Why I didn't entirely hate going to the Big Apple Circus.

My husband and son were supposed to be gone this weekend for a Cub Scout overnight on a battleship in NJ, which sounds cool (I mean not to me, but to people who find sleeping on metal slabs cool), but in the wake of the plague going around I felt spending 12 hours in a confined space with 500 walking petri dishes was ill-advised.

My husband agreed, and I'm was secretly relieved. (If you can call breaking into a flailing jig "secretly"). We decided that we needed to find a replacement activity that would be a decent consolation to my son who has been waiting for this trip since last year.

I jumped over to MommyPoppins, an awesome website filled with tidbits about what's going on around Manhattan, and stumbled upon an ad for The Big Apple Circus (with discount code!)

I have to interject at this point that I HATE the circus. Like loathe more than Speidi, and that's saying a lot. But my son, he loves it. So, we served up the canceled battleship trip with a "We're going to the circus!" chaser. He was elated.

The Big Apple Circus is different than the massive ones that you've probably been to. There's only one ring, there's no parade of elephants, although they do have some dogs do some nifty tricks and, since it's such a small venue, every seat is relatively close to the action.

The star of the show is Bello who's not exactly a clown and, truth be told, he's actually quite an impressive performer. In fact he's the seventh generation of circus folk from his family. I mean the pressure, could you imagine:

BELLO: Mom, I got into Harvard Law School!

MOM: The hell. You grab your baggy pants and small tie this instant, and just WAIT until your father gets off his impossibly tiny bicycle. I wouldn't want to be in your big, floppy shoes, Mister.

Besides Bello (and his clown sidekick, Grandma) there are a dozen other basic acts. My husband said it best, "And now for something incredibly difficult to do, yet fairly boring to watch..."

I know. I'm jaded. Cynical. Baby Seal Beater-ish.

But in fact we were all wildly entertained, although perhaps for different reasons.

My son was amazed by the Long Twins, who were contortionists from China, and The Russian trapeze troupe.

Me, my entertainment came in the form of the internal mock-fest that was bouncing around my cranium faster than the juggler's balls. (God that sounds dirty) Topics covered: costumes that were so gay even Liberace would refuse to wear them, why watching two male contortionists twist themselves in to several face to "junk" poses made me feel slightly squirmy and how unsanitary it was for the juggler to juggle balls in his mouth that had also been on the floor of a freakin' circus tent.

Still, after the recent tooth fairy revelation that left both my son and I reeling from the realization that he is getting more and more grown up by the second, I have to say that I wish I could have bottled the unbridled enthusiasm being generated by every fiber of his being.

He belly laughed at Bello's antics, clapped loudly when the trampoline troupe flipped like ragdolls on Red Bull and had an electric smile on his face that lasted the entire two hours. I reveled in the fact that the childlike sense of wonder and magic was still very much in residence and that I saw no sign of the tween who is sure to be moving in before I know it.

It also happened to turn out to be a Mom Bloggers event for which I can only assume my invitation had been, ahem, lost in the mail. (No free tix, but at least I had the discount code) Still, it was cool to see Kelcey, from Mamabirddiaries, take center stage as an honorary ring master. How she was so eloquent and composed (and rocked a top hat and coat with epaulets) is so beyond me.

I only found out during a twitter feed that some of my other faves, like Marinka, were also there who I would have really enjoyed meeting.

The Big Apple Circus is coming to Atlanta and DC next and I have to say that you'll definitely have a great time.

Even if it's mostly from watching your kid having one.

The Moment of Tooth

As I buzzed around the kitchen making the dinner my son, who is nearly ten, said "Tell me the truth, and I mean the real truth. Is the Tooth Fairy real?"

Now, of course you all remember the last time we had this same conversation -you do remember don't you? Well, basically I lied my ass off. "Of course there is a Tooth Fairy," I declared. And all was right in the world.

For some idiotic reason I felt that this time when he asked I should tell him the whole truth, well the mostly whole truth.

I tried to evade, "Well, the truth is that parents do have a hand in it."

"You mean they buy the presents, or..."

I turned around and looked him in the eye, "Well, you have to swear not to tell anyone, and I mean anyone, but, after the first tooth Moms and Dads give the gifts"

"So the Magic 8 Ball and other toys, those were you?"

"Um, yeah," I replied trying to gauge which way this was going. Was I the hero? Was this going to secure my position as the best Mom ever for all time? No, no it was not. I might has well have popped his balloon while knocking his ice cream cone out of his hand as I smashed his LEGO project, while stabbing him in the gut. Because that's how he looked.

Gutted.

His eyes glistened with tears and, with a slight quiver in his bottom lip, he said, "I wish I hadn't asked. I regret knowing that."

I tried desperately to recover. "But the first tooth, that's all her, just the one's after the first tooth were Dad and me." Does anyone else hear the sounds of me tap dancing as fast as I can?

"What about that time that the gift I got didn't work and there was a book the next day with a note signed by The Tooth Fairy, and it wasn't your writing. Was that you?"

Well I'm no fool, I had learned my lesson, I shook my head, "No, that was her."

