Okay so its 6:30 and my very nearly 10 year old and my 7 year old are in bed—asleep because I sent them there. I didn’t know where else they could go after being so relentessly flip, so “no I’m not going to wash my hands”, so “yeah I’m going to expect something in my advent calendar and still not listen you tell me to put my homework in my backpack,” for the third—no fourth time.

They were doing nothing and so they were doing everything—wrong. And  I know they were hungry, and tired. I know Dash didn’t get enough time at recess. I know Conrad was home sick and on an Advil high.

But the more I  tired to redirect them by saying things like ” It looks like you need a job, go walk the dog,” or “Help me set the table,” the more rolling around on the floor there was, the more snickering and giggling and secret jokes there were between them. I refused to “get mad” to raise my voice as in the olden days of when they were 5 and 3. Instead I removed myself I told them I wasn’t going to have a dinner where people weren’t listening, or respecting me. I told them I was going to Hawaii… (more…)

I probably get my tendency to think long-term from my mother. She is always thinking ahead—I mean way ahead, like to her funeral. I know all her burial plans: She doesn’t want a wake, just a party; she doesn’t want a grave, just a big hydrangea bush instead. At 72, she can outsmoke Mad Men’s Roger Sterling, but despite her habit, she’s in very good health. Death, however, still lurks in every conversation. When I called her last week, our conversation started about a leak in her bathroom and ended with her saying she should sell the house because if my dad were to drop dead, she didn’t want to be in an old house worrying about a leaking bathroom. Her concerns are valid, but they also depress me, and I end up calling her less.

This week I let the calls slide by five days but it wasn’t just because I didn’t want to hear her stories I had my own Debbie Downer tales. Our vet thinks Chewie has liver cancer or Cushings disease both not cureable illnesses in a dog that’s 15. David and I have been annoying each other, so much so that when our voices pick up Conrad or Dashiell or both will say, “Okay guys, not everything has to be a fight.” Then the kids didn’t have school so I missed a day of work. Then I went on the fourth grade field trip to Sandy Hook and that night I served a bunch of homeless folks dinner at my church and then we had soccer and went to the maker faire where I got officially reprapped out… and then it was Monday I was driving home with Dashiell after his first drumming lesson and 24 balloons in my car for Stacie’s birthday and I decided to call her.

Immediately I could hear in her voice that she was annoyed. When my mom is angry but trying to be cool about it she stretches out her hello to sound like hellllllnooo.  The emphasis is on the hell part as in I‘ve put her through hell by not calling and she drops her voice down a notch for the noooo part as in no you are not going to be able to make it up to me. I immediately apologized and also told her Dashiell was in the car so she knew she was on speaker. We talked a bit but with a kid listening in we found we couldn’t really talk about why I hadn’t called or what we were planning for Christmas (a constant topic of ours) so I told her I’d call her later.

Later came at 9:30 while walking the dogs. We had a kooky night because I lingered over a drink with stacie and her balloons so dinner was late and when I got home we found out that Conrad had a math test and Dash had also had homework which he did in his bed at 8:00 in tears because he didn’t have time to play and Chewie had peed on the floor and thrown up and….I was the one calling with a story sequence of sad, sadder and saddest.

I was launching into all the reasons I hadn’t called: the field trip,  having to heat each meal individually in the microwave Friday night because the stove didn’t work and one of the men got so upset he was hitting himself on the head which was upsetting the other guests and now the vet thinks it’s Cushings which is actually better than cancer because there’s a drug but it may be super expensive and then I hear a clacking and banging and clacking and thumping.

My mom dropped the phone.

It takes at least three more clacks, and whirrs (the cord perhaps) and a little ding of the phone until she is back on.

“I dropped the phone,” she says.

“I know,” I say.

I’m about to launch right back into a rant about Conrad’s new nasty science teacher when I hear clang, ding, bang fumble fumble fumble again.

It takes a minute, but she’s back.

“I dropped it again,” she say.

“I know.” I start talking but I something’s not right she sounds really far away.

“You sound really far away mom. Is the phone okay?”

“Yes. It’s fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, its fine I’m here,” she says but it sounds like the phone is still on the floor and she’s talking into it while lying on the bed.

“I really can’t hear you…”

“Wait wait I know why, you can’t hear me. I’m holding the phone upside down.”

And there it is a contagious crazy moment between us. Me under a tree on the corner and her in her room with cigarette smoke and TMC in the background laughing so hard, I almost have to pee and I know really need to call my mother more often.

My story about going beyond bake sales with kids is in the November issue of Parents. All these ideas are easy and make everyone feel good.

If you don’t know about it already Parents is running 100 Days of Holidays, a newsletter packed with cute and  clever ways to celebrate all the holidays that fall between the first day of school and New Years.

