Dad humor

There is something that happens to a man when he becomes a father.  Their sense of humor goes down the tubes.  Puns, put down humor, hack jokes, repeating the same line for 30 years that’s the stock and trade of men with children.  My dad was like this, my friends dads growing up were like this and now my husband is like this.

It is a bit painful.

Who Runs the Party?

Now, not one of those many stories about who is in charge of the GOP Rush Limbaugh or um, or somebody else.  But kiddie birthday parties. (Pic is of Vivien’s 1st bday, which we had in Palm Springs the night before our wedding redux.) Most parties I go to the mom has the grand plan, and she is telling dad.

“Fill the ice chest”

“Time for pinata; what it’s not hung up yet, get to it, scrappy.”  Stuff like that.

Well, my eye went to this past Sunday’s style section in the NY Times (since Monday cannot begin until I have) to a story about a dad who decided to start running the kiddie parties.

I asked Mark, “Gave you ever run a kiddie party?”  Since he was married before and has three children from his previous marriage, I figured this issue had come up before.

“Well, in my experience, mothers don’t want to cede control of the kiddie party. They have an idea of where it should go, and if I didn’t buy the pink plates or whatever, the mother (notice how he tries to be diplomatic when speaking of his third wife) had in mind they get mad.”

Point well taken. I said, “Well why don’t you plan Vivien’s 4th birthday party?”

He said, “okay” with the same suspicion as if I had said, “Let’s ask that big busted 29-year-old woman to join our marriage.”  Like if he said “yes,” he will get slapped.

I thought for a second. “Okay, if you didn’t pull it off, I would be pissed. If there were no balloons, pony, fairy clown, favors for the kids, jumping house, etc., I would probably come unglued.”

He nodded.  ”I can refill the ice chest,”  he kindly offered.

So, like so many issues this is something I have to work on myself.

Madonna Arms

I know it’s tawdry, but I do a have a passing interest in this Madonna divorce. What really caught my eye was a piece that said her super fitness was getting in the way of the marriage. I’ve long said I’ve wanted “Madonna arms” (Note the place they are in now: not saggy, but not Queen of Pop).

Daphne Brogdon flexing

She is 50 and has defied gravity and womanhood to prevent the arm flaps that start to appear in the late 30s (earlier if there is a weight issue). Well, now the truth the comes out: she gets perfect arms ’cause she works out FOUR HOURS A DAY. And she banned sugar and dairy from her home.  

Now, if I was performing in a corset in front of millions, I’d probably do the same thing, but having part of my body on basic cable doesn’t quite warrant such drastic measures. If I consistently worked out an hour a day and put half and half in my coffee, I think I’d be happy with the results.

But the ol’ “don’t envy people” is easy to find here. I do envy her arms, but her hubby allegedly saying the workouts got in the way of their life together is a big bummer. Or that he wanted to cuddle with more flesh.

Cool Mom Poll Recap: Husbands That Bug

Husbands That Bug Poll Results - Cool Mom

Well, shut my mouth and cover me with Jell-O! Here are the results of last week’s Cool Mom poll, Husbands That Bug (voting officially ended Thursday). Cool Mom visitors seem to be a randy lot. I thought there would be more of you who felt badgered on the bedroom issue. I hear it enough in my non-virtual life. It’s interesting that the age old equality among chores is the big vote-getter. I know in my upbringing, mowing the lawn seemed to be one of the only tasks Dad was expected to do.  

I do think housecleaning and laundry would be an issue in my home if I hadn’t figured out that paying someone else can help keep the peace. Particularly in our blended family. If I had been cleaning up after my husband and his sons when I had a new baby, I would have become a very disgruntled wife. As in, day-dreaming of divorce. So a pair of gals showed up once a week for a long time. I would get Viv down for her mid-morning nap and then ask them to clean one room first, and then I would go and collapse in whatever room that was. It cost less than marriage counseling or a lawyer. Then when I started working, we had to step up the schedule.  

Sometimes I hear friends say, “Well, our moms did it” – meaning no daycare, no housekeepers. I say, “Well, goody for you. I know I am NOT Mama Walton.” I came into the domestic scene with different expectations than some might have had in 1969.

