I was writing up a pitch about effective discipline strategies and I remembered that in addition to the wooden spoons that my mother would use to slap me on my inner thigh and the belts that snapped across my cousins behinds, throughout my childhood it was not unheard for someone to be hit with a vegetable.

The most memorable time was when my uncle chased my cousin with an zucchini. She must have done something really bad, probably cursed at him or something and he became so enraged he chased her up their spiral staircase with it in his hand. My cousins and I watched in astonishment as he double-skipped the stairs with a green vegetable big enough to win a prize at a country fair. He was a big man and they had a spiral staircase. I’m still not sure what he had planned on doing with the zucchini. Beat her with it? I doubt he even knew but grabbing the vegetable off the kitchen counter sent an indelible message: Be afraid. His anger knows no bounds.

But he can’t be singled out. Once when my brother, Andre and I were having dinner at my grandparents house, my grandfather was feeding their poodle, Truffy, broccoli from the table. He was a little hard of hearing and my grandmother kept saying, “Mike stop feeding the dog. Stop feeding the dog Mike.” But he didn’t hear her so instead she just took a head of celery and whacked on his bald head. Andre choked on his soup. We knew better to laugh but it was funny. Grandpa look up annoyed and turned to my grandmother who was still holding the celery and asked, “What you do that for?”

I was talking to my mother on the phone and I were going over these stories and she said, “Oh yeah, its nothing, don’t you remember Grandma Connie used to spank you with an ear of corn?”

Uh no.

Check out the April issue of Parents that features my latest story, Every I Learned About Being A Mom. They also ran this cute pic!

My kids live in MiniBoden. The clothes are cool and more important, durable. The knees don’t wear out on the pants as quickly as most and the sizes are roomy enough that they can actually wear a shirt for a year. So even though I should be madly writing a story at this very moment, I could not help but click on the email announcing Boden’s new line, Johnnie B, for teen boys and girls.

Abecrombie is so agressively “hot” and Hollister is so transparently marketed that I’ve never looked forward to having to shop there with the boys. Boden on the other hand is adorable for moms and seemingly cool enough for kids. This tee resonated with me, as did the rest of the pre-washed cozy polos, cargo shorts and jeans. 

There’s another one that says “Let’s start a band” that I doubt many 14-year-olds would wear, but maybe I’m wrong and they’d wear a tee about wanting to be a rockstar before wearing a tee that made their mothers feel like weren’t about to overdose.

Boden’s photography has always been able to capture how you hope your kids will live and play, not just dress. The clothes seem beside the point which is obviously the key to their allure. Given how much I’ve been thinking about Conrad as a teenager lately its reassuring to know that even if he’s still struggling with his intense feelings, he’ll be able to look cool while brooding.

I’ve confessed it to David so I can tell you too: I’m in love with Stephen Drucker, the editor-in-chief of House Beautiful. It’s a one-sided affair. He doesn’t know I exist. Even though I’ve worked in magazines for over a decade, I know better than to pursue a job at House Beautiful because I’m too much of a fan to be able to ever make a coherent sentence around him let alone write or edit stories for him.

Each month when my issue of HB arrives in my mailbox I’m consistently impressed by Mr. Drucker’s ability to take something as ordinary as neutrals or wood and create these gorgeous narratives that change the whole way I look at decorating. But it’s his April editor’s letter that has made me realize just how much not only do I need him, but the whole design world. For those of you who don’t have a subscription, here’s what he said:

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David and I spent much of the storm googling “French Drain” and “water absorbing plants” because our backyard flooded this weekend and water was coming up through the basement floor through small fissures that drenched a rug and some old boxes. We wanted to feel cozy and dry inside but I know inside we both kept wondering how much the storm would end up costing us.

Sunday we headed out to Home Depot for waterproof paint and other leak stopping stuff and we saw all the trees that had crashed into people’s sunrooms and garages and we realized it could have been so much worse. Even the kids stopped complaining about not being able to go outside.

February was a rough month for Conrad. The winter seemed to really get him down. When I’d be tucking him in he’d tell me that something was bugging him and he couldn’t figure out what it was. Unsure of what to do, I’d say something benign like sometimes we all have good days and bad days, but his sadness persisted. As the month wore on he’d tell me that he felt like someone was punching him all the time. I joked that he should punch them back. But that didn’t make him feel better. Then he told me that at recess he wishes he could just go home and lie in his bed. On the night he told me he wished he could just disappear and he knew all his friends wished the same thing, I got worried.

If a 40-year old were to say these things he’d be given a script for Xanax. A friend mentioned that there was a therapist in town who once helped her in a difficult time with amazing results. I called right away to make an appointment. (more…)

Since Dashiell is younger than Conrad’s friends and many of his own for that matter, he gets a lot of hand-me-downs. We make a big deal out of the shopping bags that arrive from friends at playdates. I like to think of it as vintage shopping in celebrities closets; clothes worn by Conrad’s closest friends have a lot of cache. He pulled this outfit together from his vintage collection (Jamie’s vest, Conrad’s Patagonia, Liam’s shorts, Jamie’s boots). I call it Grungey Sport, he calls it awesome.

Accessorizing with 3-D glasses

I love the new linen line Lilly Pulitzer has created for Garnet Hill. But I just don’t think my husband will feel the same way.  The copy reads:

“The life of the party! Taking its cues from a smashing cocktail dress, this hand-quilted bedding adds cheer and elegance to the room. A shot of Palm Beach color and a dash of embellishment mixed with crisp forever-summer white — the perfect blend of fun and fashion — a recipe for a good time!”

It’s pretty convincing, but I can’t help but wonder if we got this bedspread, would he would feel like he was kissing his mom?

This week while walking the dogs I found two dead birds. Yesterday I found a dove and today and owl. They were whole and not bloody. It’s like a taxidermist lost them on his way to work. When I saw the owl, it was right around the time Jess, our babysitter, was picking up the boys at school. I texted her that I had found something I wanted to show her and the boys when they came home, but I didn’t tell her what it was. When she pulled up to the house I jumped in her car and directed her to Dodd Street and Conrad said, “I bet its an owl,” making the whole thing even spookier. When we pulled up to the snow mound with the owl perched on it Dash didn’t want to get out of the car but Conrad did. He walked all around the tree looking for clues about how the owl could have fallen. We couldn’t figure out what happened. Are they related? Is someone or something poisoning them? Is it just the cold? I don’t know but I am wondering if I’ll find another tomorrow.

Tuesday March 2, 3:00 at Glenridge and Forest

Wednesday March 3, 3:15 on Dodd Street.

After getting pummeled with all that snow it was 48 degrees today. The mounds we shoveled high became deep puddles. It was muddy and messy getting the kids to school and the walking the dogs but I’ll take it because reenewal is in the air. At least I hope it is because the winter has been making me, like everyone, irritable and restless and wondering what the hell is really wrong with me—I mean it can’t really just be the cold? Can it? But then the sun came out and the boys asked if they could play outside before dinner and it felt like recovery to just open the door and let them run out. Watching them from the window I noticed that our snowmen and my snowball sculpture had shrunk in the sunshine and it was hard to realize that the storm was only a rumor a week ago. Conrad saw it to and he came in and said, “My frog is dying!” It made me think of the poem that The Writer’s Almanac featured last night Ground Waters, by Alison Apotheker. I had to fight the urge to tell him how much I need his frog snowman to die, in fact  I’m hoping that all the snowmen in town are murdered by more spring-like days.