In case you’re curious how cute my 4 year old really is, or how fat and bald I really am, tune in tonight to ABC World News (6:30 p.m. EST/5:30 CST — check your local listings) where I’ll be opining on toddlers playing with tech toys and flop sweating like Albert Brooks in Broadcast News.

(Wow, that was a sentence I *so* did not expect to be typing when I woke up this morning.)

UPDATE: You know that running gag in Monsters, Inc., when Mike keeps trying to get on TV but always gets cut out? Yeah, it was kind of like that. Enjoy my 15 minutes seconds of fame.

Although this ruling was made in England, I have to believe U.S. courts would take a similar position. Here’s the question: if a woman gets pregnant, does she have the right to withhold that information from the father and her family and put the baby up for adoption? I know this probably happens every day, but is it right?

The woman then took the case to the Court of Appeal, where the judges ruled that no steps should be taken to identify the father or tell him about the child, now 19 weeks old.

There was also an order barring the authority from introducing the baby to any of the mother’s family to assess them as potential carers.

They had learned about the child only when the local authority made inquiries.

Lady Justice Arden, sitting with Lord Justice Thorpe and Lord Justice Lawrence Collins, said this was not a violation of the father’s rights to family life under the Human Rights Act because he had no rights to be violated.

Woman have spent years and years trying to bridge the social gap between the sexes, disseminating any preconceived differences, yet in this case, the woman clearly has more rights to a child than the biological father. Why? Isn’t the child just as much his as it is hers? Does one sex automatically mean “ownership” of a child? What if that “ownership” isn’t in their best interest? Is it better for a baby to be adopted out, rather than custody be given to the father?

Isn’t making that automatic assumption sexism in reverse??

A good idea or a case of mind your own business?

A new Illinois state-sponsored program called “Be a Buckle Buddy” — seriously? — provides a hotline for folks to call if they spot a fellow motorist that doesn’t have their kids properly restrained in the vehicle. The owner of the car is then tracked down and sent a warning and pamphlets on child safety:

“The intent is not to be punitive in any manner,” said Chris Franciskovich, regional communications manager for Children’s Hospital of Illinois. The Peoria-based hospital, the Tazewell County Sheriff’s Department and Peoria-Area Safe Kids Coalition started the program in 2004.

Franciskovich pulls messages off the hotline once a week and faxes information — ideally, the license plate, kind of vehicle, location of incident, date and time — to the appropriate departments. If a caller gives just a plate number, he gives it to Tazewell, which covers for the entire state.

The police do not tell Franciskovich’s hospital where any offenders live and since the call is routed through the hospital’s switchboard, Franciskovich does not even see the area code from which the reporting person is calling.

The packet contains a brochure about car seat safety; another brochure, about car seat safety for children with special needs; and an IDOT brochure about Illinois’ Child Passenger Protection Act.

Of course I completely understand the importance of safely buckling kids into the car, but doesn’t this seem a bit creepy? To get some envelope in the mail out of nowhere that essentially says, “We’re watching you!” seems a bit much to me, and I’m torn on the subject. What do you think? Is this level of busybody-ness warranted?

For me, the 4th grade was fairly uneventful. It felt to me what being the middle child might feel like — nondescript, confusing, awkward, boring, a teacher that I couldn’t stand and a bully that taunted me. One thing that does stand out though, the day I got my recorder. It was an instrument in which I dreamed that I had control over, that I could be taught to play beautiful notes on and my family members would sit around a fire while I played melodies that lulled them to sleep. It was so beautiful. So…beige-y. So new. I believe it actually glowed and little sparkles could be seen from its edges. Well, it didn’t happen. It wasn’t beautiful, I couldn’t make it sound beautiful and it always retained spit in the plastic nooks and crannies that would make my skin crawl. Truth be told, I’ve never heard anybody play it well. The music teacher was always busting our balls that we didn’t practice enough and after a while, it became more of a chore in which there was no reward. I gave up on it shortly afterwards and my recorder dreams were destroyed.

I have to admit however, when my older son brought home the form asking for a $5 fee in order to get his own 4th grade recorder, it brought back memories. I felt all warm and cozy to think that the tradition was living on. I knew that my son would look at his shiny new recorder and fall in love with it until reality set in.

He brought it home and his little brother loved it/wanted it so much, I made a run to Target to get him his own recorder too. The two played in unison. In ear piercing, nails on a chalkboard, screeching tires, screaming baby, drilling, and toilet plunging sort of way. It was horrible and then my older son proceeded to follow us around the house for days, like he was the Pied Piper or something, playing it like a whistle — the kind of whistle that makes puppies cry. Now I know why they call it a recorder — because you just can’t get that high pitched sound out of your head.

The charm is lost. I hate the recorder. I’ll bet my mom hated the recorder too. After the 4th grade recital, it shall be given a proper dirt burial.

While ironic beards seem to be on the rise one facial hair trend that seems to be dead and buried is the Tom Selleck/70s porno/Superfan icon, the mustache. Well, gentlemen, if you’ve been itching to revive the trend and grow out that lip rug you now have a good excuse — you’re helping children’s charities!

That’s right, Mustaches for Kids has collectively raised over $150,000 for charities like Make-A-Wish. How does it work? Glad you asked:

Each year, during the four-week Growing Season between Thanksgiving and Christmas, Growers sprout sweet, sweet Mustaches. Per Mustaches for Kids bylaws, they shave their faces, except for the Mustache, a minimum of one time per week and solicit donations from friends, family, co-workers, and people in the community. Kind of like getting pledges to run a marathon. Without the exertion, cramping, or dehydration. Call it a facial hair marathon.

At the end of the Growing Season, each Mustaches for Kids chapter hosts a Mustache Competition, which is a cross between a beauty pageant, dog show, and police line up. During the Competition, Growers, often in Mustache-enhancing costumes, are put through a test of mind, body, and Mustache and allow their facial hair to be evaluated by an independent panel of judges, and one Mustache is declared to be the “Sweetest.”

Now I just need to convince the wife to let me participate — I’m dying to release my inner Rollie Fingers.