|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.|
Well, the show aired. Thank God. Thanks to everyone who watched, and to everyone who sent me e-mails and posted comments about it. I’ll tell you, people have come out of the woodwork! In a good way, though. I’ve heard from lots of old friends, and people I haven’t talked to in years and years, which is really nice, and I love it. So if anyone else feels like getting in touch with me, yes, I am that Risa, from Upper Dublin High School.
When my daughter was three, she wanted to be a doctor. As a Jewish mother, I couldn’t have been prouder. But then, last summer, I took her to the set where we were filming an episode of Notes From the Underbelly (which STILL does not have an air date), and ever since then she’s wanted to be a movie star. Not an actress, mind you, but a movie star. It’s my own fault, of course, for ever introducing her to that world. I thought it would be fun for her to see it, and frankly, I wanted everyone to meet the child who had inspired my loathing of pregnancy and infants.
I think I had my all-time most embarrassing moment as a mother the other day at my daughter’s preschool. School resumed this past Tuesday (thank God), and apparently during circle time, the kids were talking about their vacations, and the holidays, and about what they received for Hanukkah. I know this not because my daughter told me – a typical conversation about school with her goes something like this:
I recently read an article in New York Magazine about a website called Urbanbaby.com. Long story short: Urbanbaby is a parenting resource which is mainly used by New York mothers as a forum to chat/complain about everything from their cheating husbands to how much money they make (or don’t) to where they can find a good housekeeper to who they can bribe to get their kids into kindergarten. The women chat anonymously, and the things that they reveal to perfect strangers at two in the morning are, even to the most jaded person like myself, shocking.
My nanny called in sick a few days ago (worst possible start of my day is to find this on the news on my answering machine at 7:30 am) and so I got stuck – okay, stuck is maybe a harsh word but that’s how I felt at 7:30 in the morning – having to skip work to take care of my kids all day. Thankfully, my daughter was in preschool for most of the day, but my son, who is nineteen months old and ALL BOY (read: favorite activity is climbing up onto the bathroom sink and then dropping various items into the toilet) was mine for another twelve hours.
The big week came and went, and all in all it worked out pretty well. Despite my best efforts to stop time, my daughter still turned five. She had a really cute little dance party at the place where she takes ballet – twenty little girls in tutus doing hip hop routines and the limbo – and I have to say that I did an excellent job with the party favor. I burned CDs that I titled Harpalicious!
So, I know I said last week that I’m not expecting my life to change at all when the show airs, and I’m still not, but I am really relieved that it is finally going to be on television, if only because people can now stop asking me why the show isn’t on television yet. Being in tv-airdate-limbo kind of reminded me of being pregnant - in that lots of well-meaning people asked me lots of well-meaning questions to which I did not have answers – and we all know how much I loved being pregnant.
Last year, one of the mothers at my kids’ preschool asked if I might be interested in co-chairing the school carnival. Why this woman thought of me, I have no idea. My former school volunteer experience consisted of hosting a parent coffee at my house and driving two kids besides my own to a class field trip. But I must have been feeling particularly competent that day, because for some unfathomable reason, I said yes. I mean, what’s one more full time job on top of being a mom and writing a book, right?
If you’re looking for a girl who’s going to complain about how she never gets to exercise anymore because, between work and the kids and the husband and the house, who has the time, well, then, sorry, but you’re barking up the wrong blog. If you’ve read either of my books, which are, admittedly, based just slightly on my own life, then you know that I’m kind of a freak about exercise. It’s an obsession that started early for me; when I was just fourteen years old, my parents bought a family membership to Bally’s Total Fitness.
Ah, Father’s Day. The most inequitable holiday of the year. Think about it: according to a statistic whose source I can no longer recall, mothers in dual income families do approximately seventy percent of all household and child-related duties, while fathers tackle the other thirty percent. This, by the way, is hailed as progress. Yet, somehow, mothers and fathers are celebrated by society for the exact same amount of time each year. We have Mother’s Day, and we have Father’s Day. Seems pretty unfair to me.