Blog Hop and Book Review: Barking at the Moon by Tracy Beckerman

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BOOK REVIEW:

By Bonnie Kenaz-Mara

Tracy Beckerman is one funny mother and I've had the pleasure of hanging out with her in person several times. I've also thoroughly enjoyed the vicarious trips through her life and mind, every time she publishes a new book or syndicated column. Her latest release, Barking at the Moon is no exception.  

The Beckerman Boys - photo from the author

Tracy is entirely relatable and moved me to laugh out loud many times throughout this book, and tear up by the end. Barking at the Moon is essentially a love letter, not only to it's tall, dark and hairy protagonist prankster, Riley, the retriever, but also to the hands-on parenting years. Like Tracy, I also have a son and a daughter two years younger, and adored the decades of adventures with young children and their accompanying menagerie. 

I'm finally at that parenting stage where I have two kids in college for the first time this year, and a shrinking home zoo, and I'd be lying if I said I don't miss it all. At our family pet peak we had two dogs, four guinea pigs, a 30 gallon tank full of tropical fish, and various betta fish bowls, also won by the kids with ping pong ball prowess, all in our urban Chicago home on Central Park Ave. I'm also a former cricket buying mama who not only fed/watered/housed a gecko at home, but somehow got suckered into insect buying for my daughter's two classroom lizards as well! We're down to two dogs and the big fish tank, but our WiFi is still lovingly dubbed The Central Park Wildlife Center (as in the NY zoo). 

ChiIL Mama's Iggy Pup and Dugan, home from Northwestern University for a visit and missed greatly by dogs and parents alike.

Although the mess and chaos of caregiving for littles and their pets can be exhausting and gross in the moment, the years do fly by. And everyone who has deeply loved pets with shorter lifespans and/or children who are grown and flown knows the bittersweet ache of being past those days. 

The Beckerman Kids - photos from the author

As the covid pandemic rages on, there are three things that have helped me weather the extra challenges of the past few years, humor, books, and dogs. Barking at the Moon expertly and hilariously combines all three. I was thrilled to be chosen for this blog hop and even happier when my assigned date aligned with my Husky Beagle (husgle... Beasky...?!) Iggy's golden birthday. Yes, Igrain the Brave (AKA: Iggy Pup) is 12 today on January 12th. 

As I read Tracy's poignant, pup loving adventures and wrote this review, my sweet, old girl kept me company, curled up by the fire, along with my giant lap dog, Finsternis, my three year old, 110lb King German Shepherd, who loves nothing more than to sit on me while I write. Yes, the littles may be big now and off to live their own lives, but the memories remain. And there's always room in the empty nest for a dog or two!

ChiIL Mama's pups, Fin (as a puppy) and Iggy

Bonnie is a Chicago based writer, theatre critic, photographer, videographer, actress, artist and Mama. She owns two websites where she publishes frequently: ChiILLiveShows.com (adult) & ChiILMama.com (family friendly). 

Blog Hop:

I'm in great company with 18 other witty writers. Want to read more about Barking at the Moon and/or discover some new online favorites? Check out these links: 

**Check out an excerpt from Barking at the Moon below**

(This bit had me laughing so hard I sprayed my latte all over Fin who happily lapped it up. Thanks Tracy. The world needs more caffeinated 110lb lap dogs. Reader beware. Put the coffee down before you read any further.)

From the Chapter: My dog Wears Boxer Shorts

Tracy Beckerman and her latest pup - photo from the author

PRAISE FOR

BARKING AT THE MOON

“I love this woman!”

—JENNY LAWSON, aka The Bloggess, #1 New York Times best-selling author of Let’s Pretend This Never Happened and the recently released Broken (in the best possible way)

“Tracy Beckerman’s adventures with Riley in Barking at the Moon give John Grogan’s Marley a run for his chew toys. If you’ve ever been blessed with the best dog ever, wrapped in the slobbering fur bomb body of the most accident-prone pooch ever, you’ll fall in love with this book. Barking at the Moon reminds us how lucky we are to be a dog’s best friend.”

