Sanitation Mom kicks in at movie theaters, festivals, museums, the zoo - there is not a place in the tri-state area that I haven't traversed where my kids have used me to get rid of their trash.

Now I know I should just tell them, it's your garbage, you find a place to dispose of it, but frankly it's just easier to take care of the mess rather than let something smelly fester in the back seat of my minivan. And besides, at least I know I'm not alone in my garbage duties. There are other parents who have become voluntary sanitation workers too.

Just yesterday, I was in the supermarket on the check out line while a sweet looking three year old was savoring a piece of mozzarella cheese on a toothpick. As his dad was busy packing up their groceries and paying the cashier, the tyke held out the toothpick motioning to his dad. When his father didn't pay attention to his directive to relieve him of the toothpick, the whining began to commence.

"Daddy....take this away!" he whined. And within one second, the dad grabbed the toothpick and proceeded to drop it on the same conveyer belt where my groceries were about to be deposited. Now that is just plain offensive. If you have accepted the role of Sanitation Mom or Dad it is your obligation to dispose of all waste in a trash receptacle. If you can't live up to the demands of the job, then you must instruct your child that they must hold onto said toothpick until they can find a trash can themselves and drop it where it belongs.

I never realized that there is a code of Sanitation Mom ethics, but there is. Just like the tell-tale phrase, you break it, you pay, the same holds true for garbage. They give you their trash - you throw it out. And if you break the rules, then maybe your kid can take on garbage duty themselves. Dare to dream. Dare to dream.

Old Yeller

noreply@blogger.com (Role Mommy) — Mon, 19 Nov 2007 11:37:00 +0000

I finally volunteered for my very first class trip this past week and it was truly an experience I won't forget. When I first arrived, I was pleased to see many of my favorite mom friends had volunteered for the trip too so we gossiped a bit in the hallway while we waited for the class to head our way and hit the bus. After about 15 minutes, we finally saw their smiling faces accompanied by a shrill voice that instantly harkened back memories of the time I came face to face with a teacher I'd like to call Old Yeller.

Before I share my childhood tale, let's go back to the school trip. All the kids boarded the bus and then the parents filed in and grabbed the remaining seats and suddenly, the voice erupted again, shocking everything and everyone in its wake. If you can think of the most piercing, nasal sound that can pretty much be heard in the next county, then you can imagine what we all encountered when Old Yeller started reprimanding kids left and right for talking too loud, sticking out their hands in the aisle, singing, turning around in their seats - if someone was making trouble, Old Yeller was right on the case. And she literally scared the beejezus out of me because I was directly in back of her!

As she kept on shouting out threats to the kids - "This will be your last school trip if you do that again," I began to reminisce, or shall I rephrase that by saying my encounter with this drill sargeant brought back frightful memories of a teacher's aide who used to rule the lunchroom at my elementary school in Brooklyn, NY. Her name was Mrs. Boyarsky and honestly, I don't know if she's still alive today because she was probably close to fifty back then and that was over 30 years ago. Mrs. Boyarsky was the original Old Yeller. If someone was acting up in the lunchroom, you could hear her voice clear across the room honing in on the offender and then pulling them out against the wall where they spent the rest of their lunch facing the gated windows and re-thinking that wedgie they gave their fourth grade classmate.

For real trouble makers, if Mrs. Boyarsky caught you doing something really out of line - like wrestling or fighting over who had the better bologna sandwich that day, she'd be on you like a prison warden and would pull you out of your seat, you'd stand for the rest of the period on her makeshift police line-up and then hit the Principal's office.

While I was a self-proclaimed goody two shoes and even turned in a bully during my time at P.S. 276, I did have one run-in with Old Yeller that I will never forget. It was the year "Grease" came out so let's say it was circa 1978. For some reason, during that year there was a comic book that was all the rage among fourth graders. The book was filled with color photos of all the characters from the movie with dialog written in comic strip form. All the kids in my class were clamoring to get that book and it was pretty hard to come by. Lucky for me, my parents tracked it down at a local comic book store so for a fleeting moment, I became the most popular girl in school - and as a chubby kid who was constantly teased for eating one two many twinkies, I was on top of the world.

As we sat in line after our lunch during what was called "Quiet Time," I began showing the book to my friends and the whispers gradually grew louder and louder as the girls passed the book down the row. When someone let out a squeal - they must have hit the Greased Lightning page - I heard the voice. The piercing voice that can send cats and dogs scouring for refuge. Old Yeller wanted to know whose book that was. And suddenly the room went silent. You could hear someone's lunch money drop. My momentary flirtation with popularity quickly faded away when the kids on my line turned around and pointed directly at me. I could feel my face hotten - I always turned beet red when I got nervous - and suddenly, Mrs. B. pulled me off the line and sent me to stand against the wall where kids pointed and ridiculed me in hushed tones. She then confiscated my book and to this day, I never did know what happened to "Grease: The Comic Book."

Needless to say, I never did talk out of turn or bring in items that would stir up the crowd, but that one experience with Old Yeller made me realize that I never wanted to be embarrassed again. If she bellowed that it was "Quiet Time" I pretty much kept my trap shut until I hit the sixth grade and left her to torment other little kids in her wake. I'm sure many of my former classmates have tales of Mrs. B and I'm absolutely positive that the kids on this week's class trip, or other children who have a tough teacher with a piercing voice will never forget how she ran a tight ship and didn't let anyone get away with anything. I know I have my Old Yeller moments too so I can't fault her for the technique - but I do hope the kids in her class also remember her for being an inspiring teacher who put them on the right track to greatness. Nobody ever wants to be remembered for being the nastiest teacher in the school. Only time will tell - for me and my brush with Mrs. Boyarsky - I know she was only doing her job and if I were in her position I might have done the same thing. My only regret - never getting my "Grease" book back - I still Google it to this day. So if anyone finds a "Grease" comic book please let me know - I promise not to cause a free-for-all this time around.

DATE NIGHT AT A KID FRIENDLY RESTAURANT

noreply@blogger.com (Role Mommy) — Sun, 28 Oct 2007 19:17:00 +0000

So last night was date night and usually, I aim to select restaurants that don't have kids as patrons - not because I'm a snob or something - I am a parent myself - but when we've got a babysitter who's on the clock, the last thing we want to do is hit a restaurant with out of control kids. We can stay home for that one.

Getting back to our evening. Everything was going just fine, appetizers were delish, wine devine, main course arrived and then there was a shriek from another table. This couple, sitting with their daughter who looked to be about nine or ten started to yell really loudly because she dropped her small fork on the floor and she demanded that her parents get her another fork or else she was going to cause a scene.

Okay -now if this child has issues, I am incredibly sorry for even mentioning what transpired - but if she is just a bratty kid who can't control herself when she drops her fork, which I think she was, I think she needs to take a lesson from the Emily Post school of dining at a restaurant with your parents when it's supposed to be date night.

