Doing stand-up

I wish I were a stand-up comedian. I've been told by friends (who have a vested interest in complimenting me and shoring up my self-esteem) that I am "as funny as Kathy Griffin." I hope they are not referring to my appearance and prominent "Roman" (euphemism applied) nose, which I share with the comedienne in question.

One thing I DO know is that I am a stand-up kind of gal. I will stand up for what's right, rail against what I perceive are injustices and defend those who need defending. This does not make me popular. Rather, it can be somewhat isolating. But I wouldn't have it any other way.

One thing I DON'T understand is other people's unwillingness to be a voice, to take up the mantle, to lead the charge or, for god's sakes...just to get INVOLVED. Why are people so scared to speak up, so willing to complain while doing nothing to solve the problem, so worried about being judged and so downright lazy as to sit back and watch?

Let's stand up, folks. Not spectate.

eLove/iHate

I have a love/hate relationship with my computer. It affords me the ability to work from home, stay connected with far-flung friends, research any topic in seconds, express myself in this blog. It also is addictive, and some nights I find myself working longer, later than I have to. Telling my kids "one more minute," "one more email," "just a sec."

My 8-year-old loves her computer, too. No hate yet. She is a Club Penguin habitue, a Webkinz fan, a YouTube newbie (just the funny dog videos, per my last blog).

But this MySpace.com thing is freaking me out. Of course, she doesn't know about it...yet. I've heard the stories and the warnings. I am not easily fazed, the first to allow her a ton of independence. But, after reading this story today, I am tempted to unplug every computer in my home for fear of MySpace.com. If you don't want to ruin your weekend, then wait awhile before reading it. This stuff is worse than the Texas Cheerleader Mom movie, friends. And it's true.

http://stcharlesjournal.stltoday.com/news/sj2tn20071110-1111stc_pokin_1.ii1.txt

After you read it, please weigh in on the comments area of this posting. What are your thoughts? I am definitely feeling very strongly about putting something in Coast Kids about MySpace.com and would like to hear about any other stories, experiences, viewpoints you may have.

Let's keep our kids safe!

Boredom Rx

It's late afternoon, early evening. The kids, for once, have done all of their homework, laid their clothes out for the next day and are BORED. You've sworn off TV during the week (I know, call me a glutton for self-punishment)...you can't face the thought of another board game, Polly Pockets session, or Hannah Montana "concert" in the living room. I've got an answer, darlings - YOUTUBE! That's right, go YouTube'ing with your little one (just make sure your search terms are VERY specific and that you have a trigger-finger on that mouse, just in case). Start by searching "Very Excited Pug" (I know it sounds double-entendre-ish, but it's not!). Good clean fun! For your first round, stick with doggies - crazy chihuahuas, swimming dachshunds, etc. Next time, try the babies laughing category. Burns up an easy half-hour and then it will be time for dinner, baths and BEDTIME!!!!!!!!!

On a Ty-rade

And no, I didn't spell that wrong. I allude to none other than Miss Thing, Tyra Banks, and the latest installment of America's Next Top Model. Some classic vignettes from this week's episode...

1. I never thought I'd see the day when...they eliminated someone for being NOT FAT ENOUGH. That's right, y'all. Sarah got booted for her lack of booty (though if it were a knock-knee competition, she would've given Tyra a run for her miz-oney). "Noted fashion photographer" Nigel Barker began setting up the coup d'eclair two episodes ago, asking Sarah if she'd lost weight...where, in a surreal modeling moment, she was made to feel ashamed for LOSING weight. Then, this week, the producers had her dress in some unfortunate shorts-plus-heels ensemble (something from the Battle of Wounded Knock-Knee collection) and had Tyra do a little model "Mapquest" to illustrate the "Your are Here" to Sarah. The red map arrow was pointing to an unspecified location between the land of anorexic models and the land of plus-size models. (I think the land was maybe "normal weight," bit can't be sure). SORRY, SARAH.

2. On the flip side...Who said ANTM doesn't follow the fairness doctrine of "equal time?" If normal weight gals were going to get a plug, then surely the school of starvation deserves some air time! Ever-egalitarian, ANTM gave us Heather's much more model-realistic storyline of don't eat all day, go to an Enrique Iglesias music video shoot, dress like a vampire slut, dance around in latex and full makeup in a basement meat locker and just TRY not to pass out. I'll take "sho 'nuff passing out for $1,000," Alex! Rightio! Heather was down for the count, but luckily got some oxygen, IV fluids and a banana. I think she was cool with the O2, but surely will be trying to burn off that damn IV fluid (loaded with calories!) and banana (carbs!) for days.