He seemed relieved. Still, he sat there with his shoulders slumped as he rested his head heavily on his left hand.

"Mom, I'm sad."

I ran over and hugged him and started crying (only I was laughing too, which is a nervous habit of mine). "Me too." I said.

"Why are you sad?" He asked.

"Because I feel like now that you know the (almost) truth I've lost something. There's something really special about when your kid is younger and they are filled with magic and belief. I feel like I've lost my younger kid."

"I feel like I lost something too. I didn't think I'd be scared of getting older. Ever. But this kinda made me scared."

"Here's the thing," I said, "the excitement you felt when you woke up each of those mornings and found that something had magically appeared for you, those feelings still exist and knowing that I put the gift there doesn't change it. Does that make sense? The feelings you experienced haven't disappeared. They're always going to be with you."

"So, how old were you when you found out the truth?"

"I dunno, about your age I guess."

"When do you think I should tell my kids?"

"I dunno, when do you think you should?"

"I think maybe when they're twenty or so."

"And if they ask you when they're nine-and-three-quarters for you to tell them the absolute truth?" I asked.

"I'll just tell them that they really don't want to know."

Amen to that.

I'm having that not-so-fresh feeling

Oh Blog,

What can I write about? What personal insights, ruminations or humorous tales can I toss out into the vast blogosphere?

Is there anything left to say that hasn't been said? Any hoaxes (of either the blog or the flying jiffy pop balloons variety) that haven't been discected ad nauseum?

Are there any corporate giants that I can expose for deceitful and dangerous business practices that could put countless babies at risk, with a cunning use of a hashtag in a twitter-bitter-bottle-battle? No, that's been pretty well covered.

I have a lot of questions about whether or not to get vaccinated for the H1N1 virus, the run-of-the-mill flu, or just wash my hands obsessively, bathe in Purell and bribe my local pharmacist for an advanced stash of Tamiflu. But apparently one or two (hundred thousand) other writers have actually researched the subject in depth and have come to definitive conflicting conclusions.

Oh! It's Halloween, the perfect time to tell you about how ridiculously slaggy (a fancy word for slutty) the women costumes are! What? Oh, you've already read about that.

Hmmmm, did my kid do anything blog-worthy this week? Eh.

There's not even good, trashy celebrity news. Jon Gosselin, yup, he's still an enema bag (I'm trying that out, I feel douche bag is overused).

Dear Blog. Have we come to the end of the line?

Is there truly nothing new under the sun?

What? Ask commenters to help?

Ask them to leave a topic to cover, or a personal question to answer so that I can get some fresh material to write about.

I'm begging you people. Even you, "anonymous," help a blogger out.

In the meantime, here's a picture of a kitten in a snifter.

Count on Octomom to make Halloween truly scary!

I know I should be able to whip off 500 words on how Octomom, Nadya Suleman, is koo-koo-craaaaazy, but why bother, when I can just do this--

Supposedly this is worth a thousand words, and yet has rendered me speechless.

Motherhood is a movie you’re going to want to see, but shouldn’t.

If ever there was a Sirens’ Song for mothers to ditch their husbands for the night, grab their girlfriends and throw together a “Girls Night Out” this is it. A comedy about motherhood starring the lovely Uma Thurman, the clever Minnie Driver and the adorable Anthony Edwards, what could be bad? Here's what--this movie makes motherhood look so soul-sucking, stressful and debasing that you’ll leave the movie feeling like you’ve left your screaming toddler at home with a sitter, so that you could have a dinner date with your husband, only to be seated next to a screaming toddler.

Eliza Welch (Thurman) is a former fiction writer who, after she had kids, exchanged her “Person Brain”for a “Mommy Brain.” You know, the one that is only capable of dealing with the endless To Do list that greets her each morning—but at least she has a, gulp, blog on which to ruminate about it. She blasts out three sentence posts between walking her daughter to school and walking her incontinent dog.

As a blogger I felt like screaming—“Those aren’t posts! They’re twitter updates. A facebook status at best!”

I guess my biggest problem with Motherhood (the movie, not the life choice) is that it talks to itself. It seeks to find comedy in the hassles not of being a mom, but of being a mom in Manhattan, which even I, as former city dweller, struggled to relate to. Like how annoying it can be when your street is shut down, again, so that they can film a movie--Man, if I had a nickle for every time that happened. Or the intense parking battles that arise over alternate side of the street parking. If you have no idea what alternate side of the street parking means, then you see my point.

In fact Eliza’s reaction to many of the difficulties she faces as an urban mom is to become an obnoxious, self absorbed, sanctimonious…well…New Yorker, who doesn’t understand why drivers behind her are honking and screaming as she blocks the street waiting for a parking spot to become available.

Watching her struggle on bicycle to grab groceries, party favors for her daughter’s 6 birthday, and juggle a cake, with a misspelled name, isn’t funny, it’s stressful. And, although the trailer will make it seem like a comedy, trust me, unless you’re a masochist, it's not.

