Texts In The Suburbs

As promised, today I launched my much anticipated (well by Jen and I anyway) website http://textsinthesuburbs.com/ and I think it's going to be a lot of fun.

I am a self admitted textaholic. I text my girlfriends all day long...we text about kids, husbands, work, sex, tv shows, wine, the school parking lot, hockey scores, the people sitting next to us, deals we find while shopping, diets, things we see on facebook that we can't say on facebook, and what have you.

Its the perfect communication for moms because we can usually not speak freely as we are always in the presence of children or in places that are so flippin loud no one could hear us if we tried to talk.

Texts In The Suburbs is inspired by Texts From Last Night, which is dirty and profane and totally cracks me up. For my mom friends and I, the days of waking up in our own vomit are (for the most part) over... but waking up to some little person's vomit, well sometimes can inspire funny texts too.

And that's really the part of motherhood I adore- the part that people don't admit on facebook or twitter... that even though we are grown ups, and moms, we still have fun. We still think (and text our friends) hilarious, dirty, desperate, wacky thoughts and get into hilarious, dirty, desperate, wacky situations. I find even the most stressful moment at home or at work can usually be helped by a funny text from a girlfriend.

So the next time you get one, send it straight from your phone to textsinthesuburbs@gmail.com so we can post it!!

This post is so 2010...

the following is a post I wote a year ago, UPDATE: my friend Jen bought me an apron and then I went back to work and ran out of time to wear it.

The BERNATA PROJECT…becoming a throwback mom

It started with Throwback Mountain Dew. Just after January 1 when everyone I know was giving up sugar…apparently carbs are ok now? Its just the sugar? fair enough…I came across Throwback Mountain Dew “made with real sugar”. Hmmm? What’s this now? We are advertising something is made with real sugar? And I immediately think “oh that no sugar diet is like so 5 minutes ago. It’s the no high fructose corn syrup diet people should be trying” maybe a little sugar is ok, just like a little butter is ok, after all back in the day, before everyone was fat, they ate sugar and butter, not Splenda and Promise. Sugar and butter are total throwback foods. By the way, do you love how “throwback” is the new “old school”? It’s so old school to say old school. And did I say “back in the day” before? That was positively retro of me.

And then along came Bernata. That’s a lady’s name. Isn’t it fabulous? I love saying it. A few days after the Mountain Dew, I was at my husband’s grandpa’s funeral “after party” (that was just a shout out to my friend Mimsey-yes that’s her name and yes she is also fabulous,- who recently pointed out that everyone calls the gathering after a funeral an “after party” but uses quotes so as not to be offensive). ANYHOO…my father in law and his cousins were reminiscing about their childhood and their moms, who were all sisters, and neighbors. When they spoke of the sister named Bernata, they mentioned how she always wore a dress or skirt, always an apron, never any shoes and she was always baking something. The cousins all remembered going down the street to her house to taste whatever treats she had made. How wonderful! How delicious! How old school! I was immediately reminded how tragic it is that I don’t own an apron. I have always wanted an apron. This is first on my list of things to do tomorrow- buy an apron. A really, really cute one. I want to be just like Bernata. But I just don’t think I can embrace the skirt thing. I like my jeans. I have lots of super cute jeans. And as much as I want to be barefoot, my butt looks cuter in my jeans if I wear a shoe with a heel. Soooo, I will be just like Bernata, but in jeans, with an apron that doesn’t cover my butt. Because my husband likes it. OMG- it now occurs to me that an apron WILL cover my stomach. This is the accessory I’ve been looking for all my life. The real conclusion here- I’m getting an apron. Hopefully that will inspire me to cook yummy buttery, sugary things. I’d love for my kids to come home to a mom like that. The neighborhood kids showing up at the door? Well, we’ll see.

Cowbells and Dreams...

I couldn't believe how much all my friends loved my blog about hockey. The reality is all hockey moms are not created equal, and it has taken me a couple of years but I have truly learned to appreciate each style.

Luckily I had three games this weekend at which to observe the moms....now that I am a blogger (as of a week ago), it was my journalistic duty.

When it comes to a travel game, I personally think it's our obligation to our children to look cuter than the moms on the other team. I try to wear jeans and heeled boots even if its early and I haven't showered. A good long coat hides a multitude of sins. There are certain rinks where I know I have to step it up a bit because the moms are known for being decked out...and you might even see a fur coat in the crowd. This morning I knew I was headed to baggy sweatshirt territory, so I let my guard down and wore Uggs.

