Britney Spears, Paris Hilton... and me

If you're going to judge me, don't read this... but suddenly I can't get enough pop culture.

I can't wait to flip on Entertainment Tonight when Owen goes to bed, I pick the check out aisle with the latest People magazines and immediately flip to the Inside Track when I pick up the Herald.

Insanity, I know. And don't worry, I still read two newspapers a day, get Time and Newsweek in the mail, flip through the Times on Sundays and watch 60 Minutes each week. But if I have a minute to myself in the middle of the day and the TV is on I immediately flip to E! Because who knows whose True Hollywood Story might be on next?

There's something about these people that just fascinate me. How do you get to be a multi-millionaire in your early 20s? What do some of these talent-less people know that I don't?

Sure, they've got the fabulous bodies, impeccable skin and ridiculously expensive designer clothes. They're always smiling, their hair is always gleaming and there is never a run in their stockings.

That is, except when they're pictured in my favorite - albeit ridiculous - Us Magazine feature: Stars... They're Just Like Us! Page after page is dedicated to pictures of celebs doing "regular" stuff, urging readers to say "Oh my God! Britney's buying a lemonade, just like me!" or "I can't believe Cameron gets her coffee at Starbucks too!"

Let's face facts: these people are normal, and as much as we like to see them succeed in big-money movies, we also love to see them fail. We love the stories about Britney going nuts and shaving her head, eat up the details of Prince William's break-up and make bets on who might go into rehab next.

These magazines are thriving for a reason: people like me love to live vicariously through celebrities who are living the lives we can only dream of. I"ll never have a Bel Aire mansion, drive a convertible, have a private chef and yoga instructor or be able to drop a few grand each day at Nordstrom's.

And that's OK. I like my condo in Salem, my Toyota Rav 4 and my yoga class at the YMCA. I wouldn't trade it for a lifetime of being chased by the paparazzi...

... but the second People offers a deal on a subscription, I'm totally signing up.

Today's Dirty Little Secret

I almost sent Jake to school with a fever today. Almost.

Today marks the fifth workday that I have been home with a sick child in the last six. I was home with Owen and his pinkeye last Wednesday and Thursday, worked on Friday, Monday was a holiday, worked until lunchtime on Tuesday when I got the call that Jake had a fever (double ear infection), and stayed home with him that afternoon and all day Wednesday.

Last night I set the alarm for 5:30, ready to get up, put on some clean clothes and some heels and go back to work. But when I heard him crying at 4:30 I knew it just wasn't going to happen.

He went in and out of sleep for about an hour and I finally grabbed him at 5:30. Poor little guy. His forehead was really hot, his face was covered with ... well, who knows what, and he could barely keep his eyes open. He clearly had a fever again.

So we had a choice to make. Dave's day was non-negotiable, plus he has no sick time. We gave Jake some Tylenol, calmed him down and tried to figure out our next steps. The choices were pretty bleak: send him to daycare and await the call mid day (which would result in him having to stay home tomorrow) or suck it up and stay home one more day.

Seriously, I was close to sending him. My week's been shot to hell, I'm way behind on just about everything at work, and who knows if my boss even remembers my name anymore. I went back and forth in my head, trying to devise a plan that would keep him fever free until at least late afternoon...

... and then I just stopped myself. Because really, what the hell was I doing? Setting aside the fact that I'm climbing out of my skin from being in the house nonstop for the past week, giving Jake another day at home to get better is far more important than anything I had on my work schedule for today.

So that's today's dirty little secret. I almost sent a feverish 16-month-0ld to daycare, but thankfully realized what an idiot I was being before I dropped him off. As a result, he's sound asleep in his own crib right now, hopefully getting healthy enough to go back tomorrow.

If you haven't seen it yet, check the comments on my last post - Meredith left a secret of her own. Does anyone else have a good one?

Dirty Little Secrets

My husband recently gave me a fascinating book: "I Was A Really Good Mom Before I Had Kids." It's written by two moms my age who interviewed hundreds of other moms around the country to get the real story about whether or not motherhood is living up to Norman Rockwell's expectations.

Not surprisingly, it often isn't.

This book is really interesting. After initially saying how happy they all are, they later agreed that changing diapers, wiping runny noses, soothing croupy babies, cleaning up after their kids and playing chauffeur isn't all it's cracked up to be.

But my favorite part are the "dirty little secrets." Every few pages features another one from another mom - they're all horrifyingly awful, and incredibly relatable. A few of my favorites:

"If I find myself having a crazy day, and I find myself talking to someone on the cell phone, I"ll sometimes just hang up and pretend it was bad reception."

"I let my six-year-old watch Access Hollywood with me."

"I've locked my kids in the car not once, not twice, but three times."

"I like to go to Starbucks alone...I get to drink the whole coffee while it's hot without interruption. My "latte name" is Kim and in my mind she is still single and lives in the city with no kids."

