Crabmommy

--...-.-.-Anybody Out There?..-.-

2010-10-03T12:58:00.000-07:00

Crabmommy is tap-tapping...in Morse code...I have been trapped...for exactly O-N-E- Y-E-A-R in a cage on an island. And this is why I have not blogged. Why I became a not-blogger.

Yes it's true. I was kidnapped. Mom-napped actually. The PPP (Positive Parenting Police) conspired with the (West Coast NV [Non-Vaccinators] Collective) and decided they'd had enough of me badmouthing their scene to exactly 12 readers. Even 12 was too many! So they got me at the park, in broad daylight, stuck me in the back of a Prius under an organic hemp baby blanket and drove me away. At first, all I knew was darkness...But I could smell the ocean. They kept me in a cage, and let me out once a day for exercise. I tried to send you all messages via Morse code, but I guess none came through.

Mercifully, I managed to escape and now here I am safely stashed in my Portland apartment. Exactly one year later to the very day.

Whew!

My 12 fans, I cannot promise a return to mom-blogging. The mom-napping experience has left me raw and feeble, my words hesitant, my resolve crumbled into a tiny pile of...crumbled resolve. But I do hope at least to say HI and WOSSUP! And SORRY for the extreme silence and lack of explanations. I definitely thought of all of you as I sat in my cage on that nasty island off the Oregon coast, which looked like this.

Photo by Matt Niebuhr. Used with permission - All rights Reserved - Matt Niebuhr. www.mattniebuhr.com

How did I escape? LONG STORY. I think all that matters it that I'm home, safe, and sound.

You?

A Piu Tardo

2009-10-03T20:27:00.000-07:00

My friends,

As you can see, the Crabmom just hasn't been able to crab at you properly the past months, and when I have it's been a little too serious and a lot unfunny. No doubt I have worn out the patience of my regulars who can see I'm just not the old Crabmommy they know and love (or love to hate). So I am taking myself on sabbatical. I will return; I don't know when exactly or for how long, but I will be back...This isn't goodbye forever, just a gathering of self away from blog, an attempt to attend fully to pressing matters in the so-called real world. I do have more to say (absurdly enough) on the subject of motherhood, but it will have to wait.

If you're feeling unspeakably blue about my imminent absence from the web, vivify yourselves by turning to other lifestyle gurus: may I recommend reading the latest installment of GOOP, whereby Gwyneth P. conscripts her money people—including a "wealth management" adviser, whatever that is—to offer financial advice to the "layman" (her word, not mine)... [No, I'm not sick of reading GOOP yet.]

Hoping you are all finding yourselves full of the bounty of fall's goodness...or at least, hanging in and on, by a thread, a rope, a satin ribbon. I don't either know what any of that means but it comes with all my

Very best wishes
Crabmom
p.s. I do hope to see you here again. Check back in a month...or two.

Feeling Crabby

2009-09-15T10:19:00.000-07:00

I come out of my crabhole to mention this piece, which many of you have surely seen. It concerns the cocoon of neurosis and hysteria that continues to bind our collective parenting circle in this country...and no doubt in other countries too by now, countries in which real danger isn't imminent in the lives of middle class children and so parents fixate on hypothetical ones. This article--on whether children should be allowed to walk alone to school--is a timely one. Because after the reappearance of kidnap victim Jaycee Dugard, many parents are rethinking their decision to allow their kids to walk to the school bus...or home from a friend's. Because what if some insane lunatic chooses your child, at that moment, on that day...?

I understand what if. Duh. Becoming a parent is the ultimate what if act, one long series of what-ifs every single day and night. No doubt about it, motherhood is the most fearful enterprise of my life, and trust me, I am a feeble coward in all matters, but becoming a mother has brought out the total crabcoward in me: I continually scuttle into the darkness of my scared mommy-mind, debating the what-ifs...You moms and dads know what I'm talking about. I need hardly list for you the many hideous things that pop into a parent's mind daily, when it comes to children's safety. And it doesn't even have to be all that hideous to prompt us to spring into Safe Mommy mode, leaping to spot a tot on the monkey bars or gallumphing stupidly after a preschooler on her scooter, just in case she should happen to fall. No generation prior to ours has perfected the art of preempting a what-if before it even happens: we are masters at it, springing into action in advance of any danger....just in case...because, you know, it could happen.

