Kvell, Mom, Kvell
Last month, I tried to impress the shit out of my parents by hooking our family up with a sweet bungalo (thank you, Pam Kaufman!) at the Nickelodeon Hotel in Orlando. I stacked the room with fresh fruit and other treats, and even had my mom’s favorite cocktail, a (virgin) pina colada, waiting for her when she arrived. It was awesome.
If you’ve got kids of Nickelodeonesque age, you gotz to go. Don’t miss the massive sliming ritual, poolside, where the biggest bucket of green goo you’ve ever seen is dumped on ecstatic crowds. Epic.
I got a SpongeBob temporary tattoo, and she realized her son’s truly gone on from poetry school to corporate tool. (I can still rhyme, bitches.)
At least I didn’t blog about getting a SpongeBob tattoo. Oh, wait.
Anyway, look at me now, mom. It’s “Dude Week” at a Jewish parenting blog called “Kveller,” and your boy is all over it like schmear on a bagel. That’s right, mom. I even talk about Shabbat Dinner and stuff in interviews to make you proud.