[Mis]Adventures of an Ad Girl in New York

25 Things You MUST Do Before the Start of School This Year

noreply@blogger.com (Poker Chick) — Tue, 25 Aug 2015 18:12:00 +0000

Did we get your attention with this title!? Did you drop everything you were doing to read it? Did you did you!!!?? We sure hope so, since apparently sensational lists with numbers are the latest thing in pseudo-journalism. After all, if your article or post doesn't have a title like this it won't be read. Just ask the peeps at Buzzfeed or Upworthy. Hopefully, we've followed their formula correctly as what follows will now have absolutely nothing to do with the lazy attention-grabbing headline.

Some of you may have noticed the absence of posts in the past ~~few weeks~~ ~~months~~ year. And by "noticed" we mean thinking "what's that? you try and write now? (insert semi-maniacal laughter)" Yes peeps, we do, but we've been on a bit of a hiatus. There are several reasons for this:

1. Blogging is dead. Apparently it takes much more effort to write a "post" than it does to write a couple hundred characters into a tweet or status update.

2. We are no longer anonymous. It was kinda cool to rant and vent and say whatever we wanted when it was just "cyberspace" but then people we knew started reading this shit and then some of those "cyberspace" people became real people and then facebook friends and then worlds started colliding and then the filter had to come on, and we all know what happens to writing when the filter comes on. You don't? Keep reading this garbage, you'll see.

3. Mini learned to read.

Of course, all the above really just boils down to one real reason: shit got too dramatic and funny to have people we know read. Perhaps one day we will finish that novel of hilarious single parent dating stories, or the not-quite-as-hilarious novel "vents from a divorce" or the even less-hilarious novel of "blended family fun" but until then, the most interesting and juicy stuff is just too personal to write about, at least not until we find someone willing to pay for it. Wanna buy it?? Please???

Thus, we sit here with rare leisure time, sitting alone in ~~sunny~~ cloudy San Diego, working on our next screenplay....which, of course, means procrastinating opening Final Draft and fake-writing a blog post about nothing instead. This certainly beats finally finishing either of those books we brought.

So for now, we'll warm up our writing chops with a short rant on gender-neutral toys. Now, if you're up on your old news, you probably know that Target announced they are finally doing away with gender labels on toys. Yes, we know, it's not quite so simplistic, but that's the essence of the idea and we're not reporters so we don't need to have all our facts straight. So there. Anyway, many people we've seen have been up in arms about this. Really? You don't have other battles to fight? From our perspective, we are super pleased with this decision. Mostly because our daughter has an actual working brain and sometimes wants to engage in play that doesn't involve dolls, bracelet making, or doing your own hair. It's crazy but she likes puzzles and science and building things. And as crazy as it sounds, she likes building with blocks EVEN WHEN THEY'RE NOT PINK!!! Actually, she likes it especially if they're not pink as she's quite the anti-establishment 10 year old. Crazy, huh? What kind of girl doesn't like pink or doing her friends' hair? We, too, were disappointed at this, but once we realized the kid had a mind of her own and that her mind couldn't be sufficiently fed without wandering into the "BOYS" section we were most pleased when companies like Target began acknowledging that fact that mini has a brain.

Similarly, while most boys we know have brains too, some of them like to use their brains more creatively by playing dress up, pretending to cook, and doing their friends' hair. Equally shocking, these boys do not want to be referred to as "girly" because of any of these interests. We think it's weird too but these kids insist even if they wear a tiara with their cape they still don't want to be referred to as girls. Go figure.

Finally, from a practical standpoint alone, making kids' bedding gender-neutral simply makes sense. After all, why should all the cute animal prints always fall under "boys"? Why do they get them, huh? And what if your girl likes sports? Does she need to keep that in the closet? As a mother who has had to shop in the "boys" bedding section because our child liked blue more than pink, we applaud Target for taking a step toward acknowledging the fact that our children are multi-faceted human beings who deserve to be able to explore their own interests without fear of being labeled or mocked.

And for those of you who will need some help deciding what toys are best for boys or girls without those labels, we have included this handy dandy reference chart.

Credit to Mieke for this awesome chart

So we give props to the folks at Target and hope people will stop giving them a hard time for taking an important step forward. Maybe next year at back-to-school season they'll finally take out all the toy guns. Nah, that's probably too much to ask.

Because it's Festivus....

noreply@blogger.com (Poker Chick) — Tue, 23 Dec 2014 03:55:00 +0000

It's December 23rd!!!!!!! One of our favorite days of the year.

That's right, peeps, it's Festivus for the rest of us.

You know what this means, right? All those annoyances we've experienced holiday shopping this week or attempting to smoosh into a subway car can now slide smoothly off our chest.

So without further ado, we present the top ten things that have disappointed us this holiday season.

Please to enjoy our first annual airing of the grievances:

1) Stuff. It's expensive.

2) Words with friends. We still can't beat K-girl. And unlike the boyfriend, she doesn't have to let us win once in a while.

3) The subway during holiday season. No matter how crowded the train is, our butt is not, we repeat NOT, an ok place to rest your hand, lady. That goes for you too, mister.

4) Selfie sticks. Need we say more? Have we really become such a society of social degenerates that we can't ask another human being to take a bad photo?

5) People who say things like "Need we say more?" and keep talking anyway.

6) Colbert. 9 years of devoted following only to find out that all the answers to life must be in the form of a question. A tragedy if there ever was one.

7) Festivus. It's just not as......festive as it used to be.

8) Talking stuffed hamsters. Perhaps the most annoying toy in existence. So what if the purchase was our idea after taking pity on a sick child? Learn from our moment of weakness and save yourself!

9) Christmas tourists in New York. There's a simple formula, people. If someone is dawdling slow and leisurely, you may stop them to ask for directions. If they are walking fast and purposefully, you may not. Also, if you're capable of asking for directions, we refer you to point #4.

10) Florida. Where mini and 9 out of 10 of her schoolfriends have escaped to, completely screwing up the cool to crazy ratio in this town, and forcing us to drink tequila alone. Actually, on second thought, that's not really different from any other time in the year.

But- are you not annoyed by the increasing amount of daily emails asking you for end of year money, you ask? No we're not. We aired that grievance last year.

So there you go. Now you may air your own grievances about how blogs are dead and this post sucked. We look forward to hearing your grievances.

Just Give Me a Sign

noreply@blogger.com (Poker Chick) — Mon, 17 Nov 2014 03:44:00 +0000

Parenting is a long-range deal. An all embracing endeavor. A game-changer. A slow and steady sport, if you will. One where perpetual fatigue leads you to make way too many bad analogies. Regardless, it's a journey where you fumble your way through the fog, facing humility like you've never known, wondering how the hell you're going to make it successfully through without falling off a cliff. Being human and all, you enter survival mode, clinging to anything and everything that might help you get through this seemingly thankless mission.

So, you look for a sign.

A sign, any, sign that you're not completely fucking it up.

Every so often, your child gives you such a sign. It's the big ones people usually talk about. The time a child chose to donate money instead of keeping it, the time they gave up recess to help their friends find something they lost, the time they didn't quit even when they wanted to, the time they stood up and faced a bully to protect a classmate, the time they stood up for themselves, both with kids and teachers.

But let's face it, how often do these things really happen? If we only looked for the big signs we'd be pretty darn miserable most of the time, because with the "goal" 18+ years away, there's no way to know whether we're guiding our kids towards an independent and happy adulthood, or towards lunacy. And sadly, despite pathetic fantasies that run on a loop over and over in our head, parent teacher conferences do not begin with "your kid is ok! you're not fucking it up! hooray! let's have some tequila!"

Wouldn't a sign like this be amazeballs?

So, we look for the small signs, and we hold on to them like nobody's business. Today we got such a sign. Easy there. We know this is shocking to you given the buildup. We'll pause to let you process.

Pause.

See, yesterday our kid did one of those things they're not usually supposed to do: she went to a party and ate our favorite lunch and overindulged in oreos, marshmallows and chocolate for two hours. This is of course awesome, but there's still that gnawing feeling of knowing you're giving in to treats waaaaaay too often. This of course reminds you that crap, you're giving in to a lot of things waaay too often. And then your mind starts racing through all the little things you screwed up that morning alone.

So when we stopped at a supermarket on the way home from said party, we swooned when mini declared "I can't look at one more chocolate!" and proceeded to walk to one of those healthy aisles, you know, the ones on the "perimeter" of the grocery store that you're supposed to do all your shopping from but never actually do.

She stopped when she reached the cucumbers, stared intently, and began to speak. And then, in what we're sure was sparked by her intellectual brilliance and excellent parenting, she spoke, in her best possible Homer Simpson voice: "mmmmm........vegetables......" and requested soup for dinner.

DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS, PEOPLE!!!???

A child asking for vegetables on her own is clearly a sign. It must be. It has to be.

This means that whatever awaits us on this cold Monday, we will have a fantastic day, because yesterday, we got a sign that we're not completely fucking it up. And that's enough to keep going for one more thankless week.

Vegetables, yo. Who knew?

Rockets and Roaches and Beaches

noreply@blogger.com (Poker Chick) — Tue, 15 Jul 2014 03:25:00 +0000

It occurred to me (aka several people said I had to) that perhaps I should write about the experience I just had as an American resident traveling in Israel this past week. As background, note that this 10 day trip outside of the US would be the longest solo trip this single mom has taken since...well....momhood, and with visits to three countries planned in 10 days the idea was to get away and have a little adventure.

