Finding the funny in parenthood before somebody loses an eye...



Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Peace Troop

This is my daughter's "Peace Troop."  They're like "Green Girl Scouts" and they're amazing.  One mom started this here in LA and our goal is to nationwide! 

The Daily Ocean

Happy Birthday to my Younger Man!


Today is my man's birthday.

If you follow "Mommy Lite", you might be wondering "which man?"  And I'd understand.

It's my boyfriend's birthday and I want to take a moment to give a "Shout Out" to this wonderful man in my life.

You tolerate my ex-husband.
You tolerate my kids.
You tolerate me.

You embrace the insanity of my life (usually...)
You embrace my children (even when they smell bad)
You embrace the whole package that is "me."

You fill a void in my life that has been there for as long as I can remember.  You've taught me the meaning of friendship, the meaning of love, and are truly one of the best people I have ever known.

I have waited for love.  I have waited for happiness.  I have waited for you.

It may be your birthday, but I am the one who has received a gift.

Thank you.

I love you.

Happy Birthday.

Sunday, October 25, 2009

Booty Trap

My toilet seat is booby trapped.

There have been clues all along, but I just put 2 and 2 together. 

Every time I sit down on the toilet my kids are alerted and suddenly I am bombarded with "Mommy, I need you." "Mooooooom?  Where are you?" and "MOM! Do you know what Ben did?"

They could have been in their rooms quiet and content for hours.  They could be out in the playroom deeply enmeshed in a game of Mario Kart.  Hell, they could be down the block at a neighbor's house.  But the second my butt hits that toilet seat they come running.

I'm not sure if the alarm is depressed by my sitting, or if there is a motion sensor, so I decided to check this out.  I examined my toilet.  I lifted the seat, I waved my hand over the bowl, I even looked under rim.  Nothing.

I pressed my kids for answers.  "What have you done to my toilet?" I asked.  They stared at me with blank faces.  Livi giggled.  I'm on to them.

I'm not sure if they wear wireless receivers that buzz them the moment my ass hits the seat or if some high-pitched sound, one that can only be heard by dogs and children under 10, is emitted the second my buns are exposed above the bowl.

But either way, it is an effective system that alerts them to my whereabouts - letting them know I am not busy on the computer, not cooking dinner, and hence completely available to them for conversation.  A captive audience so to speak.

I would love to find the bug and deactivate the alarm.  To make it so that when I enter the bathroom it is the bastion of peace and solitude it used to be - before they installed the system.

If I could only find the little bugger!

Last night we went to a friend's house for dinner.  Afterwards, nature called and my friend offered me use of her private facilities upstairs in her room.  So I could have a little peace and quiet.

The kids were all engaged in games, movies or playing with the dogs outside.  So I took her up on her offer.

I sat down and thought "Ahhhh...peace and quiet."

Sure enough "Stomp, stomp, stomp..." I hear my son coming up the stairs and he's calling for me.  "Mom????  When's dessert?"

I couldn't believe it.

I guess their toilet's bugged too.

Monday, October 19, 2009

The Bond

What God hath created between girl and piggie, let no man put asunder...


The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Moms...

This has been a crazy week trying to deliver for my agent so she doesn't catch on that I'm a total idiot (at least not yet...) and I've started writing at least 4 posts, but they're not ready yet.

So to keep you entertained, I thought I'd post one of my favorite stories which I posted WAAAAYYYYY back when - before most of ever even heard of Mommy Lite.  

This is a true story and the names have not been changed as I have no interest or inclination to protect anyone's privacy.  Obviously, I'll be sued one day.


"The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Moms"



"People make plans and God laughs..." A very wise girlfriend taught me this in college.

Well, I'm back from my well-planned NY vacation with my kids and I can tell you that God laughed his ass off plenty.

The "Plan":

- Week 1: NYC with all 3 kids. My "Ex" who is flying out with us would drop us at our hotel, kiss the kids goodbuye and make a plan to see them in a few days. Meanwhile, the kids and I would visit Museums, parks, friends and relatives.

