There is a newspaper article just out that says that the average mom does the job of 23 professionals. I think that’s a modest estimate in my opinion. In fact, I think that any woman out there, with or without kids that lives with a man wears a large variety of hats. By the mere fact that we can multi-task means we have about eighteen balls in the air at any given time.

This study that was conducted said that the average mother starts ‘working’ at 7:16 and ends the workday at 8:41. Kind of random times, but I think they were being a bit modest on that as well. I mean most women are organizing and planning even as they lay in bed at night...when we’re alone of course. When our partners are there, we’re 100% paying attention to you. We are, I swear.

So the article did not list what professions in detail aside from a few obvious ones (cook, accountant, maid etc), but I feel bold enough, as a fellow woman and new mother to add to that list. I mean, okay we’re cooks, but we’re also dishwashers and sous chefs. You see, I’m talking about the minutiae that most forget about. A chef in a restaurant has helpers; he has a line who does the nitty gritty thankless jobs that no one wants. But women, well, we are all about the nitty gritty and if we want thanks, we're going to be waiting a long long time. You see, we don’t just cook the meal, we shop, chop, wash, dry and put away. Yes, we get help along the way – although 7 out of 10 of women in this study said they wish their partner would help more – but the help is usually under tight direction and supervision, for good reason. 

We’re also explorers and private detectives – as we often have to go hunting for that missing elusive item, i.e. the stray sock, the pair of nail clippers, the *#(@&(#@) keys or cell phone that one’s partner cannot seem to keep track of.  We’re counselors, actually scratch that, we’re psychiatrists because we administer medication and we’re nurses of course as we dole out first aid on a weekly basis. We’re chauffeurs – and pushing a pram counts for those of us that don’t have cars, especially considering my pram is the size of a Cadillac. We’re beauticians, and I’m not just talking about what we do to ourselves. Actually who has the time to brush their own hair when there are others we have to make look presentable? We’re life coaches – I’m not sure about your partners, but on a given day I can’t count how many times my partner says ‘What do you think?’ We’re interior decorators – and thank goodness for that. Leaving the home decorating to some men would mean an apartment with clothes on the floor, posters of questionable icons on the walls like Ringo Starr, old food as centerpieces, and wires, chords – that go with what I have no idea - and piles of spare change lying positively everywhere.

We are also diplomats (brokering inter family peace treaties); travel agents, tailors, sartorial advisors – “no, yellow socks do not go with your black trousers unless you are a bumblebee;” we’re dieticians – “yes if you eat 15 cookies at one sitting you will feel sick.” Were activity directors and social planners – show me any man that remembers when their child attends ballet, has a play date, or is going to dinner at the neighbor’s house and I’ll show you a unicorn; And most importantly, and exhaustively, we’re the law. We’re the ‘no you’re not wearing that; put that down; be back by eleven; be careful of such and such; not before dinner; you’re not watching that; I don’t care if your friend does it; and yes, that IS illegal' - to name a few of our policing duties.

In fact, the list of a woman’s jobs is so long I’d be here all day. This of course makes me wonder why the government is not subsidizing us, as we are so darn efficient. So when any man out there says to you, ‘bye sweetheart, I’m going to work.’ You can laugh condescendingly on the inside knowing he doesn’t know the meaning of the word.

I won’t name names, but someone in my house – and it’s not me or the King - likes to occasionally watch those shows where guests come on and go at it. Sorry, that sounds like cheap porn…or any porn for that matter. I’ll rephrase; where guests start arguing, hurling abuse at each other, chairs going flying across the stage, and all the while a subtitle flashes under them that says something along the lines of: ‘My sister’s boyfriend is my pimp and my baby’s daddy.’ You know, the intellectual Jerry Springer type stuff.

This (ahem), person says he finds it funny to watch, or at least relieving that this sort of stuff is not going on in our house [although sometimes I call him my big pimp daddy just for the fun of it]. The thing is, other than thanking one’s lucky stars that their life is not on the same trajectory as those on the program, I can’t imagine why one would want to watch these programs. Firstly, the incessant yelling and fighting makes me want to ram sticks in my ears. If I wanted to listen to people fight I have my own family I can go visit – although we don’t fight. We’re perfect. (I will be exiled if I say anything to the contrary).

Secondly, the caliber of people who go on these shows kind of scares me. I know that sounds horribly condescending, (and I’m sure they are all very um…sweet) but seriously, I’m not even sure where they find people with such frighteningly twisted lives. Perhaps I’m hideously naïve and most people are sleeping with their sister’s boyfriends or their mothers are out sleeping with fifteen year olds, or their father is running a prostitution ring out of their basement - and I’m not making this stuff up, in fact, I’m being tame. There is a reason there are bouncers on the stage of these shows; cause when things get going, and they always do, if the bouncers weren’t there blood would be shed. Come to think of it, it’s kind of like watching one of those nature shows where the animals rip each other to shreds over a kill.

