Turning into Mom

By Deanna



It happens to all women. Married, Single–sometimes the transition can take years, for others it literally happens overnight, but when it hits you, it hits you! You look in the mirror, you proclaim “Because I said so…” and BAM you’re your mother. I didn’t realize it at first, the evidence was there; the smell of bleach lingering in the air, the old shirts that are now dust rags, lowering the heat in the middle of winter and telling my husband to suck it up and put on a sweater.

Naïve I was to think that I would escape what every woman has tried to run from. My journey was slow and steady, creeping up like a fat guy grabbing a donut. I thought it wouldn’t happen, not to me. I’m so different from my mom. She’s short, okay shorter than me, bleach is her signature smell, like Coco Channels is Sophia Loren’s’, she made a grown man sit up straight at the dinner table with the tilt of her eye and the guy was a stranger! My mom is a great mom, but she ruled with an iron fist because she had five daughters and a sick husband. She needed to control the chaos and if that meant making us use a comb to straighten the fringe on the Oriental rug then, so be it. I was hopeful because the sound of the vacuum, the sight of a checkbook needing balancing and the thought of corporal punishment sent me running for the hills. I swore when I was a mom I’d only use bleach for laundry. Guess whose disinfecting her floors with it? When those subtle hints wafted to the surface I ignored them until one night in the midst of “Because I said so...” it hit me like a ton of bricks. I had just told my boys sit up straight and wait till your father gets home! The horror washed over me like flashbacks in a bad war movie. The night before I drank tea while reading Reader’s Digest, that very day I completed four loads of laundry, mopped the floors with bleach, rinsed my mouth with peroxide, and had a home cooked meal on the table by 6:00 p.m. When I realized what had happened my heart started racing, my palms became sweaty and I had to sit down to collect myself. Once I calmed down I ran to the mirror and looking back at me was my mom – a strong, loving and nurturing woman who spoke to me… What pearls of wisdom did she unleash? That towel on the floor wasn’t going to pick up itself.

*This post has run on a now defunct blog, never published here and frankly it's worthy of another go-around!

Can Television Break Up A Couple?

By The Girlfriend Mom



I loathe having a television in our bedroom. I don't like to watch TV before falling asleep, I like to read. My bed partner, however, loves watching TV before bed and claims that he can't fall asleep without it. That's a hot steamy pile of turd, because on the few times when he didn't watch TV, and instead read, he was out like a light in less than 10 minutes.

The man is so resistant. He thinks that because he's used to watching, there's no other way. I try to tell him that it's a just a bad, stinky, unhealthy and annoying habit, and he can break it. I've begged him to let me help him.

He doesn't see that watching television stimulates the brain, which is why he channel surfs (the daddy of all stimulation) wondering why he can't fall asleep. His logic is so ass backwards and he's usually a very logical man.

To watch, or not to watch is hands down, the topic of most of our arguments. In the beginning, I tried to be a good sport. It wasn't only the sound that bothered me, it was the light. I've put socks (or whatever is laying around) in front of the cable box and DVD player because I can actually 'feel' the light. Of course this just gives my bed partner more ammunition, "You're nuts. Who does that?" I'm nuts because I'm sleep deprived.

I Know This Much Is True

By Deanna




*We have so much candy from Easter that my boys have opened a “Candy Store” wherein I am now paying them to buy the candy that I previously bought for their baskets. The Dumb Ass label is on my head.

*Weight training is essential to weight loss, toning and being able to lift my kids because holy crap, when did they get so fricking big? And why am I still lugging them around? They’re three and seven!

*I need to work out six days a week even if it’s just for 30 minutes. My mind needs it more than my body and it's a savings of $300 a month for therapy!

*I have mastered the art of making egg salad and gotta say, it’s delish! Now what do I do with the other two dozen colored eggs I have? Any suggestions?

The Epitome Of Convenience

By Deanna



All hail Dieter Cosman! But wait who the HELL is Dieter Cosman? He's the brain-child behind the ole' mighty Dairy Barn. The Dairy Barn is the the epitome of convenience. For those of you not from Long Island the Dairy Barn is a drive-thru convenient store that sells almost everything you need and you don't even need to get out of your damn car (except for beer, you need to walk into the store for beer, and at that point, who really cares you're buying beer!)!!

