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Exposure. And my moment in the sun

Posted on January 20, 2015 by Ice Scream Mama

My house was as clean as it was going to be, but of course I was a wreck. Why did I agree to do an interview for the Today Show? Why?!

Well first off, it’s the TODAY SHOW! Not to discount my crucial role as the Tornado in my fourth grade production of the Wizard of Oz, but I never had any opportunity to feel famous for a minute. As nervous as I was, I wanted my minute.

A car pulled up to my house and a young cameraman and another producer got out. Neither looked like Kathy Lee or Hoda.  Damn.

“Mommy, we’re going to be on TV!” My middle son chirped, green eyes bright.

His excitement was adorable and I smiled at him until he said, “Now you’ll make more money, right?”

Hmm. Not as adorable.

But who had time for childish nonsense? I was going to be on television! So it was for writing an article about dressing my kids inappropriately in winter. Whatevs.

The camera guy set up, and finally a bright light stared me in the face.“Ready?” he asked.

Uh no. I’ve made a mistake. A big mistake. Definitely not. No way.

“Great!” He smiled, sporting an adorable dimple, “I’m going to ask you questions but don’t look at the camera or me when you answer. Look to the side.” He pointed to where the other producer stood.

“Um, I’ll try,” I said but when I started answering questions, I’m pretty sure I looked like I had tourrets since I kept twitching to keep myself from turning toward the sound of his voice. Still I babbled on, as I generally do, smiling too much, even playing to the camera. All of a sudden I was a 20 year-old flirt in a 44 year-old face that didn’t even have enough sense to put on any makeup.

Why didn’t I put on makeup??! I was so not ready for my close up.

Typically just saying my name aloud to a group gives me heart palpitations. The last time I put myself in a high pressure situation was at the Algonquin Writers’ Conference to pitch my novel to editors. There I felt like I was going to throw up, but right now I couldn’t seem to shut up.

Apparently I had become an attention whore.

On Monday I was happy enough to have a piece in the Washington Post on the bizarre trend of boys wearing shorts in the winter and when it started getting traction, I was thrilled. Then the editor at the Post emailed me that the piece was going viral. I never really understood exactly what that meant until the TODAY show called for an interview, even writing a copycat article citing me. Citing me!!

‘You’re famous!” a friend from another state texted after one of her friends unknowingly shared my article with her. And really I felt a little famous, lunching and taking calls, prepping for my interview and freaking out with friends.

My mouth hung in a perpetual state of fascination and for days my fingers also seemed stunned because I couldn’t write a word. I was too busy chatting and laughing, checking stats and appreciating my moment. I couldn’t focus on anything but my shining self.

By Friday, the article had run its course and the interview had aired. Even though I cringed watching and listening to myself – all 20 seconds of me – I’m proud that I did it and wrote it, and that my words sparked a conversation that led to a segment on a national television show.

It’s been a whirl, but I am happy to be yesterday’s news; once again in my chair in front of my computer, a blank page staring back at me.

It’s time to start again.

FullSizeRender (1)

Next time girl. I’ve got ice cream.

Especially if I hope to ever meet Kathy Lee and Hoda.

 

 

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Resolutions For My Children

Posted on January 6, 2015 by Ice Scream Mama

This year I didn’t make any resolutions. Frankly I didn’t need the pressure, and really I’m working every day on improvement – okay, most days – okay, days where the stars align, the kids do as I say, there’s plenty of ice cream and it’s sunny out. What?! It happens.

I would however like my children to make some changes that would improve my life much more than any resolution I could possibly make for myself. Boys, are you listening? BOYS! Sigh. Well, that brings me to their first resolution…

Listen up! Why do I have to say, “I put your clothes in your room” for you to come up to me not five minutes later and innocently ask, “Where are my clothes?”  And how many times do I have to rip devices from hands, snap close books or shut off shows? Just take a second, look my way and say, “Okay mom, got it.” And seriously do I have to ask you to do the recyclables five times? Five! Why?Why?Why?Why?Why? Annoying, isn’t it?

Give me a minute. Okay, seriously, stop counting to 60. I really mean let me finish what I’m doing no matter how long it takes, a minute or a half hour. Like right now, extremely persistent 7 year-old who absolutely must play a game with me right this very second. Kid, please, we just played cards and Mario and I got you a snack and had a serious conversation about how you were going to set up your Legos, but now you need to just give me a minute.

Time for bed. When I’m done for the day, I am truly done. I’m not kidding. I don’t want any more requests for snacks, drinks, one more show or let’s have a heart to heart about which animal is truly your favorite. I want bed. I want it for you. I want it for me. I want it now. So go the fudgecakes to sleep.

Trust yourself. It can be the hardest thing to do, especially with a bunch of peer eyes staring you down, pressuring you into submission. But you’re good and smart and you know what’s right, so listen to yourself. I promise you’ll make plenty of mistakes on your own. There’s no need to make your friend’s mistakes as well. Trust me.

