Driving Miss Cranky

A couple of weeks ago on The Real Housewives of New York City, LuAnn de Lesseps, a.k.a. The Countess, visited a Boys & Girls Club to meet with and mentor a group of “Smart Girls.” After watching this segment of the show, I immediately wanted to quote Bethenny and shout: “Oh no you di-in’t!”

I give The Countess credit for “giving back” to the community, although when giving back requires that you reach your destination in a chauffeured town car, perhaps your perspective is a bit askew.

The session started with the girls and LuAnn writing down what they like best about themselves. Rather than LuAnn further reinforcing the girls’ self-esteem, she merely reinforced her own by telling the girls that she’s likeable, funny and organized. Nothing terrible there.

Where it quickly went downhill was when LuAnn quizzed the girls on the importance of being a Countess, which was met with blank stares and such disinterest, I almost heard crickets chirping.

And then, the “piece de resistance,” as The Countess would say, was when the girls talked about what they wanted to do when they grew up. One girl, who was tall and somewhat heavyset (as my mother would say), said she wanted to be a model. Thankfully, LuAnn agreed that she had a pretty face. But then, as a throw-away aside to the co-mentor, she said “Losing weight is the easy part.” Wow, Countess, thanks for crushing that girl’s dreams. The girl never mentioned her weight but LuAnn just had to point out her flaws in a session aimed at building up. Funny, how it ended with her tearing someone down.

The scene ended with her playing basketball with the girls and feeling like the girls just couldn’t get enough of her time with them. I think that if these are truly the “smart girls,” they had more than enough Countess for one day.

Watch yourself and tell me if I'm wrong:

I know that they say that you’re not supposed to go to bed angry, but last night I did. He let me down and I kinda think he knows it. Seriously, how was I supposed to know things were going to go late?!

Wait. Did you think I was mad at my husband? No! I’m mad at my DVR! Last night was American Idol’s Top 8 Tuesday night performance. And thanks to an extra judge and a major “lil” beatdown, the show ran 9 minutes over! That’s fine, if you’re watching the show in real time, but like millions of Americans, I’m a time-shifter. In fact, even if I’m home, I wait 20 minutes before viewing my favorite shows.

But the powers that be at American Idol decided to improvise and let the show run over last night which means that those of us watching it recorded, missed Adam Lambert’s performance. Fortunately, I was able to watch it here online, but it’s totally too late for voting. I’m not a huge Adam Lambert fan (I think his performances are often over-the-top) but I think he should have gotten a fair shake. And he didn’t. I predict the judges will definitely use a save if he’s at the bottom due to the timing snafu.

As far as the other performances, they were pretty good, despite being given a rather uninspired theme for the evening (song from the year of their birth.) In my opinion, the bottom two were Lil Rounds and Scott MacIntyre. Lil was absolutely crushed by the judges, but I think for good reason. Nevertheless, I think the problem is that she just doesn’t understand their criticism, therefore, she’s not able to make the necessary changes. Scott is an amazing person but a limited performer. I don’t think his voice compares to the other guys in the Top 8. But nobody wants to say that out loud because of his visual impairment. I think he’s an inspirational story but I wouldn’t buy his CD.

The other contestants were all quite good, although I agree with Simon that Allison has a personality problem. She’s an old soul that doesn’t connect with the demographic from the show. That may prove her downfall, voting-wise, but I predict that the girl will have a record contract moments after leaving the stage. (Did you hear Kara’s comment in that regard? Remember, Kara has a publishing company and could make it happen.)

Quick final thoughts – Let’s stop putting anyone (Kris) in the mosh pit in front of the stage. It’s awkward in so many ways. Danny and Anoop are safe for now, but need a good change-up next week. I personally like Matt without the piano as a crutch.

What did you think?

One of the reasons I enjoy watching reality TV shows is because I like to think about how I would do in place of some of the contestants.

For example, it’s pretty typical to hear me say things like this while watching television:

“Well that was dumb. Everyone knows you shouldn’t call yourself the leader. Dude, you are SO voted off.”

“Just jump. Sure it’s scary, but you’ll be done WAY faster than the teams that are building the shutters.”

“Oh, why did she choose THAT song?! Everybody knows that’s an untouchable classic. Plus, she was kinda pitchy, dawg.”

