My father is a twin – and I have always been nervous about having twins. One baby I can handle, but two at once – whew! My husband and I would happily welcome two at once, but I think we’re more of a one-at-a-time kind of couple!

Then the other night, while watching my beloved Discovery Health channel, I caught a show called House of Twins. Without any infertility or hormone treatments, one couple had THREE SETS OF TWINS!!! Three pregnancies — six babies.

Turns out the momma is creating a high level of a follicle-stimulating hormone – meaning she is hormonally wired to have twins.  I think I’ll go in for tests tomorrow…

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I want to start off by stating that I do not have anything against Babies R Us. For many Americans it is the most accessible all-in-one baby Mecca. And let’s face it — it’s affordable.

With that said, I spent the entire morning helping my expecting sister fulfill her baby registry at my local Babies R Us — and I was left in a panic! While my sister’s traditional tastes were more than met with the store’s inventory, my desire for streamlined mod prods was left unanswered.

I was most disturbed by the “bouncies” or baby loungers. They are necessary, I know that. I do not diminish their need or usefulness — but they were not good! These little baby pods lay front and center in one’s living room (typically), and I would think they could be both functional and aesthetically pleasing. For expecting parents craving modern and contemporary design, Babies R Us just fell short.

So, after hours of pastel pink and blue, I came home to my trusty computer. I began searching and found, of all things, the bouncer that Halle Berry has provided for her little one. Now, I don’t believe in jumping on the celebrity bandwagon, but this it good:

The Bloom Coco Lounger Plexistyle - available at Nomi for $350. Nomi is definitely worth checking out if you like more modern designs – and have a more liberal budget!

This posted originally appeared on Behind the Curtains.

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In case you’re not familiar with ultimate fighting, it started off as a no holds barred event, which after people started throwing around labels of “human cockfighting”, further sanctions were put in place and now it is billed as “mixed martial arts”. The end result still involves beating the other guy to a pulp, however. Now, according to a report by the Associated Press, the violent sport is becoming popular with the younger set:

The bare-knuckle fights are now attracting competitors as young as 6 whose parents treat the sport as casually as wrestling, Little League or soccer.

The changes were evident on a recent evening in southwest Missouri, where a team of several young boys and one girl grappled on gym mats in a converted garage.

Two members of the group called the “Garage Boys Fight Crew” touched their thin martial-arts gloves in a flash of sportsmanship before beginning a relentless exchange of sucker punches, body blows and swift kicks.

No blood was shed. And both competitors wore protective gear. But the bout reflected the decidedly younger face of ultimate fighting. The trend alarms medical experts and sports officials who worry that young bodies can’t withstand the pounding.

I certainly have no problem with children being involved in traditional martial arts, I think it’s very good for their minds and bodies. But this is taking it to another level. Maybe I’m overreacting, but I’m just not too keen on enrolling my kid in a sport that has its roots as a “fight to the death”. How about you, would you allow your child to be involved in junior ultimate fighting?

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I am beyond frustrated. I watch The Daily Show and The Colbert Report and I laugh along with them, but it seems that there is the impression that if we don’t keep laughing at it, we’ll all just burst into tears.

I try to stay away from the mainstream news channels, because of my tendency to get migraines. All that abrupt flashing and shouting and ultra-vivid colors and trying to follow the straw men and red herrings and meaningless stories that don’t have points, but are shouted with urgency anyway. I’m surprised epileptics aren’t suing. I do watch The News Hour With Jim Lehrer and the BBC World News on our BBC America cable channel. So, I’m not ignorant of the news, I’m just choosy about who I let into my livingroom to give it to me.

Regardless of where you get your news—Fox or BBC or Stephen Colbert, it’s impossible to ignore or deny that we’re in trouble. You couldn’t avoid hearing about the housing foreclosures if you tried. The war in Iraq is going on and on. Our dollar value is dropping while prices go up. Everyone I know is afraid for their jobs. Yet a handful of people I know still plan to vote Republican this coming election. I do not understand it.

I feel like every quarter is a game of roulette with a loaded revolver. He didn’t lose his job this cycle, whew. We get to keep our house and make plans for the next few months anyway. I feel all the time like it’s not a matter of “if,” it’s a matter of “when.” I read on the CNN news page yesterday about a woman who went from earning $70K a year to lining up for groceries at a food bank within a matter of months. I can see that. We’re all just trying to hang on to what we’ve got hoping some miracle will swoop in and turn the wind around.

Personally, I’m putting all my eggs in Obama’s basket.