I sure got it.

The trip started inauspiciously enough. After a lovely day spent in Amsterdam (shout out to the fabulous Mieke, who gave an entire free day to show a total stranger around her city) but two nights of flying and no sleep, I was hoping for a relaxing first couple of days enjoying Shabbat meals with family and close family friends. Instead I got my iphone stolen in shuk hacarmel, no new phone since everything was closing for Shabbat, spotty wi-fi that worked maybe 15% of the time at best, no air conditioning, single-ply toilet paper, and I had to kill a giant tropical flying cockroach all by myself in the "shower". Yep, I was back in Israel!

A few days later after overcoming the dreaded "stomach day" I experience once each visit, I was rewarded for the literal buckets of sweat with an upgrade at a lovely hotel where I had finagled three free nights. I enjoyed the sea view immensely while eating my free chocolates. The chocolates are the most important part of the story, people.

A gorgeous view of my favorite beach

I had one tough but exciting day ahead, and the reward for this day was a relaxing day at the beach. So I set my alarm for 4:45am and proceeded to get to the local airport by 5:30 to catch a short flight to Eilat. Two hours later, I was crossing the border into Jordan, right about the same time that Israel and Hamas went to war. Of course, I didn't know this at the time. What I did know was that the old Israeli man driving me to the border yelled at me in Hebrew ("...now, listen to me young lady very carefully. You don't speak a word of Hebrew, understand! Not a word!") I nodded in stunned submission.

Right after that, I was attempting to take a selfie at the border (I mean really, people, would you expect any less?) only to get yelled at by one of the men working on the Jordanian side of the border. "Put that away! Do you want us to think it's a weapon!". I complied, feeling a little nervous now. Why was everyone so on edge? Once we crossed the border and I realized our little group of five had an entourage of a driver, "tour guide" and an armed guard from the Jordanian police to accompany us on our three hour drive each way through the empty Arab desert, I started to get more than a little nervous. I sucked it up, knowing that a great day was ahead.

And a great day it was. I went to Petra, one of the wonders of the world, and thanks to my ~~stupidity~~ brilliant planning I practically had the place to myself. You'd think after I'd heard the sentence "Normally we have 2-3 thousand visitors a day here, but today only about 100!" that would have finally tipped me off to what was going on, but nope, nothing but blissful ignorance here.

Me and my ignorant Jew-girl ass, stupidly traipsing 'round
an Arab country as war breaks out in Israel. Ah, good times.

12 hours later, having had no access to wi-fi the whole time, I crossed the border back into Israel only to receive more than a few frantic emails, WhatsApp texts, and Facebook messages. Whoopsie.

At that point, all I could think about was the nice long warm shower I was going to take back at the hotel to wash all the dirt, dust, and sweat off from my long hike in the desert heat. This was to be followed by a lovely night's sleep in air conditioning and clean, bug-free sheets. Silly me.

Reality had me taking about a two minute shower because I was alone and terrified I wouldn't hear the air raid siren going off in there (sorry to disappoint you single peeps but apparently the threat of air raid sirens leads to unshaved legs...you heard it here first). The lovely sleep I had imagined was ruined for the same reason (what if I don't wake up the first 90 seconds?!). So I stayed up, cursing the irony of not enjoying the luxury hotel I had so brilliantly procured for myself. Here I must pause to give a shoutout to a good friend back in New York who patiently played words with friends with me to distract me all night, and to another friend who stayed on WhatsApp, enduring the battery drain and my nerves and reassuring me I'd hear the siren. Eventually, my all-too-human body gave out after days of no sleep, constant adrenaline, and a rather strenuous hike, and I passed out around 6am.

Two hours later I awoke to the unmistakable sound of an air raid siren. Fortunately, like many people in Tel Aviv that night, I was sleeping fully clothed and at the ready to walk to the door, grab my bag, and head to the shelter in the 90 seconds I supposedly had. I was shocked by how calmly I was able to do this so must give a shoutout to the hotel staff who spent hours the day before making sure every guest knew where the shelters were and what to do. After a while, they sounded the all clear at which point clearly the only option was to go to the rather empty beach, where I engaged in my usual ritual of choosing a chair/umbrella closest based on proximity to ~~the sea~~ a shelter. Wait a minute, that doesn't sound usual at all.....

I particularly enjoyed the directions I received on how to crouch down on the floor and cover my head if I can't make it in time and found myself wondering how I made it twenty-nine years (stop snickering) without knowing this very useful tidbit. At this point, I decided to pretend I hadn't spent the night before up like a pathetic little scaredy-cat, and assumed an air of bravada. FUCK THE ROCKETS! I was going to enjoy my day, dammit! Beach it was, so what if it was empty? I was even going to go swimming!! Take that, terrorists!

After chatting with other Americans on the beach of all ages (Toronto! DC! Boston!) and engaging in the requisite "so where were you when you heard the sirens" traveler convo, I began to relax and worry about the greater and more real threat of jellyfish stinging others near me in the water and the Middle Eastern noon sun turning my back a shade of pink I've not yet seen. Then after a swim I went out to a lovely breakfast, all the while making sure I knew where the shelter was, just in case.

I missed a visit to my first cousin, who was stuck home with her kids for days because their camp/day care was closed due to insufficient shelter in those places. Sadly it was also decided the train I'd need to take to get there wasn't the best idea. At that point, I had to figure out what to do that afternoon.

After much debate with family, fellow travelers, and hotel staff about which city is safer ("Jerusalem! Tel Aviv! Jerusalem! Tel Aviv!"), I decided to check out of my lovely free hotel in lieu of not having to worry about not hearing the siren if showering or sleeping alone. The calculation process was very interesting as people weighed the risk of rocket attack (lower in Jerusalem) vs the risk of riots or suicide bombs (lower in Tel Aviv). While this seems a dangerously inexact science to me, somehow Jerusalem came out on top. So I checked out of the hotel and headed to my friends' place where, I was told, I should relax and enjoy Jerusalem.

You know...as long as I didn't go anywhere crowded like the old city where I wanted to go. And as long as I didn't go to any holy sites where riots might break out. And as long as I stayed off buses. And as long as I stayed away from buses while walking. And as long as I didn't walk around by myself too much. And as long as I didn't take transportation except to Jerusalem and to the airport so that I could get to shelter in 90 seconds if I need to. And as long as I made sure that I asked for a Jewish cab driver. And as long as I cancelled the sunrise hike I had planned at Masada along with requisite visit to the Dead Sea.

Now all this kind of threw a kink into things, but I decided to focus on the silver lining. My Hebrew was getting much better! I now knew the Hebrew words for "rocket", "siren", "iron dome", "bomb shelter" and "safe room"!

That night, after hearing the post-evening meal fireworks that accompany staying in Jerusalem during Ramadan, the streets were eerily quiet. This allowed all three of us to jump at every motorcycle rev, every ambulance siren, and every icemaker gearing up, thinking it was a siren. Fortunately the real siren didn't come until the next afternoon, but in the quiet dark, everything sounded like one. Stop laughing. I already told you I was a scaredy-cat in the dark.

Israelis running inside during the air raid siren, calling loved ones

Of course, in daytime, everything was much less scary, even as we ran for cover inside the Aroma, looking through the window to see Iron Dome intercept the rockets right over our heads and hearing the loud BOOM! right above us.

Iron Dome intercepting a rocket. Thank you, Iron Dome!
Photo taken by....someone across the street.

That night I ate, drank, and made merry with new friends, and the next morning two of us went right back to that cafe to have a lovely breakfast as a giant fuck-you to the terrorists. Also, we were hungry.

Reality later hit home as I enjoyed a Shabbat picnic dinner in a local playground with a few families but had to look for the bomb shelter first. The kids were then all told "if you hear the siren, here's where you go quickly and quietly" and had to confirm understanding before they could play. But then they played, seemingly without a care.

Of course, the terrorists had the last laugh as they chose the morning before my flight to threaten to hit the airport, and strongly advise foreign airlines to stop flying. The 31 bomb shelter signs I counted in the very empty airport (many visitors had already left) between check in and gate suggested that people kinda took that seriously. The fighter jets accompanying our plane out of the airspace as we took off kinda supported that theory too.

All of this brings me to one very important question. Was I better off with the heat and cockroaches but without rockets? You tell me. All I can say is that I only screamed out loud at one of those things, and it wasn't the rockets. DON'T JUDGE ME!!!!

Meanwhile, I'd be remiss not to point out the real tragedy that occurred during this time. That's right, my beloved Crumbs was going out of business, shutting down all stores effective immediately. You didn't think I'd let that one just slip by, did you? And if you don't understand the gravity of that situation, well....clearly you've never had a s'mores cupcake.

Mommy Nostalgia

noreply@blogger.com (Poker Chick) — Wed, 18 Jun 2014 03:28:00 +0000

We've talked before about how motherhood turns you into a sentimental sap, and never is that more true than at the end of a school year.

One night, a week or two ago, we were talking to a friend wondering why we were such a mess and for the first time it hit us just how emotional we get every June. While we've often talked about the annual nightmare that is September, we didn't realize that June came a close second until this year. The end of year concerts, parties, notes to write, camps to plan for, and in the midst of it all.....the undeniable fact staring at you in the face that your child is getting older no matter what you do.

