Well, I know some of you are buried under a blanket of snow. But me, I’m feeling all springy – yes, in spite of the coming rain storm that has forced the cancellation of Randy the perfekt husband’s golf game this weekend and made us drag out the Yahtzee  cup and the 1000 piece Vegas strip puzzle in preparation.

Some of this feeling has to do with my freshly shaved toes. Oh, AND the fact that Home Goods has at least 50 display shelves packed with Easter merchandise. But the biggest factor – the fact that I just got the stitches removed from the south of my C-section removal of my basal cell carcinoma.  I don’t know why that makes me feel springy. But it does. And I celebrated by buying cute, new undies…

Know how else I’m gonna celebrate?  A spring inspired drink called the Kiwi Mango Cocktail. That’s right. Because nothing says stitch-free like vodka. Also, kiwi birds are from New Zealand and that’s south of the equator and my stitches were south of MY equator and… well, you get the idea. Enjoy!

 

KIWI MANGO COCKTAIL  

1 part Kiwi Vodka
5 parts mango nectar or juice
8 mint leaves
Preparation:  Fill a highball glass with ice. Add the mint leaves and vodka.  Top with nectar or juice.  Stir well.

 

And remember….don’t feel guilt and drive. Or parent. Or, oh forget it. Just have a cocktail.

 

Okay. Technically, I can’t miss something I wasn’t alive for when it was at its fashion peak. But frankly, I didn’t need to be born in the 40s to know that deep down in my bones, I miss that little fashion item known as THE BED JACKET.  

What the heck’s a bed jacket, you ask? If you’ve ever seen a Rita Hayworth movie where she lounges in the boudoir or taken a gander at an episode of I LOVE LUCY…you’d be familiar with THE BED JACKET. It’s a lovely and practical little jacket a lady wears over her nightgown.     Ah, the 40s. That should have been my era. Big bands, bed jackets, peignors, decolletage.  Everything about it seemed so….glamorous.  Well, except that women only washed their hair once a week because it was such time consuming an ordeal. Good for getting out of social obligations, not so good in the hygiene department. But I digress.

ANYWAY….the REASON I miss the bed jacket is that, like a lot of women, my temperature does not radiate an even 98.7 degrees throughout my body. No, much like a tri tip, there are parts of me that get cooked first, or better, than other parts.

For example, pretty much from my belly through my ankles, I’m comfortable. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s a metabolism thing or maybe it’s the  padding that seems to have settled in as a result of my weekly wine and appetizer habit. (Why is that? Why not the breasts where I need it? Damn you nature!).

Whatever. The point is, when I go to bed, the mid to lower half of my body is comfortable and longs to wear a silky nightie. However, my arms, shoulders, barely there breasts and feet… FREEZING COLD! Now, I can wear my silky nightie and throw on a pair of socks and have done with that part of it.

But my upper body?

I admit it.  I sometimes crawl into bed with my robe. But after a while it gets too hot and too cumbersome for comfort and I end up ripping it off. And then, you guessed it, my upper body plummets to arctic temps again.  

Not so much of a problem after I go to sleep, as I can pile on the blankets or siphon off Randy the Perfekt husband’s body heat (I had that written into the marriage vows).  But prior to that, while propped up on my pillow reading the blarney in FITNESS magazine which features only gravity-defying 20 year old butts on the cover or watching the latest episode of THE GOOD WIFE (how can she forgive him?! Has she NO self respect?!) I am just downright chilly.  

And there you have the reason behind my longing for the return of the bed jacket. Yeah, I know there are “versions” of it still around. But you have to hunt them down (they’re not in Target’s lingerie department) and they lack the class of the bed jackets of the past.

Okay. Okay. I admit it. If I’m really honest with myself, there might be a little of the longing for the glamour of a bygone era. When songs had lyrics like “When I want rain, I get sunny weather. I’m just as blue as the sky.” Or “You go to my head, like a sip of sparkling burgundy brew. And I find the very mention of you, like the kicker in a julep or two.”

Sigh. I guess I’ll have to settle for a Snuggie and a Starbucks.  

Rita Hayworth sans a bed jacket. But isn’t she just gorgeous?

 

Okay, first of all, I didn’t even know that you could go to rehab for anxiety. Second of all, uh, SIGN ME UP!

Seriously though. Rehab? For anxiety? How is that even a thing? Don’t we all have anxiety? Especially us women? Especially us women who are moms who are trying to do way too much and feeling way too guilty that we aren’t able to be super human and be every place all the time and may, therefore, be failing our children?  

Reality check. Anxiety comes with that little territory known as life. I know plenty of moms who suffer from it.  But you know what? We don’t go into rehab. Know why? We don’t have nannies and housekeepers to take care of our homes and kids and jobs while we’re finger painting and talking about our feelings to a person highly paid to listen.

Not like Chynna Phillips, she of Wilson Phillips fame. She who is married to actor Billy Baldwin. I’m not saying she can’t get stressed out like the rest of us. I’m sure she has her issues. I mean,  it couldn’t have been easy to hear that her dad was carrying on an incestuous relationship with her half sister MacKenzie Phillips for 10 years. Heck, maybe that news brought up all kinds of terrible memories from her own childhood in relation to her dad. In which case, get the help you need Chynna!

