Mommy Dish | Dishing about Family and Food

#Addicted

Posted on June 12, 2013 by Mommy Dish

I am #addicted.

I have been walking around for the past four days feeling like my husband left me without warning. Like I need to constantly count kids. Like I am a social freak who has been ostracized from the world.

My iPhone drowned in an unfortunate toilet water accident. I know, what a sh*tty way to go. I held onto that thing even though I smashed it in my car door months ago because I didn’t want to part with it. My husband would go behind my back and tape my ghetto phone so chards of glass wouldn’t get stuck in my fingers or scar my unsuspecting three-year-old who is equally obsessed. It was pathetic, but it still worked. I knew parting with my iPhone would feel like a bad breakup, and it does. Actually, I am feeling more sadness about this than I did letting go of most of my ex-boyfriends. #Sorrynotsorry; it’s true.

I walked around with this iPhone for months because I didn't want to say goodbye. It survived a brutal beating, but couldn't make it through a toilet bowl drowning. RIP.

Despite an emergency rice bath, my iPhone did die in toilet water–and, worst of all, it was New Jersey toilet water. I couldn’t even mourn my loss in the comfort of my own home because I was visiting my Mommy Maven at the time. I had to use Mapquest for directions to drive home–talk about old school–and update my husband on my progress by relying on the kindness of strangers. One Mommy asked me for a Pull-Up in exchange for use of her cell phone…it was like a drug deal at a rest stop with kid contraband. That’s how I roll these days.

So now I am trying to make do with an annoying replacement phone while I wait for a new iPhone (damn insurance plan…I need instant gratification). I don’t know how to use it, the keyboard is super small and inadequate (yes, size does matter!), and it doesn’t work half of the time. I am not texting, not emailing, not facebooking, not tweeting, not Googling. I am not even fighting with Siri about her questionable directions (sorry, girl…please come back to me). How much can I take?

Even though I couldn’t locate my iPhone much of the time due to my raging case of Mommybrain, I would always find it (Scott downloaded an app that found it for me…love that guy). It became a second skin. I didn’t realize it just how much I rely on that little device until now. It’s my lifeboat to sanity when my son is freaking out. It’s the way I get around the world. It’s my connection to my BFFs, who all happen to live states away (NJ, NY, and MI). It’s my alarm clock. It’s my goto computer. It’s my stream of music in my too quiet office. It’s the time capsule of my life, housing thousands of photos. It’s entertainment for my toddler in a pinch. It’s one of the main ways I communicate with my teenager. It’s sugar and spice for my marriage, too.

And now it’s gone.

#Addicted.

The only good thing about not having a working phone is I have chauffered my teenager a little less, simply because she can’t text me and she, like, doesn’t call people. Otherwise, I suddenly feel like an uneducated fool with no friends and no sense of direction. I even had to call 411 for a phone number today! What is that, $2 or something?

I am in iPhone withdrawal. I have the shakes. This is real. I know there are more important things to talk about, but this is what’s on my mind. Are you addicted to your iPhone or Smartphone?? I can’t be the only one…

Dishes are back next post. I promise! xo

Posted in Family, Kids, Life, Mommy, Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Team Jolie

Posted on May 16, 2013 by Mommy Dish

I am so glad the Hilton sisters' fifteen minutes of fame are over. Hoping the Kartrashians follow suit.

It’s been 8 years since the Team Aniston and Team Jolie feud—remember when people actually bought t-shirts to show their loyalty? It didn’t make me popular back then (Aniston outsold Jolie 25-to-1), but I have always been a fangelina…not to the point of advertising my choice on my chest, but I’d stick up for her at cocktail parties.

I’ve always felt for Angelina because her beloved Mom, Marcheline Bertrand, died of ovarian cancer. Take it from someone who knows it all too well…watching your Mom battle this insidious disease is excruciatingly painful. I spent 13 hours in the ER a few days ago because my Mom literally couldn’t walk due to unrelenting nausea and dizziness. I don’t care how much money Angelina has, or how beautiful she is, or if she snagged Brad Pitt on the sly (sidebar: my philosophy is happy marriages are unbreakable)—ovarian cancer is the great equalizer. I know exactly how she feels, and I have always hoped she’d do something for the cause—one that isn’t spoken about nearly enough.

