We Band of Mothers

When BlogHer Comes to Town

2013-06-19T09:33:00.002-05:00

My very first conference was in Nashville and the entire event revolved around interstate insurance licensing procedures and practices.

That bag contains folders on the educational insurance requirements for New York, California and Idaho.

I pretty much assumed all conferences were dull and uninspiring.

But with BlogHer coming to Chicago next month, I have been told that the times are a-changing.

Full story click HERE in Chicago Parent.

Father's Day Dilemma

2013-06-13T09:53:00.000-05:00

Here's my quandary.

We could really use a new grill. Ours is about 10 years old and nearly exploded about three times. Last summer, I was so convinced it was about to light the house on fire that I almost called the fire department.

Joe wouldn't let me.

I guess there is a bit of a stigma when a fireman burns his own house down.

But on the other hand, I really like cake. Joe really likes ice cream. And look what I found:

Baskin-Robbins has these bad boys available for Sunday.

New grill or ice cream?

This is an easy one.

I'll be hiding the propane.

Did Ancient Romans Even Eat Popsicles?

2013-06-12T09:33:00.004-05:00

As we wrap up the longest school year EVER next week (the Chicago Public School strike has the kids going until practically July), Dan's teacher thought she'd throw in one more elaborate project for good measure.

While some parents might be jumping in on the assignment with excitement, research assistance and ancient blueprints, I took another approach.

Full story HERE in today's Chicago Parent.

A Boy & His Bear

2013-06-10T08:04:00.000-05:00

In what initially seemed like a story of lost love and neglect, my sister sent me this sad picture (on right) of her son's red stuffed animal, aptly named Bear:

Before & After

I figured the photo reflected Bear's abandonment on a sandy beach - a final disavowment of him for being such a horribly old and decrepit thing.

But I was wrong.

Before I go on, let's first reflect on life with Bear.

Bear as Teething Toy

Bear as pillow

Bear as pre-op nurse (for tubes in ears)

Bear as protector of the wild

Bear as artistic muse

Bear has served many purposes in his worn and wearied life, perhaps none as important as his role as grief counselor when my nephew suddenly and unexpectedly lost his father. Bear represented continuity and consistency when the whole world went mad. Bear was as real and as important as any friend or relative out there.

I am not sure what the mental health experts have to say about childhood attachments to stuffed animals. I do not know if they frown upon kids finding comfort and love through "imagined" conversations and friendships.

But I believe there is some magic in these loyal companions, these bits of cloth and buttons, who loom so very large in our early years.

And what of that picture of "abandoned" Bear on the beach? 'Twasn't so. It was actually Bear accompanying the family on a recent vacation and our tired red friend was simply getting some color.

Thank you, Bear. For all that you have weathered and all that you have done. Next time you visit, I will be sure to introduce you to a very good friend of mine.

I call him Pooh.

In case of fire, Pooh is the only thing I would grab after my children and husband.

Pomp & Panic

2013-06-05T09:24:00.003-05:00

I am having a hard time with all these June graduations.

When they play Pomp & Circumstance, I cover my ears, rock in my chair, and sing Mary Had a Little Lamb instead.

Full story in today's Chicago Parent - CLICK HERE TO READ.

Joe's graduation from the Chicago Fire Academy. I'm not in any of the pictures because Jack threw up on my hair and I accidentally applied black eyeliner as lipstick liner and wound up looking goth.

My 1978 preschool graduation. I hated my short hair, and my mortarboard hat blew into the street and got run over by a Cadillac Coupe deVille.

Boys Rock

2013-06-01T11:57:00.004-05:00

I've got three of these boy-model children:

Dan's First Lawn Mowing (today)

I may never pick up anything heavy ever again.

They really ought to put this information in the boy-baby marketing packet.

Who needs American Girl dolls?

Not I.

Not I.

The Super-Secret Weapon of the Chicago Blackhawks

2013-05-29T08:51:00.003-05:00

Game #7 tonight?

It's in the bag.

Trust me.

Read the full story HERE in today's Chicago Parent.