Yes, we suppose this is a good thing, but there's something about finishing yet another grade in school that reminds us that it's a year we'll never get back. And we realize that other things we've loved for years, like holding their little hand when we cross the street, getting a running hug from an excited child when we come home from work...well, these things will soon be replaced with headphones and eyerolls and requests not to sing in public (sadly, the latter has already begun).

3rd grade. THIRD grade is over today. Mini is now way past the initial stage of superhero status that parents enjoy in their tiny children's eyes, and has now entered a more speedy descent that ends with the dreaded "drop me off at the corner so no one sees you" stage (more on these stages here).

And (gasp! we can't even say it) fourth grade means....well, only two years to middle school. Middle school, peeps!! And then before you know it there'll be sleep away camp and college and no kid in the home anymore.

It ain't fair, we tell ya. We wipe their butts and their noses and feed them and dress them and think about their every waking moment and then finally - finally when we get it right, if we've done our jobs well enough, they move on. How is this fair, we ask?

Now, lest you think we are on an isolated soapbox an informal but super scientific poll of mothers at drop off over the past few weeks shows unanimous results: mommy nostalgia is real and it's rampant. So rampant, in fact, that even though we've spent the past two weeks patting ourselves on the back for making up such an accurate phrase to capture it, turns out someone else beat us to it. Yep, mommy nostalgia has already been documented. While kids and teachers are eager to yell "school's out!," moms everywhere are watching yet another little piece of childhood passing them by.

So if you see a mother this week and she seems just a wee bit more ~~crazy~~ sensitive than usual, have some compassion. It ain't easy, peeps. Even the good parts.

Seriously, please stop feeding your kid's class

noreply@blogger.com (Poker Chick) — Fri, 06 Jun 2014 04:50:00 +0000

But...but...but we ALWAYS use M&Ms for this math unit!
We simply must! And they're not the peanut ones!

We've wanted to write this for a while and ironically haven't found the words. Stop snickering, people, it's true. Just because we make it look easy and fabulous to constantly get on our soapbox doesn't mean we don't get nerves too!

It's hard to be *that* parent. The buzzkill. The one who stays at drop-off birthday parties. The one who always has sleepovers at her place because it's too complicated to try and figure out what you'd feed our kid. The one who has to grill every teacher and counselor on when and how to use an epipen, and remind them to always carry them around, including bonus reminders when field trips come up. It's hard to be the one who has to say no to kind offers of playdates because we don't know your babysitter and whether or not they'd be able to give mini an Epipen should she get a reaction. We feel awkward telling you this but you know something's up when we're always suggesting our babysitter pick up your kid instead. It's like putting a kid in a moving vehicle without a seat belt. You really want to, it'd be so damn convenient, but you know you just can't do it.

Hard as it is, we're about to get even more annoying. See, we'd like to guilt you out of feeding our child. No, really.

Caroline over at Grateful foodie wrote a beautiful post with words she wishes she'd said to her food-allergic child's teacher. Worth a read, really. We couldn't have said it better ourselves. When every time you're at school at 7pm and still see your child's teacher there, it's really hard to know that you're intentionally adding to their plate.

But one thing we've been wanting to say to other parents for a long long time is simple: please don't send food to school. No, really, there are so many reasons this is bad it's just not worth it anymore. Think about this. Statistically, in a class of 25 kids*:

Peter and Sam, like mini, will have life-threatening food allergies and chances are they can't eat what you're sending your child with because of some random cross-contact risk you wouldn't have known to think of even though those licorice strips seem so innocuous and "safe".
Stella has diabetes and she can't eat anything without going to the nurse to check her blood sugar first and maybe even getting a shot.
Jade has celiac and that shit ain't gluten-free
Joe and Coy have a mother that doesn't believe in sugar, and there's no way they can eat it without getting themselves into serious trouble and dealing with their mom calling the school to complain about sugary treats in class. They'll probably choose to eat the snack, enjoy it with guilt, and then lie by omission to their parents in order to feel normal without causing any kind of annoying scene.
Kenny wants three of them! His mom might be the least happy about this because Kenny is now in the 95th percentile for weight and she has been struggling for 6 months to get him down to one treat a day max without complaints and this is a big setback.
Annie has no reason that she knows of not to eat it, so she'll enjoy, but her mom and dad, having figured out way too late that eliminating sugar nearly cures her of her all ADHD symptoms, are really fucking pissed when they get home and see the state she's in. They don't have to ask her to know what happened.

While some of these scenarios may seem trivial, and they're obviously exaggerated for effect, they're not really exaggerated peeps. And it really is a number of kids that you're affecting, more than you realize because people don't want to air their issues if they don't have to.

The other thing none of the above takes into account is that you are putting the child's teacher in an awkward position. If the policy is no treats, you're making them choose between being the policy police and pissing you off, or letting it go and giving it to the kids, and pissing of other parents if they find out, not to mention knowingly excluding the kids they know of that can't eat it. That's not really fair to the teacher. So here's what happens why you think to yourself, oh, wouldn't it be nice if we could bring just one little treat for the class to share something from our winter vacation. Or a little gift bag for an extra treat to celebrate the holiday. It's harmless, really.

In the case of our child, even if treats are allowed and the policy supports it, and you bring in "something for the allergy kid" you're still making teachers choose between seriously excluding her, or making a judgement call as to whether or not it's safe for her to eat (ps it's not safe for someone else's kid just because you said so!) But hey, it's only a potentially life-threatening judgement call. It's not like that doesn't scare the crap out of them or anything. Plus, there's always option c, which is a frantic last minute phone call to the parents to find out if it's safe. This option is loads of fun for everyone. And by loads of fun we mean wanting to tear your hair out if you have to step out of a meeting for yet another last minute "can she eat x...." call when x shouldn't have even been brought in without notice anyway.

Should this wonderful teacher be spending her time calling a parent to determine if a snack another parent wasn't supposed to bring but did anyway, worrying about who can have it and who can't, and then dealing with angry parents when they find out? We'll give you a strong hint: the answer is NO! They shouldn't.

They should be.......

(it's coming).........

(wait for it)...........

TEACHING!

Food is distracting. You may have nostalgic memories about how fun it was to get treats in school, but guess what? It ain't 1983 anymore. Another woman had nostalgic memories about being able to leave her kids for a few minutes in a safe and cool vehicle under her watchful eye from afar and guess what happened to her? No? Don't wanna guess? We'll sum it up for you: she found out IT'S NOT FUCKING 1983 ANYMORE.

Times are different, peeps. Yes, we swapped our lunches and fed all the kids, and yes it was great, and yes it'd be lovely if we could all help our kids get a simpler childhood. But things are different now. We don't care if everyone you know with an allergy outgrew it, the reality is that allergies, intolerances, and serious diseases like obesity and diabetes are a fact of life today, and in many cases we don't know why the incidence is so much higher than it used to be. But it's there and it's not going away even if you choose to ignore it.

Now, we realize that eating different food at lunch, parties, whatever is a fact of her life and when we tell you how she has accepted that without complaining in a way that's way more mature than she should have to be at her age, we mean it. But the unexpected situations are what gets us -- especially when unnecessary. It seems like not a week goes by when our child doesn't come home from a supposedly food-free classroom or from camp in tears because she had to sit and watch everyone else eat a yummy treat while she looked down on a pretzel or a stale cookie from her safe stash in the closet. Yes, she got something too, and there are workarounds, but they don't work very well in reality. And it's really bad when it's something that smells delicious, like pizza, which was brought in last minute as a treat and your kid describes in agonizing detail what it felt like to smell that delicious pizza and stare down at some plain cold pasta instead. And you know what hasn't changed since 1983? It's STILL really hard to be different when you're a kid. And mini (and Annie and Joe and Peter) don't want to come home from school feeling excluded, or guilty, or sad any more than your kids want to. And we don't want to lie awake at night, wondering if the teacher will remember to clean the counter from that snack so that if our child touched the counter later and rubbed her eye she wouldn't get a reaction. Ok, ok, so we're lucky to be in a school where at least her allergens aren't allowed to that degree, but if she were allergic to dairy (very common in children) it'd be a whole different ball game. And, as we're trying to point out here, it's not just about one kid, is it? All these kids need our help. All these kids deserve to enjoy school without obstacles to learning. All these kids deserve their teacher's time fully focused on their learning and not distracted by food.

So please, we are begging. Yes, schools are finally starting to get the message, but while we wait for schools to slooooooooowly adopt and even more slowly enforce food-free classroom policies, help out your kids' peers, will you? Next time you want to bring just a little harmless treat for all the kids in the class, think twice and at least reconsider. Bring in a food-free treat if you really want to. Or just nothing at all. You can be the change. You can begin the momentum. You can make this better.

We promise you the teachers and at least half the parents in the class will thank you for not bringing in food. Us especially.

And, if you're still not sold, you know what you're doing for YOUR child when you do this? You're explaining why they have to choose something else and talking to them about seeing things from another point of view. You're teaching them respect for their classmates. You're teaching them compassion for others.

Now, while we're the first ones to admit there's almost nothing better than a cupcake, in this case, it it really worth it? Wouldn't all our children be better off with more compassion and a few extra recess minutes instead?**

*Names are made up for effect. Duh.
**The answer is yes. It's rhetorical, peeps.

Why you want to host kids with food allergies

noreply@blogger.com (Poker Chick) — Wed, 14 May 2014 04:00:00 +0000

Not-so-fun Fact

Have you heard?

It's National Food Allergy Awareness Week. This means we can write a blog post about food allergies and rather than getting dismissed, it will be one of umpteen articles about food allergies that will be dismissed. Hooray!