Just Stop. “Mom! He did this! Mom! He did it first! Mom! He’s bothering me!…” Guys, I don’t know how to express, first, how annoying you annoying each other can be for me and second, how the brothers you’re going out of your way to torture are really and truly your best friends in this life. No one will have your back like they will. No one will know you like they will. No one will really be there for you like they will.  So give each other a break (not the arm kind), and throw each other a kind word instead of under the bus.

And just to cover my bases, please also resolve to never drink and drive, sky dive, move to another country, marry someone I don’t like or join the circus. And even though I intend to never make resolutions again, I now plan to make a list for you guys every year. It’s my last resolution!

Luckily, you know how well I do with those.

Happiest 2015! xoxo Ice Scream Mama, Papa and the Sugar Babies.

Happiest 2015! xoxo
Ice Scream Mama, Papa and the Sugar Babies.

 

*Hey, if you have a moment, please give a quick click and check out my first essay up on Mamalode called Surviving the Supermarket. If I were to make any resolution it would be to never take all three of my boys with me to the supermarket ever again.

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Take This Blog and Love It

Posted on November 19, 2014 by Ice Scream Mama

Today a friend called me a name and I was insulted.

She dropped it casually into conversation, tossing it out like a flick of a cigarette and even over the phone I jumped back singed.

She called me a… Blogger.

A blogger. Can you believe it? Every day I slave at this computer writing essays and editing manuscripts. I am a contributor to Huff Post and What to Expect. I’ve been on the NYTimes Motherlode for crap’s sake. Every day I’m grinding my teeth and squeezing my eyes shut as I press send on submissions to Slate, Brain, Child and Modern Love.

A blogger? I felt categorized and marginalized. I felt defensive.  She may as well have stepped on my face in a pile of mud.

Wait. I am a blogger. And I love not only blogging but the essays that I write.

Why did I have such an immediate and negative reaction?

Could it be because my friend is a ‘legitimate’ author and I’m a bit competitive and sensitive? Probably.

Was she being a little condescending? Probably.

It’s like the article by the debate editor of Brain, Child Magazine, Lauren Apfel that I just read in Time, I’m a Mommy Blogger and Proud of it about the old negative stereotypes associated with mom bloggers as overly confessional, full rants and vents, grumbles and gripes. And a bunch of us are, and a bunch of us aren’t. Either way, most of the bloggers that I know are damn good writers who are at their craft daily. If we rant or overshare, you can bet it will be a well written and well-structured essay.

These days, many mommy bloggers use their words and their blogging platforms to reach a larger audience, to open doors that otherwise might remain closed and to network. We are freelance writers, aspiring novelists, bloggers who strategize and monetize.

Back a hundred years ago, I wanted to be a writer and I wrote essays, short stories and manuscripts that I placed lovingly under my bed. Yet I didn’t push hard enough for what I wanted. I let it go, accepting a career in advertising that I ultimately let go of as well to stay home with my children.

Now that they have grown just enough that I can tell them to go play in the basement and they do, I am re-discovering myself and my passion. On my blog I have written hundreds of essays, most of which I am extremely proud. Yes I write about being a mother. That’s who I am. I also write about being a daughter, a friend, a human; the heartbreak and the heartfelt; the ridiculous and the pain of the every day.

I don’t want to be in any way embarrassed or perpetuate a negative perception about something that has offered me so much personal and professional, if not exactly financial, satisfaction. I want to own it – strut my blog around the block in stilettos shouting “I’m a blogger!” instead of holding back and hedging, “I want to be writer and I have a blog.”

Actually what I want to say is that I am a writer and a blogger and I’d like to be appreciated as both.

icescreammama

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My mom is hotter than your mom

Posted on July 22, 2014 by Ice Scream Mama

Every single time we are out together it happens. We could be walking, shopping or at a school function when inevitably someone will ask, “Are you guys sisters?”

When we reveal that she is, in fact, my mother, there is a whole lot of shocked gasps. “No way!’ They say, “You totally look like sisters.”

As you’d expect, my mom basks in the glow, while on the other hand, I want to scream – very quietly, because I don’t want to hurt my mommy’s feelings – “HELLO PEOPLE! I’m more than 20 years younger!!”

Now I realize it’s not about me looking bad at all. It’s all about her looking good. Which she does. In fact, she looks fabulous. Ridiculously fabulous.

But being a girl, uh, woman, new – okay, relatively new – to middle age is difficult enough; compile it by being the daughter of a hot mom and it’s even more challenging.

When I was younger, having a mom who was constantly playing paddle ball in her bikini, sexy dancing the night away or reminding my chunky teen-aged self, that I didn’t need the ice cream was a little hard to appreciate.

