The long, slow march to kindergarten continues. Last week, another exciting mile marker was crossed—the screening. Every child entering kindergarten in the fall is brought in for a simple 20 minute interview to get a general feel for where they fit in with the other kids. Easy breezy. This wouldn't phase Alice at all. I mean, this is a girl who considers herself a real live superhero. With her shoulders back, head high, she's got the strut to back it up. Just the other day she flew down a second-story zipline at a local fair, all the while shouting, "Don't worry, Mama, I'm fine!"  No one was …

When Alice was 18-months-old, I still had this silly habit of underestimating her. One awful, rainy morning, we had to put one of our three cats, Tony, to sleep. I figured I'd deal with my own grief of the situation for a few days and then break the news to her. That night, we were not home from her daycare for 10 minutes when she shifted in her booster seat, took a look around, and flat out asked, "Where's Tony?" Keep in mind that Tony looked almost identical to one of our other cats, his brother, Bruce. Completely shocked, I was immediately on the spot. "He was very old and he was very, …

Have you ever participated in a focus group? How about one that takes place in your own home, involves your entire family and lasts for seven hours? No? Just me?    Last week, I got a hot tip that families were being recruited to participate in an in-home study re: a certain beverage that is orange and usually consumed at breakfast time. First came an hour-long phone interview in which I talked about PRODUCT NAME more than I ever thought possible: Sample question: "If there was a nuclear fall-out and PRODUCT NAME was suddenly not available, what would you do?" Sample answer: "Um..." A few …

It's kind of funny, a lot of my friends had their first baby in the last 12 months. And by kind of funny, I mean it's deeply sweet and satisfying in a Oh-look-at-that-big-screaming-but-adorable-mountain-I-just-climbed kind of way. Anna, all the way across the Atlantic, wrote me a desperate email one night: "I'm cripplingly tired. I am exhausted in a way that only other mothers understand. Micah is 5-and-a-half weeks old...please tell me: when does it get better?" This was a woman on the brink. So I opened with a joke: "It gets better...but then it gets worse." Zing!  Then I wrote a long "haaa…

My friend Barb, fellow pleasant mom of three young-ins, told me this story: One morning not so long ago, she awakes before the kids to get some time on the treadmill in the basement. She's 10 minutes into her workout when her youngest, Samantha, just 6-years-old, comes downstairs.   "Good morning, Sam!" Barb's no rookie. She knows to start strong and positive.  "Mom, Alyssa just hit kit Kayla in the leg and now she's crying." "Okay, I'll be up in five. Why don't you start getting dressed?" "Mom, you have three kids. You need to get off that treadmill and come up here and start taking care of …

"Where are you? Downstairs? Why? What are you doing? Work? What do you mean? Writing? Writing what? Stories? What kind of stories? Stories about what, Mama? Why? Why are you writing stories? Mama? Why? Why?" "I'M WRITING A STORY ABOUT HOW YOU ASK TOO MANY QUESTIONS, OKAY?" Oh my god, the question thing? With my 5-year-old? You know what I'm talking about, right? It's so bad. You have a baby. The baby is innocent, sweet, a blank slate. You see the world anew through her eyes. She is a gift from the heavens and you are her perfect tour guide here on earth. The first time her face startles from …

The letter was addressed to The Parents or Guardians of Alice Rogers. One look at the return label and my heart skipped a beat—our first piece of correspondence with the local elementary school.  The kids were nagging me for something—help with shoes on or coats off or snacks opened—but given the seriousness of the situation, I accessed my mommy superpowers of instant inaudibility, and the world around me went quiet. I tore into that envelope with the intense focus of a bear opening up his prey.   First came the pain, which I ignored. But as I began to read the first few lines, I was forced …

This story requires a little context. Every winter we try to visit my mom and dad down in Naples, Fla. The weather is warm, the pool is endlessly entertaining and the babysitting costs can not be beat. Not to mention, by the time winter rolls around we miss Nana and Papa quite a bit.  During one particularly endless school holiday last fall, I took a look at the 2012 calendar and noted an entire week in February when preschool would be closed. Overcome with panic, I started looking for flights south. There was only one problem. Mr. R had to work that week, and there was just no way around it…

Shall I compare thee to a winter's day?Thou art more lovely and more complicate-d:Cold winds do raise the heating bill we pay,And KidsU's membership doth have too short a date:Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,Weather as erratic as Miley Cyrus.With every hat and mitten thou decline,I fret of colds and nature's stomach virus:But thy effervescence shall never fade,Nor extra bedtime hours thou feel are ow'st,N'er shall I brag again of plans best laid,Instead am humbled how thou seems to grow'st,    So long as Mother Nature springs the tree,    Remember this: that I gave life to thee.