Jack & his "rally rag"

Killing the Family Pets

2013-05-25T16:27:00.001-05:00

With recurring storms and torrential rain pummeling the midwest, local ants have happily taken up residency in homes around Chicago. So much in fact, that Joey now considers these unwanted visitors his "pets." He names them. He offers to feed them. He's tried to organize them into a game of ant hockey.

And no, we're not buying him a dog.

After I disclosed how many carcinogens I have been releasing into my household to rid ourselves of these little buggers, a childhood friend sent me an emergency supply of anti-bug stuff that she sells through Organnica Inc.

For the record, I am not a diligent investigator of all things chemical. I figured my 1980s hairspray consumption has forever prohibited my involvement in any organic or environmental support group.

Still.

I have these kids. And I was using a LOT of bug spray.

So I'm giving the natural stuff a try, and I'm particularly anxious to see how the bug repellent works out, too. We all have about 30 mosquito bites and I'm sick of the whining. Geez, when I was a kid, you got bit and were happy about it, no?

If anyone is interested in ordering their own non-cancer bug stuff, feel free to contact my pal Jennifer:

Okay, I'd better go and spray some Swerve. Joey is trying to get his flock of ants to sit and watch television with him.

I don't think they're cooperating.

Secrets

2013-05-22T12:48:00.002-05:00

I don't believe there should be secrets in marriage.

Except perhaps when Joe asks "what happened to the minivan?"

I promised the culprit I wouldn't rat her out. It wasn't like she could have predicted that shopping cart would fly into her...er...THE minivan.

But Joe feels differently.

Pop over and read full story in today's Chicago Parent.

Random Photo Monday

2013-05-20T10:04:00.000-05:00

I took this gem on our way home from Florida last month:

Unadilla: Where People Make a Difference. At the Adult Superstore.

I laughed all the way to Kentucky.

Win a Minivan!

2013-05-18T09:57:00.002-05:00

So here's the thing.

I am totally planning on winning that $600,000,000 tonight.

But I need some good mojo going into the drawing.

This is where you come in.

Leave a comment below along the lines of "Go, Marianne!" BEFORE the drawing.

And if I win the big drawing (millions and millions of dollars)?

I'm getting you a minivan, loyal reader.*

That's right.

A brand spanking new minivan.

You can even pick out the color.

Because EVERYBODY deserves a minivan.

We'll all go shopping together.

Maybe Oprah will come.

Poor old minivan.

Let's make it happen!

*Contest (based on Marianne actually winning 100+ million) limited to first 30 commenters. Odds of winning: 1 in a bazillion. Marianne's thrill in providing free minivans to loyal readers = infinite.

Bad Idea

2013-05-15T10:29:00.002-05:00

I suffered a complete lapse in judgement last week. Can you guess what I volunteered to do?

Hint:

Damn kids. Always running.

Just kill me now.

Full story HERE in today's Chicago Parent.

The Gift of the Peni

2013-05-13T11:23:00.000-05:00

In case you haven't yet heard me not-so-casually bring up the whole "Yeah, I was totally on the cover of the Nightly News webpage," here's a screenshot for good measure:

I so know best. CLICK HERE for video segment.

I was going for a certain Mad Men meets Leave it to Beaver look. I thought it would be a nice juxtaposition against my somewhat risque piece, entitled The Gift of the Peni (a spin on The Gift of the Maji).

Because the videos will not be available until this Summer, I've decided to post the text of my reading below. Outside of my years in insurance, it is the first thing I've written that was intended to be read solely aloud, so I'm hoping it works as a written essay as well.

I also wrote it at like 3 o'clock in the morning and the under the influence of Rum Chata because I was secretly trying to sabotage myself. What kind of producers would actually select an essay about penises?

Melisa Wells and Tracey Becker apparently share my love for the irreverent.

So without further ado, here is:

The Gift of the Peni

The penis.

Penis penis.

(whispered) Penis.

I do have a point here.

Once upon a time, before I had kids, I went to a psychic. She was one of those coffee grind gypsies who could look into your cup and predict all of life’s great accomplishments and failings. I watched as the other women finished their readings and walked out. They talked about prophecies involving career, love, travel. Me?

I got penises.

Madame Musaude was very careful with my cup and stared into it for a good long time. She tipped and turned it. Rattled and tapped it. My prophecy was unshakable.

