Fantasy On A Bus

Most mom's have those moments where they just want to pack a bag and chuck it all.

Yes, I am outing all of us, pulling a Ricky Martin on a social secret that most women will not admit to.

We all want to run away.

There's a bus that runs to New York near my house. It only stops here in the early morning and every day, drinking my coffee, I see that bus zoom by and dream I'm on it.

No, I don't have any real idea where I'm going or why I'm going. I just know I want to go.

Before there's a million messages in my mailbox about how concerned everyone is about me, no need to worry.

You see, fantasizing about running away is as close to a sexy dream that I have nowadays.

Its all about the freedom you see. The freedom to not have to worry about the day to day. The family, the bills, the economy, the house. Its that little piece of fantasy that you have buried in your mind that you want to act on, but for fear of pulling a Kramer vs Kramer, you don't. Getting on that bus to nowhere allows you to remember, just for a minute, just who you once were before you were a wife, mother...all that blessed stuff that can dominate everything you believed you were or believed you could be again.

That's as good as lying naked next to Brad Pitt for me.

Of course, you're considered a bad mother for thinking that way. But any human being needs a release from the hum drum of it all. You only hear about those moms that go all loony on the news...not from those who do it daily.

I love my family, my kids are the greatest....but there are times that using my imagination is the only way to get through the day when the papers need to be signed, the phone is ringing, the school bus is honking its horn and the husband needs gas money, even if I'm only in an imaginary seat.

Last Chance On The Stairway

Duran Duran and Looking For The Next Big Thing In 80s Greenwich Village

It was my last chance on the stairway, to quote Duran Duran or D2 as we liked to call them, back in the ragin' 80s.

It seemed like a pilgrimage that never ended. After the weekly humdrum of plugging in prices at my local Waldbaums for the joy of $3.25 an hour, I recieved my check of maybe $50 or so, and on the F train I went. Bouncing around the seat, through the dark tunnels of Brooklyn and headed into Manhattan, myself and my co-hort of the moment would discuss how we would spend our money. Hell, we were 16 and ready to PARTY! (Okay, we were lame, but drug and drink free, thank you very much...)

When we finally reached the mecca of all things cool, (that would be the 8th Street stop), ascending from the darkness of the subway into the light was almost blinding. But that money was burning a hole in our pockets...so out we came. 6th Avenue was screaming with sound--loud cars, boom boxes, vendors selling jewlery and scarves...but we were on a mission.

On the corner was a bookstore we would browse at the end of the carefully constructed pilgrimage. Perusing the racks for books by Hunter S. Thompson and Allen Ginsberg, how ahead of our peers I thought I was. They didn't even know or care...they were all only worried about who they would get an ankle bracelet from. (okay, so was I, but since there was no boyfriend on the horizon at that time, it kind of got pushed to the backburner.)

Making the turn onto 8th Street, there was a sign on the left hand side of the street called Hair. It was a running joke...what does that mean. Do they sell it, grow it, cut it? Of course, we were all too chicken shit to ask...then there was Flip the clothing store, the 8th Street playhouse of midnight Rocky Horror showings...so much to choose from.

Underneath the site of our destination was our other fave spot, Postermat. Buttons galore, posters to the limit, (my first Frankie Says Relax t-shirt). FLIP clothing (my friend's paint-splattered and dayglo colored FSR tee) the best stuff ever!

Up the stairs we went mission on full alert. I had my sites set on the Japanese import of the first Duran Duran album. (Notice I said album, CDs were still a distant memory). I had the American and the British, but that Japanese one eluded me. It was so...FOREIGN and glamorous. I...had..to...have...it.

In two directions into the dusty abyss we went. This place was a small as the smallest living room, but jam-packed with tons of memorabilia, records and magazines. I headed towards the import section. My friend picked up the latest issue of Smash Hits from across the pond. There was a later American version called Star Hits, but we didn't like it. It didn't have the British spellings or misspellings as we called them. In color-glory was Bananarama, Howard Jones, A-Ha, all those cute British boys that were going to take us away from our Brooklyn hum-drum.

But I could not be deterred. I searched and searched and after about 15 minutes I found it! Wait, damn it, it had been here all this time? But shoved in under WHAM! Who, I repeat, who could make such a glaring mistake??? Who cared? I got it! It was amazing! It was mine! I even had the guy put it in plastic to keep it safe.

Paying the then ugodly sum of $15 didn't matter. I slaved for it, packing grocery bags and getting paper cuts on my hands (plastic was NOT an option then) and I bought it! Felt great!!! Now we had to go home because at 16, you still don't want to be late for dinner--besides we still had homework to do.

Bumping back on the F-train, we made our way back home...justified in our purchases...cooler than ever!

What does this have to do with being a busy mom? EVERYTHING! Because we still have to have our touchstones, our lives and memories have made us what we are today. And that plastic covered album...still with my keepsake vinyl. My life before kids my life after kids...funny how they can sometimes become one and the same.

Bad Parenting And Why Supernanny Just Makes Me Feel Bad

Okay I get it Jo Frost! You and your little British co-horts across the pond are celebrating your 100th episode. Bully for you!

That means you've found 100 inept situations of parenting to exploit on television.

And I can admit to at least 90 of them.

Yes, I know you go after the extremest of parents, the ones who just can't get it together. Those Moms and Dads who didn't get the parenting memo. Oh wait, I remember, THERE WAS NO PARENTING MEMO, I DIDN'T GET IT EITHER!

What there was, was a little blob of a human put into my arms after endless hours of pushing, screaming and everyone but the UPS man checking "down there" to see how I was doing. Well Jo, let's get one thing straight about your proper little show and how it holds up in the real world..

Time outs just don't work.

Neither does trying to reason.

How about my favorite, the behavior chart?

The big finale, how everyone doesn't want big Jo to leave?

BULL!

No matter what you say, or how you try to reason, there is no getting through to an overexcited, overstimulated, over-everything child when they are in the middle of a tantrum.

But back to Jo!

She has a way of making us all feel like we don't know diddly squat about parenting. And worst of all, she knows how to push parents' buttons to make them blow up at her...

I say we ditch Jo and come up with a new show called Super Mom Of Yesterday!

We were all raised by a mom who yelled! Smacked us on our butts, chased us with slippers and yes, lost it on occasion.

Were they child abusers? No.

Were they effective parents? Yes.

Why? Because we knew we had to listen, there was no back talk, there was no lip service or snotty remarks.

If you did, you got punished and you rarely did the deed again.

Do we still love our Moms today?

Yep!

Did they give us everything we wanted because we threw a tantrum in the store?

Hell no!

We screamed our guts up, cried until we were tired and mom dragged us outside to calm down...

And no one blinked an eye.

No one threated to call child services.

Because everyone parented the same way.

We were all equal...

Our friends had what what we had, we all hung with families that were sort of like our own...

We didn't have the GUTS to ask for toys that cost upwards of $200 because our friends had them...otherwise the slipper would be upside your head.

So I propse Super Mom of Yesteryear!

ABC take notice!

Our moms were less stressed, more relaxed and happier to be around than we are...we should take a lesson from them.

And a new pair of slippers for every birthday didn't hurt either!