Oh, and I thought “gross family” was a chuckle.  I’m not from the Kennedys or the Mountbattens myself, so I don’t believe in being overly close to relatives if they aren’t your same food group.

Cool Mom Poll: Husbands That Bug

Even the best, best husbands can set your teeth on edge sometimes – just like a roommate, but harder to evict. Most women will roll their eyes about their man once in a while. It’s always weird to me when a woman NEVER rags on her husband. Instead of thinking they have a perfect union, I think, “What is she hiding?”

It’s just human nature: our kids, our best friends, that fat guy who banged his car door into mine at Target – everyone bugs everyone at some point.

So, what is your chief beef with your partner (man or woman)? What is the one thing that bothers you a tad more than all the other annoyances?

Here are your choices… remember, you have until 5:00 pm, Thursday, October 16, 2008:


To view last week’s poll results, click here!

Love train

The song they were playing after Hillary Clinton made her dramatic entrance, asked to stop the roll call, and move for acclamation to nominate Barack Obama was the definition of great dramatic stagecraft. And I am not ashamed to say I am a sucker for it. Not to mention my other love, history. This marks the first time EVER an African American-or any person of color has been nominated by a major party for the President of the United States. I don’t care who you are, that’s got to choke you up a bit. Not to mention this African American has a funky name. America is a great place.

It was also a love train for me personally because my niece was with me for the day. As a result I could watch every state and their provincial self-serving introductions, which I always love. Hmm if I were a state what would my roll call intro sound like?

“Madame Secretary, Daphne Brogdon, home of sarcasm and great legs. A place where improvisation is always appreciated, and a good sharp cheddar cheese is celebrated. A loving mother and mostly loving wife, friend to her step-children, a woman who cuts her salad with a knife and fork, much to the chagrin of her husband. Political junkie extraordinaire proudly casts her vote for the GOP to be punished for the 8 years of George W. Bush and for the (hopefully) next president of the United States of America, Barack Obama.”

What would your intro be?

Mommas, Get Your Groove On!

My recent weekend away with Mark reminded me, oh, yeah, I can orgasm. ‘Cause frankly, as big a nympho as I used to be, my interest in sex definitely took a nosedive post child. In my rocking 20s, when I was fooling around and hearing middle-aged male co-workers grouse that their wives didn’t like to do it, I thought “Oh, that’s terrible, I’ll never be like that.” Ha ha.

tuck me in!
Creative Commons License photo credit: jsc*

One woman who thinks moms should still be getting it on has a saucy and funny site, Sex and the Sippy.

The look of the site is great, very playful, and under Tips, there is a great clip from a mag that says moms need to be practice selfishness in order to be sexual. I hear that. I think one of the reasons I enjoy sex in a hotel room so much more than at home (even if it’s a dive two miles away) is because I don’t have the mom ears up: “Is she crying?  Does she need me?”

I think I need to put “masturbate” on the to-do list.

Weekend in New Orleans

Well, the boogie weekend wound up being pretty fun. I reconnected with the man who claims to be my husband. We actually went out with adult friends both nights and DIDN’T TALK ABOUT KIDS. It was good that some of them don’t have children. I could feel my brain opening up. We bagged out of the Tales of the Cocktail for the weekend. I went to one seminar on Friday and yes, a seminar about booze can be really boring. Even when it’s about hooch, people, you need to involve the audience. They all sound like Ben Stein.

Mark Peel and Daphne Brogdon in New Orleans

Since Mark works most nights, it was a treat to be out with him. I also enjoyed the heat because I could wear my new maxi dress. This is a trend I am partaking in. (I am a firm believer in picking and choosing your trends; Uggs and Crocs went on without me.) It’s also remarkably similar to the dress I wore when I was 6 (in the ’70s), the first time I went to New Orleans.

Rue de la Course mug

I had the best mocha ever at the cafe Rue de la Course on Magazine Street, hence the photo to record the moment. And I made Mr. Fancy-Pants Chef chow on the fried wonders of a beignet. Yum.

Mark Peel enjoys a beignet

Honestly, the New Orleans I saw, French Quarter and Uptown, looked better than when I visited 10 years ago to eat nutria for the Dr. Dean Edell Show. Seemed like there were fewer drunks bugging this time, but back then I was usually walking alone. Our friends who live there had many Katrina horror stories, but they were glad to see tourism was up.