Last week GQ magazine's "globe-trotting scent expert" posted a list of the ten best smelling cities in the world. My beloved village, Pleasantville, came in at number two, edging out places like New Orleans, Mombai and San Francisco.  Our hamlet was bested only by the odiferously-renowned haven that is Los Angeles. Never mind that we aren't technically a city, but a village of 7,000. And never mind that the writer may be backhandedly insulting us. (I can't be sure but I detect a possible jab in the sentence about "the smell of money" and our real estate "covenants.")  As a lucky inhabitant of…

It's been exactly one year now since I left my job in the city and started this column. Happy Early Semi-Retirement From My 9-5 Gig That Was Really Always Just A Day Job So I'm Still Actually Working With The Acting And The Writing And May Have to Return To A Similar Type Survival Job At Some Point Anniversary To Me!  Oh the life of the ambiguously employed. You should hear me at dinner parties. "Well, yes, I've been mostly home with the kids now, most of the time, yes I stay home with them and then work at that home as well, you know when they're sleeping or doing quadratic equations or …

Kids are gross. They're sticky, icky, nasty little things. And I'm not even going to go into the pees and the poops and the vomit because as a mommy blogger, I am entitled to devote entire columns to each of those bodily fluids individually. I'm simply talking about the perpetual motion towards stickiness that begins the moment they step out of a bath. I think I tend toward the laid back side of these types of things (pause for a moment while all my family, friends and the UPS man nod their heads), and even I am surprised at the amount of time I spend each day recoiling as I unstick bodies …

My last column, like most, ended on an up-beat. I'm hesitant to say more, and that's not just because both the Golden Globes and Downton Abbey are competing for my attention tonight. I wish that blissed-out, Apple-centered account of my sojourn told the complete story. But like a witness sworn to tell the whole truth (and nothing but the truth?) I feel I must submit a follow up.   Let's see, I believe we left off just before midnight New Year's Day, somewhere on Washington Avenue. My 2-year-old was uttering adorable toddler-versions of main street establishments and the credits were about to …

I'm going to say something controversial: traveling with small children is actually not that bad. In fact—steady yourself—after our 10-day holiday trip to Seattle, I think I'm prepared to say that I actually prefer it to normal, every day life with little kids. Wait, wait, wait. Hear me out. Okay, the preparation and packing is complete mental torture. But after that, when we set off together on our adventure? I'm actually a huge fan.  I swear I'm not being a "sanctimommy" about this—quite the opposite. While traveling, my standards, already pretty low as documented many times in this column…

Seasons Greetings Pleasant People! The kids have been tricked into another early bedtime, roaring HD virtual logs aflame the television (oh how that fire is so delightful!) and I've got something called a hot toddy in my mug! It must be The Most Wonderful Time of the Year! ‘Tis the season where my excitement can reach almost manic levels!!!! My list is long and I can always rely on that adorable, not-even-trying-to-be-religious-at-this-point chocolate advent calendar to start our day with not just a fight and a sugar high, but another mocking reminder of the relentless drumbeat of time! Would…

One of the first things people ask me when I tell them I write this column: Where do you get all of your ideas? The answer is not super exciting. I keep a list. Every mortifying moment, every precocious child utterance, I jot down in this super cool notebook—which means that every single thought I have becomes awesome instantaneously. Well, except for the 90 percent that eventually get relegated to "for grandparents' eyes only" and the 5 percent that Mr. R puts in the "no way" category. The remaining 5 percent, though? Golden. I'm all about lists. I am exceptionally good at making lists. It's…

Another wonderful Thanksgiving here and gone, another two pumpkin pies consumed by me alone over the course of four days. Usually I'm a bit reticent to jump right into Christmas, but this year, with the unseasonably warm weather, it was lovely to choose the tree, hang the lights and deck the halls—all while pretending we live in San Francisco. Besides, with an almost 5-year-old in the house, we didn't really have a choice.  "Do you think Reindeer will come back today?" I nearly dropped one of the glass ornaments I was about to hang in the safe, above Hazel-height, zone of our Christmas tree. …

A few weeks ago we started a "Thanksgiving Tree" on the wall of our home. Each day we write down, on roughly cut out construction paper leaves, things for which we are grateful. Then we tape the leaves to homemade branches, working towards a beautiful tree full of gratitude reminders by Thanksgiving Day. I made this whole idea up. Why? Three reasons. It seemed like good parental humblebrag fodder. The ingratitude of my children had become worrisome. It was raining and I didn't know what else to do. As you can imagine, a couple of things came up. First of all, it is not lost on me (though it …

Actual conversation I just had with Mr. R on Saturday morning as we were all having breakfast: So, what are we thinking about today...do we want to...do that thing with them I mentioned to you last night or.... Yeah, it depends on if (gesture over Hazel's head) is going to do her normal midday thing at that time then you could go with, you know, the bigger one, I could maybe be solo in the casa? Yeah and the people who live on Romer might want to go, too. I just need to plan out what we'll be imbibing in the twilight because I want to shut the whole thing down by 7. If it sounds like we're …

It's the end of an era. One of Mr. R's oldest friends, Pace (nothing to do with the local university, though you can be sure we've taken a number of ironic portraits of him in front of signage) turned 40 this week. But that's not all! In the same week Pace's lovely wife Angeliki gave birth to their first child.  A huge week for them for sure.  But since this is my column let's focus on what this means for me.   One of our most mighty and secret parental weapons is now shelved for the foreseeable future. For you see our friend, Pace is, as people say, "good with kids." But that's not even a …