A brown belt for Big Guy – not that it’s important
Mon, 12/03/12 – 12:49 | Comments Off

It was testing week in karate and, as usual, Big Guy was under the gun. Not as much as he used to be, when he didn’t have a clue and had to frantically cram, but …

Read the full story »

Picky eaters and allergy-safe cooking — the two aren’t necessarily unrelated.

Girl Gone Wonk

From policy to politics, this rant’s for you.


The day’s events in a family way — unless something else amuses me.

School days

From preschool to kindergarten — so far

Simple Gifts

Inexpensive homemade gifts, creative parties and low-cost projects, for Christmas and beyond. Many are easy enough for children to help.

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Articles in 9to5to9

Rage of angels
Sunday, 1 Jun, 2008 – 20:06 | Comments Off

Mommy requests the honor of your presence at a debutante bawl honoring Little Guy. Black tie optional; ear plugs mandatory

The calendar says the actual event is weeks off, but the attitude says something entirely different. Just ask anyone who was in SaveMart Saturday morning. Yep, Little Guy has met the Terrible Twos.

Except for a few isolated storms — the unfortunate airplane incident, for example — Little Guy’s always been a pretty chilled dude. When he did fuss, it was for one of two reasons: Hungry or sleepy.

His tiny fits were endearing in a way. His chin would drop and his eyes would shoot a wounded look. His mouth would start quivering, and the face would crumble. “Waaaahhhhh!!!!” But not a waahhh without warning. You could always see it build.

Saturday, though, was quite a coming out party for acting out with little notice.

Nothing special, but everything wonderful
Sunday, 1 Jun, 2008 – 20:05 | Comments Off

Today was perfect. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and the tantrums were tolerable.

But best of all, I really connected with my kids, in a way that I hadn’t in months.

The day started early – they all have since Little Guy moved in. But for some reason, Big Guy didn’t wake up when his brother did this morning. Which meant I got the Little Guy time I’d been missing lately.

We read “Thomas.” We worked puzzles. He stacked wooden blocks, learning what the word “tall” means and bursting into mile-wide smiles every time the tower reached new heights. We did all the gloriously mundane things I’d always dreamed of doing with my kids.

Then, while Little Guy napped, it was Big Guy’s turn. We decorated a cake – Big Guy’s contribution was an overabundance of sprinkles and thick blue squiggles of frosting plopped smack in the middle. He, too, was blue, from eyebrows to elbows, when we finished.

What a mom loves about summer
Sunday, 1 Jun, 2008 – 20:04 | Comments Off

Six reasons summer and kids are a perfect fit

Dinner al fresco: At Che Two Guys, we have the finest open-air dining in the Central Valley, no reservations needed. And no dress code either, other than a requirement that you wear some. That part’s a bummer when your most-loyal customers love to shed their bathing suits and sprint naked, but it’s a requirement management must enforce.

Ambiance? We have that a plenty, from the faded and cracked resin patio furniture to the equally faded blue gingham table cloth. Shabby chic’s still popular, right?

For your listening pleasure, we have the neighbor’s stereo, usually cranked up to Motown tunes, or the sounds of the proprietress shrieking at blue jays bent on pecking at the grass seed planted in hopes of filling in brown spots before Big Guy’s birthday.

Egciding birthday extravaganzas
Sunday, 1 Jun, 2008 – 20:02 | Comments Off

Big Guy is “so egcided” today. There’s a birthday party at school, complete with Happy Meals – which he largely won’t eat, but, hey, there’s a toy involved! – and a jump house.

Correction: A jumping house.

“It’s not a jump house, Mommy,” he lectured this morning. “It’s not a bounce house. It’s a jumping house. That’s what all my friends call it.”

Thanks heavens he set me straight. There’s nothing worse than being a fuddy-duddy parent who’s not hip to the current slang.

I’d rather he be a little less egcided, though. Bounce house … er, jumping houses … are the bane of my existence. Big Guy loves them – in theory, at least.

