Whitney just sent me a link to this cuh-razy looking iPhone/iPod case for babies and toddlers. Whoa. Fisher Price makes it so that little slobbery children can safely handle my electronica. Clever. But evil.

When Milo was nine months old, he grabbed my old school cell phone and slurped it into his mouth. Before I could pry it away from him, he hurled it to the floor. I was never sure whether the saliva or the impact killed the screen. But the phone was no more.

I pride myself on my very strong opinions, but I’m torn on this one. For about $15, would you pick up this gadget? Love it or shove it?

(While I hang out with my family, I am republishing a post from the 2007 archives for your entertainment. Enjoy!)

Last week, Ryan’s company threw a lovely holiday party. We were treated to a sit-down dinner at a well known fancy restaurant. With a babysitter I trusted, and a body that can finally fit in non-maternity clothes, I was feeling pretty happy as I took my seat at a table with three other couples.

I sat next to another mother of young children, and we talked comfortably for a couple of hours about all of the very important topics that once-hip women talk about — seeing live music in San Francisco, our interesting careers, and what to buy at Trader Joe’s. Oh, and why does no one ever tell you that all your hair will be falling out after you have babies? Yes, we covered all the good stuff.

Across from us, a couple of attractive newlyweds, probably bored to tears by our potty training tales, were charming and friendly. For a party full of folks I have never met, I was having a very good time.

Looking at the just-marrieds, I remembered the days after my own wedding, when Ryan and I could talk about nothing except how awesome our friends, family, food and festivities had been. “So,” I said to Mrs. Newlywed, “have you guys stopped talking about your wedding yet?”

“Can I be frank with you?” she said.
“Yes,” I said, leaning in with interest, hoping to hear that she cared little for her wedding, or that they didn’t actually have a wedding, so there was nothing to talk about. Something, I assumed, that would be related to her wedding.
“I went off the pill, that I was on for years, about a week before our wedding. Yeah, so you can tell where we are. Well, anyway, my hair started falling out because the impact of going off the pill is just like post-partum hormones.”

Apparently we had a misunderstanding about the topic of discussion.

My husband and her husband are in between us. Part of this conversation, but perhaps not wanting to be.

“So I just went off the pill,” she repeats. “Right, honey?” she looks at her husband to include him in the conversation. “Maybe a week before the wedding,” she tells us again. “Yeah, I just stopped taking it. Yasmin was the brand of my pill. I went off if it, and I was a total hormonal mess. Right, honey?”

Discomfort. I know my husband wishes he was not sitting next to someone who was sharing her birth control plans with us. He hates to be given too much information about people he doesn’t know. He could listen to women talk about hair coloring, vintage shoe collections, and George Clooney for a very long time, so it’s not that he has no tolerance for chick stuff. It’s the bodily functions. They’re private.

And the repeating — that was the worst part. She named the pill and continued to talk about it for at least three minutes. I was at first confused, wondering why she was telling me this. Then I remembered that the other woman and I had been talking about hair falling out postpartum.

I thought about the many conversations I have had with women I hardly know. One next to me in yoga class told me she got an anal fissure with the birth of her daughter. No problem. I’m not embarrassed or offended. But, if her husband was standing there, I sure might be. It’s not the way I believed the world is, but apparently there are some things I only want to discuss in the company of my own gender.

Tell me about your leaky breasts, your incontinence, your secrets to multiple orgasms. But don’t tell me in front of my husband.

As we waited for the valet to bring our car around and indicate the end of this very-much-fun-for-a-company-holiday-party, I told Ryan I was trying to shake off the discomfort of that birth control conversation. I think he was relieved that I felt the same way, as he does not want to believe himself to be a prude. And so we acknowledged together that there are some things that are not to be discussed in mixed company.

I saw this on my local parenting listserv (no further source available) and couldn’t resist typing it up.

What do you guys think? Love or shove the skull-and-crossbone trend on babies? On one hand, I get that it has a punk rock flavor and appreciate the irony of an edgy, yet toothless, human being.

