This weekend I came up with a new product that I think is going to be huge a hit. They're called Mom Freezes, Mom Freezes are adult flavored slushees (icies, whatever you want to call them). and they come in two varieties - Caffeine Junkie (coffee with half and half and Splenda), and White Wino (white wine). And, no, these drinks are not variations on daiquiris or frozen margheritas.
The difference between Mom Freezes and other beverages is they are made from the beverage specified, only they've been put in the freezer for short periods of time until ice crystals just begin to form. Our coffee variety was invented when I was interrupted while drinking my iced coffee and stuck it in the freezer to nurse the baby lest it melt and I had to kiss my two dollar coffee buh-bye. Upon my return to the freezer I was greeted with a lovely beverage with a slushy consistency. This drink is superior to the Starbucks Frappuccino because when the frozen coffee crystals melt you aren't left with watered down coffee and itt doesn't have all the calories and sugar with the caffeine kick of regular coffee. That, and we don't require you to use a foreign language to order it. Caffeine Junkie comes in three sizes, They Were Up at Six AM, Stomach Flu and Colicky Baby (small, medium and large respectively).
Our white wine variety was created when Hubby returned from the grocery store with warm white wine. Having only one glass left in the bottle I was currently drinking (emergency!), I stashed the new bottle in the freezer to expedite the chilling process. Forty minutes, and a one-glass buzz later, I realized the bottle was still in the deep freeze and rescued it before it exploded. When the new bottle was opened a mostly wine, but part slushee poured into my glass. It was wonderful. Since I like to drink my wine just this side of freezing it remained at a nice temperature for quite a while. This variety comes in three sizes as well, Weeknight, Saturday Night and The Kids are at Grandma's.
I'm thinking of opening a small kiosk-type establishment. Of course, drive through is available for Caffeine Junkie and since, for safety purposes we can't serve mothers actually driving, delivery of White Wino is available twenty-four seven. Maybe it'll be like In and Out Burger in California - a very limited selection that people rave about. Or Ben and Jerry's! Minus the tie-dye, of course. Our T-shirts will be bedazzled.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Friday, June 27, 2008
Step right up, folks...
There was a carnival in town this week and Hubby and I got a sitter and took the girls over last night (the baby can not keep his eyes open a minute past 7:00 hence his absence from nighttime family outings). Being there, the smell of cotton candy in the air, reminded me of my own childhood experiences at the Westchester County Fair. Sing along everyone. "Shows and attractions! Non-stop-action! Shows, animals, fireworks too! It's about the most fun thing you can do!" No? Well, I guess just my sister and I were fortunate enough to be taken to Yonkers Raceway on a summer Saturday returning home with our Michael Jackson painter's caps and aviator sunglasses as souvenirs. So in the carny spirit this Friday...
The Top 5 Random Things I love About Carnivals
5. Of course the rides rock at a carnival, but what I find so fascinating is nowhere else on earth, other than a New York City subway car circa 1979, can you find that levels of airbrushed art. I love how the walls and cars of these attractions are always spray painted with vaguely inappropriate things - women with their boobs practically flying out of their tops so great is the centrifugal force of the Alpine Sled or really creepy looking devil faces on the haunted house - even though this is supposed to be a family environment. And who exactly does this for a living? Reformed graffiti artists?
4. The games are, as I experienced last night, a parent's worst nightmare and a total money-suck. Two bucks for my kid to throw one dart? Granted, she did pop the balloon on the first try, but then I was stuck with, yet another, crappy stuffed animal to shove under her bed. Annoying as an adult but awesome as a kid. Don't you remember being super-psyched when your dad won you the extra large panda bear playing the ring toss? Sure you had no idea it cost him forty-five bucks to do so and then he had to do it again to get one for your sister, because you were too busy trying to walk normally dragging this behemoth back to the car. Inevitably your beloved bear would spring a leak while you and your sister were beating the bejeezus out of each other with your prizes leaving a trail of minuscule Styrofoam balls for your mother to clean up for the rest of the summer. I am scared to think about where these cheap toys come from and what might actually be inside them if we can't keep lead paint out of Toys R Us for crying out loud.