The birthday pregame show
Sunday, 1 Jun, 2008 – 20:01 | Comments Off

Completely random thoughts from a fried brain:

I just spent the past hour using tweezers to put round sprinkle on cupcakes to make monster eyes. Can I still get a room at Stanislaus Behavioral Health Center tonight?

When did kids’ birthdays become multi-day festivities? I didn’t quite fall into the egciding extravaganza pit, but I’m teetering.

Big Guy’s big weekend kicks off tomorrow … er, make that today … with cupcakes and goody bags at school.

At least I kept them reasonable. Had about $1.25 per bag invested. And it’s still more affordable than buying the whole class pizza or an evil bounce house.

The monsters are pink. That’s what Big Guy ordered, and no amount of asking “are you sure you want pink?” was going to change that. At least the noses and mouths are blue, which I hope will convince Guy Protective Services that they don’t need to intervene.

Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?
Sunday, 1 Jun, 2008 – 20:01 | Comments Off

I used to drive my high school chemistry nuts. “You always want to know why,” he would say. “I could give you the chemical equation for water, and you’d want to know why.”

I had no clue at the time why that was so annoying. But now that I’m living with a human question mark, I understand.

I’m glad Big Guy is curious. Really, I am. I just wish life were more like those government press conferences, where reporters have a few minutes at the end to get in their questions and that’s it. And only one question per person, please.

I used to think all his questions were asked with the sole goal of driving me mad. But then I began to notice patterns and purpose behind the rapid-fire barrage of “why?” He’s not trying to make my head explode! He’s trying to accomplish something.

Sometimes, I’m still convinced he’s just trying to make me nuts. Most of the rest of the time, though, his questions fall mainly in six categories: the grouse, the quaintly curious, the show off, the stumpers, the “where did that come from” and the epiphany.

Mom wins a skirmish in the dinnertime war
Sunday, 1 Jun, 2008 – 20:00 | Comments Off

I’m not good at sneaky and clever. I prefer to hit things head-on, and when you’re dealing with small people, that usually results in getting your head bashed in. I have a perpetual concussion these days.

I don’t do spontaneous well either, unless I have plenty of time to plan it.

So it always astounds me when I’m able to pull off something with even a smidge of finesse. Tonight, I did sneaky, spontaneous and finesse. Hey, maybe I’m figuring out this Mom gig after all.

Motherhood Muses, please don’t take that as a challenge. I’ve had all the smiting this week I can stand. And besides that, I might well have re-learned something valuable here, a long-forgotten lesson about how twisty, curvy back roads sometimes get you there just as quickly as the freeway.

The sneaky, clever plot began accidentally, as Big Guy kicked off his nightly harangue roughly 2.6 seconds after he buckled his car seat. “Mommy, what are we having for dinner?” The question’s usually a trap.

A tough transition — Little Guy leaves the crib
Sunday, 1 Jun, 2008 – 19:58 | Comments Off

Harsh reality has pre-empted tonight’s sentimental ode to the end of babyhood. The sappy remembrance will air at a later date, reality permitting.

Little Guy hates his big-boy bed. He glares at it, as if it’s responsible for famine in Africa and $3.40-a-gallon gas

He’s not wild about me, either. I robbed him of the blessed comfort of his crib, cold-heartedly tossing it in the garage and replacing it with this thing . “How could you ruin my sweet little life?” his eyes ask.

This one was supposed to be easy. But every time I think I have this gig figured out, the Motherhood Muses are tittering around the corner, ready to smite my butt.

Except for scattered tummy and teeth pain, Little Guy never has had trouble sleeping. He recently dozed off over a bowl of Cheez-Its. He slept in two different beds on vacation, adjusting to each in about five minutes.

He took to his big-boy bed immediately in the showroom, climbing in and lying down with a huge grin. This is going to be a snap, I thought.

