Words of Advice

Mothers don’t coddle your children
And send them off early to bed
With a sure solid thump
On the back of the rump
And for good measure one round the head

Mothers don’t coddle your children
You may not have chanced to observe it
But they’re up to no good’n
A week without puddin’
They’ve prob’ly done some to deserve it

Mothers don’t coddle your children
And teach them a valuable lesson
If they cuss then they’ll cope
With a mouthwash of soap
That never killed none, so I’m guessing

Mothers don’t coddle your children
And call out their rotten behavior
They may cry and look coy
But it’s all just a ploy
So assure them that they’ll thank you later

Mothers don’t coddle your children
You might think they’ll end up just fine
And call me absurd
Or take in stride my words
But if so then don’t send them to mine


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.


The Fennelly’s Diner

Some couples take vacations. Some have children. My parents opened up a restaurant. Well, I don’t know if that was what they thought would be THEEE THING to save their failing marriage but, in any case, here were these two people who seemingly hated each other, working together every day and going home every night, and now they had something else to fight about.

And fight they did…much to the delight of the many patrons who would line up around the block for our meh manicotti and processed penne. But it wasn’t the food they were coming for, it was the entertainment. And they got their money’s worth. Every night.

I can’t tell you how many times I’d come out of the kitchen, my parents’ hurled obscenities echoing through the dining room. I’d see the dirty looks diners gave each other if clanging silverware disturbed the hush, lest they miss a muffled word and go home without getting the juicy details of the altercation du jour. Other patrons tried to look nonchalant as they crept away from the wall, discreetly putting down the water glass they were holding up to their ear. Then, my parents would emerge, as if on cue, my mother’s tear stained face, my father with mashed potatoes in his hair.

Of course there was no respite to be had at school. Few made any effort to conceal the ever present vicious gossip. My parents’ diner was soon dubbed THEE place to go if you were going to break up with someone. It was said that seeing what a relationship could become made the dumpee feel relieved. One of our dishes was even lovingly nicknamed the It’s Not You It’s Me-atloaf.

Other kids said that my parents’ fighting made their moms and dads feel better about their own imperfect relationships. Chicken blessed. Still others said that the fighting sparked lively debates in their homes about who was right and who was wrong. Devil’s Food Advo-cake.

Well, finally I couldn’t take it anymore. I went home and I told my mother and father how much their fighting was bothering me; how it was ruining my life; how I just couldn’t take it any more. The next day they went out and found a marriage counselor.

Mrs. Stuart taught my parents how to get along better. She taught them yoga poses that would help open up the channels of communication between them. She taught them how to express their feelings in a loving, tactful manner.

My parent’s marriage improved over the next few months but it wasn’t strong enough to survive the closing of the restaurant. Six weeks after the doors locked for the last time, the divorce was finalized. I don’t think they ever completely forgave me either.


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.

A Wrinkle In Reality

“Hello my dearest watchers! Now
I’m sure that you have guessed
We’re back with a new episode of
Who can Mom The Best

Where we attempt to find the finest
Mother in the country
Judged by Frankie Heck, Marge Simpson
And of course Peg Bundy

We’re down to the finale round
Just one can win the trophy
So we remind you ladies you
Were being watched quite closely

Ms. Applebaum you were so close
To having been the winner
But yesterday we saw you serve
Your boy a TV dinner

And when your daughter screamed and screamed
And wore on your last nerve
We thought there was a second when
You looked a bit perturbed

Peggy liked it but Marge thought
You should keep your composure
So I’m afraid your days of Who
Can Mom The Best are over

So now it’s down to Mrs. Stubner
And to Mrs. Macklebee
Only one can win it all
Let’s see who it will be

Stubner we’ve dug through your things
And have reviewed the facts
And saw that you have let your PTA
Membership lapse

And saw on Monday little Joe
Was off on a field trip
But it seems that you never did
Sign the permission slip

Ms. Macklebee a benchmark by
Which all mothers should stand
You rule the roost with vision clear
A firm and steady hand

And time and time again we have
Put your skills to the test
It’s clear you’re this year’s winner of
Who Can Mom the Best!”


So Macklebee would soon enjoy
Her 15 minute fame
Inevitably brought on by a
Reality show reign

Until the meddling media found
A technicality
It seems that she escaped a mental
Health facility

And so investigations ran
And came forth the fact checkers
Who found that her kids actually
Were mid age midget wrestlers


My Mom Will Probably Kill Me

I don’t want to do my homework today
My mom will probably kill me
I don’t care what she say
I know she’ll probably kill me
Luke and Lea
Dragon slayers
Rock n’ roll and
XBox consoles
My mom will probably kill me

I don’t wanna go to school today
My mom will probably kill me
I don’t care what she say
I know she’ll probably kill me
Surf the net
TV set
I just wanna
Listen to Nirvana
My mom will probably kill me

I don’t wanna be good today
My mom will probably kill me
I don’t care what she say
I know she’ll probably kill me
Guess I’m just
If I’m bad or
If I’m good
My mom will probably kill me
I know she’ll probably kill me

This is the first release from my band The CheeseBergens. Hope you enjoy. You can listen to the song for free or if you want to make a donation, all proceeds will be donated to The Rock School Scholarship Fund. http://rockschoolfund.org/ Thanks.


