Playdate Chicken

The time was exactly 4:56 and 43 seconds on Friday July 22. Mrs. Kleinfeld had one hand on the stem of her glass, the other on the neck of a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. She willed the hands of the clock to move faster. After the week she had, she needed sweet oblivion at any cost.

It was at that time that Little Ignatia skipped into the kitchen. “What are we doing this weekend?” Ignatia asked. Mrs. Kleinfeld looked into her daughter’s big blue eyes and somehow knew she was not going to take “Sleeping as late as possible and recovering from a hangover” as an answer. “We’ll see baby,” she said. Ignatia seemed to accept this answer as she skipped away.

This exchange caused Mrs. Kleinfeld to seriously consider her original plan and it was then that she came up with a great idea. If she could arrange a playdate for Ignatia perhaps she could sleep on the couch while Ignatia and her friend played. She texted Mrs. Cornheiser.

Hi Mrs. Cornheser! Is Annabelle available tomorrow? I was thinking that maybe we could get the girls together for a playdate.

That sounds terrific! Do you think that they would like to go to the zoo? I have year round passes.

Yes, I’m sure Ignatia would love that!

Mrs. Kleinfeld could not believe it. She had hit the golden ticket of playdates! Mrs. Cornheiser was going to take Ignatia to the zoo while leaving Mrs. Kleinfeld to throw up into the toilet to her heart’s content. Then the next text came.

Why don’t you come meet us at 10AM by the front gate?

Mrs. Kleinfeld’s heart sunk. Was she expected to accompany them to the zoo? She could think of no more hideous of a way to spend her Saturday afternoon. But what could she do? She couldn’t very well say that she would only accept the invitation for Ignatia on the condition that she be able to stay home and nurse her sure to be aching head. She had to think fast.

Sure, but you know, with the lines and all…maybe we should meet at 9.

Oh yes, didn’t even think of the lines, maybe 8 is even better!

Was this woman crazy? Was she actually thinking of getting there at 8AM? Maybe, maybe not, but that was a chance Mrs. Kleinfeld wasn’t willing to take. She decided to switch tactics.

Sounds good. Maybe we should also invite Little Bertie Kaminsky!

Ha! Take that Mrs. Cornheiser! Nobody liked that little glue eater.

Oh, that would be great! Maybe we should also invite the Rodriguez triplets?

How about we just invite their entire 3rd grade class?

Sure, and how about their teacher Mrs. Lipshitz as well?

Great!I love Mrs. Lipshitz.

Mrs. Kleinfeld could hardly believe what she had just written. She didn’t even think Mrs. Lipshitz’s mother loved Mrs. Lipshitz. But she was seriously getting in over her head now. She was 2 zip in the bottom of the ninth, whatever that meant, and she needed another tactic. Back to her phone she went.

I think we should pack a picnic too!

Okay, I’ll bring along some sushi in my cold and hot super duper cooler heater thingamabob!

Oh no, I’ll just whip up some filet mignon and serve it in mini sandwiches with the crusts cut off!

Okay, see you then.

Now Mrs. Kleinfeld really needed a glass of wine. She gulped the first one down and then poured herself another. She went to sit and think about how she was going to get herself out of this one. She could not show up…but then she considered all the times she would have to hide in the bushes to avoid awkward conversations in the schoolyard. Would it be worth it? Perhaps…

It was then that Ignatia skipped back into the room. The sight of her carrying on her own dialogue between two of her Barbie dolls caused Mrs. Kleinfeld’s heart to sink. She knew it was time to put on her big girl boots. She took to her phone once again.

Hi Mrs. Cornheiser! It’s me again. Something’s come up for tomorrow morning. Do you think you can just bring Annabelle by at 1:00 tomorrow afternoon?

Better make it 2.


Mommy and Daddy Worship Satan


I hoped they wouldn’t notice but
My friends suspicion’s roused
They ask me why I never let them
Come play at my house
It looks as if I may have to
Invite them to my home
And pray dad doesn’t greet then when
He’s wearing his black robe

The coast is clear they wonder what
The worry on my face meant
When suddenly a chanting starts
To rise up from the basement
Why can’t I be a normal kid
It’s so much less complex
To say I think it’s just my mom
And father having sex

My mother says “I guess I just
Don’t get your generation”
And that’s what life is like when mom
And daddy worship Satan.

And before I know it they
Are running to explore
And follow the odd noises that
Are coming from the floor
And soon they find my parents
In their favorite recreation
Conjuring up spirits in
An evil incantation

And daddy says “Oh visitors
Well isn’t that just nice?”
I hope he doesn’t think them virgins
To be sacrificed
But mom ignores my gestures and
She sports an evil grin her
Mouth waters as she says “We’re happy
To have you for dinner!”