Of course it's also National women's health week, National hospital week, National nursing home week, National Police week, National women's poker week and National Salvation Army week, but then there's no limit to how many special things a week can be, is there? Plus we made one of those up.

Now that we've gotten the requisite cynicism out of the way, we wanted to take a moment to make people aware of the huge impact that a NON-food allergic parent can have on a family's life.

See, we're pains in the ass. We know this. Having us over for dinner means getting quizzed by a neurotic mom about ingredients well in advance, worrying about what might have touched what in your kitchen when you actually cook, and making what was intended to be a friendly dinner invite into a ridiculously inconvenient proposition altogether.

We know this. We get it. Every day of our lives is filled with having to decide if that restaurant is doable, fielding questions from teachers or other parents on what she can eat for yet another school activity involving food that didn't need food at all, and dealing with the school cafeteria on a nearly-daily basis to check ingredients and confirm safe lunch options for that day. It's seriously exhausting. Scary Mommy painted a good picture on what it's like to parent a child with food allergies here.

We know you omit us with a pang of guilt from parties and dinner invites etc. just because well...you want to....you feel you should....you'd like to have us over.....but...it's so...damned....annoying. And you're afraid to mess it up. We get it. It sucks, but we get it.

So when another parent invites us and goes out of their way to accommodate, so that mini can come over to someone's home and reject all the healthy delicious food they eat and declare it "disgusting", just like any other picky kid would, while you are feeling deflated and silently cursing us for making you spend all this time and effort making accommodations for a kid who wouldn't eat anything anyway, we want to make out with you.

No, seriously, we want to make out with you.

That's disgusting!!

All your hard work was not for nothing. It helped mini have a social occasion that (finally!) had nothing to do with the food, and let her mom have a normal dinner with a kid who could eat (or not eat) based on choice and what mood she was in, and not based on what might be potentially life-threatening. And her mom actually got to eat without worrying about whether or not her child might react to something.

So to all of you (and we are so fortunate there are many!) that have made this effort, please know even if mini doesn't so much as lick it, you have done a very, very, good thing.

Please do it again.

To the rest of you, if you ever see us walking around randomly kissing other parents, now you'll know why.

And next time you're on the fence about whether it's worth it, just cook for us, yo! Pretty please?

How Online Dating is Like Real Estate

noreply@blogger.com (Poker Chick) — Mon, 07 Apr 2014 00:52:00 +0000

What's that you say?
Internet dating language is like real estate?

For a number of years now, we have been approached with many unsolicited suggestions to give the world of online dating a try.

We have also been accosted by many over the years who have a case of "is the grass greener" syndrome, curious to hear what life is like "on the other side". We have nothing to say to these peeps other than just like anyone else's life, it can be suckier than yours or awesomer than yours, or both from time to time. Find your own way, is all we're saying.

In the meantime, for those who have been curious about what it's like "out there", our conclusion is that this process takes what may otherwise be level-headed rather intelligent people with common sense, and turns them into narrow-minded nitwits without minds of their own.

Allow us to paint a not-so-flattering picture of what awaits those eager to try it, or the many of you that have asked for a glimpse into this world so elusive to all of you that are already partnered up.

As a service to you all, we conducted some competitive reconnaissance (read: scoured through dozens and dozens of male and female profiles) and came up with a list of the most common cliches one must avoid at all costs. Nothing says "unoriginal" and "lazy" quite like these:

I love New York and taking advantage of everything the city has to offer.
I love to travel.
I love finding new restaurants.
I love the outdoors and am always active. (Oh peeps. Be especially wary of the "always active" one as it is clearly a lie for those living in New York City)
I’m tired of playing games.
I’m looking for my partner in crime. (Really? Are we all on a mission to rob banks here?)

And so on and so forth. We have purposely listed them in bullet point format, so as to hit home the point of just how boring these statements are.

Now, one would think this would be a fairly obvious mistake to avoid when writing about oneself, however based on the number of offenses we saw this is clearly not the case. These phrases are used verbatim, over and over, to the point where seeing again them makes us cringe. One starts to wonder whether these sites offer some added program whereby if you send them some extra cash with your pics they have write your profile for you.

Though overuse of boring cliches are the most common offense we've seen, other rampant profile tactics include lying about your weight, age, height, and/or salary.

Is there no one authentic out there or are people just afraid to reveal their true selves? Do people not think about whether or not they are setting up unrealistic expectations? We often wonder whether this alone is the cause behind the common complaint we frequently hear from people that so many dates past that first meeting.

For example, is the 60 yr old retired guy really surprised when the woman expecting a 30-yr old bodybuilder doesn't want to see him again? How can people not think ahead like this? Then again, since the sanity of anyone using any of the above tactics must be seriously questioned, perhaps it is unfair to assume that any logical thinking occurs in this process.

For those of you eager to see a little more for yourselves, we invite you to play "interpret that profile"!

It's easy. If you are familiar with reading between the lines in real estate ads, you are ready to play.

You see, in real estate, “charming, intimate two bedroom with exposed brick” translates to “closet sized, unrenovated one bedroom with an unfinished wall.”

Similarly, on dating sites, “Responsible, approachable, youthful looking guy with stable job who loves to travel” is often code for “short, at least fifteen years older than you, afraid of change, and only vacations with his mother.”

See how this works?

To really bring this lesson home, we suggest you try it for yourself.

“Fun-loving, great with kids, always knows the best places to go out!”

Translation: ________________________________________________

__________________________________________________________

(Good job! If you answered “unemployed, looking for a sugar mama and drinks like a fish,” you’re right!)

So there you have it peeps. A brief lesson on the the world of online dating profiles. And to friends of ours who may be on these sites, since we love and respect you we'd like it keep it that way, so if you've done any of the above if you could keep it to yourself that'd be swell.

And in the meantime, if you're looking for yet more sneak peeks into this elusive world, this here flowchart isn't far off the mark and may even provide a chuckle or two.

Yes, we said chuckle. Get over it.

A Different Kind of "Bucket list"

noreply@blogger.com (Poker Chick) — Sat, 08 Mar 2014 19:01:00 +0000

A lot of Jewish peeps out there have been posting this new infographic below and using it to make all sorts of claims.

If it says so in an infographic, it must be true!

For those who can't read the teeny tiny stick figures, the chart shows different affiliations of Judaism and statistically predicts how many Jewish offspring they will have four generations later, based on what bucket they choose to affiliate themselves with today.

As with all stats, peeps are interpreting it in all sorts of ways.

Fear: "The people will die out! We must fear the secular peeps who will make our culture extinct!"

Guilt: "See what your non-observance will do!"

Ignorance: "Proof that those black hats are going to take over the world!"

Relief: "Phew! So glad we are on the right side of that chart and doing our part to save our future"

As an unaffiliated Jew (and therefore clearly a heathen who must be depriving our child of Jewish education and community), we've been asked by many now as to our opinion on this visual oversimplifying this study.

One might think we'd disregard it, but you would be wrong!

In fact, we are relieved to see members of the tribe split up into only 5 distinct buckets. It makes it very difficult when meeting people to know what makes them tick. From now on, all we have to do is ask them what kind of Jew they are, and then we will know everything there is to know about them! It is very unsettling to not know where on the spectrum people lie. People can be complicated and everything is so much neater when you can fit your peers into a box that will tell you everything about their values, politics, and hopes and dreams. Judging is much, much easier.

Secondly, the buckets help everyone know where they belong. For example, if you are in one of the buckets on the left, you will know never to go to a place of worship that is intended for people in the buckets on the right. And vice versa. Also, the left four buckets can be united in their disdain for all those babies on the right, and the bucket on the right can feel justified in their hatred for the others for being responsible for the extinction of their people. And if you don't fit into any of the buckets, well, that is clearly not possible so we won't even address that one.

Next, we think about the philanthropists and educators out there. A lot of money and time has been expended at finding ways to get those people on the left side of the chart involved in their culture in other ways. Non-traditional schools, volunteer work around the world, trips to Israel, other ways to bring culture and spirituality into their life in a way that is meaningful to them. What a relief to know that all these community-building efforts were a waste of time. Clearly, efforts must be redirected at moving people towards different buckets. Now everyone will know where to focus their time and money.

A nice side benefit is all those matchmakers out there will know who not to mix with whom. So that's one less decision to make. We wouldn't want those peeps in different buckets fraternizing or anything. That could lead to disastrous results such as dialogue. Or schizophrenic Jews. Or horrible mutations, like.... bacon challah [shudder].

Finally, what we really like about this chart is the predictability. Not knowing what your future holds can be scary. Having a chart tell you how many children you can expect to have, how many grandchildren you can expect to have, etc. is supremely reassuring. It is comforting to know what to expect, after all.

So while others might be upset at a chart like this that oversimplifies everything and ignores so many gray areas, we are grateful for the structure.

After all, engaging in meaningful dialogue about other ways to build community and make the culture meaningful to those who would otherwise abandon it is way too complicated.

Now, as with everything, statistics are all in the interpretation of the data. In this case we suspect that the statistics excluded the subjects in the study who did not identify with "reform", "conservative", etc..., but rather the "I have no f*cking idea" segment. We suspect this because this is exactly what we would have done! Including this group would have made it much harder to draw meaningful qualitative, predictable conclusions, and that would have made the analysis much more messy. Aside from the fact that it wouldn't lead to an easy sound bite, nobody likes messy.

