tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-217323542010-02-08T22:52:46.675-05:00I don't know what I'm doing eitherMom101http://www.blogger.com/profile/15468524489744839899noreply@blogger.comBlogger692125http://i57.photobucket.com/albums/g240/lizcoolmompicks/mom10118x70.jpgtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21732354.post-7641563637505331232010-02-04T07:30:00.000-05:002010-02-04T07:30:19.460-05:002010-02-04T07:30:19.460-05:00

"I'll have eggs this morning, mommy," Thalia said. To most moms, scrambled eggs would be a welcome break from, say, more a more work-intensive blueberry pancakes request, especially on a weekday. But, no. The thought of making eggs strikes terror in my heart knowing that one room over, snoring gently, is the culinary school-pedigreed fella who uses one of my past attempts at scrambled eggs as

Mom101http://www.blogger.com/profile/15468524489744839899noreply@blogger.com57tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21732354.post-6289228883036170802010-01-30T13:19:00.001-05:002010-01-31T21:37:24.741-05:002010-01-31T21:37:24.741-05:00

-4 mini Tootsie Pops -Pencils -Bunch o' wiggly plasticky lobster looking things -Bracelet with estimated lifespan of 6 days   -Licensed character stickers with characters I've never seen in my life and kind of scared my kids. -4 Plastic Choking Hazards of Unknown Function -Cadmium -1/5 fake plastic vomit

Mom101http://www.blogger.com/profile/15468524489744839899noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21732354.post-82802340816371186072010-01-26T07:43:00.002-05:002010-02-01T09:45:59.742-05:002010-02-01T09:45:59.742-05:00

I am packing my hotel room right now, saying goodbye to the eleventh-story view of the ocean off Paradise Island, as I wrap up three days at the Atlantis resort - just me and Thalia. Well, me and Thalia and a gaggle of journalists and bloggers and their own children, some PR folks and a lot of people who seem to want to ply my daughter with sugar. I was there covering the launch of the new Kids

Mom101http://www.blogger.com/profile/15468524489744839899noreply@blogger.com47tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21732354.post-47762607232384825882010-01-18T08:01:00.004-05:002010-01-20T12:29:04.995-05:002010-01-20T12:29:04.995-05:00

Yesterday at the office (ugh yes, at the office on Sunday. I mean uh, yippee! It is an honor and a privilege of doing the noble work of making advertising on the lord's day.) I had a lovely conversation with a woman I've just started to get to know who's a mom too. She's about my age -ahem, 29- with a preteen son and she asked me about blogs. Whether I knew any I could recommend. "I know a few,"

Mom101http://www.blogger.com/profile/15468524489744839899noreply@blogger.com64tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21732354.post-78929233647842928382010-01-16T21:38:00.000-05:002010-01-16T21:38:46.924-05:002010-01-16T21:38:46.924-05:00

"...and then at the end, Princess Fiona decided to marry Shrek and she would stay a yogurt forever."  -Thalia, age 4 1/2

Mom101http://www.blogger.com/profile/15468524489744839899noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21732354.post-87689390402772186502010-01-15T08:06:00.000-05:002010-01-15T08:06:51.547-05:002010-01-15T08:06:51.547-05:00

This here blog space, this is one amazing place. To an outsider, of course there is the drama and cattiness and You suck No, you do and grandstanding and I'm going to make a name for myself by being a total douche to you all in the name of speaking my mind. But there's also what I saw here on this very blog this week. And it's mindblowingly special. I cannot thank all of you enough for your

Mom101http://www.blogger.com/profile/15468524489744839899noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21732354.post-17820437468398174762010-01-11T13:49:00.000-05:002010-01-11T13:49:34.417-05:002010-01-11T13:49:34.417-05:00

My mother and I tried to enter through the lobby door of the condo this morning, juggling black coffees and glazed donuts for my family. The key code wasn’t working and a resident was kind enough to let us in. “You changed the code, did you?” my mother asked. “Yes, a while ago. Must be a while since you’ve been here. Just ask someone up there to tell you what it is," he said indicating to the

Mom101http://www.blogger.com/profile/15468524489744839899noreply@blogger.com113tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21732354.post-76331573275870300642010-01-09T19:41:00.000-05:002010-01-09T19:41:56.669-05:002010-01-09T19:41:56.669-05:00

Five minutes ago I received a call from my mother that my grandmother has suffered a massive stroke. She is on life support, to whatever degree that means anything at all when you're nearly 92. I'm devastated. Simply distraught and devastated and trying to get my bearings in this all, because it's always a surprise. Even when it's not entirely a surprise at all. Thalia, seeing me sobbing on the

Mom101http://www.blogger.com/profile/15468524489744839899noreply@blogger.com61tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21732354.post-12772304045668801662010-01-07T07:17:00.001-05:002010-01-07T07:18:14.083-05:002010-01-07T07:18:14.083-05:00