When good ole Dieter came up with the concept in 1961 I believe he knew that women everywhere would praise him. It was probably a way to get laid cause hundreds of thousands of men were fighting in Vietnam and there would be a lot of lonely women out there, and well because Dieter was really a fricking genius. I love Dieter. And the Cosman family, and possibly Dieter if he is still alive loves me. How do I know that? Because generations and generations of Cosman’s have been able to live the life of luxury (total assumption!) and live the Dairy Barn legacy because I keep it in operation on a weekly basis, oh really, oh really I do!

This is my life at least three times a week: I head home from work, exhausted change into "play clothes" which really second as pajama's cause my wardrobe sucks. I throw dinner at the kids, we get ready for baseball, soccer, swimming, jump in the car, the seven-year old diligently gets himself situated as I chase the three-year-old around the car like I am chasing a chicken, when I finally tackle him sweat is dripping from my brow and I lock and load. We head to baseball, soccer, swimming, and at these events I am praising my children on how great they are hitting, catching & swimming, chase the little one around a field or save him from diving in the pool, three hours later we head home and all I want to do is go for a run, but I realize I need milk, bread and eggs. The thought of going into a supermarket with two children is so overwhelming, and time-consuming, the mere thought makes me cry. But wait, there’s Dairy Barn! The drive-thru heaven that saves my life; I get my milk, my bread my eggs and I save a little bit more of my sanity.

Race Four of Twelve: Virtual Race For Japan Earthquake Relief

By Deanna



I dropped the ball big time on my goal to run a race a month for the year of 2011 that I loudly declared here. I got all caught up in my half marathon training that March came and went and I never raced. Because I bonked on March, and the April race (half marathon) was early and already in the can I decided to do another race in April so I didn’t have that lone race dangling over my head teasing, and taunting me. But because April is jammed packed with Spring Break, post-race-depression-syndrome*, Communions, Easter, and parties galore I couldn’t do any of the physical races that I saw on Active.com, so I selected the virtual race for Japan Earthquake Relief. I thought this would be a good race because I got to indicate the mileage - I choose 6 miles - a good distance after the half marathon to kick my ass and my mind into gear – once again. Also the money is going to a great cause, I had the opportunity to print a race-bib (didn't do it, why waste paper (hear that Mother Earth!)), I didn't have to feel the anxiety of an actual race or deal with the annoyance of getting to a race on time, jabbing myself with a pin as I try to get my bib on (always happens) and I paid for an actual race. Win.Win. SCWHING!!

So how was the race? Great! I ran my usual 3 miles out and back, felt strong capable both mentally and physically – which is always good. It was a crisp cool damp drizzly morning which made me feel like a badass mother runner - in my mind anyway, slaying the laundry, cleaning tushies, and combating all my neurosis. Overall, a great run!

*For all you psychotherapists out there I believe I would be an EXCELLENT case study on post-race-depression-syndrome (if that even exists), hit me up!

Happiness Is....

By Deanna





*My three year old pummeling me with hugs when I come home from work.

*When my husband does the dishes…without a nudge (it happens a lot!).

*My seven year old kissing me good morning, without fail every morning!

*Knowing that I still have the mental strength to run 6 miles with relative ease.

*When support pops up in the least expected places.

911 is 111 in New Zealand

By Tiffany Zehnal



You know what’s great about me? I like to multi-task. Make a list. Get things done. And when it all goes well and things actually get accomplished, I’m not going to lie, I feel pretty darn good about myself. You know what’s not great about me? I’m easily distracted. By the lure of anything. I wouldn’t be a good fish. I’d have a hook in my gill as soon as I discovered I had free will and opened my mouth to bite the shiny thing. And as I swallowed my own blood, I’d probably feel like a really dumb fish. But I’m not a fish, I’m me. And me plus multi-tasking plus distractions equals not good things.