Today, I would wear a Team Jolie t-shirt if I owned one.

Angelina Jolie’s revelation that she has a preventative double mastectomy to reduce her risk of breast cancer is profoundly brave. She’s a sex symbol who had gotten away with it—no stalkerazzi snapped a shot of her leaving the hospital in bandages. No one in her camp leaked the rumor to the press. She did this on her own, in her own voice, in her own timeframe to help other women. Women like me.

My Mom was diagnosed with Stage IIIc ovarian cancer 11 years ago, at age 52. She had two eggplant-sized tumors for ovaries and cancer that spread throughout her entire abdomen. Doctors also found Lobular Carcinoma In Situ (LCIS), a condition that markedly increases the risk for breast cancer. She was given a 20-percent chance of surviving five years.

Given the odds, we decided together that she would be tested for the BRCA genes. It takes some time to go through the process and get results, so I really thought about what I’d do if she was positive. If she was positive, I was likely positive. After deep soul-searching, I decided I would have a prophylactic mastectomy and oopherectomy (removal of ovaries) after I had kids. I was 28-years-old making life-altering decisions because I was so scared. As my Mom’s primary caregiver, I had already seen too much.

When my Mom’s test results came back negative I felt a little lost. A little less empowered. Without one of the BRCA genes I didn’t have a reason to remove organs that I had come to dread in my own body…even though I still have a much higher risk of both breast and ovarian cancers due to my family history. Somehow, I had to make peace with active surveillance.

I just had my annual mammogram and transvaginal ultrasound (to give a close up of my ovaries) and they looked perfectly healthy. I have come to appreciate these organs (I conceived naturally and breastfed by baby) instead of fear them, but removing them has never really left my mind. I want to be here to watch my kids grow up. I want to spoil my grandchildren. I want to sit on a farmhouse porch and bore my family with stories of when I was young. I want to see what I look like old and wrinkly. I want all of that much more than I want breasts or ovaries.

Truly, I understand why Angelina made her choice as the heart of a family with 6 children. She has the gene. Before her bilateral mastectomy, she had an 87 percent chance of developing breast cancer. Now, it’s just 5 percent.

I get it. And I applaud it.

Angelina still has a 50 percent risk of ovarian cancer. She intimated in her Op-Ed that she was going to take proactive measures to reduce her risk for ovarian cancer as well. Maybe she is planning what I am planning…to get a prophylactic oopherectomy in my late 40s or early 50s, around the time I will go into menopause anyway. Regardless of her future plans, she has everyone talking about breast and ovarian cancers. She’s highlighted that life-saving genetic testing can be cost prohibitive to many with a $3,000 price tag. She’s stirred the conversation and I am so grateful.

Now are you Team Jolie?

Posted in Cancer, Family, Kids, Life, Mommy, Parents, Uncategorized, celebrity | 1 Comment

Pride

Posted on May 6, 2013 by Mommy Dish

Ashley showing her number at the RMV while Alex stands on a countertop trying to entertain a pissed off audience. This was before his meltdown.

A permit and poop…there’s nothing like that combination to make a Mommy swell up with pride.

My little Ashley–the one who believed in Santa Claus when we met (um, not anymore), cuddled with me every single night (now we air kiss–on a good day), lectured me if she ever heard me say a fake swear like “damn” (Little Miss Priss has the trash mouth now) and thought I looked like Hillary Duff (still does–it’s one of the many reasons I love her) got her permit. She’s on the road, people. Look both ways and buckle up! DO IT.

We simulated an eye test for Alex to try to make it more fun for him. It distracted him for two seconds.

