My daughter, on the other hand, seems to take my absences in stride. The phone calls are brutal. I hang on her every word and she says things like, “I can’t talk now, I am eating my peanut butter sandwich” or “Can you call back after Clifford is over?” I remind myself that this is a good sign. She is obviously fine with my husband and coping with our time apart. It is hard not to steer the conversation the wrong way; “Do you miss Mommy? Are you feeling teary??” The term “Leading the witness” comes to mind.

Truthfully, I am the one feeling teary. Part of it is my fear that the pursuit of my career will cause her some irreparable harm. My own mother was home with us every day and that haunts me when I miss a function at the school. My wise husband reminds me that it is good for her to see me working and that I will be a role model for her, not only as a loving Mom, but also as a woman with a career she loves. His words help, but I know my broken heart won’t feel whole until my family is living together again.

If the slacker description sounds personal, it is. I did once forget it was Halloween-dress-up-day and had to run home to find my daughter a last minute costume. As a slacker mom I have one major issue… the name. I think “Beta mom” is much better because it implies a different choice, not a wrong choice. Speaking on behalf of slacker moms everywhere, I don’t participate because I want to spend my free time with my kids. I know my daughter’s teacher very well, I try to do some kind of project with the kids in her class, I bring snacks, donate money, but I honestly feel that all my extra time has to be spent with my family and that includes my husband.

Sometimes maintaining the role of slacker is hard for me. Walking through my daughter’s pre-school felt like a trip back to high school. What are all the cool mom’s doing? Who will run for class president? Who will get picked for honor society? Who will get the lead in the school play? At this point in my inner dialogue I usually say, “SNAP OUT OF IT”. Seriously, I did all that in high school and at this point I just don’t care.

My job is often my excuse, but a lot of Alpha mom’s have full-time jobs. They work all day then run the PTA at night. I truly don’t know how they do it. When do they have time to play cards with their kids, read the paper, have sex with their hubby or watch “American Idol”? They are probably just a lot more organized than I am.

The musical Oklahoma has a song that says, “Oh the farmer and the cowman should be friends” and maybe that applies to Alphas and Slackers. When you think about it, we need each other. Leaders need followers and some of us need someone to tell us where to bring the cupcakes and when to dress up our kids for Halloween.

We have already had a busy weekend; Charlotte had her first ballet recital this morning. I have worked on Broadway, sung in front of thousands of people and I think I was the most nervous I have ever been. The power our children have over us is truly extraordinary. After a false start, my daughter and her fellow swans spun, pointed, and curtsied their way through the dance. My husband and I held hands and loved every minute of it.

Moments like these remind me how our children connect us. My oldest stepson is graduating from high school next month and on these huge occasions my heart breaks for the children of divorce. There has to be some part of my husband and his ex-wife that wants to hold hands and acknowledge that together they created this amazing person and that they still have their intense love for him in common. Honestly, I am guessing they won’t hold hands, but hopefully they will take a moment to reflect on what a special day it is and what a wonderful job they have done.

We are about to land and the flight attendant’s eyes just sent me daggers because I still have my computer out. I see the lights of New York in the distance and I smile inside knowing I am coming home.

I often wonder about the whole princess/dress-up thing with little girls. (Let me say I am completely guilty of this one.) My daughter has at least 20 costumes, complete with crowns and sparkly shoes. She dresses up all the time and we ‘oohh’ and ‘aahh’ about how beautiful she looks, but is that good parenting?? My husband and I have talked about this brains vs. beauty issue since she was very young. We remind each other to try and praise her for being smart and brave and kind to people, but it is unbelievable how often our first instinct is to say, “Oh Charlotte, you are so cute.”

One of my good friends in New York had a nanny that often kept my daughter during play dates. She was honest and reliable and the kids loved her. Perfect, right? Well sort of. I found out later, ok I was listening in again, that her favorite topic of conversation was which boys our 4-year-old girls liked. Every male child on the playground was greeted with, “Is this your boyfriend???” Giggle giggle. I hated it. We women spend most of our time on Earth worried about what the “boys” in our lives think and it would be nice if we didn’t have to start as preschoolers.