I have a Canadian friend who says that since American politics affects the rest of the world so hugely, everyone across the globe should get a vote. As an American I really cringe at that. But, as a human being, witnessing how badly we fucked things up in the past 8 years, I can’t help but entertain the idea, just for kicks. What would our presidential lineup look like if the world helped elect our leaders? It’s preposterous of course. We can’t eliminate cheating within our own borders (which is the only logical explanation for W in 2000. Jimmy Carter believes it, and so do I), so how could we possibly manage an honest world-wide election? But, it’s still interesting to think about. More interesting than reality, really.

We have a house that’s now worth a fraction of what we’re paying for it. My husband has student loans which are going to take twice as long to pay off as we anticipated because how can you expect the kinds of raises that have historically accompanied his position when you’re just happy to keep working? The PhDs in India aren’t asking for raises! My son’s charter school is having money problems because charter schools are funded by the state, not the district, and our (Republican) governor has slashed state funds for education consistently since gaining office in 2002. We live quarter to quarter, hoping to not have send my husband to live in an apartment on the east coast and send his paychecks home to us to pay the mortgage. Hoping that we won’t have to give up the house or a car, hoping that our son’s school will stay open next year. Our health care premiums raised in such a way that when compared with the small increase in pay my husband received, he actually received a decrease in what he brings home.

This is the American Dream right now. The American middle class has collective nocturnal fantasies about not losing all we’ve worked for. Those of us who weren’t wily enough to cash in on the plummeting housing market, or the booming oil prices, well we’re just fucked. But, how many of us who have been fucked are going to bend over and ask for sloppy seconds from McCain?

I wish I could be like my Republican friends and just be happy for those who had inside connections and are now billionaires because of the war. Just be thrilled with the idea that those who made a literal killing off of the foreclosures of others might toss a shiny coin down our way to spend at Wal Mart, and consider my own personal sacrifices to be for the greater good. I’d even be content with a mild case of denial, to just be able to find a way to spin this so it wasn’t really this administration’s fault at all. Find a way to link it all back to Bill somehow, and believe this his leaving office in 2000 was just a narrow escape from the inevitable, leaving this administration to shoulder what would have happened anyway. See? They should have let Gore keep his votes, then that line of thinking would be more believable. Or I wish I had some unreachable ideal to base my entire vote on, like abortion or homosexuality to oppose. As long as a candidate gives lip service to that one thing and I vote for that person, then I am absolved from any feelings of responsibility for whatever horrors that person commits afterwards.

But, I don’t. So in the time between now and Obama, I will occupy myself with various plan B options for when we do fire that revolver and the chamber is full. I’ll watch Comedy Central, wipe my cheeks and pretend that the tears are because Jason Jones is just so God damned funny.

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I have had 36 birthdays but I can’t remember more than a few of the gifts my parents gave to me each year to celebrate the milestone.  Perhaps if you’d asked me to remember these things BEFORE I had children I may have been able to reel them all off.  But as every mother knows, with parenthood comes amnesia.
They gave me a alarm clock radio when I was about 12. I woke up as they were sneaking it into my bedroom sometime around midnight, and I remember having to pretend to be asleep, and to keep my excitement quietly to myself after they’d left. I really, really wanted a alarm clock radio that year, and when I finally fell asleep it was with a big grin on my face.

I remember my 18th - that was the year Dad bought me my first Swiss Army Knife. The year after I got a Gortex Jacket, you know, for going hiking.  Dad is very outdoorsey.  After that, Mum took over the gift purchasing responsibilities.  For my 21st I received a gorgeous gold locket. And for my 30th, they gave me a Wedgewood vase, and in the card Mum wrote something along the lines of “you’re old enough to have one of these now.”  So naturally I’m wondering what I’ll get for my 40th.  I just know I’ll be old enough for Tiffany.
Other than that, I have no memories at all of the gifts I received. Isn’t that terrible? I suppose at the time all my parents hoped for was that I would be happy with their choice (and grateful!). I don’t know if they asked themselves, when they picked out my eighth birthday present, whether or not I’d remember that particular gift for the rest of my life. Needless to say I didn’t. But I’m sure it was lovely, and I’m sure I would have said thank you.

Madeleine turns ten tomorrow. It’s the first of those milestones that I remember wondering about in the days after she was born. Wow, imagine what she’ll be like in a year? In ten years? When she’s off to college? Ten years. Crikey.

