BOOKSTORE BLOOPER


I took my son on a playdate to Borders one afternoon with another five year old boy and his aunt. The boys chose some books to take back to the cafe part of the book store where they looked at books at ate some pretzels. When they were finished looking at their books, they saw this small rack next to the cards with mini books – like a Snoopy book, a book on hugs, a book on chocolate, and a book we were given because it was a “mommy and daddy” book. They were both so proud to hand over this book. Just take a guess at which “mommy and daddy” book it was…The Karma Sutra! Not only did they bring us one, they brought us 3 copies!!

WHICH CAME FIRST, THE PIGEON OR THE DUCK


You know you’ve been living in suburbia for too long when your walking with your three year old in Manhattan, a pigeon crosses your path and your little one proudly exclaims…”Look Mommy, a Duck!”

THE EXTENSION CORD


I’m running late to pick up my daughter from gymnastics class and I plead with my son to stop watching his “Dora the Explorer” video so that we can jump in the car and get his sister. “But Mommy, I want to watch my show. Can’t we take the TV with us?” I respond, “No, sorry, we can’t do that.” To which he replies, “Why? Because the plug isn’t long enough?”

MURRAY THE MOSQUITO


Dylan is quite upset when he wakes up one morning to find a huge mosquito bite on his leg. “Mommy, it won’t stop itching! Make it stop!” he whines. “Why did the mosquito bite me?” I tell him that he was hungry and was looking for a bite to eat and his leg seemed like the perfect entree. Then I start joking with him and say, “Why don’t we name the mosquito that bit you. Let’s call him Murray the mosquito.” In my head, I start concocting a crazy tale about Murray on a frantic search for food when Dylan replies, “Mommy, you can’t name the mosquito Murray, insects don’t have names!” The kid is only four years old and yet he’s already onto me. Sheesh!

THE SUPERMODEL


A seven-year-old boy is taking a shower and says to his mom “Mommy, I’m not skinny like a supermodel.” His mom replies, “How do you know what a supermodel is?” “Well, she’s skinny as a french fry and really nice to look at!

THE MET DOODLE


Rebecca visits her grandma’s house and heads straight for the pantry to grab a snack. “Grandma, what do you have for me?” she asks. “We’ve got Yankee Doodles,” her grandma tells her. “Why don’t you have any Mets Doodles? We don’t like the Yankees!”

Mommy Can’t Handle It!


My husband is putting my daughter to bed and he asks her, “Would you want mommy to have a third child?” My daughter thinks a moment and replies “No way, Mommy couldn’t handle getting three kids ready in the morning.” Thanks for the vote of confidence, but…she’s absolutely right!

Picnic on My Jetta


So I finally gave up my mom car, a big boxy minivan and I’m now sporting a sleek black Jetta. I’ve had it for a few months now and it’s already morphing into a new version of the mom on wheels version I cast aside. The back seat is littered with toys, water bottles are everywhere, there’s scissors and tape for presents wrapped on the fly and bird poop that desperately needs to be washed off the side view mirror if only I had time to go to the car wash. Anyway, all this leads me to what happened to my cool little Jetta last night. We were walking back to our parking spot only to find a pair of teenage boys with their drinks and sandwiches spread out on the hood of my trunk. There were at least 50 cars on the block, but these two boneheads decided that my new Jetta was the perfect spot for a late night picnic.
While one of the kids apologized profusely for putting his gatorade on our car, my daughter looked at him and said “You know, that’s very rude!” Exactly what I was thinking…thank goodness for the moxie of a seven year old.
After this incident, I decided it’s time to take my Jetta for a car wash – I need to keep my cool car intact so that no one else mistakes it for a picnic table.

L.A. Weight Gain

Week four of my latest diet conquest and I’m still hungry and have lost a total of three pounds. They told me I’d reach my goal within eight weeks and they’re obviously certifiably insane. I’m following it as best I can, going hungry for most of the day and despising the gallons of water I’m drinking every other minute. And then, when I go for my weekly weigh-ins, the nutrition counselor is surprised that I haven’t lost an ounce. I’m a serial dieter…which means my body is so used to my yo-yo nutrition plan that it feels like it’s in combat. Cut my calorie intake in half, and look, nothing happens. Constipated…think a few fiber chews or fish oil pills will get the system going, well think again. Don’t mess with the serial dieter. I’m sticking with the extra 10 pounds I’ve got stuck on my thighs and no one will shake them loose. Will I ever be thin again? Probably not, but I’m not giving up…at least not this week…I’ve got two days to go before I step on the scale – I better go drink a gallon of water so I can finally lose more than a half a pound.

Equi-Not

I am hereby fed up with my gym. I hardly go, they charge me a gazillion dollars a month for the two times I’m there, and they just sent me a notice in the mail that they’re about to raise their prices! Meanwhile, the place is always packed to the gills with cosmetic surgery plagued women who now have the figures of teenage girls, but that’s a whole different story. I actually went to the gym this week and attempted to get on the first treadmill I saw. Unfortunately, it was broken. So I went to another one. Missing the thing-a-ma-jig that connected to the TV set so I couldn’t use that one either. Went to a third and that too was on the fritz. This gym, in a word, blows. It’s allegedly one of the best gyms out there and yet their equipment is constantly breaking down, the place is always crowded and the women are as plastic as my overused credit cards. I should cancel my membership and every so often I get up out of bed, throw on my workout clothes, determined to quit the gym once and for all. And then I think to myself, do I really want to go through the hassle of joining another gym that I won’t go to and then will find a million reasons why that gym stinks too? So I’ll keep going from time to time to this one. Maybe I’ll even get in shape while I’m there. Okay, that’s crazy talk. Let them fix the treadmill and the speaker thing and then maybe I’ll carry my end of the bargain.