Motherhood Uncensored

Of Princesses and the Commercialization of America

If there's one thing that still haunts me about living with my in-laws other than the repeated image of my father-in-law seeing my naked ass is that I feel as though I lost a lot of parental control.

In your own home, you are the master of your domain, and you are able to safe guard and filter what enters and exits your child's brain.

These are the formative years. These are MY years. These are the very few years that I have left as a strong primary influence on my daughter.

She'll get plenty of time to run with her peers in which she will surely be influenced to do stupid things like think Ricky Schroeder is hot stuff and wear too many pairs of matching slouch socks at one time.

But when you live with your in-laws, the evil step-children of mainstream America, you are left to fend for yourself without the ability to filter.

The barbies, the princesses, the pretty pink ponies pleasantly peering past posies.

Blech.

It's nothing I would ever purchase for her and it's nothing that I find imperative to her development as a young girl.

Nothing.

And yet, thanks mostly to their neverending gifts that a frazzled mother cannot pry from her daughter's hands (or theirs) and throw directly in the trash, she is obsessed.

I had turned my head the other way for most of our time there, because in the long scheme of her life, this will be a very small period in time. But when she told the Mayor that he couldn't wear a princess outfit because he was a boy, and she started drawing all her people laying down because "they're sleeping princesses waiting for their prince to come" I started to take notice.

And now that I live in my own home, I feel my power coming back. The power that says I can raise my children how I want to raise them. No Backyardigans decorations on her wall, no outfits drenched in Dora, and no barbies.

None.

I've purged our house, pawning off many of her character toys (that she doesn't play with anymore) to friends of the family when we moved. And I've directed friends and family who like to buy her gifts to this guide.

But the princesses still live strongly, on our screen, in our magazines, and for our Halloween costumes. I gently steer her to generic princesses, with super magic powers that include finding the cure for cancer and helping others in need.

Unfortunately, it's hard to find images like that.

I do know that in every obsession, is a teaching moment. Where her princess can be a different princess. The princess that eats vegetables. And cleans her room. And shares with her brother. Even if she is still obsessed with every freaking Disney princess movie out there.

And I'll try to remember that in a few years, I'll be the Evil Stepmother all year round -- no costume required. So I had better make the most of these years while I can.

You're Only As Old as The Number of Times You Have to Get Up to Pee in the Middle of the Night

Based on the number of years I used to abstain from using public bathrooms for fear that I would fall in and get sucked into oblivion, you'd think that at this point I'd be wearing Depends.

In fact, I used to joke with people that at least they made french-cut ones.

But alas, even after two babies, I still have a bladder of steel. I'll make every OB-GYN happy and say it was because of the Kegels.

Heh.

I can generally make it through the night without having to get up to pee. For the most part, I always have, unless I've been pregnant.

And then it's an every three-hour free-for-all in which I contribute to the depletion of the ozone by going through massive amounts of toilet paper.

So now that I'm waking up WAY too often thanks to Mr. Drew, I have to say I'm tempted by the bathroom. I guess now that I'm walking past it, the toilet beckons me.

"Come, lighten your load, my friend."

But I walk past, try to ignore the talking toilet, and go back to sleep. Except then I really have to go.

And that just sucks.

I'm hoping this is the downfall of my elite bladder. Because I don't have too many things to brag about these days.

On a separate note, I need help with Drew's costume. I was thinking BLUE TIGHTS, a hoodie with yellow felt buttons, and a sock cap (where can I find this people?). Does that sound lame or cute?

And I'd love to hear your thoughts on the whole Deceptively Delicious Debacle. You know. Adding veggies secretly into our kids food will all surely send us to HELL!

Only In America Can You Get Sent to Hell For Sneaking Veggies in Your Kid's Food

*Edited below*

The last time I saw my therapist she told me that the reason I was so traumatized was because my mom used to give me zucchini bread. Except I didn't know there was zucchini in it.

Heh.

Clearly trying to slip spinach into brownies and cauliflower into macaroni and cheese will cause our children great psychological damage.

Apparently there's a terrible amount of hullabaloo surrounding Mrs. Seinfeld's new book. Not only has she stolen someone else's idea (um, no offense, but our parents were sneaking veggies and everything else into our food waaaaaaay before both of these books were written), but she's lying to her kids.

And worse, she's encouraging us to lie to them as well.

Now I buy those special noodles with Omega 3 and extra protein, and I swear by V-8 Fusion. So, am I supposed to explain to my daughter that her noodles have special fish oils in them and her juice actually has vegetables as well?

She doesn't even know what the heck juice is except something you drink.

It's one thing to lie to your kids -- and quite frankly, I'm not even a fan of telling your kids a store is closed or the playground is broken when you just don't want to deal with the consequences of their reaction. 

Is that lazy parenting? Or just picking your battles? Does lying like that start a bad precedence and promote distrust? Or are we just all pissed off that Jessica Seinfeld wrote a book?