New Orleans is great but I did, however, take issue with the excessive air conditioning. It was hot out, but why the deep freeze indoors? Really uncomfortable. I met one lady who liked it. She said, “It’s an antidote to hot flashes!” My friend Beth came in from Nashville and she said you always need a cardigan in the South. And I was worried about humidity! Silly me.

Vivien was fine with my sister while I was gone, but definitely paid for it the day we came back (at the crack a– of dawn, ’cause I missed her). She was very clingy and needy and wanted to know where I was at all times. Poor baby. By night time she was better.

It was still worth it to go, which I have to remember the next time I resist a similar trip.

My Boogie Weekend

So, I am gearing up to leave early this morning for my weekend away with my husband. I should be psyched, but I’m not. I always feel anxious when I leave Vivien.

Buffett's Cafe
Creative Commons License photo credit: ViNull

I know she will have a great time. My sister Cecily and niece Lily, whom she adores, will move in our house and take care of her for the two days I am gone. I have left detailed notes including what channels she can watch (no Disney), the nearest emergency room, and plenty of chicken tenders. I need to snap out of it.

Nearly 3 days (I took a red eye, so it wasn’t a full 72 hours) is the longest I have ever been away from her. I hear of mothers/parents leaving their kids for a week. I would find that very difficult. I met a woman on a plane once, nice woman, no horns on her head, mother of three, who said when her first baby was a newborn, she left him for six weeks while she and her husband went to Europe. Her parents took care of the kid while she pumped all over Italy and France. I am still struck dumb by that.

I have a one-day gig in San Diego next week for Fox and I’m already trying to figure out how I can take Vivien with me and go to the Zoo or Legoland and or something very Southern California.

When I have spent a few days away, usually in San Francisco or NYC, truth be told, I have a good time. Relaxing, having meals where I don’t have to give someone some crayons or stickers so I can eat. But leaving is so hard. And, let’s face it, post 9/11-travel ain’t what it used to be.

Oh, and you’ll love this classic male/female difference. My husband is already in New Orleans for work (he is attending Tales of the Cocktail – yes, a convention) and I asked, “How’s the hotel room?”

Mark: “It’s got clean sheets and a TV.”

Me: “Are you kidding?”

Mark: “No.”

Me: ”So I am going to fly 4 hours, leave my child for 2 days, and I assume you want to have sex at some point – in a room that you describe as ‘clean sheets and a TV’?”

Mark: “Do you want me to move rooms?”

Me: “I think you will be happier if you do.”

Did he just meet me?

I have to put on some Zydeco and get in the mood.

What Can We Learn from Christie Brinkley’s Divorce Trial?

1. First and foremost: Can that lady rock a crisp white shirt or what? Loved the shots of her striding into the Long Island courthouse wearing a white shirt tucked into a belted pencil skirt. It said “class,” it said, “I know, I can’t believe he cheated on me either.” Now, most days I can’t tuck in a shirt without looking like Ed Grimley, but yesterday at my daughter’s preschool, one well-dressed mom had a crisp white shirt with darts that provided shape, but did not need to be tucked in. I am obsessed and now must find it and buy it.

Christie Brinkley Divorce Trial

2. Paying off an 18-year-old to keep quiet is probably a waste of money.

3. All men love porn, but when they masturbate to strangers online, perhaps that’s a bridge too far.

4. Poor kids. I would fault Miss C for asking the media to be allowed into the trial, except it seems the strategy worked. Peter Beard didn’t want any more dirty laundry aired, so he settled.

5. If you have supermodel wealth, get a pre-nup and don’t marry in a community-property state. She did both. NY is not a community-property state. California is. If they had married in California, Beard could have bedded the teenager, a cat, and the family cow and still have been entitled to half of whatever she made/bought while they were married. Can’t believe she got rid of him for only 2.1 mil.

6. She may be blonde, but she’s not dumb. She owns 18 properties in the Hamptons! That’s a lot of tomatoes.

7. Looks ain’t everything. They looked so good together, but it goes back to one of my life philosophies: Don’t marry the Ken doll, marry a dork.

8. I can’t get “Uptown Girl” out of my head.

[Image: Celebrity-Gossip.net]