Oh you may say wow, that went fast! You may think, gee, it hardly seems like ten minutes have passed since you announced Nate was starting culinary school, or taking on an all-hours internship or giving up every waking moment (short of Sundays - because those are sacred and reserved for the Redskins) to devote his life to a new dream of working the line for $11 an hour. But to me? This was a

Mom101http://www.blogger.com/profile/15468524489744839899noreply@blogger.com56tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21732354.post-18420305370898726092010-01-01T07:12:00.002-05:002010-01-01T07:14:18.836-05:002010-01-01T07:14:18.836-05:00

Yesterday we tried to teach the children about traditions.  "Would you like to help me invent a New Year's tradition?" I asked Thalia. "Something special we do as a family every year that helps us symbolize and welcome the New Year?" "Oh, yes," she responded quite quickly. "I would like to eat ice cream." 2009 was a tough year in a lot of ways. A great year in some ways, and then a year with

Mom101http://www.blogger.com/profile/15468524489744839899noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21732354.post-62005641627530279712009-12-29T07:00:00.011-05:002010-01-03T18:46:31.116-05:002010-01-03T18:46:31.116-05:00

I was honored to make Babble's list of top mommybloggers last week. Because it's always nice when some writers I think are talented look at my writing and say Hey, we like your writing too! But the problem with lists is that they are, by definition, finite. And I hate when people feel left out. I'm also not crazy about a format that actually ranks us (I'm evidently better than Chris Jordan but

Mom101http://www.blogger.com/profile/15468524489744839899noreply@blogger.com130tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21732354.post-38913006753032003042009-12-25T06:44:00.001-05:002009-12-25T06:47:54.568-05:002009-12-25T06:47:54.568-05:00

"I want a BIG tree this year," Thalia told me. "A REALLY big tree." I sat her down and told her that there wasn't going to be a big tree this year. That we decided not to spend the money on a big tree, and to instead put it towards nice gifts. The tears started to well up in her eyes. I stumbled for more justification.  That it was so late in the season for a big tree. That live trees smelled

Mom101http://www.blogger.com/profile/15468524489744839899noreply@blogger.com29tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21732354.post-66753704542970776552009-12-22T15:57:00.001-05:002009-12-22T19:35:57.946-05:002009-12-22T19:35:57.946-05:00

This morning, Babycenter released their list of the top 100 baby names of the decade and one name in particular stands out to me: Brooklyn. Brooklyn appears on the list of the fastest growing girl's names of the year. Yes, I know we're so fabulous in the borough immortalized by Miranda's move here with Steve, and the Crown Heights riots but really? Brooklyn? I'm wondering how many of

Mom101http://www.blogger.com/profile/15468524489744839899noreply@blogger.com45tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21732354.post-61007703193039466812009-12-21T08:03:00.001-05:002009-12-21T08:04:43.676-05:002009-12-21T08:04:43.676-05:00

There's so much talk about co-sleeping and whether it's dangerous to the child. Well as a semi-regular reluctant co-sleeper for the past 4 years, 5 months and 15 days I can now safely say that it's dangerous to me. Where are the stats on that, AAP? Huh? Huh? I woke up at 3AM with my back in the most awful spasm thanks to the weight of two children and a rheumy cat on my chest. (Oh, didn't you

Mom101http://www.blogger.com/profile/15468524489744839899noreply@blogger.com33tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21732354.post-75218951430020814582009-12-20T08:58:00.000-05:002009-12-20T08:58:11.355-05:002009-12-20T08:58:11.355-05:00

We picked a great weekend to head down to DC to visit family and do a little early Christmas. And by great I mean holy hell, there is a crapload of snow out there and if we're lucky, we might make it back to New York by tomorrow if I put down the computer and we leave this very second. When I first heard word on Twitter of DC folks tapping out the eggs and bread and toilet paper from the local

Mom101http://www.blogger.com/profile/15468524489744839899noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21732354.post-14220222195251287422009-12-14T22:32:00.003-05:002009-12-15T09:39:00.518-05:002009-12-15T09:39:00.518-05:00

Dear Tiger Woods, I don't know how else to say this without betraying my entire gender, but it has to be said for the record, once and for all: Women save shit. A love note. An email. A stray hair in the bathtub. An EPT test. A junior prom corsage. A stained blue dress from the Gap. What makes you think a text message with something like, oh, say.... quietly and secretly we will always be

Mom101http://www.blogger.com/profile/15468524489744839899noreply@blogger.com61tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21732354.post-67590704341648266912009-12-11T07:49:00.000-05:002009-12-11T07:49:56.493-05:002009-12-11T07:49:56.493-05:00

Flying out of town yesterday on a big, fancypants ad agency job felt somehow different than all the other flying I've been doing this year. I was not heading to a conference to speak about motherhood. I was not going to address a panel of marketers about removing "Dear Blogger" from their vocabulary. I was not meeting a group of mom friends on a (fully disclosed) junket to a pantyhose factory.

