I did a rhyme-y thing for the Huffington Post called “The Year in Review in Parenting in Rhyme” or something like that. Maybe I should have said it was a rap? Raps are cool. Shoot. Shoot. Shoot. It’s too late. It’s not a rap. Ugh. I blew it.
Please read it anyway. I beg you. I’m literally on my knees right now begging you to read it. It’s hard to type because I’m on my knees and my laptop is on the table, and I can barely reach.
Please.
I have a friend named Cindy Kaplan who is doing something truly incredible. For Thanksgiving, I wanted to write about her work. If you have time today, here’s a link to the Huffington Post story.
Happy Thanksgiving!
At least, I am for today. What qualifies me to call myself one? The same thing that qualifies all those other people who call themselves that. Nothing in particular.
But, I do have some tips over at the Huffington Post for updating your lonely Facebook page now that the election is over. Because, the election is over, right? I’ve been kind of busy this week and haven’t caught up on the news yet.
Are you ready for tomorrow’s water cooler anecdote? According to a story on Huffington Post Parents, this mother gave birth to twins last night in Kenya. She named the brothers, Barack Obama and Mitt Romney.
Of course, this NOW makes the Birther Theory Morons right. Barack Obama was born in Kenya. And Mitt Romney was born in Kenya last night, too.
(On an unrelated note, does the Donald J. Trump clothing line at Macy’s sell well? And, if yes, that’s gross. Fun fact: the J is for Jackass.)
I have a new essay up on Huffington Post today about why I think it’s time to stop paying so much attention to Suri Cruise. Of course, I almost posted a picture to illustrate it. And then, I realized, well, that’s a bit hypocritical. So, no picture. Just a post. I hope you’ll read it and then go through the phone book at random calling strangers and asking them to read it as well…
I wrote a thing called Why Toddlers Are (Almost) Exactly Like Superheroes. It’s now on the Huffington Post. Even if you read it here a few weeks ago, it’s more fun to read it there today.
If I were you, I would go and take a look. I might leave a comment like, “Ha ha! Ouch. My sides. Best thing ever written!” Then, I would take a nap. I don’t know if you’re tired or not but there’s nothing like a nap, right?
I hate this Nutrisystem ad soooooo much. I saw it a long time ago in a magazine while I was getting a relaxing pedicure, and it made me want to throw things, which is not a relaxing feeling.
Jillian Barberie is pregnant in the first picture. But — and it’s a big but — the ad makes no mention of the pregnancy. None! There’s no mention of the pregnancy! It just says, “Results Not Typical.” Results Not Typical! You bet your ass that those results aren’t typical! If you were pregnant and had a baby and lost any weight, that’s not weight loss. That’s having a baby. If you have to give it a name and a social security number, that’s not weight loss.
I’m bringing this up because Devon Corneal wrote a great essay on pregnancy weight (and loss) for the Huffington Post today. Here’s that link.
While you’re here and this has nothing to do with anything, can magazines and blogs please stop documenting Suri Cruise’s every move? She had ice cream! Here she is on a play date! She’s at the park! Have a peek inside her pediatrician’s window!
Okay, I have to go find a towel to wipe the foam that’s building up on the sides of my mouth because I’m on a rant.
When I first started blogging, I wrote “An Open Letter to My Sons.”
If you are a mommy blogger (or a daddy blogger), there is a good chance you’ve written one of these letters. That’s because there are a few posts that most parenting bloggers will write at some point: we will write about how unbelievably, freakishly, frighteningly, nauseatingly tired we are, and we will write about it when we could – instead – be sleeping; we will write about how we never thought we’d write about poop, and then we’ll write about poop; and we will write letters to our children.
A few nights ago, I re-read the letter to my sons that I wrote a couple of years ago. I didn’t like it as much. I tried too hard to include macho-type stuff – and I don’t even know what macho-type stuff is. I wrote about ways I wanted my boys to behave when they were serving as groomsmen, attending football games, and visiting strip clubs. My advice wasn’t quite exactly from the heart.
So, I want a do-over. And, since this is the Internet and there’s room for everything on here – like recipes for coconut bacon brownies – I’m revising my letter. I’m taking up a little more Internet today:
Cook. When people say they “don’t know how to cook,” it just means that they haven’t really tried or they don’t like to do it. If you can eat, you can cook.
Be kind. Be considerate. Be a good friend. (Unless you’re friends with idiots.)
There’s a popular book called Don’t Sweat The Small Stuff. I think it is very good advice. So, don’t sweat the small stuff, unless the small stuff is bed bugs.
Speak up. And speak from the heart. You will almost always regret what you didn’t say more than what you did say. The exception is when using social media. Think – think! – before you hit enter. Emails, posts, Instagrams and tweets are all digital breadcrumbs waiting to be found by your future employers, landlords and mothers-in-law.
Get involved. Raise your hand. Volunteer. Vote.
While we’re on the subject of voting, you should know that life is not a political campaign, and it’s okay to change your mind about anything, at any time. (Well, not at any time. Not if you’re ordering a drink and there’s a line behind you. In that case, order quickly and move out of the way.)
The people who are known for “always having the good gossip” are also the people no one trusts.
Be extra nice to the new kid for you will be the new kid one day. You might be 40 when it happens, but trust me, it will happen. And, by God, you will hope that people are nice.
Be on time. One, if you’re often late, people will start getting annoyed with you. And, two, you might miss something really good. Like really, really good. Like the kind of thing your friends will refer to for the rest of their lives. And you missed it because you were still in the shower.
Be a leader not a follower. Unless you’re leading people somewhere that’s dangerous. Then, it’s okay to let someone else lead.
The most important rule of all? Treat others the way you would want to be treated. Also important? No socks with sandals.
Oh. I almost forgot. Call your mother.
(Update: This letter is now available for your viewing pleasure at the Huffington Post as well. You may be wondering why you’d want to click over there if you just read it here. Excellent question. The only answer I have is that if you click over there and look to the right, you might still be able to view “Snooki Asks Kelly Ripa If She Pooped During Childbirth.” That is a real honest-to-goodness story! Sing it with me folks: “America, America, God shed his grace on thee…”)
