Philly Moms

Take Me Out to the Ball Game

By now you may have seen the video of the toddler who appears to be sipping from a beer bottle at a recent Philadelphia Phillies game. It's all over the Internet. While this appears to be the latest in a line of blemishes on already over-scrutinized Philly fans, I, for one, am angered at the way the rest of this country views Philadelphia, and it's fans.

As many videos, tweets, and blog posts erupted with the story of a young boy picking up a beer bottle and putting it to his lips during a Phillies vs. Padres game a few days ago, comments began pouring in in response to the BREWhaha. Many people saying that the bottle was clearly empty; that the boy was obviously not actually drinking beer. Some commenters adding that sneaking an occasional sip of beer while Mom or Dad looks the other way, is a rite of passage for many kids. Or that in many cultures, children begin drinking alcohol, beer,

Two Words: Blog Her

Okay, it's really one word, but still...

Sometimes I feel like I have the three highest maintenance children in the universe. What with caring for them all day and night, cooking, cleaning, doing mountains of laundry, assisting with homework, being the taxi to games, parties, school events, and so on; I often feel that I hardly have time to breathe. My kids hate it when I am not here. They guilt-trip me when I leave the house. My husband works many, many hours a week, and though very helpful, can not possibly field all the little day to day stuff that I deal with. I am forever buying birthday party gifts, writing notes to teachers, picking up toys, and oh yes, trying to write for two blogs. The last of which has been minimally successful as of late.

For these reasons, those offers I get every day in my inbox to attend this blogger event, or that tweet-up, this conference, or that mom's night out, often (actually always) get a negative response. In fact, in the years that I have been blogging, I can count the number of events that I have been able to hit "Yes" on reply to, on one hand. And that's if I am not holding up any of the fingers on that hand. Because, I, for all my hard work and moderate success in building up my online reputation, have never been to any type of blog related event. That is right never. I just don't know how to do it. Who will watch my kids? How will I get there? How much will it cost us? Will my husband think I am insane? That one is a definite yes by the way. And who, in my absence, is going to cook, clean, pick up the toys, drive the kids, and check the homework? In short, when I get back, will the place still be standing? Two words: not likely.

Lost Boy

This morning I pulled out my old leg warmers, hustled over to the CVS for a can of Aqua Net, and popped on a little "Frankie Say Relax", to honor yet another young life lost. This morning, it was confirmed by the LAPD, that childhood actor and 80's icon, Corey Haim was found dead in Los Angeles. One half of the famous "Coreys" is no more. And the world is a little darker for it.

Corey was an 80's heartthrob. Don't tell me that you didn't have his Tiger Beat pinup on your wall alongside Ralph Macchio, Rob Lowe, and C. Thomas Howell. You know that you did. And while it had been a while since Corey had wowed us with the likes of Lucas or Lost Boys, he had been fondly remembered by millions of teen girls now in their thirties, who, like me, grew up watching young Corey make his mark on the world.

Snowpocalypse II: Don't Blame the Groundhog

Around here, you don't really need a groundhog to tell you that come February 2nd, we're looking at another six weeks of winter. I can't remember the last time that fluffy rat didn't see his shadow. Perhaps if it weren't for the bright lights and cameras shining all around him every brisk February morning in Punxsutawney, PA, we might have a chance to get a taste of spring just a tad earlier. But alas, every year, Phil crawls out of his hole, looks around at the flashbulbs and video equipment, tosses his head aside and mutters, "okay there it is folks, can I go back to bed now?"

Like the slaves to pop culture tradition that we are, we squelch the fleeting desires that we had for packing up the parkas and snowpants a little early. Dashed are our hopes of kite flying in mid-February; of picnicking in the park on a March morning. And we prepare. We prepare to fulfill destiny- the destiny that we have laid out for ourselves by choosing to live here, in the beautiful northeastern United States. The destiny that mother nature, father time, and old man winter have been handing down to us for years, the one that no such furry rodent can take away from us. It is February, and there will be winter. And winter there is. As we buckle down and prepare for what is being broadcast as a "monster storm", "a storm with epic snowfall amounts", we curse the groundhog, and pull out the snowpants and mittens for another stretch of snow days. But let us not blame poor Phil. Phil is merely a patsy. A scapegoat designed to make us feel a little better about the winter doldrums, and perhaps add a little entertainment to the February blahs.