See, the funny thing about me saying this about Survivor, The Amazing Race or American Idol is that, in reality, I would be THE WORST REALITY SHOW CONTESTANT EVER. I am fully aware of the fact that I would annoy any other contestants and repel viewers like no other. Why? First of all, I have zero artistic talent. Secondly, because I’m CRANKY. Thirdly, I’ve never been described as low-key. Fourth, I don’t like to eat icky and/or live things, which, as we all know, is key to success. (Except on American Idol. But hmm…maybe that would be a fun twist!)

Nevertheless, that’s half the fun of watching these shows – sitting comfortably on my couch, telling far less lazy people what they’re doing wrong.

Hey dawg, pass the popcorn please.

I’m a huge fan of the reality TV show The Real Housewives of New York City. It airs on Bravo TV on Tuesday nights at 9pm. I’m not telling you this because I’m endorsing or promoting this show. I'm not. For me, it’s truly just a guilty pleasure. In fact, the only time I watch it is when I’m folding laundry, which I think is incredibly ironic. I’m doing something “housewife-ish” while watching a show about women who are most definitely NOT housewives.

But there’s something about Jill, LuAnn, Alex, Bethenny, Ramona and Kelly that I find darkly fascinating. First let me clear one thing up: I don’t like most of these women. I cannot think of a time in my life when I could be their friend. We have absolutely ZERO in common. Still, I’m obsessed with watching them.

I watch The Real Housewives because, ironically, they’re NOT real housewives. (In fact, two of them aren’t even married.) They are most definitely NOT housewives, at least not the ones that I know. My housewife friends and I don’t spend $8,000 on a single shopping trip unless it involves a car, college tuition or a giant sectional couch. When we take our kids to camp, it’s in the back seat of our minivan, not in a private jet. I’ve never scolded someone for not calling me “Countess.” And I can’t think of the last time that I “summered” anywhere, let alone The Hamptons.

I think that’s why The Real Housewives is entertaining – because it’s a departure from everyday life. Imagine a reality show about my life. Yeah, YAWN, right?! Imagine watching me fold laundry or make a feeble attempt at cooking dinner or try to dig ANY information out of my high school daughter. My friends and I do this every day. Like so many others, we’d love to see our lives on steroids! 

OK, so let’s dish a little about TRHONYC: Did you hear that LuAnn is separated from The Count?! Could it be that she looks at him differently ever since Ramona called him old? Do you like Kelly? I didn’t care for her negative attitude at Jill’s volunteer meeting but I also thought that Bethenny was VERY harsh. And is it possible for Ramona to ever make a tactful comment? I hope not – it’s so fun to watch! Why do I like Alex and Simon so much? Is it because, compared to the other Housewives, they live in a pretty crappy house but spend oodles of money on clothes? Yeah, that’s it.

So, who’s your favorite Unreal Real Housewife?

I’m a huge pop culture fan. I regularly read People and Entertainment Weekly. The lives of celebrities are somewhat interesting to me. I do not, however, think of celebrities as role models, especially when it comes to parenting.

There’s a group of women in Hollywood that I call celebumoms. This is the word I use to describe big stars that are mothers. America has a growing fascination with them. First of all there are the bad or questionable celebumoms – Britney Spears is probably the poster child for this group. She seems to be digging her way out of this.

For some reason, America has a misguided notion about so-called “good” celebumoms – Angelina Jolie, Katie Holmes and Julia Roberts are examples. People assume that because we see these starlets hauling their kids around like accessories, they are excellent moms. That may or may not be true.

What is definitely true is the fact that these Hollywood leading ladies have help…LOTS of help. They have nannies just waiting to grant their every wish. Thinking back on when my kids were babies, if I had that kind of help, I would have looked a lot better and been far less crabby. Just imagine the sleep I could have had!

What drives me nuts is when I read quotes describing stars as “hands-on” mothers or “really connected” to their kids. If by “really connected” you mean viewing the children at least once a day, then yes, they are connected.

Just once, I’d like to read an interview with a celebumom where she says: “You know what, I haven’t slept or showered in a week. I’m constantly on the verge of tears and have no clue what day it is. Oh and I can only fit into maternity clothes. Yeah, it kinda sucks.” Does that mean she’s a good mom? No. But it means that she’s a real mom and that’s far more interesting to me.

This morning, I opened my eyes at 4:45 am. Yes, of course I went back to sleep. But finally, I gave in and crawled out of bed at 5:00 am. Why, you ask? Because I am smack dab in the middle of my own personal "March Madness."