I wrote up a post on a few silly ways to spook your kids out— it’s all in good fun. By the 10th prank you start to think I’m a little crazy, but I’m not suggesting you do them all. There are some for really little kids and some for big kids. My faves are the skull eggs and bacon (above) and tying a plastic skeleton to a dining room chair to freak them out when you call them to the dinner table.

Try one and let me know how it goes or share some of your best Halloween pranks. We are very pro-prank household so we’re open to anything.

The best prank every played on me was in 1981 when I was in the 7th grade. My dad had picked me and my friend Adrienne Johnson up from a Halloween party at Nancy Hargrave’s house in Lloyd Harbor. From a 7th grade perspective the party was “amazing” the boys brought Lacrosse sticks and eggs and chased all the girls through open fields in a nature reserve lobbing eggs in our direction. We retaliated with hiding in bushes and staging surprise attacks with silly string and shaving cream. Teenage dream, right?

But it was after the party that was the most memorable. As I said my dad picked me and Adrienne up and on the way home he made an unexpected detour and suggested we check out a graveyard high up on a hill. We drove down some winding roads, got out and parked and wandered through the graveyard, finding people who died on our birthdays and getting genuinely creeped out.  At one point we realized that my dad was no longer with us. We walked through the graveyard calling his name, but he didn’t respond. We kept calling but there was nothing. Nothing for a long time and our laughing turned to pleading. We were deep into the graveyard at this point and  I’m pretty sure Adrienne was on the verge of tears when my dad suddenly jumped out behind an gravestone shouting Booooooooooooo!!

We screamed and cried and laughed and I don’t think I’ve loved anyone as much as I loved my dad that night.

If you’re looking for a new fall coat, you’ve got lots of cute options. Check out my round up of the newest trends and mini slide show on USA Today Weekend.

To be clear it was a sprint. 1/4 swim. 10 mile bike ride. 5k run.

Team Monclair at 6:30 in the morning. If I look tense and cold it’s because I was. There was a D.J. playing Queen so that was reassuring.

My transition spot. I tried to make it intimidating for all the tough mudders and seasoned triathletes. I was wise enough to take my basket off my bike before the big day.

Post race bliss. My time was 1.35 15 sec. I was able to run each of the three miles in 9.59 seconds. My swim was something like 13 minutes and my bike 45 min and then there’s all the transitions. Must work on getting my socks on faster! But we were happy and glowing and glad  and after the triathlon we started a marathon of drinking.

For weeks now, my husband, David, has been asking me, “Are you okay?” before we kiss each other good-bye at the train station. Then when we come home in the evening, he’ll look at me, rub my back and gently inquire, “Was your day okay?” And later, while we’re brushing our teeth, he’ll look at me in the mirror and say something like, “You know I love you, right?”

It was driving me nuts. Was I being especially snarky? Bitchy? Throwing myself on the bed and sighing? No, I was not. Really I wasn’t.

I couldn’t figure out what I was doing to make David think I was upset until I caught a glimpse of my reflection while Windexing the bathroom mirror. I realized that when I am focused on doing something, I look really pissed off. Almost a scored Earth kind of state and suddenly it hit me: He thinks I’m unhappy because my Botox has worn off.

Apparently, I’m not the only one whose furrowed brow sets off alarm bells among family members. In a recent interview, Kelly Ripa revealed that she knows it’s time to see her dermatologist when her brood looks nervous around her. “If my kids start asking me if I’m mad at them, I’ll say, ‘Why do you think I’m mad at you?’ They’ll say it’s because I’m frowning. I go, ‘Oh, no! I am? And I get Botox injected right here, right into my forehead as quickly as possible!”

Any dermatologist will tell you Botox is the most efficient way to smooth wrinkles in order to look younger, but while many women get injections take five years off their face, Botox delivers another, more important unexpected benefit. A few units can do more than make wrinkles disappear; it can make you look content with your life. Like many women, I don’t look “wrinkly” as I age. My furrowed brown just makes me look annoyed—regardless of how I really feel.

I realized I can start to see Botox less of an anti-aging treatment and more of an anti-anxiety treatment, for myself and for my family. Because when the wife and/or mom looks unhappy, the whole family is unhappy. I know it sounds like I’m being hyperbolic, but I’m not. I mean it: The secret to a happy family life may not be scheduling in more quality time, therapy or Xanax—just the occasional injection to reassure loved ones that everything is alright.

