I was at dinner with a girlfriend and all of our kids on Friday night when she asked me why I never write about her. I told her that I never write about my friends unless it’s a unique parenting situation.

“What, I’m not unique?” she challenged.

“Actually, you’re very unique,” I answered. “I just wouldn’t want to say anything that could come between us.”

“Like what? Come on, I’m an open book.”

“Well…” I ventured, “like whenever you call and leave me a message you say, Hey, CJ - call me back ASAP! I have a quick question! And you never have a question.”

“You can write about that,” she said. “I probably just forget my questions by the time you call me back NINE DAYS LATER.”

“Or how about the fact that you have more nannies than I have underwear, each of whom drive nicer cars than I do.”

“So buy more underwear,” she shrugged, “and get a new car, while you’re at it. I’m sick of looking at it.”

“Well, what about the fact that your kids know the difference between McDonald’s fries and fries from Jack in the Box? Wouldn’t that hurt your feelings if I wrote about your fast food tendencies?”

“Look at our kids right now,” she pointed “and tell me who’s eating their veggies. Mine. So go ahead and spew – I love it. Hey, if you didn’t have me in your life, who would you use to make you look so darned high and mighty?”

And then I finished my meal of eating crow. (Which she bought, by the way.)

But she’s right, I do need a friend like her.

Joe and I made a pact when our kids were born: “Our house, our rules; Your house, your rules.” So if you allow your kids to stay up all night and play Wii and have my kids over, so be it. When your kids are at my house, however, they’re beholden to our “no-Wii” rules. Anyway, I just had my girfriend’s fourteen-year-old daughter visit from Texas for a week, and realized that Joe’s and my credo needed amending. If your friend says “No MySpace,” you should respect that. Regardless of whether or not her daughter has perfect grades, manners and hygiene.

By day three my friend’s MySpace rule had been broken – all her daughter’s recent MySpace history stared me in the face one morning, as I searched for my sons’ swim teacher’s contact info. I was so crushed when I saw the updated profile (to say she was in Laguna Beach - true, and 17 - not true) , personalizing her actions as if they were an offense to me. What, did she think I was a pushover? But I didn’t want her to hate me, either – like if I busted her, she wouldn’t think I was her “coolest aunt” anymore.

We haven’t reached the MySpace-or-not-to-MySpace phase of parenting yet, as our oldest is only five. But as I read the news that same morning of yet another young girl who had gone missing after a MySpace date gone wrong, I knew that my house needed to uphold my friend’s rules, too.

She lost computer privileges for the remainder of her stay and was forced to sweat out the details of her pending punishment upon her return home. (The worst kind of punishment, in my opinion.)

But I hope that if my sons are ever allowed in your houses (but totally understand if not, especially of you possess anything valuable) you’ll do the same.

Your house, our (collective) rules, OK? And the same now goes at my house.

To know my youngest, Benji, is to love him. In the Almighty’s buffet of gifts, he was offered a helping of dapper looks at birth, but Benji passed and went straight for personality. Oh, who am I kidding? He went straight for the waffles and never left. At 3-1/2, I don’t think he’s actually seen his privates under his belly? Anyway, the running joke is that he has two babies in there, named Freckle and Tomato. Freckle is the mean brother and Tomato is the nice one  - (of course, because he’s named after a food, right?) Anyway, they started to “kick” today, which, of course was gas, which resulted in a long visit to the potty. When Benji was done, he announced that Freckle and Tomato were “all gone” and that he flushed them down the toilet.

So I’m a little sad today, as it also marks Benji’s last day of nursery school. It’s like with one flush, all my babies are gone.

…and wrinkles, too. Last month, I was asked to host a Pampered Lady Cruise - a three-hour spa and champagne fest. Most vendors were in the beauty business: eyebrow waxing, eyelash extension, teeth whitening …and then there were the massage therapists, dermatologists and, finally, some NUSKIN GALVANIC SPA REPRESENTATIVES(?) As I looked at my sheet of paper onboard, I said to the organizer, “Who the heck are these guys?”

“Just you wait,” the organizer told me. “Just you wait.”

And so I camped out at their station for a while. One by one, they made people’s wrinkles disappear. It was this non-invasive, magnetic system that took about ten minutes. I was completely shocked.