Ho Ho Ho, Merry Christmakkuh

'And lo on the third night of Chanukah, Jesus said unto his people, go forth and light the Menorah, and then we shall decorate the Christmas tree.' Or something like that. Confusing isn't it? That's just how we roll around here, at least at holiday time. You see, we are an interfaith family. And 90% of the year, that means little or nothing to me, my husband, my kids, their friends, etc. It's just the way that it is. But around the holidays, all the lines are blurred, the waters muddied, and the questions, oy vey the questions!

It's difficult to explain to a child how mommy can be of a religion that believes one thing, while daddy is of a religion that believes something totally different. And yet, they can be married, and have children, and try to teach them the ways of both. Its hard to put into words why we can have a Christmas tree AND a Mmenorah, and that's okay with G-d. And it's a downright pain in the ass to try to explain to my kids why they are the only kids in their class that celebrate two holidays. 

See, we live in an area where about 90% of the people celebrate Christmas, and Christmas alone. Not Chanukah, not Kwanzaa, not even Three Kings Day. While the holidays themselves are no point of contention, it's my own feeling of worry and confusion that gets me every year. Because neither my husband or myself are very religiously oriented people, holidays for us are more of a ritual, a tradition, a cultural observance. That has always been fine with us. The kids have never questioned our celebratory motives. They know the basic story of Chanukah, and the basic story of Christmas. And after all, in their very young view, they know the important stuff about each holiday, food, family, fun, and PRESENTS!

What Are You Worth, Mom?

A while back there was an article, actually a few of them, followed by news reports, blog posts, tweets, rants and raves of all kind, about what a stay-at-home-mom would make, if she were to be paid for her work. The estimate, initially brought about by a salary.com survey, put moms on the market at about $140,000 per year. That's taking in to account the basics of cooking, cleaning, daily child-care, driver, etc. And leaving out approximately 875 other things that moms do on a daily basis. Can you say Boo Boo fixer? Gum-in-hair remover? Nightmare tamer? Referee? So, how does this figure sound to you? Too much? Too little? Where do I go for my check? I am sure opinions vary greatly on the subject. On what a mom's work is worth; and on what constitutes "real" income garnering work. Please, make no mistake, work it is.

I'm sure that every profession feels as though they are underpaid. Everyone wants to be appreciated for their labor and dedication. In our society, such appreciation often boils down to dollars and cents. Show me the money. The more I make, the more important my job must be, and therefore the more important I must be as well. Right? I don't think so. I think that we have a very skewed perception in this country as to what constitutes important work. And I certainly don't think we are a good indicator of how pay rate should be commensurate with how crucial those positions are to our functioning as a happy, healthy, society. If anything, the opposite is true. We seem to pay the most money to the people who, much of the time, deserve it the least. But that's a soapbox moment for another day.

Back To School: Don't Let the Door Hit Ya...

It happens every year. As May rolls in and the end of the school year nears, I am filled with a sense of hope for the fun times that are just ahead. I imagine all of the ice cream cones, trips to the beach, and lazy days by the pool. The very thought of not having to deal with laying out clothes each night, school buses, packing lunches, and getting up on time,  fill me with a delight that makes me squeal with joy. I am excited. I am hopeful. I am clearly insane.

Sure enough the days have been long and hot; the nights relaxing. There have been trips to the zoo, to smell the animals baking in the hot summer sun. There have been picnics at the park, most of which, resulted in minimal injuries. And yes, many lazy days by the pool. If by lazy you mean me constantly watching my three kids like a hawk to make sure they don't fight, yell to loud, run by the pool, or drown. Ahhh yes, the carefree days of summer. Sure the pressure to be anywhere specific or do anything at a certain time is way down, which I love. My kids however, did not get the memo. They still come calling at the same time each morning, chanting their daily battle cry of boredom, before they have even wiped the sleep from their eyes. They demand to know where we're going, what we're doing, and who's coming over. And my lazy days quickly become filled with things to do. Don't get me wrong. At the beginning of the summer I made a pact with myself that I would try to have fun things available to do with them all summer long. I said that I would try to make it an enjoyable and memorable summer for everyone. And I meant it. Sorta.