You see, 2009 was humming along nicely. Sure, I had the typical "Mom" things to deal with - laundry, cooking, driving, attending meetings - a volunteer gig here or there. But it was well-spaced out. I had time in-between most of these things. Enough time to breathe, that is.

Suddenly, it's mid-March and those great and powerful forces have collided. I have too much to do in too little time. I won't list everything because I guarantee that there are many of you whose list would dwarf mine. I get that.

My point is that my to-do list is waking me up, pre-dawn. Instead of dreaming of warm beaches, I'm trying to figure out what to cook tomorrow night that can be eaten (neatly) in a car on the way from play practice to the college night meeting. And can I get the key to the school refrigerator before or after I drop off the smelly dog for grooming? And top it off with wishing the economy would boom so that my college senior could quickly find a job after graduation. Sigh.

The thing is, I know I'll get it all done...somehow, and probably not well, but it'll be finished. I should sleep when I can't do anything about my list. But that's not how I operate. Sleep deprivation seems to be the way I roll. Yawn....Note to self: Fill out NCAA brackets before Thursday!

Yesterday, I had a poopy conversation with a friend. No, it wasn’t a bad conversation. In fact, I found it entertaining. It was a conversation that will only occur between two moms. We talked about potty training and how gross it all can be.

Of course, it’s been MANY years since I’ve potty trained, but honestly, it’s just as hard today as it was back then. Sure, you SAY your child has been potty trained, but really, that’s when the hard work begins, right?

After my kids were potty trained, this is what I remember saying to them CONSTANTLY for months:  “Do you have to go? Need to go potty? Let’s go potty. How about if we try to go potty before we leave? Are you SURE you don’t have to go?” Ad nauseum. Honestly, I annoyed myself, but I couldn’t stop it.

Worse yet, no matter how good you are at potty training, unless you live in a house that is fully tiled – floor to ceiling with a drain in every room and plastic on all of the furniture, there will be accidents. It’s part of the deal. And it kinda sucks, don’t you agree?

And yet, to me, there’s nothing more reassuring than knowing that some things in motherhood have never changed. We still struggle with the same basic challenges – day to day, year to year. What breaks us down is when the challenges rise up and overwhelm us – like poopy pants at the most inconvenient time.

What builds us up is that we, as moms, always rally together, share our experiences and become stronger for that. God bless moms. God bless poopy conversations.

This past weekend, I chaperoned a choir trip to Disney World. Although the thought of warm weather was enticing, mine is not typically the first hand up when it comes to chaperone duties. I love kids, but I’m best at dealing with them one or two at a time. I’m the mom that doesn’t mind stuffing envelopes instead of doing playground duty or going to the pumpkin farm. Hide me in an office instead of on the bus with the kids. Truth be told, I’m not good with drama from other people’s kids.

But this was a different situation. It was a choir of all girls – 14 of them in all, including my daughter. They seemed like really nice kids, between the ages of 15 and 18. Then again, I’ll totally admit that I was cautiously optimistic at best. You never know with kids – especially girls. Will they be mean? Will they obsess over their hair? Will they fight with each other? Will they run around outside our hotel rooms all night long? Will they ostracize each other so that the quiet ones end up hanging with the chaperones?

Miracles of miracles, none of that happened. They were really nice. Sure, there were a few latecomers every day and I don’t even want to tell you how messy their hotel rooms became. (God bless the housekeeping service. They earned their paycheck this weekend.) But I have to say, this was the perfect trip to chaperone. There was virtually no drama.

You know what that means? The next trip I chaperone will be awful, just awful. I'm counting on it.

There was a time, long ago, when my kids used a little poetic license with some of their words. Thankfully, their vocabularies are now fully developed, but back then, they sometimes came up with some real winners. My son, especially, was very good at taking a word, and sort of putting it on its head. Here are a couple of examples of his wordsmithing creativity:

Hosey-Pants – Those horrible things that working moms sometimes have to squeeze into on busy workday mornings.

Silly-Reconation – We’re Catholic and prior to receiving your first communion, you have your first “confession” or “reconciliation.” (I definitely prefer my son’s word!)

I’m sure there are many more, but those are two that really stand out in my mind. Every family has them – words that kids make up either out of misunderstanding or maybe just mispronunciation.

When my little sister was a toddler, she used to walk up to people and say: “Amigama!” Nobody understood her except for us. We knew that it was her way of saying: “I want you to pick me up!”

