The Suburban Jungle

New in iVillage Entertainment -It’s not the Kids Doing the Peer Pressuring, It’s the Parents and -My New Year’s Resolution:  Let my Kids Watch More TV in 2010

Today’s top story at iVillage- 14 Biggest Parenting Trends of 2010 (this link does not work well from a phone)

You probably feel like you’ve just gotten a reading assignment, but feel free to click on anything that strikes your fancy and tweet or FB the articles that you think your friends will relate to… I promise not to test you on them.

Much Love,

J from the B

(If you haven’t read this piece, it’s sooo worth it.  If you have, and got a message on 3-10-10 to reread, I apologize.  I don’t know why that just went out!  Feel free to read License to Procreate, if you haven’t read it, and I will try and figure out the technical shit that baffles me everyday, in the mean time.)

This time of year I amuse myself by looking back at last year’s resolutions. Ones I made with the best intentions, like learning an instrument or a foreign language. Last Chanukah I had my husband buy me a guitar. I had all the confidence in the world that by this New Year, I would balk at a request to play “Stairway To Heaven,” saying something dismissive like… “Please, that’s so cliché, but why not?” or “Por favor, es muy cliché, pero porque no? Unfortunately, my guitar collects dust while my Spanish collects rust.

So for this year, I have made some resolutions that are a bit more achievable:

1. Nag More

For 10 years my husband has not picked up a wet towel, washed ketchup off of a dish, changed a light bulb, or remembered trash day without a friendly, “How many times do I have to tell you?” I vow to be relentless in my nagging. I will lay immediate blame using words like always and never. As in, “I always, and you never.” I will play the martyr by saying, “Forget it. I’ll do it myself.” I will amp up the guilt with, “I do everything around here.” Or something unarguable like, “It’s obvious by your refusal to change a light bulb that you don’t love me anymore.” If all goes well, I’ll be nagging him to go to couples therapy by 2011.

2. Gain Weight

I will add carbs to my diet with reckless abandon. I will start each meal with a generous helping of bread and rolls onto which I will spread an obnoxious amount of butter. I will stuff food into my mouth with such fervor it will make other eaters uncomfortable to watch. I vow to eat everything a la mode, including ice cream.

3. Workout Less

This will actually take serious effort. The only thing harder would be to shower less. If I need the proverbial cup of sugar, I will drive to my neighbor’s garage and beep until she comes out and hands it to me. I will take elevators in two-story buildings. Lastly, I will drop my membership to the gym and use the money I save to buy more carbs.

4. Forget an Old Language

This year, not only am I not going to learn a new language, I will let my brain atrophy to forget the one I already know. I will watch endless episodes of Sponge Bob and Chowder. I will stop doing crosswords and speaking in complete sentences. I will break all grammatical rules; I will misplace modifiers, dangle participles, and end sentences in prepositions. I will express my thoughts through that African clicking language, modern dance, and a set of bongos that I will wear around my neck.

5. Stay Out of Touch

This time of year, I am reminded of the many friends I have let time and space interfere with. I intend to further that distance. I will start by rejecting any new Facebook or social network requests. I will also attach a note that reads “I never liked you in the first place.” I will cuss out and hang up on people who call in hopes of fulfilling their own resolution to rekindle old friendships.

6. Be Less Patient

I will be aggravated, exasperated, and ready to blow my stack at the slightest misstep. The next time my son wants help with his homework I’ll say, “That’s it! Clearly this whole Elementary Education thing is not for you. If you don’t know how to spell December by now, you never will…Now, go get a job! Oh, and take your sister with you, she sits on the potty way too long.”

7. Hold Grudges

This year I will forgive no one. I don’t care if you step on my toe, or pay me the five bucks you owe me, a day after the assigned due date. I vow to hate you forever and never forget how you wronged me.

8. Stress More

I will lose sleep thinking about planning parties, redecorating my house, trying to budget, missing appointments, teacher conferences, and health issues. I will laugh an evil cackle while erasing all the plans from my PDA, and then cry over what I’ve just done. I will empty our bank account on frivolous investments and watch it dwindle away. Oh, wait…that already happened. Well good, more for me to worry about.

9. Become Addicted to Something

Smoking, alcoholism and Starbucks are so trite. I’m thinking something unique like nasal spray or hand sanitizer. Or at least something beneficial to my endurance like crack. Look, I already have a shopping addiction; maybe I could offset the bills with a robust gambling problem.

10. Gossip More

I vow to talk about everything you do in the New Year. If I see you at the pediatrician for so much as a flu shot, I will tell everyone your child has hand foot mouth, so you can be verbally assaulted when you show up at a birthday party the next day. If you look too skinny, I will assume it’s a divorce or an addiction. If you look too hot, I’ll call it a torrid affair. If you look too young, it’s an addiction to surgical procedures because you’re getting divorced, due to a torrid affair.