That said, they probably ensured they could avoid that kind of messiness by making "affiliation" a close-ended question rather than open-ended. That would force people to select an affiliation even if it wasn't quite right, and would make it much much easy to keep the analysis down to just 5 segments, and make it easier to categorize peeps. Of course, in full disclosure we haven't looked at the full study data, so we're just guessing here.

What we do know is this: when life is complicated, look to the infographic! It will tell you everything you need to know.

Friends Don't Let Friends Read Upworthy

noreply@blogger.com (Poker Chick) — Sun, 16 Feb 2014 23:40:00 +0000

"Content curation" is one of those buzzwords from last year you may or may not have heard, but y'all are doing it whether you realize it or not. See, it's just a fancy schmancy way of saying sharing articles, information, videos created by someone else.

By selecting from all of the available content created by others out there, and funneling the information via email, your own site, or even just your Facebook feed, you're curating content for others.

Some of you are extremely, extremely good at it - so much so, that we are ashamed to admit that for a while Facebook has become our primary source of information on what happened in the world that day! You know you do it too.

Now, this is not always a bad thing. Everyone needs fabulous content curators in their life and thanks to a select few in ours that send group emails or post on Facebook, we are never short of interesting articles to read or information we would never have found on our own but are glad we did. And we don't thank these people nearly enough. Or, you know, at all.

Nearly everyone else is simply keeping us up to date on their lives, and that's fine too. If the majority of peeps you knew were good content curators, you'd have too much to read and it would defeat the whole purpose!

But lately, given the...um....less than ideal things many have been sharing (let's just say anything upworthy is now blocked from our feed!) we have been fretting that we're not doing enough on our end and we have a responsibility to share good content too.

That changes today!

Starting today, you peeps shall benefit from the fabulous content we will find for you all! Today is the day we shall find out what kind of bagel we are, what type of bear we'd be if we were a bear with little brain as opposed to a human with a rapidly withering one, and....

wait for it.....

what character we'd be on Modern Family if, you know, we were reincarnated as one of them (we can't spill the beans on that one as we'd hate to be a spoiler but let's just say we'd be a fat baby whose name rhymes with shulhencio).

We can't wait to find out all these answers!

We feel terrible that this isn't nearly enough to repay y'all, though, so stay tuned for tomorrow when we find out what kind of premium tequila we'd be as well as what kind of 1980's walkman we'd wear. Later on in the week, we'll be sharing articles asking YOU to tell us more facts about yourself, like what kind of egg sandwich you'd be, and what foreign hard-to-pronounce lake fits you best.

No no, really, you're welcome.

It's the End of the Year, and You Want to Give Me Money.

noreply@blogger.com (Poker Chick) — Fri, 27 Dec 2013 17:11:00 +0000

Perhaps you missed the email.

I sent you another note reminding you about the end of the year, and well, you haven't responded yet. I know you're busy so don't worry, that's why I'm sending you a third reminder.

You see, I know you want to give me money. You just haven't gotten around to it yet. And I hate to see you miss out on something I know you want to do, so I've taken it upon myself to remind you several times that the end of the year is rapidly approaching and well, time is running out. I am certain you are just not aware of this fact so it is up to me to remind you.

Give cash. Give checks. But whatever
you do, don't give me coins.
They're too damn heavy.

I know you are a busy person. I know you have other demands on your time and money. Of course, you could be helping starving children in Africa, but have you considered the alternative of seeing just how your funds are spent and making an impact on one person?

A small donation could buy me a nice bottle of tequila. A little more could buy me that new coat I've had my eye on. Or perhaps, you're feeling generous and would like to fund a spending spree at Sephora, makers of all things good? Throw in a couple more dollars and I may even treat my child to something nice too. Or maybe not. On second thought, I'll have a second fundraiser for that. That would be diluting your generosity and we wouldn't want to do that.

In exchange for your end of year donation I will give you a letter which you can give your accountant, who will promptly tell you there's no chance in hell of deducting that from your taxes. He might use big words like "fraud" and "scam". Don't worry, this is standard procedure. You will be grateful to him for opening up your eyes before you gave even more, and he will feel like he finally earned that high fee he's been overcharging you for years. And me? Well, I will be able to spend just a little more this year. See how that's a win-win for everyone?

The best part of a gift to me is that it's a gift that keeps on giving. In fact, if you're feeling particularly generous this year, I will thank you by personally calling you next year to see how we can outdo this year's funds. Together, I know we can do great things. That is why I'm sending you this third email. Because I know you wouldn't ignore a note from me, so I am smiling imagining how grateful you will be for my reminding you about this wonderful opportunity before it's too late. No one has your back quite like I do.

The good news is that the economy is in an upswing! Even my friend from Nigeria isn't asking people for money anymore. Sure, you can chalk it up to spam filters but I know it's because he's finally gotten himself out of the hole. Surely if he can do it I can too.

So please, if you've found yourself reading one of my free articles and chuckling, remember how much it cost for you to get that laugh. And consider giving back. After all, if every person who read my articles gave just $3, my fundraiser would be over in an hour, and I'd have a whole $15 to spend at the casino.

Isn't that a good cause?

Remember, before you overspend your money on that big New Year's party you're going to black out for most of anyway, consider an alternative way to spend that hard-earned cash. After all, don't others deserve to party until they black out too?

Just a few days left until the end of the year. I know you'll do the right thing.

Five Reasons to Celebrate Thanksgiving Abroad

noreply@blogger.com (Poker Chick) — Sun, 01 Dec 2013 23:16:00 +0000

As some of you know, this year we decided to have ourselves a little adventure this Thanksgiving. We like to call it the Great Thanksgivingukkah, Catalonia-style.

Many people drive for hours to see their family, or brave the airports to get stuck at snow-filled connections, just to see their family for a few hours. This is, as many like to say, par for the course.

Thus, we decided what's a few hours of flying? It was time to celebrate the holiday outside the country!!! Close your eyes, nap for a few hours and then.....hola, Barcelona! See how easy that was?

Now, we knew Thanksgiving outside of the U.S. would have its benefits, but in hindsight they were even greater than anticipated. So behold, our top 5 reasons to leave the country on Thanksgiving!

1) It's the cheapest time to see Europe. For reals.

2) If you're visiting friends, you can still have Thanksgiving dinner! We may have been thousands of miles away from home, but we were not without our turkey and marshmallow covered sweet potatoes.

mmm .... malvaviscos rosa y blanco

3) Better wine while you eat, and no football. You can actually converse with the other guests without having them fall asleep on you!

4) Airports are packed with people flying within the 50 states - international flights? Not so much. You'd never know we were flying on a holiday weekend!

5) And perhaps the best part of traveling abroad on Thanksgiving: missing Black Friday! Instead of fighting with strangers in the name of consumerism, we spent our day visiting gorgeous architecture, taking a walking tour of a new city, learning some Spanish history, drinking fabulous coffee, and learning about fun local traditions such as Caga Tio, the Catalonian Christmas log you hit with a special Christmas stick so he poops out presents and candy. (If you think we're making this up, read more about it here). Strange to see a culture that brings out the squatting statuettes on the holidays.

Because we like you peeps, we'll spare you the picture of Hello Kitty and her pink turd, which means you'll have to take our word for it on this one.

Caga Tios, everywhere you look. Every home has one.

A big thank you to our hostess with the mostess

So there you have it. If you ever get a chance to have yourself a little Thanksgiving adventure outside of the U.S., take it! And unlike this year, you won't have to worry about what to do about Chanukah either. Though if you do, get thee some Southeast Asian cauliflower/zucchini fritters, which taste just like the real thing. You heard it here first.

Single Mother Suffers from Rare Parenting Fog

noreply@blogger.com (Poker Chick) — Tue, 08 Oct 2013 01:52:00 +0000

Did you hear the one about the single parent who went cray cray?

Of course you did, that's old news. In today's news, a single mama has a rare flash of clarity and suddenly realizes she cannot do it all.

While sources tell us others have recognized this for years, the inexplicable failure to recognize this earlier can be attributed to only one thing: Parenting Fog.

While not yet classified by the CDC as an official disease, anecdotal evidence suggests Parenting Fog can be a very real and dangerous condition.

Signs and symptoms of the condition may vary, but often include long commutes, fretting over school lunches, and volunteering for mystery steering committees at schools. Parenting Fog should be strongly suspected when these steering committees are at an unknown school where their child does not attend. Other common symptoms include failure to return calls and emails, asking questions over and over again (such as: "Who are you?"), and eating expired food while standing.

Now there are reports of an alleged antidote to the condition that must involve a very carefully concocted combination of friends, copious amounts of alcohol, and truffle mac and cheese. Unfortunately, the FDA was not available to confirm this due to the shutdown of what can only be described as a large group of men and women collectively suffering from Parenting Fog at the same time.

Because really, that's the only plausible excuse for what is going on in DC right now.

What we'd like to tell our ~~thoughtless~~ fearless leaders.

And with that, if you're looking for this single mama, she'll be relieved of her moment of clarity.

Should she suddenly disappear, you just might find her transporting large vats of mac and cheese and wine to our legislators down south.

Oversimplifying Politics

noreply@blogger.com (Poker Chick) — Fri, 13 Sep 2013 01:49:00 +0000

Four years ago, when Obama was first elected, we came home from work and asked a three year old mini if she knew what a President was.

"Yes!", she exclaimed! We learned it in school!