How about you? Have your kids created any vocabulary gems? Do share with us!

The other day, I had an argument with my daughter about her college credits. Here’s the thing – she’s a junior in high school. The argument started when she was trying to figure out her senior year class schedule…during the first week of the second semester of junior year. Here’s how the argument went:

Her:  Mom, I’m trying to decide if I should take AP (Advanced Placement) U.S. History AND AP English.

Me:  Well, keep in mind that senior year can be pretty stressful with college applications and such. Are you sure you can handle TWO AP classes?

Her:  Oh my God, mom, you just don’t want me to take AP Classes! I’m trying to get some college credits out of the way before I get there!

That stopped me in my tracks. My daughter was already worried about completing college credits before she had even chosen a college. What are we doing to our kids? Why is this scenario even on their horizons? What is wrong with high school students being, um, high school students?

Here’s my question: What’s the hurry? Why are we in such a rush for our kids to grow up? At what point do they get to be kids? What’s next? Pre-Occupational Skills Classes in 5K? ACT/SAT Prep Sessions for First Graders? Huh, I wonder why kids today are so stressed out?

Oh and my daughter and I compromised. She chose one AP class instead of two, thereby giving her time to pursue her love of musical theatre, something she will eventually study…in college.

This morning, I stepped outside in the cold, pre-dawn hours. I picked up the newspaper while Millie the wonder dog was doing her business. Suddenly, I looked down at my feet and I laughed. Look what I’ve become.

When I was a little girl, like many little girls, I was often mortified by my mother. If she wasn’t embarrassing me by something she said, she was embarrassing me by something she wore. Very rarely, she’d dress up and I’d give a silent approval. (Emphasis on silent - I couldn’t be bothered to actually say something nice to my mom.)

Back then, when I was young and full of blue sky ambitions and empty promises, I vowed that I’d never dress like my mother. I’d never be caught dead in sweatpants or sweat socks or old worn-out shirts. I’d wear makeup and style my hair and always look terrific.

Fast forward to today, when life has done its best to wear me in, like a comfortable pair of shoes, and my body is in the throes of middle-age spread. I no longer feel the need to prove myself to anyone. After 25 years of marriage, I’m feeling that detached sense of devil-may-care about my appearance. I’m pretty sure my hubby is sticking around, so do I really need to blow dry and curl when I’m just sitting on the couch tonight? You wouldn't believe some of the things I've worn to the grocery store.

So, this morning, when I looked down, here’s what I saw: my two feet in slippers and sweat socks. I have to say, it looked bad, really bad. Oh, how far I have fallen.

Through the years, SO many things about motherhood have surprised me. I can’t believe how exhausting it is. I can’t believe how few answers I have for the constant parade of daily challenges. I can’t believe how the smallest things – a hand-drawn illustration, a hug, or a sweet comment – can bring me to tears. And I can’t believe that I’ve stopped caring how I look.

I guess I’m at a crossroads. On the one hand, I no longer bear the weight of low self-esteem or lack of confidence based on my appearance. I’m comfortable in my own skin and am accepting of the fact that I’m not going to wake up and look like Demi Moore or Jennifer Aniston.

On the other hand, my sweat socks and slippers on this cold winter morning were a bit of a wake-up call. I do have the ability to at least try to look like I care and take a little bit of pride in my appearance. And, on these frigid days, it might actually improve my outlook on life.

Who knows, maybe it’s one less thing about me to mortify my own daughter.

This winter storm we’re having made me realize one of my deeply buried maternal superstitions. Somewhere in my subconscious, I have this philosophy that it’s my job to worry about things so they don’t happen.

Case in point: My son goes to college in Indiana – about 6 hours away. Yesterday, prior to the storm moving in, he was leaving school to return home for Christmas break. The combination of his driving home and the storm arriving sent me into a tizzy. I made at least six phone calls to him that sounded something like this: “What time are you leaving? You need to leave early. You need to beat the storm. The storm is going to be HUGE. Leave as early as possible. What do you mean you haven’t packed yet?! Do you have warm enough clothes for the trip home in case you get stuck? Call me as soon as you leave.” (So I could commence worrying even more.)

I’m certain there was much eye-rolling during these calls, but he was kind enough not to share this with me. Truth be told, I wanted to scare him a little because at his age, you tend to think you’re immortal and nothing will ever happen to you.