When I read reports on how many young women struggle with anorexia, or how our daughters are having sex earlier and earlier, or how many girls dream of plastic surgery to look more like this or that supermodel, I wonder. Do we subconsciously help seed these obsessions? Is every princess and model comparison just setting them up to someday feel inadequate? I don’t know, but tonight when my daughter reads a book to me at bedtime, I am going to tell her how smart she is and try not to mention how adorable she looks in her “Sleeping Beauty” nightgown.

Sometimes I can hardly remember my life before kids and I wonder if I enjoyed all the pampering stuff more back then. I used to sit at the hair salon reading a magazine without a care in the world. Perhaps as Moms we have so little free time that we try to jam everything into those moments away from our kids. It’s a multi-tasking marathon:
Driving while eating a sandwich and putting on mascara, Cleaning the bathroom while talking on the phone, E-mailing and coloring your hair and, of course my favorite, blogging while getting a pedicure.

Perhaps next New Years I will make a resolution to relax more and enjoy the moments of pampering, but until then I will just bitch about not having enough time and, oh yeah, about how much a bikini wax kills.

Here is my question; “When did everyone get tattoos?” Seriously, I have never seen so many half-naked people with so many tattoos. Most people seemed to really want to show them off. We saw more women than we could count in string bikinis placed strategically to show off their rose, Chinese letters or ank. And don’t count out the men, because who cares if you have a gut the size of my ninth month of pregnancy when you’re sporting a giant tat across the center of your chest. For some reason it seems that many people think their tattoo is so beautiful that it transforms even the scariest of figures.

Maybe they see their bodies not as I see mine, an inventory of problem areas that I must conceal with strategically placed sarongs, but as “Art” that they feel should be displayed and admired. As a person who has never even had even a passing interest in getting a tattoo or piercing, my mind starts to wander to a place where I strut confidently in my thong believing that instead of seeing my cellulite, people will admire my tattoo. Somehow I don’t think that even all of Sandra Bullock’s husband Jesse James’ tattoos could make that happen.

My friend Ceci calls any event where lots of people are gathered a meeting of the “great unwashed”. I thought a water park would be exempt, after all there is something clean and refreshing about a day spent in the sun and water. Maybe not!

Interestingly, my 5 year old started doing the same thing when she was 3. She would find some drawings of hers in the trash and question me sharply about why I wasn’t saving it. Now please don’t think I am some evil mother who doesn’t cherish her child’s artwork, I do … to a certain extent. It is just that if I saved everything, pretty soon we would have to move to a larger place. I try to keep one picture representative of what she is doing through each phase. Explaining this to a small child is a little difficult. Let’s just say I started cleaning both her and my husband’s stuff when they weren’t home.

I like my desk and work spaces to be completely clear save for a few framed photos and carefully placed knick knacks. My husband, on the other hand, likes to see everything he is working on…. And I mean EVERYTHING. His desk is a cluttered mess of bits of paper, saved paper clips he is going to re-bend into the right shape, and old faxes that he wants to use as scratch paper. My bills are neatly stacked in a little basket waiting to be paid and filed. My husband’s are placed strategically around the desk so he can remember to pay them… well, that is until they are covered up by some of the “scratch sheets”. Do you note a tone of sarcasm as I write this???? In my husband’s defense, my own Mother says she would rather live with Michael than me. She said this after I re-aligned some books in my living room to “just the right angle” after she had kindly dusted for me.

On Clean This House, I show families how to get organized by getting rid of the things they don’t need and cleaning up the things they want to keep. My favorite moments are digging into rooms that are completely filthy and bringing some kind of order to the chaos. We make big stacks of things to throw away, things to donate and things to keep and organize. Once everything is out of the room, we deep clean then put everything back in an orderly fashion. Most of the families let things get out of hand and then they got overwhelmed. I am always amazed that many of the people have all the shelves, crates and baskets they need to get organized, they just don’t know how to use them.

