This has nothing to do with the fact that I didn't learn how to ride until I was 14.

In the past two weeks I’ve almost died five times. Not from subway muggers or falling cranes, or any of the other exciting ways my mother warned me about when I first moved to the city. My wannabe executioner? Bikers.

I want to love them. I really do. Cyclists are environmentally friendly, they’ve got excellent quads, but crossing the street is hard enough without the threat of being taken out by a guy (it’s always a guy) who thinks red lights are for wimps. This is not the Tour de France and you, dude, are no Lance Armstrong.

It’s not like they don’t see me. More than once I’ve been yelled at by an overtanned thirty-something in wraparound shades for freezing in terror as he barrels towards me. Apparently I’m supposed to do – what exactly? Run? But in which direction? How do I know that they’re not going to swerve the same way I’m trying to go? And did I mention that I HAVE THE RIGHT OF WAY? I once got clipped by a hipster speeding the wrong way down a one-way street. It took every ounce of strength not to kick his customized tires. I’ve seen bikers riding on the sidewalk, messengers acting as if they owned the road. (Don’t get me started on the delivery guys.) Sometimes it’s hard to remember that bikers are supposed to be a force for good in this world.

I have several friends who are avid cyclists. They are smart, conscientious, and generally concerned about the welfare of their fellow man. But not one of them stops at red lights. When I reminded them that they are required to stop – like, legally - I was met with blank stares. I can’t really blame them. It’s hard to think of bikes as moving vehicles until you get mowed down by one.

I’m not saying that pedestrians are saints. We dart out in the middle of the street and dangle off curbs. We rarely pay attention to what’s around us and take up an inordinate amount of space in intersections. Bikers often say that they have just as much to fear from pedestrians as we do from them, and that’s probably true. Of course, we’re much less dangerous to people who don’t run red lights.

We’re all in a hurry. Everybody cheats the light a little. But there is an expectation that vehicles – even ones with cute little baskets – will respect the rules of the road. I don’t need you to stop every single time, but if you see me hauling my stroller, Speed Racer, could you just slow down a little? Because if not, next time I might see what happens if I stick out my foot.

I will beg, borrow, or steal to get on the Sesame Street set

I am interviewing Santa Claus next week. In actuality I am interviewing the guy who plays Santa at Radio City but instead of calling him by his actual name, I made the mistake of referring to him in character - in front of my 2-year-old. Occasionally I forget that I have a kid. It's rare, and usually only occurs when I encounter cheap airfare to exotic locales, but it does happen.

Toddler: "What you say, mama?"
Me: "Hmmm?"
Toddler: "You said Santa."
Me: "Hmmm?"
Toddler: "You said you are going to talk to Santa."
Me: "Yes. I'm going to be talking to Santa."
Toddler: "What toy he going to bring you?"

Luckily daddy intervened with pizza before the conversation got too tricky. But clearly I need to be more careful lest I inadvertently burst some toddler-sized bubbles. I know some people don't believe in telling their child about Santa, but I have yet to meet a single adult who felt scarred by the discovery. On the other hand, I refuse to let my son visit the Sesame Street set. Finding out that Grover is just a puppet seems much harsher than learning that mom and dad are wrapping the presents.

So yes, I'm interviewing Santa. I'm pretty psyched about it. He seems very nice, I get to hold the interview at Radio City, and I'm getting paid. Triple win. Toss in some tickets to the show (oh please oh please) and I'll be riding high. Ho-Ho-Ho!

"I DO IT!"

Why hello there, gorgeous! I'm sorry I've been neglecting you. This whole "taking the magazine industry by storm" thing leaves me feeling seriously unmotivated, blog-wise. I do not understand people who can write all day, max out their Twitter feeds, AND still have enough creative juice to blog. Clearly I need more caffeine.

So where was I? Oh yes, I have a son. Scratch that - I have a preschooler. Which is gonzo considering he's only 2 1/2. They start 'em young here. At this time next year we'll be meeting with his teachers to formulate a Kindergarten "strategy" (yes, that's the term that's used) and to get him ready for IQ testing. At 3 1/2. Tests that will determine his school placement until high school, regardless of his grades or emotional maturity.

Nothing daunting there.

But in the meantime, there's preschool. Glorious, happy-making preschool. Owen (it's so hard not to type his real name...) loves it so much I've had to stop mentioning it or he won't eat breakfast. Oh my god, breakfast. Can we discuss the trauma that is a 2-year-old and meal time? I know all the rules (don't act like it's a big deal, don't make it a struggle, don't make dessert seem any more valuable than vegetables, he'll eat when he's hungry) but try telling that to me when we have 15 minutes to get to school and he's refusing to eat the yogurt and fruit bar that he specifically requested because I dared to open the wrapper for him ("I DO IT!") and even though I can hear his stomach rumbling, all he wants to do is bang his spoon on the bowl and scream ("I don't waaaaant it!") and then dissolve into sobs when I try to take it away. ("But I so huuuuungry! HUNGRY!")

Yep.

Lather, rinse, repeat at lunch ("I don't want it! I WANT IT!") and dinner (the infuriating "I all done") and you've got the makings of many, many time outs. I'm not generally a big fan of the time out - no toddler on this planet is capable of sitting in his crib and contemplating his wrongs - but it's a very effective way of keeping us from killing each other.

In other news, potty training is going gangbusters! He is fully in underwear except overnight, and he has actually started telling us when he has to go. This is major, peeps. He still has accidents of course, but they're definitely occasional and usually involve a very interesting Sesame Street episode. (Did you see the whole Katy Perry on Sesame scandal? C'mon, like those things were ever going to make it past parents.)

There's more, but I should probably try to spread this out a bit. Let's meet again, shall we?

I want glasses like that.

No, this has nothing to do with parenthood and yes, everybody's FB-ing the crap out of it but so what? This is genius.

Sexy.

I've been awake exactly 43 minutes and have already cleaned up 2 rounds of cat puke and a giant lake of toddler pee.

This is what happens when I single-parent it.

For the record, it takes less than 5 minutes for a toddler to coat himself in Vaseline. And yes, I know this for a fact.

Why can't I look like the girl on Doctor Who?

I've been thinking a lot about breastfeeding lately. I've always felt like Owen got shafted a bit, seeing as how I was only able to squeak out 5 months of Mother's Milk. I hired the people, attempted to pump, did everything the baby books/parenting mags/people on the street said to do but my body just wasn't having it. And while Owen is clearly unaffected by his lack of lactation, I always wished that I'd been able to keep it up. But recently I've started noticing a bit of a backlash against the whole "Breast Is Best" thing by the moms I know. It's not that they regret breastfeeding - they just can't stop. Their children are 3, 4 years old and flat-out refuse to wean. For those who don't have kids, this arrangement makes no sense. (Just tell them no!) But when it's the only way you've gotten your child to fall asleep for his entire life, it becomes a whole lot more complicated. Not only do you have to take away something that brings a huge amount of comfort to your kid, but now you have to sleep train on top of it. Plus you're dealing with a human being who is very, very able to make their feelings known. That's one bitter little pill, kids. My son may never get into Stuvyesant (breastfeeding may help raise IQ) but in some ways I'm lucky. Replacing the boob with a bottle at 5 months was a hell of a lot easier than talking down a kid in Pre-K.

So what else is new? Potty training is hit or miss. I did not win a dream vacation. Wondering if I should go blond. The usuals. How about you? Anything exciting I should know about?