Sticking with our “do it all at the last possible minute” agenda, we took Sophia to visit Santa this past weekend.  (Emma has officially reached the age of “too cool to sit on Santa’s lap, even though I think I still believe in him.”)  We fought the maddening crowds because it just wouldn’t be Christmas without standing in line for an hour to spend 3.7 seconds with Santa Claus.  What amazes me however, is that the same child who must sit on her chair with one butt-cheek hanging off the edge because remaining at the dinner table for 5 consecutive minutes is a chore, somehow manages to stand in line for an hour quietly and patiently.  Behold the power of the red suit.  I wish Santa would come to my house every night and just hang out on the couch while I serve the meals.

While we stood in line, I got to enjoy watching a lovely cross-section of the NJ parenting population.  Sophia was too terrified to speak or move, so she didn’t require much intervention other than the occasional nudge forward.  The mom behind me was obsessed with her kids’ hair.  I think she brushed it no less than 4 times before we got to Santa.  The child in question was a boy with a close-cropped do.  My favorite though, was the dad in front of me.  He obviously forgot that he stood among a large number of small children with virgin ears (or perhaps not, in the case of his own kids) for he dropped the f-bomb, s-word and goddamns like they were necessary.  Thankfully my child was too caught up in her fear of Santa’s wrath to pay much attention.  Oy vey.

We finally reached the end of the line.  It was there that I was assaulted by two unwelcome and simultaneous sights:  The Sign that read “Please refrain from taking photos of your child unless a photo package has been purchased.”  and the pushy elf chick who shoved the sample photos and price sheets in my face.  Beg pardon?  First of all, if I am purchasing a photo package, why would I need to take my own photos?  Second of all, no one tells me I can’t take photos of my own child.  I understand you want to make money, but this is my baby and she wants to sit on Santa’s lap and give him her wish list.  I do not want to give you 25 bucks for 5 photos that may or may not suck.  I want to take advantage of my free will and my free country and take a photo of MY kid. 

So I did what any badass wussy sensitive-to-the-small-businessperson mom would do–I handed my camera to my husband and told him to sneak around to the other side of the crowd of Elvin Gestapo and snap some pictures.

I guess the fates favored the enemy that day because they and that evil known as the “digital camera delay” resulted in the following photo of my baby with Santa:


Well-timed evil elf dude. 

I guess the important thing was that Sophia got to sit with the big guy, and she didn’t cry or pee on him.  In fact, she was all-smiles at the end, and while I might not have a photo, I’ll always remember that hour with her and the dregs of humanity.  And she’ll hopefully remember feeling the magic.



It’s my blog, I can rant if I want to.

So, what’s with all this new “mommy” vocab flyin around?  If I hear one more use of these dumb made up words that insert “mom” where the other appropriate letters used to be, I may go apeshit.  It’s not cute people, it’s idiotic.   “Mompreneur”.  “Momtini”.  “Momtourage”.  urgh.  Yes, I am a mommy.  But if I start a business or invent something cool, I am an ENTREpreneur.  It’s really okay for me to have an identity other than that of MOM.   And if I’ve had a long day with the kids and I want to hang out with my girlfriends and have a drink, I am NOT with my MOMtourage having a MOMtini.  It’s a fucking martini you morons.  Just cause I’m a mommy, I can only drink beverages with cute names?  Hell, we’re not that delicate folks.  Spend a day in any mom’s shoes and you’ll see that at the end of the day, she is not only entitled to a drink or two, but also to a drink that could grow hair on her chest.  You wanna be more accurate, give me a shot of JaegerMOMster.  Screw the momtini and give me something that will help me sleep off the stress of having to listen to nonstop whining and bickering all day.  Some people call that “happy hour”.  

I’m sorry that I choose to separate myself from my kids on occasion, but I think it is ok and actually healthy for women to do things that don’t involve their kids.  We don’t need to attach “mom” to the names of these activities, which I feel is really just an attempt to remind us what they think we should be doing instead.  It’s like they’re saying, “well, ok, you can go and run that successful business that makes you feel proud and fulfilled, but make sure you don’t forget what your real purpose in life is supposed to be.”  Yes, I know we are mommies and that certainly should be priority #1–sometimes.  However, I am a person first, a wife second and a mommy third.  If I don’t fulfill the needs of #1 and #2 before those of my kids, I don’t believe that they will get the best out of #3.  How can I give them 100% if I don’t feel like a whole person to begin with?  My kids complete me.  But just as I wouldn’t be whole without them in my life, neither would I be without my husband or my job or my dreams or my hobbies or whatever else it is that makes me feel good about myself.  I have to be happy with myself before I can be a good mom.  I need to show my kids a happy person.  I can’t be an effective mother or a good example to them if I am not first taking care of myself and my marriage.  How could my kids be happy with a stressed or sad mom as their parent?

As moms, we wear many different hats.  Yes, we often wear them all at once (I like to think that my personal hat is a cute little French cloche with a big silk flower on the front, but I accept that it is often getting squashed by the heavy, ugly chauffer cap, or the doctor’s , or sometimes the French maid’s–read into that what you will.)  Yet I prefer to keep my identities separate.  I mean, when’s the last time anyone called someone a  “DADpreneur”?  I can be all these things at once, but for cryin’ out loud, call the individual role it what it is.

To be clear, I am proud of nothing more than my children.  They are my light, my motivation for all things.  They give me more reasons to smile than anything else I encounter on a daily basis.  I am of course proud to be called “MOM”.  But this drink I have in front of me?  It’s not a “momtail”.   It’s a COCKtail,dammit.  Wait, that’s another issue altogether…


 Makes decorating more enjoyable.

 I’m totally saving my Heinekin bottles for THIS!  And I’ll be saving the EARTH!  Joy to the world