I will start a rumor phone tree and a blog called “WhatPeopleAreReallyUpTo.com.” I may even have a megaphone installed on my “Gossip Mobile,” so I can drive through town amplifying the skeletons in your closet to all within earshot. Oh, wait… I’ll just write about it in next week’s column.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

My Other Resolution: GET MORE READERS TO THE BLOG SO I CAN SELL ADS AND RETIRE!!!
Please help by sending articles you like to friends, FB, and Tweeting them! Also, please take a minute to sign up for the blog:

There’s a long list of inventions that have made life easier for us moms, and I’m not talking about mankind’s core discoveries such as the wheel, fire and electricity. Instead, I speak of far more important innovations like coffee, epidurals, Velcro, drive-thrus and disposable diapers. In a mommy-centric world, these developments trump Nobel Prize-winning breakthroughs any day of the week…  MORE

So, the holidays are upon us.   Christmas has just passed and visitors are abundant, but their welcome is wearing thin.  I know, we all look forward to this time of year, but often in the midst of it, we realize the heavy meals have expanded our waist lines and our relatives have stretched our patience.

In-laws can be the toughest during the holiday season.  I’m not talking about mine; they’re amazingly wonderful and never bothersome, NEVER.  Mine aren’t even in this season, but I have heard tales of other in-laws who cause stress and frustration.  The way they handle a turkey, as if it is not a breeding ground for salmonella, or the way they screw with the table settings that you took a painful amount of time arranging to look haphazard and shabby chic.  I know, my “friends” sound like a joy to be around over the holidays, right?  I am simply relaying their stories, I am in no way referring to specific incidences that may have happened in the past, which have caused me anxiety or to count to 10 by the medicine cabinet, while searching for Zanex .

Let’s face it, it’s harder to have tolerance for those who didn’t raise us: friends and non-immediate family included.   We have a certain forgivability factor for our blood relatives; they can get away with more and feel the wrath less.  We also tend to offend them less as they too have a forgivablity factor, towards us.  Thank goodness.

So, while you count the hours till your guests get on their merry way, I suggest heavy drinking.  Use the holiday traditions to mask your quick bout with alcoholism:  Manischewitz on Chanukah, egg nog on X-mas, and champagne on New Year’s.

Remind yourself that you’re probably getting on their nerves as well.  This is also not a problem I have, as I am always filled with an almost addictive amount of holiday cheer, but logic says:  If they’re annoying you, you’re most likely annoying them.  (Or did I read that on a fortune cookie?)  Well logic or Confucius says that.

Grandparents, especially in-laws, really aren’t there for you in the first place.  They’re there for your children.  You’re just an obstacle.  You and “Your Way” are hurdles to be tip-toed around, not jumped over.  They don’t agree with your techniques, your rules, and your methods of punishment — or lack thereof.   Though this is a point of un-verbalized contention between you and them, look at the positive.  They would love for you to get out of the house, so that they can do and say what they please without feeling like you’re critiquing and judging there every movement – which, by the way, you are.

Don’t over think this one!  Go out and let them babysit!!!  And while you’re out, drink heavily.

Disclaimer: No in-laws, parents, or guests were harmed in the writing of this article!

I have added a Tip o’ the Mornin’ to my regular repertoire of hilariously funny, thought provoking and possibly award winning articles.

RealSelf.com

Well in answer to the question, Do I need microdermabrasion?  Yes. yes you do.  I don’t know exactly who you are but your skin is probably dull and the elasticity is probably slack.  Okay, I may be projecting, but along with suffering from dull slack skin, I selfishly envy fresh faced youth. It always makes me feel good to drive by a highschool, hang my head out the window and scream at the cheerleaders.  Things like. “Your pores may be small, but your such a slut and everyone knows it.” or “So what if you don’t have any wrinkles now, one day your kids will stretch your nether regions beyond recognition and your HS sweetheart will be a cheater working a dead end job, and your face will show it all.    I know what your thinking, Can I come?

If you think there’s a better way, then maybe you should try microdermabrasion.  First it sandblasts your skin with an abrasive material or ultrasound, then it vacuums your pores clean like a shag rug in the bathroom and last it stimulates new collagen production.  I have been trying to coax my collagen into regenerate for months now, so if this works, I can stop begging!  It costs $100-$200 a blast and should be done by a licensed professional –it can cause damage in the wrong hands.

Will it minimize wrinkles?  Probably not, but it can help with fine lines,  sun worshipers with skin damage and those who went through that awkward teen acne.  Who am I kidding, I still break out at “that time of the month.”  That’s when I go to an old age home, hang my head out the window and scream, “I may have a zit or two, but at least I still get my period.”