8:15 am. This morning. I decided to make some hard-boiled eggs. That way whenever someone wanted a light snack or a quick breakfast, the eggs would be there. Genius! Or it would be if I didn’t come up with this idea right as I was in the middle of doing five other things – all of which involved yelling at my two kids. 1. Get dressed! 2. Get your socks on! 3. Brush your teeth! 4. Well, find the sunscreen! 5. WHERE ARE YOUR HATS?! Not the best time to add to the list but I did it anyway. 6. Put a pot of water on the stove with six innocent eggs, set the knob to high and leave… the… room!

Cookies & Nuts: A Sex Education Lesson

By Deanna



“I got a bagina! I got a bagina! I got a bagina! I got a bagina!” Is all I heard Matthew, the three year old sing in an Elmoesque sing songy voice for about 30 minutes straight, hiding myself from laughing out loud (because I really am a 12 year old boy trapped in a 40 year old woman's body), I politely told him that “no you do not have a vagina you have a penis”.

I am trying to teach my children the correct verbiage so they are comfortable with their sexuality, unlike me who is so uncomfortable with it even after popping out two kids it’s ridiculous. It might be because in my house we were forbidden to use any other word besides “cookie” for our private parts (ya see, still uncomfortable using the word vagina).

It’s safe to say I was confused for a really really really long time. Who wouldn’t be? When someone asked me if I wanted a cookie I was stunned; couple that with a shitty catholic-school-fifth-grade-sexual-education lesson where I was thrown in a classroom to watch a tape that highlighted the hairiest cookies I’ve ever seen along with horrible pro-life posters, consider me done. But I digress.

So, true to form and like the rock star that my Matthew is he grabbed his penis and started running around the house screaming ”I got a penis! I got a penis! I got a penis!” I swear this went on for another thirty minutes. A full hour of my life listening to bagina and penis. Beautiful.

Later that night during bath time I gave my sons the soap and said “clean your butt, your penis, back of your neck, under your arms….” And got rudely interrupted by the seven year old as he grabbed his penis, and said “oh you want me to clean my nuts?” Being snarky, and to test his knowledge I replied “What are you nuts?” and he enthusiastically and with as much gusto as I dive into McDonalds fries grabbed his, um, nuts, shook them at me and said “these” – the boys were laughing hysterically.

I left the bathroom speechless, and exhausted. I threw my hands up and thought the sex education can wait till middle school. At least nuts resemble…you know his nuts, a cookie, well not so much.

Cell Phone Use At The Table? Yes or No Friggin Way?

By The Girlfriend Mom



I think some of my hard work is paying off.

My boyfriend, his son and I went out to dinner Friday night and I asked if both father and son could relinquish their precious cell phones, so that we could 'talk', instead of listening to the sound of my own voice, while looking at the tops of their heads. Don't get me wrong, I love the sound of my voice (and the tops of their heads) but there are times, like when we're all out to dinner, when I'd like a little conversation.

At first, my boyfriend's son kept the phone in his lap but didn't seem to text as much. My boyfriend willingly surrendered his phone and it lay motionless on the windowsill. But when I asked his son a question, and got silence in return, my boyfriend took the phone out of his hands. This was such a turn on and I fell in love with him all over again.

His son was incredulous, "What are you doing?" My knight in shining armor bravely replied, "We are not using our cell phones, as a favor to Dani." Okay, not exactly the response that I was going for, but it got the job done.

I'd like to know how parents deal with this issue. Be honest, do you allow phones at the table? Do you draw a distinction between public restaurant and home dining and have different rules for each? Do you have rules at all?

And on a related topic, I took Oprah's, and you can too, click here No Phone Zone Pledge.

Follow Dani on Twitter @pilatecologist
Click Here To Discover More Of Dani's Talents
Click Here To Read Dani's Blog: Am I Still Talking?

I Got Mad Skills!