Finally, after what felt like hours, she offered one, solitary forecast:

(with accent, think Count Chocula): You are going to be su-RRROUNDED by many, many penises.

At the time, I thought she was calling me a floozy.

But now?

Penises are my life.

With three little boys who can’t hit the broadside of a barn, let alone the inside of a toilet, I know penises. I know how to tuck them facing down while installing a fresh diaper. I can treat a newly circumcised one better than any doctor or rabbi out there.

I am practically a penis whisperer.

Not that I’m complaining, mind you. I was somewhat relieved with the birth of each son. I was that rare 6 foot tall girl who was always directed to the back of the crowd for every class picture and grammar school performance.

I knew my heart would break watching a daughter of mine get ushered behind the smaller kids, the cuter kids, the preferred kids. I worried that I would not know how to instill confidence in a girl as I continued to struggle with confidence myself.

So God, the universe, and my husband saw to it that Team Y Chromosome won every foot race imaginable.

I welcomed each son with enthusiasm. I had the clothes. I had the toys. I had this.

And then, something changed.

I knew after our last son was born that I should not pursue more children. My uterus was paper thin. It was scarred and stretched. Another pregnancy would undoubtedly just free up my husband to pursue that trophy wife.

Still. I couldn’t help but think about a daughter.

Who would take care of me when I got old? Who would watch Lifetime movies with me or help dye my grey hair? I started lobbying for an infant girl from China immediately.

After all, she’d never be 6 feet tall. Or tossed to the back row. Or get asked to carry the heavy box for her 3^rd grade teacher.

My husband’s response?

“No. We’re good.”

Joe is a man of few words. I tried desperately to decipher what “we’re good” meant. Should we simply be happy with the three healthy sons we had? Was it greedy to want a little girl? Would we be defying our very destiny by seeking out more children than already allotted to us?

I tossed and turned for weeks trying to make sense out of my husband’s nebulous decree on the matter.

Finally, Joe picked up on my angst.

“Oh Lord. What now. What What. What.”

I responded.

“What did you mean when you said ‘we’re good’? Are you truly happy with three? You came from a family of seven. SEVEN. I thought you told me back when we were dating that you wanted at least one of each?”

Joe replied:

“Oh cripes, Marianne. I also told you that I loved the theatre back then. I was full of crap. Never believe anything a guy tells you when you’re dating.”

“So when you said ‘we were good’?” I questioned one more time for assurance.

“I meant we’re old. We’re done. I want to retire before I’m 80.”

For someone like me who has problems with self-image, my husband helped provide an interesting take on our happy house of many penises:

“You need to see the positive in this, Marianne,” he counseled.

“What’s that?”

“Have you even looked at the boys’ growth charts from the pediatrician? You’re gonna be like the shortest person in our family.”

Whatwasthat? Did Joe just call me ‘dainty?’ I was going to be dainty? Dainty dainty me?

“Hey, you guys know Marianne? Yeah, she’s totally dainty.”

I let the implications wash over me like a warm ocean tide.

The front row could finally be mine, but now?

I didn’t really want it.

I wanted to be in the back. With my boys. With the kids with the big brown eyes, endless freckles and humongous feet.

Motherhood had somehow tilted my world on its axis.

For this time out, the cool kids, the preferred kids, were all standing in the back row.

And they were saving a spot for me.

The Best Kind of Present

2013-05-12T09:28:00.002-05:00

Joe left this out front before heading off to the firehouse this morning. He's been making it on the side for weeks. He also mistakenly believes that I enjoy planting flowers, but I still sorta love it.

It's too heavy to turn, but says "Love, Danny, Jack & Joe"

Then there are the wonderful cards like this from the boys:

Salad??

Just call me "Momo"

But I gotta be honest. I do have a certain kind of home-made gift that I love best:

The other boys wouldn't get in the box.

I hope every mother out there finds a reason to smile, laugh, or eat cookies and pie today!

Happy Mother's Day!

The Experience

2013-05-10T01:08:00.000-05:00

It has now been 5 days since I took the stage at the 2013 Chicago "Listen to Your Mother" Show.

All photos by Sabrina Persico

And for once in my life, words fail me.

The whole experience?

Wow.

