I gotta say, I’m not a big fan of those pants which…well, I won’t say the brand name, but it’s the one that labels your posterior as being juicy. I don’t really need to draw more attention to my hindquarters, thankyoumovingon.
I’m not the most experienced parent in the world, but from what I understand, I have only a few months left until my daughter asks that inevitable question: Can I get a pet? Knowing her, it won’t be any old pet; it will be a turtle or a snake or, help me, a rat.
In my daughter’s language, everything with four legs is a dog. Cat? Dog. Lion? Dog. Cow? Dog. The only animal that isn’t a dog is our dog who is, simply, Deh.
For the past two years, this household’s been on a steady musical diet of Sesame Street and The Wiggles. Don’t get me wrong–I love me some Rubber Duckie–but I’ve been meaning to try something a little more exotic.
The pressure to outdo, outspend, outimpress when it comes to your child’s birthday party is extraordinary. We’re not necessarily advocates of extravagance, but we understand that sometimes you just can’t resist going all out where the kiddo is concerned. In which case, have we got an idea for your next bash.
I do not have what you’d call a green thumb. I’ve killed cacti, for God’s sake. And yet the cruel irony is that I love surrounding myself with flowers, especially as the weather gets crisper and the blooms aren’t quite so readily available.
Oh, the ant. The sweet, sweet ant. Yes, I love the little guys and in fact one of my fondest childhood memories includes my trusty ant farm. The memory could only be made fonder had the ant farm been instead the super-looking Antquarium.
When it comes to baby gifts, I’m a huge fan of matching sets. Unfortunately they generally fall into one of two camps: the Little Brown Bear category, and the Trying Hard to be Funny (But Failing) category.
From among the audacious number of gifts my daughter received this holiday, I was happy (and proud) that her favorite was a book. Of course it was a special book – one personalized with her name on all the pages. Who could blame her?
If you’re anything like me, you have a whole bathroom drawer devoted to those makeup bags so graciously "given" to you when you spend a jillion bucks at the cosmetics counter. Please, leave them in the bathroom. Not only do they scream FREEBIE, they’re a cheap ploy to get you flash the company’s logo around town.
I’m always on the lookout for children’s apparel that straddles the line between my sigOth’s sensibility and my own. He doesn’t want her in everything pink; I don’t want her in everything Redskins. What we can agree on: These Kenji Dragon Pants from Tea Collection.
When I found out I was having a baby boy, I quickly bought the most
masculine looking car seat I could find. Blue–dark blue–punctuated with every shade of blue. So what do I do if I have a baby girl next and I’m bitten by the pink bug, I wondered. I’d hate to toss a perfectly good car seat over the aesthetics.
The first time they throw thebottleon the ground, it’s kind of cute. They laugh, you bend over, and like the naive parent that you are, you give it back. But after doing it fifteen times straight, you realize that it’s not so cute, and neither are herniated discs or painkillers.
I used to live in Northern New Jersey, proudly known as "the embroidery capitol of the United States." Seriously. There’s even a sign proclaiming the honor that’s posted on the highway running through the town.
The one time in my life I was totally dilligent about thank you notes was after the birth of my daughter. I couldn’t thank everyone enough for nine months of love, support, and yeah, the gifts.
I have found a fantastic new kids CD. In fact if you play it with your eyes closed and a latte in hand, it’s almost like listening to a cool new indie band in your favorite coffee shop–if only coffee shops had Hot Wheels scattered around the floor. And the faint odor of soggy Cheerios.
I am not apologetic that I use my daughter’s chest to promote my own interests, tastes and sports affiliations. It’s just a small part of my master plan to get her to agree with a few of them. If you share my perspective, you are going to have a field day at Reckon Wordwide, the online shop of poet, artist, and silkscreen master, Chris Weige.
After being quarantined for three months with a tiny infant thanks to the advice of some old school pediatricians, I was ready to get out of house – rainy fall weather be damned. This is where I learned that my child thinks that blankets are for kicking to the ground, even in 40 degree temperatures.
I may not be the handiest gal around, but I’m certainly not one to rely on my significant other to handle the "big stuff." And while you may not see me chopping logs in the backyard, I have been known to put together some tough toddler toys, some of which even required screwdriver usage.
I am one of those people for whom one medicine cabinet is not enough. I have all manners of lotions and potions spilling out from every available crevice and corner in the bathroom. So when I run naked from the shower shouting about the joys of some new product, you have to believe it’s something special.