By Deanna

After a solid week of being in a fricking slump hating myself with every move I made, all I believing stemming from my crappy half marathon finish (2:25), I am now finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. I couldn't believe how fast I spiraled in a pit of despair faster than Charlie Sheen, my friends. Oh yes I did! That rat bastard took a solid 2 weeks to ruin his career, destroy his self esteem, me, well it took me less than a week. Nanny-nanny poo poo! Who said I don't have mad self-loathing-self-deprecating-self-destruction skills?

For a solid week I was ranting, raving, eating whatever was in my path, think I'm kidding? If I saw it I ate it, it could of been a rotted piece of wood but in my mind it was a delicious marinated Kansas City skirt steak. In addition to acting like I was on Man vs. Food I also didn’t exercise one bit, ordered out almost every day, and I stayed up way to late wallowing in my bed watching bad reality TV to the wee morning hours, getting no sleep at all.

And I couldn't have been bitchy to my husband (sorry Hubby, I know, I know!) –Think I’m lying? When he sat down next to me to eat his dinner I told him to get up because I couldn't stand the way he was chewing. Yes, chewing, and believe me he's not an open mouth chewer, and he certainly wasn't gnawing at his food like a rabid dog. It was me who was acting completely unreasonable. The poor bastard. I was mean, like Cruella DeVille mean, Grinch mean, like that little bitch on Max and Ruby, yes THAT MEAN.

Getting It

By Stephanie



My husband is a good man, a very good, honest, awesome and decent man. But is he helpful? He’s helpful when pushed into helping. He’s a man, I’m a woman and his priorities are not my priorities.

After work yesterday I helped my boys with their homework, did a few loads of laundry (put one away too!) cooked parmesan encrusted tilapia with spicy vegetable brown rice, made the lunches and snacks, got the clothes ready for tomorrow, emptied and loaded the dishwasher. My husband came home from work at 6:30 pm, starving and tired from a long day doing the daily grind. I get it. I get it so well that I have his dinner waiting for him on the table, ready to eat because I get his commute, his job, and I get that he works hard.

I so get it.

What I don’t get is why he doesn’t get it? Get where I’m coming from?

Talking Smack

By Deanna



When I got the email that our town was forming a Blastball team for 3-4 years old I did the Snoopy dance right in my living room, at work, on the car, in the car, in the bathroom, in the shower, basically anywhere I could do the Snoopy dance, I did.. I was thrilled that Matthew, the three year old is FINALLY old enough to be registered for an organized sport. Matthew now has a "thing" of his own, and he couldn't be more excited to be playing "Blastball" on his own team, with his own uniform, with his own hat and glove.

For over a year my husband and I have dodged baseballs to the head to chase Matthew off the field, have been trampled by about 30 runners at track practice and have consistency saved his ass from going head first into the pool because of well, poor parenting but mostly because he escapes our grips, and doesn’t listen to us at all, another result of poor parenting but also because he wants to do exactly what his big brother is doing.

Race Three of Twelve: More Half Marathon

By Deanna



Yesterday I ran my fourth half marathon, The More Fitness Half Marathon in Central Park, New York. I didn't PR, I didn't knock the cover off the ball, I actually ran my slowest half marathon EVER. I can keep it all in perspective and say "I'm so happy I finished",”I can't believe I ran my fourth half marathon when two years ago I couldn't run a mile", or "It was an unbelievable experience” while all those are so very true, I am also disappointed.

Yes disappointed, in myself 100%.

I am disappointed because although I trained and followed a fabulous program I didn't do a lot of other things that are essential for training to run a great race. I was lack luster on the weights, did very little squats, lunges, and core work, and I did little to no speed work, ran a lot of treadmill training runs instead of braving the darkness of the morning.

During the race, I wimped out; I felt good from miles 1-8, I really did, I was going at a good clip, and I had it in my mind that at mile 10 I would finally push myself in a race and “leave it all on the course”, “kill it”, “go for it” no matter what it cost my legs but I didn’t. I couldn’t. The hills killed me, and I succumbed to the weakness of my mind.

Think I’m kidding? Hell no. When my running anthem came piping through my ear phones: Eminem’s “Lose Yourself” - that couldn’t even pull me out, the lyrics: “This opportunity comes once in a lifetime” usually pushes me forward, helps me mentally, it's usually my "thing" that drives me. Nope, not today instead I talked back to the lyrics and said “Please Deanna, there will be another half marathon you’ll have another opportunity”. Umm, yeah.

