C'mere, gLovie

Loyal readers may recall that many months ago we started getting a free subscription to Parenting: The Early Years. (Technically it's in TimJim's name; we're saving them so that he can enjoy them later.)

We have learned many things from P:TEY. For example, we have learned that actually there is only one parent and her name is MOMMY. Articles tend to focus on topics such as how not to be too much of a nag to your husband, even though he doesn't know a diaper from a disco ball and expects his martini to be cold and ready when he gets home from work no matter what. (You, Mommy, do not work.)

There are also lots of helpful tips and tricks from other Mommies--sort of like Hints from Heloise, but weirder. For instance:

"Travel Tub: When we go on a trip, I bring a small inflatable pool to put in the hotel room's tub for my son to take a bath in. It protects him from germs, and any water that spills out goes right down the drain!"

or

"Look Book: So I can read my Parents magazine in peace, I made my son his own "magazine" to look at. I cut out pictures of kids from past issues, slide them into sheet protectors, and put them in an old binder!"


Aren't those great ideas? I know there's nothing I'd rather do than bring an inflatable swimming pool on every vacation, or cut and paste an old magazine into a binder for some reason instead of just letting the kid look at it.

What's really fascinating, though, are the safety products. To be fair, these are more advertised than featured in the parenting magazines. But wow, check this out:

That's right, it's Baby's First Head Gear! Presumably the first of many. These might be the best though:


Finally: a world where children need never touch a surface! Ever! No matter what! Isn't science wonderful?

Why not to buy whiskey when you are eight months pregnant, no matter what

It's my friend and coworker T's birthday today. I thought about getting him a gift certificate for a coffeeshop near our workplace, but it turns out he's given up coffee. (Even though apparently he's not even pregnant. I know, he must be a communist or something.) I consulted with Mr. A via email and we decided to get him something not very original that we knew he would enjoy: whiskey.

Thanks to Washington's repressive liquor laws, you have to get your liquor purchased during the workday. So on my break, I headed down the hill to downtown's only liquor store, bought the whiskey, and hauled it back up. Then I went to the Bartell to buy some ginger ale, because T enjoys a nice whiskey ginger.

It was all going swimmingly until the bag the Bartell lady gave me immediately broke and the whiskey bottle fell and shattered. I could feel every single person in the long line at the Bartell judging me as a terrible mother and a drunken librarian.* I really didn't know what to do, so eventually I just threw away the sad remains of my bottle of Maker's Mark and left.

I still reek of whiskey and there are only six minutes left in my dinner break. Time to go serve the patrons!


*I was still wearing my crazy clown librarian badge. Represent!

Zap it!

Mr. A. doesn't have a Facebook account, which state of affairs is probably a better way of life overall but did present him with a problem this week at work. He found that he needed to send out an email to hundreds of people, encouraging them to become fans of his workplace's page, even though he doesn't know the first thing about Facebookery.

Me: What are you going to say in the email?

Him: I'm going to tell them to zap it to our Friend Zone!

**
**

Oscars recap: The fact that The Blind Side even exists on film fills me with impotent rage. I saw the woman the movie is based on being interviewed on one of the morning shows the other day and she confirmed my suspicion that she could probably use a good punch in the face.

Tiny slimy sausage

Whoa dude, I'm having a baby next month.

For a while there, people were constantly commenting on how big I was. But now popular opinion definitely seems to have swung round the other way. I hardly look pregnant at all, they tell me. So skinny!

I know these people mean to compliment, and these comments don't make me mad. I might have said similar stuff to pregnant ladies in the past without thinking about it--who knows. But isn't it weird that such is our culture that even the knocked up get applauded for being thin? (I've actually gained a very average amount of weight, but that is neither here nor there.)

And now, in reality television corner: I watched a few episodes of The Bachelor this season, including last night's thrilling finale, and I must say I have never encountered a more stupidly named group of people. Tinsley? Vienna? I'm sorry, but no. It is not possible to love someone named after a tiny slimy sausage from a can.