Excited that her school was taking on educational responsibilities we had clearly neglected, we rejoiced. So we asked her, what was a President?

"He is a black man who lives in a white house."

Well, who are we to argue with that?

At the next presidential election, we brought her with us to the polls, let her pull the lever, and proudly wear the "I voted!" sticker. We then colored in states red and blue together as CNN announced the results on TV.

So it shouldn't have come as a surprise that she was upset at not being able to join us at yesterday's New York Primary elections. After promising she could come in November, we tried to explain what a Primary was. This led to the inevitable question:

"Am I a Republican or a Democrat?"

Oy. Can't you just ask why Daddy and I got divorced again? That one was easier.

After trying to subdue her with assertions that you can't possibly know until you're 18, that's why you don't have to choose until you're that old, it was clear she wasn't going to take no for an answer. So, in an effort to get everyone to sleep that night, we attempted to over-simplify politics for a third grader.

"Do you believe that any 2 grownups who want to should get married, even boys and boys and girls and girls?"
"Yes!"
"Do you believe the government should help you with money if you don't have a job?"
"Yes!"
"What about helping to pay for doctors and medicine?"
"Yes!"
"Will you pay some taxes from the money you make to help pay for these things?"
"NO WAY!"

Well, kid, we stand corrected. You're more firm in your positions than most politicians today. Happy voting.

Squeezing the Balloon

noreply@blogger.com (Poker Chick) — Fri, 02 Aug 2013 03:21:00 +0000

One wonders why it's been so long since we've posted.

Is it writer's block? Hardly. Is it lack of subject matter? Nah, one subway ride alone per day is enough for subject matter in this here city.

Then what?

Well, as one friend puts it, we've been "squeezing the balloon".

It's simply really. Do one thing and you have time to blog. Do 10 things and.....you get the idea.

We're starting to think we need to learn to say no to things.

We'll spare you the single mom story because you can imagine well enough yourself how raising a child and running a household alone may be just a tad time consuming. Then there's the "extra" mom stuff we don't technically have to do, like volunteer at school and go to Parents Association meetings. The few boxes post-renovation yet to be unpacked, the attempts to have a social life as well (dating as a single parent actually provides for some high comedy we sadly will not share but wish we could).

Work has been busier than ever, and while most of its good, it takes a lot of effort to focus on one's career and continue a certain trajectory. Then there's a couple of classes we're taking every week, one of which involves reading many pages of scripts per week -- really good scripts, might we add - and working intensely on our own.

To spell it out for you peeps (in case you can't interpret metaphors) all of the above squeezes one side of the balloon and the blog is the thing that pops on the other side when that happens. So, if we had to give a short answer as to why we haven't written in a while, it's physics. Just plain physics.

But it's ok. We're obviously not in it for the fame and fortune, because if we were trying to turn this blog into some kind of cash cow - well, then that was an epic fail, wasn't it? We've violated every blogger rule on the planet such as keeping content fresh, reading blogs, engaging with others. Clearly we're not going that route.

And while it's still a great place to experiment with writing, in general it doesn't feel as necessary as it used to. Much of our subject matter used to focus on facts to help raise awareness and sensitivity for children with food allergies, by showing what it's like to have to deal with one. Fortunately, the public consciousness has been raised dramatically on this point over the past couple years, without any help from yours truly. More products are available that are safe, many more food manufacturers and restaurants follow good practices to avoid cross-contamination and can clearly state what's safe and what's not, and governments are even taking notice by passing laws to ensure epipens are available in every school across the country (seriously, that just happened two days ago!!!) And, ironically, the more emails we get from companies wanting us to promote food allergy products or news, the less necessary writing about it seems to be. Because it's out there now, people are acting on it, the train is running away without us! We've come such a long way in the past 5 years its astounding. And while there is much work to be done, it's rolling on without our help. 7 years ago we'd tell anyone who'd listen that food allergy information needs to be as ubiquitous in restaurants as "First aid for choking" signs, so that everyone would know the signs of anaphylaxis and what to do. Today, you can't even go to a Pinkberry in New York without seeing one of these signs. Mmmm.....Pinkberry.....

NYC restaurants have these in kitchens all over now, in English and Spanish

So if this were only a mom blog about raising a child with food allergies, well - we're not needed anymore. Wait - you've stopped reading, haven't you?

Let's stop yawning and instead sum up all of the above in a way that's actually relevant to y'all. That's right, we're going to talk about happiness. That's where you were going too, right?

Last night we had a good discussion in a class about happiness. While we easily concluded that material objects and certain goals would never bring about happiness, no one could clearly articulate what could. The book Stumbling On Happiness posits that humans are actually crappy predictors of their own happiness, and have been for centuries. An interesting theory. And while the book is wrong on some points (winning at gambling actually DOES make you happy!), we started thinking about other examples where we've been happy and what they might have in common, and found one common denominator: effort.

Our friend Mir the great* always says "effort brings opportunity," and though one must always be skeptical of advice doled out by personal trainers with super human hotness who are nice and smart and funny to boot, in this particular case the advice is sound.

The other day a friend came over and as they were resting mini asked them why they would hold a pillow. They explained that they usually had a stuffed animal that was home and they were sad without it and wanted a pillow. Mini promptly walked out of the room without a word, returned holding a small stuffed animal, and held it out to our friend to make them feel better. Mini's blubbering mother, felt an unusual mushy feeling upon seeing this that we of course had to dissect. Could it be....happy?

Had this not been our child, we wondered, would this moment have brought us joy? Similarly, if mini had been a perfect robot who always did what was asked and never ever posed a challenge in any way, would we have had that sappy moment? Of course not. The joy came from being able to appreciate this moment despite countless moments of ineffective discipline, despite enduring hours of opposition and talking back, despite lying awake nights worrying about her future, her emotional health...her happiness. Despite all this, here she was, displaying empathy, maturity and kindness. Even if it was one rare moment in a sea of tantrums we took it!! Had we not been suffered through those tantrums, it wouldn't have meant nearly as much.

Thus, much like comedy doesn't exist without a strong dysfunctional family, a happy outcome isn't happy at all without the effort it took to get there.

To bring this whole thing back full circle, we've come to the conclusion that we need to start writing again. Because when y'all actually connect with a blog entry sometime far into the future - after being tortured over and over again with crappy posts like this one - success will taste that much sweeter.

*We're not just trying to butter her up because we owe her money; really, we're not.

It's May, and you know what that means. Oh wait, you don't.

noreply@blogger.com (Poker Chick) — Wed, 01 May 2013 18:15:00 +0000

It's a bit early for a Mother's Day post, but then again what better way to differentiate oneself! And yes, we realize this is strange written in the third person. No one's forcing you to read, is all we're sayin'.

Today is May.

First, you're welcome for sharing what we're sure is surprising news to y'all.

But second, we'd like to spend a few serious moments describing what May means to us as May will forever be inextricably linked to Mother's day. See, we lost our own in early May. We remember the day she died. The day before she died. The cruelly beautiful and sunny Sunday that we tossed a shovelful of dirt into the ground. The cruel irony of burying her on the special day we had previously dedicated to the joy of drinking tequila. Sacrilege! And then, one week later, Mother's Day, which seemed at the time to be an unbearable punishment from the universe.

Still, at the same time, it also seemed an appropriate time to symbolically acknowledge this loss. For that reason, we chose to unveil her tombstone on Mother's Day. That was one year later, one month past the official 11-month Jewish morning period, and though the constant, overwhelming grief had subsided, the intensity had not, and we recall wondering just how much longer that would take. 11 months was not enough. Who were these "forefathers" kidding? And while we were at it - why 11, specifically? Why not 6, or 12, or even 13, which is always a favorite number in Judaism? We couldn't help think that 11 was such an arbitrary number. Did they know something we didn't? Or were they just full of it, making it up as they went along - like the rest of us. Or - what if we were the stupid ones, what if we misinterpreted it and it was suppose to be years, not months?

Of course we'd forgotten that brilliant piece of inner dialogue soon after we had it until today. Now here we are back in May again. The month she passed. The month she was buried. The month where Hallmark shoves our loss in our face over and over each year. Not to worry - we've since forgiven Hallmark given that Mother's Day has evolved from a painful holiday to a bittersweet one as we take a day to reflect on the joys and trials of our own motherhood. So it's with all that in mind that 11 years, several jobs, new friends, even more adventures, one child and one ex-husband later, for the very first time, we had to be reminded it was our mother's Yartzheit. Shit, really? Talk about embarrassing.

Humiliation aside, there is a point to this. Well, sort of. We're concluding (to put this all in marketing terms so you peeps understand) that it takes 11 years to fully mourn the loss of a close loved one. Well, at least as much as one can. N of 1, of course, but we figure since marketing is more art than science we're okay there.

Can these two symbols coexist? Maybe they can....maybe they really can!

This week we'll observe the anniversary traditionally by lighting a candle and saying the mourner's kaddish*. We may or may not enjoy some tequila in her honor this Friday as well, but we digress. Overall, though, we'll spend our month trying to honor the memory of the best woman we've ever known, and the precocious child whose name honors her grandmother's. If we can be even half the mother that ours was, then mini will turn out just fine.

*Important note: "Kaddish" is apparently in Google's spell check. You heard it here first.

The Renovation Chronicles: Week One (Part 2)

noreply@blogger.com (Poker Chick) — Mon, 11 Mar 2013 01:19:00 +0000

This one is titled "we did everything wrong".