- Week #2: Drop off oldest daughter at sleepaway camp (her 1st summer away - that's a post in and of itself) and settle into my relaxing cabin in Woodstock with the twins. Boyfriend would come to visit for a week. We'd have lots of sex and maybe play a little Scrabble.

- Week #3: Twins would enjoy daycamp in Woodstock and I would finish the book proposal for my second book.

- Week #4 - The twins and I would go visit "Grahamcrackers" (their grandmother on my side) in the Hamptons where they'd pick berries, pet ponies and harass her dog.

- End of Week #5 I would pick up my daughter at camp and return to LA where we would all collapse in smiles and relief on our sofa.

WHY GOD IS LAUGHING:

- Week #1 (Day 1): We arrive at our hotel in NYC and "ex" joins is and makes camp on the sofa in our suite. At 1am, my son throws up. Housekeeping is not happy when we call them. We spend the next day watching On Demand in our hotel room and soaking smelly clothes in the mini-bar sink.

- Week #1 (Days 2-5): We get Lice. We spend every day of our NYC trip at Hair Fairies in Hell's Kitchen. Housekeeping curses us further when we request that our room be "turned" every day due to the "infestation." Stuck inour small room in rainy NY, Nintendo DSi is my children's best friend. My "ex," however, is not mine.

- Week #2 (Day 1): Leave for Woodstock. "Ex" unexpectedly joins us...kids are thrilled. I am not. We don't have enough beds and my "ex" sleeps on the porch.

Week #2 (Day 3): Boyfriend visits! "Ex" still there. No sex. Well, not between me and my boyfriend anyway...but I notice my "ex" and boyfriend seem to watch a lot of tv together.

Week #2 (Day 4): "Ex" leaves. AAaaaahhhhhh. Children cry. I rejoice with a small bottle of vodka I nabbed on the plane. I put the moves on my man who complains of stomach pain.

Week #2 (Day 5): "Ex" picks up twins for 2 days so boyfriend and I can have a little alone time. Wee-Hoo! Surely now...

Week #2 (Day 6): My boyfriend is diagnosed with a raging case of Diveriticulitis. Or at least that's what they tell us after 10 hours in the ER of Kingston Hospital. He convalesces on my couch in Woodstock for the next few days. No Scrabble, but I let him beat me in a game of "Spit". It seems to raise his spirits.

Week #3 (Day 2): Boyfriend goes home and takes all chances for sex and Scrabble with him.

Week #3 (Day 2...Evening): I see a mouse in my kitchen. He eats my banana. And my english muffin. I cry.

MY NEW "PLAN":

Week #4: I throw all care and caution to the wind. I pack up the house in Woodstock and head out to my mother's house in the Hamptons without a plan, a plot or even a scheduled meal. I even made an unexpected trip back into the city where we make it to the museum, Hayden Planetarium, Serendipity, Dylan's Candy Bar, AND the boathouse in Central Park.

We had NO plans and NO problems!

Even my "Ex" who was still in town, shows up at my doorstep and is WONDERFUL! Spontaneously, he takes the twins for the night and I get to eat out by myself and see a movie! It is heaven!

I pick up my oldest daughter at camp with NO expectations, only to find that my child (the one with Asperger's Syndrome) made FRIENDS at camp. And not just a few! A LOT of friends!!!!! AND she was crying when she said goodbye! I cried too.

When I got home, I was greeted by my AMAZING (and finally healthy) boyfriend who had surprisngly cleaned the house and put out fresh roses for me upon my return.

Then, I got laid.

Oh, you can bet I was listening...hard! But I didn't hear God snicker even once.

While I am now, more than ever, completely sold on the fact that my friend's wisdom is correct, I DO note that it is incomplete. So, with all respect to my Yiddish elders, I am editing your wisdom.

My new motto?

"People make plans and God laughs. So stop making plans and he'll stop laughing at you."