Gone Fishing...

Summer is officially here. Like so many families at this time of year, we have been very, very busy with pool parties, fireworks, camp, barbecues, and just general summer laziness. I can't complain. The kids seem to be enjoying it, and I am too. Very uncharacteristically for me, I am not stressing about what is to happen in the coming months. I am simply enjoying our summer. Of course, given all of this fun and free time, something has to suffer. I figured it would be the housework. While I could hardly believe that I had missed my two posts for June, sure enough when I checked it out, not a peep from me has been heard in a months time. Did no one miss me? No calls? No flowers? No emails of concern for my well being? It's okay, I know you all have been busy too. After all, it's not easy being a summering suburbanite. It takes a lot of time and hard work.

I grew up right in Philly. My mom had just turned 17 when I was born, and we lived with my older, Roman Catholic grandparents. When I was kid, my mom was a kid herself, my Grandfather was still working full time at a factory, and my Grandmom spent a lot of time at church or playing cards with my Grandpop and her 14 siblings. I was never in any organized sports. I never did any clubs or after school activities. Back then there were no "playdates" or Gymboree classes. I hung out at home a lot with a very young mom and my older Grandparents. I watched a lot of Lawrence Welk, and listened to a lot of Pink Floyd. Sometimes my friends and I would play outside, on the "stoop", or in the street, until it got dark out and we had to come in. So, it's no wonder I am having a hard time raising my three good little suburbanite children. It's not for lack of trying.

Uprising in Collingswood?

As some of you know, I am the only (I think) blogger for Philly Moms who actually hails from the OTHER side of the river. I write, nestled in my little house in New Jersey. I am a mere 20 minutes from Center City, Philadelphia. As people from this area will tell you, the part of New Jersey where I live (Camden County) is really just an extension of the "5 counties" that comprise the greater Philadelphia metro area. So, I think nothing of writing about my experiences, events, and happenings from my side of the bridge. Case in point, my adventures in Collingswood over the holiday weekend.

The Collingswood May Fair is a festival that takes place every year at about this time. And every year we go. My brother in law lives there and his house is just a short walk to the main avenue where all the fun takes place. Every year thousands of people turn out for the event. This year was no exception. More than 100 stores, artists and crafters displayed their wares along Haddon Ave. Children played in the “Kid-Zone” which featured pony rides, carnival games and rides. Their were jugglers, balloon artists, and sand art. They had four stages of live music that featured everything from blues to rock to doo wop. They also had an antique & classic auto show and Harley-Davidson motorcycle contest this year just to add to the fun. We had a fantastic time. As a matter of fact, my only complaint about the whole day was that there were not nearly enough trash cans put out by the township along the main walking area of the event. Still, a fabulous time. If you live in the area, I highly recommend that you go next year. You can check it all out, plus other fun Collingswood stuff, like their weekly farmers market or their book festival, on Collingswood's web site. (Perhaps I should work for the Collingswood Tourism Board)

For Maddie & Thalon: Loss and a Lesson For Us All

For some moments in life there are no words.  -David Seltzer

I sat down this morning to write about things that were going on in my community. I had planned to write about the circus, Senator Specter, and the Swine Flu. For as much as I tried to find the words, the simple words it would take to tell you what was going on in this town, I could not. I soon realized that what I wanted to write, what I needed to write, was not at all about the physical community that I live in; my house, my town, my little peice of the earth. No, what needed to be told was what has been happening in another community that I belong to, one that we all belong to.

By now, if you have a blog, read a blog, or have ever heard the word blog, you have probably heard about Maddie Spohr. I wrote about Maddie's horribly untimely death back on April 7th, here. Maddie's mom has somehow been doing a wonderful, heroic in fact, job of documenting everything that has occurred surrounding Maddie's death at the tender age of 17 months. Just days later, it was baby Thalon. Thalon Myers, a beautiful little baby boy died at just 4 months old. His death was a second tragic blow to the blogging community.