Other moms are more the spirit week kinda moms who show up with team colors, kids names on their jackets,scarves and hats. I like to reserve this type of behavior for tournaments and playoffs, and pace myself. There are several reasons for this: I'm vain and know I look ridiculous in bright blue and yellow; I can't keep track of my keys, let alone my team scarf; and my kid is a regular in the penalty box and I don't need any trouble in the parking lot.

My favorite way to classify hockey moms is their spectator style. Most of us fall somewhere in between what I would call "book" and "cowbell".

While I haven't seen a mom actually reading a book during a real game, there are those who act like they'd rather be. These are the moms who say things like "its only Mites", or "no one is going to the NHL here"... (I confess I dabble in this type of hockey momhood.) Never believe a hockey parent who says "no one is going to the NHL", because none of them have completely ruled out the possibility that their kid just might be the next Sid the Kid or at the least play Division 1 in college. Or if they have, it's likely they've hitched their hockey wagon to another sibling. When they say "its only Mites", they mean to add "unlike my son's Peewee game later which is clearly life or death". Let's face it, we are all pretty crazy- what else would we be doing here?

The other end of the spectrum, and wildly criticized, is the cowbell mom. This lady wears her crazy right on her sleeve and I dig that. There is nothing that pisses off a group of moms faster than a mom on the opposing team ringing a cowbell, blowing an airhorn or any other noisemaking device. I know moms who spend the entire game screaming out specific instructions to every child on the ice, but as soon as they hear a bell they are completely offended. It's ridiculous, but I always get a kick out of it. I even found this facebook group against cowbells:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?id=1520763495&aid=2049784#!/group.php?gid=48414314585

I can't even count on two hands the times I've seen moms on opposing teams having words with each other about the particular way they are cheering at a game. I used to be a little horrified, but now I just sit back and watch and think...I freakin love these crazy broads.

Blognoxious

About a year ago I started trying to come up with ideas for the greatest mom blog ever. Like most goals I come up with in life, I never got around to it. But feeling nostalgic as 2010 came to an end, I posted the introduction I had written a year earlier. Over the past few weeks I've written a few more blogs, just to try it out. It's harder than it looks!

So now that I actually have a blog, I'm back to my ideas for the greatest mom blog ever, something blogtastic, something- BLOGNOXIOUS! (blognoxious is a good thing, trust me.)

THE IDEAS...

Red Red Wine You Make Me Feel So Fine: The mama's wine blog. Wine reviews, for moms. I discover the best wines for different occasions- party wine, happy wine, PMS wine, sex wine, wine to bring in a travel cup to a hockey game, and the holy grail would be to finally find the wine that goes best with the giant $5 tub of liquor store cheeseballs. The motivation here is free wine, clearly.

Hockey Mama Drama: a blog chronicling the particular type of crazy that is the hockey mom. The tournaments, the gear, the politics, the schedule, the cowbells, the smell, but most importantly: the love. I gave this one a try.

Chaptick Forest: like Lipstick Jungle, but way boring-er. Me trying to be the do it all career mom and failing miserably with my particular spastic flair. Sitting in my kids' dentist office using two phones and a laptop, being late for everything, and crying a lot. This blog would mostly feature crying ~ always a crowd pleaser.

Texts in the Suburbs: Now this is a money maker and if anyone takes it I will as JWOWW says, "cut a b*tch". My version of Texts From Last Night...for moms. All the hilarious things moms text when they can't talk in front of the kids, or because it is always too loud to hear anyone anyway. i.e.: "I think my pig is preggers", "There's a mouse in the kitchen and I can't get to my wine."

Or maybe my blog is just ideas for other blogs...well in that case i could've started a long time ago. To Be Continued...

Hockey...the tip of the iceberg

There is no way I could write one blog about how much my three children's love of hockey impacts my life. So consider this just the tip of the proverbial iceberg- or rink, in this case.

As cliche as the phrase has become in the wake of Sarah Palin, I am still proud to be a hockey mom. There is a reason my husband always says "hockey moms are the hottest." They wake up early, go to bed late, scream loud, drive fast, love big and always acknowledge when the opposing goalie makes a nice save. They endure freezing cold rinks and stinky bags and though some (like me) complain, they love their babies and their babies love HOCKEY.

I thought a lot about being a hockey mom at a recent tournament in upstate NY.