Sunday, October 18, 2009

Sunday Night Dinner

The scene:  Sunday night family dinner.

The Players; Me, Scott, Izzy, Ben, Livi and my "ex" who has surprised us with an impromtu visit.

At Sunday night dinners we cook together, eat together and gear up for the week ahead.  It's one tradition that's really important to me - and a something I hope will build memories for all of us.

We finish dinner and I'm about to get the kids ready for bed.

"WHO WANTS TO GO FOR FROZEN YOGURT?"  Asks my ex.

"MEEEEEEE!!!!!!"  The kids say in unison.  Ice cream on Sunday night means sugar rush and a late night. 

I give him my best combination "exhale and glare."

"I can see why you guys got divorced..." says Livi.  She's 6, but she's observant.

I don't think we all laughed that hard together in over 2 years.

I guess you never know what's going to make Family Dinner memorable.

Friday, October 16, 2009

Genitalia Rex

Sorry everyone for slackin'...

I've been working on delivering my book proposal to my agent and finishing up some articles for TheWellMom.com and ParentsAsk.com, so I haven't posted anything new here (duh...obviously).

So, with that in mind, as a thank you for your patience and your continued support, I'm going to give you a sneak peak at my article about funny names for genetalia that's going to be running on ParentsAsk.com next week. :)  Enjoy!


GENITALIA REX By Sarah Maizes


Genitalia is funny. 


And it can be the dinosaur in the room when we have to talk about it, especially when it’s our own kids’ genitalia.  But while there are arguments for the proper usage of terminology (i.e. safety, psychological impact, body image, etc…), we just can’t seem to help ourselves from coming up with silly nicknames for their relevant body parts whether we’re relieving diaper rash, wiping a poopy bottom or pointing our little boys in the direction of the toilet bowl.

Here are some of the funniest we’ve heard:
1.      1.      Hoohah & the Tally wacker
2.     Woo & the big Stick
3.     Tulip & the Clicker
4.     Scootie & People doodle
5.     Suzie & Bug
6.     Under carriage & Johnson
7.     Cooties & Peanut
8.     Pudge & Mr. Who-dilly
9.     Biscuit & Winkie
10.  Carrot & Mountain
11.  Nina & Weenis
12.  Dangly Bits & Mr. Winkie
13.  Tu-tus & Pee-tails
14.  Pek-pek & Ti-ti  
15.  Hootey hoo & Nay-Nay
16.  Pickle & Pookie
17.   Pot-pot-potties & Pee-pee
18.  Willy & Foo- Fi
19.  Indoor & Outdoor plumbing
20.  And finally, my personal favorites: J-J & Penisaurus Rex

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

The WORST Halloween Costumes Ever

I am so, very, very sick today.

Too sixk to wpell or rit anything worthy of your reading.  But I can share with you the absolute most amazing compilation of offensive and horrible costumes every.

I laughed so hard when I saw these - and it hurt.   then I coughted.  then i puked...

but it's reelly good.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2009/10/14/the-most-inappropriate-ha_n_317731.html

Sunday, October 11, 2009

The Scariest Decoration of All

I love Halloween. 

I love the costumes, I love the candy and I loooooooove to decorate.

October 1st, I’m in the garage with the kids weeding through numerous boxes containing our ever growing collection of Halloween decorations.  We lay them out all over the ground, separate them into piles, and catalogue them:  fake rats, flashing eyeball lights, bloody limbs…

We toss the stuff that didn’t survive the year in storage and make a list of what we need in order to bring our vision come to life…or death…Mwoooohahahahaaaaa.

People think that decorating for Halloween simply means putting out a pumpkin and hanging up a few cobwebs.  But there’s a lot more to it than that.  I mean, if you want to do it right.  If you really want to set the mood and touch people on a deeper level.  Like we do.  After all, Halloween decorations are an expression of your family’s personality.  They show people how you interpret your world and can classify you to your neighbors as either sophisticated or sophomoric.