3. Speaking of games, what game is more fun than the water gun/balloon pop race? I remember having palpitations waiting for the starting bell to go off, then correcting and over-correcting trying to get that damn stream of water into the (creepy) clown's mouth once the too loud bell did ring. As a parent, I wondered last night how dirty that water must be and I threw up in my mouth a little.
2. The best souvenirs ever from a fair, other then the aforementioned Chinese-import, death-bears, are glow-in-the-dark necklaces. Of course, they were the height of eighties cool being neon colored, but they also allowed you to goof off and get even more riled up in the dark of your room once you were in bed if you were lucky enough to share with a sibling (I was). My mother in-law recently gave the girls a few and it was a long, long night.
1. OK, you knew it was coming. My number one is, of course, food related. The number one, best thing about a fair is fried dough. Funnel cakes, zeppoles, whatever your preference, fry it up, pour some powdered sugar on it and I sound like Homer Simpson. Must I? Oh,OK..."Mmmmm. Donuts." I remember going to a fair gigantically pregnant with one of my kids and eating so many zeppole I looked like Al Pacino in Scarface when I was done. I restrained myself last night though. There were children present.
So if you see a sign for a local fair or carnival, why not take a trip down memory lane and swing by? Even if you don't have kids. Enjoy it now because soon it'll be you screaming, "These bottle are rigged!", then muttering, "Yeah...I'll take another three balls. How many do I need to knock down for the panda?"
Happy Friday!
The Top 5 Random Things I love About Carnivals
5. Of course the rides rock at a carnival, but what I find so fascinating is nowhere else on earth, other than a New York City subway car circa 1979, can you find that levels of airbrushed art. I love how the walls and cars of these attractions are always spray painted with vaguely inappropriate things - women with their boobs practically flying out of their tops so great is the centrifugal force of the Alpine Sled or really creepy looking devil faces on the haunted house - even though this is supposed to be a family environment. And who exactly does this for a living? Reformed graffiti artists?
4. The games are, as I experienced last night, a parent's worst nightmare and a total money-suck. Two bucks for my kid to throw one dart? Granted, she did pop the balloon on the first try, but then I was stuck with, yet another, crappy stuffed animal to shove under her bed. Annoying as an adult but awesome as a kid. Don't you remember being super-psyched when your dad won you the extra large panda bear playing the ring toss? Sure you had no idea it cost him forty-five bucks to do so and then he had to do it again to get one for your sister, because you were too busy trying to walk normally dragging this behemoth back to the car. Inevitably your beloved bear would spring a leak while you and your sister were beating the bejeezus out of each other with your prizes leaving a trail of minuscule Styrofoam balls for your mother to clean up for the rest of the summer. I am scared to think about where these cheap toys come from and what might actually be inside them if we can't keep lead paint out of Toys R Us for crying out loud.
3. Speaking of games, what game is more fun than the water gun/balloon pop race? I remember having palpitations waiting for the starting bell to go off, then correcting and over-correcting trying to get that damn stream of water into the (creepy) clown's mouth once the too loud bell did ring. As a parent, I wondered last night how dirty that water must be and I threw up in my mouth a little.
2. The best souvenirs ever from a fair, other then the aforementioned Chinese-import, death-bears, are glow-in-the-dark necklaces. Of course, they were the height of eighties cool being neon colored, but they also allowed you to goof off and get even more riled up in the dark of your room once you were in bed if you were lucky enough to share with a sibling (I was). My mother in-law recently gave the girls a few and it was a long, long night.
1. OK, you knew it was coming. My number one is, of course, food related. The number one, best thing about a fair is fried dough. Funnel cakes, zeppoles, whatever your preference, fry it up, pour some powdered sugar on it and I sound like Homer Simpson. Must I? Oh,OK..."Mmmmm. Donuts." I remember going to a fair gigantically pregnant with one of my kids and eating so many zeppole I looked like Al Pacino in Scarface when I was done. I restrained myself last night though. There were children present.