—REBECCA REGNIER, columnist, speaker, and author of the Widow’s Bay series and The Snow Wife

“Several years ago, while working at a major publishing house, I turned down a book that I told colleagues was about ‘a very bad dog who dies,’ adding, ‘who wants to read that?’ So, Marley and Me went to another publisher and had some success. I tell you this to warn you I am not a good judge of what will interest others. But Tracy Beckerman’s Barking at the Moon had me chuckling from the 􏰀􏰁􏰂􏰃 􏰂􏰅􏰆􏰃􏰅􏰆􏰇􏰅 􏰈􏰆􏰉 􏰊􏰅􏰁 􏰋􏰁􏰌􏰈 􏰍􏰎􏰌􏰏􏰅􏰇􏰐􏰅􏰂􏰑􏰒􏰅 􏰂􏰃􏰓􏰔􏰅 􏰎􏰕 􏰖􏰁􏰗􏰃􏰗􏰆􏰘 􏰊􏰈􏰉 􏰌􏰅 shaking my head in solidarity as only a mother who has had her own menagerie of misbehaving animals can do.”

—CINDY RATZLAFF, author of Queen of Your Own Life

        

        “As a dog lover, I laughed and cried and related throughout. With the assembled menagerie at the Beckerman house, there is rarely a dull moment, and we get to enjoy it all . . . from a safe distance.”

—JOEL MADISON, Peabody award-winning TV writer and screenwriter of Roseanne, The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, and Crashing

“You’re either a dog person or you’re not, and if you’re not, please go away. Tracy Beckerman is clearly a dog person and has the brilliance and bravery to admit that puppies are superior to children, and not just because they don’t need a college fund. This warm and witty ‘dog-oir’ (yes, I just made that up) is for everyone who ever had a family or loved a dog. You will love it!”

—CATHRYN MICHON, screenwriter of A Dog’s Purpose

Devilishly handsome Riley

“Barking at the Moon is a funny, heartwarming book for everyone who believes that pets have a special place in the family and enrich our lives. Tracy Beckerman shares her big-hearted family’s journey with wit and insight.”

—MATT BOMBECK, award-winning TV writer

        “Hilarious and moving, Beckerman shows us just how dogs hijack our lives . . . and our hearts. All animal lovers will recognize the com- pletely true-to-life depiction Beckerman captures of the way animals destroy our homes, complicate our days, and cost us a fortune, and, yet, how we wouldn’t have it any other way. You’ll fall for sweet, goofy Riley, and laugh (and cry) at how he completes this funny family.”

—KATRINA KITTLE, author of The Blessings of the Animals

􏰞􏰙􏰁􏰈􏰇􏰓 􏰍􏰅􏰇􏰐􏰅􏰁􏰌􏰈􏰆 􏰗􏰂 􏰈􏰃 􏰊􏰅􏰁 􏰈􏰏􏰂􏰎􏰔􏰒􏰃􏰅 􏰀􏰆􏰅􏰂􏰃 􏰗􏰆 Barking at the Moon, a witty, side-splitting, and heartwarming look at the ultimate role a beloved pooch plays in family dynamics. A great read for anyone who’s loved a dog, wanted a dog, or even admired one from a distance.”

—SUSAN REINHARDT, author of Chimes from a Cracked Southern Belle, and Not Tonight, Honey: Wait ‘Til I’m a Size 6

        “Tracy Beckerman makes you feel like you’re right there in her kitchen as the mayhem unfolds. And at the center of the madness is her dog, Riley, who warms your heart as he steals the show. It’s impossible to resist Beckerman’s hilarious tale of life lived out loud.”

—V. C. CHICKERING, author of the novels, Twisted Family Values and Nookietown

“Undeterred by their inability to keep a houseplant alive, the Beckermans decide their family just isn’t complete without a dog. But when Riley comes into their lives, insanity ensues. He slobbers his way into this family’s heart and becomes its anchor in a riotous tale that is so funny, you’ll have to pee!”

—SUSAN KONIG, author of Why Animals Sleep So Close to the Road (and Other Lies I Tell My Children)

“Tracy Beckerman will have you alternately howling with laughter and dabbing your eyes with a tissue at the escapades and travails of her brood’s beloved Type A four-legged family member.”