The most important tip to decorating brilliantly is to try to think out of the “coffin.”  Anyone can have bones planted in the ground to make it look like a rising corpse.  But it takes real genius to create decorations that stop pedestrians in their tracks and slow cars as they come around the corner.    And that’s where my family really shines.

We walk around the house and look for toys or dolls and everyday household items we have that we can use to enhance “the mood”.

Our biggest showstopper is our Cage O’ Rats. 



We start with the pen we use for our guinea pigs when they graze outside.  Then we sprinkle in some fake rats.  The guinea pigs just sit around doing what guinea pigs do, munching grass, pooping.  But when people walk by they see something in the cage move and it FREAKS them out.  It’s awesome.  I’ve actually seen this in action.  Once I watched a woman walk by with her lunch companions (we live off a main street) and one of the guinea pigs jumped over a fake rat.  The woman freaked!  Jumped clear off the sidewalk.  We’re not insured for that kind of reaction, but it was totally worth the risk.

Another Halloween favorite in our family is “Barbie in Distress”.  We put loads of webs on one of the bushes on our front yard.  Then we wrap up a Barbie in cobwebs so she looks like a mummy.  (We’ve found that Barbie from the Nutcracker works particularly well…the tiara that makes her look extra vulnerable).  Then we add an enormous fuzzy spider and position it on the bush to look like it’s wrapping her up and is about to eat her. 





The beauty of this decoration is that the casual passer-by will see the web on the bush and just think, “Oh, webs.  They’ve decorated for Halloween.  How quaint.”  Then they look a little harder and see the spider and are all, like, “Ew!  Spider.  Creepy.”  But then, they’re drawn in, mesmerized, wanting to examine the decoration further…they wonder what the spider is doing with that wound up white blob at its’ foot-tips.  They move in closer for inspection.   And that’s when they see the golden hair cascading out of the wound up webbing and notice a beautiful face frozen…ney, paralyzed…as if injected with poison from the ravenous arachnid….oooooOOOOOooo.  You’re terrified, right?  (Okay, I think I need a day job…).  But the point is, it’s novel, it’s scary and it is so very, very us.

And finally, the piece de resistance.  It’s ingenious, sophisticated and truly the scariest decoration we have.

When the kids are all done hanging webs, carving pumpkins with smiling faces (pulling the pumpkin “innards” out of the mouth so as to make it look like it’s barfing), and hanging up various My Little Ponies and Webkins in the front yard…I hang an “Insane Asylum” sign on my front door. 

And people run for the hills.





That F@#king Fairy!

Ben lost his tooth yesterday, and if you've followed this blog for even a week you would already anticipate what I'm about to say...

I forgot...AGAIN!

No, I didn't do this for drama.  I didn't just not do it so I'd have something to write about.  I seriously went to bed and didn't get up until the next morning when the kids were already watching television.

Now, if this were Livi, there'd be all kinds of trouble here.  But it's not.  It's Ben.  And he's as flakey as I am.  In fact, luckily, Ben seems to have forgotten about the tooth under his pillow altogether.  I snuck the dollar bill in right after breakfast (after mouthing to my boyfriend "Oh My God! I forgot the tooth!" and pointed at my lower front tooth behind Ben's head.  Scott's jaw dropped to the floor as he realized what I was mouthing and at the sudden realization that he was dating such a total idiot.

It's 11:00am right now and Ben still hasn't mentioned anything about the tooth.  What a flake. 

Looks like the tooth doesn't fall far from the fairy.

Saturday, October 10, 2009

Thursday, October 8, 2009

Badge of honor...

My boyfriend and I were in line at Starbucks the other day waiting to order coffee (I ran out at home).

"What's that?" he says pointing to the spare tire flesh that has accidentally become exposed above the top of my jeans. 

"My fat." I said

"No, on your fat."  He smiled.  It's a good thing I love him.  "You have a bruise.  Right there." He pointed to an area on my hip.

I looked down, kind of lifting the flab o' meat (as I like to call it) a little so I could see the hip hidden beneath.