If you have an experience with microdermabrasion, please share.

I’m not gonna throw myself under the bus and call my children spoiled, as I would have only myself to blame.  I will say, however, they have an extreme sense of entitlement, which I am sure has little to do with them being lavished with gifts undeservedly.  My children want everything they see, hear about, could get as a party favor, could find in a McDonalds happy meal, a cereal box, a piñata, or view in a commercial.

“Mommy can I have that? Will you buy me that?  Mommy friends neighbor has that.  I want that.  When can I have that? Mommy? Ma? Maaaaaaaa?  MOM!  This exchange of words usually ends with, “If you mention it again, the answer will be never.”  “Never?  I can’t even have a Clone Trooper Voice Changer Helmet when I’m 25?”  “Sure.  If you still want a Clone Trooper Voice Changer Helmet at 25, you can wear it to therapy.”

“How about I get it for my next birthday, or maybe Kwanzaa?”  My son is already eyeing a camouflage pencil set for Secretaries Day, and has informed me that, although we are Jewish, he will be giving up vegetables for Lent.

My children’s Chanukah wish lists are so comprehensive, I may be forced to explore alternative channels in my gift search.  Consequently, I have sent a friendly letter asking someone who has slighted me in the past for help.  Some might say it’s more of a formal accusation, but really it’s just a hand delivered note that needs to be notarized and signed on receipt. It goes:

Dear Santa,
I have never complained about you forgetting us Jews in the past, but times are tough.  I mean, I don’t want to threaten you or anything, but let’s talk religious profiling, shall we? I’m sure the fact that we don’t believe in you has something to do with you snubbing us year after year.  Do we, a people known to produce a whiner or two, complain?  No, some of us, me included have made an effort to believe.  Let us not forget Christmas of 83’ when I sat on your lap asking for a Speak N’ Spell, a Magic Eight Ball, and Shawn Cassidy’s “Da Doo Ron Ron” 45.  I have a laminated picture from Macy’s to prove it.

Do you not bombard us with your festive songs and holiday movies made with delightfully animated reindeer and elves?  Do Jews get to go a-caroling?  No, we have one song… about kids gambling.  Has Dreidel ever starred in a delightfully animated holiday movie?  Has Snoopy, or Barbie, or a single Disney character ever lit a Menorah?  Maybe in the privacy of their own homes, but certainly never on camera (it’s in their contracts.)  We’re okay with that, because we wrote those contracts.  Sure, we take advantage of your sales and vacations.  We watch your shows, and sing your catchy songs.  We’ll decorate a tree with blue and white twinkle lights, top it with a six pointed star, and call it a Chanukah bush.

Santa, my Roth IRA is down 40%.  I deserve a little holiday cheer.   You can look me up, I’ve been nice, and I’d like to keep it that way.   My daughter wishes to receive the “true to life” –and possibly poisonous– Zhu Zhu pets.   She would also like the “now true to life on the streets” Bratz Doll, which comes complete with Brazilian waxing kit and requisite diaphragm.

My son “just has to have” the new Guitar Hero “I Choked on My Own Vomit Tour,” a super Bakugan the size of his head, and some alone time with my daughter’s Bratz doll. I will forward you the unabridged version via zip file. I look forward to us all getting along!

Sincerely,
Frustrated Jewish Mom

P.S.  I feel like maybe we got off on the wrong foot here.  I didn’t mean to sound so hostile.  Santa, just tell me what a girl’s gotta do to get some Christian love?   I can be naughty if necessary (wink, wink).
HAPPY HOLIDAYS

As many of  you know, I am addicted to the Twilight series.  This was one of my favorite articles to write.  Unfortunately, I can’t repost it on my site.  So please check it out and send it to your Twilight lovin’ friends!!! BABBLE READERS:  If you came from babble.com, check out my latest article, I Slept with Tiger Woods. OR more Twilight: I Vant to Bite Jour Neck, Blaaah & Twilight Obsession or Midlife Crisis.

New Moon, the second installment of the Twilight series, earned a record breaking $72.7 million at the box office on opening day. Were the moviegoers all screaming teenagers there to drool over Taylor Lautner’s new bulging biceps, or swoon over Robert Pattinson’s sexy pallor?  Nope. Many of these fans were moms.  ”Twi-moms,” as they — we — are often called, came out in droves to experience Bella’s love triangle between Edward, her vampire boyfriend and Jacob, her werewolf pal.  MORE

All together now: “Conjunction junction, what’s your function? Hooking up words and phrases, and clauses.” I bet you remember more than you think. I’m actually wondering if Schoolhouse Rock is the equivalent of homeschooling because, I must confess, much of what I know came from watching it.

