I’m taking a page from Scary Mommy. She (though I’m sure she’s not alone in this) has instituted Flashback Fridays on her wondrously funny blog in which she recycles a past crowd pleaser on Fridays.
Nice. But given as I’m time pressed with actual writing that’s keeping the lights on in our house, Wells Fargo from repossessing our Volvo, and my kidlet in Montessori school — and since my early stuff has hardly gotten wide distribution because I started blogging before I learned the virtues of the Share button — I’m going to offer TWO — count ‘em! — of my personal favorites that people who are not my mom (or otherwise related to me by blood or marriage) have deemed good reads.
And yes, I realize that last sentence borders on the Faulkner-esque. Thank you, Grammar Police. As a side note, I’m sure that my eighth grade English teacher is still shocked and amazed that people — and by that I mean bona fide magazine editors — actually pay me to write stuff, given that in middle school I could not diagram a sentence to save my life. Ms. Eighth Grade Grammar Teacher, you’ll be happy to know that 30 years later, I can spot a misplaced modifier at 50 paces … even if I can’t map it out.
But now without further ado … and in that true pop radio tradition of giving airplay to two songs in a row from The Same Band, here’s my double-shot tribute to Tuesdays.
Read ‘em and … well, please SHARE them, DIGG them, and by all means COMMENT on them or send me EMAIL about them.
How New Moms Bond
So, my new friend — we’ll call her Brooklyn — was telling me about her fourth-degree anal tear. “…and the doctor’s down there for what seems like ever, making these sewing motions. I’m like, Hey, whatcha doing down there? And he says, Oh nothing …. But when the anesthetic wore off, like Oh … my … God! I didn’t think I’d ever want to get pregnant again.”
Did I mention that she was telling me this while hugely pregnant … with her third?!? Hey, guys tell war stories. Women tell birthing stories. It’s how we bond with other new moms. Park a stroller in a food court, at the playground, under a shady tree with your newborn and if there’s another new mom within 50 yards, she’ll parallel park her Bugaboo and after a few pleasantries — How old’s your baby? Is she sleeping through the night yet? – will launch into My labor was hor-ri-ble. Let me tell you … And she’s off to recount the kind of extremely graphic details that you’d only be privy to if you were, say, a regular watcher of those reality birthing shows on Discovery Health. Within minutes you’ll know more about your new pal’s vagina than if you’d hooked up with her at Dinah Shore. Read more …
You know how you take certain things for granted and just assume that your worldview on a particular subject is universally shared by all … or at least by the man you married and who supplied the other half of your kidlet’s DNA? And then you find out that that’s totally not the case … that in fact, said DNA-Contributor has a completely different take on something that’s so diametrically opposed to yours that you can’t even believe anyone would think that way.That pretty much sums up my pre-baby discussion about circumcision with Stewart. I had taken it as a given, in the way that I take it as given that the sky is blue, the grass (when we remember to water it) is green and that Paris Hilton will eventually do something even more crass and unbecoming than flash her hoo-ha at the paparazzi. In other words, we’re having a boy, so, duh, he’ll be circumcised.
Stewart apparently, was of a different mind altogether.
Here’s me: So after the baby’s born, we’ll get him circumcised in the hospital.
Here’s Stewart: Um …I don’t think we should. What????? Read more …