Sure enough, it was a bruise.

"Oh."

"How'd you get that?"

"I don't know."  And I just stepped up to order my vanilla latte (and no, I didn't go fat free...)

"Aren't you curious?"

"Nope."

"Doesn't it hurt?"  He poked it.

"OW! It does now."  I poked him back.  Hard. 

What he doesn't realize is that I'm covered in bruises, I just barely notice anymore.  I take a pounding from my kids every day. 

My kids step on me, knock into me and climb all over me.  I'm like one of those mother lions you see on Animal Planet.  I'm just lying down in the grass, hangin' out, surveying the land, and one kid's biting my ear, another is playing with my tail region and the other is tackling me over and over, like he's trying to catch his dinner.  I yawn.

Every day I discover new bruises and have no idea when I got them.  I know they're from my kids, but I can't even remember the incident.

I've even made a bit of a memory game out of it.  I'll see a bruise on my thigh and squeeze my brain trying to recollect how and when I got it by assessing the size, shape and color intensity of the bruise.  "Hmm...what's that?  It looks fresh, so it must have been in the past couple of days.  And it's really dark in the middle - like there was a sharp impact point.   Oh, yeah!  I got stabbed with a tinker toy on Tuesday."  I'm like a CSI crime unit but with dirty hair.

I've had friends say "you can buy makeup to cover that."  But there's no point.  I'll just get something new somewhere else.

Like with a grafittied wall, every time you paint it, some hooligan (yes, I used the word hooligan) comes along and marks it up again.  Maybe my kids are "tagging" me, like a little gang, and they mark me up to show I'm their turf.  Little black and blue warnings to my boyfriend, "Back off! She's ours!"

Besides, I wouldn't cover them up anyway.  After all, if hickies are the badge of being a teenager, these bruises are the badge of being a mom (...or a victim of domestic abuse...but hopefully a mom).

So I'll just deal with my bruises from all of the squeezing and punching and kicking.  After all, when you're a mom, you should learn to roll with the punches...or at least learn how to jump out of the way.

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

My Daughter Hates Me...Got any good jokes?

That's right.  She's sobbing in her room right now.  And thumping.  And inconsolable.

She's been way too mean to her brother and sister for weeks and I finally put my foot down and took the computer out of her room.

I heard someone say "I hate mommy" and for the first time in my life, they were talking about me.


I'm heartbroken.  Too heartbroken to write.

Besides, it's against the rules of my blog to write anything sad on Mommy Lite.

So, I'm asking you...do you have a good story about disciplining your children that might make me laugh?  I could use it right now.

Monday, October 5, 2009

Confessions of a Bleacher Mom



I am very excited.

I'm sitting in the "mommy holding pen" of a local gym where my 6 year old daughter is now on the gymnastics "team".  There's huge glass window overlooking the gym and we moms are lined up against the glass staring up sporadically from our iPhones and laptops to watch as our agile progeny flip and sashay across the matted floor.

I am officially a "Bleacher Mom."

Don't get the wrong idea.  I'm not one of those moms who is under the delusion that my children are "gifted".  They're not.  Izzy shuns all things sports, and gallops like a newborn gazelle missing a hoof.  My son is really strong, but he couldn't hit a target if it was the brick wall upon which he was perched.  They do well in school, but I spend hours helping with homework they should be able to do by themselves, and I have had the pleasure of saying on more than one occasion "Why are you hitting yourself?"  To say that I expected anything "extraordinary" from them is an understatement.

But it turns out that Livi positively ROCKS at gymnastics!

Since she was a baby people have marveled at her agility.  She was standing at 8 months, walking at 10 and unanimously elected "President" of her Mommy and Me class when she was 1.  In preschool she was the first to master the monkey bars and people would stop me at the park to ask her age as they marveled at her spinning around the bars like a 3 year old Shawn Johnson.  

