I Have Nothing to Say. Really.

My life is a complete blur of tanned skin, free drinks at happy hour and children swimming in the pool in their ducky flotation rings, joyfully singing “Jingle Bells”.

I barely remember what my life in New York was really like; what I did every day, all the important things I remember I had to get done. It’s like New York was a decade ago and I am marooned on a tropical paradise and my biggest decision is whether to use SPF 15 or 30.


What happened to that woman who managed to pull one child off the other as they pummeled each other senseless, negotiated who should have the sparkly princess wand and who should have the sparkly princess crown, shamelessly and brazenly gossiped about the neighbors that I barely know, pulled together three home-cooked meals a day and wrote stuff that people actually wanted to read? Where is all that hair-raising conflict that I am so famous for? God, I haven’t been to a grocery store with my kids in like years. I haven't even yelled at a store clerk in recent memory.


I have become the dullest person on the planet. Could someone pass me another Daquiri, please? And a little lotion on my back. Right there. Thanks.


As I was saying, barely a day goes by where I make it out of my bikini. It’s brutal around here. I just wanted you to know that I may need an intervention from my friends and readers.

But not right now. Really, a little later.


As you can see we have a semi-unnatural relationship to a bright yellow hammock on the beach. There is a lot of lying about going on. I leave you with these images in lieu of creativity and brilliant writing.

xxoo YM


PS: I did pull myself together enough to write a column for Imperfect Parent. I wrote a manifesto against box macaroni and cheese. I did it during one of my brief moments of sobriety. Please read it so I can feel whole again...