And so one goes through the toddler and preschooler years reaching to stop something from happening before it even has a chance. And maybe along the way we relax a bit, deal with the scraped knee and the bump on the head. Or the broken arm, even. Because we realize these kids need to learn how to ride a bike or do the monkey bars or climb a tree. But then there comes a moment when a parent has to let a kid leave the house without him or her. And that's when, apparently, many of us draw the line, deciding that, in fact, our kids don't have to learn how to walk to school/ the bus stop/ wherever on their own. Because this time, it's not worth the risk.

But to model one's parenting style on fear-based thinking is surely just as sinister if not more so than actually dealing with fear itself, with the random, baseless, uncontrollable what-ifs of life. If we never let our kids walk to the bus stop/ ride a bike to a friends without Mom tailing him in her car/ take an airplane to see grandparents, alone/ play on the front lawn without being watched...our children will not grow up to be independent, able to take and assess risks, able to navigate through the world around them. If we teach our kids that they are a bunch of wussies and that they should be wussies because the world is a scary place, then we'll get fearful, nervous, freaked out, high-maintenance co-dependent children. We will get followers, not leaders, needy little twerps who break down at the slightest hint of hardship, adults who can't enjoy their lives properly because they don't know how to take control of their fears and insecurities...

All obvious...right? Less obvious, though, is where one draws the line as parents. At what point does the chance of a random Jaycee Dugard possibility trump the chance of teaching a child a measure of freedom? What risks are worth taking at what age? Nobody will give you the same answer with this one, and of course reasonable risk differs from place to place, child to child, age to age...there are too many variables to make a catch-all statement about this one. All I can say, for sure, is that it's extremely hard not to create total wussies in America today because few people are really assessing the risks properly: few people measure the what ifs of a pedophile/ kidnapper/ car accident with the what-ifs of over-coddling children, seeing the former danger as vastly outstripping the latter in every single case. Even though most readers of this blog and that NYT piece live in the safest possible neighborhoods, we still seem fixated on safety above all else. And yes, it's important to be vigilant and smart and careful. But it's not everything.

To my mind, weighing the other what-if is just as important as weighing up the real physical risks attached with any measure of freedom a child will need, want, and require. What if I don't give her any freedom? What if I don't let her walk to the bus stop (when she's 8 or 9 or whatever age seems right at the time)? What if I don't let her have adventures on her bicycle with her little friends? What happens to her then? And what happens to me as a mom if I wander around compelled to invoke the specter of Jaycee Dugard and Etan Patz every time I consider allowing my kid some independence in her safe, safe, super-safe American life?

As we all know, overprotective hyperfreaked parenting is all-pervasive in our Nation of Wimps. And it is all too easy to become such a parent. It's an impulse I have to fight in myself all the time; sometimes I get wussy, but I strive to buck the heck up. Because the primary goal of parenting is to foster independence. That's our number one job as parents: to teach our children to live in the world. It's a crappy world in many ways, but we haven't colonized any other planets yet so we need to give our kids the chops to deal with where they are, and they aren't going to get those chops if they don't see them modeled by the adults around them.

I am heartened by moms such as Lenore Skenazy (who let her kid ride the subway alone because he was ready) and the mom in this Times piece who lets her second-grader walk to the (very close by) bus stop even though people around her constant undermine her decision and invoke what-ifs as though, in fact, they are probabilities and not wildly exceptionally unlikely possibilities. She calls her daughter's walk to the bus, "a political act," and indeed, it seems to be: not only does one have to be brave in the face of what-ifs when it comes to allowing the kids independence, but now apparently we have to be brave in the face of disapproving communities.

I'll try to think of these moms when it comes time for Crabkid (now almost 5) to take some steps out of the door without Mom and Dad. I'll have to think of these moms, because I don't see a lot of freedom around me. Not in my 'hood anyway. I never ever see 9-year-olds biking or skateboarding on our sidewalks without a mother or father in tow. My neighbors don't allow their son onto the front lawn by himself, even though he's in the 4th grade. I think that's scary. Don't you?

What independent moves beyond the house do you let your kids take? And at what age?

The Natural Mommy

2009-08-30T21:51:00.000-07:00

Hi, splendid people!

I'm sorry I haven't posted in a while. I know this has become a lame recurring line. But I've been hiding something from you, something very big and very wild and very exhilarating, something you might not have expected from me:

I'VE HAD ANOTHER BABY!