Who doesn't have a dirty little secret about parenting? Here's mine:

One day I was so distracted from work that when I picked up Owen I just plunked him into his carseat and didn't buckle the straps. About 5 minutes later, stopped at a red light I looked in the rear view mirror and saw his face just inches from mine, grinning wildly. He had jumped down from his seat and was trying to climb in front. After a quick heart attack and near-miss with the car next to me, I pulled into the nearest driveway, jumped out of the car and strapped him in again. Mid-way through the strapping our eyes met and he kept smiling, quite proud of himself. Without meaning to, I smiled back. I didn't tell Dave for a few weeks.

OK, that's mine. Anyone else have a good one?

Desperately Seeking A 12-Step Program For "Cars"

Owen, for as long as he's been able to communicate with us, has been obsessed with something.

First, when he could just about hold his head up, it was spinning things -- he couldn't get enough of anything that spun around, like tops or balls or toys or really anything that spun. Next it was balls - every time we went to the store we came back with another ball, to the point where we had an entire toybox filled with them.

Next came his interest in TV. From there we had a brief stint with Baby Einstein videos, then Elmo's World, then Thomas the Tank Engine. Thomas lasted the longest, and is still a favorite, but in the last 6 months has been edged out by the Pixar movies. First came Toy Story, then Toy Story II, then A Bug's Life, and now Cars. Yup, pretty much any of the Pixar movies.

Now, everybody has their favorite things, and I love that he has interests. What drives me crazy is how highly interested he gets in something ... until he loses interest entirely. Case in point: our toybox filled with balls. It's now filled with both balls AND dust.

With the movies it's a whole other form of intense obsession. He wants to do nothing else but watch the movie of the moment -- it's been Cars for weeks now, so I'm hoping for a new one soon -- wear clothes with the characters on them, play with action figures from the movies and recreate the stories out loud. It's actually hilarious, because now that he's almost four and speaking pretty clearly, he's able to literally memorize a movie from start to finish and actually act it out.

Toddler obsessions are completely normal - I know that. But someone should really come up with a way for parents not to go completely batty in the meantime.

Because, seriously, I'm not sure I'm up for too many more showings of Cars . Poor Owen has been home with pink-eye for the past two days and has watched the damn thing about a dozen times. And, to be honest, that Mater is starting to really creep me out.

What the &@*$$@?!

I just learned another valuable lesson about the rules of swearing when you're a mom: words that don't even count as curses are suddenly off limits too.

Like "stupid." And "crap."

How did I find this out? By referring to something as "stupid crap" in a conversation with my husband this weekend. We were in the car at the time, the kids strapped safely into their car seats behind us. Owen was playing with his toys – seemingly oblivious to our conversation – and Jake was sound asleep.

As I said it I actually gave myself a little mental pat on the back for cleaning up my language and not swearing.

And then I heard the tiny little voice from behind me:

"Stupid crap."

My husband, who was driving, gave me his when-will-you-ever-learn look and choked back a laugh.

"No naughty words, Owen," he said sternly. "Do you want to go sit in Miss Amber's room?"

Come on, seriously?? Is nothing sacred? Am I going to have to start saying "oh fudge," and "Honest to Pete" and "Gosh Golly Gee" when I'm really pissed off?

I want to be a good parent, but I don't want to turn into Ned Flanders or find some secret hideaway to run to when I really need to curse. At the same time I don't want my kids to be the ones cursing their little friends out on the playground.

Guess that Miss Amber really does have a point.

No, I Do Not Want To Sit In Miss Amber's Room

One of the many skills I took away from my years in newsrooms was the ability to swear like a truck driver. Literally. Rile me up enough and I can curse out even the most foul-mouthed competitor, and I usually feel better when I'm through.

I've shocked more than a few co-workers with my F-bombs, and have taken steps to tone myself down since leaving journalism. But sometimes when things really go wrong, when I'm really late, or when someone really pisses me off, I just can't help myself.

Unfortunately, now I have a new audience: my nearly 4-year-old son, who listens to and repeats virtually every word I say. And – inadvertently - I've already taught him a couple of gems.

Much to Dave's horror I usually burst out laughing when he comes out with a "Damn it" or "Crap," or "Christ," but thankfully they seem to have this covered at school. Kindercare follows a strict No Naughty Words policy that comes with a severe penalty: sitting in Miss Amber's room.

Truthfully, I have no clue why this works. I've met Miss Amber, and she seems perfectly nice. She teaches the 5-year-olds and has a classroom filled with toys and books, not whips and needles. But for some reason that threat alone seems to have been enough to teach Owen not to swear (much).

I, on the other hand, am still struggling. This morning, for instance, I yelled "damn it" when I stepped on stray cat food and cursed again when I couldn't find any socks that matched. Dave, standing at the counter making breakfast, showed mock horror on his face and said, "Tell Mommy not to use naughty words, Owen."

Owen agreed and looked at me very seriously.

"Do you want to go sit in Miss Amber's room Mommy?" he asked.

