Swimming Pools…

Let me just say I am 100% in support of making sure kids (and adults) are safe in any situation where there is potential threat of drowning. You can never be too careful. So, when my kid received an invite to a classmate’s birthday party with this printout attached, it wasn’t the pool safety importance I objected to, it was the specificity and
length of particulars. The longitude and latitude of where male guests could pee outdoors. The request that we bring a certain type of present (proceeded by the assurance that a gift was NOT required. Phew, thanks for pointing that out). I want a “fun, safe” day too, but when I was throwing a pool party, I hired 4 teenagers who were lifeguards from the Y and called it a day. So, maybe it’s just me, but this seemed awfully … Ungracious? Icky? Something is just slightly off:

“Keep in Mind…
Please bring a towel and a bathing suit. Also, it’s fine with me if your kid comes with another family, but make sure that each kid who comes has a specific grownup who will be solely responsible for them. We want a safe, fun day.

While a birthday gift is not required, if you do choose to bring something, I’d really appreciate it if no one gives him a toy having to do with weaponry or violence.
Hope to see you Saturday!
These are our basic pool rules if you could share them with your kids:
-No diving (pool is 7 feet at deepest point),
– no dunking heads,
-no hitting anyone with pool toys, -no toys in spa.
-Boys may pee outside of gated pool (in area facing trees at perimeter of property)
-Please dry off a bit to use bathrooms inside house.
-Don’t jump onto pool toys from edge of pool lest you slip backwards and hit your head on the coping.
– no glass or crockery in pool area (we will supply paper and plastic ware for you)”



“A Mother’s Prayer” by Tina Fey

I know – zero points on originality – but too irresistibly perfect not to re-read in honor of stupid mothers’ day. Enjoy y’all …

“First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.

May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty.

When the Crystal Meth is offered, may she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half And stick with Beer.

Guide her, protect her when crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.

Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes And not have to wear high heels. What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.

May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.

Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen.Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short – a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day – And adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.

O Lord, break the Internet forever, that she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.

And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it.

And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back. “My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes. Amen. Tina”

The New Doormat

My New Doormat

Who are we fucking kidding? Not being all cute faux-ghetto; we haven’t had a working doorbell in four years.

*update: apparently a better definition is necessary, as i keep getting corrected on the spelling my my lovely spanish greeting

1. an exclamation of greeting.
2. an exclamtion used to show excitement or enthusiasm.
3. To call or summon
interj. “Holl-a! (greeting)”
interj. “Look at those ladies…Holl-a!”
verb “I’ll holla atch’ya in a hot minute”

The Great McStruggle


I fought (well, more like shove/nudged) a three-year old girl, who also happens to be a little person, over ownership of this plastic nugget toy. It was 14 years ago ,at the book fair on the green. There was a giant cardboard box labeled “Free – please take” containing junky, used and mostly broken and filthy stuff. Still, I had to check it out. We happened upon the nugget at the exact moment and the battle was on immediately. As her teeny three-year old, little person hand reached out and without much force or swift movement, I grabbed it before she could. In my defense, it was actually a pretty reasonably even match, save for weight. (I once gave my friend Alec a serious black eye in what can I can only categorize a badly botched fist bump)