Heche, Homer and the working mom
Sunday, 1 Jun, 2008 – 19:57 | Comments Off

Seems that I have some things in common with Anne Heche, although I’ve never run dazed and confused through rural Fresno County knocking on doors and pleading for help late at night.

Heche’s husband of 6 years, Coleman Laffoon, has filed for divorce. And it looks like Laffoon v. Heche is going to be anything other than a civil civil case. He wants $33,000 a month and joint custody. Presumably, his $6,000 a year premarital salary won’t keep him in the style to which he’s become accustomed.

So he’s letting it all hang out: allegations of poor parenting, disorganization and potty mouth.

Some accusations, if true, are troubling. The most serious: That she allowed their 5-year-old son, Homer, to ride without a car seat.

Most of the rest smacks of the standard stuff used to smear working moms, whether they make $81,000 an episode or $8 an hour.

War of annoying words
Sunday, 1 Jun, 2008 – 19:55 | Comments Off

I love parenting lists. I seldom find useful advice, mainly because they’re not keyed to kids as intractably stubborn as my two. But they’re a great pick-me-up in a “misery loves company” sort of way.

So when I ran across parenting.com’s “The Six Most Annoying Things Kids Say” while suffering from a bout of Google-induced attention deficit disorder, I couldn’t resist clicking, just to see how my guys stack up.

The Top 6:

Mine: This one’s easy to deal with. They’ll outgrow it, and more quickly than you think while in the throes of it. It’s Little Guy’s current favorite word other than “Thomas,” though Big Guy never said it much. He prefered to clinch his little fists skyward and plead, Have it!

It’s not fair : We haven’t made it to this stage, though I’m sure with two kids, it’s inevitable.

Thomas here!
Sunday, 1 Jun, 2008 – 19:52 | Comments Off

Little Guy had a brief dalliance with Lighting McQueen. He trifled with Woody, from “Toy Story,” but eventually wanted to be just friends.

He’s moved on to his first full-blown obsession.

It’s Thomas the Tank Engine. And it’s making me understand why my sister – the one with four kids — hates Barney.

First word out of Little Guy’s mouth in the morning – “Thomas.” First words out of his mouth when we get home – “watch Thomas.” Last word out of his mouth before bed – “read Thomas.” At least he’s still excited about reading. I worried about that a few weeks ago, when I started letting him openly watch TV.

He has a toy Thomas that can’t be more than a few yards away at any point in time. Technically, it’s not his toy, but Big doesn’t mess with Little Guy on this issue. Sometimes, Little Guy will sit “reading” his Thomas book with the engine tucked under the other arm.

Family leave, hair and heartburn for Mother’s Day
Sunday, 1 Jun, 2008 – 19:51 | Comments Off

If I had to be pregnant again, I’d want to be an Indian living in Sweden.

Babycenter.com posted a neat little “mothers around the world” feature this week, looking at traditions, old wives’ tales and family leave policies.

Quick conclusions: Sweden’s the place to be – 16 months’ leave at 80 percent pay after the birth of a baby. Canada’s not bad, either – a year at 50 percent.

And Indian’s the ethnicity to be. According to the article, for 45 days after a baby is born, the custom is for the mother to stay home while relatives care for her.

I could have used some of that after Big Guy was born. Labor wasn’t particularly hard, but Big Guy quickly developed colic. There were days on end when I barely saw my bed. Advice from my favorite Sanctimommy: “You should sleep when the baby does.” Well, what if the baby NEVER FRIGGIN’ SLEEPS?

Dessert detente
Sunday, 1 Jun, 2008 – 19:50 | Comments Off

There are a few keys in a relationship: good communication, trust, shared interests and brownie compatibility.

Except in the last area, in order to be compatible, you have to be at odds. If you like the same thing, you’re doomed.