I fear they will accept her offer
And agree to stay
Do they not know she means to have them
As the main entree?
I’m just about to tell them run
But briefly I think twice
A break from eye of newt and toe
Of frog would sure be nice

My mother says “I guess I just
Don’t get your generation”
And that’s what life is like when mom
And daddy worship Satan.

This is the second single release from my family band The CheeseBergens. I actually wrote this as a poem some months back and edited it a bit for the song version. Hope you enjoy! Also, if you care to make a donation, all proceeds will go directly to The Rock School Scholarship Fund.

Going Coastal

Name’s Howie Quark water park cop
Shame so few feel the beauty
Of what it takes oiling the brakes
As I report to duty

My job’s not for the weak of heart
But for more rugged sorts
And tows the line sharp as the crease
In my Bermuda shorts

For if you’re in my line of work
You must be strong and brave
To battle what lies neath the depths
That lurk at Wally Waves

Like yesterday we had a near
Fatal emergency
What we here in the biz might call
A class 21c

A large man gets caught in the tube
I say that is some issue
I do not break but calmly call
“We’re gonna need the Crisco”

And no guests reel upon the rides
Reeking of gin and scotch
No one vomits on the Tiki
Tundra On my watch

And no sweat breaks out on my brow
Nor do I lose my cool
As children wash up on the shores
Of Wanda Wink’s wave pool

I fish out Little Timmy’s arm from
The drain in the showers
I see it’s about so much more
Than the 12 bucks an hour

For as we mop rank puddles up
And as the last guest leaves
The manager near meets my eye
And tells me “Nice job Steve”

I wipe a final bit of snot
From ‘neath the Splashy Slide
And sprinkle in the water one more
Drop of cyanide

Inspired by my weekend trip to Great Wolf’s Lodge (a water park resort).


Prince Albert In A Can

I want to make prank phone calls that
Are so clever and cunning
Call my teacher up to ask if her
Refrigerator’s running

I could call my mother’s boss up and
While trying not to snicker
Confirm an order with his wife for
A Mexican stripper

Or ring best friend’s sister, oh
I surely could be wicked
When she hears that she happened to win
Some One Direction tickets

Or tell someone’s old grandma that
They won a dream vacation
Or survey random strangers for
Their private information

Breath heavy in the mouth piece when
They pick up for the call
Or just hang up not having said
A single word at all

Or play recorded pieces of
Two people having sex
Or make my voice demonic and
Say to the phone “You’re next!”

I want to make prank phone calls
And be rolling on the floor
Just like my mom and auntie did
So many years before

I want to make prank phone calls
Oh, how fun it seemed to be
Before those stupid voice mails and
Dumb old caller ID.


Ode To Frank

Oh Frank you were a horrid soul
Behind the blinds you hid
Your winter years you did devote
To frightening our kids

Lumb’ring round the apartment like
Some great barbaric ape
The wide girth of your belly peeking
Through bathrobe agape

The lawn was public prop’ty yet
You warned them not to play
So menacing your words and looks
Our own dreadful cliche

You claimed it did disturb your work
Although I am quite sure
You must have been retired now
100 years or more

And sometimes with a camera there
I saw you taking pics
Innocent young limbs all stolen
By your subtle clicks

So who knows what was really studied
When on the computer
Your thinking as kids ran for fear
From your motorized scooter

But theories and assumptions quickly
Replaced by amazement
When yesterday I saw your place is
Now blissfully vacant

Imagine how the children sang
So long they’d been denied
They cheered and danced as if the wicked
Witch herself had died

They excavated worms, cartwheeled
Rejoiced like it was Christmas
As I thought of your face if you
Were only there to witness

This little plot of land you did
Unwillingly bequeath
And what a fitting fate to find you
6 feet underneath.


Stupid of the Shrapnel Elevator

I say now wouldn’t it be grand
If we all could form band
Think of what they’ll say in school
They’ll probably think we’re really cool

We’ll go on all kinds of dates
And maybe get to second base
All we need is a cool foursome
And I’ll sing because I’m awesome

No one’s volunteered so far
So you can play the lead guitar
For our rockin’ entourage
If we can jam in your garage

And, what’s that? Can you say ew?
Stephen wants to join up too?
I hear he’s weird and he eats paste
Okay he can play the bass

My little bro rounds out the band
He cries and beats on pots and pans
And besides I’m pretty sure
That he can even count to four

And we’re soon to achieve fame
Once we have a cool band name
Straight from Band Name Generator
‘Stupid of the Shrapnel Elevator’

And now that we’re official rockers
We’ll graffiti the school lockers
Hang in halls without our passes
Refuse to remove our sunglasses

Wear all black and act like rebels
Say that we worship the devil
Bug our moms till they relent
And buy expensive instruments

That will all look really cute
We’ll pose with them in photo shoots
And we’ll be well prepared the day
We actually learn how to play.


A Home Of One’s Own

I walk into the house today,
I can’t believe my eyes,
For once upon my entering,
I’m pleasantly surprised.

