Archive for 2006

Greg Behrendt Show

So the other night I get a call from The Greg Behrendt Show (author of “He’s Just Not that Into You”)

asking if I’d be interested in being on a panel to talk about parenting. Apparently, Greg mentioned me to the producers (probably because they were scrambling to find someone for the next day) and just like that I was in. Figuring on a possible nice set up in the dressing room – mini bar, finger sandwiches, a massage perhaps – I brought my brother along to share in the festivities.

The accommodations turned out to be slightly deluxe-challenged. First off, no dressing rooms were open at all so we were led to the kitchen to hang out and scarf down some day old salami. The production folk in headsets stood around eyeing us suspiciously prompting me to say, “Hey, hi, I’m on the show. There just weren’t any dressing rooms. Yeah, hi. I’ll be out of your way as soon as someone finds us a room. I’m on the next show…”

Our next stop was the “viewing room.” This is a room set up with a coffee table and a few couches with a monitor showing what’s happening on the stage. My brother and I immediately began making fun of the people on the show that was being taped. Luckily we hadn’t gotten around to making jokes about the actual celebrities – and I use that phrase extremely loosely – Kennedy, some guy from a sitcom I’ve never heard of and another guy I’d never heard of who’s on According To Jim – because the room was full of their twenty-two-year-old publicists. Of course it immediately occurred to me that, wait a minute – while I’m busy thinking “who the hell is that guy,” not one person here would have any clue who the hell I am. I was just lucky to be there. I guess it’s all in your perspective. Which reminded me of a friend’s joke. “The other day I’m driving down the street and I see this guy sitting on the curb shooting up. Of course he’d probably say, the other day I was sitting on the curb shooting up and Greg Otto drove by.”

Finally, we were led to a dressing room where the only food to speak of was a tray of mini candy bars that seemed to have been from a left over supply of last year’s Halloween treats. Think Smarties, mini Kit Kats etc. Two hours and one sugar high later I was told my show was ready to start.

Before we went out on stage we had to do this thing where you “freestyle” for the camera while an announcer reads your credits. This is seriously horrifying for someone as self conscious as I am. I would need about four bottles of wine to do anything resembling improv and I was sober and slightly nervous. Needless to say I looked like an asshole. But as it turned out that was the least of my problems.

The show was about extreme parenting but the production had already taped a show on the topic and it was too heavy. So they wanted to bring some people with a lighter take on the subject. That’s where I came in. It was me, Shondrella (very funny woman from Napoleon Dynamite and Girls Behaving Badly), the According To Jim guy, someone from the sitcom, Girlfriends and then there was an “expert.” She was a psychotherapist who does family counseling.

The show went without incident until they asked the question, “do you think it’s okay to snoop on your kids?” I was asked the question first and I said, “I don’t think it’s cool. I would possibly do it if I suspected my kid was doing something that would put them in danger. Other than that, no. I went on to say that when I was a kid my dad read my diary for no reason and I’ve never gotten over that breach of trust. Not so funny but true. Then According To Jim gets the question and he immediately tells everyone that if his kid committed suicide and he later read about it in their diary he would be horrified that he didn’t read their diary earlier and possibly prevent a tragedy. He went on to say that he’d never ever get over something like that. I mean, sure, but can you say downer?

Why the suicide talk? We were having a pleasant discussion about invading privacy and we had to take it there? It just went downhill after that. But, luckily, I’d gotten off one joke earlier which will probably be cut. Then the “expert” reported that she didn’t give her kids any privacy at all. She doesn’t knock and let’s her kids know that she can look in their personal belonging any time she pleases and that includes journals. She said if they want to keep a journal I don’t see they can do it after they move out of the house. Apparently I’m the only one who believes in privacy. Hey, that’s why diaries have a lock!

All in all it was a no good, very bad day. I think I’ll move to Australia. On the other hand, do they have talk shows in Australia?

Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on September 14, 2006 5:02 amUncategorized18 comments  

In Honor of Rosemarie C. Carlson

I remember the life of Rosemarie C. Carlson.

I am honored to be a part of This tribute to the victims of September 11th

I was randomly assigned a victim to memorialize and imagine my surprise to find out that, like me, she was a forty-year-old mother.

This is Rosemarie C. Carlson.