Rule number one - never scream loudly when you drop a utensil. Politely ask the waitress for another fork - no one has to hear you ranting and raving over your silly blunder.

Rule number two - stuffed animals do not belong on the table. Do I honestly need to be reminded that I left my two kids at home while you plop your furry pig right in front of me? If there's an extra seat, put your toys on the chair - not where everyone is eating.

Rule number three - if you're still at a restaurant with your child and if it's after 9:30pm and a drinking crowd has started to assemble near the bar, call your waitress over and get the check - after a certain time of night, there is no such thing as kid friendly dining at a bar.

Rule number four - even if your kid insists they join you on date night, push back, get a sitter or plan a sleepover for your ten year old at a friend's house.

Rule number five - Don't feel guilty. Date night is important for couples - and the more you get your child used to you going out on their own, the more independent he or she will be in the end.

To return to Role Mommy, Click Here. Or, to read the review of the fabulous singer who performed last night -and managed to take our mind off the screaming girl, then Click Here instead!

HOME TRUTHS - A New Blog by Judy Epstein

noreply@blogger.com (Role Mommy) — Wed, 19 Sep 2007 01:45:00 +0000

THE REAL GAY MARRIAGE

There's been a lot of fuss lately about Gay Marriage, but I, for one, am looking forward to it. Speaking as someone who's been married to a man for many years, myself, I'm looking forward to seeing how a marriage composed exclusively of men solves the every-day problems that bedevil the rest of us. (Theoretically, this could apply to women, too, but we all know that we're not the problem.)

For example, I'd like to see what system two MEN devise for deciding who will be the partner to leave the cap off the toothpaste tube, and who will be the one to complain and put it back. Who will be the one to leave the smelly gym clothes wherever they land on the floor, and who the one to pick up and wash them? Will they decide by lottery? By drawing straws? By rotating every week/month/year? Because maybe, if they can come up with a system, the rest of us could adopt it.

I would like to see how a household of two men decides which of them will hear a ringing phone and do something about it - like answer it - versus which one will behave as if it were a cobra >hissing in the corner. Which will be the one to pass on the message "Oh, by the way, Visa called; they say if they don't get a payment in 24 hours, they're cutting us off" - a month after it's happened? Which will be the partner who remembers all the birthdays and events of both extended families, and which one will never remember his own anniversary?

I look forward to seeing how two men decide who takes the dishes into the kitchen after Thanksgiving dinner, versus who gets to stay at the table for coffee and dessert. And I'm dying to know -- which spouse will get control of the TV remote?

I suppose there's one argument they'll never have - they'll both leave the toilet seat up. Unless they acquire children, and at least one is a girl. She'll have to learn to fend for herself. I really hope they do have children. I can't wait to see how two MEN decide which partner has to get up in the middle of the night, and who gets to sleep through till morning. And that's just the beginning. Every working wife and mother in America will be waiting, with bated breath, to see how two MEN decide which is the parent who leaves work early to pick up a child who is throwing up at school! Or, which one will use their vacation time to attend teacher conferences, versus which one has the "important" job.

Yes, I welcome America's homosexuals to the ranks of us married folk. But they'll have to act fast, because who knows? If they insist on combining work with marriage and family, I predict that soon, they'll become NOsexuals, just like all the rest of us.

Judy Epstein has an award-winning humor column, "A Look On The Light Side," which is often but not always about mommy issues. Judy has a website at http://www.alookonthelightside.com/ and has won awards from the Press Club of Long Island 3 years in a row, last year in both 1st and 3rd place. In a prior life, she worked in Public Television for almost 20 years, including almost 10 with Bill Moyers. She's been on the radio, with positive reviews ("You sounded just like NPR!"), has begun hitting the speaking circuit and an essay she penned was recently published in Chicken Soup for the Soul in Menopause. ("It Starts with an M" on page 40.)

My Night with a Cheetah Girl

noreply@blogger.com (Role Mommy) — Tue, 11 Sep 2007 23:57:00 +0000

While working a red carpet event the other night, I was deep undercover. No one knew I was a mom with two kids waiting anxiously for me to come home and kiss them before they went to sleep. There I was, surrounded by models, fashionistas, television reporters and even the mayor and all I could think about was damn, this place is crowded and I hope I can zip out of here before I miss my eight o'clock train. And then, it happened. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a beautiful young girl who drew a striking resemblance to one of the Cheetah girls.

At first, I was too embarrassed to ask if it was really her, but then I nudged a friend who knows everything and anyone relating to the entertainment industry. She was skeptical since she rarely TiVo's the Disney Channel, but after some investigating, we received confirmation, it was indeed, Chu-chi - the cute Cheetah girl who manages to get the entire group to head to Spain and perform in an international music competition during last year's Cheetah-licious movie fest that I watched with my daughter about 150 times.

I shamelessly introduced myself to Chu-Chi (her name is actually Adrienne) and she couldn't have been sweeter. I told her my daughter was a huge fan and complemented her beautiful voice, she thanked me, smiled and I went back to work.

But then, the kiddy concert stalker in me reared its ugly head again. I stared into my brand new trendy Michael Kors bag (a gift I bought for myself for becoming a business owner), zipped open my carrying case and whipped out my iPhone. The coast was clear so I walked back over and asked if it was okay to take a picture of her for my daughter. And she was so sweet that she not only let me take the picture - she had her publicist take a picture of both of us! I then showed her a picture of my daughter, Adrienne told me how cute she was and I was literally beaming. I then wedged myself back into the crowd and struck up a nice conversation with Billy Joel's wife - man, I wish he were there too so I could have asked him to sing "Theme from an Italian Restaurant" - sure that would have been shameless - but hey, I already embarrassed myself with a Cheetah girl, why stop there?

I hung around a little while longer and as the crowd dissipated, I made my way out of the club and straight to the train - hoping my daughter would still be awake when I walked in the door. I even contemplated forcing her to wake up but kissed her head instead and then the next morning, I surprised her with my photo with the Cheetah Girl.

Becca of course looked at it and wailed - why wasn't I there? Can I see her? Does she want to meet me? As I thought about the prospect of attempting to scalp tickets and backstage passes to a Cheetah Girls concert, I printed out a very grainy photo of me and Chu-chi which Becca took with her to school and managed to impress all her friends. Now if I can only meet Zach Ephron, I'll officially wind up in the parent hall of fame!