This is the post where we scream "why on earth did we possibly think this was a good idea!" No, really. When we thought this might be a little too big a project for one person, perhaps we should have listened.

The token "during" shot

And now, the reality of living on the generosity of others (and their couches, trundles and sofas) for one, two weeks or more. The reality of living like nomad with that unsettled feeling of no home base to go to. The reality of royally pissing off the painters and the contractor before they even started because, well, apparently it IS too much for a single working parent to pack up an entire apartment solo so while everything was in boxes the boxes weren't exactly closed (we tried! The tape came undone with the heat overnight!), boxes weren't pushed to the middle of the room (we needed to walk around! plus they were heavy!), there were still some things on the walls (also super heavy!), and while the plastic mattress covers were on top of the beds, we hadn't actually put the mattresses in the covers (you try lifting a mattress by yourself! It ain't easy peeps!).

Apparently "I really did the best I could" doesn't cut it with these guys.

Of course, the other reason they were not happy is because the furniture-less living room we promised them didn't exactly pan out. Of course, that wasn't really our fault, since the charity we donated to didn't really pick it up the Friday before like they promised. Which royally pissed off our employer who wa'nt too happy with us taking a day off for nothing.

Cue the lifesaving babysitter who stayed two days later to oversee the furniture pickup that finally arrived. Cue customer service man number 327 who stayed on the phone with us for hours and tolerated our repeated calls so we could get an update on the truck's whereabouts. And cue rejection of.....

Wait, what? Wha you say? Yes, rejection. Apparently our couch was so bad even the charity rejected it when they saw it. Luckily for us the painters offered to carry the sorry thing downstairs six flights of stairs to the trash for the low, low price of $200. Which made the $50 counter-bid our super gave us suddenly seem attractive.

It wasn't all bad, though. There was a nice moment when our (still royally pissed) contractor called us to tell us that the new TV we needed to buy that he was going to hang on the wall was too big a job on that particular wall and he recommends just using a stand like the one we had on the old TV. Which we had already given away to our babysitter thinking we'd buy a thinner and lighter one......oh wait, maybe that wasn't good news after all.

Sigh. So there you have it. However it's not all disaster. Despite not knowing when we can move back in (was supposed to be one and half weeks), despite being clueless about the progress (we're terrified to look so resorting to sending spies) we apparently did one thing right, so we shall pass that lesson on to you. If you remember ONE thing this is the lesson to learn.

Grease the super.

Even if the contractor will, do it anyway. Chances are, you'll need him, even if you don't know why or when yet. And we shudder to think where we'd be right now if we didn't.

Stay tuned for more renovation chronicles, where we wonder why our stuff seems to have tripled when we attempt to unpack it, where we sit in an empty living room and dining room with nothing in either but a card table and two folding chairs, and when we encounter other "fun" surprises.

We look forward to the post where one day, looking back, we don't actually regret this project. A girl can dream....

The Renovation Chronicles: Week One (Part 1)

noreply@blogger.com (Poker Chick) — Sun, 03 Mar 2013 03:32:00 +0000

We are about to take you on an adventure.

Well, not really. But we are about to go through our first ever "renovation" of our current home. Why, you ask? Well, the "let's throw it on and see" paint color we picked years ago didn't really work and it's time to admit that (note to self: dingy brown looks just like it sounds). The giant holes of plaster in our walls where the paint has long since peeled are begging to be painted. And for some strange reason people say after 10 years we should have painted again already. And finally, if all that's not enough, we may have to sell someday. You know, when the money runs out.

So there's your reasons. Now in order to not horrify a potential buyer with the low standards we've had for years, we realized we'd have to at minimum paint, patch the giant holes of plaster in the wall, take care of those cracks in the floor, fix the outlet that's always burning out, and replace the molding shower caulk that was so eroded everything got wet all the time anyway. And while we're at it, let's get some grown up furniture in here - you know, a dining table that isn't 15 years old and seats only two, a couch that isn't littered with tears and breast milk stains...you get the idea (Yes, we just said "breast milk stains". Get over it.)

No problem, we've got time on our hands right now. Single working mothers have nothing but time on their hands. Wait, what's that? They don't. Huh. Guess taking this on solo was probably not the brightest idea we've ever had, and after the first 24+ hours of this we're realizing just how in over our heads we are. So where does that leave you? Well, we figure at the very least our tales of annoyance over should entertain someone out there.

Now, we know we should stop whining. All homeowners have been through renovations; it's the downside of owning vs. renting (or the upside, if you like that sort of thing). And at least we have our health, and running water, and food and all that. But the next two-four + weeks will still be chaos.

Manhattan-dwellers will understand; it's a special kind of crazy over here. Everything is a million* times more expensive because of insurance, permits, small spaces. Painting a small apartment is kind of hard where there's no where to put your furniture. And being that we don't live in that fabulous park avenue apartment or brownstone we dreamed about last night, there's no "extra" room or floor to live in.

And with no experience here it's kind of like flying blind. What have we messed up already? Well, for starters, taking the furniture peeps at face value. Apparently when they say 12 weeks they mean maybe kinda sorta 12 weeks but might be 4, 5 months too. More on that later.

Meanwhile, here we sit in our apartment, work about to start Monday, took off from work as the old couch was getting picked up Friday to give the painters room -- and, the call comes that they're not coming to pick it up. Ah yes. Boss will be thrilled when we take another day off. On the plus side, it gives us time to wait for a plumber to fix a leak that decided to spring this week in our bathroom 65 year old pipes.

The token "before" shot.

Yes, good times ahead, peeps. Stay tuned as we continue to pack up our entire apartment into boxes in one day, while simultaneously doing enough laundry to last in a suitcase for 2-3 weeks at the same time. For two people. As our nanny said this morning when she stopped by to take the TV home, "it simply can't be done!" Wait, why did she leave....? Can't anyone help pack these boxes? What will we do now?

Stay tuned for part 2....

*you DO recognize hyperbole when you see it, don't you? Of course you do. But for the one guy who inevitably won't, our lawyer says we need a disclaimer. And by "lawyer" we mean the voices in our head.

Bye Bye to an Old Friend

noreply@blogger.com (Poker Chick) — Mon, 25 Feb 2013 16:46:00 +0000

He was a trusted friend for over 10 years.

Worked furiously to help me make mini's first birthday cake when we had no idea how to bake without eggs. Helped us try countless cookie and recipes, letting us know which worked best. Sat patiently while we worked on batches of frosting upon frosting, not caring that he was sticky and covered in cocoa powder everywhere.

He helped us with baby showers for friends and coworkers. Helped mini eat healthy food when we discovered pumpkin protein bread, zucchini bread, and spinach muffins. He brought warmth, comfort, tradition to every holiday, helping us with everything from hamentaschen to honey cake. He was our secret weapon for the perfect apple pies at Thanksgiving, and homemade whipped cream.

It was because of him that oatmeal chocolate chip cookies for the doormen on Christmas and entertained children on playdates brilliantly for short bursts of time.

In short, he was always there when we needed him.

And then, suddenly......he was gone. Just. Like. That.

First came the smell. That awful, chemical smell. Then, the sound, as if he were in constant pain. And then, in the middle of one last batch of hamentaschen, he slowed down, whimpered, and was out for the count.

And that's the story of how our hand mixer died.

Yes, we can get a new one for $20, and probably should have at least 5 years ago, but it will never be the same. Goodbye, dear friend. Please take good care of our trusty toaster oven, who is on life support and will inevitably join you soon.

Bakers will understand.

2013: The Year of the Month-Long Purim

noreply@blogger.com (Poker Chick) — Sat, 23 Feb 2013 23:49:00 +0000

Perhaps it's just us, but does Purim seem to have gotten hopped up on steroids this year?

The holiday is one day, yet it seems to have gone on forever. In fact, the holiday has barely started and we're already Purim'd out. How'd that happen?

We have some theories.

Exhibit One: Purim Carnivals going on for weeks.

For some reason, this is the year several people decided to hold Purim festivities on alternate dates in order to boost attendance. After all, it's impossible to attend your school, synagogue, and local community center carnival all in one day! So for practical purposes the dates were sandwiched before and after the holiday. Of course, with Purim being redonculously early this year, the alternate dates fell over winter break, meaning no one would be around to celebrate, rendering the alternate date futile. The solution? Push it back earlier. The result? Purim carnivals scattered from Feb 10th all the way to March 3rd.

Exhibit Two: Purim is super trendy this year.

For some reason, Purim was a hot topic this year. Maybe it was the explosion of social media, generating Jew-envy amongst those forced to look at droolworthy picture after picture of hamentaschen on Pinterest. Maybe it was the party and celebration invites being spread like wildfire. Or maybe it was the intersection of Purim's relevance to current sentiments and values in our culture, inspiring articles such as Why I like Purim as a Queer, Secular Jew and this book on Jewish superheroes. Regardless of the reason, you know it's trendy when secular entities like Bed & Bath and Slate are tweeting hamentaschen recipes.

Eclectic hamentaschen photos swept Facebook and Pinterest this year

#Purim was also hot topic on Twitter this year, with tweets every minute from all over the world.

We wonder if all the people tweeting this photo for #Purim even know who Haman was

Exhibit Three: Increasing number of friends with children + Quality education in Jewish preschools + waitlists in public schools everywhere = more Purim costumes than ever before.

'Nuff said on that one.

What we'll be stylin' on Purim this year.

