The Zoom calls crack me up. It’s like rounding up a pack of puppies. Does everyone have the link? Is there a password? How come Joe Schmo still isn’t on? Someone call him. There are only 25 minutes left in the free version. Let me move the screen so the audience has the illusion that this clean wall behind me is representative of my whole house and life. They can’t see that my house looks like a tornado blew through it even though I just vacuumed and cleaned this morning. It warms my heart to see my overseas family’s faces, to celebrate birthdays with friends or stay in touch with colleagues whom I adore and are used to getting a 3pm snack with. Although, it is not the same as face-to-face, I will still take it. I can feel my soul filling up already.
Read MoreBoys Love Paper Dolls, Too
That was the day our paper doll Jack was created. (He has since been renamed to Peter Parker.) Hunter’s enthusiasm and excitement is contagious. It’s all he could think about for days and constantly imagined what else we could design. He conjures up a concept, art directs me (“no Mama, he needs pads under his football jersey”), and I execute by creating the template and cutting out the pieces. He draws the missing body parts on the figure such as the nipples, 8-pack abs and penis. (“Mom, I should have drawn the penis bigger.” Oh boy, I cannot make this stuff up).
Read MoreMom, That Tastes Like Poison
The worst judgement he gave is when I combined jarred marinara sauce and a can of chili because I ran out of meat. I put it over capellini with some parmesan cheese. He smelled it and said, “Mom, that smells like garbage.” I asked him to try it anyway since it was all we had. He took 1 bite and said, “Mom, that tastes like POISON. I’m not eating.” He ran out of the kitchen. My husband burst out laughing, tried a bite, grimaced and totally agreed. Cooking fail.
Read MoreYou're A Mean Mom
I was cooking breakfast, lunch and dinner daily. This coming from a woman who bought lunch most days at work and bought take out dinner for her family at least 3-4 nights a week, I thought was pretty good (insert pat on the back here). If he didn’t like a meal I prepared, he’d throw a tantrum then he’d yell, “You don’t want me to eat! You’re being mean! YOU’RE A MEAN MOM!” And if I loudly tell him I’m not being mean, he yells back, ”Don’t talk in your mean voice! Talk in your beautiful voice!” (insert eye roll and secret laugh here.)
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