I’m an edge person, and I’m fanatical about it. I would pass on brownies before I’d eat a gooey interior piece. Give me a crusty corner, and I’m euphoric. I was the only edgy one in the family, so it wasn’t an issue growing up. It did irritate the snot out of my mom, though, to see my surgical work around the outside of a pan. “Why can’t you just eat them in order?” she’d ask.

My husband doesn’t care for brownies, so it’s never been an issue for us either. I had a roommate once, though, who also was an edge person, and it got competitive at times. We probably were the only household in town where the outside of bar cookies would go first.

So in addition to all the other worries a mother has – Will he love me? Will he get into a good college? Will he grow up to be an ax murderer? – I fretted about brownies. What if one of the kids turns out to be an edge person? I’d already given up my bread heels to Little Guy. I didn’t want to lose my edges, too.

The changes of parenthood
Sunday, 1 Jun, 2008 – 19:49 | Comments Off

I’m sitting at my desk this afternoon, rushing to get caught up before a meeting so I can rush to finish afterward, and a call comes over the police scanner. Vehicle versus train on Claribel Road.

It’s always phrased that way: Vehicle versus train, vehicle versus tree, etc. It’s a coping mechanism.
Within an hour, still in the “vehicle versus train” mode, I was posting the early report on modbee.com.

A woman and four people in her sport utility vehicle had died. We heard rumors children were involved.

Possibly very young children.

And that’s when I made the mistake of climbing into the driver’s seat of that SUV. Did she know this was it? Did she have time to say good-bye to her babies, to get in one last “I love you”?

People ask how parenthood changes you, and you mention the obvious: Lack of sleep, time and money. The deeper changes are inside. You feel things differently.

Parting is such sweet sorry
Sunday, 1 Jun, 2008 – 19:38 | Comments Off

It started as a soft plea from the back seat halfway through the drive to day care this morning. “I don’t want to go school. I want to stay with you, Mommy.”

“I’d love to stay with you, babes, but vacation is over now.”

“I want to go home,” Big Guy replied, not angry, not insistent, but sad.

“I’d like to stay home, too, but I have to go to work,” I replied, striving for sympathetic yet upbeat.

“I want to go home,” he volleyed back.

The chorus looped endlessly — why did I ever think life would be better when he could talk and let me know what he was thinking?

By the time we hit downtown, genuine tears were flowing. We got out of the car, and his chest was heaving. A teacher had to peel Epoxy Boy off my shins so I could leave for the office.

And so it’s been for three straight days. Though Big Guy is quite the actor, this is no Made for Mama Drama. It’s real – it always is when it starts with a whimper instead of a roar.

Terror in the skies
Sunday, 1 Jun, 2008 – 19:37 | Comments Off

To the gentleman sitting in 20C on Delta Flight 1006 April 18, I apologize. If you’ll drop me a note, I’ll gladly cover any expense related to permanent ear damage.

Little Guy was having a bad day. A really bad day. Which meant most of the passengers on a Boeing 757 got to enjoy his misery for roughly four hours and 24 minutes between Sacramento and Atlanta. Mr. 20C, who was directly in front of Little Guy, bore the brunt of it. And there was nothing I could do.

Worst of all, I hadn’t even seen it coming.

My kids are veteran fliers – we usually go back east twice a year to visit family – so I wasn’t concerned. I remembered the first trip with Big Guy, a mere eight months old at the time, and got cocky. The man seated next to us tried every trick short of bribery to get the flight attendant to move him, but the plane was full and he was stuck. Big Guy was angelic, he congratulated us, and I wondered why people get so uptight about flying with kids.

Dressed for success
Sunday, 1 Jun, 2008 – 19:36 | Comments Off

It’s not often in recent years that I’ve wanted to stand and applaud in public. I used to do it in baseball stadiums, but my team’s been so bad in recent years I’ve gotten over that urge.

I’ve felt it twice recently, but managed to restrain myself. So I thought I’d do it here.