I thought for a minute. Maybe it wasn't so bad there. I could curse up a storm and the worst thing that would happen is a stern look from this teacher who is about a half foot shorter than me. I could probably take her, I thought. Then I looked at Dave who had his this-is-a-teachable-moment look on his face, and shook my head.

"No, I don't," I said, looking remorseful.

"All right then," Owen said. "No naughty words."

Oh shit. What am I supposed to do now?

Why I Almost Hit Someone Else's Kid Yesterday

We spent most of this past weekend at the park, giving the kids some time to run, climb, be with other kids and just enjoy being outside again.

Jake is just learning the joys of the playground, but Owen is a full on playground enthusiast. He runs from the car to the nearest climbing structure, hops to the top of a slide, sends Lightning McQueen down first and then slides down after him, usually headfirst. He has an absolute ball and is even beginning to enjoy swings, which scared him last year.

But on Sunday the parks were packed, leading to lines at the slides and traffic jams on the wobbly bridge and overflow on the climbing structures. Undeterred, Owen flew to the top, racing for the slide, and was pushed down by a "big kid" who was probably 6.

Standing below the bridge I saw the whole thing, and I was furious.

"HEY!" I yelled. "You just pushed him down! Watch where you're going!"

The kid was in the midst of a game of chase with an older boy, and stopped when he heard me. He looked back at Owen, who was picking himself up and looking a little scared.

"Sorry," he called back to Owen, who ignored him. The kid looked at me to see if that was good enough, but I had my Mother/Teacher/Grown Up hat on and wanted more.

"He's a little kid," I said. "You could have really hurt him."

In my head I knew this little boy hadn't meant to hurt Owen, but my heart was racing and I wanted to smack him. How dare he push down my son?

Dave calmed me down later, reminding me that the rules of the playground are like the rules of the jungle: every kid for himself, and only the strong will survive. Maybe he's right, but this just made me feel worse. What if some bully picks on Owen at school and I'm not there to give him the hairy eyeball? What is some punk pushes Jake and takes his toys? What if the "cool kids" make fun of them when they hit elementary school? What will I do the day one or both of them come home with a black eye, or their lunch money missing?

Right now I feel like I can still intimidate the bullies but what happens in high school when the bad guys are bigger than me?

I know, I know, I can't keep him safe forever, and someday he's going to want to fight his own battles. But now, while he's still little enough to call me "Mommy" and want me to catch him at the bottom of the slide, all those little mini punks better keep their hands to themselves. Because I'm watching.

Creating a Kid-Friendly World

When I was a kid, the last thing I ever wanted to do was go to a museum. What was the appeal? They were big, airy buildings with pictures of people I didn't know on the wall. I was dragged kicking and screaming to the MFA a couple of times, and yawned my way through some of the great art museums in Spain when I went with my mother on a school trip in the eighth grade.

Too bad I didn't have a chance to experience some of the cool museums out there for kids today.

What kids need aren't pictures to look at or things to admire behind glass - they need stuff they can touch, twist, taste, paint, bounce, roll or explode. They need things to climb, crazy twisty slides to slide down, cameras pointed at them so they can see themselves TV, miniature stores and restaurants to play in and dress-up clothes to try on.

A children's museum should be for children, should have no "don't touch" signs, and nothing worth looking at should be more than 4 feet tall.

Thankfully Boston has one of these places, and it's about to get even better. The Children's Museum has been closed for months, undergoing a huge renovation, and it's reopening on April 14. The old Museum was always a little crowded, but even the older exhibits always caught Owen's eye. The new museum is going to be bigger, newer, and redesigned to make "visitor flow" (whatever that means) even better. The crowds may be a pain in the beginning, but next rainy Saturday we're totally going.

Luckily there are lots of places out there today that seem to get it. Even the North Shore Children's Museum in Salem -- it's small but wide open with toys everywhere, tubes you can shove stuff in, liquids you can mix and a big table filled with pieces of paper, glitter, little baubles and plenty of glue. What's not to like?

But unfortunately the best ones don't always last. That was the case with Brujitos, a fabulous find we discovered just weeks after moving to Salem. It was a small place in dowtown with toys and climbers for toddlers, a cafe with healthy-ish food for both kids and their parents, and the best chocolate chip cookies I think I've ever had. We were regulars for about 2 years, but they mysteriously went out of business last year.

Thankfully new places keep popping up. My sister works at an incredible place in Charlotte, NC - Imaginon took a children's library and children's theater and merged them into a fantastic kids haven filled with cool exhibits, little nooks for kids to hide in and an awesome area called the Story Lab that encourages kids to not only write,but to be creative. If you ever get down there, check it out.

I'm glad that society seems to have finally recognized the need for kid-friendly places that are actually geared toward kids. I'm not sure what changed -- maybe it's that the parents of the under-5 set have rolled up their sleeves and created places their own kids would like. Or maybe people have started listening to the research that shows that kids are just generally happier when they're busy.

I don't know which is true, and I don't really care. I'm just glad to know that when the kids start getting antsy on rainy Saturdays or cold Sundays, we have plenty of options. And none of them involve art museums.