I rush home from work, triple-tasking, everyone needs me, wants me. I’m trying to get dinner (or a reasonable facsimile) together, going through the mail, listening to the answering machine, feeding the dogs, letting ‘em out—you know the drill. After I feed our Lab, I usually give her a big round doggy vitamin the size of say, New Jersey, as her “treat” to get her to go outside (“Go on out and play, already!” She’s a bit of a couch potato).

Anyway, I’m looking around, thinking, “Gee, I could’ve sworn I took one of her pills out of the bottle.” But I can’t find it anywhere in the kitchen—and it's hard to miss—so I throw her another one out the back door. Back at the sink, I’m feeling kind of weird in my throat. I’ve been taking lots of huge pills lately for a stubborn infection. So I’m constantly throwing back one pill or another whenever I’m near running water. Then it hits me: I actually swallowed the dog’s humungous pill.

Ooooh. Yuck. At least my nose will be nice and cold.

PS: Please, please tell me you’ve done something equally ditzy because you’re so busy juggling everything and taking care of everyone else. You know, brushed your teeth with Desitin (Who, me? Guilty).

It’s a testament to the hubby’s learning curve that last night, when I was preparing for a little tea-and-empathy gal pal get-together in my kitchen, he just responded "Okay" when I called out to him upstairs to “Please, please don’t use the dish towels.”

The “just for show” towels I put out, sporting a vintage-like motif in my impossible-to-find gray color scheme, were souvenirs from my Vermont getaway. Once my friends left for the evening, the regular old dishtowels went back to their usual place on the stove’s towel bar, the better to mop up any future messy tomato sauce spills.

Unbelievably enough, throughout this entire bait and switch scenario, the hubby never said a word. Wow, I thought, maybe you can actually teach a not new (old sounds so harsh) other half new tricks after all. Or maybe, come to think of it, that other half was just tuning me out, mumbled a whatever-you-say-dear kind of perfunctory okay and never even glanced away from the TV screen. Whatever. Still works for me.

I still can’t get over the American Idol auditions last week. I love AI, but unlike, I guess, most of the planet, I cringe at the audition shows when Cowell and crew scowl at and make fun of everyone. It’s probably the mom in me, but I feel so bad for all those people who think they’re really, really good, and they are really, really not. (I do like to see the truly talented contestants shine; that’s also the mom in me, as in “Way to go, honey!”)

So, here’s this Mom’s Words of Wisdom (you know, like: “If you don’t have anything nice to say about someone, don’t say anything at all?”) that I’d like to offer anyone going on an audition or job interview or any place where they're trying to make a good first impression.

Here goes: No matter how talented or capable or extraordinary you (think) you are, don’t lead off with a show and tell about any of your disgusting or weird habits—like the AI contestant who brought in a plastic bag of all his old nail clippings (YUCK)—before you sing, dance, answer an HR person’s questions, etc., etc. Yes, you want to be memorable, but not for being gross or disgusting (or wearing a weird banana getup, for that matter).

Back to the fingernail contestant. So the judges are listening to this one guy and he’s good, but you can see from their faces that they are having a hard time getting past the whole fingernail thing, which he shared—in detail—with them and gazillions of us lucky viewers, before he sang. He did get the yellow ticket but it was definitely touch and go there. So remember, pack the head shot or resume. But leave the Ziplock bag of old nail clippings at home.

PS: What Mom Words of Wisdom would you like to offer anyone auditioning or interviewing?

My 19-year-old son is off for a ten-day college study abroad program in a region of the world that’s seen more than its fair share of turmoil. As I write this, I’m a nervous wreck, partly because he’s leaving in a half hour and he’s still not packed—something that really hits all my buttons as I’m the type that has the suitcases all zipped up and ready to go weeks in advance.

I know my obsessing as I prepare to send him out the door (“Do you know where your passport is? Don’t lose your ID. Are you sure you have your camera in you carry-on?”) is but a poor mask for my concern. (I’m a mom. We worry, right?) If only that extra sweatshirt or bottle of Advil will keep him safe. We’ve been through this dance before, so he understands. After an argument about why he waited until the last minute to get his stuff together, he let me hug him tight before sending him off with his Dad; I was too nervous for another goodbye. It’s not as if my kids haven’t traveled before; my son has journeyed throughout Latin America on his own and taught English to students there. It's just that this time he will be going to an area of the world where acts of violence can—and do— unfortunately occur pretty regularly.

Of course, mixed in with the worry is a large dose of guilt. Who am I to worry about my child when so many other moms are sending their sons and daughters off not merely to study, but to actually fight in war-torn areas far from home? Godspeed to all of our children. Please let them all return home safely.

PS: I wrote this entry a little over a week ago on the night my son left—but I was too superstitious to actually post it until he he had come home safe and sound. He just did. So here it is. 

Wow! It seems I really hit a hot button when I wrote about the rise in teen pregnancies (“Babes Bearing Babies”) last week. The response was unprecedented; lots of people had lots to say (some comments ran hundreds and hundreds of words!) about this topic. The comments shared were thoughtful, passionate, and downright fascinating, representing an incredible diversity of readers and opinions.

To everyone who commented: Thank you so much for taking the time to share your insights with us all. You really made me (and I’m sure lots of others) think in new ways about what is clearly a very thorny topic.

To those who haven’t had a chance to read the post and the comments it generated: Please take a moment to do so by clicking this link: Babes Bearing Babies. I promise your eyes will be opened in ways that you might not have expected.