We know that Rosemarie Carlson was a mother, a sister, a best friend, a daughter. We also know she was a,

Queens native

Lived in Brooklyn


Blonde hair

Hazel eyes

She had fair skin

Was a mother of six, ages five to twenty

Home schooled all of her children (can you imagine the dedication??)

Wore a silver necklace with blue stones, and a matching ring

Worked in the International Office Center and had only gone back to work there on September 7, 2001.

She died in the World Trade Center – Tower One – 79th Floor on September 11, 2001.

But what we don’t know is a lot.

Just like when Kennedy was assasinated, the question “where were you on 9/11?” will always bring to mind an instant snapshot of our lives the moment before they would be forever changed.

I woke up early that morning to the sound of the phone ringing and ringing. My boyfriend, now husband, reached for it and after a few unintelligable grunts of “whaa? huh?” he grabbed for the remote and switched the television on. We were assaulted with the images of the first tower burning and newscasters in a panic describing all they knew so far. Before we could get our bearings, the second tower was hit. And we continued to watch in horror both towers collapse as we cried and held onto each other. Fortunately we were safe.

In New York, at 9:40 a.m., Evita Ortiz, the eldest daughter of six children got a call from her mom, Rosemarie, after the building she was in had been hit. “She said she was waiting in her office and they were going to come and get them,” Evita said, crying. “She said, `I love you.’ ”

At 10 a.m., Rosemarie’s best friend, Linda Antretter, called her to see what happened. Linda recalls how even then, Rosemarie was always thinking of others.

“She was waiting for rescue, and she was pretty calm,” Linda said. “My mom has been sick, and she asked me twice how my mom was doing. I joked with her. I told her to meet a nice fireman. But at the end of the call, I started to hear fear. Her voice was trembling.”

I know she was loved. After the attack on the World Trade Center, Rosemarie’s brother, Marco Yurisak frantically went to every single hospital in New York looking for his sister. But he never found her.

Rosemarie clearly meant a lot to many people.

Rosemarie’s sister-in-law, Karen Sanchez, described her to Newsweek as, “a mommy to the core.”

On a 9/11 tribute board I found this message from Rosemarie’s daughter.

God…I miss her so much…i wanna thank everyone that posted on here…She was the most amazing person..her personality was one of a kind…she was my mom but also my friend…i could talk to her about almost anything…miss lttle littles thing like when she was mad..lol…scary …her hair..it was so soft..like spun gold…her eyes(hazel)…they would change color depending on her moood..she was the best mom..she was everything for me…

I love you. I miss u..


What else is there to say? Rest in peace, Rosemarie. Just in writing about you, you’ve touched my life.

If you want to read more tributes, go to the link above.

Never Forget…

Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on September 9, 2006 5:08 amUncategorized18 comments  

20 Reasons

Today I was thinking about why my husband rocks and I decided to write 20 reasons down. Here they are.


1. He’s funnier than I am. But he’ll deny it til the end.

2. He has no idea how good looking he is and anytime I bring it up, he dismisses me.

3. He’s only cheated on me like four or five times. That I know about.

4. For weeks after Mel Gibson’s belligerant, crazy DUI story broke, Jon referred to me soley as “Sugar Tits.”

5. Although he’d like to punch everyone who stars in Grey’s Anatomy, he’ll still watch it with me and discuss it in depth if I insist.

6. The way he looked at me when I walked up to him in my wedding dress.

7. He used to smoke. Used to being the operative words.

8. His endless patience.

9. The last time the movie “Another Man’s Husband” starring Gail O’ Grady and Lisa Rinna aired on Lifetime, he said, “Oh, we’ve seen this one.” And he’s not even gay. That I know about.

10. The worst haircut I ever gave myself was introduced to him on our sixth date. He didn’t mention it until our sixth year.

11. Every year he gives money to St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital.

12. He’s nice to my friends. Even the crazy ones. And most of my friends are crazy.

13. His obsession over what to get his parents for Christmas.

14. He told me I never looked more beautiful than when I was pregnant.

15. The two separate times he explained in great detail the full story of World War II and didn’t make it boring.

16. He knows which episodes of Dora are our daughter’s favorites.

17. He ends every fight by asking “do you want to punch me?”

18. He’d be mortified if he knew this was my post tonight.

19. When he calls me bitch it’s a compliment.

20. He sympathizes with the underdog.

21. He’s the best person I know. And I feel lucky that he loves me. Did I mention he’s fine?

22. Oh, and he gave me this!

Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on 3:59 amUncategorized13 comments  


Conversation overheard at Trader Joe’s yesterday.