—JENNY GARDINER, author of Bite Me: A Parrot, a Family, and a Whole Lot of Flesh Wounds

“Sometimes, you just want to curl up in your crate with your favorite chew toy and a funny, warmhearted, relatable book. This is that book.”

—ANNA LEFLER, author of PRESCHOOLED and The Chicktionary

    

Riley rockin' his retriever roots 

Fetch this great deal!

Why I Wanted To Throttle My Tweenage Daughter #ParentingHumor

     "But, the zeros aren't important. You can just leave them out." she sniffled between bouts of loud self pity and hostile silence.
     "Whaaaaaat?!" I quizzically answered from the driver's seat, calm but honestly confused. We'd already been driving for a half hour... in rush hour traffic... and my daughter was having some kind of emotional breakdown in the back seat while my disgruntled teen sat in the passenger seat with a ginormous pile of homework on his lap.

     "I'm a horrible person and a bad friend and you're mad at me even though you're saying it's OK and I'm so stupid and now Dugan hates me and we're gonna be late and miss The Grinch and it's all my fault." A shaky, tear filled gasp followed.
     "I'm trying to understand." 
     "Shhhhhhh!!!! I'm trying to DO honors algebra here!" The teen interjected. 
     "I'm so stupid. I'm so stupid. I'm so stupid." The sad incantation rose from the rear.

Our normally cheerful, music filled car was on homework silence, which was stressing me out and making the ride less pleasant to begin with, and the minutes were ticking away. We had 4 press tickets for the elaborate production of The Grinch at The Chicago Theatre and I'd left two hours to pick up my daughter's friend (to use my husband's ticket since he was stuck on a shoot) and get there, a trek that should have been a 45 minute to an hour undertaking. 

Kids are so easy to love when they're being adorable and sweet and funny. But THIS. Sometimes they work your last nerve and you wonder just what you signed on for as you simultaneously do emotional triage, deal with urban traffic, and swallow your own anger.

"Ok. Dugan, relax. You should be happy. You have an extra hour in the car to do your homework. I'm sorry. I have to talk to your sister, so just deal. Sage, you are NOT stupid. Everyone makes mistakes. You learn more from them than from the stuff you get right. We may be cutting it close or a little late even, but we WILL pick up your friend and have a fun night. Yeah, I am annoyed. Parents are human. Who, in their right mind, really wants to spend an extra hour and a half in the car during rush hour backtracking across the city?! But in the scope of things it's not that big of a deal. I'm not mad at you. It was a mistake and we WILL get there. It's not life and death, it's just life. Did your friend not know her address or did you write it down incorrectly? What exactly do you mean by you didn't think zeros mattered?"

     "She told me 3340, but I left it off on purpose. You know, in our address it goes twenty seven oh nine and we leave out the zero, so I thought zeros don't matter."
     "The oh is the zero, buddy."
     "No! Not THAT one, mom. The first one. 20... 7...  0...  9. We leave off that first zero in twenty so I figured they weren't important in addresses and I could leave it off."
     "OK, I get it. I see where you're going with that, but um... no. Zeros in addresses are actually VERY important. But better to learn it here where there aren't huge consequences than getting lost alone or something later. Now ya know."

Oh the whiggy logic of kids. Sometimes tweens are so smart, savvy and mature they blow me away. Sometimes they're still such children. It was partly my fault and I told her as much. I should have called myself to double check her friend's address, but she'd just written it down the night before and she was adamant it was right and huffy when I questioned her. Yes, what 11 year old doesn't know her own address, right? Choose your battles. So we drove... across town. And the house at 334 West Burrwood wasn't her friend's house. So we called them and drove BACK across town, beyond where we'd started, to 3340 West!

     "But I feel so stupid and we're all gonna be late."
     "Believe me I've made more than plenty of mistakes. I got lost as a 4 year old, because I'd seen Lassie and thought my schnauzer knew the way home. So I wandered off with the dog and had to be found by the police. I got lost at the zoo as a toddler, following my dad, who went back to the car for our lunches, but he didn't know I went with him. As a teen I left all my luggage from a week at camp halfway across the country in upstate New York because we were told to pile it all in a tent and the busses would load from there, and I didn't realize WE had to load the busses. As an adult I spaced out once on a familiar 6 hour drive to Cincinnati and missed the turn off to Indianapolis. And it was such a long road trip through farm land I didn't notice till I hit Michigan! And there are more than plenty more stupid things I've done over the past 4 decades."