Of course the road to her permit was not a smooth ride…it more resembled pre-summer cellulite. Bumpy and ugly and nerve-wracking. No matter what I did, I was greeted with a cluster*ck of chaos. It took three trips to two RMVs, a ride to Town Hall for an “official” birth certificate, wading through files to find the always elusive social security card, and $80 to make it happen. It also took some bribing, pleading, and skilled self defense moves to deal with my toddler who missed his nap for the crazies at the RMV. At one point, I was that woman, carrying my son out face forward to avoid being maimed while I threatened to take every single thing he owns away very loudly. I pushed my way through a hostile audience as they waited for their numbers to be called like I was the underpaid star in a made-for-TV movie about horrible parents. Like I said, it was an ugly cellulite-like scene.

But, I got it done. Yay me. She’s on the road. Yay, Ashley! I am very proud of her for taking this leap into adulthood. I still can’t believe she’s DRIVING. OMG.

I am also cheering pretty loudly about Alex pooping on the potty these days. I mean, I am thisclose to wading through storage to break out some crusty old pom poms to match my level of enthusiasm.

He's a champ on the potty. And he has THE CUTEST tush ever created.

I am not going to lie. I have cheered like I did way back in the day (the only difference is I have a little more bounce to the ounce; I can still shake it, sister) while my son’s pants were half down, and I have had to make the aggressive cheer work, because it’s the one I remember. Sign number 952 I am 40-years-old, right?

Show that poop who’s boss, Alex. Be aggeressive! B-E aggressive! B-E A-G-G-R-E-S-S-I-V-E! Aggressive! B-E agressive! Wooh!

Alex’s potty training has been the polar opposite of Ashley’s permit. It has honestly been the easiest parenting task for me yet. What’s my secret? My life has been so hellish that I have been too distracted to push potty training. So, he did.

One Sunday (February 24, to be exact), I got up with Alex, as usual, at 6:00 a.m. We went downstairs to cuddle (so grateful he likes to now that Ashley would rather give up a shopping spree than spoon with me) and play with his toys, but he had another agenda. “Mommy, I want to use the potty.”

Um, okay. I put that thing somewhere. I did the mental checklist of where it could be, located it, and put it on the floor. He aimed and fired…with precision, I might add. It’s a little creepy that I took a photo of his virgin pee in his Cars potty, but parenting really makes me do strange things. He went several times that day and I broke out into song, dance, and cheer each time. Yes, I sound even better in the early morning hours.

Since then, he’s pooping exclusively in the big boy toilet or potty, and peeing mostly there, too. I could have him fully potty trained tomorrow but I just haven’t taken that extra step yet. He also moved into his big boy bed this week. How much can I take? OMG.

Alex is not my baby anymore…he’s my little boy. Ashley’s not my little girl anymore…she’s my teenager who will get her license in six months and goto college in two years. It’s all going by way too fast. While I celebrate their milestones, sometimes I think all this growing up is pure sh*t.

Give me a click. My kids are basically packing up and moving out. : (

Posted in Baby, Family, Kids, Life, Mommy, Parents, Teenagers, Thoughts, Uncategorized | 1 Comment

Lockdown

Posted on April 19, 2013 by Mommy Dish

Here's a snapshot of the city streets of Boston from my car this morning. Everyone is staying inside.

I am currently in a “holding pattern” at Dana-Farber Cancer Institute in Boston.

The doctors, nurses, and pharmacists who need to be here to administer chemotherapy to my Mom are on lockdown in their homes after a violent night shook my city to its core. An MIT police officer and one of the presumed Boston Marathon terrorists are dead. The other suspect is on the run, armed with rifles, explosives, and an icy cold heart, and he’s hell bent on going down with a firefight.

The cowardly attack on my beloved city has always been personal. My Mom—my source of beautiful, unfiltered light when my world turns dark— has recurrent, metastatic ovarian cancer. She needs this treatment to lessen the severity of her debilitating symptoms. She needs this treatment stay alive.

That sinister terrorist in the white hat—the one who actually dropped the bombs at the finish line—is screwing with my Mom’s chemo schedule and shutting down my city. Now it’s really personal. She’s been waiting three weeks for her platelets to rebound enough for her to get this treatment!

