Wednesday, May 30, 2007


Kip suggested I blog about the following:
"Why can children swim for hours in 60 degree ocean water, and when I go in up to my knees I want to throw up?"

Well, honey, let's see. While several possibilities spring to mind, I'm going to go with: BECAUSE YOU ARE AS OLD AS DIRT.

Here is a list of other things your children are currently able to do that YOU CANNOT.

1. Sniff their own toes. (For this-I am grateful. You have other odors you like to discuss--it's enough.)

2. Look styling while wearing the cammy shirt with the cammy shorts. And the Batman flip flops with the Pirates of the Caribean necklace. (You have got to stop playing it so safe--throw out the J CREW catalog and live a little, darling. )

3. Exist for hours on nothing more than three spoonfulls of LIFE cereal. ( You and I still believe that LOTS of people eat a whole chocolate cake in one sitting.)

4. Two words, baby: MONKEY BARS. (followed by slides, soccer, tag, and general bouncing off the walls, that for us results in weeks of soreness, stiffness, and sometimes not being able to get out of bed)

5. Manage to get somene to assist them with their personal hygene by sitting on the pot yelling "I am FINISHED...O DAD...I said...I AM DONE..."

Perhaps together we have managed to create two superbeings whose wonder powers only activate occassionally. They sometimes seem to be impervious to cold, hunger, and slapstick humor. I can attest that they can go HOURS and HOURS and HOURS without sleep.

But the most annoying thing that they CAN do which you seem unable to do is to COMPLY WITH MY ORDERS. They seem a bit clearer about who the boss is, my love. Perhaps you could work on that? XO

Paris Hilton Paints Pottery!

Dear Paris,

Just when I thought there was absolutely NOTHING redeemable about you--you go and do THIS!

I know that if I only had a couple of weeks before I had to serve time in the slammer, that I too would seek a creative outlet of some kind. Since I paint pottery for a living, I most likely would take up collage. Or sewing. Or glass blowing. Or maybe I would spend that precious time in a corner at Chippendales with a bottle of pinot and a sketchpad.

The Paint Your Own Pottery Industry is probably all a-buzz with the release of this photo. As I type, some studio owner in Kansas is running to Kinkos and having brochures made that say "Painting Pottery is HOT!" I'm sure they appreciate the fact that you have made painting pottery "cool" again.

My gosh, I hope they have crafts where Lindsay is.


Tuesday, May 29, 2007

Last Post about Fall Preview

Ok-so since we are working backwards here--and what you will read as my FIRST blog will actual be the last thing I wrote for the day (so there will be two blogs after this that will be about the preview)-- I do want to say that while FALL '07 is CHOCKABLOCK FULL of really fabulous product, that I'll stop the blog posts about each item HERE if you will kindly suggest blog posts in the comments section below.

I promise to blog about ANY SUBJECT. Well...erm...ANY SUBJECT FIT FOR GENERAL VIEWING. Or, rather...ANY SUBJECT I CAN THINK OF SOMETHING MILDLY AMUSING TO SAY SOMETHING ABOUT. So go ahead, all NINE of you; put your thinking caps on.

Finishing Up Fall Preview

This little item has caused a bit of controversy. And I'm not just talking about the lack of the dip bowl--although that is AN ISSUE. Apparently, some women do not see the humor in the sentiment above. These are women who actually do go through tough times every year thanks to "THE SEASON" and find nothing to laugh about in a serving piece that contains the F word.

Not me: my husband likes The Eagles, so it is always a pretty short season; given the fact that they never win a championship or anything.

But I do have empathy for my sisters who married men who yell at their televisons while sitting on their butts in overstuffed recliners, eating nachos and drinking beer. ( And by sisters, I mean my figurative sisters, not my sister-in-laws, and especially not the one in New Jersey married to the t.v. ADDICT who would have the thing on in the bathroom if he could figure out how to run the cable there--nope-- just my sistahs.)

So *hugggggs* to all the football widows out there. And just remember, it could be WORSE. They could totally be into golf.

Finishing Up Fall Preview

I was never a great speller. To this day, every time I type the word definitely, I spell it "definately"--EVERY TIME, despite the fact that my spell checker flashes the word "IDIOT" now instead of giving me the adjusted spelling.