     Finally I heard laughter from the back seat. And at long last we arrived at the right address with that all important zero at the end. Even little nothing zero has big value. And what's an extra hour and a half in rush hour in the scheme of things. Believe it or not we raced to the show, got our tickets with literally a minute to spare, and made it to our seats just as the lights were dimming.

Which Kid Is Your Favorite? #parenting

My jaw dropped and I just stared, speechless, at the Trader Joe's cashier. Usually they chat you up with meaningless small talk about your weekend plans, your favorite IPAs or your mac n cheese hoarding. But this sweetly smiling cashier, also a mom of two, just asked the unaskable and blew my mind. Yes... she DID just say "Which kid is your favorite?"

I stammered out "Oh, I really couldn't answer that." While my brain began to unwittingly flash on all the things I adore and all the thing that drive me nuts about both of my kids. "I've always told them I'd never pick one over the other when they ask me." 

"Sure you can. They aren't here." she quipped without missing a beat. "You said you have a boy and a girl, right? Me too. I'll bet your boy's your favorite. Mine is."

My brain went reeling off on a silent tangent about most of the world where boys are valued over girls and China where the one child rule has resulted in a huge, generation wide gender gap. I know that's not what she meant. Who am I to go all PC & patriarchy on this stranger? Maybe her daughter's a pain in the butt. All she said was she likes her son more on a personal/personality level, but somehow it irked me. I've spent 12 years instilling confidence, grrrrrrl power and self esteem into my daughter.

Yet, I've read somewhere that boys tend to carry more of their mom's genetic disposition and vice versa and in our family it's totally true. My son is my mini me... word nerd, excellent writer and honors student getting straight A's 2 years ahead of his grade level at Lane Tech, one of the best schools in the country. He's smart, funny, creative and super thoughtful. I get him.

Then there's my daughter. She never reads for fun, can't write a complete sentence without crazy misspellings, and she takes after her punk rock, gymnast, extreme sports lovin' dad. This summer she bungeed off an 80 foot platform and did a 110 foot "sky coaster" free fall. She refuses to wear dresses and hates the color pink and girlie girl stuff. She and I butt heads constantly, but I adore her spunk and spirit just the same. She's also an insanely talented visual artist for her age, which does come from my side of the family. She's definitely a more intense child and tougher to parent, but that doesn't mean I love her any less, even when she's pushing all my buttons.

When my daughter, Sage, was small she went through a few years where she'd constantly make up these grizzly, macabre scenarios and ask who I would rescue, her, her brother or their dad, if I could only pick one. She'd weave these horrific tales of deadly fires, floods, car wrecks, plane crashes, kidnappers and more. Like most moms, I'd go all mama bear and take on a team of terrorists or jump in front of a bus to save either or both of my kids any day. But that answer, and reassurances of her safety never seemed to help and the deadly scenarios kept coming up.

I used to pull the "I won't pick one of you over the other" card until one day I realized maybe she had some deep seated fears I'd bail on her in a life threatening crisis. I changed to saying I'd always rescue her first, not because I loved her more or she was my favorite, but because she was the smallest and most vulnerable and needed me the most. It worked and finally the creepy scenarios stopped.

Way back in the day, after college, I had 2 Huskies with a former partner and although I know dogs are no real comparison to kids, they were family and I loved them both. When we split up and I moved to Chicago and he moved to California, we could each only find apartments that would allow one dog. He let me have first pick, but it was one of the toughest choices of my young life. I ultimately took Ubu, the younger red and white Husky, not because he was my "favorite", but because I felt like he needed me more. Denali, our big black and white boy was more independent and dominant and as much as I adored him and longed to bring him with me, I got the impression he'd be fine no matter what. 

But which kid is my favorite? What kind of mother asks something like that?! I don't honestly think I have a clear cut favorite here. Yet am I suppressing the truth? I somehow feel if I admitted to liking one kid more, even to a stranger in a check out line, far away from my kids' ears, it would show on me later and they'd somehow sense it. Could I even chose if I had to... in a kid splitting divorce or life threatening situation?