The boy sits at the work desk,
He’s all done for the day,
He proudly shows me his report,
All marked with red A’s.

The little girl is sitting there,
In her tiny play seat,
She talks to her dolls quietly,
Her room is nice and neat.

So with the kids behaving,
I decide I should go on,
With tomorrow’s preparations,
To find they have been done.

And dinner simmers on the stove,
It comes along just fine,
To be done to perfection at,
Precisely dinner time.

And with all going swimmingly,
I come to the deduction,
That I’m safe to have ‘Me Time’,
With little interruption.

When a dark foreboding shadow,
Disturbs me from my peace,
I look up to see a figure,
Looking less woman than beast.

From deep within my relaxed state,
With screaming she does rouse,
“I tell you for the last time,
Get the hell out of my house!!”


Kids Say The Darnedest Things!

I ask my kids a bunch of things,
Do cats have thoughts? Do fish have wings?
Do spirits live when bodies die?
All they say is, “I like pie.”

I ask my kids for their opinions,
Question their assignments given,
Ask them the who’s and where’s and why’s,
All they say is, “I like pie.”

All this drives me to frustration,
As I see this communication’s,
Just meant to drive me up a wall,
And they don’t like pie at all.


The Kids Will All Write

Ever since I started blogging I’ve been driving my family crazy. I follow my husband around, iPhone in hand, reading him my poetry from the drafts in my email account. Often times this is when he is trying to get ready for work. Or in the shower. Or on the toilet. For some reason, unfathomable to me, he seems a bit annoyed by this.

My 11 year old son, on the other hand, is a much better sounding board. He listens attentively, and finds my poems just as hilarious as I do. Not only that, but he is genuinely concerned about the response my blogs get. And, if I follow your blog on a regular basis, chances are he’s read one or two of yours as well (age appropriate, of course).

But lest you think my son is some kind of goody two shoes who heads the Dean’s List and runs for school council, he is not. Although my son has above average intelligence, his grades often teeter on the wrong side of a B average, all due to a lack of passion and work ethic.

When I suggested my son do a guest blog for me, I thought it would be met with all the enthusiasm of reading a ‘Fun with Mathematics’ text book over the weekend. But I was wrong. Instead my son bombarded me with questions; what should he write? when should he write it? when would I publish it?

I am not much of one for participating in or suggesting challenges, or that a blog with my meager following will be able to sustain this, but if you have or know a kid who writes, and want to publish it, let me know about it, in comments or a link to any blog, and I will reblog it. Artwork is welcome too. This is about getting our kids writing and welcoming a new generation of bloggers.

I am publishing my sons guest blog, ‘Stupidity Is Infectious’, in conjunction with this one. I ask you all, shamelessly, to please come out and support it. You won’t be disappointed. Thanks.


In the meantime, please enjoy my daughter’s artwork (A.B. age 7)

sTupiditie iSs infFectious (Guest Blog)

This is a guest blog written by my 11 year old son as part of the “The Kids Will All Write” challenge:  

Hello. I’m Jesse, son of the (in)famous Rock ‘n’ Roll Supermom. Have you noticed that a lot of people that you see around you have a really bad case of the stupids?

Let’s start with the kids:

At my school, I have met kids who act as if they surely must have negative IQ points. For example, any time they see a boy and a girl together, they automatically think, “Oooohhh, they’re in loooove,” and then insist on “spying” on them for no particular reason, other than to just be buttholes.

Also, they will find any way possible to make something sound dirty (ex: “I had to do it”).

And worst of all when ever they’re mad, they come up with the worst ideas you have ever heard of, like,” I’m going to make the biggest gang ever, and then when he comes begging to join it, I’ll say no, and see how he likes it.” I mean, why would anyone join  a gang just to make some kid they know nothing about jealous? But as embarrassingly stupid kids can be, adults can be idiotic too.

The first of these idiots was a woman I saw at a gas station. She had parked her car the wrong way, which I’m sure most people have done. However she, instead of moving her car, spent the next 666 seconds trying to get the nozzle to the other side of the car.

I also saw another woman at a Wendy’s. She went over to the soda machine, and put her cup under the spout, and sat there waiting. It was another few minutes until she realized that she had to push the lever to get the soda to come out.

And finally, quite possibly the one with the worst case of the stupids, was a man I saw at a fro-yo place. My family and I were eating, right by the window, when this guy comes to the door. He then starts to push on the door, which he was supposed to pull on, which I’m sure almost everyone has done. The stupid part is, that, instead of trying to pull on it, he stopped, stared at all of the people who were eating in there, tried to push it some more, and then gave up and left.

So, do you have the stupids? Symptoms may include pointing out anything that sounds remotely inappropriate, not being able to get soda from soda machines, losing your ability to open doors, and, the number one sign, acting like me.