Police are knocking on doors, tipping over dumpsters, combing through cars, and making their presence known on every street corner. All I hear are the sounds of sirens, news reports playing on patients’ smartphones on full-volume, and a small group of nurses strategizing on how they can help people like my Mom.

I continue to be surrounded by heroes in this great city.

They just announced over the loud speakers that Dana-Farber is on full lockdown now. I will update you later. Stay #BostonStrong. We Are Boston.

Posted in Boston, Cancer, Life, Mommy, Parents, Thoughts, Uncategorized, We Are Boston, ovarian cancer | 3 Comments

We Are Boston

Posted on April 16, 2013 by Mommy Dish

I was born and raised in the suburbs of Boston, and I still live here, now with my own family. The streets of Boston run through my body like veins; they pump blood straight to my heart.

I gave birth to my beloved baby boy in Boston. I toasted my wedding night in Boston. I celebrated every milestone of my life in Boston—my first field trip, my first big city apartment with my BFF, my first New Year’s Eve bash. I worked on Boylston Street in Boston, right where two explosions ripped through the flesh of my city and turned it into a battleground.

When I look at pictures of Boston, I see my reflection. Yesterday, my vision was blurred by clumps of mascara.

Three people are dead, including one child (my heart aches for that little boy), and more than 170 people are wounded. The city streets are littered with limbs, debris, and destruction. There’s palpable fear in the air; the raw, gritty, mind-numbing terror that grips us in grief and heartache and never lets go.

This is not the Boston I know.

If you’ve never visited, Boston is a charming city that is steeped in tradition, rich with pride, and full of patriotism. Marathon Monday is who we are collectively. It’s not just a sporting event; it’s part of everyone who calls Boston their home. I have been to the finish line at least a dozen times, spanning from when I was a little girl desperate to hand a runner a cup of water, to an adult who couldn’t wait to have a drink (or three) of her own in celebration.

Instead of toasting the marathon runners like we usually do, we are saluting Boston’s finest for their incredible bravery. I see pictures of them running towards the raging fire balls and plumes of smoke, straight into danger—the depths of which are unknown—in a desperate attempt to preserve life, to preserve our city. The one-two blasts, just 12 seconds apart, were perfectly timed to inflict the maximum amount of mayhem.

I have a friend who merely missed being right at the finish line with her twins when the bombs detonated. She insisted on turning back for coffee, despite her husband’s repeated protests. Her caffeine addiction saved them from unspeakable horror. I am very close with a nurse at Brigham & Women’s hospital who tended to a 20-year-old woman who had both of her legs blown off. Her life as she knew it is over. Whoever did this wanted to shatter our event, our lives, and our spirit. Whoever did this wanted to break us. Whoever did this doesn’t know Boston.

I look at the heroic efforts of Boston’s finest and I see Boston.

I look at the runners who ran straight to the hospital to give blood and I see Boston.

I look at my friends checking in on neighbors, offering their homes to strangers, and posting constant messages of support, and I see Boston.

I look at my husband who insisted on driving to Logan Airport this morning to drop our teenager off for her spring break trip to Florida, and I see Boston.

I look at people yelling that terrorists messed with the wrong city and I see Boston.

That’s the Boston I know and love. Boston was wicked awesome yesterday, and it’s wicked awesome today. It will be wicked awesome tomorrow, too.

We are sad. We are angry. We want answers. We want justice. But, no matter what, we are Boston. They call us “massholes” for a reason. We won’t cower to terror. We will pull together and pull through this devastation. We will remember the loved ones we’ve lost, and help those who are forever physically and mentally scarred by this horrific tragedy. The crowds will be at the Boston Marathon next year…under tighter security, yes, but we will be there.

We are Boston.

Posted in Baby, Kids, Life, Thoughts, Uncategorized, volunteer | 11 Comments

The Big 4 Uh-Oh!

Posted on March 17, 2013 by Mommy Dish

Celebrating with my BFF who flew in from Michigan for the mayhem.

I turned 40 this week.