Of course the kids have asked me who's my favorite a zillion times in their short lives and I've always staunchly refused to play that game. I've always told them I love them equally and will never ever ever claim to love one over the other. They've finally quit asking.

I've met several adults who said their moms told them they were her favorite, but not to tell the other siblings. Then later in life, they found she'd said that to every one of her kids. I always felt that was a bit dishonest, though sweet in a way. But the kids would inevitably brag about it at some point and realize the deception.

Hopefully I'll never have to make that choice in a split up or life or death situation. And as for declaring a preferred personality between the two or an every day favorite? Not gonna happen. So I packed up my groceries and told the Trader Joe's cashier, "When my kids were small they used to ask who my favorite was all the time and I told them that they could ask forever and I'd ALWAYS answer both of you. That's my final answer."

Pregnant Grandma #ParentingHumor

Pregnant Grandma

If there's one thing I've learned from being a mother, it's don't ask, don't tell. Do NOT ask strangers if they are the grandma of the kids they have in tow. And it's never a stellar plan to ask someone when they're due! I don't care if another mother looks like she's packing a Pilates ball out front, do NOT ask unless she brings it up first.

The first time it happened to me, my son was quite young and I hadn't lost my baby belly yet, so I laughed it off. A few dozen asks later and it wasn't so funny. A second child and over a decade later, and strangers are STILL asking when I'm due! The last time was just a few months ago, when I was shooting a circus benefit soiree. The owner of a gourmet popcorn company, who was working the event, patted her belly, smiled and popped the question. I told her my baby is 10.

I've been asked by innocent children, and by plenty of people old enough to know better. Now, I know I'm not the skinniest, flat abs mama out there. But really people. 

During those early toddler days, something even more disturbing than the incessant preggo prying began to happen to me. Strangers at parks, playgroups and out in public repeatedly said “What cute kids! Are you their grandma?” What? WHAT??? “Nooooooo, I'm their MOTHER.” “Oh--(genuine surprise) Oops. I'm sorry.   

Now moms come in all shapes, sizes and ages, but WHY would you ever ever ask someone that? If you have to ask inane questions, then err on the side of complimenting a grandma and ask if someone's the mom! I have several friends who have been mistaken for their teen children's siblings or asked repeatedly if they're the nanny, and they weren't happy about that either.   

One particularly fabulous day at the park, I was asked when I was due, and not 20 minutes after self consciously admitting there's no baby on board, I got gramma whammied. As my previously decent self esteem went spiraling down the drain I yelled, “Yes. Yes I am... my children's FREAKIN' PREGNANT GRANDMA, OK?!

I'm not a particularly young mom, or a particularly old one. I gave birth when I was 33 & 36. But I know moms far older and I assume I'm not the only one this happens to. At first I was really unhappy about constantly being mistaken for my kids' grandma. Their actual grandmas are both in their 70's.   Did I REALLY pass for 70 at 35?! Then I tried to be zen about it and realized there ARE 35 year old grandmas out there... but WHY did everyone just assume I was one of them?

Just like the 5 stages of grief coined by psychiatrist Elisabeth Kubler-Ross , I've been through the 5 Stages of  ICD (or insensitive comment disorder) over the past 13 years I've been a mother. If you find yourself on the receiving end of ICD, I can help you through it, too.   

The 5 stages of both grief and ICD are as follows:

Stage 1.  Denial-- Look quizzically around. They can't be talking to ME. It's just a random fluke. It's just a... reoccurring... random fluke.

Stage 2.  Anger-- What the what? You did NOT just say that to me. Again?! 

   

Stage 3.  Bargaining-- I'll do 100 sit ups and daily yoga, and moisturize morning and night, if people just stop mistaking me for a prego granny!    

Stage 4.  Depression-- I could exercise and moisturize 24/7 (if I had that kind of time with 2 kids) and I'm still getting older every day... and I can't seem to ditch my round belly, no matter how hard I try. And that gets harder the older you get. And people already think I'm grandma old. Everyone thinks I'm morbidly obese and elderly. I should just curl up in fetal position and stop going to the park, and die now, before my children grow up to be too embarrassed to be seen with me.