On the other hand, something about the association this symbol has with death just weirds me out.

In the context of a whole pirate-themed thing, I like it. As a baby, my son had a handful of red and white striped garments from Gymboree with a hooligan vibe and I thought it was quite cute.

Heather just received the cute skull-adorned front carrier at the top of this post, courtesy of Evenflo. She said she likes it, but claims that this iconography is so prevalent right now that she wonders if skulls are the next generation’s Winnie the Pooh. And then she made her case by sending me links to all these items.

Sources: Sourpuss Clothing socks; Punkbabyclothes.com girls onesies; booties from Stardust kids; handmade infant hat via gothicrainbows.blogspot.com

So, what’s your vote? For or against skulls for the soft-skulled crowd?

Would you have a hard time going a full day without plugging into facebook or email? You’re not alone.

My husband has tried to impose a house rule, “No tweeting before eating” so that I don’t get sucked into the labyrinth before breakfast (and turn into a raving beeyotch). We also have a “No devices at the table” rule for which he is the biggest offender.

So, what about you?
Ooh, we’re on facebook! Join us there.

The irony of my position on this topic is not lost on me. I was a kid who never cleaned my room or helped with the dishes. When I babysat, I didn’t pick up toys or probably even clear the table unless I was asked to. It just didn’t occur to me.

I wrote a Sociology thesis about the relationship between mothers and the caregivers they hire. My feeling at the time was that babysitting did not include housecleaning. But now….

I have a sitter on retainer. Every Friday night she comes right after I have given the kids dinner. Her job is to give the kids a bath and put them to bed. They love her and so do I. She is a mother of two and we pay her $18 per hour.

After my kids go to sleep, two or three hours pass before we come home. So we have started pushing a cycle of laundry through before she arrives so that there are clean kids’ clothes to be folded while she’s watching tv.

Watch my video and let me know what you think of my expectations. How do yours line up?

Socks? Yes, socks. I’m talking baby socks, toddler socks, preschool socks, and all manner of little kid socks from infant on up. I realize in confessing this, I might sound a little crazy. But the truth is that I only buy certain makes, models, and colors of socks and I’ve come to have very strong opinions about them. It’s the engineer in me; I can’t help it.

It all started innocently enough with my first little baby. We lucked into a dozen or so super awesome socks along with a mixed bag of other varieties. Then, inspired by an old Parent Hacks post, I began to look at the big picture.

Babies:
Trumpette socks are the very best. They don’t fall off little feet and they come in cute mix-and-match colors and patterns. Buy a dozen – yes they cost more! – and be done. You’re welcome.

They come in skater vans, Mary Janes, + lots more varieties

Toddlers and Preschoolers:
Gap makes the best triple-roll socks for this age group. I suggest you buy 10 or so in the same color and never worry about matching socks again. Yes, I color-code my kids. Currently Holden wears grey and Milo wears red. (His choice, not mine.) The basic colors and grippy writing on the bottom of the foot make these little guys great for new walkers and the kids who like to sprint through my kitchen. I prefer to buy dark colors to hide the playground dirt better. Old Navy ones are decent, but I’ve found that sharp little toenails make holes in these socks faster than the Gap variety. Visit the gap.com baby socks selection.

Big preschoolers on up:
My friend Alissa turned me on to Children’s Place as the best place to get solid colored socks. Around shoe size 11, Gap socks veer away from the solid colors with the grippy bottoms toward something else entirely. See the boy/girl solid socks assortment hidden under accessories at childrensplace.com.

Is there a topic you have irrationally strong opinions about? Bring it.

Home birth can be a lovely option if you choose it and have the right support team — and upholstery cleaner in place — but that’s not what I want for myself. After my first labor and delivery, I don’t think I’m a good candidate anyway. I realize I never did tell you about my loooong first childbirth with my rookie baby, Holden. I do want to tell you someday — or at least write it down so I don’t forget — but it is so much less fun than wiping someone’s tushy, which is the promise of this site, I don’t know if I’ll ever get around to it.

