My 5 year old son is definitely the product of his mom’s love for reality television.

Yesterday, I caught him playing American Idol in his room. He was playing the part of Ryan Seacrest, so he lined up his stuffed animals (who he affectionately calls his “guys”). “Sprinkles” the penguin was first, “Sprinkles, Simon said you weren’t at your best last night…did America agree?…We’ll find out after the break.”

“Sprinkles, you are SAFE!”

Then Minnie Mouse was marched out to the pretend stage, “Minnie, I’m sorry, this is the end of the road for you.”

He does the same thing with Deal or No Deal. I often find him with his Curious George monkey, “You are kinda freakin’ out, aren’t you? It’s your choice. Will you take the deal?”

He told me the other night that when he’s 18 he’s going on American Idol and he’s going to win. I guess I’d better invest in some music lessons.

Crack. Me. Up.

Wondering if anybody else out there has an inspiring star and if they would nurture it?

I have no interest. If he wants to pursue it, I’d let him and I’d support him, but I’ve read that David Archuleta’s father is a slave driver and berates him if he does poorly. What makes a parent take it from the cute, stuffed animal play to coaching them into a life of strict discipline and focus?

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I’m sure everyone knows about the Duggars; the family with seventeen kids? They had a show on Discovery [I believe]? Anyway, momma Duggar is pregnant again with her eighteenth kid. WHAT THE HELL? Is all I can think…And according to the article I read they will keep having kids as long as god lets them. My first thought was “whoa how do you have sex with seventeen kids around?” The youngest is nine months.

Now, I’ve got a problem with this. I’m sure I’ll get crapped on by the religious folk but I personally feel it’s not God’s Will for this woman to have a slew of children it’s her lack of birth control and some awesome eggs n’ sperm. God also gave us brains so we can control our cycles for those who think birth control is evil. I personally think popping out kids like it ain’t no thing especially with the state of our country is sort of demented. I think having eighteen kids is just as bad as someone who can’t afford to have more kids, having them one after another. Without the Discovery channel show, and donations would they be able to live in a 7,0000 square foot home? I don’t think so. And why should we have to donate, and pay for someone that doesn’t believe in birth control?

Do the children get all the attention they deserve? All the nurturing? It’s physically impossible for a mother to tend to seventeen children…do the older kids end up with the grunt of the child care, and house work? Is the mother REALLY happy that she’s been pregnant for 135 months in her life? Does she really think that god put her on this planet to give birth over, and over, and over again? Is that all woman are to do? Have sex, give birth, and mother children?

What are your thoughts?

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This is a rant. This is only a rant. For the next few paragraphs, this blog will conduct a rant about men. This is only a rant. If this had been an actual essay, the entry you’re about to read would have included actual sources to back up the claims it made.

I’m not a fan of stereotyping. I think it can lead to prejudices and other bad things. I also think that if people hold up a stereotype as the norm, then those who don’t fit into that set of characteristics are left a little confused about their identities, maybe ashamed of who they are, and try in an unhealthy way to make themselves be more like the group they were born into. But, this particular entry is going to just neatly set aside those particular beliefs a little bit.

I’ve always liked the company of men. My very first best friend was the little boy across the street. In high school and college my closest confidants were men. My husband is still my very best friend. And the people I choose to hang out with now as an old, married, mother of three are younger single men.

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You know it’s coming — the dresses, tuxedos, limos — the works. It’s time for the high school prom.

My senior prom was a mild affair. Nothing out of control. For a large graduating class things were kept pretty minimal. I don’t recall talk of any crazy after-prom parties. No one showed up in monster-limos and barely-there gowns. And everyone escaped prom night unscathed. My butt, and those of 4 of my girlfriends, had to be back at my parent’s house at 1am. My parents didn’t rent a hotel room for me and my pals. I didn’t have carte blanche to stay out all night because it was prom.

This was a mere 8 years ago, but after watching a TV special on proms, I realize how drastically things have changed. The event has become a big bucks, big deal bash. I’ve listened to kids at a local high school gabbing about prom night — they’ve been scoping out dresses that cost nearly as much as my mortgage. They’re booking transportation that put my wedding fleet to shame. And they’re prepping for a wild night free from adult supervision.

Now underage drinking is no shock to me. Neither are after parties. But things have just become so out of control. There is much easier access to drugs, party locales, and booze.

I certainly do not want to be on the receiving end of some drunk high-schooler behind the wheel on prom night, but I don’t really know what the solution is. Parents have to be more vigilant. Law enforcement agencies have to be on high-alert. The hospitality industry, which stands to make bank during prom season, has to put the breaks on renting out rooms to kids looking to cut loose after prom.

But what role does the school play after the dance ends? I know of one high school that has banned the prom due to the increase in drinking and driving incidents, drug use, and over the top after parties.

I don’t believe in punishing the group because of careless acts of the few, but are parents and schools doing enough to keep kids safe? Is this one of those situations where kids will just find a way to do what they want?

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My three-year-old is very color oriented. She identifies the world and her place in it by color.

“You need that sweater, mommy? The green one on the black hanger next to the blue shirt?”

These questions she asks, and the answers she gives, always blow me away with their incredible detail. I love these glimpses into their minds.

When she gave that specific answer, about the green sweater, I laughed and tried to remember if my other two went through any similar process. As far as I can recall, neither of them did, not exactly like this.

As far as I can recall. That’s the hitch though. My memory is incomplete. It’s not a degenerative thing I need to be concerned about. It’s normal. But, sad and frightening all the same.

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I’ve got Mothers Day questions and you imperfects BETTER give me answers!

What should I ask for?