!!!!!!

!!!!!!!!!

Got you there, didn't I?

No, no more babies here. Thank the Pope. But actually wild, exhilarating, un-Crabmommyish things have been afoot. People, the shocking news is as follows:

I HAVE BEEN STAYING IN A YURT.

I never thought I'd utter the word "yurt." It's a very un-Crabmommylike word. Like the word "staycation", "yurt" just isn't a word with which I typically associate myself. (Don't know what a yurt is? I forgive you! Go here for a gander.)

But, see, while I don't believe in sacrificing one's mental health and comfort and right to laziness as a parent, I've also got a healthy dose of guiltmommy in me, enough of a dose at least to ensure that we force ourselves into the great outdoors every summer. This is a promise I made myself. Because as a citymom with a minuscule pad, I am attuned to the fact that my tot doesn't get as much outdoorsyness as a mother might like her to have. And aside from enjoying a frolic in nature, our children will turn into mega-wimps if they don't partake of the bracing pleasures of wilderness life.

And that is why I forced Crabhubby to take us camping last year, as some of you will recall. And he actually enjoyed it. And Crabkid adored it. And I still got to boss everyone around, so I adored it too. And so this year, again we have been camping. Subsequently followed by a trip to a yurt. In a state park. This one. And it rocked. And don't you dare book it in August next year. There are only 8 of these particular puppies in this here park, and if one of you books the last one before I get to it, I will find out, and I will hunt you down and beat you senseless with a foam noodle.

The best thing about our yurt? The DVD player.

Oh dear, this nature campaign isn't going very well. Let me start over, because tongue out of cheek for a moment, connecting to the great outdoors does actually mean something to me as a parent. And so when the Forest Service asked me to pass on this cool link I accepted their request with great pleasure. Where The Other You Lives is a US Forest Service and Ad Council Public Service Announcement to get folks off their collective booty and into our splendiferous state parks. And even a crabby mommy like me is all for it.

Did you know U.S. children spend 50% less time outdoors than 20 years ago? That's dang lame, man! Does it mean in another 20 years, American childhood will be a wholly indoor venture? Yeesh!

Clearly we all know the benefits of getting our tots and tweens and teens out into nature, but few of us apparently get out and do it. So if you haven't done a camping/yurting/daytripping activity into a state park near you this year, and you are feeling guilty, go with the guilt! And nip out quickly before school starts! Or play hooky the first week. Seriously, little Champiqua will be just fine if she misses her one-on-one with the teacher and all the nonsense of the first week: she'll be far better off shaking her sillies out in a sand dune or on a river or up a redwood tree.

And did you know that if your teen knows how to use a compass, you will automatically receive a full semester of tuition from the Ivy League college of your choice? Talk about incentive!

Got you again!

Ah, but indeed, nature's bounty will only stimulate young Worthington's neural cortex in all the right ways, making it ever so much easier for him to concentrate on both his chess game and his Advanced Peace Studies curriculum in that seventh grade of prep school. Research has proven this abundantly. Plus being out there is just plain fun. The state parks are ridiculously amazing in this country, and this comes from a skeptical, cynical, meanspirited moaner.

Don't know where to go? DON'T BE SO STUPID. I mean, ahem, The Forest Service's new website has loads of choice info and excellent resources. And you don't have to pussy out of it and stay in a yurt. You can stay in a tent too. We did that earlier in our summer. At this absurdly heavenly state park. It was swell, but rain on day three encouraged us to take advantage of Oregon's hippie side and reserve a night in a yurt for a subsequent foray (two nature sojourns in one summer! As you can see, I am becoming an outdoorswoman). The yurt was bloody excellent. Dora the Explorer is so much more fun to watch when you are actually exploring. Ahem, I mean, the sounds of nature and the bonhomie of family time was a thrill even for this jadedmommy.

So go here and learn more. And props to the Forest Service for putting this together. And props to the Forest Service for having one of my family in its corps: Crabkid's Uncle Dave is a smokejumper with the Forest Service. This is a seriously crazy job involving parachuting into forest fires. Shweesh!

I close this message with 2 pics, not of the yurt, but of a ghostly, spooky landscape in Oregon stumbled upon while we were out in the wild. The gray beach sky meshed with the gray sand. We staggered around as though in a dream. It was creepy and magical and astonishing. Even I was humbled, and as you all know it takes a lot to humble the Crabmommy.

