A Mom's Life

Genetics, gotta love 'em, gotta hate 'em. Who I am today is 75% a gift from my mom and dad and 25% my own actions and environment. Ok, so maybe that's not totally true but at least when it comes to my looks and health, I thank my parents. Sometimes I'm afraid when I pass my reflection in the mirror because I think I saw my dad. It's true that I've been confused for a man many times in my life. One time, I was even at a fancy restaurant, dolled up in a sexy black dress, which did nothing to prevent the waiter from repeatedly calling me "Sir." I look like my dad with longer hair, from the highly freckled translucent skin and beady eyes to the uniquely shaped nose. Let's be honest. I usually resent the comparison. It's not like my dad is George Clooney and I am Georgettte. Actually, my dad looks like Berle Ives. Does that make me Berlette? Shudder. But, I've got to hand it to my dad. Until he quit smoking 10 or so years back he was a really th...

I'm no mother Teresa and you know my neighbor will confirm that. But, I sure was on my way to martyrdom certification when Andy went away on vacation for nine days. I began my studies at 5 am on a cold, dark Saturday when Andy gathered his luggage, his bats and jock strap and flew off to boy camp in Florida. As Andy napped on the plane, I started my usual weekend routines with toddler in tow. We navigated our first day quite nicely and even got a little clothes shopping done in between potty attempts, diaper changes and sippy cup requests. I had to admit, when later that evening a few of my friends came over for food and movies, it didn't even seem like Andy was gone. It was even fun. The house was clean and paper-pile free. There were no dirty boy socks laying on the bedroom floor and I had total control of the remote. As I went to bed that night I didn't mind that the space next to me was unoccupied. Until I woke up, looked out the window and saw 10 inches of snow. ...

I'm hyper sensitive. Don't like my shirt and decide to tell me? I'll go and cry in the bathroom after. So, when someone tells me that I'm going to hell I take it very seriously. I was raised a Catholic. I have wonderful memories of going to church with my mom and my baby doll Giuseppe. We'd stop at Cumberland Farms on the way home and my mom would buy me Skittles. I knew back then that going to church was a special time for me and my mom and that religion and ethnicity are often intertwined. My dad's family is Polish and devout. My mom converted when she married my dad. As a child, I felt proud to be Catholic and never questioned what I learned in catechism class...until high school. I also have not-so-wonderful memories of my religious education teacher telling dirty jokes, learning in history class about the many injustices of the Catholic church (and every other religion) and watching the steady stream of alter boy molestation cases break in the news. As my f...

Happy New Year to my dedicated readers! "-Breakfast in bed. When was the last time you had that? - Does your toddler puking on you in the middle of the night count?" When I was little I wanted to be a grocery store bagger. As a teen I has aspirations in law. Right before college ended I envisioned a career as a flight attendant, you know, to see the world. I think I'm in my current profession because I love hearing about what other people do. I'm fascinated by the plethora of careers available in today's job market. For me, "If I could be anything," I'd be a) a writer b) a yoga teacher c) a doula. These are actual viable careers for me. I wouldn't make any money, but I could do them and I may actually be good at them, too. Then, there's the "If I could be anything" letter d, the secret passion, food stylist/photographer. I love food. I'm a big eater. I look forward to planning out the weekly meal schedule and can never say no to...