The first time was the day before Easter, at SaveMart on H Street. The woman was smartly dressed in denim capris and a white T-shirt, straight blond hair neat and smooth. I marveled at her ability to pull that off with two kids in tow.

A boy, who looked to be a bit over 1, was sitting in the cart, while a girl, maybe 3, was holding onto its side. It was the girl’s apparel that really caught my attention: A cotton-candy colored tulle fairy dress that screamed “I won’t quit wearing my Halloween costume,” with white flowered leggings underneath.

Way to go, Mom! You understand what I strive to live by: Don’t waste time on arguments that don’t matter.

A cut above
Sunday, 1 Jun, 2008 – 19:34 | Comments Off

I am all about encouraging diversity of options with my boys. Just as I would tell a daughter she can be anything she wants to be, so I tell my sons.

I don’t even blink when Big Guy twirls around the living room singing, “I’m a ballerina! I’m a ballerina!” His dad does, however, raise an eyebrow. The other day, when Big Guy announced he wanted to be a nurse, I was fine with that, though I suspect the new career path had more to do with a sadistic pleasure in the possibility of giving people shots than it did a desire to heal the sick.

I have to draw the line for the time being at hair dresser. As Lost My Place so accurately pointed out a few weeks ago in her blog, “people actually go to school to learn how to correctly use scissors to cut hair.”

Guess Big Guy thought he knew all he needed to know. A cousin on his father’s side is a hair dresser, and Big Guy’s seen him give many a cut in our kitchen.

So today, Big Guy opened up shop. One second he’s sitting at the table cutting paper into confetti – annoying to clean up, but acceptable. The next he’s leaving Little Guy a few ringlets short of Goldilocks.

And this year’s Oscar goes to …
Sunday, 1 Jun, 2008 – 19:33 | Comments Off

We had a dog when I was a kid named Missy, the greatest little terrier-traveling salesman mix ever born. She also was quite an actress.

One night, our neighbor’s much-bigger dog decided Missy would be his Scooby snack. He took what appeared to be a hunk out of her hip before she escaped. She crawled home, scratched the door, then collapsed, spent and bleeding.

Mom wrapped her quivering, whimpering body in a blanket, and she and Dad rushed to the vet, while three kids nervously paced.

When they returned an hour or so later, Mom carried the blanket, but no Missy. My heart stopped.

Then Missy bounced through door, wagging her little stub of a tail, walking in a C-shape, like she always did when she was busted.

The second they’d put her on the vet’s exam table, she had jumped up, magically healed, Mom said. The hunk out of her hip was a tiny cut.

For months after that, she’d limp every time we asked, “Oh, Missy, does your little leg hurt?” Except she kept switching the limp, confused about which little leg was supposed to hurt.

I think Big Guy has been channeling Missy this week. Tonight’s performance was the best.

Take me out to the bawl game
Sunday, 1 Jun, 2008 – 19:30 | Comments Off

The chance to watch a major leaguer in Modesto sent my fingers racing ahead my good sense. Buyer’s remorse came immediately after I bought tickets for Sunday’s Nuts game, though.

A 1 p.m. start that would disrupt Little Guy’s nap. An Easter Day game with kids jacked on sugar. Endless chasing of small people when I’d rather plop my butt in a seat and enjoy a game.

But I really wanted to see Randy Johnson, so my inner Pollyanna popped up. The last game we’d gone to featured minimal fussing and few hikes around the concourse. Maybe it would work.

I list self-delusion under “other skills” on my resume.

It was a great two innings. Little Guy sat patiently, and Big Guy was mesmerized by just about everything. The grass, the new scoreboard, Wally and Al. Mostly Wally, as long as he kept his distance. If the mascot came close, Big Guy would Velcro himself to me.

But, then: “Daddy, I’m hungry.” Never mind that we’d asked Big Guy 3,986 times before the game if he wanted to eat. Dad trudged off, hoping to buy a few innings’ peace. Meanwhile, storm clouds formed around Little Guy. Squirms turned into kicks, whimpers became wails. A kind couple across the aisle gave us a lollipop, which mollified him until the candy was gone. Dad and Big Guy returned, and I bolted.