So, go camping, go yurting [did I actually say "go yurting?"], but whatever you do get outside and take the whiny ones with you. They will pipe down when you threaten them with tales of brown bears being drawn to human wailing.

Camp on, dear friends, but here's my personal public service announcement, familiar to those who have heard it before: Please, for the love of Joseph Smith, don't wear a head lamp. I repeat: do not wear a dorky head lamp. It is just going wayyyy too far. And I will never forgive you for it.

Ultimately, here's the thing about camping: even if you don't enjoy camping, you will thank yourself for having camped. And, the little ones—they will thank you for it.

Any camping trips afoot, y'all?

Confusing, Dang It! It Dang Confusing!

2009-08-18T20:58:00.000-07:00

Greetings, strangers:

Yes, you be strangers. Strangers be you, yes. Because: Absent Crabmmomy am I. I am Crabmommy, absent.

Okay, enough piffly feeble attempts to write what I once called a palindrome. In my previous post, that is. Entitled "Hot Dang It, It Dang Hot!" And I called it a palindrome. And someone corrected me in the comments and pointed out that nay, a palindrome must incorporate not mere words mirrored back and forth in a phrase, but actual letters. Like "Hannah." Or "Lisa Bonet ate no basil."

And so I mea culpa'd. And blamed it all on heat stroke. Which seemed fair enough at the time, it being 106 degrees here in Portland, which is a typically anemic sort of place when it comes to hotness. or heat. Or whatever they call it. See? The woman who once dared called herself Grammarmama has gone mushy in the head. The warmth has penetrated the soggy tissues of my brain and cooked them up.

Thankfully my good friend Fall From Grace corrected my anonymous correcting poster, who corrected my use of "palindrome" and suggested instead that what I did with that dang title was an anagram. Which of course it wasn't. Or isn't.

But the question, my chums, regarding the previous post's title is, IS IT, while not (obviously) an anagram, a palindrome of any sort? At first glance, one would say, NO. Because the back and forth patterning isn't of letters, but of whole words. Which is sort of cheating, innit? But still, fun.

The question of whether I can actually get away with calling this half-baked mirroring a palindrome or not has been peeping away at the back of my mind all through the day, as I set upon my mighty intellectual tasks of packing small people's lunches, frolicking in public swimming pools (which they CLEARED, because of a purported sighting of a TURD, I might add).

Anyhoo. Back to the topic at hand: I went and did what any graduate of literature and language from a top-notch university would do. I went to Wikipedia. And this is what it says:

A palindrome is a word, phrase, number or other sequence of units that can be read the same way in either direction (the adjustment of punctuation and spaces between words is generally permitted). Composing literature in palindromes is an example of constrained writing.

And I deduced from this esteemed Wikipedian writer (and we all know these Wiki-writers need no pedigrees nor lofty graduate degrees, but anyway): my phrase isn't a palindrome...or is it?

Let's take another look. Because there is this nugget lodged in the Wiki entry that makes me feel justified in calling anything I do a palindrome. Check it:

The word "palindrome" was coined from Greek roots palin (πάλιν; "back") and dromos (δρóμος; "way, direction") by English writer Ben Jonson in the 1600s. The actual Greek phrase to describe the phenomenon is karkinikê epigrafê (καρκινική επιγραφή; crab inscription), or simply karkiniêoi (καρκινιήοι; crabs), alluding to the backward movement of crabs, like an inscription which can be read backwards.

In case my bolding was not enough for you, the point of the entry is to state, unequivocally, that the Crabmommy can use the dang word "palindrome" whenever she dang feels like it. Because whatever I do on this blog is, quite literally "the backward movement of crabs," given that everything I write is a reflection on time spent, a rumination, crabby in more ways than one.

And as for the actual back-and-forth of phrases, unless someone comes up with a real figure of speech for it, I will coin one myself: the "Crabmommy Palindrome" is any phrase that reads forwards and backwards in whole word parts, because the writer is too dim to conceive of an actual letter-for-letter palindrome, but wants to show off anyway.

Does that satisfy you all, my discerning literate readership?