Do not worry, I am okay. I shopped like a real housewife, drank like a fish, swore like a sailor, and giggled like a schoolgirl (in no particular order).

And I did it all in NYC, with my best friends in the world, for three days straight.

We’ve clearly established that my life has been a swirling sh*storm as of late. I am covered in a massive pile of sh*t, really, but won’t bore you with more of those details. Instead, let’s talk about all the fun I had.

Me, feeling good...for the first time in a very long time.

Tattoos at midnight? Check. (Do not make fun of me that it’s so tiny you can barely see it; I am still a BADASS).

New nicknames for all of us (a sign of real debauchery)? Check. If you must know, those nicknames are Titsy LaRue, Jailbreak, and Big Gulp. We earned them, believe me. Use your imagination…we encourage that as Mommies, don’t we?

$500 dinners with champagne flowing (anyone in my life knows I am a slave to good bubbly)? Check.

Prada sunglasses that make me look like I’ve lost ten pounds (they’re that freaking fabulous)? Check.

Spa time (l tipped the esthetician extra because she said my skin looked 30, and I am not ashamed to admit that)? Check.

Bloody Marys and Mimosas at noon? Check.

That's a genuine smile...churros and ice cream. Yum.

Saucy pictures that would make our Moms blush (well, maybe not mine…but she’s atypical)? Check.

Laughing fits that completely smudged our perfectly-applied mascara (thanks to Laura Mercier)? Check. Check. Check. Check. Check. These girls are my favorite comedians. They obviously have the funniest material…it’s all about us and our 20-30 plus years of antics!

My best friends are truly my sisters, my therapists, my shamans, my heart. They literally booked weekends, complete with amazing hotels, reservations to see-and-be-seen restaurants, and surprises both in Boston and NYC, so I could make a game-time decision where I could go based on the circumstances of my hell life. Sure, that bitch Mother Nature tried to hold me down, slapping me with a surprise BLIZZARD that required me to way too be resourceful. I put ~~insane~~ adequate pressure on my husband to save the day. Believe me, he really wanted me to leave (who in the world would want to be stuck home with me bitching about missing my 40th birthday celebration), so he personally shoveled our entire driveway (which is very long—the Ron Jeremy of driveways) to get me going. I braved blinding snow falling several inches per hour, massive pile-ups, spin-outs, and being stuck behind five plows going 20 mph to get to the train station in two hours. And then I had to cough up $400 for Acela train tickets to NYC (I think that pissed me off the most).

But, no matter, I got to NYC, and there was no place I’d rather be to celebrate my 40th.

My besties. There are no better friends in the world.

I am back to being an overworked, unappreciated, sick Mommy with chronic bronchitis…but, damn, those few days felt good. Given all of the health issues surrounding my family, turning 40 feels pretty damn good, too. Thank you Jill, Carrie, and Jody. You recharged my batteries…like Energizer bunnies. Teehee. I love you all so much, and can’t wait to celebrate your big 4 uh-ohs this year. xoxoxo

Please give me a click…I turned 40 this week:

Posted in Cancer, Family, Food, Friends, Life, Mommy, New York, Sex and The City, Teenagers, Uncategorized, weather | 6 Comments

Disney Dream

Posted on March 6, 2013 by Mommy Dish

My beautiful Mom and Ashley taking off for a trip of a lifetime...

So, we got sh*t news about my beloved Mom’s health. Sh*t, sh*t, sh*t.

Guess what we did (besides self-medicate, swear at Kim Kartrashian, and eat full-fat potato chips–this is NO time for Baked Lays)?

We went to Disney World!

Who can be depressed when Mickey Mouse is in the house?

Magic.