The families are all incredibly grateful and so pleased with my help. Sadly my own family just thinks I am a clean freak. They are probably right but at least I am using my own psychosis to help others.

I loved it!! I thought they were great questions and I was thrilled that I could ask the woman the same questions before Charlotte visits her house. I thought she was strong and powerful like a Mother bear protecting her cubs and I vowed to try to emulate her before setting up our next playdate.

I feel like I am a coward. Instead of asking tough questions, I just never let Charlotte go to other kid’s houses when I don’t know the parents. Questions wouldn’t be polite. My instinct is to slink away and not face up to what I truly want to know. Sadly, my new heroine said that some parents get furious when she asks her questions, telling her it is none of her business and to forget the playdate.

It makes me wonder. Would there be fewer problems in the world if everyone would just ask the tough questions right away?
1. Do you love me?
2. Did you sleep with her/him?
3. Were there really any weapons of mass destruction?
4. Are you pro-choice or pro-life?
5. Coke or Pepsi?
6. Paper or Plastic?

Now, as you know from reading this Blog, I am never completely certain as a parent. Should I make her wait a while before she gets a new fish? Should I help her go though Kubler-Ross’s 7 stages of dying?? Did she need anger, denial, acceptance, etc. to truly learn from this experience?

I don’t know if a new fish was the right response, but I vividly remember being about six when my pet rabbit was viciously killed by our own dogs. I recall asking my mother over and over, “Why would they do it? I loved that rabbit.” It was a big fat white rabbit and I remember my Dad arriving home from work. He called me over to the car where he had the cutest, most adorable baby rabbit. Let’s just say I screamed with joy and never looked back.

We had the funeral in the yard and put the fish in a small box that used to hold 1-inch nails. The only problem that arose was when I went to write “Cutie Pie” on the outside of the box. My daughter indignantly informed me that the fish was named Pearl. This was the first I’d heard of this name. The fish had been Cutie Pie for as long as I could remember. I felt bad letting this creature go to the here-after with the wrong name, but I was not going to get into a fight with my grieving daughter.

We spent about an hour at the pet store checking out pretty much every goldfish they had in stock. She finally settled on a fairly ugly white one with an orange head. Personally I like my goldfish orange, but it was her choice. As we were walking out of the store I asked her about a name. She said the new fish’s name was … wait for it… “Pearl.” According to Charlotte, her white color was perfect for such a beautiful name. She said she missed Cutie Pie but was so happy to have Pearl. I still feel bad about the name on the box.

A great friend of mine was talking about getting a cell phone for her birthday. She said she got her best presents, like a nice piece of jewelry, from her husband not on her birthday, but on Mother’s Day! This struck me as odd. Should Mother’s Day define us? Isn’t your birthday a celebration of YOU…and Mother’s Day a celebration of well…. Motherhood? Perhaps my cynicism has been ingrained in me from childhood as I vividly remember my Dad saying, “Why should I get your Mom a present? She isn’t my Mother.”

When I think of my daughter, this quote from Pat Conroy’s book “Beach Music” always runs through my head. “She is my certification, my boarding pass into the family of man and the greatest faith in the future I still retain.” I memorized this line long before I had a baby or experienced the overwhelming love I feel for my children, but even then I was convinced that this must be what it feels like to look at your own immortality in the eyes of your child. Like so many women, being a Mom is the most important, most rewarding, most interesting thing I have ever done, so I really don’t need a holiday, but I will take some candy.

I have always considered myself a feminist. I truly feel it is my body and I have the right to choose what I do with it. I believe women should get equal pay for equal work and I think our careers are as important as any man’s. I love making my own money and being an equal partner with my husband financially. But I also believe that women need to know the truth about fertility and the sad truth is we have a window to EASILY have kids, and that is before 35. What really sucks is that 35 is also the age where your career really starts taking off.

