I guess I’m a lucky Mom.  I’ve seen Justin Bieber not once, but TWICE this year (click here for my first blog about him).  It was a pure unadulterated teeny bopper love fest at Madison Square Garden.  (For those of you unfamiliar with who Justin Bieber is – he is the hot 16 year old sensation who grew up in low income housing with a single mom in Canada and was discovered by Usher via youtube – an utterly amazing story).  Tuesday night my daughter, her BF and I took off for MSG.  The two girls sporting their purple attire, and carrying their sign decked out in purple lettering exclaiming “Call the Doctor, We got Bieber Fever” (purple being Justin’s fave color of course) arrived in the bustling NYC scene of 32nd and 7th, where a sea of purple clad girls could be seen….wildly screaming.

The theatrics of the night were made even more fantastical as Justin’s new concert movie was being filmed.  With Sean Kingston opening, JB’s lively acrobatic and amazingly talented dance team and back-up singers making their presence known, staging and props (like JB playing his guitar sitting in a huge heart and being carried through the air to the center of the arena) and the guest artists who sang with him throughout the evening (Boys II Men, Ludacris, Usher, Miley Cyrus, Jaden Smith, and Sean Kingston) – it truly was quite an event.

Yes, despite some trepidation, I had fun.  A lot of fun.  But the best part is, that in this day and age, where we are bombarded by smutty reality shows like Jersey Shore and X-rated wrap lyrics, we have an adorable kid who is all about love, hearts, smiles (he even took the time to make his appeal about no texting while driving).  He is an adorable sensation.  I’m so glad my daughter’s crush on Little Wayne has passed

It’s been a while since I’ve reported on my (oh I mean my son’s) pet chickens.  Life on the “farm” is quite good.  We get 6-8 eggs daily from our chickens, and they are far closer to having dogs as pets than I ever imagined.  We’ve relaxed our inhibitions regarding free ranging – and when we’re home, let them roam the yard – despite threats from a neighboring hawk.  They clamor to get out of their pen – and are so happy when they get to roam.  And my son only needs to walk into the backyard and let out a little whistle, and they all come running and follow the pied piper back into their coop.

They were roaming in the backyard a couple of weeks ago when we glanced out the kitchen window and saw a deer grazing in the middle of the pack, each and every chicken and lone deer totally minding their own business.  It was quite a funny site.

Another funny site would be a chicken wearing a diaper.  A friend recently forwarded to me a Wall Street journal article about the ongoing trend of chicken ownership, and the burgeoning side industry that it has created for chicken entrepreneurs.  And yes, diapers, are one of the new hot products for those folks who prefer to give their chickens free reign of their home.

The scary thing, as I mentioned to my friend, is that I actually know or have had conversations with three of the folks highlighted in the article.  But at least I do not have chickens in my house, and don’t have a need for chicken diapers.  My friend then did subtly remind me that I had six chickens (1 chicken and 5 roosters to be exact) living in my basement, for about 4.5 months, and then one chicken (who did not get along with the other chickens) who lived in my pack and play for a few days in my family room.  Thank God I did not know about the chicken diaper at the time, because who knows what that knowledge would have led to?!

Anything for a farm fresh egg, right?

I like to think I have a green thumb, although I really think I have more of a green mind…very grandiose visions of what I’d like my yard to look like, but no time or money to perfectly execute it. My thumb tends to be greenest at the start of the season when I’m gung ho and the temperatures aren’t hovering around the 100 degree mark.

My vegetable garden this year looks rather ho hum.  The tomatoes, in particular, aren’t terribly hardy looking.  So you can imagine my surprise and delight when we caught sight of a large obtrusion emanating from our compost bin.  Large green leaves, bright yellow flowers, vines extending for about 10 feet.  Wow, I’ve never grown anything that looked that good…and I had absolutely nothing to do with it.

Granted, this plant is perfect testament to the rich soil and nutrients residing in my compost bin, which includes a bit of chicken manure.  Nothing could be finer for a humble squash plant.