Tuesday, May 22, 2007

More FP!

1. Fall in love with a man who has only had dogs his whole life.

2. Make it clear right from the start: Love Me-Love My Cats.

3. Force him to interact with the cats. Encourage the cats to walk across his lap while the two of you are snuggling on the couch, and make sure the cat sticks its butt directly into your boyfriend's face on more than one occasion. Let your new boyfriend see the advantages to having cats: allow him to blame his gas on them.

4. Say things like "He must really like you! He never humped MY sweater!" Encourage the boyfriend and cats to bond by leaving them alone together often. You will know boyfriend has reached optimum level of acceptance when cat vomits up a large hairball on the bed while you are in the middle of sex, and he does not skip a beat. (Note: Not that I ever actually had that experience, being a VIRGIN until my marriage to Kip and all. Hi Dad! Thanks for reading my blog!)

5. Marry the boyfriend. Take the cats to the vet as a couple. Spend large amounts of money trying to cure the older cat of whatever ailment is causing her to poop on the bed. Spend large amounts of money getting cat's teeth cleaned, switching to special cat food, and laundry bills for the comforter. Figure out thousands of dollars later that the reason the cat is pooping on the bed is because she is eating the houseplants. Be patient with husband when he says "NEXT TIME THAT DAMN CAT GOES TO THE VET IT WILL BE THE LAST TIME."

6. Get pregnant. Show husband the paragraph in "What To Expect When You Are Expecting" that says pregnant women cannot empty the litter box. Don't let on that once he takes on this chore, IT WILL BE HIS TO DO FOREVER. If he starts to backslide or whine, just get pregnant again.

7. Realize for the first time; O MY GOD-- your cats are not your children... now that you have actual children. Begin to see them as two more mouths to feed and two warm bodies THAT WANT SOMETHING FROM YOU. Try to remind yourself of the advantages of having cats by allowing the baby to grab onto one's tail and put it into her mouth, while the toddler mounts the back of the other one and rides him like a pony. Put them between you and husband in bed when he comes home from a night out of drinking with the boys. Cry into their soft fur at times when you cannot easily see an end to 3 A.M. feedings and complete exhaustion.

8. Realize your children love the cats when they start to include them in their crayon drawings of the family. Realize your husband loves the cats when he comes home from the grocery store with treats for the kids, and a jar of liver flavored POUNCE TREATS.

9. Wake up one day and discover cats are about 120 years old in cat years. Allow husband to take the one who is infirm and unable to eat, to the vet...for the last time. Fall in love with husband all over again when he cries afterwards.

10. Listen to your daughter continue to say to complete strangers "My cat died two weeks ago" after 8 or 9 months have passed, and realize she is going to grow up, fall in love, and convert some dog lover herself someday.

Monday, May 21, 2007


If my computer could talk it would say:

"You have absolutely no idea what the hell you are doing, do you?"

At which point I would kick it.


I did not make the counterpart to this tile. It would have said something like: "Keep it simple. Ignore everybody except when they are reading or typing on the computer--then stick your ass in their face over and over again. -Advice from the cat."


I would tell you the inspiration for this, but I am still trying to pretend I come from a nice, NORMAL family.

Friday, May 18, 2007


Our Fall '07 line will premiere this weekend at The Stationary Show in NYC, but I will give all 8 of my faithful readers (the numbers just keep going UP!) a sneak peek at NEVER BEFORE SEEN items and reveal the inspiration for them. Starting with this one: our new FRIEND FOR LIFE mug.

I am fortunate enough to know a lot of wonderful people, but two girlfriends in particular came to mind when designing this mug.

