My husband rented this movie for me over the weekend thinking that it would be something totally up my alley:  a story of a stay-at-home-amateur-writer-to-be mom.  It was a nice gesture on his part, and in theory, he was totally right.  This would be something right up my alley, and the story had so much potential.  It tried to show the everyday excruciatingly disheveling mundane tasks that moms stomp through on a daily basis, but just came up a little short.  At one point, Uma Thurman pushed her bike through the streets of New York City, sweating as she carried about 10 plastic sacks full of ” crap” for her daughter’s birthday party.  While I could definitely relate to that, all I could think about was what a whipping it must be to live in New York City.   Intermingled in the whippingness of living in the city were Uma’s own thoughts on how to still believe in herself, do something for herself, and yet give so much of herself to her children and her family.  Again, great potential, but a fizzling disappointment.  In the end, we see the family celebrating their daughter’s 6th birthday, and are left with some warm, fuzzy, and yes, almost sappy thoughts on motherhood in general which did leave me with a few tears in my eyes, but there was potential here for big huge snotty tears-the kind only a mother could love.