If a youth hockey team is a family, then the out of town tournament is like a holiday, when you are all together whether you like it or not. Players, parents, siblings and coaches all cozied up in a Holiday Inn complete with an indoor pool and, with any luck, some space for the kids to play knee hockey and the adults to drink heavily. Often, there are other teams staying at the same hotel. This always seems to turn the hotel into a state of gang warfare. Nerf guns, water balloons, the aforementioned knee hockey sticks...everything is a weapon. Even the meekest child is suddenly a thug when surrounded by his teammates (and their brothers) and hidden in the confines of an out of town hotel hallway.

As moms we try to be a little more civil...usually. We will smile at the other teams, ask how their games went, maybe even offer a mom one of our gourmet jello shots. We'll placate the hotel staff with empty promises about the children not running. We jump in the pool in our jeans to save our drowning 3 yr olds (ok fine, that was just me and thankfully he can swim now), but I did witness a mom effortlessly splint her son's finger after a gang related incident in the hotel hallways and send him on his way without missing a turn at our beloved game- Left Right Center.

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B000YMXAAQ/ref=pd_lpo_k2_dp_sr_2?pf_rd_p=486539851&pf_rd_s=lpo-top-stripe-1&pf_rd_t=201&pf_rd_i=B000F9YDKY&pf_rd_m=ATVPDKIKX0DER&pf_rd_r=0BVPGB9WDW0C2C29G60S

Generally all is fair in love and hotel hallway wars. But no matter who we are in real life; doctors, lawyers, former debutantes...at the tournament, we are hockey moms. And if you mess with our kids, we don't care if you're other parents, coaches, refs, hotel staff, local police...we will go Jersey Shore on your ass.

The Funeral Dress

Today I watched a dear friend bury his dad. The ONLY good thing about funerals, is I always have something to wear. No matter what my size (more on my yo yo dieting issue later), no matter what the season, I have my funeral dress.

My mom bought me this classic Diane Von Furstenberg black wrap dress at Saks in Florida about four or five years ago. She spotted it on a sale rack and asked "do you have a funeral dress?" (umm, what am I 90?- of course not), the dress fit and the rest is history.

The dress is just short of magical. Its comfy, its forgiving, it has this cool feeling against my skin, just like the cold side of the pillow. It looks great with tights and boots or bare legs and pumps. It always seems clean, and it never needs to be ironed. It shows just enough cleavage to brighten up sad situations...don't judge me, it works. And if you don't think everyone loves boobs, explain the pink for breast cancer phenomenon. Magical.

I've worn my dress to bury both my husband's grandpa and my grandpa, my beloved aunt and a few of Ryan's cousins and great aunts. I've thrown it on straight from the beach, the boat, the gym, work and scooted off to countless wakes. Sure I've worn it to work a few times, an engagement party or two, but it's just not the same- something about feeling that knot above my waist, the elegant notched cuff at my wrist and that slightly chilly cleavage just makes me want to hug someone and say "I'm sorry for your loss"...which is just awkward anywhere else but a funeral.

http://www.saksfifthavenue.com/main/ProductDetail.jsp?PRODUCT%3C%3Eprd_id=845524446160157&afsrc=1&site_refer=GGLBASE001&ci_src=14110944&ci_sku=ParentItem0475575855575

Rebecca at the Well

School project...the words are like fingernails on a chalkboard to me. I hate homework. I hated it as a kid and I hate it now that I have kids. But I want my kids to be good students. I want them to have the study skills that I was completely lacking when I got to college. Basically I don't want them to be like me. And unfortunately, my daughter Lexi is- just like me.

I have spent a lot of time judging the ridiculous parents in my older son's class for doing their kids' projects for them. This has been easy for me because he likes to do things his own way and I sure don't feel like doing anyone's schoolwork.

But here I am facing my brilliant, adorable, charming, LAZY little 8 year old daughter, and the research project she just will not start. We chose a topic, our beloved vacation spot Block Island...checked the required three books out of the library...and, well that's it. Occasionally I suggest "you should start your project." She moans, whines, and falls on the floor. I check facebook. We all move on. Apparently this isn't enough to get a project done.

So I have to go against my strict code of ethics and get involved in a school project. I start flipping thru a book and come across a familiar statue on Block Island...Rebecca at the Well. I discover a fun fact, apparently the statue was erected by the Women's Christian Temperance Movement, thinking it was depicting Rebecca from the Old Testament. It was discovered years later to be Hebe, cupbearer to the Greek Gods. No doubt they put a gal like Lex and I in charge of that research.

Tonight I made an outline for Lexi...but she will be finding the facts and doing the writing herself. I think between the two of us we can get thru this school thing...hopefully better than I did the first time. And really, that statue of Rebecca or Hebe or whoever is quite lovely, regardless.