The cast?

Double-wow.

My fears before the show?

I threw up in my purse.

My exhilaration afterwards?

Joe is one happy man. And I am one AWESOME wife.

Here are a few highlights as I remember them through the thick fog of "Did that really just happen?"

With NBC cameras rolling, I felt like a Real Housewife of Chicago. Cast member Nadine Warner was fantastic, providing comic relief and tons of laughs (with a little extra help from Bailey's in the old coffee mug. Thanks, Dad)

Show Day Walk-Throughs. The microphone proved troublesome due to the ten inch difference in height between the tallest (guess who?) and smallest of speakers

Backstage as we prepare to go on. Take note of my death grip on that Bailey's....er....coffee cup. Aw sh*t. Who am I fooling?

YOU WANT US TO GO WHERE???

You can't make me.

Oh, fine.

Through every twist and turn, every bundle of nerves, and every "I can't do this" moment, there stood our fearless leaders and co-producers, Melisa Wells and Tracey Becker:

Producers to rest of cast: "NOBODY gives Marianne liquor or coffee after 10 AM...y'hear? She's practically GIZMO."

The NBC segment recorded in Chicago is available HERE and highlights national director, Ann Imig, along with various members of the Chicago cast. The Saturday morning Today Show is also slated to show the piece. Ann was interviewed at our production, and we're all secretly hoping to be discovered as the next Katie Couric.

Think of how much Bailey's that would take.

For those interested, videos of the assorted productions will be made available on YouTube this summer. I also hope to post the text from my actual reading next week.

The name of my piece, you ask?

The Gift of the Peni.

Yeah. Now you understand all the Bailey's.

to be continued.....

My Mother's Day Movement

2013-05-08T10:12:00.003-05:00

Mother's Day has not always gone swimmingly for me. So a few years ago, I mixed things up. Full story in today's Chicago Parent (click HERE).

A couple of weeks before life would end as I knew it.

With Deepest Apologies to the Blogosphere

2013-05-06T23:56:00.002-05:00

To All My Fantastic Bloggy Friends,

I am apparently not so good at this whole "multi-tasking" thing.

Instead of explaining, I will simply offer my week in pictures:

Excuse #1: Clean the house for Jack's First Communion Party. This mostly involved throwing everything we own into the spare bedroom and locking the door

Excuse #2: Make sure everyone sorta had clothes for aforementioned First Communion

Excuse #3: Disguise/hide all evidence of children living in the house

Excuse #4: It is very hard to stop laughing when Charlie Brown appears at your front door

Excuse #5: Hanging out with the cast of "Listen to Your Mother" and my resulting stage debut ate up some serious time (photo credit: Sabrina Persico)

Excuse #6: Did I mention there were cookies?

Factor in additional baseball games, the start of the spring/summer swim season, and a recently departed great-aunt and you get the idea.

I promise to return shortly.

And I'll try to bring cookies.

Thank you for your understanding.

Love,

The Management

The Reading Choice of ER Moms

2013-05-03T07:00:00.005-05:00

I received an email from a great mom I know who had the misfortune of spending the evening in the ER with her "medium child."

She was kind enough to include a picture of her visit:

Who looks this pulled together in the ER? I am usually wearing pajamas and zit cream.

I can think of no greater endorsement for Epic Mom (the super-duper funny book I co-authored with Julie Harrison) than seeing it as the go-to choice for mothers of the ER everywhere.

This kind of honor is better than any Pulitzer out there.

My co-author also wanted me to remind you that Mother's Day is right around the corner and there is probably someone in your life who could use a laugh.

Let's just hope it is not because she's spending 6 hours in the ER.

Click HERE to view on Amazon.

The Mighty Sand Gnats

2013-05-01T10:17:00.000-05:00

Based on the evidence below, who do you suppose mixed up Joey's T-ball game with Danny's baseball game?

If he was allowed to swear, you know he's thinking, "This is such bullsh*t."

This is Joey "playing" left field. I stole Danny's hat so he at least sorta looked like a baseball player.

I did figure things out by Game #2.

My son invited every single base runner to our house for a playdate. We might have to move.

For more on my adventures in T-ball, visit today's Chicago Parent!

