mothers on the verge

I took The Rabbit and headed out to California for some fresh air this summer. Just a couple of weeks in Los Angeles (and yes, I can hear your all snickering that Los Angeles is hardly the bastion for fresh air. Save it.) For a Californian trapped in New York, anything on the West screams fresh to me. And after nearly a year sitting in my particular concrete jungle, I am often ready willing and gnaw at something to get off the island. That's one reason I think the Fresh Air Fund is pretty cool. Yes, I'm about to hawk about the group. But I think it's a worthwhile organization -- and I love that they basically get kids out of the city and give them that space and time to sit under a tree and stare off at clouds, without a police copter hanging over their building until 3 am. (That's another post for another day..) Even though it's August, the Fresh Air Fund is STILL looking for some host families to offer more children a summer break. And parents can still sign up

It’s summer and with a young child, ice cream is a joyful, daily ritual. But as I’ve been shelling out dollars over the past days, I began to realize just how our economy plays out — even with something as simple as an ice cream cone. In New York City, Mr. Softee is our basic ice cream man — a truck that features a smiling ice cream cone with a swirl of vanilla on his head that is a bit Carmen Miranda-looking to me. One truck usually pops up outside my daughter’s school downtown when warm weather hits. The deal is simple — you hand your kid $1.50, and she comes running back with a vanilla cone covered in rainbow sprinkles. Three weekends ago, the little one was treated to a cone in SoHo Vanilla ice cream, please, with sprinkles. With $1.50 in hand, my husband turned back to me and asked me for another $3. One for me too? Nope. In SoHo the treat was $4. Then, last weekend, we all ended up on the Upper East Side — a rushed visit to my daughter’s doctor when her temperature hit 104ºF. Wit

I don't understand how a cold in the summer months can feel 80 times worse than one in the winter. I know having a little one automatically enters you into the cold-of-the-month club, but truly I am exhausted from having to keep Kleenex and Sudafed stocked in the cupboard. I had thrown away the bottles of Purell after all the warnings came out on how dangerous antibacterial soaps and gels are (something about killing the good bacteria -- the ones that eat the bad guys.) I still wash my hands and The Rabbits hands religiously. But I swear I am thinking of breaking out a box of those mouth covers -- you know -- the ones you see doctors wear in operating rooms, or those people on the street, the ones you back away from slowly because you don't want them to launch into a tirade about your leather bag, or stroller or whatever has stuck on their insanity radar for the day. Just like those people.