Back to the turd in the pool: Seriously, when one has paid one's public pool fare to frolic with one's tot of a hot day, one does not appreciate being kicked out of said pool after only an hour and all because of some purported turd, which they combed the pool for with a net...and even the second pool (our one, the deeper one) was closed on account of this chimeric, supposed, probably-hearsay turd in the shallow pool. Could Americans be more serious? You should have seen the faces of the lifeguards as they shut the pool down! They even had special purple turd-catching gloves. TURD AHOY! Me, I say, meh. A storm in a teacup. Or, more accurately, a drop(ping) in the [heavily chlorinated] ocean, if you will. If it were really out there, it would have floated to the top. Then you catch it, dispense with it, and let the kids back in. Don't you? That's my personal preference. Mind, I am the mom who took her tot swimming in a sewage stream.

Hot Dang It, It Dang Hot!

2009-08-01T10:30:00.000-07:00

I thought it high time I used a palindrome in my post title.

And hot dang it, we've been sweltering here. Hence my inability to type. Heat, coupled with extreme laziness, has a profound effect on my blogging finger (I never learned to type properly so my pointer digit figures prominently in the formation of words from my keyboard). Poor blogging finger. It does not like 107 degrees in Oregon. I had to bathe it in ice and set in on the A/C for days at a time. As one of few people I know in Portland whose apartment blessedly possesses aircon—central aircon no less—the Crabhome became of late the locus of much neighborly cocktail activity, all and sundry from our street crowding into our pad to cool down. It was quite fun.

In other similarly earthshaking Crabby news, Crabgrandma has been here for two weeks attending to the small one, who at almost 5 is going through one of those stages of insisting on wearing winter clothes in summer, in a heat wave, no less. She digs them out from the basement, saying, "I think these [corduroy] pants are right for today" and "Please can you button this [thick wool sweater]." And Crabgrandma deals with the tedium of challenging and changing and generally engaging the tot in all her contrariness.

Me, I lie on the floor plotting future vacations to Sicily, or sit beneath our one shady tree with a gin and tonic, pondering the plural of gin and tonic. That's gins and tonic.

I'm having a dang good summer. You?

A Lousy Job?

2009-07-18T10:14:00.000-07:00

I've been trying to think creatively about work. What jobs really are recession-proof? And more important, what jobs is this writer-mom qualified to go into to pull an income in troubled times? I have some writing work right now (more on that later) but I'm looking for something enduring and hourly, something I can do on a flex sched, 'cause my blogging butt has become extremely used to working on my own time in an ugly robe, looking like crap, and conducting a business life that involves zero co-workers. So what to do? Ladies, I think I've found it.

Nit-picking. Professional nit-picking. That's right; it is a real job. As the Times reports, unsqueamish ladies are making a tidy hourly rate "laboriously picking through people’s hair for lice and nits, or eggs — for a fee, of course."

I am heartened to learn that if you don't mind combine critters off the scalps of other people's tykes, you will find yourself a ready clientele, since "services as a professional nitpicker are more in demand as the tiny pests are showing up on schoolchildren’s heads with continuing regularity."

Since Americans tend to be a tad more freaked by bugs than most, it is only fitting that pro nitpickers have come to be, and as a wannabe-nitpicker I'm hoping even the recession hasn't caused American moms to do their own dirty work in this regard. Crabkid hasn't yet had lice, but I'm sure she will soon enough and I'm equally sure her curls will prove both a cozy home for lice and a challenge to the nitpicker to unsnarl. But it doesn't faze me. I'm not too bugged by little bugs.

What does faze me, though, is the notion of wearing a shower cap while at work. And you'd have to, right? Otherwise the lice would hop onto your scalp as an occupational hazard. Shower caps. Hmm. That's worse than a head lamp, surely. But hey, every job has its cons.

What do you think? Would you send your kid to a nitpicker if you could or would you save the $40 and DIY?

BPA, B.S.

2009-07-04T10:04:00.000-07:00

It's been a while since Ive managed to make fun of GOOP, Gwynnie Paltz' lifestyle schmagazine. Sadly, Gwyn has developed a touch of sensitivity as regards being perceived to be a spoiled, patronizing tit; either that, or she's simply hired a publicist to help squelch the damage. The resulting GOOPy letters are filled with bonhomie towards the plebs and innocent content involving detox regimens that even plebs can afford, or sweet little cookie recipes that can make a mom on unemployment pretend she is Gwynnie for a day.