A Bagel for Her Birthday

Twas Anjelica’s 6th birthday as
She woke up from her sleep
Rushed to the breakfast nook so sure
That she would find a treat

A cupcake or a brownie waiting
At the breakfast table
An early morning treat but sadly
‘Stead she found a bagel

Her mother tried to make it cool
A breakfast like no other
And smothered with Nutella even
Added peanut butter

And stuck a candle in the top
As a sweet after thought
But as she saw her daughter’s glare
She knew it was for nought

The mother never lived it down
For still the girl’d persist
“Oh come on mom, a bagel served
For my birthday breakfast?”

Each year that followed the mom went
To sort through cakes and pies
Muffins pastries all the best
That her money could buy

Hoping that that gaping wound
This would somehow salvage
And save her daughter irreparable
Psychological damage

A downward spiral she’d reverse
Here on these shopping trips
Lest the girl bear unfulfilling jobs
And bad relationships

Her daughter’d scarf the treats with glee
As quick as she was able
But nothing stopped her lament of
The birthday breakfast bagel

Then many birthdays came and went
And soon the girl was grown
Considerably well adjusted with
A family of her own

Eve of her daughter’s birthday twas
About to go to sleep
It dawned on her that she’d forgot
To buy a breakfast treat

She scoured pantries cabinets and
Still came up with nothing
When in the freezer she did spy
One single English muffin….

For Anjelica on her 9th birthday! Happy Birthday my little Jeli Bean!


Skeletons In My Closet

I think your honor once you have
Reviewed the evidence
You’ll clearly see that what I did
Was more than self defense

I ordered her a pizza special
Toppings meant to please
The little brat just sat and sobbed
And said ‘ I don’t like cheese!’

She nearly broke the Xbox ‘fore
Defiantly deciding we
Should buy a new controller that’s
More suited to her liking

Nothing made her happy
She cried she moaned she grieved
But when I said it’s time to go
She didn’t want to leave

I called her mom and asked when she
Was coming to retrieve her
But she ignored my texts I guess
She didn’t want her either

And with my options very slim
I thought wise to deposit
Her in the dank and cobwebbed depths
Of my dark storage closet

She needn’t had to feel alone
I’m pretty sure she knew
The others that were stored in there
Like Mary, Beth and Sue

Amongst those who had misbehaved
When they had come to play
Thought they’d have fun it seemed the cops
Did not see it this way

So sentence me an unfit host
For these friends of my daughter
Clearly I’m in need of help
And a restraining order

Slap on the cuffs my guilty plea
Resigns me to my fate
But I’d choose to rot in prison than
To face one more playdate

This is a mainly true account of what happened to me this weekend.



Fifteen pairs of underwear
Left on the bedroom floor
Fourteen items I forgot
To pick up from the store

Thirteen times reminding you
About tomorrow’s plans
Twelve frenzied calls from freeways cause
I don’t know where I am

Eleven times of coming home
From a day from hell
Ten TV dinners eaten that
Did not heat up too well

Nine times I asked “the garbage out?”
You claimed you didn’t hear
Eight peanut butter Oreos
That somehow disappeared

Seven days complaining that
I’ve got nothing to wear
Six drains that need plumbing since
They’re clogged up with my hair

Five neighbors pissed because we are
Rehearsing on their heads
Don’t forget the four in-laws
I think that’s enough said

About three dumpsters worth of junk
That have since accrued
The two monkeys that lie around
And eat up all our food

And then one other sleepless night
Spent listening to you snore
But I love you darling
So here’s to 15 more

For my husband on our Anniversary!

Inspired with the help of Dina over at Wine and Cheese Doodles and her post 15 to Life.


From Out of The Hands Of Babes

The paper placed into your hands
The picture that she drew
And luckily stops to explain
“Look mommy, it’s you!”

My mouth is in a rictus grin
My eyes bulge either way
I look like Gary Busey might when
It’s a bad hair day

My sweater doesn’t match my pants
So much to my remorse
I might be out walking the dog
Or strangling a small horse

My breasts look a bit like Maxine’s
My nose a bit like Shrek
It seems a great misfortune I
Was born without a neck

A building coming to my knees
Completes a lovely vision
So it seems I suffer from
A case of gigantism

I note Hamburger Helper hands
Perhaps just a tad bigger
Which looks obscene when juxtaposed
With my girlish stick figure

My girl looks up expectantly
Fixed with an impish grin she
Clearly does know me all too well
“At least I made you skinny.”