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Tales from the Mommy Track is a weekly column about the every day life of a part-time working mom with two little kids. Like the life of any other working mother, some weeks the drama is all about work, some weeks it's all about the kids and some weeks the two collide. Risa Green is a critically acclaimed author who lives in Los Angeles. In the last four years, she has produced two children, called Harper and Davis, and two novels, called Notes from the Underbelly and Tales from the Crib. She is currently working on a third (novel not child). |
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Little People Parties.
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
For Mother's Day.
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.
The Pottery Barn Kids Catalogue is Mom Porn.
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
Flahrida.
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
Balance is Out: Chapters are In.
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
The Penis Problem Update & Other News.
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 First Baby: The Dog.
My dog, Chloe, is sick. If you have a dog, then Chloe’s story will probably sound familiar to you. more
Writer's Block.
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.
Job History.
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
The Penis Problem.
We have a serious problem in our house lately. I call it The Penis Problem. The Penis Problem began a few months ago, when my three year-old son, Davis,started wearing underwear. Freed from the restrictive, super absorbent polymers of his diaper, Davis’s penis had some lost time to make up for, and it didn’t waste a second. Within two days of being potty trained,Davis’ hand took up permanent residence down the front of his pants, as if it were an old