Disney World is truly magical. If you don’t think so, you must have a permanent pole up your a$$. Yeah, the huge lines, $10 pizza slices, smelly bathrooms, bratty kids (not mine, of course), smackdowns to strap my “I wanna walk!” two-year-old into his dusty stroller against his will, and epic treks to get from park to park suck, but the fantasy of it all more than makes up for the inconveniences. Exhilarating rides, fried dough, happy characters who act like they are paid much more than minimum wage, intricate costumes, specialty shops representing all corners of the world, wide-eyed children looking around with wonder and excitement, manicured grounds, electrical parades (I hate parades, but loved the one at the Magic Kingdom), pure joy on the faces of those I love more than Mommyjuice…it is a place to forget all of your troubles and hope for brighter tomorrows. There was one moment when I was holding a light stick illuminating my small piece of the night sky, looking at Cinderella’s castle changing colors with fireworks blasting in the background and storybook music pouring out of the speakers, that I believed in fairytales. I believed in happy endings. I believed in pixie dust. I haven’t believed in that stuff in awhile.

Then Alex yanked the light stick away from me and whacked an unsuspecting Mommy Mouseketeer in the a$$. I apologized on his behalf (God I hope he’s not a budding proctologist), and dropped it in my embarrassment…and then I somehow managed to step on it and crack it. It survived my weight (maybe it was made of titanium?), but not the ride home on the bus back to the resort. The multi-colored $15 light stick is MIA…with one of my sweaters (we were there during the cold streak, but I digress…)

In addition to knocking out a Mommy Mouseketeer and getting us detained for being possible drug lords, Alex dumped me for a princess. He said he wanted to marry Belle. Huh? (The cutie on the right is his cousin, Charlly Alexa...she just wants to be a princess, not marry a princess).

The next day we went to the airport for the trip home and I was detained. Alex’s stroller had to be tested by numerous TSA agents for cocaine. I didn’t really consider that his stroller was covered with white powder before I wheeled him through security. It was POWDERED SUGAR…from the fried effing dough…not some lame a$$ attempt at coke smuggling. It was hilarious. I could not stop laughing as they swabbed my stroller for drugs.

Fairy tales? Not for Mommy Dish!

In all seriousness, the trip to Disney with my Mom and family is one I will forever cherish. It was a dream realized for my Mom–she teared up seeing her grandchildren together and so deleriously happy from the sights, sounds, and permanent sugar highs. She got “peanut hugs” (Alex’s made-up term for when three people hug), lots of snuggles, genuine smiles, bouts of laughter, silliness galore, and three of the most grateful grandchildren telling her how much they love her all of the time. I wish it never had to end. I wish I could sprinkle her with pixie dust, but, really, she sparkles on her own.

I threw every penny I had (and even some quarters) into all of the waters of the boat rides I went on hoping and praying for a miracle. If my wishes can come true, they will be granted at Disney World.

Please give me a click…it’s been a long time since I’ve asked:

Posted in Cancer, Family, Kids, Life, Mommy, Parents, Teenagers, Thoughts, Uncategorized, weather | 3 Comments

F*ck KK

Posted on February 24, 2013 by Mommy Dish

He likes to sleep in our bed when he doesn't feel well. How could I say no to this little face?

The receptionist at Alex’s doctor’s office confronted me recently when I dragged my snot-nosed kid in for a same-day appointment. I was hoping for a good dose of antibiotics to ~~stop the incessant whining, interrupted sleep, and Ike Turner-like abuse (dirty little secret: he backhands me when he’s pissed)~~ help him feel better. I was sulking because I was told it was a virus, and we had to wait it out. Is it so wrong that I hope for drugs? It’s such a buzzkill when we leave empty-handed.

Anyway, Tara, the fabulous receptionist who happens to have great taste in Mommy bloggers, did not talk co-pay or address update or insurance…she talked Mommy Dish. “What’s up, Jodi? We haven’t heard from you in awhile. What’s going on?”

A lot.

My Mom is sick again. This time, it’s different. After eleven years of her ovarian cancer behaving as well as can be expected, it is suddenly acting like a drunk, rebellious teenager with a death wish. It’s everywhere. It’s inoperable. It’s devastating.

UGH!