Just in case she forgets what she got for this birthday, we’ve got the present opening caught on video camera. And there’ll be an extra reminder from this year, a little birthday souvenir - we bought her a ticket to tomorrow night’s Harry Connick Jnr concert, and I got hold of a tour poster, and then I bought her a nice pen, and when we cash in the backstage passes his Manager bestowed upon us, she’ll (hopefully) get an autograph and maybe a “Happy 10th Birthday Madeleine, love Harry xxx.”  And yes, since you’re asking, she is a fan in her own right.  I put him on her iPod, but she’s the one that put him into her Favourites playlist.
So this should be a birthday to remember.  But if she ever forgets, I’ll happily remind her, because I’m planning to enjoy this concert at least as much as she is and I’ll remember every single detail. I’ll wait until she’s a little bit older, though, before I tell her how cute Harry’s butt is when you see it up close.

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I consider myself pretty liberal, but this is too much.

I’m perusing the web, checking out People.com and the like, and stop dead in my tracks – Jamie Lynn Spears is allegedly engaged to the child that impregnated her. But the shocking part is how people (including celebs) are celebrating her choices. I’ve seen countless sites that praise her for “taking responsibility” for her actions. WTF?!?!?! Strapping on a condom or popping a birth control pill would have been taking responsibility. Or how about not having sex at 16?

It is my understanding that her hit Nickolodeon show, Zoey 101 (which is a show for CHILDREN), is coming back on the air for another season. AND Spears is appearing in an episode of Miss Guided – which airs at 8pm.

Again, WTF! Are you kidding me? This is insane – she is 16 years old. If I had gotten knocked-up at 16 my mother would have beat me, not phoned OK Magazine for an exclusive interview. And I highly doubt anyone would be applauding my choice for “taking responsibility.”

It has become too easy for babies to have babies – young people who put themselves in these situations are offered free or drastically reduced college education, food stamps, welfare, daycare assistance, cheap health insurance and housing assistance (at least in NY state). Where are my freebies? I didn’t get pregnant as a teen – and now I’m saddled with more than $40k in school loans, a mortgage payment, insane grocery bills, and costly health care coverage. My older sister, who is expecting her first child this summer, will have to pay out the nose for daycare while she is teaching second graders. Where did we go wrong?

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What happened to the punishment fitting the crime? Everything is bigger in Texas — go find one hell of an oven.

Man jailed for microwaving baby

A jury in Texas has sentenced a man to 25 years in prison for severely burning his two-month-old daughter in a microwave oven last year.

The jury rejected Joshua Mauldin’s defence that he was insane when he placed his daughter Ana in the oven.

Prosecutors said Mauldin had a history of violence, lying about being mentally ill and was angry about his marriage.

Ana, now aged one, suffered second and third-degree burns to her face and left side and required two skin grafts.

Part of her left ear had to be amputated.

Her foster mother, Heather Croxton, told the court of the painful daily treatments Ana has had to undergo since being left in the microwave for up to 20 seconds.

“There is no excuse for your actions and I hate that one day you will be set free and allowed to move on with your life while Ana continues to pay for your actions,” she said.

Mauldin’s lawyer, Sam Cammack, said his client would not get the treatment he needs for mental illness in prison.

— BBC News

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So, I’d like to clear a few things up.

To My Friends Who Do Not Have Their Own Spawn: I have a child, remember?

To My Friends Who Have Their Own Spawn: It’s OK to have a child AND a social life, remember?

Sadly, these clarifications are sorely lacking in my own social circles.

 My husband and I are at the weird age where some but not all of our friends have kids. We have the friends who have kids and have since year #1 of their marriage. I call them the Parental Posse. You know the kind–get married, get pregnant right away, forget all semblance of their twenties and/or fun and/or a life outside of their kids. The kind of friends who suddenly re-materialized once we had our own Blessed Event. These are the friends who only want to do things like go to the park or a baseball game. Which I’m all for–if there’s beer and a babysitter. But no, these friends can only participate in activities involving their own little miracles. And can’t ever meet you for dinner because they “Can’t find a babysitter” or “Little Susie has the flu” or “I’m attached to my child at the hip and can’t possibly function with other adults on a level not involving discussions about my child’s bodily functions.” (OK, the last one was mine.)

We also have plenty of the polar opposite: friends who are either single or married but have no desire to have children, at least not anytime soon. Our Drinking Buddies. These are the kinds of friends who ask us what we’re doing AFTER the bars close. As in, 2:00am. What our plans are. And snicker at how we’ve “changed” when I gently remind them that children don’t understand they need to sleep in on Saturdays when Mommy has a real bad red wine hangover. These are the friends who suggested we take Ryan, as in our eight-month old Demon Child, to a movie starting at 9pm on a Friday night. Want to know which movie? “No Country For Old Men.” Although Ryan is a huge fan of Cormack McCarthy’s books, “The Road” being his favorite, I think the other moviegoers would’ve chased me out with torches.