To all the past and current teen moms out there: I never meant to imply, as some who commented suggested, that teen moms are “horrible” or “all the same.” But I am a mother. And as you see (or will), mothers worry. That’s just what we do. And while I do worry that teen moms will not be able to continue or advance their education, or have to raise their children with little support, financial or otherwise, I only wish them and their kids the best as they tackle the planet’s most challenging—yet rewarding—job.

Okay. That’s it! I am so never, ever listening to those weather guys ever again.

As I wrote last night, the so-called meteorologists were forecasting huge amounts of the white stuff for my area for all throughout the night and into this morning. One said at least three inches, another up to 11. So, of course, I let myself sleep in a bit. And when I sauntered over to the window this AM, this is how many inches of snow there were on my lawn: ZERO.

Not only were my plans to play hooky from work (which I love, by the way, in case the people who sign my paycheck are reading this) and chill out at home dashed, but because I slept in, I was 23 1/2 minutes late for a big meeting at my office. Whoa boy. I had to do some fast verbal tap dancing once I slid into my seat, but I majored in Spin 101 in school, so I pulled it off. But I learned my lesson: no counting those snowflakes before they fall. But Nor’easter, tropical storm, or tornado warnings? They’re still fair game.  

As I write this, the local media is whipping itself up into a freaked-out frenzy about an impending snowstorm set to hit my area tonight. You know what I’m talking about (cue ominous music here): “We interrupt this look at the latest Spear family faux pas to bring you this special report on Snowstorm ’08. Stay tuned for the latest up-to-the-minute information on the major weather event heading our way, etc., etc.”   Like all the kids (and teachers?) praying for no school tomorrow, I’m hoping that the meteorologists (that would be weather guys to you and me) are right this time, so life as I know it, at least for tomorrow, will be cancelled.

Oh dear snow gods, please give us enough of the white stuff so that no one is inconvenienced or injured, but that I can stay home from work and shrug off all my obligations, guilt-free. Don’t get me wrong: I love my job. But I also like the once-in-a-while chance to have to stay home. And I know I am not alone in enjoying the enforced do-nothingness of a snow day, the chance to step off the treadmill, throw out the schedules, and sleep in a bit with no agenda. Indeed, if my snow prayers are answered, my plans are modest ones: to catch up on my magazines, clean some closets, cook, watch lots of junky TV, and just chill out with those people and canines who share my address, DNA, and/or last name.

Just curious: what do people in warmer parts of the country do to get their equivalent of snow days?
And fellow snow region folk: what are your favorite things to do on snow days with the kids?

Forget waiting around for Prince Charming.  Real young women can make their own fairy tales come true, or so says this latest Disney “happily ever after” flick with an up-to-the-minute twist.

I admit it: I wasn’t too keen on seeing a PG-13 Disney offering, the first part of which is depicted in 2D animation a la Beauty & The Beast, Cinderella, and all of the others classics which took up permanent residence in my VCR when my daughter was younger. But my trusted fellow flickophile Ivy swore that Enchanted, a musical comedy/fantasy that mixes animation, computer wizardry, and live action, was worth hitting the multi-plex for. And she was right.

This tongue-in-cheek parody updates the traditional "fairy tales do come true" formula to good—and often charming—effect. Disney takes one of their trademark cartooned princesses—you know, the kind who’s pining for the one true love with whom she’s spent a grand total of only three-a-half-minutes—and plops her into Manhattan’s Times Square. It’s at this point in the movie (thankfully for me, as it put my sister’s “Is this all a cartoon?” grumblings to rest) that animation switches over to live action, with actress Amy Adams bringing our heroine Giselle to life.

Okay, enough of the girls going wild set. Though Us Weekly and Entertainment Tonight would have us believe otherwise, we all know there are lots of teenaged girls out there who aren’t checking into rehab, getting preggers, or driving their parents crazy with yet another DUI. Forget the Paris, Jamie Lynn, and Lindsay set. What about the girls who are doing something right?

Enter Rachel Rosenfeld, the 17-year-old daughter of longtime friends of mine, and a local hometown hero if I’ve ever heard of one. Google her name and you’ll see what I mean. This past Christmas Day found Rachel and her family in the small village of Srah Khvav, Cambodia, cutting the ribbon for a new school built with the funds she raised for that purpose. Who said you have to be Oprah to give the gift of education to an impoverished area?

If it seems like there’s been a bumper crop of teens bearing bumps recently, there is.

According to the January 14th issue of my favorite research journal, People magazine, and, oh yeah, the National Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, the birth rate for the barely-out-of-braces set increased three percent in 2006 for the first time in 14 years. Apparently, Jamie Lynn has lots of company in craving cool jeans with stretch tummy panels (a fashion oxymoron if there ever was one): according to People, 750,000 of ‘em, between 15 and 19. And in Spears’ hometown of Kentwood, Louisiana, being preggers is apparently no big deal, laments Kentwood High principal Ginger Francois in the same article. “For girls her age, getting pregnant is the in thing to do. There’s no shame.”

Whoa. Sobering, huh? And just what the heck is going on here? Fingers have been pointed at everything from a celeb-gaga media machine that promotes an oh-so-cute tot as the latest must-have fashion accessory to a more sexually permissive culture to a government push for “just say no,” abstinence-only education (states that took some of the federal funding, to the tune of $17 million, are not allowed to disseminate info about the potential plus side of contraception).

So, what is up with this? What do you think is behind this disturbing trend—and what, if anything, should we be doing about it? This inquiring mind wants to know...