THE DUDE RANCH

noreply@blogger.com (Role Mommy) — Wed, 29 Aug 2007 00:33:00 +0000

I can't remember the last time I visited a dude ranch. Wait. I can remember. It was high school, 1984. It was the dead of winter and I didn't go near the horses or the bunny hill. So imagine my surprise 23 years later when my husband announced he wanted to give the dude ranch circuit a whirl with our good friends Dave and Alicia and their seven year old son, Carter. We loaded the kids up in the car, and off we went to what I have now discovered is nirvana for the the nine and under set...Rocking Horse Ranch.

I had visions of the place being totally dilapidated and reeking of manure and when we arrived, I was pleasantly surprised. The manure scent only permeated my membranes if the wind blew in the wrong direction and the ranch, seemed surprisingly updated. They even had some animatronic bear playing a guitar in the gift shop. Plus an indoor and outdoor pool with a water slide, rock climbing wall - which my daughter couldn't get enough of, an outdoor bounce house (which Carter used to set a world record - 1000 jumps in under 10 minutes), water skiing, banana boat rides, game room, fishing, shuffleboard, kayaking, corny shows, and best of all...the Fun Barn - which had an indoor bounce house, another rock climbing wall and the craziest climbing structure you've ever seen where kids can shoot at each other with foam balls...need I say more?

But the best part of all didn't take place on the horses - since mine kept on stopping to eat a bush, slosh through some manure scented mud (eew) or swat some flies; it didn't happen at the pool where I got to read and relax and watch my daughter zip down the water slide at least a dozen times; it wasn't at the cheesy magic show - it happened when I strapped on a pair of water skis and managed to not only pull myself up but I cruised around the lake for what seemed an eternity. You see, the last time I hopped up on skis, I was 15 and was a CIT at Camp Algonquin. That summer, I learned how to water ski for the first and last time since my momentary blaze of glory around the lake was quickly extinguished when I wiped out and the wake went right up my tush. After that day and the fact that the motor boat crapped out and no one bothered to fix it the rest of the summer, I pretty much hung up my skis and never ventured out again...that is, until this weekend.

My husband was pretty much stunned at my high flying water ski performance and is now ready to rent a lake house so we can spend the summer recapturing our youth. Even my daughter was shocked that I could ski - but not to be outdone, she managed to get up on the skis the first shot and even scaled the rock climbing structure and rang the bell. That's my girl!

So all in all, while I usually enjoy a nice Cape Cod or Caribbean vacation, our side trip to a dude ranch was actually one of our best trips in years. The kids had a ball and surprisingly, we did too. So from Jamaica, to day camp, to Block Island to the Hamptons, we ended our summer on a high note with a high flyin' dude ranch adventure. Nothing like a weekend surrounded by nature, good friends and water rides to put everything in perspective and make us realize that it is actually fun to act like a kid again.

To take a peak at the very first video I've managed to create from the pix I took with my iPhone, then click on the link below and enjoy! Happy Labor Day!

Tennis Revisited

noreply@blogger.com (Role Mommy) — Fri, 10 Aug 2007 10:54:00 +0000

If you've been reading Role Mommy for a while, you may have read one of my previous posts about my long awaited return to the game of tennis. Back in November, I decided to dust off my racquet from 1986 and sub in a tennis league filled with stay at home moms and retirees. However, my foray into that foreign world was too much for me to handle and while I had a few memorable strokes and even won a few games, I never returned because I feared the ladies would tell the league organizer that they didn't want me to come near their foursome ever again. Well, this summer, I decided to take matters into my own hands and I signed up for tennis lessons. I dusted off my oversized Prince racquet, purchased a park permit, fished through my closet for a pair of sweats that wasn't incredibly outdated and proceeded to the courts where I met Andreas, a Camel smoking tennis pro who pretty much managed to transform my game in a matter of weeks. Andreas and I hit for a few minutes that first day and he instantly gave his assessment. "Would you be okay if I changed your forehand grip? The one you're using went out in the early nineties." Ouch. Was I that out of touch with modern tennis? Could it be that my tennis idols Martina and Chris were completely pre-historic and were probably playing the Boca Raton circuit with their old fashioned grips? The next thing I knew, Andreas had switched my grip and convinced me to try out a new tennis racquet since my old one also went out of style about the same time as poof dresses - oh wait, aren't those back in again? Anyway, so I went to the tennis shop where all the SAHM's and retired biddees were looming around the clothes rack and I plunked down my credit card for a brand spankin' new Head racquet. I even decided to buy a few outfits but didn't actually try them on - big mistake considering those shorts pretty much show everything. I think I need to design a line of tennis shorts that conceal knee fat, but I digress. So five lessons later, I am almost back on my game. My strokes are solid, serves are terrific, my volleys can use some work but I may be ready to not only sub in the ladies tennis league but join them each week in their weekly tennis and coffee klatch. Though my days as a high school tennis star are long behind me, I'm finally making a comeback! Watch out Mildred and Harriet, Beth is back on her game and she's going to whip your senior citizen fannies this season!

A Note from My Biggest Fan...

Dearest Beth,

I had a good laugh while reading the latest edition of your newsletter. Of course, I still think you are the most beautiful mom around and although you are somehow concerned about feeling you haven't kept up with the latest in active attire- I can tell you that at the gym I go to the two-twos(22 year olds) wear the tighest skimpiest outfits and they expect me to keep up in their classes - what a laugh- but I' hanging in there.I bought some capri length workout pants and I do as many reps of an exercise as some of those teeny weeny two-two's. But as I said I think you are phenomenal no matter what you think. An aside - it isn't gezunga cars -it it is gesundta cars- I guess some of your yiddishisms need a little work!

Love Mom

Fanny Packs & Sticky Buns

noreply@blogger.com (Role Mommy) — Mon, 02 Jul 2007 23:36:00 +0000

I've begun to make a concerted effort and have started to hit the gym on a regular basis. In fact, during my recent vacation to Jamaica, I strapped on my fanny pack (which was actually owned by my dad back in the late eighties), slipped on my brand new Yoga pants - even though I've never done Yoga, glided into my aerated Puma gym shoes and went to the workout room.

When I arrived, the tiny room was packed. Every machine was taken and most of the fit patrons were wearing some of the trendiest outfits I've seen around the gym circuit. In fact, looking down at my retro fanny pack I started to realize that I was horribly outdated. I guess that's what happens when the only thing that experiences the pain of a gym visit every month is my Capitol One credit card. I haven't been in great shape since my daughter was a year old and now she's eight. So this is the year I am really giving it my best shot to get back on the program and maybe back into a pair of spandex leggings - oh, did those go out of style too?

So, back to Jamaica - I managed to find some cardio machines and even broke a sweat - probably because the humidity was pretty thick, but I'll take sweat any way I can get it. At least I was able to burn off a few hundred calories before I put away my fanny pack and sat my fanny on a lounge chair for the next five hours as I proceeded to read while my husband chased the kids in the pool - oh how I love it that he loves to play like a school kid while I can relax in the sun, that is until my son summons me to escort him to the bathroom - which pretty much happened like clock work every hour on the hour.