Perhaps. But putting a little broccoli into my daughter's meat sauce doesn't seem like such a bad thing. (And really, who gives a shit who wrote the damn book). Besides, I wouldn't just suddenly stop putting veggies on her plate and say "Weeeeehoooo kid. No more veggies for us!" I'd continue to feed them to her and encourage good eating all the while trying to get them into her system any way that I can.

So what exactly is it? The pureeing? The racy title? What?

Because God knows my mom would throw a shitload of "who knows what the hell this is" in her ratatouille to make sure we got our veggies. Was that wrong when we just ate what she gave us and we didn't know exactly what variety of fall vegetable was looming in our bowls?

If one more person tells me (a mother with a fairly healthy eater mind you) that I need to provide my daughter with a variety of foods from early on bla bla bla, I'm going to scream. For the most part, parents know that. But when you have a daughter who had possible food allergies, and a son who's been waking up at 4am to poop on days where new foods are introduced, it's a little hard to just try to feed them new things when you finally discover something that works.

And what parents don't realize is that it takes about 15 times before a child will like something new. That means FIFTEEN times where carrots and olives and spinach are thrown at me.

And a lot of parents do not last that long.

But just because you don't have a picky eater, doesn't mean that moms and dads out there that do didn't do exactly what you did to get their kids to eat good foods.

In fact, chances are they've tried more things than just slipping it into their food.

My daughter used to love avocados. Now she hates them. I've never seen her eat a tomato and I still continue to put them on her sandwich and in her salad to which she continues to spit them out.

So be it.

But I would think that if my three-year-old asked the specific ingredients I used to create her scrumptious meal, then I would surely tell her. But considering she's usually busy feeding her brother paper and building lego castles, I'll hold off on the full disclosure thing for now.

Does she need to know exactly where her little brother came from, or do we just tell her what she needs to know based on her age? And does she need to know exactly what's in her food or is it so okay to throw some wheat germ into her pancakes and not tell her?

I mean, I'd happily tell her what wheat germ is, but um, you know. SHE'S THREE.

If you've got helpful hints and tips about how to get your kids to eat healthy foods (you know, other than SNEAK them), share them on Friday on your blog. PBN is doing a blog blast on the topic and you can win a $250 Gift Card to Williams and Sonoma. And if you've tried the recipes, liked the book, hated the book, and actually tried the recipes, considering posting!

fUGGly

There's nothing like a little chill in the air for people to think it's perfectly okay to wear their UGG boots. I suppose those folks think they're one upping all the other people who where them all year long.

Um. Yeah. They don't look any better with your snowsuit people.

It's always nice when mainstream America takes fashion cues from Pamela Anderson. Clearly she has her finger on the pulse of what's cool and hip in this world.

But even Pam is ditching her UGGs. Not because they look like someone skinned a sheep with a butter knife and sewed them together with their eyes closed, but because she discovered that they were made from real sheepskin.

Don't try to put one past that Pam, people. She's one smart vegan cookie.

If you didn't realize, UGGs were popularized by American surfers, not Iditarod competitors. Even men and women with frozen snot hanging off their nose hairs wouldn't be caught dead in them.

Doesn't that tell you something?

But that doesn't stop massive amounts of people from shelling out hundreds of dollars to purchase these shapeless wooly boots and actually wear them.

In public. With any number of outfit combos. I mean, don't you wear boots with your swimsuit? Pajama pants? Track suit?

I know they feel sooooo good and they're warm. But so are farts. And I don't generally do those in public. And I bet my farts smell better than your feet after being stuck in those shoes all day long.

Here's a concept. Wear socks. Don't walk around in a mini skirt and crop top in the dead of winter. Invest in a jacket.

And whatever you do, don't let them near your Crocs. Apparently bad footwear, when left alone, get horny.

Just Don't Tell Anyone I Was On Martha Stewart Radio in Jessica Simpson Shoes

I vowed on principle never to buy Jessica Simpson shoes.

I know she doesn't really design them, but for criminy's sakes. Her signature is inside them. And I don't know why it bothers me, but it does.

But I was desperate and I needed to look halfway decent (read: wear clothes that actually fit that didn't look like pajamas) and the shoes were cute.

There. I said it.

And I actually walked almost 20 city blocks in them brand new.

That's pretty darn good.

But that's not really the point. The point is that Liz and I were on Martha Stewart Radio's Morning Living to talk about safer toys (you know, remember all those toys that are poisoning our kids). We had 15 minutes of fame today, and it was fabulous. Plus we got to tell everyone about our new safer toy guide (in case you were looking for toys sans poison).

If you're having as hard a time as I am keeping up, make sure to subscribe to them in your RSS feed reader (www.recalls.gov). Seriously. There are new ones everyday.

And then, guess where I went?

The Clubmom offices! That's right -- I visited where all the magic of Cafemom and Clubmom happen. It's extremely glamorous. Okay, it's very homey and down to earth. And I'm very proud and happy to be a part of their organization.

So, there you go. That was my fantastic day in New York.

Now if only I could have met Jake Gyllenhall in person (and not from behind the window at the Today Show).

I know. I'm being greedy. I'll stop.

So anyway, I'm curious. Are you a clubmom and/or cafemom user? If so, tell me your groups?!