I’m old enough to know that things happen to people, which, of course, makes me worry even more. And I seem to believe that if I worry about things enough, then they won’t happen. Often, it works, which is probably why I keep doing it.

But here’s the thing: This worrying gig is kind of exhausting, especially because it never ends. Sigh.

Dear Oprah,

I read the news today, oh girl! You’ve come out of the pantry and admitted to hitting the big 2-0-0. I’m sure that must have been a tough thing to do. You’ve always prided yourself on your healthy lifestyle, thanks, in part, to a stable of personal trainers and chefs. Despite the number of ads I see on the internet, those Acai Berries aren’t working all that well.

Here’s what I want to say to you: Girlfriend, welcome to the club.

No, I haven’t hit the big 2-0-0, but I’m definitely not going public with my digits! And when I talk about the club, it’s definitely not the Fight Club or the Country Club. It’s that sorority of WBWs, a.k.a. Women Battling Weight. Honey, I’ve been a member of this club forever. Even way back in my grade school years, I’d wake up before my family just for the opportunity to munch on chocolate chips while I watched morning cartoons.

High school is when I started my first official diet. That was the first 15 pounds that I lost. I’m certain they returned during my freshman year of college. Since then I’ve been on multiple diets, all of them successful, unless you’re counting whether or not I kept the weight off.

Through the years, I’ve been buddies with Jenny Craig (twice) and Weight Watchers. Between those three diet sessions, I’ve lost over 100 pounds. I haven’t gained it all back, but I’m nowhere near my dream goal weight. The only thing I’ve got working in my favor is a newfound addiction to tennis.

Here’s the thing, Oprah: People don’t love you because you’re skinny. They love you because you speak your mind and because some of your favorite things are food. I’d go so far as to say that they love you because you’re not skinny. We’ve got plenty of skinny celebrities. We need more real women with double-digit dress sizes.

I realize that our country has an obesity problem and we need to move more and watch less. But since you’re a role model to so many women, I wish you’d change the goal. Stop with the “big reveal” of the bikini body and put the emphasis on health, activity and muscle. If the focus is always on how you look and not how you feel, then no progress has been made.

Look, it’s gotta be tough to have the eyes of America on you every day. When I break up with my latest diet plan, it doesn’t end up in the tabloids. But remember when Jamie Lee Curtis went “unretouched” in that magazine feature? Brilliant. That hot new British singer Adele? Love that she’s not a twig. Queen Latifah? The girl’s got curves and beauty with no apologies.

We need more honesty and less airbrushing. We’re living in a High Definition world. Let’s change the perception of what we want to see and what is beautiful. Let’s finally accept the fact that along with different colors, we come in different sizes and that’s not always bad. You are one of the few people in the world with the power to make that happen.

Sincerely,

Karen

I have a confession: For a moment, I considered not decorating the house for Christmas this year. What?! Shhhh…don’t tell my kids…and don’t worry, our halls are decked. But I have to tell you, I did give it serious consideration.

You may ask, what’s the problem? Well, as I’ve mentioned ad nauseum, my kids are older – 21 and 16, to be exact. When they were young, I decorated to the hilt. Every nook and cranny was filled with holiday cheer. And, of course, many of the decorations were created by the kids. They loved seeing their handiwork on display, and I did too.

As the years went by, some of those blessed little creations were left in the Christmas boxes. Little by little, I’d pare down my display. Items like the reindeer head made from a coat hanger covered in pantyhose seemed a little less charming with each passing year. And, honestly, the kids haven’t really noticed that anything is missing.

I don’t know about your house, but here in Casa Karen, I’m the primary elf. I haul up the boxes, unpack the stockings and would decorate all by myself if it weren’t for the fact that our artificial tree is too heavy for me to carry alone. And sometimes, when I’m hanging the umpteenth ornament on the tree while everyone else is watching The Office, I can’t help but think about the fact that I’ll be packing it up again in a few short weeks, I wonder if it’s all worth it. Aren’t I just creating more work for myself?

But as I was considering going sans hall-decking, I realized that it would send a very bad message. It would paint me as an Ebenezer-in-waiting and tell them that Christmas was an inconvenience that I was avoiding. I realized, in that moment of decision – to deck or not to deck – that it was never more important than now for me to keep the tree lights burning and hang on for dear life to our sometimes fading traditions. Why? Because, in my opinion, I think that’s a big part of what a mom does – set a backdrop for family memories. Pretty important, when you think about it.