Back to the gym. I managed to workout four out of the seven days we were there and even played tennis for what I think was about 25 minutes before I almost passed out from heat exhaustion. Then finished the week sipping iced teas, sampling my kids' banana smoothies and completing four books (Eat, Pray, Love; Second Chance; Best Friends and For One More Day).

When I returned home, I actually went to the gym the very next day! I was so proud of myself and grabbed my fanny pack again despite the fact that it was an obvious fashion faux paus and I zipped over to Equinox at 4pm - a perfect time of day since barely anyone was there. First stop was the treadmill and as I attempted to start jogging, one of the cleaning women decided to spray the equipment right next to me with windex - causing me to practically choke as I attempted my sprint. Okay, maybe it wasn't a sprint - at that point I was walking briskly.

Then I looked up at the television monitors and my choices were pretty limited - sports, CNN or the Food Channel. Hmmm, the food channel seemed interesting - they were doing the show where pastry chefs compete against each other for the best cartoon cake. I was amazed by the workmanship on the Scooby Doo cake and was worried that the Popeye and Olive Oil cake might collapse, but thankfully the cake survived and the Scooby Doo chef won the bake off. And I had finished 20 minutes on the treadmill.

Next stop - the stair master. I would have preferred the stationary bike but the stairmaster was closer to the TV featuring Bobby Flay's Throwdown show so I stayed in the same section and became hooked and hungry. I'd never seen the show before but of course, I decided to watch an entire episode devoted to sticky buns. Baking them, glazing them and devouring them. It's enough to make a person famished. As I stepped up and down and read the captions for the sticky bun episode I tried to get motivated by my iPod songs from the eighties and finally finished the next half of my workout.

My remaining time at the gym consisted of leg machines and free weights but by that point, the only thing I could think of were those damn sticky buns. And so, after an hour long workout, me and my fanny pack left the gym and hit Cinnabon...okay - lucky for my fanny there isn't a Cinnabon in my neighborhood - instead, I came home, cooked up a tasty barbecue and enjoyed a little Lemon Meringue pie. So much for the workout. I guess the next time I hit the gym I should stay away from the Food Channel.

Gezunga Cars

noreply@blogger.com (Role Mommy) — Thu, 14 Jun 2007 18:42:00 +0000

Ever since I became the proud owner of a zippy little black Jetta, I've noticed that I am surrounded. Surrounded by the biggest gezunga cars I've ever seen. Lining the parking lot in Scarsdale are cars that are the size of schooners - from Yukons, to Land Rovers to Lincoln Navigators, I feel like I'm in the land of car Lilliputia whenever I'm attempting to pull out of a space.

Now, as a former owner of a minivan - actually, I still own it, I just don't like to drive it around the neighborhood anymore, I can understand the need for a large vehicle if you have a lot of family members to tote around with you to their various activities. But on a late morning in my neighborhood, all I could see were skinny skinny women in tennis skirts hopping into their tremendous cars and attempting to play chicken with my Jetta so that they could back out first.

Honestly, do you really need a car that large to transport you, your grande cappucino and your treo? Besides, doesn't it cost like $150 to fill up on gas for an SUV, minivan or flat bed truck? Not that I'm an environmentalist or anything but even my little volkswagen cost me $44 bucks to fill up on gas so I could only imagine what the final gas tally on a Yukon would be.

Now I know, the bigger the car, the safer you maybe are - but wouldn't it be nice for all of us to go back to the good old days when small cars were the in thing? I have noticed a shift in the small car order but I still think the gezunga cars have us beat by a mile. So for all of you out there driving around in your minivan, SUV or some other monstrous vehicle, think about giving it up for a compact set of wheels. I did, and I've never been happier!

The Knitter

noreply@blogger.com (Role Mommy) — Fri, 01 Jun 2007 01:58:00 +0000

I don’t know how it happened, but my daughter has decided to delve into some old fashioned pursuits that I never thought would hold her interest. You see, when I was growing up, I was a tomboy…loved to climb trees, build things, play sports, if my brother was leading a brigade through the woods where they planned to set fire to a pile of leaves, I was right there, front and center, holding the bucket of water to extinguish the flames. As a result, cooking and crocheting weren’t two very popular activities in my household. But somehow, right under my nose, while I write about how I am an awful cook and can’t knit to save my life, my daughter has taken it upon herself to tackle those skills instead.

She first enrolled in an afterschool cooking class and proceeded to tell her instructor that I once set fire to our oven and that I’m a pretty bad cook. The teacher smiled at me, laughed and responded, “What’s shared in class, stays in class.” Besides, I haven’t set fire to the oven once – it’s actually happened about five times – not including the one time I created a steak inferno inside my barbecue.

As for knitting, I never had the patience for crochet. My grandmother, however, could knit like an athlete and pretty much made dozens of blankets, gloves, sweaters – whenever she was sitting down, Grandma was knitting. She also made hook rugs, was pretty proficient at needlepoint and I’m sure there were other knitting projects she was into, I just didn’t pay attention because I was too busy catching frogs and salamanders in the backyard. When I got older, I do remember buying a needle point that I planned to tackle once my cousin was born. Unfortunately, the project still hasn’t been finished and my cousin is approaching her 17th birthday and I don’t think she’s into Winnie the Pooh anymore.

Rebecca on the other hand, is totally into knitting too. Her friend turned her onto it and now she’s asking me to enroll her in a crochet class in the fall. Okay…that’s too weird. My daughter cooks and knits like my grandma. Strange, considering she’s named after her – maybe there’s actually a part of my grandmother in Becca. People have always told me she’s an old soul, so you never know.

Meanwhile, at work, my boss calls me “the knitter.” Not because I know anything about mastering the art of macramé, but I’m the person in my department who knits together various divisions of our company to make our publicity campaigns larger than life. If I were a man, I’d be a synergist, but instead, like Grandma Moses, I’m the resident knitter. Maybe that’s why I’m so averse to the whole knitting and cooking thing. While I’m taken aback by these old-fashioned references, my daughter, meanwhile, is completely jazzed about crocheting a sweater or cooking up a soufflé.

Even odder, are the legions of moms that I’ve encountered in my neighborhood who have become obsessed with mah jong. Mah jong! I thought that game was only reserved for retirees in Boynton Beach, Florida but my friends are starting early and joining Mah Jong leagues where they scream at the top of their lungs, “Bam,” “Crack,” “Dragon” and finally “Mah Jong!” I can remember my other Grandma feverishly flipping tiles in Ft. Lauderdale and she even used my dad as a fill in so she could finish making her vegetarian chopped liver. But now, some 50 years later, there are resident Sadies and Mildreds playing their own version of the game right here in Westchester. Sure, they’re enjoying their newfound passion with wine instead of prune juice, but still, Mah Jong to me is a retiree skill I thought I’d need to pick up in another 30 years.