I think it really is a man’s world because it often feels like for women, every day has to be some kind of compromise. If we get pregnant, then we are stopping our career to focus on family. If your child is sick and you stay home, you are obviously not committed to your career. I have to believe if men had babies too, the system would be easier. The only way this will change is when corporate America makes it possible for women to have it all…. career and family.

I knew a woman who was on the fast track at one of the top brokerage firms in New York. Her son was four and started having behavioral problems in pre-school. A therapist told her and her husband that one of them needed to stay home with their son. She made the most money and was on the way to a partnership but she knew she couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t spend the time with her son. I totally supported her decision and would have done the same thing. A few years later, when her son was happy and doing great in school, she tried to reconnect with the company that thought so highly of her. Unfortunately, she found that her success had passed her by. Was she fulfilled by the time spent with her son? Absolutely. But why couldn’t she have both?

“I can bring home the bacon, fry it up in a pan… and never, never, never let him forget he’s a man. ‘Cause I’m a woman”. Wasn’t this a hit in the 80’s?

Do you remember birthdays of old when some friends came over, played musical chairs and pin the tail on the donkey, ate a piece of cake and went home. We thought it was awesome but my daughter would think that that party was a joke. She’d ask, “Where is the bouncy castle, face painting, where is Chuck E. Cheese, an animal farm or pony rides…where is the live musical act dressed in loud colors or Care Bears or Dora the Explorer??” Without these there is no party!

I also remember party favors. This was a piece of gum or candy or one small item you took home. There were no “bags of goodies”. Goody bags make me crazy. First of all, why should guests of parties get presents? This makes no sense. Your present is that you got to come to a party. And the contents of said bags also drive me crazy: stickers, tiny stuffed toys, plastic necklaces & rings, plastic figures. This is the crap that piles up in your kid’s room or finds its way to the floor where you can step on it in the middle of the night.

In NYC very few people have birthday parties at their homes. I thought it was ridiculous, but I understood it. Most people’s apartments were either too small or filled with too many antiques to host a bunch of screaming kids. I honestly thought this was a psycho New York City thing. But no, birthday excess is alive and well all over the country. Since we moved to Orlando, we have been to birthday parties at Chuck E Cheese, the Bounce House (giant room with tons of inflatable houses), Sea World (twice), and a fabric store called Joanne’s where they do craft parties.

I used to believe the excessive party was a status thing, but I am starting to realize it is really about convenience. The parents can just sit back, enjoy the party, watch the delight in their child’s eyes and then go home to their perfectly clean house. I know that everyone reading this is picturing me having a party at my home with old time games, cake and no goody bags. The truth is I talk a good game. Let me describe my five year olds’ last two parties. One was at a craft shop in NYC. My friend, Ceci, had a coupon and her son’s birthday is a week before my daughter’s. We combined forces and sat and watched our kids and their friends make stuffed animals, dance, and eat pizza and cake. The next one was a Princess Party. It was at home, but I rented a bouncy castle and had my makeup artist, Vandygayle, paint all the little princess’ faces. Were they out of control? Possibly. But in my defense, NOBODY GOT A GOODY BAG.

We were actually flying the day they banned all liquids on planes because of the terrorist threat in London. There were about 600 people standing out in front of La Guardia Airport in New York City and lots of drama. In the end I was able to get my makeup and hair stuff in the luggage (thank goodness) and we got on our flight. I made Charlotte drink three apple juice boxes while waiting for security. There were rumors about no drinks at all and I was worried she would get thirsty on the flight. To this day, she thinks the police with M16’s were there to make sure everyone drank all their juice.

I have done seven flights over 8 hours with Charlotte. When my daughter slept they were fine but I vividly remember doing 9 and ½ hours of hard time on a flight to London. My lovely little girl never slept once. She wanted to play! After the 15th game of Old Maid I finally said, “Do not get out of your seat. Mommy is falling asleep.” Shortly thereafter, I saw the Jodi Foster movie where her daughter gets kidnapped on a flight while she is asleep. I still feel really guilty about that nap. I remember telling a friend of my sisters this story and she looked at me like I was an idiot and said, “Didn’t you give her something to help her sleep?” The friend is a Mom and a pediatrician.

