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Hanukkah Mom

    Hanukkah Mom emerges from Hanukkah Girl—the Jew among her gentile classmates, elected by default to share the Hanukkah story: The miracle of OVER a week’s worth of burning oil! Armed with Hanukkah visuals and edibles, Mama Maccabee visits her children’s classrooms, enriching the Christmas-celebrating with a glimmer of the festival of lights: Behold children, if you can even imagine the splendor of eight nights spinning a wooden top, lighting drippy candles and eating hash browns, while pressing your nose up to the outside of a snow globe encompassing a ToysRUs Nutcracker CandyLand nation. Somehow, the… Read More »Hanukkah Mom

    Most Idiotical Buttcheek and Other Honors!

      Did you hear? Tonight at bedtime Five named me his “Most idiotical buttcheek” as a term of affection. That went over well. Last month he deemed me “The Most Annoying Boss of Everything” likely based on my slow response time to MY HOT CHOCOLATE LOOKS LIKE A MOUTH QUICK GET OUT OF THE BATHROOM AND GET YOUR iPHONE QUICK RIGHT NOW I SAID RIGHT NOW. Or maybe I earned the title due to my never driving him to school, coupled with twice-daily illogical explanation of “because we live 2.75 blocks away and you’re a bi-ped.”… Read More »Most Idiotical Buttcheek and Other Honors!

      Symphony Audience or Family Sick Bed?

        nose whinnying “productive” coughing husband in ski hat neck discomfort breath offense lozenge wrapper rage Insufficient elbow room temperature fluctuations Bat Mitzvah Torah portion ear worm back sweat sleep startle life review dry air intense thirst trapped in row hot feet restless leg line for restroom mouth sounds bladder pressure children where there should be no children tissue wads joint creaks paths-not-taken perseveration stomach percussion never-ending movements Edna Garrett apparitions

        My Sweet Latitia (aka Ann’s Second Hate Mail)

          (Actual email received) Dear Sir, I was looking at your web-site today, I entered it but wasn’t able to leave it. No matter what I did I couldn’t leave it and get back to my other work. I couldn’t go back, I couldn’t go forward, I couldn’t even turn off my computer to start over again! I felt like there was a force field surrounding me and my whole apartment building too! I tried to relax a bit to see why I had been jailed here. I read some more, tried to change my attitude,… Read More »My Sweet Latitia (aka Ann’s Second Hate Mail)

          Me Then? Meet Me Now: 1st Kid/2nd kid.

            When I had my first baby I felt as though I’d plucked his name directly from the heavens. I chose his name not from a baby book, but from  a kid in a rare piece of cinema entitled ET someplace clearly divine. Still, on the occasion I encountered another child with his name—his name—I visibly winced. How dare they infringe on my son’s obscure Spielberg birthright? By the time my second son entered the scene, not only did I give him a popular name—it didn’t matter because I couldn’t place it half the time anyway.… Read More »Me Then? Meet Me Now: 1st Kid/2nd kid.

            Listen To Your Mother: Wake up and post on your blog, founder Ann Imig.

              I tend to assume a lot, and usually I make the more substantial of the ass of u and me. For instance, when someone on Twitter told me they dated Don Draper, I assumed they once actually dated Jon Hamm. Days later they explained that they only dated someone who looked like Jon Hamm. Not at all similarly, I tend to assume people who read this blog know about Listen To Your Mother, and then realize how infrequently I even mention it here. As I’ve read and tracked the new posts popping up in the… Read More »Listen To Your Mother: Wake up and post on your blog, founder Ann Imig.

              How To Make Friends 5-year-old Boy style:

                Hi, I’m 38. Are you 38? (Turns to Husband) Honey, she’s 38! I like your shirt. Want to come to Florida with us? Are those muscles or boobs? I’m so strong I can pick you up. Sorry if that hurt, but I told you I was going to pick you up. How many Moogers do you have? How many Beys? Can I go home with you? Is your name Aiden? How about I just call you Aiden. Repeat after me: What’s your name? What color is the sky? What’s the opposite of up?… NO. I… Read More »How To Make Friends 5-year-old Boy style:

                I’m going to be someone who remembers names for Halloween

                  I don’t think it should be socially acceptable for people to say that they are “bad with names.” No one is bad at names. That is not a real thing. Not knowing people’s names isn’t a neurological condition; it’s a choice. You choose not to make learning people’s names a priority. It’s like saying, “Hey, a disclaimer about me: I’m rude.” For heaven’s sake, if you don’t know someone’s name, just pretend you do. Do that thing everyone else does, where you vaguely say, “Nice to see you!” and make weak eye contact. —Is Everyone… Read More »I’m going to be someone who remembers names for Halloween

                  To Ann on her fourth blogiversary…

                      Friday, October 10, 2008 Anyone Out There? Welcome to my blog. My ovaries keep demanding I conceive something, so I thought my brain might distract them a bit if I got creative enough. Only time will tell. Dear Ann of blog ‘08, I have good news and I have great news and I have confusing news—which is to say four years later you still type on this blog. Good news: Your brain won—you now conceive only brain babies, not of the human persuasion. A visit to your house no longer requires dry-cleaning compensation for… Read More »To Ann on her fourth blogiversary…

                    Peter Pan Moms: We Won’t Grow Up

                      Peter Pam does not wear a feather in her cap, but on nights out she might sport a fedora. She does favor Peter Pan-style belted tunics—as they elongate the leg—and unless her gams have met the laser, she loves her tights. Whether she tends to Wendys Michaels and Johns in the nursery, battles corporate crocs at a desk, or fights societal Captain Hooks, one thing is clear: Peter Pam really doesn’t want to grow up.  We Peter Pams make the first-generation of hot moms, MILFS, and cougars. Congratulations and condolences to us. For the first… Read More »Peter Pan Moms: We Won’t Grow Up