Despite the explosion of technology that has kids playing for hours with Nintendo DS’s, Webkinz and Club Penguin, there are still girls like my daughter and moms who are more into socializing than texting, and have embraced the things that our Grandmas used to do so well. Kibbitzing, cooking and crocheting. I guess it’s not such a bad thing after all. Looks like it’s time for me to shut down the computer, pull up a chair, grab some knitting needles and embrace my inner old lady.

Incidentally, if you'd like to actually teach your kids how to knit and have no clue how to do it, then look no further...log onto www.TheArtOfKnitting.com and order a DVD for your kids today! They'll be knitting blankets, hats and scarves in no time!

To check out more of our undercover observations, check out my blog on New York Metroparents. To return to Role Mommy, Click Here.

The Playroom

noreply@blogger.com (Role Mommy) — Sat, 19 May 2007 20:29:00 +0000

As an undercover mom, eavesdropping is always an important part of my surveillance. If I notice someone whose conversation might be intriguing to me, I lean over ever so slightly and I give a listen. Last night, while my husband was in the restroom, I stared into space while listening to a woman who told her dining companions that she used to work in the hotel industry and now she's home with her first child. I also heard her say how her child's speech therapist told her that her playroom was way too cluttered for her daughter. Puhleeze. Way too cluttered? If any therapist came to my house, she wouldn't use that phrase to describe my playroom. Tornado, cyclone, disaster area, those would be terms that I use but what I do know is that my kids aren't delayed in their mental development because the playroom is a mess. What is it these days with parents falling into the trap of therapists who scrutinize their every move and decision? Can't we just let kids be kids and have them use the playroom to play, make a mess and have fun? Do we want to raise hyper kids that become little Felix Unger's because they were forced to clean up the minute they finished playing a game? Hey, I hate clutter just as much as the next guy, but one day, all those toys will be gone and the playroom will turn into a hangout for teens who won't want anything to do with me. So if my kids want to throw caution to the wind and leave their Twister out on the floor along with a tower of blocks that they've been using to construct a castle, I say, leave it out. Sure it may be cluttered, but that's what a playroom is for. To return to Role Mommy, Click Here.

Gucci Diaper Bags, Wine and the Green Eyed Monster

noreply@blogger.com (Role Mommy) — Sat, 21 Apr 2007 21:41:00 +0000

I know I shouldn't be jealous, but by nature, I'm a pretty envious person. Since the time I was a chubby fourth grader, I've always been envious of the girls who managed to fit into a size 12 slim pair of Jordache Jeans or Sergio Valentes. I was never a 12 slim. In fact, I think I owned one pair of Sergio's - from the Junior section - and I never remember it fitting too well around my chunky frame.

So now, over two decades later, I am still the chubby fourth grader, staring at the skinny girls, wondering to myself, will I ever squeeze into a pair of Seven's or Lucky's or whatever hot pair of pants are all the rage these days? Sadly, I don't think I will. Why do you ask? Simple - I like food and wine way too much.

But let me bring you back to why I decided to write this post in the first place. You see, I was dining at one of my favorite restaurants the other day (California Pizza Kitchen) - okay, my tastes are pretty simple - when I looked across our table to find three new mothers who were perfectly coiffed, perfectly dressed, with babies in their car seat strollers, sipping wine and pretty much enjoying their new status as SAHM's. There was no way possibly these ladies worked - and if they did - man do I wish I looked like that when I had a newborn. As I attempted to eavesdrop on their conversation - and was unfortunately too far away, I decided to survey the landscape instead and what I saw blew my mind.

One of the women - the one with the perfectly blown out honey blonde hair and flawless make-up, had her precious bundle in the Rolls Royce of strollers...a buggaboo - but of course. And directly across the table from her, one of her friends had what I would like to call, the Gucci of diaper bags...actually, it was a Gucci diaper bag. Now last time I was in the market for a diaper bag, I didn't recall Gucci throwing their hat into the ring, but guess what - they've got a diaper bag now!!! I couldn't believe this woman was carting around soiled diapers, desitin, formula and cheerios inside that bag, but I guess, if you can afford it, flaunt it baby.

So there it is. Yes, I am an incredibly jealous person. I admit it. I wish I were a twig following the birth of my two kids. I wish I could fit into designer jeans and not feel like the circulation is being drained out of my thighs, I wish I could have carted my kids around in the coolest, most expensive stroller known to mankind. And dammit, I wish I had had the guts to plunk down my credit card and fork over $1000+ for a Gucci diaper bag. But you know what...there's something I know that these ladies will eventually find out once their kids hit those terrible two's...

The bugaboo will be collecting dust in the garage, the diaper bag will be covered in crumbs and smelly formula stains and those favorite skin tight jeans will either be too tight to wear since they've been inhaling one too many chicken nuggets - oh - who am I kidding? Dare to dream right? In reality, I'm sure by the time their kids hit the toddler years, the au pair will take care of everything so that these ladies can hit the gym and wine and dine alone!

Destination Disney...what to do...what to avoid!!!

noreply@blogger.com (Role Mommy) — Tue, 10 Apr 2007 18:04:00 +0000

If you've just read my Role Mommy Confession about my recent trip to Disney World, I also wanted to offer some Role Mommy tips to surviving Disney so that you don't have to suffer on any lines or get stuck eating fast food every single day of your visit. So without further ado, here are some Role Mommy Disney Do's...

Disney Do's...

1. Do make time to see the shows at Disney. These are Broadway quality productions with special effects, amazing singers, costumes, you name it. My personal favorite this time around was the new musical: "Finding Nemo" at the Animal Kingdom park. Close second was the "High School Musical" pep rally at MGM where my daughter got the chance to dance with the performers (along with about 100 kids too). There's also a great show at the castle by Magic Kingdom, plus parades galore in every park. Both MGM and Epcot have great evening shows and Magic Kingdom has a terrific fireworks display and parade late at night too.

2. Do get fast passes for everything imaginable. Now the only problem is you can't get two fast passes for two rides at the same exact time. So, if you're travelling with a group, decide which of you really want to go on one ride and who is willing to go on the other one. If you opt to go on standby, if the line looks short, beware! Usually, when you get inside, the lines whip around and around and around and it'll take you at least 45 minutes to get on the ride.

3. For kids 10 and under, Do go on Splash Mountain, It's A Small World, the Peter Pan Ride (my son's personal favorite), Pirates of the Caribbean, the Kali rapids ride in Animal Kingdom, Aladdin's magic carpet ride and any other ride in Magic Kingdom that is far away from the flying Dumbo...most of the rides further back in the park (aka. Aladdin are an exact replica of Dumbo, so walk a little and you'll save time on the line).