So if you see a sign for a local fair or carnival, why not take a trip down memory lane and swing by? Even if you don't have kids. Enjoy it now because soon it'll be you screaming, "These bottle are rigged!", then muttering, "Yeah...I'll take another three balls. How many do I need to knock down for the panda?"
Happy Friday!
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
You can take the girl out of the Bronx...
Today was a picture-perfect summer day here in northern NJ. It was eighty degrees and sunny with low humidity and a lovely breeze and we decided to enjoy the morning at the park. I packed a lunch and picnic blanket and settled in on the grass with the baby watching the girls play on the jungle gym. Thunk! What the hell was that?? A tennis ball landed a few yards away on the grass. "That's weird", I thought. There are no tennis courts here.
I look around and five or six thirteen years olds (I am surmising their age from their disheveled appearance and now-required long hair - is this 1970?) having batting practice with a metal bat and tennis balls over at the adjacent ball field which, before now, I had not noticed is curiously close to the playground. This gaggle of testosterone is not actually playing on the actual diamond itself, for some reason they are standing in the outfield bringing themselves that much closer to the playground. Goofy Kid #1 comes running over and grabs his ball shouting a derogatory remark at his pal. "OK", I think, "Random fly ball." and get back to my kickin' rendition of The Wheels on the Bus. Thunk! Are you kidding? This time I am not the only one notice and while I am not on my home turf (this playground is in the next town) and am, subsequently not hanging with my dad-pal, I notice the other moms looking concerned too.
Five minute later...Thunk! Goofy Kid #2 comes to get the ball this time and since no one else seems to be moving to speak I say, "Hey, hon" (having been a teacher I reserve the right to speak to any child using a term of endearment) "Would you guys mind batting the other way if it doesn't make any difference to you? That way you won't hit any balls into the playground and maybe hit someone." He grunts in the affirmative and I return to my jam session.
The girls need to use the bathroom so we run off to the library and when I return to the blanket approximately fifteen minutes later...Thunk! Now I've had it. I scoop up the baby, walk over to the fence and speak to the group of them at large. "Guys. I know we just talked about this. Would you please bat the other way before you hit someone and I have to get angry? OK?"
OK, that's not completely honest. In my fantasy that's what would have happened. Here's what happened in reality. I will spell phonetically for full effect since I, apparently, become my Bronx-born mother when angry. I scoop up the baby, angrily stomp over to the fence and scream while gesticulating wildly with my free arm, " Aw right! Are you kiddin' me? I KNOW I just tawked to you, (pointing at Goofy Kid #2) and I did it nicely. Now I'm gonna' scream at the bunch o' ya'! Turn and bat the other way befaw you hit one of my kids because if ya do then I'm really gonna' get pissed."
Yes, I am embarassed that I yelled "pissed" in front of small children (in my defense they were pretty far away), but you know what? I'm also sort of glad I did it. These kids are too damn used to the sing-songy voices of their teachers and parents cajoling them into doing what they should be doing in the first place. You know, like listening to adults when they tell them to do something, like not hitting tennis balls at preschoolers. If they pulled that crap on a playground in the Boogie Down (the Bronx for the uninitiated) - please. Picture the ensuing neck-snapping and finger-waving. They'd be slashed to death by the movement of a thousand acrylic tipped index fingers, the final words they hear being, "Oh no you DI-INT!"
And to my fellow mothers GET SOME BALLS! These are your toddlers who are about to get taken down in a flash of neon yellow felt. Yeah, I yelled at someone else's kid and the world did not explode. It's time we act as a community and present a united front about what is and is not acceptable behavior. If your kid is the one acting up, say, hitting my kid in the head, and you don't do anything about it, I will. We may be all from different ethnicities, religions and backgrounds, but basic deceny and self-restraint are vaues we can all agree on. So go ahead and give me the stink eye. I don't care.