Two women were walking down the aisle while a four-year-old (my best guesstimate) rode in the cart.

“Red Sweater Blonde” (wearing a sweater in 100 degree heat – anorexic?): Jonah is incredibly picky about his blueberries.

“Hi I’m 40 ButI’m Wearing $300 Dollar Jeans”: (with actual fascination in her voice) Really?

Red Sweater Blonde: Oh yes. He will only eat blueberries from Whole Foods. He refuses to eat Trader Joes blueberries.

“Hi I’m 40 ButI’m Wearing $300 Dollar Jeans”: Wow. That’s amazing that he can tell the difference.

Red Sweater Blonde: Yeah, he’s really advanced for his age.

“Hi I’m 40 But I’m Wearing $300 Dollar Jeans”: Have you tried the pita chips? They’re baked.

You can’t make this shit up!

Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on September 5, 2006 3:28 amUncategorized12 comments  

How I Use My Breasts Is My Business

So, I’m googing myself as I often do when I have time on my hands due to Elby sleeping or some unforseen break given to me by my husband, when I come across something entitled Sippy Cups are Not For Chardonnay rant. I immediately have to go see what this is all about. I’m not surprised when I’m taken to Mothering.com and find that a few of those judgemental breast feeding advocates or as I like to call them, “tit terrorists” didn’t love my book. But I was a little taken a back by just how humorless, judgemental and ignorant women can be toward each other. I don’t want to start a debate here on my blog about breast feeding. It’s obvious that these days the topic is about as neutral as abortion or capital punishment – but you’d think that I was advocating using babies for human experiments or suggesting that heroin is great for kids by these women’s reactions.

The reason I talked about breast feeding in my book was that I wanted to share my own personal experience with it. For anyone that hasn’t read Sippy Cups, and I’m sure there are a couple of you out there, I didn’t have an easy time of it.

When I was in the throes of misery, trying in vain to breast feed my baby with my 20 years before surgically reduced breasts (something I didn’t share in my book because it’s none of anyone’s business why I didn’t breast feed. We don’t need a reason)I had no idea that I’d eventually find many kindred spirits. Women who had the same shit experience that I had cradling my sobbing, hungry baby to my boob in the football hold while I, myself, sobbed endlessly in my postpartum depression haze. Yes, while I was popping Fenugreek like it’s my job, and pumping for 45 minutes to squeeze out a quarter ounce of liquid gold, little did I know that plenty of women quit without giving it a second thought. But many more torture themselves feeling that they would be letting down their baby, their husband and their country if they didn’t make it work. It’s such a shame to me that women have to be closeted formula feeders because they’re so terrified of what people might think. But certain women DO a strong negative opinion about women who are breast feeding challenged. And they’re not afraid to share it. Yes, it’s not our imagination. The proof is in that link.

Before the comments roll in about how tough it can be in some states to be a breast feeder, I know this. I am on your side. You should be able to breast feed anywhere you damn well please and that includes the men’s room at Starbucks if you so see fit. I really don’t give a shiznit where you want to park your breast but I don’t see why STRANGERS are so fired up by women who choose not to do it. I know that a lot of women feel that “breast is best.” They feel it strongly. They feel it to the depth of their souls. But this is no excuse for making another momma feel like crap because breast feeding was getting in the way of bonding with her baby. Or breast feeding was causing waaay more anxiety than it’s worth or or or WHATEVER. This also holds true for putting your baby on a schedule, boring them…I mean, reading them from the Collected Works of William Shakespeare in utero and the many other personal choices out there.

And now that I have done my share of ranting, I would also like to say, if any of the women who hate me on Mothering.com, WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO YOUR SENSE OF HUMOR? Do you really think I was serious when I said that I wanted the baby in the nursery for a year? Are you on crack? Maybe you need to be. Lighten up and it will ease the load for both of us. God, if I smoked I’d need a cigarette now.

Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on August 31, 2006 3:30 amUncategorized38 comments  


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