It's disappointing, from a satirical perspective, to see the vanilla flavor of Gwyn's newsletters. But in a recent eco-fabulous-themed newsletter filed under the subtly themed GET section of GOOP, Gwynnz dissed the BPA bottle, proffering some sort of water bottle called a "KOR hydration vessel" that is made without those terrible toxins. And of course is slender, minimalistically mod and design-y, and costs a pretty penny.

All of which reminded me that I have yet to rant against the BPA b.s. that has filled the mommy airwaves over the years. (So many rants! So little time!) Sure, none of us like to have our wee tots drinking from the noxiously perfumed plastic water bottles that come with their Hello Kitty lunchboxes direct from Guangdong, China. I too have bought into the pricey SIGG bottle scene. But equally, new info shows it won't kill our little muffins to drink out of something aside from a (very pricey) SIGG water bottle, or schmantzy baby bottle, for those of you with infants. As a mother who has newly invested in a $22 SIGG water bottle for Crabkid's summer camp, only to have the dang thing go missing in a week, it is heartening for me to learn that this whole BPA brouhaha is just a storm in a teacup.

Or at least, from one perspective.

Read this and also, this, a far chunkier essay. Both links came to me courtesy of George Mason University's STATS, a marvelous entity devoted to dispelling spurious scientific claims. Of course anyone speaking out against the BPA freakout gets an onslaught of attack, so the author of the second article has also written up a quite interesting Q&A.

And on the subject of junk science and the culture of parental fearmongering, I was most impressed by this breathtaking piece by Shannon Des Rochas Rosa at BlogHer, on autism cults. This comes from someone who experienced it from the inside. It's great to see more moms speaking out against cult websites like Generation Rescue, who profess to doing good but do so much harm. Vaccinate your children, you bunch of crazy culties.

Rant over. The monkey bars call (or rather, a certain someone is calling for Mom to take her to them).

This is the part where I ask you what you think of non-vaccinating or BPAs....but it's actually unnecessary b/c of course if you have a strong opinion, you will share it with me in the comments, as well you should, my lovelies!

Grace in Small Things

2009-06-27T11:37:00.000-07:00

Some of you may recall one of the highly anomalous Crabmom post in which I, a crab-hearted being, attempted to write about gratitude. Sure, I'm grateful for many things. But I usually prefer to write about being ungrateful. Yes, when not chortling at bloody marvelous Christian music videos, or at Bret Michaels' reusable totes, or at reduxes of "Total Eclipse of the Heart," I like me some big ole' heaps of conflict and kvetching in my blog, in case you haven't noticed. Grumpaciousness inspires me.

But indeedy, there is stuff that warms my crustaceous heart. Here is a random sampling of things that make me smile: cacti in interesting pots; bison; tiny Japanese notebooks; nieghbors who give you things they've grown; nougat and assorted almond-based foodstuffs; miniature Mexican dioramas; sad music; fresh mint; stale Gummi bears...

Oh, and also the cute things my people sometimes get up to. I especially enjoy an accidental moment of sweetness. Such as when you download pictures from a camera, and you haven't downloaded from the camera in ages, and you find this:It could only have been taken by one human, of 4 and three-quarters, though perhaps a little younger than that when she took it. Maybe she meant to snap the shot of her toes; more likely it was just a mistake. And it's my favorite thing today.

What's yours?

*Less schmaltz, more substance coming back soon to Crabmommy. Empty promises, you think, but I'll be back.*

A Total Eclipse

2009-06-20T21:56:00.000-07:00

You are thinking that's what's happening here at Crabmommy. The moon has been shrouded in darkness. The writing is obscured. Nothing to be seen at all.

But you are wrong. Out of the darkness and into the light, with this:

Some of you have seen this, no doubt. but some of us haven't. How genius is it? It renders me speechless. At least for a little while longer.

Bret Michaels Makes Reusable Bags!

2009-06-13T22:52:00.001-07:00

OK. So my long-term fans are wondering WHAT GIVES with Crabmommy's blog. It has lately been very slim on the child-rearing stories and meaty on the random video weirdness, with Christians moondancing and personal trainers power-exercising on stainless steel kitchen appliances.

Don't you know the first thing about successful blogging by now, Crabmom? Don't you know it's important to stick to a consistent topic and audience and not confuse them with all this crapola?

Apparently not. because now I want to tell you that Bret Michaels, of Poison, of Rock of Love is selling reusable shopping bags on his website. With the words GOING GREEN ROCKS!