Mom101http://www.blogger.com/profile/15468524489744839899noreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21732354.post-78131780670309364742009-12-06T21:00:00.000-05:002009-12-06T21:00:31.429-05:002009-12-06T21:00:31.429-05:00

I am officially living some horrible hair nightmare. Because just as I am recovering from Sage's traumatizing haircut (me being the traumatized one), my mother greets me today with the line, Don't kill me... And as we all know, no good can come of a conversation starting with Don't kill me but... Indeed, she decided that even after Thalia's own pretty lame haircut Friday, that Thalia still

Mom101http://www.blogger.com/profile/15468524489744839899noreply@blogger.com62tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21732354.post-30961970679875077452009-12-05T15:43:00.002-05:002009-12-05T18:14:40.961-05:002009-12-05T18:14:40.961-05:00

updated with photo ---- In 8th grade I told the hair cutter I wanted "wisps." Wisps were the rage in the early 80's, at least in Livingston, New Jersey where I discovered them sported by all the beautifully straight-haired blonde girls during a visit to a camp friend. They were bangs, sort of, thin little strips of hair that trickled down in wispy tendrils. Generally next to a roach clip with

Mom101http://www.blogger.com/profile/15468524489744839899noreply@blogger.com35tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21732354.post-73618793308144458522009-12-01T07:00:00.002-05:002009-12-01T07:07:38.509-05:002009-12-01T07:07:38.509-05:00

Today is officially Blog Disclosure Day - the day the much yapped-about, freaked-out-about, and completely misunderstood FTC endorsement guidelines go into effect. In fact if you want to be a stickler, it's actually Advertiser Endorsement Disclosure Day but eh. It's more fun to beat up on bloggers who aren't even real journalists or anything. In its honor I would like to propose a really simple

Mom101http://www.blogger.com/profile/15468524489744839899noreply@blogger.com48tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21732354.post-81094488454830158942009-11-29T20:18:00.000-05:002009-11-29T20:18:47.970-05:002009-11-29T20:18:47.970-05:00

It's become a cliche to say that blogs are about one's passions - or at least the successful ones generally are. And I was using that line one day, when someone asked me about Cool Mom Picks: So, are you passionate about shopping then? I said no. I like shoppping. Hell to the yeah. I make no bones about that. But Cool Mom Picks doesn't reflect our passion for shopping - it reflects our passion

Mom101http://www.blogger.com/profile/15468524489744839899noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21732354.post-61276395771435857602009-11-28T08:17:00.000-05:002009-11-28T08:17:29.869-05:002009-11-28T08:17:29.869-05:00

When I was four, I remember sitting down at my preschool table to paint a mom, a dad, and two kids on a blue and white piece of gingham fabric. At the bottom, I spelled out the word FAMILY. I still recall the teachers rushing over, shocked shocked at the word I had written without having done so before. I shrugged, "I just sounded it out." But I still remember, even then, that I was proud of a

Mom101http://www.blogger.com/profile/15468524489744839899noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21732354.post-31323386996989687752009-11-22T13:33:00.002-05:002009-11-23T09:10:47.629-05:002009-11-23T09:10:47.629-05:00

Just when I was feeling kind of low and powerless and generally blah (that's the technical term), the universe tossed me a bone in the form of a distraction. A big honkin' distraction, in fact: A reading of one of the essays I contributed to See Mom Run at an event to benefit our local public school. When I agreed to it, I assumed it was just another "mom thing." (Not that there's anything wrong

Mom101http://www.blogger.com/profile/15468524489744839899noreply@blogger.com50tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21732354.post-63169648457246416962009-11-19T08:31:00.004-05:002009-11-20T11:10:10.539-05:002009-11-20T11:10:10.539-05:00

I had never heard of the site Caring Bridge until this week. Then I received an email about someone who had set up a page there. Then I received a second email from someone entirely different who had set up a page there. That's not exactly a good week. Caring Bridge offers journal pages to help people stay in touch with sick friends and family through updates and photos. You can sign the

Mom101http://www.blogger.com/profile/15468524489744839899noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21732354.post-82778627453218166092009-11-18T08:04:00.001-05:002009-11-18T08:05:16.363-05:002009-11-18T08:05:16.363-05:00

When you're lying there in the hospital cradling that new baby in your arms, no one tells you that you'll never be able to wear pencil skirts without Spanx again. They don't tell you've just had your very last shower with the bathroom door closed. And they certainly don't tell you about Bouncy Castle Duty. This week at our preschool fair, I was thrust into the wild world of oversized

Mom101http://www.blogger.com/profile/15468524489744839899noreply@blogger.com21