So, to sum up, like the torture we endure when Christmas tzotchkes get put out before Halloween has even ended, Purim seems to be going the way of overkill as well. We have to wonder, at what point does the holiday start to lose its impact? That would be truly a shame, because it really is a great holiday.

Mini once asked us why we don't celebrate birthdays every day. It would make every day special! Or would it......

Simple, amateur hamantaschen. Just right.

Happy Purim, peeps. But not too happy, if you know what we mean.

An Urban Dweller's Wish For Snow

noreply@blogger.com (Poker Chick) — Sat, 09 Feb 2013 23:04:00 +0000

What do New Yorkers wish for on a Snow Day?

While many suburban dwellers are hoping for no power outages and help with shoveling, here is what many New Yorkers are thinking when we hear of an impending snowstorm.

Behold, a typical New Yorker's wish for a perfect snow day:

Dear Mother Nature:

May it not snow on any day where we need to leave this island. Or venture far in it.

May it snow just hard enough for schools and offices to close, but not so hard that the delivery person can't make it here with dinner.

May the really hard snow not start until after the liquor store closes.

May the snow stop by morning, so that the baristas can make it into work.

May it stay cold enough for us to enjoy a beautiful day sledding in the park, but not so cold that we freeze our butts off.

May the supermarket not run out of mini marshmallows.

May people finally stop the meshuggas of naming snowstorms and put us out of our misery.

And finally, the ubiquitous wish of urban dwellers:

May we experience the joy of jumping in a fresh, white, fluffy pile of snow before it turns yellow.

W.E.S.

noreply@blogger.com (Poker Chick) — Mon, 28 Jan 2013 03:38:00 +0000

Don't hate us! It's just a W.E.S.

There is an expression some peeps we know invented called "W.E.S." which is short for "Weakened Emotional State". Quite a clever acronym actually, as no self-respecting male (or female, for that matter) wants to admit they've been rendered into a blubbering fool, obsessing over what's eating at them, dragging themselves through their days and spending whole nights on the bathroom floor.

So in the case of these particular peeps it allowed some guys to let each other know they needed a little extra attention in a way that wasn't emasculating.

Picture a typical scenario where Thing 1 might be trying to get the last beer, but Thing 2 saw him coming and beat him to it.

"Nice try dude, next time be faster"

Thing 1 sits down with a heavy expression and stares ahead at nothing.

"Dude. W.E.S."

Thing 2 quietly hands over the beer.

"Oh yeah, I forgot. Say no more"

This scenario works quite nicely in many other settings too. Substitute the beer for the last piece of cake, or the bigger half of the burger, the hot Swedish girl you just picked up in a bar....you see where this is going.

But most importantly, it reminds friends not to forget you.

"Let's call J-dog to join, he's in a W.E.S."

That said, we can imagine its implications beyond your immediate circle of friends....

"I'm so sorry I ripped off all your eyebrows. I'm in a W.E.S., see....."

or

"Turtle abuse!? I would never abuse a reptile! It's just a W.E.S...."

or

"Where are my pants!? Oh my goodness, W.E.S. has caused me to fall victim to wearing tights as pants...!"

It could even go so far as being an official police cause of crime.

"Yeah, I got a big car accident here. Nope, no foul play here, just a bad case of W.E.S."

Yes this could be huge. W.E.S. is a veritable trump card, a sort of "get out of jail free" card for friends to get a pass on being teased for a while.

Too bad our children haven't discovered it, as it sure would help decipher those times when you're not sure if they're just misbehaving/oppositional/defiant or if something really upset them. Wouldn't it be nice if instead of wondering if you should or shouldn't be punishing them, they could just honestly tell you "It's not me, momma. I'm in a W.E.S."

It's only a matter of time, peeps. W.E.S. You heard it here first.

Conversations with 7 year-olds

noreply@blogger.com (Poker Chick) — Fri, 04 Jan 2013 02:58:00 +0000

While it's commonly known that your "coolness" goes way down in your child's eyes the older they get, there apparently seems to be an inverse relationship between age of your child and amount of knowledge you have as well. The older mini gets, the less we seem to know.

Observe just one conversation on one walk home. Mother and child pass a Chanukah menorah in the window of a bank. It's New Years' Eve.

"Momma, they didn't take it down!"

"Well, honey, some people leave decorations for different holidays up until after January first".

"Then how come our building took down our menorah after Chanukah and the Christmas tree is still there?"

"Well, some people do that too"

"So, sometimes people keep the menorah up and sometimes they take it down after Chanukah?"

"Yes"

"But everyone keeps their Christmas tree until after January 1?"

"Pretty much, yes"

"So, if everyone keeps their Christmas tree up in their store after Christmas is over, how come not everyone keeps their menorahs up until after Chanukah?"

"That's a good question, kiddo. I don't know".

She clearly does not like this answer. She pauses to think, and a moment later her relaxed face lets on that she has moved on to other thoughts. She begins jumping over seams in the sidewalk, noting that "the lines are fire".

She focuses on her game, clearly forgetting the serious thoughts she had earlier.

A few moments later.....

"Momma, how long will the earth stay?"

Damn. The Christmas tree question was easier.

The Nerd Mom's Guide to New Year's

noreply@blogger.com (Poker Chick) — Wed, 02 Jan 2013 03:00:00 +0000

Now that we have your attention, if you're reading this you've already got an interest you might or might not care to admit in how to spend new year's as a parent in a way that does not involve spectacular hangovers. Not that we're against ringing in the new year gangnam style with spectacular hangovers per se (in grownups, that is!), it's just that they're somewhat harder to manage when you're flying solo on parent duty.

There are many ways to bring in a new year.

Typical resolutions we will NOT be making

After a 2012 that was more eventful than most, ours was spent in perhaps the dorkiest manner possible. Baking cookies on New Year's eve. Making a new recipe for dinner that involved pureed broccoli and pureed cauliflower, and jumping for joy that mini actually ate - and liked it.

Letting mini finally stay up to watch the ball drop on tv - and then somehow not paying for it too much the next day.

Brunch with waffles we made, and the afternoon at the math museum (before you mock, if you are in New York, get thee to the math museum pronto. And if you're not in New York you may want to consider a road trip with the kiddos. Seriously, peeps, it's quite awesome)

Now, going to a math museum, enjoying good company, and successfully getting your picky eater to eat vegetables, all with good company might not be your idea of a perfect new year's. And to that we say...

Hence the title of this post, peeps.

We know at least some of you will relate.

Happy New Year everyone!
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In housekeeping news.....while we're not making official UNresolutions this year, stay tuned for a little self productivity experiment coming along this month. Meanwhile, please to enjoy the deluge of smoking cessation, weight loss foods, gym, car, job search, online dating and tax service ads you are about to get inundated with (why is this so? Answer in a previous post).

The TMI Avalanche

noreply@blogger.com (Poker Chick) — Fri, 07 Dec 2012 00:47:00 +0000

Dec. 7 Update: Apparently the NYT had an Op-Ed about the same topic on the same day we wrote the below. Draw your own conclusions.

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So....my boyfriend and I split up. Heartbroken. But then we got back together. And he declared his undying love to me in his status feed. You all saw it, right? My ex-girlfriend was jealous but it was amazing. But now I've been sitting by the phone all day waiting for him to call, and the only person that called was the Chinese delivery restaurant so now you can all be jealous of my kung pao. In fact, hang, on let me show you a picture of this delicious chicken. Getting my camera....taking picture...and there! Isn't it -

-Wait,there's the phone! It's him! Hang on - I'll give you the blow by blow and type as we speak.

[this section has been deleted due to content inappropriate for readers and parents of children who we respect too much]

Wow am I glad we resolved that. Feeling so much better right now, the stuffiness in my nose is almost clear. Remember I had that funny-looking mole removed from my back? Well a week ago I found something funny growing on my foot, but then one of you (thanks Facebook friends!) suggested a great doctor, so I thought you might like to know I liked her so much I passed her name on to my cousin, who swears she fixed up all her problems "down there", if you know what I mean. Needless to say she is going to remain single after that scare, but I digress. How do I know all this? Well I found all this out at that restaurant you all recommended yesterday of course; where, if you will recall, I drank waaaaay to much. My hangover is much better now after some onion rings and Gatorade for breakfast. Though the headache sure didn't help me deal with that turd at work very well today. Had to go off the wagon and have another smoke to get through it. And can we say "yay" to elastic waistbands? I tell you, whoever made it acceptable to wear tights as pants is a geniu......oh wait! You won't tell that guy at work that I called him a turd, will you? Speaking of turds....

---------------------------------------------

C'mon, peeps! You didn't think we were serious, did you!? Perhaps not, but it pretty much sums up some real life posts that you yourself might have seen on Facebook.

This is why we have so few friends on the social network behemoth ourselves. If we're going to read about the intimate details of someone's life, we'd like it to be a detail of someone we know rather well. And to our FB friends - we loves ya. We love the funny stuff you post. We love that you post all the time and make us laugh. We love the cute and tasteful pictures of your kids/pets/whatever. And we appreciate that you have learned the line between sharing lots of details (fine) to sharing way more than anyone wants to know (not so fine). To all those other people no longer on our list after making us cringe one time too many - we hope you learn to censor yourself, at least a little.

Consider the unwritten golden rule of Facebook: Oversharing in no way refers to the quantity of status updates you post. Just sayin'.

Have YOU been a victim of TMI on Facebook? Feel free to share this post. And you're welcome.