So like many rebellious daughters, I went in the opposite direction; no make-up, hair in a ponytail, baggie clothes and a few pounds to lose. It took me awhile to realize that I didn’t have to be unattractive because she was attractive. That while it can be a little annoying, her being hot was actually the best thing for me. Welcome to my middle-aged clarity, where I can see things more clearly mentally but not literally.

While I once turned up my nose to her constant exercise and irritating, rigid eating habits – steamed tofu and veggies or Cesar salad, no croutons or dressing – uh, that’s plain lettuce mom. I now model a lot of my behavior after her.

My older self sees the value in being a fit, healthy, attractive person; although maybe not to her extreme. Daughters can only allow their mothers to be 75% right, retaining the last 25% for their own self-respect, individuality and superiority. It’s a girl thing.

Her hotness makes me try a little harder. Run a little farther. I’m still eating my ice cream, but I’ll make sure to eat those veggies as well. She keeps me in check, because life’s a competition baby, and I’m out to kick her cute little ass. No, I’m kidding. Sort of. I mean, I don’t want to kick her ass, but I do want to look as hot, maybe hotter. Someday, I will. When she’s like 80.

So the other day, when my brother asked my young nephew to hand something to grandma, and he walked right over to me, I didn’t scream, even quietly, I reminded myself how lucky I am to follow in her footsteps. Hopefully, I will grow up to be just like her – beautiful on the inside as well as the out.

Yup, that's my mom!

 

 

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You’re the one that I want

Posted on April 21, 2014 by Ice Scream Mama

It’s been so long since I’ve had you. I’m dreaming about you day and night. Sometimes I see you with another and I want you so bad it’s hard to look, but I can’t turn away either. You’re so close I could touch you, taste you, but I don’t, because if I do, I’m a goner.

You play it so cool. I try to erase you from my mind; to distract myself with others. But they are just sad substitutes. Sure, they are sweet, but they aren’t you. Only you make me melt. And I know I do the same to you. I’ve seen it. And when you do, you’re quite irresistible.

I know we’ll be together again soon. I have never been able to stay away from you for long. I’m addicted, even though you’re not the best thing for me. Somehow I don’t care. I want you anyway. I must have you.

But for now, I needed a little distance. I was in over my head, not capable of going one night without you.  I was using you for all my emotional and physical needs, and I need to be able to cope without you as a crutch. It’s a test of my strength because sometimes with you, it’s easy to lose myself.

One of these days, I will be done with all this pretending. With all this running around with others who aren’t you. Who don’t satisfy me the way you do. Who don’t make me feel as good. I’ll always come back to you. You know it. I know it. Everyone knows it.

So I’m counting the days. And truly, the day I get my hands on you, I will consume you. But until then I wait, and I pine for the moment when you will touch my lips again.*

 

love

Me and You. 4 Eva.

 

*It’s been two weeks since I’ve eaten any ice cream. I usually do this once or twice a year when I think I’ve just completely lost control. Thankfully, it never lasts.

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I Scream for Ice Cream

Posted on July 24, 2013 by Ice Scream Mama

I’m sitting on the couch in a sweatshirt and sweatpants shivering. “It’s so cold in here,” I complain to my husband. “Can you turn off the air?”

Husband, sporting shorts and a tee shirt, plops himself down on the couch. “It’s summer.”

“Not in here it’s not.” I pout.

“If you’re so cold, maybe you shouldn’t be eating ice cream.”

Really? Logic? Is that what you’re going with?

I almost stop mid spoon to roll my eyes. Almost. Any retort must wait until the Edy’s slow-churned rocky road with chocolate sprinkles melts down my throat. Ohh. That’s good.

He knows that for me, ice cream isn’t just a nightly treat. My attachment – attachment sounds so much saner than addiction or obsession – goes much deeper than that.

When I’m sad or stressed, ice cream comforts me. When it’s time to celebrate, it’s a party in my bowl, with happy sprinkles, mini marshmallows and chocolate chips. Every day I find it emotionally soothing, a reward, a gift, but I’m also physically drawn to it.

I want it. I crave it. I must have it. I swap meals for it. I dream about it. I plan my day around it. I bribe my kids to go with me to score a pint. Watching vanilla and chocolate soft serve slowly swirl into a cone leaves me dreamy and relaxed. I carry cones in the side compartment of my car, and my own “mix” of toppings in my bag. I may or may not have picked a lost scoop up off the floor and eaten it. You have no proof.

What? Doesn't everyone carry their own container of sprinkles?

What? Doesn’t everyone carry their own container of sprinkles?

I think it’s genetic. My brother is a great consumer of ice cream. When handed a bowl of titanic proportions, he can be seen raising a mischievous brow and saying with a sarcastic lilt, “This all you got?” My father, basically lives on ice cream and cheesecake, and just might be the most unhealthy person still living.  My cousin, and soul sister, once told me that unless she has to sop up fallen ice cream and squeeze it into her mouth via sponge, she will eat it. And the late great, grand dame of the family, never concluded a meal without dramatically licking her lips before a bowl of chocolate ice cream.