Because of my most recent labor that was four hours long (including the waiting and relaxing associated with an epidural), I expect this next little guy to come QUICKLY.

At this point, I know a handful (yep five!) women who have had unplanned at-home childbirths and all I can say is that I’m terrified. Their stories are fascinating; unless, of course, you’re pregnant, in which case they’re terrifying.

On all fours in the bathroom while the paramedics are running a few minutes late and your toddler is sleeping. Wow.

In the living room chair while your husband is loading up the car for the hospital and he returns to get you to find the baby crowning… dang.

If I’m not giving you enough juicy details, check out Kristen’s home birth story.

Let me just say that feeling my baby’s head emerge while I’m still at home, a mere 3 miles from the hospital, is something I’d prefer to avoid.

So how should I prepare for the worst case scenario?

A kind soul over at our BabyCenter column suggested that I pick up an emergency childbirth handbook, just in case. Somewhere near the front door, I can stock clean towels, shoelaces, and whatever else I’m supposed to have (boiling water?!). I’ll make sure our tarps are within reach, not buried in the shed somewhere as the big day approaches.

This particular book comes highly recommended, but I’m not finding a hard copy. Maybe my husband should download the google ebook.

So, I’m open to all tips and advice, but please, no more home birth horror stories.

I love sleep. I love swaddles. But I can’t tell if this Woombie contraption is the best of both worlds or the worst?

Help a nearly-born-again rookie mom out! There’s a video on woombie.com if you need more help deciding (turn your volume DOWN before you head over).

Before you heed my warning, let me provide a little context. I have seen the original PIXAR Cars movie dozens and dozens of times. When my sons, now 4 and 6, can’t agree on anything else for family movie night, we watch Cars. I took my then 18 month-old to see Cars in the theater as his first toddler movie-going experience; that was a bad idea for other reasons, but the movie is sweet, simple, not scary, and has a positive message of friendship.

Ummm, why are they running for their lives?

So, why not take your toddler or young preschooler to see Cars 2?

1. Guns. Lots and lots of guns. Shooting. Killing. You don’t want your kiddo to see gun violence, stay away from this movie. You don’t care so much? Read on.
2. Complicated plot. Way too confusing. If you replaced the animated cars with human actors, this could be a regular semi-decent spy thriller. Children do not understand the difference between Big Oil and bio-fuel nor should they have to.
3. Lacking all charm and positive messaging. Actually, if you are an adult really looking for these things, you will find two different throw-away lines about standing by your friends and being yourself. But those lines are buried. Buried by guns.

I took my sons to see this movie on the first Saturday matinee showing. They said they loved it but didn’t understand lots of it. My four year-old had nightmares for two nights after.

Don’t take my word for it. As of this writing, Cars 2 has scored 33% fresh on RottenTomatoes.com, the worst score for any Pixar movie. According to Commonsensemedia.org, 74% of parent-reviewers say that violence is an issue and they recommend it for ages 8 and up.

So, if you saw Cars 2 already, do you agree with my assessment? If you haven’t, did I sway your opinion?

Though we might feel that everyday is Kids’ Day, my nearly-six-year old disagrees. Holden told me that every day is Grown-ups’ Day because we can do what we want, eat what we want, have what we want, and stay up late if we want. He thinks we always get the good stuff.

I spoke with Catherine Connors and Heather Spohr about what we REALLY want and don’t want for Mother’s Day. I’m curious if our answers line up with yours.

I would say yes! Check out my Thursday 13: BAD reasons to have a baby (from “everyone is doing it” to secret yearning for a minivan) along with a whole book full of selfish (good) reasons to make another whole person.

Sorry for the teeny update. I am writing to you from the Denver airport where I can’t get a decent wifi signal. I have another juicy post for you almost ready to go!