Then again, maybe Chynna’s just fed up with the other-focus of motherhood. I mean, when you’ve been a pop star and the center of attention for so long, it’s hard to then realize you’re over forty, your best bikini years behind you, and that you’ve spent the last few years of your life focusing on everyone else but yourself.  Also, she’s 42 so it’s likely that whole perimenopause thing has started rearing it’s ugly head. And there’s nothing like a two week period to make a gal really, really cranky.

The point is that most of us regular moms don’t have the luxury of checking out from our lives for a few weeks to deal with our anxiety.

No, we make due with our limited resources. Instead of finger painting and talking to paid professionals, we set up a table where our kids can fingerpaint while we talk about our feelings to our mommy friends who do listen for FREE. And I don’t know about you, but my girlfriends are some of the best listeners and therapists on the planet. They’ve gotten me through some pretty rough times.

Yep. There’s nothing like a good girlfriend to take the edge off the anxiety. Also, sometimes, margaritas and meds don’t hurt.  And the best part of it all, no deductibles.

Poor Chynna. Maybe she doesn’t have the kind of girlfriends I have.  Which just goes to show you that even people who seem to have everything, don’t always.

My girlfriend Terena gave me this for my B-Day. It says it all.

Available at www.TraylorPapers.com

 

 

In what was more of a hushed tone than a roar, Tiger finally made his MEA CULPA to the public, his sponsors and his wife and family.

Here’s what he said:

“BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH.”

Oh, pardon me. Actually, that’s not what he said. It’s what I heard. Know why? Because it all smelled of contrived, overly prepared, self-serving bull$#@! written by high paid handlers and spin doctors who are trying to repair an image and career that’s all about, you guessed it, $$$$$.

I mean, is any woman out there buying this whole sex addiction baloney? It’s the new excuse of the rich and famous for bad behavior. Nobody takes responsibility for just being a thoughtless human being anymore. No, it’s not poor judgement! It’s an addiction. Poor baby.

Well this is one MAMMAKAZE who ain’t buying it. Well, I do buy that he’s sorry…that he got caught. And you know what, none of this would have been a big deal if he wasn’t using his family to sell his image and make money. But he did. His mistake.

 Today we’re combining our BAD MOMS IN MOVIES feature with MOVIE MATH.

In MOVIE MATH we review a movie and see if it adds up to family fun.

Our BAD MOMS IN MOVIES feature helps us feel better about our not-so-perfect parenting skills by observing the bad parenting of others in movies.

Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lightening Thief – When it comes to family dysfunction, nobody does it better than the Greek Gods. I mean, they go around coupling with mortals, having all these illegitimate kids whom they pretty much walk out on. That makes for a world full of pretty messed up teenage demi-gods with serious parental abandoment issues. That’s what’s at the core of the first Percy Jackson movie. Without going into too much detail that may result in spoilers – much of what motivates the movie’s characters (PERCY – son of Poseidon, ANNABETH – daughter of Athena, and LUKE – son of Hermes) is their need to prove themselves to and/or get back at their absentee parents. Now is it a good movie? Eh. It played more like a low rent, wanna-be HARRY POTTER. Which is kind of puzzling since the books are supposed to be good (Julia got the set for her B-Day but she hasn’t read them yet) and that it was directed by CHRIS COLUMBUS who directed the first two Potter films. But unlike Harry Potter, this movie was filled with major contrivances, plot holes and inconsistencies. The effects were okay. And some kids will surely find it fun to see kids fighting Hydras and Minotaurs. And the movie DID inspire Julia to learn about the Greek Gods. And I DID feel better about my parenting skills knowing I wasn’t going to abandon my kid to the likes of Medusa or Hades. I mean, let’s face it, the most trauma my kid is likely to suffer is when they’re out of her favorite flavor at the Golden Spoon yogurt place. So hey… it’s worth a look. But go to the matinee and save a few bucks. Or wait for the dvd when you can drink wine while viewing.  

WANNA BE HARRY POTTER ADVENTURE + DISCERNING PARENTS + ULTRA DISCERNING KID = AN OKAY AFTERNOON MATINEE IF YOU DON’T THINK ABOUT THE PLOT TOO MUCH

 

If you’re a reader of this website, you know that I’m am very outspoken when it comes to abuse of any kind perpetrated against a child. NOT ACCEPTABLE. AT ALL. EVER.

I feel the same way about animals. While most folks think of a pet as their companion or even like a child, there are those who also believe they are property to be done with as they see fit. But really, some things are just wrong.

Like people who dye their pets in funky patterns for their own amusement. And admit it, it’s for your own amusement folks, because your cat does not need nor does it want this. It serves no purpose in their lives nor does it help in their survival. You are doing it simply because you think it’s cool. And also probably because your kids are past the age where you can dress them up in whatever silly get-up makes you happy so you’re taking it out on your pet.

While I can appreciate the artistry (that butterfly face – MEOW!) and the humor (that one with the Chaplin on its rear is a crack-up) I must be judgmental here and put you cat dyers in the same category as the folks out there who do POODLE DOODLES (see older post) . Bad owner. BAAAAD! (Thanks Bruce for sending these in).