I hate it when David and I get into a fight but there’s a strange upshot: I get a lot of stuff done. We weren’t talking for a bit so instead I:

1. Made dinner at 8:30 am so that I wouldn’t have to worry about it later. 2. Put on a load of laundry. 3. Drove to Middle Island, Long Island from Montclair (and back) to buy a drum set for Dashiell from a couple who are clearly drum set hoarders. 4. Knew better than to ask if I could use their bathroom before the two-hour drive home and tried not too look or touch anything at the Sunoco station when I finally found a place to go. 5.Went to Party City to buy most of Dashiell’s birthday supplies. 6.Came home and did another load of laundry and folded and put away the first load.7. Cleaned out all the stuff for the Salvation Army so there would be a good space for the drum set. 8. Carried the drum set down to the basement and hid it under a sheet. I’m so tricky! 9. Took out all the recycling. 10. Loaded the car with all the stuff for the Salvation Army. 11. Wrote up two story pitches and a quick, quick blog. 12. Emailed David’s mom and sister. 13. Dealt with dinner: Fed the kids. Unloaded dishwasher. Cleaned up dinner. Made sure their was food for David. 14. Ordered the boys new lunch boxes after they told me how little time they had a lunch, Conrad actually almost started to cry, so maybe if they don’t have to wait in line they’ll have more time. 15. Played Dominos with them after dinner. 16. Walked the dogs. 17.Went to CVS. 18. Listened to Terry Gross interview with Andrew Rannells and realized it was the second time today I felt envious of a 30-year-old male actor who is gay. 19. Did another load of laundry. Folded and put away the second one. 20. Created a draft of Dashiell’s Evite for his class birthday.  21. Cursed Evite when I forgot to save and had to redo it again, along with the 27 class email addresses. 21. Walked the dogs. 22. Folded and put away the last load of laundry. 23. Read 27 pages  in my book. 24. Wrote this.

These tasks roll off like an itemized receipt from Target and even though it all needed to be done, I feel guilty, just like I do after $200 Target run. I only needed to do one thing, in this case that would have to muster up the energy to apologize, but in the same way I lose my focus in the aisles of “Greatland” I got distracted and ended up doing all other things instead.

This morning, after a lovely game of dominos with Conrad and Dash we had to hustle to the bus. I guess I hustled a little too much because when I came home and kicked off my shoes I noticed I was wearing two different flip-flops!

We packed Conrad’s school supplies today in his messenger bag. His school asks that you buy communal supplies for the whole year  to be shared with the whole class and doled out when needed. I actually missed that in the intro graph of the welcome to 4th grade letter, so I let him pick out everything in the colors that he liked and then when we realized that all the stuff we bought for him was going to be distributed to the kids in his class I could see that he was annoyed.  I tried to spin it into a feel good moment about being part of a community and we how support each other, “Who knows maybe someone bought cooler folders!”  Here’s what was we’ve been asked to bring in to share:

Two 1-subject notebooks

Five black marble composition books

Boxes of Ticronderoga pencils

Post-it notes (at least six pads)

6 two-pocket Poly folders

Two dry erase markers in black

3 each red, green, purple pens

1 pack 3×5 index cards

1 pack wide ruled loose-leaf notebook paper

1 three-ring-binder.

Tissues.

Clorox Wipes.

His backpack weighs about 27 pounds. I’m not exaggerating.

He went to bed at 9:15 asking if he could stay up just a little bit longer because it’s the last night of summer vacation. After tomorrow, he’ll schlep into his new classroom with all those supplies along with the burden of his attitude toward school, which is pretty heavy for a 9-year-old. He vacillates between school being an inconvenience in the morning to deadpan ambivalence by the time he gets off the bus in the afternoon. It depresses me that he has such little enthusiasm for school but he has his reasons.

Since first grade he has been getting extra help through the resource room and he leaves for math and writing and while every teacher, guidance counselor, social worker and principal in the child study team meetings assures me that there isn’t a stigma about leaving the class, that the other kids wish they could skip out of room, I know  it makes him feel weird and less than his peers. He knows that other kids know that there’s some unspoken reason he slips out for a period or two and very few children want to be seen as mysterious in the elementary school.

This year, he would only need to leave for writing but I got a call today that said because of schedule conflicts he would need to either miss science and social studies in order to see his resource room teacher for writing or he could have extra support in the class. Naturally, the idea of him missing any subjects seemed absurd and the in-class support seemed convenient at first, until I pictured how it was going to work in the class and then my heart broke a little.

I told the school social worker that having an aid hovering over Conrad throughout writing and reading workshop is practically a guarantee that his ambivalence towards school will turn to anger. Here’s a child who is sensitive about slipping in and out of a class unnoticed and now he’s going to have a teacher come into the room and pull up a chair to work exclusively with him. I know some parents only wish their child could have this kind of attention, but trust me your kid doesn’t.

My solution: I’ve requested that his aid take a rather discreet approach to helping Conrad. The idea is for her to work with him as well as anyone else who might need help, so as to appear she’s not there exclusively for him. I know its seems like I’m going great lengths to spare him embarrassment but I figure we can treat this like the communal supplies. She can spread her help around the room and maybe this is the year Conrad will get what wants: a feeling of nothing special.