So, in the end, I drove the group of budding Babe Ruths off the field and peace was restored. I'm not sure what these particular mothers thought of me, but one grandma gave me all the ammunition I needed to continue my assault on the badly behaved. After my rant I returned to my blanket and as I took a deep breath to lower my blood pressure I looked in her direction and she gave me an ever so subtle thumbs up. Thanks, Granny.
I look around and five or six thirteen years olds (I am surmising their age from their disheveled appearance and now-required long hair - is this 1970?) having batting practice with a metal bat and tennis balls over at the adjacent ball field which, before now, I had not noticed is curiously close to the playground. This gaggle of testosterone is not actually playing on the actual diamond itself, for some reason they are standing in the outfield bringing themselves that much closer to the playground. Goofy Kid #1 comes running over and grabs his ball shouting a derogatory remark at his pal. "OK", I think, "Random fly ball." and get back to my kickin' rendition of The Wheels on the Bus. Thunk! Are you kidding? This time I am not the only one notice and while I am not on my home turf (this playground is in the next town) and am, subsequently not hanging with my dad-pal, I notice the other moms looking concerned too.
Five minute later...Thunk! Goofy Kid #2 comes to get the ball this time and since no one else seems to be moving to speak I say, "Hey, hon" (having been a teacher I reserve the right to speak to any child using a term of endearment) "Would you guys mind batting the other way if it doesn't make any difference to you? That way you won't hit any balls into the playground and maybe hit someone." He grunts in the affirmative and I return to my jam session.
The girls need to use the bathroom so we run off to the library and when I return to the blanket approximately fifteen minutes later...Thunk! Now I've had it. I scoop up the baby, walk over to the fence and speak to the group of them at large. "Guys. I know we just talked about this. Would you please bat the other way before you hit someone and I have to get angry? OK?"
OK, that's not completely honest. In my fantasy that's what would have happened. Here's what happened in reality. I will spell phonetically for full effect since I, apparently, become my Bronx-born mother when angry. I scoop up the baby, angrily stomp over to the fence and scream while gesticulating wildly with my free arm, " Aw right! Are you kiddin' me? I KNOW I just tawked to you, (pointing at Goofy Kid #2) and I did it nicely. Now I'm gonna' scream at the bunch o' ya'! Turn and bat the other way befaw you hit one of my kids because if ya do then I'm really gonna' get pissed."
Yes, I am embarassed that I yelled "pissed" in front of small children (in my defense they were pretty far away), but you know what? I'm also sort of glad I did it. These kids are too damn used to the sing-songy voices of their teachers and parents cajoling them into doing what they should be doing in the first place. You know, like listening to adults when they tell them to do something, like not hitting tennis balls at preschoolers. If they pulled that crap on a playground in the Boogie Down (the Bronx for the uninitiated) - please. Picture the ensuing neck-snapping and finger-waving. They'd be slashed to death by the movement of a thousand acrylic tipped index fingers, the final words they hear being, "Oh no you DI-INT!"
And to my fellow mothers GET SOME BALLS! These are your toddlers who are about to get taken down in a flash of neon yellow felt. Yeah, I yelled at someone else's kid and the world did not explode. It's time we act as a community and present a united front about what is and is not acceptable behavior. If your kid is the one acting up, say, hitting my kid in the head, and you don't do anything about it, I will. We may be all from different ethnicities, religions and backgrounds, but basic deceny and self-restraint are vaues we can all agree on. So go ahead and give me the stink eye. I don't care.
So, in the end, I drove the group of budding Babe Ruths off the field and peace was restored. I'm not sure what these particular mothers thought of me, but one grandma gave me all the ammunition I needed to continue my assault on the badly behaved. After my rant I returned to my blanket and as I took a deep breath to lower my blood pressure I looked in her direction and she gave me an ever so subtle thumbs up. Thanks, Granny.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)