So my anticipation was growing.  What type of squash would we be enjoying later this summer?  Maybe spaghetti, maybe acorn?  Even pumpkin would be fun.  Well, I finally have my answer.  Gourds!  Anybody ever cook a gourd?  Well, my home grown gourds will be the centerpiece of my Thanksgiving table, as long as they don’t rot by then!

Following is another installment of “Samisms”  - a few sound bytes uttered by Sam (age 5) over the past few months.  Just when I think he’s getting beyond the age of saying the darnedest things, he pops out another. He keeps me laughing…

1. Sam was working on his invitee list for his 5th birthday.  He ended up inviting mostly boys his age, plus a 3rd, 4th and 5th grade girl.  I said:  ”You know some of these kids are quite a bit older than you.”  He looked at me and replied:  ”Mom, age doesn’t matter.”

2. On Yom Kippur, Sam started inquiring about the Jewish holiday.  He then said: “Does being Jewish mean that you have a lot of jewelry?”

3. Sam having stayed home from school one day given a purported tummy ache and on the verge of throwing up, was playing on the computer.  I said, “Sam, I think you’re well enough to go to school”.

“Mom, I’m in a game right now.”

4. As I was driving Sam to school, I was asking him a number of different questions.  Finally he said, “Mom, just concentrate on your driving.”

5. “What’s a billionaire?”  Sam asked his babysitter.  ”A billionaire is someone that has a billion dollars”, she replied.  ”Oh, my parents don’t have a billion dollars”, replied Sam.  ”They actually don’t have a lot of dollars either; they just have a lot of cents.”

Have a great weekend!

It’s late on Mother’s Day, and suffice it to say, I’m going to be lazy with this blog entry.  For those of you just dying to know if I got a dog (see Friday’s post)  - no, I did not get a dog, even though my card from Jack (which was a small novelette) did make his desires known once more …

This Wise Woman is off trippin’ … college trippin’, that is.  We’re checking out six colleges in seven days. Fortunately, Wise Daughter has focused her search on schools in Virginia, North Carolina and South Carolina versus the Northeast. Otherwise, we’d need canoes to do the campus tours. (Hang in there, Wise Women from Rhode Island and Massachusetts!)

I’ll save my ponderings of this experience for a time when I’m NOT typing at a hotel desk and praying the glare of the laptop’s screen won’t wake up my kids. (Cranky teens + long car rides = unhappy Wise Parents).

In the meantime, enjoy these seasonal photos …

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What a week in Washington….almost unbelievable…. and I think between Elaine and myself we’ll have to share some thoughts and hear your thoughts on the current state of affairs.  I still have a difficult time wrapping my arms around the whats and the whys – and part of the distress of the current situation is the fact that the news is being driven by emotional, irrational folks who don’t understand the full story and its implications (this includes many of our Washington politicians).

So on that note, given it’s a Friday, I thought I would conclude the week on a much lighter note.  A friend sent me an amusing email yesterday about the REAL story behind the Three Bears.  It reminds me of a children’s book we have titled “The Real Story of The Three Pigs” which is written from the wolve’s perspective.  It is hysterical and a fun book to read with children.  Similarly, this is Mama Bear’s take on those empty porridge bowls:

Baby Bear goes downstairs, sits in his small chair at the table.  He looks into his small bowl.  It is empty. “Who’s been eating my porridge?” he squeaks…

Daddy Bear arrives at the big table and sits in his big chair.  He looks into his big bowl and it is also empty.  ”Who’s been eating my porridge?” he roars.

Mama Bear puts her head through the serving hatch from the kitchen and yells, “For God’s sake, how many times do I have to go through this with you idiots?  It was Mama Bear who got up first.  It was Mama Bear who woke everyone in the house.  It was Mama Bear who made the coffee.  It was Mama Bear who unloaded the dishwasher from last night and put everything away.  It was Mama Bear who swept the floor in the kitchen.  It was Mama Bear who went out in the cold early morning air to fetch the newspaper and croissants.  It was Mama Bear who set the damn table.  It was Mama Bear who walked the bloody dog, cleaned the cat’s litter tray and gave them their food, and refilled their water.

And now that you’ve decided to drag your sorry bear-arses downstairs and grace Mama Bear with your grumpy presence, listen carefully, because I’m only going to say this once…

“I haven’t made the  ****ing porridge yet.”