That’s when the world decided to hate me.

If Sanjaya wins …
Sunday, 1 Jun, 2008 – 19:29 | Comments Off

When Ruben “Motown Mojo” Porras, one of my Bee “American Idol” partners, emailed me about KHOP deejay Geno Knight’s If Sanjaya Wins Web site, my first reaction was a throw-away line.

If Sanjaya wins, I’ll let the kids eat birthday cake for breakfast. No chance of either happening, of course.

I checked out the site after I got home and was laughing so hard my husband actually quit watching ESPN for a few minutes.

“If Sanjaya wins, I will pack up my children’s bag and send them to Michael Jackson’s Neverland Ranch for blanket’s surprise b-day slumber party,” wrote Michael from Rio De Janeiro, Brazil.

“If Sanjaya wins, I will sit and watch ‘Glitter’ everyday for a year,” pledged Rick from California.

“If Sanjaya wins, I will join the Sunnis and Shiites in holding hands and singing kumbaya,” vowed Mike from Des Moines, Iowa.

And then I stopped. Because I remembered that the tall, gangly pony-hawk wearing butt of everyone’s jokes is somebody’s little boy. What if that were my kid? Could he take it? Could I take it?

A toy that had to go
Sunday, 1 Jun, 2008 – 19:28 | Comments Off

I killed a toy tonight, just for the pure pleasure of seeing it die.

It wasn’t my first toyicide, but it’s the first I won’t be able to get out of on an insanity plea.

I don’t advocate senseless violence against toys. As a character witness, I’ll call the drums that two (former) friends bought Big Guy for Christmas. I tolerate the drums, because they have some redeeming value, no matter how high they push my Tylenol tab.

Not so Ready Freddie, a “learning robot” with a chirpy voice, maniacal plastic grin, touchpad belly and cell phone.

“Hi! I’m Ready Freddy! Do you want to (pause as toy brain processes) tie my shoe?”

No, but I would love to tear you limb from plastic limb.

He came to our home a hand-me-down from a parent no doubt eager to rid herself of the problem but lacking the guts to put Freddie out of my misery. His vile nature was quickly apparent.

Bad, bad day care kids!
Sunday, 1 Jun, 2008 – 19:27 | Comments Off

To children entering kindergarten in 2008, let me apologize now. Seems my heathen brat is going to disrupt your education for years to come.

Or so recent headlines would have you think.

“Poor behavior is linked to time in day care” screamed the New York Times. “Study: Day care can lead to bad behavior,” proclaimed the Salt Lake Tribune.

The chilling news makes me want to hang my head in abject shame for sending my children to a place that’s a cross between “The Jungle” and “Lord of the Flies.”

Problem: Once you look beyond the headline, the news isn’t chilling.

Evil lurking in the libraries
Sunday, 1 Jun, 2008 – 19:24 | Comments Off

In a few years, once the horror of what I almost did to my children passes, I’ll laugh at my parenting naïveté. But not now, while I’m shell-shocked at the gravity of my mistake, one that almost permanently damaged my little innocents.

See, I had always thought books were good things, and I believed “Guess How Much I Love You” was one of the best.

It’s a sweet, simple story of love between a father rabbit and his son. The two bounce through meadows and along rivers, each trying to out-bounce and out-love the other as Little Nutbrown Hare pulls out every trick in the little boy book on avoiding bedtime. Finally, he falls asleep and Big Nutbrown Hare nestles beside him and whispers, “I love you right up the moon and back.”

The only criticism I had of the book was my pronunciation problem. Until I got used to reading it aloud, daddy rabbit’s name often came out “Big Buttbrown Hare.” Not exactly the sentiment the author intended.

Or maybe he did. I’m much more enlightened now that I’ve read the truth about the book on amazon.com’s review area.