I have learned some important lessons: always, and I mean always, drug them. Now this sounds harsh but a small dose of Tylenol is a wonderful attitude adjuster. If you are traveling with an infant, make sure they nurse during take-offs and landings. It is the only way to keep their ears from hurting. I still bring a “sippy cup” for my daughter just in case. Try to find airlines that have TV’s at each seat. I like Jet Blue and Virgin Atlantic for just that reason. I should probably just invest in a portable DVD player, so bring one if you have it. NEVER let them get up and walk around on a plane because once is NEVER enough. I don’t even let Charlotte sit on the aisle because she sees other kids moving up and down. Always bring activity books and at least one new toy. I like to wrap up the toy and then give it to her once the plane is in the air. Make sure your kid knows there is a present in the carry-on. You would be amazed at how pleasant the boarding process is when your child wants their surprise.

Finally, and this is VERY important, never give your child M&M’s before a flight. This goes hand in hand with ‘bring extra clothes for your child and you.’ I give this advice from the heart and with the cold, cruel voice of experience. If you are wondering what happened, let’s just say a lot of people on Delta Flight #85 will never forget my family. Use your imagination. It was not pretty.

Let me back track a bit. I have always been good about exercising. When my parents took up jogging, they quickly decided it would be good for the whole family. I didn’t live with “the Great Santini” but sometimes it felt like it because my entire household got up every morning at 5:15AM and ran 4 miles. This started in the 5th grade and ended when I graduated from high school. My Dad felt he was preparing us for a lifetime of exercise. I thought he was trying to torture me. When I went away to college, I did not exercise for six months and then I promptly started running again and have been at it ever since. I hate to admit it but my parents were right. I have been pretty dedicated to working out my entire adult life. I did the aerobics thing, boot camp, ran the New York City Marathon (which I highly recommend because you can eat as much as you want), rollerblading, circuit training, rowing, biking, strollersize, etc. If there was an exercise fad, I got involved. I am not a skinny person but I am usually pretty fit.

When I moved to Florida to host “iVillage Live”, I was also under contract to do six episodes of my show on A & E called “Clean this House”. I was working all week on one show then flying back to NYC on Friday nights to shoot the other during the weekends. In between, I was trying to be there for my daughter as she adjusted to a new school and home. Something had to give and easiest thing to drop from my schedule was exercise. I have periodically stopped working out because of crazy times, moving, tough rehearsal schedules, and pregnancy. But -and it’s a big one- I had not taken time off since I turned 40 and this was a gigantic eye opener. First of all, I got weak really quickly. We have trainers from Bally Health Clubs each week on “iVillage Live”. They lead me and our audience through different workouts. It got really funny because I could not get through the exercises. Here I am on live TV just laying there because I can’t do another lunge or sit-up. It seemed ridiculous because I once ran 26.2 miles without stopping. Only six months before the show started I was able to do hundreds of lunges and squats, and now I am just laying there like a pile of blubber.

The scary thing is that once my schedule calmed down, I still wasn’t working out. I had really lost all interest in exercise. I would think about the horrible shape I was in and just eat another package of starbursts. But then I noticed the changes that would turn my slovenly ways around. My body had turned to cottage cheese. I am used to a little cellulite and, I promise you, I have never had great legs, but this was brutal. So I broke down and actually hired someone to make me workout my 40-year-old body. The good news is it seems to be re-motivating me and my energy is getting better.

One of my brother-in-laws won a silver medal in rowing at the 1984 Olympics. He always says, “Energy out, energy in.” I usually roll my eyes at this but now, “Edward, I bow to your insight.” I ran yesterday and today and the “plank man” is here every Tuesday and Thursday. Hopefully in a few more weeks the only cottage cheese I see will be on my plate. Still, I’m not giving up the starbursts!