Finally, the final stage will come.

Stage 5. Acceptance-- Insensitive comments are a primo excuse to break out my improv background and come up with some witty one liners. It's more fun to laugh and mess with people than it is to sulk or rage.

I'll leave you with a few of my favorites.

Am I their Grandma?

...No, I bought them on Ebay

...I kidnapped them from the zoo

...Never seen em before in my life.

...I'm not their Grandma, I'm their robot butler

...replicant   ...cyborg    

When am I due?

May 11^th....(beat beat beat) of 2003

What am I having?

A chocolate malt with my KIDS.

© 2014 all rights reserved

Bonnie Kenaz-Mara

If you are reading this anywhere but http://www.chiilmama.com/, it's been plagiarized.

My House Sends Me Fortunes! #DIY #rehab

Our lovely bedroom?!

Seriously.  Easter Sunday/ my birthday this year, we came back from dinner with the relatives to find a flood in the bedroom.   Our carpet was soaked through the hard wood floors to the basement and beyond.   One of the last California King waterbeds in existence had irreparably exploded.   There, on the sodden carpet, a little slip of white paper was lying in a puddle.   I turned it over and it read...  "It's time to try something new."   

The last time we did a major sprucing up on the living room/dining room, we moved the entertainment center out from the wall so we could paint and found another fortune.   It said "Redecorating is in your future".   Never say the universe doesn't have a sense of humor!   We do keep a cup of cookie fortunes on the kitchen sill, but how these eerily appropriate little missives find their way onto our floors at just the right moment is one of life's great mysteries.

They say the pen is mightier than the sword.   I say the pencil is mightier than the bed.   Yes, our beloved waterbed was slayed by a PENCIL!!!!    We're not placing blame, but the kids liked to climb in the warm, so called "wumpy bed" and do homework and art works.   One fateful day at the end of March, a pencil ended up wedged down the side and forgotten, point up.   It punctured a sizable hole and worked it's way all the way in to the mattress with disastrous results.




After we dismantled the bed and pulled up all the carpet, we decided we might as well rehab the whole room, including busting out the plaster and lathe and insulating the drafty outer wall, new flooring, electrical wiring to a switch vs. pull chain, and maybe even a pocket door!   In your face, fortune.   I'll show YOU "try something new."

When we bought our home, I was very pregnant with our soon to be 10 year old, so we repainted a bit with eco friendly, no VOC paint, but kept the DIY to a minimum.   Since then we've sanded wood floors, and replaced the roof, siding, windows, hot water heater, 4 ceilings and more on our 100+ year old home.   But, we'd never done anything with our bedroom.   There was a giant waterbed taking up 9/10 of the room, that could not be easily moved.

So, apologies for being a bit behind over here!   The past 17 days, we've been knee deep in a DIY gut rehab and sleeping on a fold out futon in the living room.   It's a slow processes as the weeks also included a network shoot in South Carolina, interviews with Yo Yo Ma and 3 of the creative masterminds behind Chicago Children's Theatre's The Elephant and the Whale (Frank Maugeri, Leslie Buxbaum Danzig and David Catlan) and numerous concerts and plays to review.

We're half way done dry walling and we've still got the floor to buy and install, paint to pick and a new bed to buy.   If anyone wants to talk mattresses, bedroom furniture, paint, flooring or ceiling fans to review, or has suggestions on where to buy, we're in the market for... well everything bedroom.    

Stay tuned.   We'll be updating on our insanity inducing DIY project.   I must say, though, we all got in on the action and the kids had a blast with the demolition.   There is something primally cathartic about smashing down walls with a sledge hammer!! 



We'll also be playing catch up and posting lots of fabulous giveaways and reviews.   So, as always, check back with ChiIL Mama like we vote in Chi, IL... early and often.




"...I want to be your sledgehammer

Why don't you call my name

You'd better call the sledgehammer3

Put your mind at rest

I'm going to be-the sledgehammer

This can be my testimony

I'm your sledgehammer

Let there be no doubt about it

Sledge sledge sledgehammer."    Peter Gabriel