The first is my friend Cary-whom I have known since I was 8 years old--who has the distinction of being the friend whose parents SENT HER TO BOARDING SCHOOL TO REMOVE HER FROM MY SPHERE OF INFLUENCE. All because I taught her to smoke cigarettes at age 15 in the woods, and we happened to do it in a patch of poison ivy. I should mention that I am not at all allergic to poison ivy and can, in fact, handle it like a bouquet of flowers--it is one of my many superpowers. Cary, on the other hand, developed poison ivy over 95 percent of her body. Including inside her ears--which is supposed to be all kinds of painful, and her entire ass, since we were bright enough to actually SIT in the stuff in shorts. Her dad went to where she said she thought she may have had contact with the plant in order to destroy its rampant growth, and discovered the 30 or so half smoked Marlborough Reds we had scattered carelessly on the ground. Next thing you know they shipped her off to a swanky campus upstate, and we could only be together vacations and summers, which left me little time to teach her to DRINK WHILE UNDERAGE and SNEAK BOYS INTO THE HOUSE WHILE HER PARENTS WERE SLEEPING. But somehow I managed.

The second is my friend Karen, who now lives such a different life than I: having signed some sort of pact with the devil and remaining a size two, beautiful and graceful, and always carrying the latest pocketbook. She jet sets all over the world, has homes in New York and Vancouver, and recently christened a ship. K and I are like old buddies bound together eternally because we survived great hardships together--in our case, it was DATING IN OUR THIRTIES. Oh the stories we could tell about married Russian men and ex-models. But that's another blog.

Both of these gals are a FRIEND FOR LIFE which means that we will still be best buds when we are blue haired and stooped (even though Karen will most likely still be brunette and a size two, damn her.)

By the way, some friends are not Friends for Life; Some are just "Friends For While You are Renting the Summer House" or "Friends For The Duration of This Birthday Party Until Next Year's Birthday Party." But a FRIEND FOR LIFE is a No-Matter-What Friend. Send one you know an email today. Then take her out and encourage her to get a tattoo.

A portion of the proceeds of the sale of this item will go to a great organization called The Creative Center, which brings art to people with cancer. You can find more info at Because when you are blessed, pass it on.

Thursday, May 17, 2007

A Rose by Any Other Name....

My son decided two and a half hours ago that he will no longer respond to his birth name "Jesse." Instead, he has asked that we refer to him by his chosen name--the name he feels his father and I were remiss in not using on his birth certificate....


The problem is compounded by the fact that Annie is actually complying. She is having a grand old time playing with her brother, "Blaster."

And when I asked him why he was so insistent about changing it--"Jesse" having been a perfectly good name for the past six years--he grabbed my shirt at the sleeve and pulled my ear to his mouth and whispered; "The girls think it's cute, Mom."

Wednesday, May 16, 2007

Spun Sugah

If you do not believe that awesome incredible works of art (including a shark attack and a roasted chicken) can be made from on this link (or-ok, paste it into your bowser) to rock your world:

My personal fave is the crocheted pair of dentures in water. I want that for Christmas. How about you?


JESSE: Mom-what is that thing called when you sell stuff?
ME: A salesperson?
JESSE: No--what Daddy is.
ME: A businessman?
JESSE: No, an on-tray....on-tray...
ME: Entrepreneur?
JESSE: Kind of--he's an entreprenerd.

Monday, May 14, 2007

How I Spent Mother's Day 5/13/07

Let me just start by saying that Kip returned from a business trip at midnight Friday, and Jesse stayed up waiting for him until 11:45. Because it was CAMP MOMMY--where there are no rules! So heck, let's blow up some aerobeds in the living room and watch a SpongeBob marathon. You guys get the bag of Doritos, I will get the bottle of Pinot, let's hunker down and hope Daddy's flight is on time. And all would have been well if the the next day I could have stuck to my original plan of foisting the tired buggers onto my tired husand, and running away to Mexico.

But as luck would have it, there was a birthday party. A small intimate affair with a few of THE COOLEST PARENTS AT THE SCHOOL. A picnic in Central Park.

And it would have been a wonderful, awesome, amazing time IF I COULD HAVE LEFT MY CHILDREN AT HOME.

To be fair-Annie (who made it to 11 pm by the way) was passed out for the entire thing-so while she wasn't great company, she definately did not detract from the party atmosphere. All the good parties I've ever been to have had someone sleeping it off in a corner.

But Jesse. *Sigh* Jesse. I lost count of how many times he dramatically stormed away from an activity to sulk behind a tree. He refused to be in the group photo. Refused to play soccer. Wanted ice cream when there was only cake. If another child was hit in the face with a ball, Jesse would start crying about his injured arm. While five other faces were filled with sunshine, Jesse was a big, dark storm cloud just raining all over everybody's parade. To the point that even I was thinking: Who the hell invited this kid?