Mothers Day might be a hallmark holiday but people, people there’s no way in hell I’m turning down the opportunity to ask for treasures. No. Way. I need help deciding which one of wishes [thus far] should take priority. And please do share our Mothers Day “traditions” cause’ being a first time momma I’m interested in stealing ideas for the years to come. Three cheers for milkin’ mothers day!

MD Wish list:

1. No poop diapers for a week. Originally I was going to say “no changing a poo for the day” but that’s ONE load, and far too small of a gift…that’s more of a favor actually. A week is seven dumps, which is the perfect amount to be considered a present.

2.  Clean up after dinner. No more eating and running back to your computer sucker…me and the kid will be in the living room while you deal with the mess. This is worth three dinners which is probably the amount I cook per week.

3. Sleep ins every Saturday for the rest of my life.

I honestly can’t think of any more. I mean, besides a billion dollar gift card to Amazon for books, yes that’d be nice but I think I’m pretty happy, except for you know shit, messy kitchens, and lack of sleep apparently.

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I know this issue is not novel, but I am beyond sick of cartoon characters toting guns.

Today my kids were watching the Jetix channel, which airs superhero shows like Spiderman, Batman and Superman. All three shows are rated TV-Y7. According to TV Guidelines.org, a TV-Y7 is “Directed to Older Children. This program is designed for children age 7 and above. It may be more appropriate for children who have acquired the developmental skills needed to distinguish between make-believe and reality. Themes and elements in this program may include mild fantasy violence or comedic violence, or may frighten children under the age of 7. Therefore, parents may wish to consider the suitability of this program for their very young children.”

I am more hardcore about cartoon content and do not let my kids, ages 6 and 3, watch Jetix. But my husband beat me to it and had it on for them when I came down for breakfast. He’s of the opinion that kids are going to see violence anyway; let’s let them see it in the home and talk about it there and they’ll be fine. I’m okay with that opinion, but in my house, three-year-olds do not watch violence. Period. So I usually win.

Anyway, as I reached for the remote to turn the channel to the never-offensive Noggin, two bad guys in the Batman show the kids were watching busted out machine guns — MACHINE GUNS! — and starting shooting all over like mad. I couldn’t get the channel off fast enough and then huffed and puffed for twenty minutes about the state of the world today. Then I called my friend and we both bemoaned the state of the world today, while my boys watched “Peep” instead.

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Please tell me what’s up with the tattoos and the piercings. I’m not talking the regular old ear piercing, or even erotic piercings. Those, I understand. I can even see how the little nose stud can be cute (although sometimes they photograph more like warts). I mean the funky eyebrow piercing, or the labrets or the bull rings in the nose. What’s with that?

I remember watching a documentary on the history of tattoos a few years back. And, if my memory serves me, this was a custom that certain tribes used as a coming-of-age status. The idea was to withstand the pain of the tattooing process, and the tattoo was the proof that the boy did endure it and was now a man. They didn’t get the tattoo because of the image, the image was a result of the process. It made sense.

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I love watching the food network! I’m not much of a culinary Queen, so watching many of the shows gives me that cooking fix.

I especially love all of the challenges — extreme birthday cakes, character cakes, outrageous chocolate creations. I have no idea how they do it! Fascinating.

The other day I was watching the Ultimate Wedding Cake challenge — one lucky couple will choose from six cakes. The winning cake will be featured at their wedding, and the lucky chef wins $10k. Not bad!

So I’m watching the show. One cake, a six-tiered chocolate dream, will float above a sea of truffles and caramel. Another orange chiffon cake is being soaked in grand marnier then covered in a white chocolate ganache. My mouth is watering just thinking about it!

Then comes the commercial break… Weight Watchers! Come on! They were hawking their online program. I know people that swear by Weight Watchers. I’m not knocking it. But do you really need to interrupt one’s cake bliss with an ad for weight loss?

I prefer to watch my glutinous cooking shows in peace. White chocolate ganache, mascarpone cheese, truffles and all.

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As many of you don’t know, we got a house.

By “got a house” I mean we are renting the home of our dreams with hopes to purchase in a year, or two when the economy may, or may not be sucking so much ass. Before I go off on my rant, I’d like to tell you that our new house has a convervatory for growing pot veggies, and citrus trees [which I already ordered] even in the dead of winter! And it’s got a hell of a backyard for the dogs, and it’s got a pond on the outside of the property and it’s got four bedrooms and fireplaces and it’s in the country. Are you drooling? I am.  It’s also within driving distance to a Borders my book store of choice.

But it has a pool, and we have a baby who’s going to start walking any day, and pretty soon swan diving and practicing her breast stroke.  Everyone’s worried…except us. Pools are dangerous but hell so are puddles if you’re a nine month old.  For the record I *DO* plan on taking safety preclusions so my precious little bean doesn’t drown, so why does everyone ask me what I’m going to “do” about the pool. I’m going to swim in it fuckers what do you think? And so will my daughter because she’s basically a little fish. She loves water, especially splashing mommy in the eyes during bath time.

Am I worried about the pool? Well, I wasn’t until everyone started mentioning that she might drown if I don’t install fences and alarms around it.  One person even gave me the following scenario: My daughter wakes up wondering about her favorite toy [which happens to be dangerously close to our pool], it’s early morning and we are all sleeping so we don’t notice her climb out of bed and out to the backyard where she falls in and dies. Talk about morbid huh? I’m all “oh we co-sleep if she even turns over I wake up to ensure she is alive and well…so the chances of that happening are slim to none…” And what IS it with people and the “no shit” advice?

“Oh, you have a pool, are you sure that’s a good thing…she might die”

We have gotten about four phone calls, seventeen emails and forty nine instant messages concerning our chlorinated mecca and it’s annoying me, can you tell?

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