Was there really any hope for me?

So when my husband rises from the couch to go to the kitchen for his own snack, I hand him my empty cup. “Could you get me a refill?” I ask. “And hand me that blanket.”

He rolls his eyes and pulls a sprinkle out of my hair.

Okay, I admit it. I have a little problem.

I’m cold. I’d like to lose five pounds. I’ve probably already had enough… For an elephant. But I can’t help myself. I love it.

Hello, I am Ice Scream Mama. And I am an Ice cream-aholic.

Please don’t send help.

love

love

 

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I’ll Worry About It Later *

Posted on October 7, 2012 by Ice Scream Mama

* This was my week 2 blogger idol assignment which was to write about my day as a man.*

When I glance at the clock this morning, I can feel right away something is different. My back is sore and my crotch area itches a bit. Instead of jumping out of bed to run downstairs and make lunches for the kids, I decide, eh, whatever, and just roll over and sleep a little longer. Weird. I NEVER sleep longer.

One of my kids finally wakes me out of a drooling stupor. “Mommy!! It’s almost bus time!” I lift one brow and try to focus. The clock reads 7:50 am. The bus comes at 8:15 am. “F*CK!” I blurt out, which startles me more than the clock. I never say that, at least not in front of the kids. My seven year-old stares at me wide-eyed and is grinning like he’s just learned the best secret.

I make my way slooowwwlly out of bed to the bathroom, my kid following the entire time. Why do I feel like I have a hangover? “Go get ready.” I order and scratch my ass.

“But you always pick out our stuff.” He whines.

“Do it yourself.” I grumble and then fart loudly. His eyes perk again and he runs out giggling.

Ah. I sit myself down on the can for a nice, long time and flip through the paper. Heaven. By the time I get downstairs, it’s 8:10am. The boys have miraculously made themselves breakfast and are at the door ready to run to the bus stop. I give them the once over. My oldest has his shirt on inside-out, his shoe laces are untied and he’s wearing two different socks – one short and one long. My middle son looks perfect for a soccer match, and my youngest is wearing thick brown sweats, a brown tee shirt and brown rain boots. I scratch my head, amazingly unconcerned. “Did you guys brush your teeth?” They all look at each other and shrug. “Homework?” I ask, and my oldest pulls out a crumpled ball of paper from his bag. “Okay then, have a good day!”

As they bound to the bus, I notice that my oldest son’s backpack hangs open. There’s something I’m forgetting. What is it? Lunches! Oops. I have an epiphany, maybe I can get Dominoes to deliver to the school. That’s genius. Why haven’t I ever thought of that before?

I have a half an hour before I need to get my youngest to Pre-K. In the kitchen there has been a cereal explosion, but I casually crunch my way past the table covered with Fruity Pebbles and spilled milk over to the coffee maker. Oh lucky. The container of milk is right here on the counter. And cookies! I shove a few in my mouth without a thought. I should really clean this up I think, and gulp down my coffee while my child dressed like a big doody eats the cereal from the floor.

 The phone rings. It’s my mother. I’m way too busy to answer.

“Let’s get to school, buddy.” I say. “But how ‘bout a catch first?” We leisurely throw the ball on the lawn for a while before I finally get him to school 15 minutes late. A bunch of nursery moms are still hanging around and chatting as I bounce by with him on my shoulders. Wow, one of them has a really nice rack. I can’t seem to stop staring. I feel unusually drawn to her, but realize I’m wearing my pajama tee-shirt with the holes and somehow I forgot to put on a bra this morning. I don’t really feel like socializing anyway, especially after one of the flat-chested moms gave me a strange look when I whipped her daughter up and threw her into the air. I totally thought she was laughing, but turns out the kid cries like a laugh. How would I know that?! I have a strong urge to return to my bathroom and the sports section.

Comfortably seated back on my toilet I think about what I have to do for the day. Gym, supermarket, dry cleaners, I need two birthday party gifts, a school meeting and I must do laundry. Hmmm. None of that sounds like much fun. I’ll definitely do the gym. Maybe I’ll just blow off the rest of it and go hit some golf balls. That’s an awesome idea. I am so Awesome! I think and then realize there’s no toilet paper. “Hey can you bring me some toilet paper?” I yell out, but there’s no one there to get it. I shrug and go back to the newspaper. I’ll worry about it later.

*Putting finishing touches on my week 3 entry now. I’m partnered up with Meredith from www.pilesofbabies.com. She is hysterical and awesome!!! Get ready to vote Wednesday/Thursday at www.writersarethenewrockstars.blogspot.com. Thank you all for keeping me in the game. 🙂 *

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