3. Wall and crawl...But perhaps the BEST segment of Sunday's episode was Tyra's Master Class in workin' the wall and fierce-ifying the crawl. Notice how brilliant Tyra is - giving all the gals nude-colored leotards and hose while she dons a slimming black number with sarong-style skirt. And lord knows the knobby knees had to be PROTECTED with knee pads! Everyone got some! Tyra demo'ed the difference between a hootchified wall maneuver and a classy/sexy one. She polished some hardwoods with a "model flirty" crawl versus a "skanky hooker" slide. I give the models ALL THE CREDIT for keeping straight faces throughout. You go, girls!

ANTM Question of the Week: What is hiding inside J. Alexander's afro?

Nit Picking

There's a new Scarlet Letter in town and Hester Prynne need NOT apply. (Or, if she was eligible, then the poor thing had even more problems than Hawthorne let on). No folks, we're talking about a big letter L and it's not for Loser or Lackey or Lewd. It's for Louse as in Lice as in Nits as in GROSS as in "I never thought I'd see the day when I'd be checking my child's head for bugs, because I'm not an orangutan." ((This is where my friends who have no children and thus get sleep, have sex and lead exciting lives full of "The Arts" and "Culture" and vacations and booze can stop reading. Love you guys and I'll be back soon with a blog just for VOUS.))

Now, parents, let's just be clear. My little dearies are lice-free...for the moment (don't want to jinx them). But there is an infestation - or as I like to think of it, PLAGUE of lice at their school (Doesn't paying $25K per year to have two kids in private school include a "Get Out Of Lice Free" card or something? Damn.)

The whole thing started with a vague email from the school about "lice were seen" and "lice have been found" and "beware of lice" and etc. LICE?! I immediately went online to Google the things and made the mistake of pulling up images of the creatures, which - when magnified to what I have to believe (or at least hope) is 1 million times their actual size - look like they could take on Jabba the Hut...and WIN. I started to itch immediately...

When the kids got home, my kindergartener immediately launched into a litany of what was found on each of her classmates' heads. So and so has LICE. So and so also has LICE. So and so maybe has lice, so had to go home anyway. This boy and his best friend both had Play-doh in their hair. This boy had grass in his hair (he's too young to be a loadie, so am assuming this is not THAT kind of grass) This girl had a Lego in her hair (okay, didn't buy that one!). And, Mom, I had GLITTER in my hair (of course).

For the past week, the already-overworked teachers have had to don gloves and wield popsicle stick/tongue depressor things to check every kid's hair for...gasp!...lice. It has become something of a ceremony at school. My kindergartener, a glutton for any kind of personal attention, loves the new routine and wishes they would spend MORE TIME checking her head because "it feels good, mama." Now, even the third graders are coming home with tales of who has lice, who has dandruff. (But, being more mature, they are very nice about it, as in "so and so just had a BIT of lice, mom. It's no biggie.").

Which brings me, at long-winded last, to my Scarlet Letter comparison. Even the third graders are acknowledging by their reactions to the lice epidemic that being the bearer of a louse colony upon one's head might be a bad thing. I have to admit the thought crossed my mind - What if MY kid had lice? Would that be a reflection on me? That I'm not a good mom? That I don't keep her clean enough? Use the right shampoo? That I take her to skanky places (Chuck E Cheese?)?

Of course, the answer is no, even if my kid did have lice - and I have friends whose kids' lovely locks have fallen victim to the lice plague - it would not make me a bad mom. And doesn't make them bad moms, either. It's just the luck of the draw, sweetheart. Or, maybe, just a roll of the...lice.

Less Alpha. More Beta Mom.

Okay, readers! Here is a sneak preview of what you will read in Coast Kids winter issue! Couldn't hold off on "publishing" this column til then. Enjoy!


Here I was, feeling all smug. Thus far in my life, I had avoided labels. In high school, I was not a dork, but not a soc (pronounced “sew-sh” for those not reared in the OC). In college, I was not a Greek, but not a geek either. In Corporate America, I dodged the “woman in a man’s world” persona by about a half a generation (and by never wearing one of those lame silk neck bows).