The good things - I am in no pain today and I am having a bacon cheeseburger for lunch.

Here’s to that other half, that other opportunity…there will be one, right?

Journey Through the Silence

By Barbara Ward-Finneran



Today begins National Autism Awareness Month. I remember a time when my only reference to this word conjured images from the movies; Son Rise and Rainman. My how that changed for me after the birth of my first son, Shawn.

My first child. My beautiful baby boy. The light of my life who I had longed and prayed for for years. Who made me love to the limitless levels that I hadn’t even known existed. He was perfect in every way, especially to my husband & I and our families. His smile lit up the room as much as it filled up my heart. He giggled, loved and played just like most babies. As he aged towards becoming a toddler each milestones achievement along the journey wasn’t on schedule. I also noticed differences that I couldn’t quite nail down, but just knew, something was “off”, “different”, my friends had babies the same age and my heart ached to hear him say Momma. The months went by and Mama never came...

Doctors told me boys just talk late. I fought to get services. I was expecting my second child and wanted base line tests before the regressions that are natural with the arrival of a sibling. I fought and fought and fought. With my husband, Steve, we fought, and fought and fought. None of it ever coming easy. Medical tests. Genetic testing. Hearing tests. MRI’s. Endless paperwork with torturing fill ins where you choose; “always, frequently, sometimes, never”. Doctors, doctors, doctors. Evaluations. Observations. Neurologist visits. Speech Pathologists. Occupational therapist. The list could go on and on.

Mouse Earmarked

By Clarice, The Boy Story Mom

“Woo Hoo!” I yelled when I opened the tax return that came in the mail this past week. “Woo Hoo!” I wrote on the envelope when I left it for my husband to see. We did alright this year. At least it feels like a windfall if I don’t think about the fact that it was really our money already and we just loaned it to the government for the past year. And that they only payed back part of it, and I’m still really psyched. Well, either way it’s money we didn’t have in the bank before this week. And it got me thinking about what I might have done with it in the BC era (Before Children), and then I couldn’t help comparing that with where the money is, in fact going:



Before Children:

•Clothes, clothes, clothes and shoes, shoes, shoes! And no shopping sale racks or anything from a store that you pronounce like a French name but isn’t really French. In fact, I’d even consider splurging on a personal shopper to help me find that perfectly fitting, bootylicious pair of jeans. Except that it probably wouldn’t be such a challenge to find properly fitting pants if I didn’t have the muffin top of motherhood.

•A really cute, smart-but-sexy pair of designer glasses. The ones I liked when I played “just for the hell of it” and tried on frames at the optometrist cost $600. What the hey, maybe I’d just get Lasik and forget the glasses.

•Personal training sessions. Except, again, maybe not as necessary if not for the abovementioned muffin top.

•Exciting, exotic travel. Skiing out west or in Europe; a week or two in Italy, Spain, Greece, anywhere Mediterranean, or maybe back to my favorite island, St. Martin. Perhaps an upgrade to first-class airfare while we’re feeling posh?

In Reality:

•I’ll catch a sale at The Children’s Place for summer clothes for the kids, and maybe a few new pairs of sweats for Kevin (“Hef”), the one who doesn’t like clothes and refuses to wear jeans lately.

•Try to eke another year out of the worn-out bendable frames I got six years ago when the oldest was a baby and constantly grabbed at my glasses. I’ve prayed for them to break so I have a legit excuse to spend some serious kwan for new ones, but goddamnit, they really are unbreakable!

•Maybe one of these days I’ll have time to make it to the gym for something more intense than the once-weekly yoga class I’ve been taking to help keep me sane.

•Where almost all of the tax money is going: DISNEYWORLD IN JUNE! WOO HOO!!!




More About Clarice:
Clarice Joos is a Mommy of two adorable boys, a wife to a hot FDNY Fire Fighter, writer, a professional organizer, and a slayer of monsters under beds and in closets!