Death of a Couch (1986-2013)

2013-04-29T23:57:00.000-05:00

Fred had a good long run and enjoyed a lifetime of living rooms. He traversed the homes of assorted friends and family before meeting his final resting place on the southside of Chicago.

Sadly, his demise was accelerated by a trio of Walsh boys who viewed him as a magnificent combination of trampoline and coloring book.

Battle scars.

Do NOT leave your wet coats on the couch, you hear me?! Yeah. That worked.

Poor Dead Fred

I thought about prolonging Fred's life for a while. But when the reupholsterer gave me a quote for $850, I knew it was time to pull the plug.

Sorry, Fred. There were braces and Catholic school to pay for next year.

My husband called up Bad Luck Lenny to help maneuver Fred into the alley. Oddly enough, not one Chicago garbage picker even slowed down to take a second look.

Poor Fred, I almost felt sorry for him.

That was, until I sat down on Antonio:

"Marianne (and Marianne ONLY), come sit with me and discuss life, love, and musical theatre."

Total clearance price from Darvin Furniture = $399. Now subtract the $50 gift card (expired) that I received for doing their commercial. This is the one that all my loyal readers demanded get reinstated in order for poor little Joey to finally get that lamp for his bedroom.

Sorry, Joey. But did you see what you guys did to my couch?

I also had a $200 gift card leftover from when we bought our TempurPedic bed 3 years ago.

Final cost = $149.

For someone who has never really owned "new" things, I am almost embarrassed by my overwhelming love and desire for Antonio. Just being in the same room with him makes my heart skip a beat. I try to remind myself that he is, after all, just a couch.

But that doesn't mean I have to cut off his tags.

Chicago Show For Mothers - May 5th!

2013-04-26T00:40:00.000-05:00

In a little over one week, a group of Chicago-area women will be taking the stage to share true tales of motherhood. I am so honored and excited to be a cast member of the 2013 Listen to Your Mother show on May 5th at the The Athenaeum Theatre (2936 N. Southport Avenue, Chicago) and hope everyone considers going!

As someone who has been known to experience paralyzing stage fright, my plan is to down one hearty shot before going on. Mum's the word. I think the producers are already second-guessing my casting and questionable influence on the far-classier members of the troupe.

The voices and backgrounds of the selected artists are as wildly diverse as the topics. I am dying to give you a sneak peek into these fantastic readings, but the producers remain keenly aware of my deficiencies in the area of secret-keeping. They have also issued a confidentiality agreement and are holding me to that most sacred of promises...

The pinky-swear.

No matter. I will take this risk for you, loyal reader, and confirm that the show is an emotional journey spanning tears and laughter, life and loss, and that one little word that looms so large throughout all the days of our lives:

Mom.

So think about grabbing a mother you know and heading over May 5th! Tickets can be bought by visiting HERE.

As an aside, I am dedicating my reading to all those who have lost their moms far too soon and who would give anything to "listen to their mother" just one more time.

I hope to see a few friendly faces there!

And please pray that I don't suck.

Desperate Times, Desperate Measures

2013-04-24T11:51:00.000-05:00

There aren't too many things for which I'm willing to wait in line:

Pie.

Botox.

A parachute.

And there are even less things that I'd get up at 3 o'clock in the morning to secure.

Find out what had me stretching my parental limits this week in today's Chicago Parent (click HERE).

The only person who arrived before me.

My Park District Peeps

Pretending to be #1

Learning to Live with Green Peppers

2013-04-22T22:23:00.000-05:00

My husband, Joe, took me to his favorite little Chicago diner on one of our first dates. When we sat down at Billy's that night, he could not wait to order the stuffed green pepper soup. The steaming bowl arrived and my husband proceeded to spend 15 minutes picking out every last pepper.

I was baffled.

"Why did you order the stuffed green pepper soup if you don't like green peppers?"

"I can't help it," he answered, "I love the rest so much that I just have to have it."

Over the years, Joe finally learned to tolerate the green peppers and stopped picking them all out. He even discovered a recipe for making his own stuffed green pepper soup courtesy of Norm at the firehouse:

This is Joe's "happy" face.

Yummy.