Then there is the obnoxious host that is one part amused, one part pseudo empathetic, and one part psychotherapist with rage issues. The best is when the host gets so moved and starts screaming at various guests about right and wrong and how they have to get their sh*t together for the sake of their…baby/mom/dad/dog. It is truly riveting stuff. Okay, I’ve watched about ten minutes to form this analysis; I’m a quick study.

What I can’t fathom is why these people would choose to go on television and air their dirty laundry for the entire world to see. Sorry, this laundry is beyond dirty; this laundry is so damn soiled it’s beyond washing. Many would say that these individuals want their 15 minutes of fame or are simply playing into the narcissistic culture we’ve so brilliantly cultivated. But the few moments of these shows I have caught, and trust me, I go running from the room when they’re on, the guests look so tortured and genuinely distraught that I get the feeling they’re not even aware they’re on television.

I suppose what scares me about these shows is that they remind me what is potentially going on out there in the big wide world - in a certain section anyway.  I like to live in a nice ignorant bubble where everyone listens to classical music and eats rainbows for breakfast. I don’t want to know how, well…dubious my fellow man/woman can be. 

Saying all this, perhaps there is a bit of Jerry Springer in all of us. I suppose the difference is, when I’m having a bad day and I’m acting like a surly cow cause the barista at the coffee bar didn’t fill up my cup yet again (cappuccino is with foam, latte is NOT. Come on people get it straight!)  I don’t go on television. Then again, the most drama that goes on in our house at the moment is when the King refuses to burp. Then of course chairs go flying.

This is an open letter to Glenn Beck inspired by his recent 'Restore Honor' gathering (and Miss Palin, I may as well include you as well):

I am an American citizen, an American citizen that wants to tell you what MY America is. As you’ve been so audacious to hold a rally and tell the world and myself what you think it is. 

First and foremost, in today’s day and age when people like you are desperate to turn religion into a political issue, my America believes in separation of church and state. I shall say it again for the cheap seats, SEPARATION of church and state. My America does not go to war for God. It does not pass bills for God; it does not rule its people by God’s word. In fact, my America is not “turning back to God.” Despite what you tell me. What my America is turning back to is a country that supports religious freedom everywhere, even those that subscribe to the nasty old anti-religion of atheism or non-institutionalized spiritualism – as I like to call it. And this says nothing about my morals or my honor. My morals are not founded in what religious coat I throw on. My America’s core values support gay marriage, gay adoption, my right to choose, and of course dogs and cats living together. My America supports equal rights for all Americans, not simply those I deem worthy.

My America knows that our president is not a racist, or a Muslim, or was born in Kenya (do we really have to keep going over this ignorant people!).

My America knows that Islam is a religion that is followed by over 23% of the world’s population, that is roughly 1.57 billion people for those slow in the math department. My America knows Islam did NOT bring down the World Trade Centers. Fundamentalists did. A minority terrorist faction did. I shall say it again, a minority; and Islam is not a dirty word. It is a religion like any other  [that counts Muhammed Ali as one of its followers, so hence, fine by me]. Just as Catholicism is a religion and cannot be solely judged on the fact that an alarming number of priests have molested their young flock and have been allowed to get away with it for years; and we still allow churches to be built next to primary schools. So that mosque everyone is fighting over near Ground Zero, well it’s just a building where people worship one of the many religions that encompass America. It is not the den of evil.

My America knows how to define Marxism, Socialism and Communism and knows that the sitting president is none of these things. (For the uneducated of you out there, please go look these terms up). And by the way, Socialism is not a dirty word either. In fact, many of the tenets are about, well, helping people (how novel), especially those that are disenfranchised or born into a life that lacks any hint of opportunity – if you don’t understand what this means, or empathize, you have been born into the opposite group, I assure you. For you religious folk out there this tenet of socialism should be right up your alley. Then again, we all know those that protest too much about their Christianity are the least Christian among us.

My America also understands that Rome was not built in a day. In fact, the Rome a.k.a America, in which we currently live in was helped along by a prior eight years of egregious overspending (a trillion dollar unwanted and pointless war for starters), greed, and corruption of the likes we’ve never seen. Let’s not forget our past people. It’s what shapes us.

My America was also founded on many principles that the Glenn Beck’s of the world are choosing – conveniently – to forget. My America is a country of immigrants that was founded by immigrants. It is also a country with a flawed history that cannot be erased. A country that fought and stole and slaughtered those it did not like or think it had a right to be here. A country that persecuted and annihilated and enslaved – so we can count ourselves lucky that the Indian reservations do not rise up, revolt and take their land back.

And my America is not a Mormon – unlike Glenn - and does not believe that God came from another planet. Most importantly, my America gave me the freedom and ability to write this blog without being persecuted. God bless America!