So, we can’t win. We are proud that we are able to make it out to a bar and people either snicker when we leave at midnight or they clutch their own children tightly, roll their eyes and whisper about how we’re trying to reclaim our youth. And I’m fine with that. It’s a balancing act and I’m thrilled I’ve been able to stay on the tightrope so far.

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I was raised as a lazy Catholic. Sure, I went to a preschool that was on Church property, and yes I went to Sunday school (until I was old enough to realize smoking pot and sneaking off to breakfast at Friendly’s was a better way to spend my time than learning about Jesus) and my family went to church…well, sometimes. I hated church because my mom would make me dress up…”GOD doesn’t care if I’m wearing jeans…” happened to me one of my favorite lines on Sunday mornings.

My fathers not religious and over the years God, Jesus, and Catholicism was never discussed in my family. Christmas, check. Precious Moments bible sold at family garage sale, check. I’m not sure what I believe; some days I like the idea of a big guy in the sky, some days I want to rub my little turquoise Buddha, and sometimes it’s a woman in the sky complete with sheer tunics and lavender essential oils. The bottom line: I believe in something, cause I wanna. Since having a daughter at least fourteen people have asked me if I’m going to baptize her and each time I just sort of glance wearily at my husband and go uh, no. As in, uh no I’m not going to pretend to be Catholic even if you want me to “do it for Great Gram…” No WAY.

But last night I found myself whispering to Paige my childhood mantra:

Now I lay me down to sleep, Pray the lord my soul to keep, Love stay with me Through the Night and Wake me By the Morning Light..

It sounds nice. It’s comforting, kinda. I might replace the Pray the Lord part with “Mommy Prays you sleep through the night…” Which has yet to happen, mother fuck! But seriously. I want Christmas and Easter but no bible. And I want spirituality but not Sunday school, and I want heaven but no sins that prevent you from getting in.
I’m confused. I’m confused about religion and spirituality and I don’t want to confuse Paige. Does she need to grow up with “something..” like the Grandparents are convinced or can we just enjoy comforting prayers before bed and presents on December 25th?

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I used to be a HUGE fan of Jon and Kate + 8 – I don’t have children, so I get a tickle out of watching others who do. I knew Kate was a bit wacky, but I took it in stride. I didn’t have anyone to vent to, so my pent-up frustration went unchecked. I must say, I enjoyed watching the show in ignorant bliss – until I found Jessica’s post on this blog! Now I watch each episode with a critical, and sometimes unfair, eye.

So yesterday’s episode — Color Me Gosselin. Why are you taking your kids to the Crayola Factory if you don’t want them to get dirty, or clean up after them, or use markers???  Kate, the reason your kids are having meltdowns is because you don’t let them do anything. And it’s not just me who feels this way – just ask your husband. He seems to think markers are fine.

While I am on the subject of markers – they are called washable for a reason. Last week I came home to find my precocious pooch with a chewed up purple Crayola marker. There was purple everywhere – on my cream rug, on his white paws, and all over my very expensive, very large tan micro-suede sectional sofa. But here is the real kicker – it washed right out! HA! Who would of thunk washable markers would just wash out!

Kate, you do not need to spend hours treating stains, as you claimed. You just stick the marker-decorated clothing in with the rest of the wash – you know, the stuff other people fold, iron and put away for you.

Your kids are what, three and a half and six (almost seven), right? Let them use a marker! They are freaking out and “melting down” because they are pissed. And the damn blue glue won’t kill them either. Do you really think that Crayola would supply toxic, hazardous and stain-inducing materials for their young patrons to use?

I know I don’t have any children of my own to clean up after, but during the day I am responsible for 20 – 25 youngsters. And it’s just me! No one else there to wipe noses, clean messes, correct papers, or march to lunch, music, gym, or the library.

Here’s my next complaint — stop complaining about taking your kids to public places. As a teacher I can tell you that field trips are much worse! 25 kids and only three adults to corral them. They have to be fed, taken to the bathroom, and shown an educational and enjoyable time – all of which is easier when the adults chill out and let the kids be kids.

So here is my final note on this episode – Jon, step up and put your foot down when it comes to Kate’s obsessive compulsive mandates. And Kate, quit your damn bitching! If you didn’t want to clean up after eight kids, you shouldn’t have had eight kids.

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