It did have a few moments of authenticity that I could identify with. During an argument with her "distracted" husband, who is naturally of the “Ooops-my-ringer-must have-been-off-sorry-I-missed-your-eight-calls” variety, she eloquently articulates the sense of loss that many moms feel when they put their greater ambitions on hold to focus on raising children. How, as she puts it, the constant, and crushing, banality of the day-to-day duties wears away at your self worth and former passion. I know I’ve felt that from time to time.

If you’re looking for a truly funny take on motherhood you need look no further than some of the hilarious new shows cropping up on television. I snaughed (snort/laughed) when I saw Patricia Heaton grab her kid’s marker to attack some grey roots in The Middle on ABC. And giggled watching gay parents, Mitchell and Cam, stealing another baby's pile of blocks at Gymboree, so that everyone would think their adopted daughter had built it, on Modern Family, also on ABC.

So, if you want to grab the girls for a fun night out, my suggestion is wait for the next Will Ferrel movie, or Sex and the City 2. And if you want to laugh the trials and tribulations of raising children while struggling to hold onto one’s self-worth I have a whole blogroll of amazing real blogs that do it a thousand times better, not to mention, for free.

Where Expectation and Expiration Collide

I am not a fan of Warehouse Stores like Costco, in fact I actively loathe them.

They should be renamed "Seemed-like-a-good-idea-at-the-time O'Rama"

I recently opened my downstairs freezer, which is largely occupied by expired products I bought at Costco in an attempt to be thrifty.

5 packages of hotdog buns, 3, 2-packs of wheat bread, and multiple bricks of frozen meat, chicken and, inexplicably, turkey sausage which I have never eaten nor had any desire to eat. Damn you Rachel Ray and your 30-Minute turkey sausage bolognese sauce!

And, by and large, they are all so far past the point where you could, or would want to, eat any of these items in my attempt to save money I wasted about $112.

I've consulted various websites about how long a frozen flank steak is good for and honestly as it's bumping up to 11.5 months I'm not sure it matters what the answer is. Do I really want to risk the nightmare of food poisoning so that the $8.79 I spent on that meat last September was not spent in vain.

Or worse. What if I died? Can you imagine the autopsy report--"Death by tough, but delicious, beef?"

I swear I thought I was being a clever consumer and a consummate housewife, but alas I once again learned the hard way, the road to hell is paved with frozen flank steak.

Pop Goes the Karma

There are certain rules of etiquette to life in the suburbs.

Don't put your shopping cart behind someone else's car. Don't let your grass get too scruffy or your shutters too shabby. And, support your local school community, even though your property taxes are laughably high and you feel like every time you turn around there's another bake sale, gift-wrapping fundraiser or field trip which requires you to dig into your wallet.

Now, just like most rules, there are those who will break them, but they're forgetting the cardinal rule of life in the 'burbs--Karma's a bitch...so make sure you're not.

When the teenager down the street rings your bell asking you to buy candy to raise money for the football team, buy a damn Kit Kat bar.

When the PTA sets up a table of brownies and chocolate chip cookies to raise money for after-school programs you snatch up two of those suckers, even if your entire family is on a juice fast.

And when a Cub Scout approaches you on the playground, in full scouting regalia, asking you to buy popcorn to support his organization, do it.

I have been amazed at the reaction some people have given my son as he enthusiastically runs over to them trying to sell popcorn. And remember, it's not as easy a sell as Girl Scout Cookies--who doesn't love Thin Mints and Samoas? I've seen people chase down Girl Scouts during their cookie drive...ok, that was me...but Cub Scout popcorn, which is more expensive and not as easy to hide in the back of your sock drawer for midnight binging, requires a little bit more effort.

A few weekends ago my son set up a table at our local Farmers Market. We thought, what could be more perfect? People from our community milling around carrying canvas bags with a pocketful of cash.

No one bought. In fact, no one stopped to hear his well-rehearsed pitch. Most people avoided eye contact entirely.

I felt like shouting:

"He's not a Hobo, people! He's not begging for money to score a damn bottle of Ripple. These kids were out cleaning the local playground last weekend and collecting t-shirts to send to Hurricane victims. Next week they'll be at the Thunderbird Games which happens to NOT be available on Wii. They will do rope obstacle courses, and have races, learn to build things and sing songs. And you there with the bushel of Honeycrisp apples, you know what goes great with Honeycrisp apples? Carmel popcorn does. So pony up."

Ok, fine. Those were strangers. But recently a mother curtly said to my son, "I hate popcorn."

Well, fair enough I guess, but what she, and every parent, needs to remember is that you are part of a community and there is a social contract that subtly, but most definitely, exists.

The same social contract that dictates that if you notice that the wind has blown your neighbor's trashcan into the road, you stop and return it to their drive way.

The contract where we agree to keep an eye out for one another's kids, or bring a meal to a sick friend.

In fact, a neighbor of ours, who has never bought in years past, gave a small cash donation this year. Who knows if it's because one day his son may need to raise money for his football team or whether he just felt that the five dollars in his pocket wasn't too much to spend to build good will in his community.

There's a special kind of karma in the suburbs.

As they say, what goes around comes around...and it might just come around in a huge SUV that hits your trashcan which was in the road, because no one bothered to move it.