Personal space - I’m a huge fan. In fact, I’m on a quest to make it law that one’s personal space is more heavily observed. Trust me, this is a service for all of humankind that will be greatly appreciated one day.

Perhaps my preoccupation with space is because I am one of five kids and my individual space was constantly invaded. I shared a room until I was fifteen and there was no such thing as mine, not for very long anyway. And if it was yours, a thousand bucks it was someone else’s before it was yours. Then again, I am a Scorpio and we are a strange breed. Well not strange exactly (okay yes, a bit strange) but we need plenty of time to recharge, and the only we know how to do this is step back into our cocoon and shut the motor down. Mixed metaphors I realize, but you know what I mean.

It took my partner a long time to work this out (you did good honey); eventually he realized that no matter how much he followed me around and talked at me, when my eyes glazed over and I gave him that look, it meant that the computer had gone into sleep mode and I needed quiet time. 

What I always marvel at is most people’s inability to respect other people’s personal space. You see it all the time when you’re out and about. Or feel it shall I say. In fact just the other day at the post office some elderly woman was so close to my back, I could feel her breath on my neck. Note to the fray – if I can smell what you had for lunch, you’re TOO FREAKING close. Trust me, I understand that out in public there are a lot of weird creatures that use any opportunity they can to sidle up to someone and make it look accidental. I swear some man at the market the other day was trying to smell my hair. Either that, or he found the smell of baby milk puke on my sweater alluringly intoxicating. Unfortunately there is not much you can do about these people aside from glaring like you’re possessed by the devil, or simply saying, ‘sir, do you mind.’ That is usually a good blanket statement that takes them so off guard they don’t bother asking what they’ve done wrong (but they know. Oh they know).

I shall break it down for those of you that – often innocently – are space invaders. Imagine everyone has a two foot radius around them, essentially inside that circle is a no go zone. [Unless, like a vampire you’re invited inside, then hey, go nuts]. I know it seems a lot to ask, but it’s two feet, you can still gab away and the person can hear you perfectly well. Also this prevents any flying spit mishaps, body odor issues, or uncomfortable moments when the person shifts on their feet and you don’t and you find yourself millimeters apart from one another.

In short, unless you’re the person’s lover or you’re hard of hearing (and in that case I will shout, don’t worry) there is no need to be any closer. I’m working on a patent for some sort of alarm that goes off if your space is invaded. Until then, we’ll all just have to work a little harder.

Oh boy, things are running amuck in China. Apparently the newest trend in the pet world is for dog and cat owners to dye their pet to look like something else. If you didn’t get a sense from the Olympics that the Chinese were operating on an entirely different aesthetic plane then the rest of us, then I can’t help you.

One set of owners in Beijing have turned their dog into a neighborhood celebrity with his dye job; they claim that they ‘love him so much’ they wanted to set him apart. Attention seekers. According to them, his newest makeover in which they’ve made him resemble a panda bear, has increased his self esteem – apparently he loves all the praise he is getting…Um, how the hell do you know? Did Mr. Panda Dog tell you this before he asked for his morning kibble?

The first of many questions that spring to mind…if you own a dog, why aren’t you happy with a dog? And if you want a panda so badly, go get one. It’s China, they must be hanging out on every corner. This new trend sweeping the pet circles has meant that dogs are now being dyed to look like various animals other than what they are: tigers, pandas, turtles, even Haibao – the blue mascot of the Shanghai World Expo. One pet store has a dog in their window that looks as if it’s wearing a bikini. Why?? Wish I could tell you….Boredom? Insanity?  A quest to turn one’s domestic animal into pop art? Whatever it is, it’s serious business and they can’t fathom why this doesn’t make sense to the rest of us.

Animals that undergo this process can often be looking at a makeover time that lasts over eight hours. Eight hours! Even the greatest spa day I’ve ever been to did not last that damn long. First the dog’s fur is bleached, then washed, dried and finally dyed in whatever design their owners are torturing them with that day. Some pet stores even dye animals so that they look like other breeds to obtain a higher sale price. Sucks to be a mutt, I’ll tell you that much.

The problem is, currently this whole process is not regulated and the dyes they are using have not been tested for pets – calling PETA, stop harassing celebrities and get over to China! The dye can of course be absorbed into their skin or ingested when they clean themselves and can often be fatal. One storeowner’s response when asked why this whole process was necessary was that often these makeovers could help a pet’s self image. I may be naïve, but I wasn’t aware there was such a rash of self esteem problems within the world’s pet population.

Due to the fact that people in China now have our money, sorry, I meant more money, they are throwing cash hand over first at their pets – cause apparently bills, food and well, electronics are now deemed passé. Some pet stores even offer other beauty treatments such as a rose spa bath where they bathe your pet in rose petals and luxury soap. Dear lord, I’m booking a ticket to China and strapping on some dog-ears. That sounds divine.