Really, I haven’t been that funny since I got this news….except for swearing at Kim Kardashian in my car because she hogs too much air time whining about her stupid problems. I feel like I can’t escape from all things Kartrashian. Waaaaahhhhhhh, I bought three couture, TV-ready wedding dresses to marry a man who resembles Frankenstein for 72 days and he won’t divorce me in time to give birth to my boyfriend’s baby. Okay, Kimmy, cry it out in your new 11.4 million dollar, 9,000-square-foot home in Bel-Air or mid-flight to Paris or while 24 chinchillas are being killed to keep your huge a$$ warm. Baby girl Kimye (will her name start with K? Anyone willing to take that bet?), will be alright even if Kris (your husband–not Momager) doesn’t sign on the dotted line before you deliver. I wish I knew everything was going to be alright.

Photo courtesy of my teenager who pulls a KK when there's too little snow on the ground for a snow day. Thanks, Ashley!

I am blessed to have friends who truly get me. I randomly texted them, “F*ck Kim Kardashian!” during my rant in the car. The people next to me were speed dialing 9-1-1 to have me committed (I whizzed by those heartless b*tches, no worries), but my BFFs simply wrote back, “F*ck her!”

“Kanye said it best,” I said, “My girl is a superstar because she made a home movie. Get off my radio fame whore!”

They responded, “She’s such a fake b*tch!”

OMG I freaking love Jill and Carrie.

Is it fair for me to target an unsuspecting KK? No, but life isn’t fair. I don’t know why I expect it to be fair. It’s never been fair to me. My ~~friends~~ sisters know that, they know me, so they are all about telling Kim K to f*ck off if it makes me feel better even for one second.

Melancholy me...yeah, it's a selfie on my iPad.

Yes, I’ve been pretty raw lately, but some of my snarkiness and humor is creeping back in, so I am going to share my writing with you again. Thank you all for your emails. I can’t tell you what it’s like to have strangers care about your life…it’s just an amazing feeling. With readers like you, and with my friends and beloved family, we will somehow find a way to deal with this news about my Mom, right? In the meantime, f*ck Kim Kardashian.

F*ck KK!

Say it with me: F*ck KK!

Feel better? I do…

xoxox

Jodi

Posted in Cancer, Family, Kids, Life, Mommy, Parents, Teenagers, Thoughts, Uncategorized, ovarian cancer | 8 Comments

Bitchslapped by the Bird

Posted on November 21, 2012 by Mommy Dish

I can drink. That I know for sure...

I am the turkey this Thanksgiving. Put the fork in me. I am done.

I needed an emergency root canal today. It’s the Super Bowl for home cooks—a beautiful day when everyone collectively ignores their diets—and I am looped up on Tylenol with Codeine, completely unable to chew on the right side of my mouth.

Really, my life is hilarious.

Should I take this as a sign that it’s high time I lose the final ten preggo pounds stalking my ass two years after-the-fact? Who the hell needs an emergency root canal before the biggest eating day of the year? My endodontist’s office was not crowded. I spent two hours of my life being thankful he was cool enough to pass on Muzak for some classic rock while he attacked my “rare, tricky infection” with lots of scary tools, goggles (his and hers–I looked hot), and a sealer that made the entire office smell like burned ~~tooth~~ rubber (appetizing, huh?).

Of course my stealth infection that chose to rear its ugly head on Thanksgiving Eve is “rare and tricky.” Par for the course of my life.

Even though I look like a train wreck with an oversized, droopy lip, I am still cooking. I can’t help myself. I will not be sidelined on Thanksgiving Eve, dammit! Plus, I need to ensure there’s enough mushy sides for me to gum down tomorrow so the antibiotics I am on don’t upset my stomach. Good thing I am a self-professed Side Dish Slut anyway. I’ll be workin’ it tomorrow, denture style.

Give me a click before the dish, please:

I decided to make my BFF Jody’s Cranberry and Pear Relish for the first time, and it is an easy and delicious dish (recipe below). Wishing you and yours a very Happy Thanksgiving. May your dentist leave you alone so you can stuff your face in peace. xoxo

This I can eat-- with or without the root canal.