4. Do go on the Jungle Cruise in Magic Kingdom (I believe it's Frontier Land). We had a fabulous guide named Lindsay who let our daughter drive the boat...look her up when you get there - she'll be glad you did!

5. Do go on the Animal Kingdom safari - the animals are amazing and the ride is a lot of fun. If you're pregant, you can't go because it's a bit bumpy but other than that, it's a blast.

6. Do go on Soarin' in Epcot - but we didn't since the lines were too long...we were told it's beyond amazing so if and when we do go back, I'll give that one a shot.

7. Do make reservations far in advance if you want to attend a character breakfast. Our personal favorite is the Donald breakfast in Animal Kingdom although our friend Shari, who is quite a Disney connoiusseur swears by the Chef Mickey spread.

8. Make sure you make a reservation in advance for the Hoop de Doo review...I'm sure I spelled it wrong, but it's a lot of fun. Another fun dinner locale - the Prime Time cafe in MGM - a throwback to the 50's with waiters and waitresses who make sure you mind your manners while you're eating in their kitchen! Another decent restaurant with a great view of the parade...Tony's Town Square in Magic Kingdom - located right when you walk into the park.

9. Make sure you wear comfortable walking shoes and make sure the kids hit the bathroom before you get on a line for a ride (especially Pirates of the Caribbean - there's nowhere to relieve yourself unless you let your kid tinkle in a fountain...no worries - I was tempted but didn't do it).

10. Make sure you don't overschedule your day. You can attempt to do 3 parks in one day but you and your family will be basket cases around dinner time. You're better off doing one park for the day and perhaps dinner in another park.

Disney Don'ts...

1. Don't select the Disney dining plan unless you've read the brochure for the dining plan cover to cover. I pretty much used up all our dinners in the first two days because I didn't follow directions. Also - I didn't really want to have dessert with every meal so I could have done without the extra five pounds I'm now packing from that dining decision.

2. Avoid the standby line for any ride that looks empty but then has a location where the line keeps whipping around and around and around and you never really know when the actual ride will start. The Kali rapids and Pirates of the Caribbean both fit the bill on that one. Kali rapids has a fast pass, Pirates, I believe does not but it is worth it to ride - it's amazing.

3. Don't do fast food every day. If you're going to have McDonald's french fries during your stay...and it is tempting because there are fries in many locations, limit yourself to 2 servings for the entire duration of your visit. Your hips will thank you when you return.

4. If you're travelling with little kids, don't take them on the Snow White ride...it may look cute, but it's pretty scary.

5. Don't walk around the park without a cell phone or walkie talkie. If you lose your group because they've wandered off to a character signing and you're too busy getting a fast pass, if you don't have a working cell phone, you're out of luck.

6. Don't try to get an autograph from the Disney Princesses in toon town...if it's Spring Break...you'll be there all day. Instead, make a reservation at Epcot at the Storybook Princess castle in Norway...the princesses will come to you and you'll be eating at the same time. If that's not easy, I don't know what is.

7. If you're on the lookout to get an autograph from Mickey don't do it at Magic Kingdom - the best place to find him is at MGM - down by the Little Einsteins and JoJo's circus, Mickey has his own room where you can get his autograph and not have to wait for hours for it.

8. Don't buy your kids a present every time they see a store. That's where I went wrong. Every time I bought my son something he kept wanting more. He then started making deals with his grandparents and his aunt...got to the point where he came home with a suitcase full of stuff...that he'll never play with and I'll have to store somewhere in the basement.

9. Don't expect your kids to love everything. If you like scary rides, they might not. So if you're hankering to go on the Tower of Terror, split up and get your fast pass while your little ones head off with their grandparents to get some autographs.

10. Don't go to Disney World on Spring Break!!!! It is the most crowded time of the year. Even though the weather is beautiful, the crowds are insane and will add to the stress of the trip. Pick an off season and your Disney adventure will truly be the stuff that dreams are made of.

So that's the 411 on my Disney adventure...hope these do's and don'ts help if you're planning to pay a visit sometime soon. To return to Role Mommy, Click Here.

Blowout at the Bagel Store

noreply@blogger.com (Role Mommy) — Sun, 25 Mar 2007 16:34:00 +0000

It happened. I'm officially boycotting my local bagel store - which means I'm going to have to travel an extra mile out of my way for a cinniman raisin bagel button - just so I can stick to my guns and stand up for what's right. Now what would prompt me to do such a thing, you ask? Simple, poor customer service. You see, this is the second time I've had an altercation at the bagel store. The place was taken over by new owners last year and ever since then, the food has been shoddy, the service, brusque and the drinks...well, I'll fill you in on that one in a minute...

The first problem started when I forgot my wallet one day and told the bagel lady I'd be back soon to pay them for the bagel and coffee I had purchased. It took me a little bit longer than I expected to head back to the store and so the woman started calling me at home so that I drop off the $5 I owed her. As soon as she left the first message, I went back to the store and paid my money. But she kept calling. Seems whoever I gave the money to didn't tell her so she kept harrassing me to pay her back. When I finally got her on the phone and explained I already paid them back, she relented. Thoroughly annoyed, I stayed away from the bagel place for at least one month and then started going back a few weeks ago. But yesterday, forced me right back into boycott mode.

You see, after ordering bagels, two coffees (with pretty shoddy lids) and then two wadda juices from the refrigerator, I gathered up my items and brought them to my family, who were sitting in the car waiting for their food. But when my daughter opened her wadda juice (a container that doesn't spill and is a mixture of juice and water), she took one sip and spit it out because it tasted sour - when my husband and I sampled it, she was right - it was pretty rancid. So I grabbed the two juice containers and went inside expecting to be able to make a switch but that didn't happen. When I told the man behind the counter about the bad juice, he proceeded to tell me that I was mistaken, in fact, he said "You are wrong - we just got the juice yesterday." Oh really - is that what they told those pet owners who bought the tainted pet food that killed their animals? It's your fault, not mine. I was so mad, I took the juice and slammed it into the garbage can. Then got back in the car and told my husband what happened. He of course, jumped out of the car and went back inside and of course, got me my money back.

So even though we got a refund, we're still boycotting - I don't need to be harrassed or told that I'm wrong about tainted juice to know that I'm not welcome at the bagel place anymore!

The Travel Nightmare

noreply@blogger.com (Role Mommy) — Sat, 03 Mar 2007 23:03:00 +0000

I don't really travel a lot for my job but for some odd reason, in the last two weeks I've had to take back to back trips that took me away from my family. The first trip was to California and it wasn't so bad - flew out on a Sunday, took the red-eye home the next day, no delays and I got to sleep in a king sized bed - all in all, a pleasant business trip.

