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Archive for the ‘Men’ Category


I’ve just had one of those days.  You know — when you drop your kids off at camp (or school or whatever) and suddenly, it’s 3:00, and you haven’t had lunch, and you never made it to the market, and you didn’t deal with your serious dark root s situation AGAIN – but it’s already time to pick up the kids?  One of those days.

It made me think about a book I’m been reading: “What Happened to the Girl I Married” by Michael Miller.  Which is good, because I’m reading it as part of the Silicon Valley Moms Group book club. (I write for NYC Moms blog, which is part of the SV Group.  Confused yet?)

Anyway, the book is about a guy (Miller) who spends a year “in his wife’s shoes at home.” (wonder if she wears Blahniks!), as a way to discover what happened to the girl…well, you get the drift.

I know what happened to her.  She lost herself on the way to the dry cleaners and the pediatricians, and the exterminator, and the optometrist, and and and and and.

How does that happen?  How does the day get away from you so fast?  Miller thought his wife was just inefficient. Ha! He learned the hard way what a hard way of living being a full time stay at home Mom can be.

Miller really does give it his all — He tackles the laundry, the cooking, the cleaning. But for all of his realizations — some of which, I admit, are validating and worthwhile to read (I especially liked his idea of SAHMs living life in fragments)– the book is really about him.  His journey.  His conquering it all.  His realization and transformation from corporate egomaniac or domesticated, sympathetic uber-husband and father.

All I could think of while I was reading it was — where is the girl he marred in all of this?  What was she doing while he took over her life to learn how to respect what she does?  Why don’t we hear from her?

I know why.  It’s a man’s world.  Even in a book written to help men understand what their wives go through each day.Even in a book that advises men to acknowledge and praise their wives.(And Michael, I do acknowledge and praise you for doing this.)  Because, what he doesn’t say is: encourage your wife to be herself.  Encourage your wife to follow her own dreams while you hold down the fort.

In the end – he’s just making life more palatable for women (not to mention himself — there’s a lot about getting enough sex)…as long as they’re still at home waiting for him when he gets back from wherever he’s been all day. I don’t mean to say that he hasn’t genuinely changed the way he perceives, appreciates, and communicates with his wife.  He has.  But it’s still a book about men.  About husbands appeasing wives, understanding wives — as if “wife” were some state of being universal to women.

On days like today, I’d love for my husband to read this book – lacking though I found it. Because at least this guy made the attempt.  I’d rather he universalized, instead of personalized the whole thing. I wish he didn’t repeat himself quite so much. (yes, I know.  Your father was a produce man)  but still — he tried.  Which is more than I can say for a lot of husbands I know. (not mine.  of course.  never mine.)

But honsetly, what I really need is a book about how to clean the house, make the beds, do the shopping, wipe the tears, arrange the flowers, prepare the meal, do the dishes, fold the laundry, “do” the husband, and still have time to hang out and be myself.  That book, I’d love. I But until it comes out, I’ll still be searching.

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The Bachelor: how does it offend me? Let me count the ways. There’s the cliche of women cat-fighting over a man. The assumption that happiness can only come to the woman who “nabs” a mate. There’s the vacuity of the entire premise: that true love can be found on TV, in six weeks, in a fantasy land of spectacular vistas and exotic trips. Then there’s the soft-core porn quality of the immense amount of PDA: extreme close-ups of open mouthed kisses, bikini clad women straddling a man wearing nothing but a well placed towel. Not to mention the fact that said man has had these PDA moments with any number of the contestants. Which, according to the premise of the show, makes him loving, and not just a horn-dog with a free pass. (more…)

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Shopping CartSo you may have noticed — I have a few issues with my looks, with getting older, with my complete inability to understand how I can be the only human being alive who gains weight in the summer, while everyone else says things like “Oh, it’s so hot, I couldn’t think of eating!”

For a few years now, I’ve felt that I lost that “certain something” that men find attractive. Not that I was ever such a looker, but youth (and, ok 36DD’s) did have their privileges. I used to be able to smile and bat my eyes and have a chance at getting faster service from the plumber, a better cut of meat from the butcher, you know the drill. Now, I’m getting the Patagonia guy comparing me to his mother.

But today, in the Hamptons Bays King Kullen supermarket, I found my audience: men over seventy. Seriously. To these guys, I am a babe. Even today, in my totally formless smock-style Zachary’s Smile sundress (on sale at Barney’s Coop last year, so cute!), Lands End flip flops, and with my twins and husband in tow, these guys couldn’t take their eyes off me. (And in this particular smock dress, trust me “the girls” were NOT on display.)

Now, there was a time when the adulation of septuagenarians might have repulsed me. There was a time when it might have just made me laugh. There was also a time, however, when I didn’t have to search for errant chin hairs in the bathroom mirror. Times change. (more…)

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From ActressArchives.comWith the new Sex and the City movie all anyone is talking about, I couldn’t help but wonder: Will anyone still tell me I look like Sarah Jessica Parker?

We have the same hair (ish), the same color eyes, the same large-ish nose with a bump, even the same little mole on our chins. Hey, knock six inches and forty pounds off me, and you’d swear we were twins!

The difference is, even though we’re the same age, we’re both moms, and we both live in NYC, she’s still considered a sexy woman and I’m considered…well, not. The only men who think I’m sexy are over sixty. Ouch.

Back when the Sex in the City series was in it’s heyday, people used to literally stop me in the streets. “Are you Carrie?” they’d ask. I was young and single and dating in the city. I really was Carrie (minus the inches, the pounds, the fame, the shoes, and the wardrobe). But it was also that I was — dare I say it — sexy. Not so pretty maybe, but I had… something.

Sarah Jessica Parker still has it. Me? Seems like somewhere between changing diapers and helping with homework, I’ve lost it. I’m not really complaining, mind you. I think that a big part of being sexy is putting yourself out there, and back in the day, well, let’s just say that I was out there quite a bit. Now, I’m in here. I’m with my kids. I’m at my computer. I’m not looking for love, I’ve found it. I’m not trying to prove myself by attracting strangers. My husband still finds me attractive (God bless him) and that’s good enough for me.

Still, if Carrie can come back bigger than life on the big screen after four years, would it be so terrible if just once, someone could think that was me? Chic, and sexy and fabulous?

Maybe I should get a huge flower and pin it to my dress. Maybe I should get a tutu and stand in front of a bus. Or maybe I should just thank the powers that be that after fourteen years with me, my husband is still glad to be having sex in the city with me.

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