Cranberry and Pear Relish

Ingredients

1 (16-ounce) bag fresh cranberries
1 cup water
1 1/2 cups sugar (or to taste)
3 to 4 unripe pears (Bartlett, Anjou, or Comice), peeled and diced
1/4 cup freshly squeezed lemon juice (I used fresh squeezed orange juice because I love the taste of orange and cranberry)
1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground allspice

Method

Rinse and pick over the fresh cranberries, discarding stems and imperfect berries.
In a large saucepan, bring the water and sugar to a boil. Add the pears and simmer for 5 minutes. Add the cranberries and bring the mixture to a boil. Cook, stirring, until the berries start to pop, about 5 minutes.

Remove the pan from the heat and add the lemon juice, cinnamon, and allspice. Chill and serve.

Posted in Family, Food, Holidays, Thanksgiving, Thoughts, Uncategorized, recipes | Leave a comment

Boys and Boobs

Posted on November 13, 2012 by Mommy Dish

National Geographic is porn for little boys. Sorry, but it's true.

My baby boy ~~likes~~ loves boobs. It’s all boobs all of the time at casa Meltzer these days.

I know what you’re thinking…men are generally obsessed with the almighty breast. Shocker. I remember some boys in my neighborhood growing up who tuned in to National Geographic to oogle at some unsuspecting African women as their boobs flopped in the wind doing their daily chores. That same group of boys buried a dog-eared issue of Playboy deep in the woods (they called it “dirty land”) for a cheap thrill. But are all two-year-old boys as fascinated by my cleavage as my son is?

Someday the poor kid may be in therapy due to his fixation with my boobs. I mean, he wants to feel me up as much as my husband does (sometimes more). Forget about a college fund; my son needs a Scarred for Effing Life Fund. I am saving up as fast as I can, Alex.

He yells, “boobies!” nearly every time I bend over to scrape the remnants of breakfast off of the floor or pick up his toys that cover every inch of my house. You guessed it. That’s a lot.

“Boobies! Boobies!”

He's a player.

Uh, yeah, they’re still there, Alex.

He rests his hands on my girls for comfort. You know, when we’re cuddling up, reading a book, or watching T.V. And he’s not nervous to go for second base AT ALL. EVER.

My son was recently at my Mom’s house, Skyping with my niece in Costa Rica, when he started to caress the silicone wrist rest underneath the keyboard rather suggestively. He yelled, “boobies!” at the top of his lungs, as he could hardly contain his delight at his find. My Mom laughed so hard she cried. Even though mine are real (you didn’t ask for this information, I know, I offered…whatever), he is intuitively developing an appreciation for silicone, too. Real or fake…he does not discriminate.

So, is he an early passenger on the boob train, or is this just part of raising a boy?

Give me a click before the dish, please:

Here’s another thing Alex likes…Fava bean dip! It’s an easy snack that’s full of protein and it’s a beautiful way to show him all of the variations of the color green. Yum.

Fava Bean Dip

Ingredients

1 1/2 cups dried fava beans, soaked overnight, or the fresh equivalent (I’ve used both)
2 cloves garlic
1/3 cup olive oil
2 tablespoons lemon juice
2 tablespoons (or more) reserved cooking liquid
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
1 teaspoon ground cumin (I use more…adjust to your preference)
1/2 teaspoon sweet paprika
1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper

Method

Soak the dried fava beans overnight in a large bowlful of water. The next day, drain the beans and peel them if they weren’t already skinned and split.

Place the peeled fava beans in a pot and cover with a generous amount of water. Bring to a boil over high heat, then reduce the heat to medium or medium-high, and simmer the beans until tender, one hour or longer.

Drain the beans, reserving the liquid.

Transfer the beans to a food processor, and add the garlic, olive oil, lemon juice, 2 tablespoons of the reserved liquid, and spices. Process on high speed until smooth, adding additional liquid if necessary to thin the dip. It should be thin enough to pour or spread out on a plate. Taste and adjust the seasoning if desired.

Reheat the dip and serve warm. Garnish with any of the following: ground cumin, paprika, cayenne pepper, olive oil, or chopped parsley. Serve with pita chips. Enjoy!

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