Unfortunately, my second excursion was not so hot. I stupidly started going online checking weather.com incessantly as I prepared to fly out in one day to Chicago and make it back in time to see the latest eliminee on "American Idol." But there's something about that website - it's kind of like web md - which freaks you out completely even if you have the slightest ailment. You have a rash on your arm, the next think you know, you've diagnosed yourself with leprosy. Well, weather.com is kind of like that experience. I began checking the forecast and noticed that Chicago was expecting a major rain and sleet storm the morning I was supposed to arrive and then on the way back, there was rain and sleet expected in New York. And I was getting ready to fly out on a 70 seater plane. Yikes.

To make matters worse, I was having bad dreams all week - the first night I dreamt I lost my wallet and couldn't cancel any of my credit cards. The next night I dreamt I lost my car keys and they disappeared somewhere in the ocean (a metaphor that I translated into me being in a plane crash where we land on water and I lose my keys - okay - I know, I'm paranoid). Then, when I told my kids I'd be away for the day, my son said to me - "So Mommy, you're not coming back?" Ugh...I was totally freaked by that comment.

I was up half the night, tossing and turning and then raced to the airport at the crack of dawn. While it was clear in New York, the airport in Chicago had grounded all the airplanes just as our plane began to get ready to take off. While we only waited a half hour all I could think of were crazy thoughts of us skidding off the runway in Chicago. Plus - there was only 20 people on my tiny plane - it wasn't a prop plane or anything but we were bounced around quite a bit before we finally made a safe landing.

I then raced over to my meeting where I spent four hours with some very nice Chicagoans at the Museum of Science and Industry - a great place to visit by the way - then attempted to zip back to the airport to catch an earlier flight home. When I hopped in the taxi, I noticed the consistency of the air was that of pea soup. The fog was so thick you couldn't make out a few of the buildings. Then the rain started pelting the window. Then sleet. Oh this wasn't good. Maybe I was going to bite the dust on the way home.

Made it to the terminal and it was a mad house. Flights were being cancelled all over the place. The reason - bad weather. It seemed that on that day there were tornadoes, snow storms and a security alert that had been advanced to code orange. Sheesh, I should've turned back and booked a room at the Ritz. But I persevered. I attempted to switch flights and then learned that if I put myself on the stand by list there would be 40 people ahead of me. Well, I didn't want to check myself in as baggage, so I decided to stick with my original reservation which was scheduled to leave two hours later.

Two hours turned into three and then three turned into four. My only saving grace - O'Hare is a pretty great airport - tons of places to eat, a Starbuck's, book stores everywhere - it's kind of like being in a shopping mall so while I waited for the bad weather to pass, I snatched up a copy of Sophie Kinsella's new book (click here to read my review) and then met two friendly men (don't get any ideas), plus a bunch of construction workers and we hung out, shooting the breeze, sharing travel stories, hearing about their jobs and even offering the construction workers some tips on where they could go out drinking in White Plains...cause I'm such a whino...not.

Anyway, we finally took off at 9 pm and made it home by midnight. Obviously, we didn't wind up in the water, we didn't skid off the runway and the only inconvenience was that I spent several hours in O'Hare airport with some friendly strangers. I made it home in one piece, kissed my husband and both of my sleeping kids and had a really great night's sleep.

Luckily no more travel plans are in the forecast for a while and if there are...I'm staying far, far away from weather.com!

Customer Disservice

noreply@blogger.com (Role Mommy) — Fri, 23 Feb 2007 22:23:00 +0000

Can someone please explain to me why it takes 5-30 minutes to get a real live person on the phone when you're trying to dispute a claim on your credit card or call the bank or the vacuum cleaner bag company that sent you the wrong bags for your outdated Miehle super vacuum? Today was a work at home day - which means I get to work quietly in my bat cave, the phone doesn't ring off the hook, I get to do some quality writing and pay some bills.

Yes, I am the official bill payer in my household even though my hubby is the one with the finance degree. I am the one constantly trying to stay ahead of the billing cycle, avoiding finance charges, not getting ripped off by unnecessary charges and making sure no one is using my credit card to go on an all expense paid vacation to Bali.

Well, today was one of those days where I had to call a credit card company, a wireless service and my bank and by the time I was done, I swear I felt like Michael Douglas in that movie where he goes berserk because people are just so damn slow and are in his way. It took about 10 minutes to get a person on the phone with the phone company - funny - isn't that what they do for a living? Another 5 minutes waiting for my bank to connect me to another person at the bank who could potentially help me and then 10 minutes waiting for my credit card company to tell me why they decided to hit me with finance charges even though I technically paid my bill in a timely fashion.

I have to say - as much as I love technology, I'm beginning to hate the fact that when there is a problem there are like 500 barriers to get to a live person. If I'm calling you then I obviously need to speak with someone. I do not want to press buttons, call out phone numbers or give you my mother's maiden name so you can verify that it's me. Dammit - who else would be calling - certainly not someone trying to rip me off...they're too busy hacking through people's credit card numbers to waste time speaking to customer service!

I finally got off the phone with my last customer service representative and am getting ready to pack up for the day and start the weekend. I think overall I must have wasted at least 1 hour of my day trying to get some customer service...and now it's time to go out to dinner where the waitress will probably be ignoring us too. Maybe I should stay in and give the credit cards a rest for a change - yeah right, like that will ever happen. Knowing me, I'll use the credit card that I just cancelled in a fit of aggravation and I'll be calling customer service to re-activate my account.

The Family Circus

noreply@blogger.com (Role Mommy) — Mon, 19 Feb 2007 15:29:00 +0000

We took our kids to the circus yesterday and I have to say, not many people seem to be pursuing careers in that competitive field anymore. It seems like the circus we saw was made up of families who have been passing down their acrobatic talents from generation to generation and unfortunately, some of these families need to clean up their act. There were all kinds of performers on hand to entertain us, including the Flying Wallendas who are this well-known circus family who can ride bicycles in tandem across a tight rope with their dad balancing on another wire that his sons carry on their shoulders; and then they had this motorcycle family (don't know their last name) - who race through a circular contraption and even had their five year old son show off on his motorcycle too...note to the motorcycle family - shouldn't you wait until your kid is 18 before you stick him on a motorized vehicle and have him perform for strangers? There was even this old married illusionist couple who I'm sure have been in the circus for like 50 years, who kept on changing costumes right before our eyes - drape a red scarf around her and sudddenly, she's in a red dress, cover her up in a green cone, and yup, you guessed it, she's wearing a green outfit. I can do the same thing at Ann Taylor Loft, but I prefer not to have spectators watching my every move as I try to shove myself into 5 pair of pants from the sale rack in less than 10 minutes.