I must have said at least ten times "He's tired-he was up all night--THIS IS ALL KIP'S FAULT" to the other parents who were there. And while they nibbled on the turkey sandwiches with basil, and nodded sympathetically, I still felt deep, deep Mommy Shame.

I will never be a Sophie Mom--who has very smart children who do not watch television--she is able to do impossible things: like get her son to wear a sweater. I will never be a Tara Mom--she with the laid back mop tops, who signs the boys up for classes that they miraculously attend after she has paid for them. I will never be an Allessandra Mom--who has managed to raise two kind and gentle sons who shrug their shoulders and sit out if hit at dodge ball, instead of halting the game for ten minutes as Jesse does, while he argues and insists that: "THE BALL JUST BRUSHED MY PANTS-IT DOESN'T COUNT-IT DIDN'T HIT ME-IT HIT MY PANTS-I AM NOT OUT--DO OVER--DO OVER!"

And so I foisted the kids onto Kip for Mother's Day and got my butt down to Barnes and Noble to stand for an hour in front of the parenting section. To read titles like: "How to Turn Your Impossibly Difficult Child into A Well Behaved Kid in Five Easy Lessons" and " How To Get Your Child To Do What You Want Him To Do Without Bursting A Blood Vessel." I made my purchases and headed home.

To find my children playing quietly together in the living room. Play acting with tiny figures around a plastic castle. And when Annie cries out in falsetto "Help me , Help me--the dragon is going to eat me," Jesse answers back in a deep voice "Don't worry--I will save you!" At which point, she says "Oh Thank You My Bestest Brother" And they both look up and see me and say "HI MOM! Wanna play castle with us?" And for a moment, I believe the depth of my love for them might be enough.

Thursday, May 10, 2007

Random things on my Desktop

This is my Uncle Joe. Some say a sense of style is genetic...DO YA THINK? Joe has a penchant for plaid. My mom made him that sweater a gazillion years ago..I am pretty sure it is itchy.

Monday, May 07, 2007

Make like a tree and Leif

So, the other night we held our first gathering of the PS 11 Book Swap Club. In a bar, of course. Because everyone knows that books are just something to keep around the house for those nights when you don't pass out.

The highlight of the evening was spotting a faded green bandanna at a nearby table and realizing O MY GOD THAT'S SEAN CASSIDY! NO WAIT!! THAT'S LEIF GARRETT! The boy who was; "Made for dancing a-a-a-alllll night lo-o-o-ng."

So, because I had had drinks prior to meeting the girls for drinks and therefore had the liquid courage coursing through my veins, I called the man over to our table as he passed on his way back from the restroom. Which amused Susan and Tara because they were also avid readers of TIGER BEAT--but did not do much for Sophie, because she is English, and had absolutely no history of hormonal surges brought about by this boy when he was in his prime: *sigh* his head full of golden curly hair, and clad in those ridiculously tight spandex pants.

Leif was kind enough to take pictures with us (Tara used her cell and hasn't figured out how to get them out of her phone and into the computer so I can post them here) and to stay awhile and chat with Susan--who in addition to still being a blonde hottie, is a Criminal Defense Lawyer. It may be that he was talking to her because she's a blonde hottie, or perhaps because if you've seen VH1's BEHIND THE MUSIC, you'll know Leif can use any free legal advice he can get.

Leif had Tara take pictures of us with his camera too-which he promised to post on his website. Because nothing screams COMEBACK more than canoodeling with a group of 40 year old women exchanging books.

Wednesday, May 02, 2007

The Cat in the Sweater

This is Lenny. And this is the black sweater Lenny has been having sex with, pretty much daily, for the past several weeks. I have no idea if the sex is consensual. I only know it is embarrassing when you call someone into your office and a cat is humping an acrylic polyester blend nearby.

Lenny seems to enjoy it. I can't tell about the sweater.

Here is Lenny, basking in the afterglow. At some point I am going to have to send that girlfriend of his off to the dry cleaners.