I plead guilty, your honor
Sunday, 1 Jun, 2008 – 19:23 | Comments Off

Mornings are the worst for mommy guilt.

I tiptoe into Little Guy’s room and see his round rump up in the air – he sleeps on his knees, El wrapped around him, the stuffed elephant head and the curly blond one side by side. He’s so throat-catchingly beautiful that it causes the first knot of the day to clump up in my stomach. He’s just a baby. Babies deserve to sleep.

It’s dark, except for the nightlight, so I grope for his clothes, dreading the moment. No puttering left to do, I go to his bed and caress his back. “Hey, babes, it’s good morning time,” I whisper. He snuggles into my shoulder as I pick him up. No sign of smile until he’s diapered and dressed.

We head down the hall to Big Guy’s room, where the scene is similar. Except Big Guy knows enough words to protest. “No, Mommy, don’t wanna get up. Wanna stay home.” “Yes, love, so do I, but I have to go to work today.”

Big Guy can pretty much clothe and shod himself, but how quickly it happens and how snappish I get depends on how many times he stops to stare off into space. “Get your shoes on NOW or your feet are going to get mighty cold walking to the car,” I growl.

Look who’s talking!
Sunday, 1 Jun, 2008 – 19:22 | Comments Off

For me, the most exciting stage of development is speech.

Sure, walking is a big thing, but a toddler still seems like a baby, strolling around with that chubby little diaper-butted waddle.

Once they’re talking, though, they stop being your baby and turn into a tiny person. A person who can clearly communicate wants, needs and moods, which can be good and bad.

Little Guy has been a pretty good communicator all along. He was only about eight months old when he started pointing and grunting at the fruit bowl on the kitchen table. Primitive, but he made his point.

But now he’s turning into quite a blabbermouth.

No surprise there. My grandfather was a blabbermouth, my dad is a blabbermouth, my brother is a blabbermouth, Big Guy is a blabbermouth and, while not in their league, I can hold my own.

With that gene pool, no wonder Little Guy chatters incessantly. Problem is, I have no clue what he’s saying 90 percent of the time. When he starts his excited mile-a-minute blabbing, I just nod and reply with an enthusiastic “I know,” praying I haven’t just agreed to buy him a pony.

Male chauvenist piglet
Sunday, 1 Jun, 2008 – 19:21 | Comments Off

Most days, I think I’m raising fairly enlightened males. Both love to help with laundry and dishes – it likely has something to do with getting to play in water, but I’ll take it.

Big Guy always picks up his socks, carries his dishes to the sink after meals and never leaves his underwear on the bathroom floor. Oh, and he remembers to puts down the toilet seat. Loves chick flicks as well.

He went through a recent two weeks when “The Little Mermaid” was his favorite movie, though he’s moved on, to “Mulan.” Even better!

But just as all the self-congratulatory back-patting was about to dislocate my shoulder, lightening struck.

During the drive to work one morning, as we headed into downtown, we were talking about my office and bosses.

“Do you have a boss? Big Guy asked.

“Yes, I have a boss, but I am a boss, too,” I replied.

“You can’t be a boss. You’re a girl.”

9to5to9: Who asked you anyway?
Sunday, 1 Jun, 2008 – 19:19 | Comments Off

It must have been great to be Eve. Lucky girl didn’t have anyone to give her parenting advice.

These days, everyone’s a critic. Whether it’s a grandmom or a stranger who once thumbed through a parenting book, you can bet they know more than you.

Using disposable diapers? Global warming’s your fault. Jarred baby food? Might as well put Drano in your little darling’s dish. Baby’s sleeping by himself in that big, lonely room? He’ll never have stable relationships.

And militants on all sides of every issue will tell you – no, scream at you – that they’re right and you’re screwing up your kid.

It’s called Mommy Wars – or

sanctimommy. Take your pick, but please, let’s not argue about it