Next were the miniature ponies - who ran around in a circle as a man tried to whip them into shape - but the ponies had no use for him - as he tried to force them run around in tandem, they pretty much did their own thing and ignored most of his commands. Then there were the elephants - the highlight of the show - but they all looked pretty sad - as if this was the most tired circus they had ever participated in in years. I bet when they went back to their tents, they probably waxed nostalgic about how great it was in the old days, when they were on the circus fast track. Now they're reduced to sitting on each other for laughs or giving rides to ungrateful kids whose parents had to shell out 10 bucks for them to take them around the circle for approximately a minute and a half. Hmmm...not such a bad deal - maybe I should strap on an elephant suit and start giving rides myself. There were also aerialists who were actually in need of practice, a juggler who dropped the hoops he was spinning and a ring leader who made us feel guilty for not purchasing the electronic rip off spinning toys they were selling to keep the kids entertained during intermission. There were some highlights - the hula hoop lady - who spun like 50 hula hoops around her waist that was incredible, the face painting - which only cost $5 per kid was totally reasonable and we really did like the elephants even though we felt bad for them; and there was this amazing family of drummers from Peru or New Mexico I think...they were really good and had my kids bouncing right along in their seats...unless that was the soda talking...because 30 seconds later, I was escorting both of them to the bathroom.

Aside from the circus in the center ring...there were also some performers right next to us in the audience. There was the coughing seal behind me - a kid who proceeded to cough up whatever virus was coarsing through his body onto the rows in front of him (yup - that would be me); or the swashbuckler next to my husband - a three year old boy who kept poking him with the plastic sword his parents bought to keep him entertained; there was the crier - a boy who really didn't want to be at the circus; the muncher - the girl who sat next to me who pretty much noshed on food throughout the performance - my personal favorite moment was when she tried to fold away her tin foil and plastic container and the noise was so loud it interfered with the family of drummers from Peru. All in all, we did have a fun time - sure it seemed like a throwback to another era, but sometimes, it's nice to step back in time and get away from technology for a change. Maybe next week we'll see if Vaudeville is making a comeback.

My Kingdom for a Pen

noreply@blogger.com (Role Mommy) — Thu, 08 Feb 2007 19:23:00 +0000

It happened again. I was at a meeting with a top executive who has just joined the company and was trying to make a good impression. And so, I grabbed my notebook out of my gargantuan crumb-filled satchel and went on a desperate search for a pen.

It seems like an easy task, locating a pen inside your purse. But when your bag accidentally flips over in your car on the way home from the train station, the search becomes pretty complicated.

Without letting on that I was having a problem, I kept sticking my hand into the depths of my bag hoping I'd fish out a Mont Blanc, or a papermate, or a bic or a #2 pencil, but I came up empty every time. As I felt around the crevices of the bag, I wrapped my fingers around a chopstick, then some lip gloss, the lipstick I had been searching for these last few weeks and of course, my feminine hygiene supplies.

I then stuck my hand inside the zippered compartment, felt a bunch of business cards, my metrocard, some bank receipts, a crayon, lots of change, but no pen.

At this point, my face was getting flushed and I was on the verge of a breakdown. I still kept shoving my hand in the bag, hoping that one of my fishing expeditions would land me a writing utensil, but it never happened. I finally had to admit defeat and ask if I could borrow a pen.

Ever since that embarrassing ordeal, I've thrown about six pens in my bag and am ready for meetings that require copious note-taking. Now, if I could only find that lip liner I've been searching for, I'd be in business.

PARTY ANIMALS

noreply@blogger.com (Role Mommy) — Mon, 29 Jan 2007 00:54:00 +0000

We took the plunge this weekend. After watching our cat Rudy staring listlessly out into the backyard where his beloved brother Oliver had been laid to rest last month, we decided to take in a new feline to keep him company. She arrived yesterday and spent the better part of the day hiding under armoires, sofas, in closets, anywhere that a human being or another animal couldn't find her. And Rudy - well he sensed something was up, so he pretty much decided to camp out in our room all day and all night long.

I wouldn't have minded having another member of our family bunking with us, except Rudy has this nasty habit of scratching the walls when he wants me to either feed him or take him somewhere in the house. And when the scratching commences at 5am on a Sunday morning after I've already had an exhausting week, well, I was not amused.

To add insult to injury, we started to hear other noises emanating from the walls. You see, I haven't shared a story yet with my fellow role mommies about the other creatures that have sought refuge somewhere in my bedroom. To put it simply, we have mice. At first we thought it was one mouse - in fact, we named him Maurice and after seeing "Flushed Away" in the movie theater, we figured we could co-exist with one harmless mouse. Except, we think Maurice is actually Mary and that little harpie has been copulating up in our attic and guess who gets the dubious distinction of having to climb up there tonight to change the air filter in our heater...you guessed it...moi.

But I digress. So Rudy is busy scratching the walls, while Maurice (or Mary) and her gang of rodent relatives are somewhere nearby having a dance party in my attic and then I hear a loud bellow. "MOMMY...come and get me." Right on cue.

My son, of course had to get up and join our pre-dawn party so I nudged Darin to go grab him as I tried to shove the covers over my head and catch a few more zzzz's. No such luck - Rudy was on the warpath and the moment he saw an opening, he'd climb on top of my head and scratch the wall above me. It's a truly lovely sound - like nails on a blackboard - the perfect noise to put you back to sleep...not.

I finally had enough and attempted to walk Rudy downstairs thinking he wanted some food. After filling his bowl, I ran back upstairs and that cat was on me like white on rice. He was petrified to stay downstairs for fear he'd risk a run-in with our new house guest - a timid gray cat that we've decided to call Gracie.

After I tip-toed back into my bedroom, sure enough, Rebecca was awake. "Mommy, I'm freezing." I know she was hoping I'd let her climb into our Queen sized bed along with the cat, Dylan and Darin - who had actually left the room and placed tissue paper in his ears so he wouldn't hear the mice, but I made Rebecca stay in bed, tucked her under the covers and she at least went back to sleep.

I don't really remember at that point if I finally did drift off again because before I turned around, the alarm clock started buzzing since Darin had to go to his early morning basketball game. And so, I groggily pulled myself out of bed, got Rebecca ready for Hebrew school, Dylan all set for a birthday pajama party, rushed with them both to the supermarket to get a challah (it was our turn to bring the bread this week) and then made it to Dunkin Donuts for a coffee and some donuts for the kids.

Fast forward through the rest of the day (Hebrew school, ice skating lessons, a McDonald's run, a much-needed trek to the supermarket and dinner and dessert served) and now, it's 8:07 pm and I'm hoping that tonight I'll finally get a good night's sleep. But somehow I highly doubt that the party animals in my attic and the scratching fiend who won't leave my bedroom will give me the rest I'm longing for.

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