Despite my two kids and house in the suburbs, I could never be classified as a soccer mom. I do coach my six-year-old’s soccer team, but I also have two jobs (as a full-time PR/marketing consultant and editor of this magazine), volunteer at my daughters’ school, write a blog, run a household, care for a menagerie (three dogs, two cats, two fish, a frog), exercise, keep myself looking somewhat presentable, and – most importantly – maintain wonderful relationships with my kids, husband and friends.

Then it hits me. There is a moniker for me - aside from the one my parents put on my birth certificate. I’ve become what Madison Avenue dubs an “Alpha Mom.” The busy mom who juggles it all: Work, kids, life. The one who knows about the latest everything and anything. The go-to-gal when you need to know about the place to get this or that. And the one – if I’m to believe the real-life Alpha Mom examples being trotted out by New York Magazine, USA Today, Ad Age and ABC News – might need to have her head examined. So, in the spirit of posing some tough, reflective questions to my increasingly graying matter…

A question I’m often asked by other moms: “How do you do it all?”

A question I ask myself everyday: “Why do you do it all?”

Good questions, both.

The first query is easy to answer. Let’s call it functional mania. An inability to sit still. Generalized anxiety disorder. Whatever. I’m far from alone in the “moms doing it all” category. Just check out Anita Renfroe’s “Mom Song” on YouTube.com – the one where she condenses a day full “mom speak” into two minutes, 55 seconds, set to the William Tell Overture. ‘Nuff said.

The second question is the proverbial $64,000 one (or let’s say $1 million, adjusting for inflation). What is it that I’m trying to prove, exactly? And just who am I proving it to? How much do I have invested in being an “Alpha Mom?” Am I trying to show other moms up? Am I trying to model the ability to have a career and family to my daughters? Am I applying for a third job as a martyr? (There’s no St. Carrie yet, is there?) I have a sneaking suspicion that I will not like the answers to some – if not most – of the aforementioned questions.

Which means it’s time for a change – time for me to shed this “Alpha Mom” skin. I’ll consider it, in tech parlance, a “Beta Test.” I will transform into a Mo’ Beta Mom (nod to Spike Lee) who is more relaxed, who lives more in the moment, who doesn’t have to do – or have – it all.

Hey - do you think I’m the first mom on the block to make her New Year’s resolution?

Holiday Card Quandary

Intrepid Readers:

I've been talking alot to a friend of mine recently - the fabulous Christine Fugate, get thee to her blog at http://www.motheringheights.net/.

We have been discussing etiquette, a topic upon which she will pontificate and wax eloquent in the next issue of Coast Kids (http://www.coastkids.com/) - due out mid-late November. Okay, enough for the shameless promotion.

Anyhoo, the crux of this blog entry lies in the question:

Is there etiquette...or perhaps better stated...are there widely accepted rules (parent-developed, -tested and -approved, natch) upon which to select the photo which will appear on your holiday card?

Here are my personal standards for the all-important photo selection, ranked in order of importance:

1. The picture in which I look the thinnest.
2. The picture in which I look the youngest.
3. The picture in which my hair looks the best.

(I'm going for "personal bests" in the aforementioned categories - not trying to compete with my daughters because that would be truly sick, vain, shallow, narcissistic and too Real Housewives of The OC)

4. The picture in which my (euphemism applied) Roman nose looks less...well...Roman
5. The picture in which the armpit fat that resides where my well-defined pectoral muscle should be is the least pronounced.
6. The picture in which none of my other beloved's heads is "cut off" due to poor composition.
7. The picture in which the rest of my family is not closing their eyes.
8. The picture in which neither of my children has a toothsome smile that belongs on a kid named Obadiah, Jebadiah or any other "____diah."
9. The picture in which the sun has not yet set.

I know you are waiting for a #10 to round out this little ditty, but I can't think of one.

So - weigh in, peeps! Post a comment so we can get to the bottom of this issue before the holiday card season is truly upon us. Exception: If you're one of those moms who doesn't include herself in the holiday photo, don't respond. You are entirely too well-adjusted and secure to participate in this dialogue!

BTW, you're going to LOVE my holiday card this year. I'm the one with the great hair. And the only one who has her eyes open.