Enjoy the weekend!

If you remember back to early January, I wrote about our New Year’s vacation in Vermont, which included hatching six new chicks (all offspring of our Michael Jackson roo who met an untimely death in December).

For the past almost three months these six chicks have been maturing in our basement – in a little pen.  And they’re quite large now.  Three have matured into roosters, one is definitely a hen, and two are he/shes, and I’m praying that they turn out to be girls.  I must say over the past few weeks standing in my kitchen, the sweet sounds of a chirping canary drift in from one door, while cock a doodle dos come in through another.  (Yes, it’s time for a dog).  The basement is a disaster, and everything is covered in a nice film of dust – a combination of the fine meal food the chickens eat and their dander.

So as you can imagine, I started out once again on a journey to find homes for these roosters, which is never an easy task.  Finally I got a lead, and an affirmatory that my roosters could have a home.  So my good husband, after being away all week on a business trip, left this morning with three roosters in the back of the car, crooning along the Long Island Expressway out to a place called Manorville – about 2 hours from our house.  Their new abode is rather nice and comfortable, and I’m sure they will be happy.

Now we’re all back home, and it’s peaceful (other than the four children that also live here).  Since we elected to keep the he/shes, with the assumption that they are in fact shes, I will be quite distressed if another cock a doodle do echos across the backyard.

Exhibit A: Check out Sarah Palin consulting notes written on her hand as she addresses a Tea Party crowd last weekend.

Lesson Learned: Never, ever write reminder notes on body parts. Some bloggers have questioned Palin’s intelligence given her need to write down her talking points (e.g., “Lift American Spirits”). Not me. I constantly write reminders to myself about simple, everyday tasks (e.g., this a.m.’s list “blog, car, lasagna, call re: derm appt”) and, like Palin, spell-out in advance the take-away points I want an audience to remember when I give a presentation. Palin’s problem was that she relied on a method (writing on one’s hand) that comes off as juvenile and a bit sneaky. Any other writing surface would have worked - note card, post-it, corner of newspaper, napkin, Kleenex, and, of course, paper. Bottom line - my son writing on his arm to remember to bring in lunch money is O.K. An aspiring leader of the free world furtively consulting her palm to recall her “inspiring” rhetoric is NOT O.K.

Exhibit B: Now watch Obama Press Secretary Robert Gibbs later poking fun at Palin’s use of “hand-written” notes.

Lesson Learned: People are either innately “Mean Girls,” or they’re not. Gibbs is not. For those who are not naturally snarky, it is very difficult to pull off snarky humor. (You can hear the groans in the press room at Gibbs’ cheap shot.) Listen, people who can quickly come up with a biting/sarcastic/wry/cynical quip have had a lifetime of practice. If you must plan in advance and put effort into being a Mean Girl, don’t bother. You’ll be the one who ends up looking silly. (Alas, as a person who is not quick on her feet, this is a lesson I’ve learned the hard way.)

Wise Women, what’s your reaction to Exhibit A or Exhibit B? And, if you’re one who jots down reminders on your hand or arm, please feel free to amend the “lesson learned.”

Since Elaine has been posting about such wise topics this week, I thought I would bring it down a notch.  I sit here thinking about Octomom’s new beach body.  Have you seen it on the cover of Star Magazine?  (No, don’t worry, I’m not a subscriber). She has dropped 145 pounds since giving birth to her eight babies.  I think to myself I did buy that Beach Body DVD set last May although no beach body did I attain in 2009 … I have to start working on that plan for 2010 now (work and children aside).

So back to Octomom.  How did she do it?  First, with no help from Nip and Tuck – just three hour daily work-outs at the gym of course.  Right.  Makes sense.  What?  How did she get away from her family of fourteen children (and no husband) for three hours a day?  Oh, her two nannies could take care of all those children.  Oh, OK. Makes sense.  What?  Two nannies?  Has our whacked out need for reality TV already made her a mint?  I guess so.  And I guess enough money to keep her out of the house shopping, working-out, and managing her public profile – while the 14 mint-makers lay about at home with the hired help.