Risa Green
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.

Have It All Husbands

Is anyone else married to the Energizer Bunny? Because my husband is so chock full o’energy that it makes me want to strangle him sometimes. And if it’s natural for men to have so much energy, then why aren’t men the moms? These are questions that keep me up at night, which then causes me to become angry with my husband because I am awake, thinking about him, instead of getting the rest that I need to maintain the Defcon 5 level of my life. I do have a theory about husbands, though.


My Mom is a Publicity Whore

I think it’s safe to say that the television show Notes from the Underbelly is probably the most exciting thing that has happened to my mother in a very long time. Not since I was class president in high school has she had something of this caliber to brag about. And much to my horror, her bragging is not limited to actual words.


The One O'Clock Baby Shower

I went to a baby shower today at one o’clock, and there were about thirty women there, all of whom have children under the age of five, save for three holdouts who haven’t yet caved under the pressure. None of this would be unusual, of course, except for the fact that today is a Thursday. And in light of that fact, I think that there are a few obvious questions here that need to be asked: 1) Who has a baby shower on a Thursday at one o’clock? 2) Who can go to a baby shower on a Thursday at one o’clock?


Working From Home: Scene One

I can not work from home. It’s taken me over a year to come to this conclusion, but I’ve finally accepted it as a cold, hard reality. Which sucks, really, because my husband and I spent quite a bit of money on an addition to our house that was supposed to be an office for me, but which is now basically an office for my daughter, who likes to play video games on playhousedisney.com and print out five hundred pages of the same black and white picture of Cinderella, no matter how many times I lecture her about saving trees.



In case you didn’t know, ABC is making a TV show based on my book, Notes from the Underbelly, and although the show doesn’t premiere until November, I’ve started doing a bit of PR for it already. Just yesterday, in fact, I did an interview for a new website called Savvymiss.com, which is officially geared towards women 18-35, but which, I think, is actually intended to appeal to the mid-twenties, fresh out of grad school, newly married/engaged/single-and-starting-to-panic female demographic.


The Worst Mother in the World

Allow me to introduce myself: I'm The Worst Mother in the World.

Now, before you start arguing that I am certainly not the worst mother in the world, that surely, other women with uncontrollable tempers and penchants for certain class A narcotics are much more likely to hold that title than I, let me explain that I am not really talking about the World, as in, the seven seas and seven continents, but that I am talking about my world, as in, of the four people living in my house, I am the mother, and therefore the only one capable of being the worst at it.


My Son is a Burgeoning Drag Queen.

Vacation was heaven – HEAVEN – but now it’s over, and I’m back. Within an hour of being home, my vacation high devolved into Feels Like I Never Left, and now, after a single day, it’s become Feels Like It Never Even Happened, complete with a massive, blow out fight between me and my husband earlier this afternoon in the parking lot of the Natural History Museum. It’s as if Mexico, with its balmy nights and breezy ocean views, was something I dreamed, or possibly experienced in a prior life when I was a Mayan queen and had a battalion of servants to cater to my every whim.


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