I have to confess that I’ve wasted a great deal of time, as a mother, worrying. When my kids were little (which, I have to admit, was before the internet), I constantly had my head buried in a copy of Doctor Mom. Every cry, sneeze, stomach ache or earache made me flip through the dog-eared pages in fear of evidence of a dreaded disease. (It’s a blessing that WebMD didn’t exist back then.)

When my kids reached school-age, I concerned about them hitting developmental milestones. I obsessed over words mispronounced or misspelled, math problems misunderstood or their inability to write a cohesive sentence. (Their parents are both journalism majors! Shouldn’t writing be part of their genetic code?!)

As middle-school approached, I worried about social issues. Who were they hanging around with? Why aren’t they going out more? Why do they want to go out so much? Why are they obsessed with how they look? Why aren’t they obsessed with how they look?

Then came high school. Because I was not the head cheerleader, prom queen or valedictorian, I had my share of high school issues. And, because I’m not a Stepford mom, I worry about my kids encountering those same issues. My philosophy is I’m here and I’ll help them make better choices, right? Wrong. The issues are totally different and so I worry even more. In fact, I worry because I don’t even know what to worry about.

College is a whole other ball of worry wax! Will my kids get into a good college? Will they like college? Will they excel in college or fade into the woodwork and barely graduate? What if they get a freaky roommate who stays up all night or brings “overnight guests?”

Can you see why this is exhausting?

So here’s what I do. Sometimes, because there seems to be no end to the worry, I focus on one thing: my kids, at home, safe and sound. Now that they drive, this is a bigger deal than you think.

And so, this Thanksgiving week, I’m thankful to have my kids at home with me.

What, me worry?

Growing up, I was taught by nuns…lots and lots of nuns. If you ever had a nun as a teacher, you know that they are/were sticklers for grammar, spelling and penmanship. If you dangled a modifier or a participle or spelled something incorrectly or wrote it sloppily, they’d nail you for it every time. Sometimes they seemed mean or vindictive, but I like to think I learned a lot from them.

I think today’s kids are still being taught the basics of grammar, spelling and penmanship, but they have far fewer opportunities to use those skills in their daily lives. I’m pretty sure that cell phones and computers are, ironically, going to be the cause of the dumbing down of an entire generation.

As I’ve mentioned before, I have a high school child and a college child. Both of them are voracious “texters.” They can BTW and BRB faster than the blink of an eye. They’ve also grown up in a world of computers. They type faster than I ever could. With the exception of taking notes during class, I think it’s almost rare that they put a pen to paper.

Their daily communications are filled with acronyms and emoticons and abbreviations. When they write a paper, Microsoft Word highlights mistakes and can usually correct them. It’s as if they hardly need to engage their brains to communicate. It’s bad enough that virtually all of their contact with the outside world is passive, but that’s another post for another time.

I just think that communicating “old school” (a handwritten letter or a face-to-face chat)  might be good for them once in a while.

I realize that most of you have kids that are younger than mine, but it’s probably a safe bet that you also have school age children. Here’s what I think we have in common right now – your kids (and mine) have hit the Mid-Fall Brick Wall.

Here in our house, I’m dealing with a high school daughter. At the beginning of the school year she was (surprisingly) excited to go back to school. She said she missed being on a regular schedule and was anxious to get back and see her friends. She decorated her binders and made her annual vow to make the honor roll. Like all good things, I knew this wouldn’t last.

She’s into the performing arts and had committed to be in her school musical and two school choirs. Pretty quickly, rehearsals started happening fast and furious. And, because it’s high school, the homework increased too. Then, one of several bouts with the common cold started. The icing on the cake was the drop in temperatures and the onset of dark evenings.

Pretty soon, I think it was mid-October, I had to scrape her daily motivation and energy off the floor. Mornings started becoming a battle of wills and a struggle for both of us. A simple request of: “Mom, would you mind waking me up tomorrow morning?” soon turned into me begging, cajoling and bribing with a morning hot chocolate laced with a shot of coffee.

You think the Terrible Twos are bad? Try the Surly Sixteens. They’re not for the faint of heart.

I’m not sure what I expected motherhood to be like, but this is just another on a long list of things that I’m glad nobody warned me about. If I had known that my days would revolve around a mercurial adolescent, perhaps I would have chosen pets?

Right now, the school burnout level is at an all-time high. I’m getting information on a need-to-know basis (barely), the tension level is all over the place and my maternal mojo is way out of whack. I long for those days when a hug and a juice box would fix everything.