“It works on cellulite, too.” One of the reps told me.

I was skeptical, but intrigued, so I took one home. It’s been a month of using this thing two times a week and I’m SOLD. I can’t tell you how it works, just that it does. So much so, I may be saying, “Sayonara, Botox.”

Maybe.

I tried to find out where to buy them to put on my site and it’s one of those distributor matrixes, so you have to find a rep. The one I recommend is Susan at www.ocbombshellz.com. She said she would even do a FREE treatment for those who mention “Sugar Mama.” She also said she’d give my sons green mohawks as a thank-you.

What a doll, right?

Anyway, I thought I’d spread the love. Not the lines.

I blame the Cosby Show for a lot of things that went awry in my life. Lisa Bonet’s clothes, which – on her – looked fabulous. On me? Dreadful. The whole “Gotta marry a doctor thing?” Bill’s fault. (Thankfully, I gave up on that by the time Rudy hit puberty.) But the greatest Cosby offense on my life was that don’t-go-to-bed-angry thing. Those two doctors resolved all marital issues pillow-to-pillow – even if it took all night – in order to insure a clear conscience during their rest, so they could start the following day anew.

I lost boyfriend after boyfriend during these kinds of nights! Because, here’s the thing - when I’m mad, I’m mean, irrational and dramatic. I’ll suck the blood out of any issue and spit it in your face. And then cry about it, making you feel bad, forcing you into an apology.

What I really need at night is SLEEP. Sleep melts away most offenses. Or, at least, calms my beast. So, last night a friend commented on how Joe and I “never fight.” “How do you guys do it?” she asked. I laughed and told her that we do fight, but that we never do it at night. “Sleep on it and your issues rarely seem as big in the light of day.”

“Yeah, and then get up at 5 in the morning and get the hell out of the house.” Joe added.

That was very funny, honey. I think I’ll watch Cosby reruns until you get home tonight.

To a gossip site, that is. Last weekend, I was fortunate enough to be invited to Teresa Strasser’s (news girl on Adam Carolla show) bachelorette party. Lynn and Alex of www.laragmag,com, Insider and the Amazing Race were the coordinators extraordinaire. Teresa and I actually hadn’t seen each other in almost twen-, i mean, ten years (we’re only 29) and it was like no time had passed. But as I see this lovely photo of myself, i realize that no time has passed for Teresa. The years have definitely taken their toll on me.

As did the vodka.

http://laragmag.com/2008/06/20/teresas-bachlorette-party-pics/

P.S. I’m the one on the bottom in horizontal strips. Slimming, I know.

Hallelujah… Tomorrow night’s venue received a great write-up from one of my favorite editors, Greer Wilder. She also included a blurb on Thursday’s Wine and Sign. Greer, I know you have no idea who I am, but I read you every day and hope to see you there. I’ll be the one with tremendous bags under my eyes from crying. (My oldest graduates kindergarten earlier in the day.) Scratch that - I’ll be the one drinking.

HALLELUJAH.

http://www.greersoc.com/

I love this review so much, I want to marry it. Thank you so much, Kathy, wherever you are! I’d make you a meatloaf but - after reading my essay - sounds like we both know where that would end up.

http://www.parenttalktoday.com/parenttalk/2008/06/what-do-you-know-now-that-you-wish-you-knew-before-becoming-a-parent-thirty-one-moms-and-one-dad-spill-the-beans-in-a-wo.html

http://www.motheringheights.net/the-daily-slog/2008/6/17/please-join-us.html

I have access to a lot of “back-end” stuff to this site - how many visitors, etc.- and although I can’t track precisely who all of you are (or maybe I can, but that would be creepy), I am able to identify how some of you found me. And to many of you, I owe an enormous apology. Specifically, to those of you googling for “a sugar mama with big jugs” or a “hot date with sugar mama.” I can only imagine the crinkle of disappointment in your brow when my parenting blog comes up on your screen, with rants about poop and plots to manipulate my husband. But this kind of market research is very helpful to me - I can better identify my target audience.

So stay tuned for tales of smokin’ hot jugs of soy milk, juicy Barbie-phone talk, and steamy all-nighters on the bathroom floor.