Do you know the rule of multiplying nines, the preamble to the Declaration of Independence or how a bill becomes a law? I do, and now, so do my children… MORE

(Please Chime In when you read it!)

OMG, I have to tell you guys something.  I often turn to my iCarly diary with my darkest secrets, but this one is just too juicy.   Here goes…  I slept with Tiger Woods.  You guys are probably freaking out, as Tiger’s reputation has been sooo perfect up until now.   Let me be the first to tell you, he’s not the squeaky clean Jonas Brother, he pretends to be.

Our affair was rather recent.  I must confess, he was passed out when I met him.  Sadly, that’s not the first time I started an affair with an unconscious man.  The other time was when this guy was hit by a subway car and I went to visit him in the hospital.  His family showed up and took me for his fiancé.  I went along with it because I was lonely and it was the holidays.  Eventually, he woke up and I married his brother.  Oh wait, that wasn’t me.  DUH.

Anywho, with Tiger it was different.  He was admitted to the hospital (where I am a candy striper) after a rather harsh battle with a fire hydrant.  –See, it’s different already.  It appears he and his wife play late night golf and he took his car to search for a stray ball, when the confrontation occurred.  I can only imagine how far one of Tiger’s balls can fly (well, I don’t have to imagine anymore).  –That was a sex joke, in case you didn’t catch on, LOL.

As it turns out, it was lucky that his wife was caddying for him, as she was able to use his iron to pull him from the wreck and beat off the fire hydrant.   I didn’t even know fire hydrants could come to life, but I saw this movie about a car named Christine and she came to life.  So, I guess anything’s possible.

Tiger  even promised me a signed Fat Head of his best friend MJ.  I can’t believe he can get in touch with Michael Jackson, but after the stint with the fire hydrant, I can see Tiger’s special.  Other people can see it too.   He also had sex with my friend Luanne who mops the floors.   And then Gertie, who resides in the nursing home area.   Oh, and Becky who was in the pediatric unit to have her tonsils out.  I ran into him wandering around the Nursery.  He says looking at the babies calms him.  I get it, they’re so sweet and innocent.

I confronted him about all those other girls, but he said, “don’t worry honey, you’re my hole in one.”  He said if we do it enough I can be his “double bogey.”  I don’t know anything about the golf but the nicknames sure are cute.  Oh yeah, he made me swear I’d never tell… Shit.

For notifications of new posts, enter your email address:

When I was a child, watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade with my family was tradition. We would wake up bright and early, drag ourselves into the family room, rub our tired little eyes, and gather around the television. Mom would offer coffee and hot cocoa, depending on your age. We’d snuggle together, ready to critique the bands and cheer for our favorite floats. To us, the T-Day Parade was the official kick off of the holiday season. It was tradition, and it was spectacular. Read More…

Since my son got his Nintendo DSi (which comes with an internal camera), he has become quite the photographer. He isn’t exactly setting up portraits, or creating scenes like some children I know, but he is noticing what makes for a nice shot. The cat and dog nose to nose, in a rare moment of indifference towards each other, or my daughter, AKA Hanna Montana, armed with her new Barbie makeup kit and a full bottle of glitter nail polish. You know, the usual stuff that the average Joe would find picture worthy. However, I recently learned that Jake’s eye for a good shot was raising some eyebrows. Why, just today, I got a call from my friend Susan who had been admiring some of his handiwork.

Susan (uncomfortably giggling): “Um, Jenny, do you know what the screen saver is on your son’s DSi?”

Me: “No.”

Susan: “Oh, (giggle giggle), I think it’s his (giggle giggle), penis.”

Me: “What? His what?”

Susan: “Oh yeah, front and center. He left the DSi in the car, and I was about to hand it to Jessie (her five year old daughter), when she asked if it was on red. I grabbed it to check, and then slammed it shut, like the scene from Pretty Woman. Jessie kept asking, ‘Well, is it red? Is it red?’ All I could do was utter, ‘Yes, yes, very red,’ over and over.”

Me: “Maybe blue would have been a better description. Are you sure it’s his?”

Susan: “Yes it’s his DS. He told me he was leaving it in the car.”

Me: “No, I meant the penis.”

I was willing to find the whole incident funny on the premise that it was his penis. Sticking a camera down his pants to snap a pic for his DSi: A bit exhibitionistic, but amusing. Taking a picture of someone else’s wiener: Tooooo voyeuristic, a breach of privacy, and cause for therapy.

Susan: “I don’t know if it’s his. It’s not my son’s. I can’t spot the schlongs of other children.”

Me: “A statement you should be proud of.”

Susan: “A statement I rarely have reason to make.”

Me: “Well, there’s a first for everything.”

Epilogue: It was his. Phew. I will await the photocopies of his butt in the years to come.