|Tales from the Mommy Track is a weekly column about the daily life of a part-time working mom. Risa Green is a critically acclaimed author who lives in Los Angeles. Her previous adult novels, Notes from the Underbelly and Tales from the Crib were made into a television series. Her latest novel, The Secret Society of the Pink Crystal Ball, is a Young Adult book that will be released in September, 2010.|
So, about a year ago I get this email. It’s from a woman I’ve never heard of, asking me if I’m interested in being a part of a book she’s putting together, something about mommybloggers. Of course, I immediately say yes. I say ‘of course’ because my philosophy is to always say yes to any opportunity that comes my way. I mean, you never know what might happen, and it’s turned out that for me, lots of things actually have happened just because I said yes to something that other people might not.
Harper is turning six this week, which means that I have been running
around like a maniac, trying to organize all of her various celebratory
gatherings without completely losing my mind. Call me crazy, but when
I was a kid, I had ten friends over to our house, we played in the
backyard, we ate some pizza, sang Happy Birthday, and then everybody
went home, empty-handed. more
My son asked me tonight what those scrinkly things are on my forehead. What skrinkly things? I asked, thinking I must have had something stuck to my face. I looked in the mirror and he pointed at the long vertical lines etched into my skin. Those, he said. What do I want for Mother’s Day? I want Botox.
My daughter asked me last week if I would please not yell at her when I put her to bed that night.
What do I want for Mother’s Day? I want patience at eight-thirty p.m.
Some women fantasize about sex. Some women fantasize about food. Some about shoes. I, however, fantasize about being organized. This means that I don’t have orgasms. I have organazms. Pottery Barn Kids catalogues are my porn. It’s a recent development for me, actually. I used to be firmly in the shoe-fantasy camp, but then I had kids, and suddenly my structured, type-A, everything-in-it’s-place life began to fall apart at the seams. Now, instead of drooling outside the display window at Barney’s, I find myself lingering in front of The Container Store. more
I live 3,000 miles away from my mother. It’s not by design; I just happened to marry a guy from L.A., and I happen to like L.A. better than New York, or D.C., or any of the other cities where people from the east coast go to live after they get out of school, and so, twelve years ago, I decided to move. At the time, it didn’t seem like a big deal. I could call my mom just as easily from L.A. as I could from New York, and if I wanted to go home for a weekend, or a holiday, I could get on a plane, pop a sleeping pill and be back in Philly before I knew it. more
My husband subscribes to this fabulous magazine called Inc., which is intended for entrepreneurs and small business owners. Because he hardly ever has time to read it, it usually ends up sitting on the kitchen counter for weeks at a time, and I like to peruse it while I eat my cereal in the morning (or late at night, when I’m starving from the stupid diet I am on). Though I don’t own a business, and I am not at all entrepreneurial – I do have lots of great ideas, but I suck in the execution – I enjoy Inc. because I find that many of the topics actually relate quite well to being a working mom. more
It’s spring break in our house this week, and in honor of the fact that I’m feeling lazy and out of my regular routine, I’ve decided to take a cue from television sitcom writers, and do a blog version of a
flashback episode. more
My dog, Chloe, is sick. If you have a dog, then Chloe’s story will probably sound familiar to you. more
Lately, I’ve been spending a lot of time sitting at my desk, scrolling through thesuperficial.com when I’m supposed to be working. It’s a disgusting, mean-spirited, celebrity gossip website, but it’s pretty damn funny, and also highly addictive. Normally, I would not have precious working minutes to spare on a time suck like this, but I’ve had an atrocious case of writer’s block for the last several months, and looking at pictures of Heidi Montag’s cellulite and Kim Kardashian’s butt sure beats staring at a blank screen all day.
When I was fourteen, my father invested in a video store, and my first job was born. Every Saturday and Sunday afternoon, I worked at Video Village, selling memberships, filing VHS and Betamax tapes in their proper places, and working the cash register. One afternoon, a middle-aged male customer returned Beverly Hills Cops. more