After 10 years of marriage, I now realize that I am like that soup. There are plenty of bits and pieces that I'm sure Joe would just love to pull out if given a chance:

I squeeze the toothpaste from the middle of the tube.

I forget to pay the cable bill.

I use all the hot water.

My "green peppers" take up more than half the pot. And still.

Joe continues to order the soup.

While I work on taking shorter showers.

The Exciting Conclusion

2013-04-18T21:15:00.000-05:00

Our trip to Florida was quickly coming to an end when a cold front moved in that brought overcast skies, rain, and three bored children.

And here is where it is very good to hail from the Beverly Neighborhood of Chicago.

Why? Because you simply pick up the phone and call whichever pal is also vacationing in Florida. Because Beverly people are EVERYWHERE.

I used to get freaked out when Joe and I would travel to random and obscure places only to bump into Beverly folks. Joe once shared the story of how his uncle was hiking up Pikes Peak when he suddenly heard:

HEY LARRY! Dat you? It's me...PATRICK. You know...from the NEIGHBORHOOD!

It's kinda like being in Goodfellas.

As luck would have it, Miniature Friend and her family were staying in nearby St. Augustine. We agreed to meet up and check out the local Alligator Farm:

Hey, kids! Look here for a picture! LOOK HERE! All together!! oh forget it

You know Danny's having fun when he actually smiles for a pic.

Joey and his future prom date (fingers crossed)

I did not like the feeling of only a layer of glass keeping us safe from this man-eater. I took this pic and RAN. LIKE. HELL.

I hope you can tell why Miniature Friend is named that. You can pretty much fit her in your purse.

What do people from the southside of Chicago do best? They stand around "and bullsh*t" (talk). FOR HOURS. Case in point.

After leaving the Alligator Farm, we headed to a local fish restaurant on the beach and immediately directed the kids to play near the pier so we could...well.... bullshit. Seriously. It's an art form around here. Beers are encouraged.

I'm not quite sure WHO took this picture as I am actually in it. It may be the only proof that I even exist.

Sadly, our vacation was over and we packed up the minivan the next morning. That was when things really got interesting.

Our ride home would result in one of the most scarcest of marital admissions known to man:

You were right.

It came as a result of Joe suggesting we book our hotel in advance for the midway point of our drive. I brushed him off:

We'll just stop when we're tired and stay wherever.

How was I supposed to know that the perfect storm of the NCAA tournament, a huge cattle show, an international chess tournament, a Harley Davidson convention, and Spring Break would prohibit us from getting a single room anywhere along I-75?

We had to drive straight through.

At about 4 o'clock in the morning, I noticed my husband was fading.  I valiantly offered to drive, having not taken the steering wheel once during the entire trip. We switched positions and Joe was snoring away within seconds.  I zapped on the old Cruise Control (it totally helps you save on gas), and I relished my selfless contribution to our family's safety and well-being.

I was practically Joan of Arc.

Until all the warning lights started going on 20 minutes later.

I nudged Joe in a panic.

"Oh, Marianne..." he mumbled, barely opening one eye, "those are the dashboard lights for the CRUISE CONTROL."

I looked again.

"But why are they orange?"

Joe leaned over to take a better look and immediately started yelling:

PULL OVER PULL OVER PULL OVER!

Were you guys aware of this whole "coolant" thing? Apparently minivans, when forced to go straight through the mountains of Tennessee only to continue on for 12 more hours at 80 mph, have a tendency to overheat.

Huh.

Joe got the car cooled down after saying the F-word about 762 times. We managed to buy coolant at the next exit and Joe also re-took the wheel. Although he denies it, I know he believes I broke the car. You know....in 20 minutes. Upon our 7 am return to Beverly, we forked over $500 for a new radiator and went to bed. We then ate Macaroni and Cheese for a week because who knew this vacation was going to cost us another $500?

I tell myself it is all okay. Because this kind of material simply does not come cheap.

Where We Run

2013-04-17T12:34:00.000-05:00

We are all runners.

But most of us do not run 26 mile marathons.

Or directly into smoke and danger without second thought.

I found out this week exactly what kind of runner I am.

Full story here in Chicago Parent.

Taken at the Chicago Marathon a few years ago while cheering on a friend.

God Bless Boston.