Tag Archives: mom

Food pusher

I was raised in the South by amazing home cooks.

The food may not have been the best for us, but it tasted better than anything I’ve found in my travels.

We used to call my mother and her sisters “food pushers” because they were always encouraging us to eat more.

Another taste. Another serving.  Heck, in some cases, another meal.

I had a flashback to those food pushers this morning when I was sitting on the floor, trying to get my dog Rory to eat.


When he rejected his wet food, I added chicken. When he tired of the chicken, I gave him treats. When he finished the treats, I handed him the wet food again.

Anything to get him to eat a decent-sized meal.

Old dogs are the best, but they’re not the best eaters. — Mama Dog food pusher

I hear voices

I had appointment after appointment today, so I was walking through the streets of Manhattan for hours….which meant I overheard a lot of chatter.

My favorites were between kids and their parents.

overheardEAVESDROP #1

Child: Mom, can I get a smoothie?

Mom: I don’t have any money.

Child: Well, can’t we just buy some?


Child: …we saw Adrian afterwards.

Grandmother: It’s nice that he lives close by.

Child: Yes, right by the sewer.


Child in Stroller: Woo Woo Woo Woo Woo Woo…

Dad: Do you simply have to be heard all the time?

Child: (silence) Yes. Woo Woo Woo Woo
You’re welcome.

Have a seat

It’s a running gag in television shows and movies —

Dad’s ugly recliner

It often has seen better days, no longer fitting in with Mom’s decorating updates inspired by HGTV. And when Dad sees it, Dad sits in it. And stays.

Oh, the hilarity that the average sitcom has mined from that age-old dynamic. It’s funny ’cause it’s true.

If you remember that chair–or, more tragically, still have that chair sitting in your home and rue the day–perhaps this recliner will help you realize…


It could be a lot worse.


When I was home for Christmas last December, my three nephews were joking about the perils of having their mom and aunts on Facebook and Twitter.

They just never know when we may chime in on something they post.

i love my auntToday I drove that point home.

I was stuck on the computer all day, working on a project with a tight deadline.  When I needed a break, I would check Twitter; my nephew Nathaniel had just posted something every time.

So did I.

Each time I commented on his tweet or posted a tweet in reply, I added the hashtag #AuntsonTwitter.  We chatted back and forth for quite a while, having a great time…or so I thought.  Then he posted his own hashtag —


Whatever do you think it means??!?!

Worth the price

Next month, I celebrate four years in New York City.

It’s a very happy anniversary for me.

I started planning my move to Manhattan when I was nine years old.  I wanted to bring the entire family here.  I figured I would help defray the significantly higher living expenses by acting on TV.  I even practiced by getting really dirty in our backyard vegetable garden and doing Tide and Cheer commercials in the living room.  “Hot. Warm. Cold. All-tempa Cheer.”

My Mom was a great audience.

As it turned out, I was a great deal older than nine when I made New York City my home…but I did make it.  And when I travel, people often ask about the difficulty of living in a city with the 9/11 tragedy in its past and future terrorist activity almost a future certainty.

I’ll admit, I don’t think about it on a daily basis.  And the recent Times Square bomb attempt — and subsequent scare yesterday — made me realize that, even when it happens, I don’t focus on it.  I hear it about it on the news.  Read about it online.  Chat about it with a neighbor.  But it doesn’t affect my day-to-day life in my neighborhood (unless it snarls traffic).

It’s like one of my favorite quotes from the tearjerker “Steel Magnolias”:  “I’d rather have three minutes of wonderful than a lifetime of nothing special.”

If I only get three minutes, I’ll take my mine in Manhattan.