By the time she was 4 she didn't walk anymore...she cartwheeled.   Just cartwheeled around town in a perfect little line with a hands-up finish.  People would say "Oh My God!  She's incredible!  How old is she?"  "Does she do gymnastics?"

I would try to be blasé, but pride would fill me up till my smile broke the barriers of my cheeks and I would say "Yes!" and "Thank you!" and "I know!  It's crazy!  I am so proud."

Last week she mastered falling into a back-bend and pushing into a walk-over.  Something I could only deign to dream about when I was six despite the hours I spent bending and contorting myself in my back yard.  I still have the neck injuries to prove my failure.

I'm not stupid.  I realize this could all end tomorrow.  She could come home one day and say "Mommy?  I don't like gymnastics.  Can I get a recorder?"

But right now I see the other moms watching her.  She's so small, so fearless and so good!  How can you not watch?  It's poetry in motion.

And I suck it all up.

I make myself look busy like the other moms.  I try to make it look like I am not enamored of her - like I am so expectant of her talent that I can focus on other menial things.  I look up occasionally from my laptop to make note of where my child is on the floor and I chat politely with the other moms and say "Oh, which one is yours?" secretly comparing their child's skill level to Livi's.   I note, "They've got nothing on us..."

And for a moment, I let my mind go there.  "Hmmmm...2016, could she make it?  What kind of money is there for a gymnast in endorsements?  Could she make a good living?  Would it interfere with her ability to have children?  Would she be happy?  Could she buy me a really, really nice house?"

My mind conjures up an image of Livi on a podium; gold medal around her neck, hand over heart, and tears in her eyes as she sings along with the National Anthem.  She's about to give a speech thanking me when I'm knocked out of my daydream by one of the coaches who shakes my shoulder and hands me the crying kid she's carrying.

While I was dreaming, Livi's class ended, she grabbed a snack and tripped coming up the stairs.  Apparently, that's what happens when she walks and chews a fruit roll-up at the same time.

A friend recently told me "sometimes God speaks in whispers."  In this case, it was more of a whine, but I got the hint.

I wonder if the music shop down the street sells recorders.


Friday, October 2, 2009

The Wrench in the Machine...

So my daughter was watching Disney Channel and saw an ad to check Disney.com to find a number to for the "Disney hotline" and record a "haunted sound" that Disney can use on-line or on tv.  All in honor of what they're touting as "Wiz-tober-fest".

I said fine.

Being technologically adept (certainly more than I am) she managed to do all of these things without my help.  Disney clearly knows their audience.  They choreographed everything perfectly to catch the kids' attention, get them to "log on" to the website and call in - all on their own (with consent of course...).  They've got one pretty smooth machine.  Very impressive.

She pressed the numbers and grinned her big front teeth at me in excitement, holding the phone up to her ear in expectation.

Then her looked turned to confusion.

I said "What's happening?"

She shrugged and handed me the phone...it was a busy signal.  Big surprise.  I hung up for her.

"What was wrong?  What was that sound?  Why'd you hang up?"

"You got a busy signal"

"What's a busy signal?"

It occurred to me that this child had never heard one before.  It totally threw her for a loop.

I wonder how Disney will deal with that wrench. 

Thursday, October 1, 2009

Calling the Tooth Fairy...again...

Crap.  Livi lost the other tooth today on a playdate at Baskin Robbins.  (that's the tooth...it's white chickletiness contrasting against the pink in the letter "B").




She proudly handed me the drool and mint chocolate chip ice cream covered tooth and I carried it home in my pinched thumb and forefinger and Hell-bent on NOT forgetting about it...this time.   I was momentarily distracted  by the newly decorated windows at Neiman's, but I made it home safely and put the tooth into the silk pouch from last week.

All I've been thinking about since this afternoon is "don't forget the tooth, don't forget the tooth, don't forget the tooth..."

I  canceled a reflexology massage because I was afraid that in my relaxed state I might come home, pass out, and completely let go of all thoughts "tooth" related.

So far, so good...Now if I could only find a $1...

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