How about you? Are your kids losing their beginning of the school year excitement and enthusiasm? Is everyone getting a little cranky at this time of the year?

More than twenty years ago, when my husband and I started having children, we began what could be called “The Baby Name Game.” We took our last name and tried to match it up with something that we liked.

Now I don’t know about you, but when it came to naming our child, I took that responsibility VERY seriously. A first name is one you’ll have forever and if you hate it, that can make things pretty rough.

On the other hand, sometimes it seemed that my husband took the idea of it being a game more seriously. Some of his suggestions back then were Otto and Bob (because they were palindromes) or Boutros Boutros (because it sounded funny.)

I spend copious hours matching first and last names and making sure that the names that we chose fit the following criteria:

• It shouldn’t have a “huh?” factor to it. For instance, if, like Frank Zappa, we named our first son “Dweezil,” it was likely to evoke the word “huh?” from the child’s first teacher.

• It shouldn’t have a weird rhyming issue with our last name. This eliminated the names Walter, Kirk or Dirk.

• It should be a name that people could at least attempt to spell upon first hearing it. A good friend of mine named her first child “Xiamara” (pronounced Kee-A-Mar-A). It’s a beautiful name, which I believe is Japanese. I, however, am not fond of spelling and re-spelling of names. It’s just a thing I have.

• It shouldn’t have bully rhyme potential. Have you ever seen the Drew Barrymore movie Never Been Kissed in which her high school persona is mocked with the name “Josie-Grossie”? Need I say more?

• Being a former business professional, it had to be a name that could be used in a conference room and not provoke snide remarks, as in: “Trixiebelle, can you take us through the meeting agenda?”

• It had to be a name that wasn’t overly popular. When I was in grade school, there were at least 5 girls with the name Kathy in my class. It wasn't the worst name in the world, but I think the Kathys wished they had something a little more unique. I didn’t want my kids to go through that.

• It had to be a name that could stand the test of time. When my children were senior citizens, would their names sound respectable and wise or weary and old?

So, how did we do? Well, pretty good. I like our kids’ names (Andrew, Dan and Maria), and I think they do too. Although despite our best efforts, they have many kids in their peer groups with the same first names. Oh well, what can you do?

What about you? Did you (or do you) have fun naming your kids? Are your children named after family members or anyone special? (Our daughter is named after the character in West Side Story, one of our favorite musicals. That also happens to be my middle name.) If you could do it over, would you change anything about naming your children?

Like lots of people these days, I’m trying to do more with less. I’m looking at my expenses and trying to trim them where possible. However, there is one area that seems perpetually out of control – magazine subscriptions.

In our house, it all started many years ago with a magazine fundraising drive. I am the wimpiest fundraiser on the face of the earth and I absolutely HATE asking people for money. (One of many reasons why a career in sales was never in the cards for me.) When my kids were offered an out-of-uniform pass for sending postcards to out-of-town family, I always made them write in huge letters: THERE IS NO OBLIGATION. I also sent out e-mails ahead of time warning people that they’d get postcards and telling them they could do the same to us.

That was all fine and good, but those fundraising companies know exactly what they are doing. Along with whooping the kids into a frenzy at kickoff rallies, they also baited them with toys and trinkets if they hit fundraising goals. In the end, because I was such a wimp, I’d cave in and decide that I would actually enjoy a subscription to “Everyday with Rachel Ray,” along with several other truly unnecessary titles. Pretty bad, I know, but on “turn-in day,” it seemed the path of least resistance.

But here’s the thing: It didn’t stop there. It wouldn’t be so bad if I was just dealing with an overabundance of magazines. The problem is, maybe I’m crazy but it seems like they send out renewal notices within a week or two of getting the first issue. It’s so incredibly annoying…and confusing.

At first I fell for it nearly every time. “Oh look,” I’d say. “It’s time to renew American Girl.” But then one day I actually looked at my mailing label of the magazine or online and found out that I had already paid for a two-year subscription. With their stealth and sneaky marketing gimmicks, I was going to be subscribing to American Girl until my daughter graduated from college.

And although I’ve gotten a lot smarter, these renewal mailings still drive me crazy and cause me momentary concern. With phrases like: “Last chance!” or “One issue left!,” they still get me every time. You know what they say: There’s a sucker born every minute. Yeah, that’s me alright.