You may be asking yourself, why is Crabmommy visiting Bret Michaels' website? And the answer is HELL, I DON'T KNOW. Get your face out of my Google history. Sheesh. Can't I have any privacy here? Seriously, I don't know. I don't know what compelled me to go to Bret Michaels' website at 11 pm on a Saturday night. No, I do not have a thing for the man in the bandanna, ice-blue eyes notwithstanding.

But the more important question to ponder is how Bret Michaels and his peeps came up with the idea of selling reusable shopping bags with his brand on them. I mean, who is the market here?I have no answers. I can only say that truly, Bret Michaels is proffering said bags for $6.00 a pop. As his site says:

Celebrate Earth Day every day with Bret Michaels Going Green Rocks T-Shirts and Reusable Bags! They are available at a special price for a limited time!

Plastic bags leave a harmful impact on planet Earth, our reusable bags are an easy way to do a small thing that over time will have a big impact. Reusable bags are the ultimate multi-taskers, too. They are great for all kinds of shopping and make great travel totes in the car for snacks, books, toys, necessities and more. Our Going Green Rocks bags are a roomy 12-inches tall by 16-inches wide by 6-inches deep and can hold two gallons of milk and still have room for more.

Two gallons of...milk? Whaa? Truly is the internet priceless. Sometimes I forget that. I am so glad I remembered it tonight. Thanks for making me think, Bret. And for exposing me to fonts I never dreamed were possible.

It's Been a While...

2009-06-09T09:08:00.000-07:00

...since I made fun of religion.

No additional words necessary:

Thanks to Libba for this priceless link.

Tone Your Glutes on Your Oven!

2009-06-01T22:13:00.000-07:00

I think we all agree that Mary Campbell should be the winner of this *random* giveaway. So she is. Mary, contact me to get your yoga mat! Whoo hoo!

Hello, my charming friends,

Yes it's been a wee spell since I last posted. AND WHAT OF IT [insert defensive tone from blogger]! But while there is much to be sad about in the present economy, and in the news in general today, I can at least bring you a small bit of humor, a stainless steel kitchen upgrade, and the potential to use your kitchen to tone your tush here at Crabmommy. Courtesy of GE.

Indeedy, until July 6, 2009 you fine readers who still have a spot of cashola in your pockets can splash out and turn your kitchen stainless for the same price as the regular ho-hum finishes you plebby folk usually opt for.

More important, you can also use your new kitchen as a home gym, without any need of costly home workout equipment. It's a win-win. Check it, yo:
I think it's quite fun. And since I am married to an architect, it is certainly my moral duty to keep the building and reno profession in business. My husband may not have a job, but maybe you and yours do and thus perhaps you would like to do us all a favor and get yourself a spanking new kitchen appliance or three, pronto!

Please do peruse GE's products and discount info here.

Sadly GE isn't offering me a new kitchen for running this promo, but they are offering me a yoga mat. And since I already have two and this blobby blogging bod has no interest in either, I instead am offering said yoga mat and handy carrying case to a lucky reader, through this week. Sometime towards the weekend, or whenever I dang feel like it, I will pick at random a winner from the comments and soon your new yoga mat will be winging its way to you just in time for summer, when, as we all know, you most need to diminish that jiggly underarm flap and transform that squashy foamcore midsection from a mom-tum into a set of washboard abs.

I am also soliciting email for a new upcoming Crabmommy mini-series: Hire That Mommy! Or Hire That Daddy! For this I ask you to send me your resume, or your spouse's resume or your sister's or whoever in your family/friendship circle is presently unemployed. I will then post the chosen ones to my blog with a little intro about the advertised worker, and see if we can spread the word to all seven of my readers and thus, through the magic of the Information Super Highway, also knows as The Worldwide Web, get said person to perhaps find some new contacts and—you never know—maybe even a job.

Please send me interesting resumes only. Sex workers preferred, but all will be considered. Even Mormons.

Alms for Architects

2009-05-19T09:07:00.001-07:00

As the Crabhubby nears his final hours as an employed architect, I beseech you to think of him and those like him as you pass out your own remaining coppers. Here follows a few words from Crabhub coworker Jege, good friend and frequent visitor here at Crabmommy:
And you and yours? How's everyone faring in their chosen careers these days? Please, no happy "we're hanging in there" people or your happy comments will be removed by my site administrator. Complaints only.

Crabmommy Returns

2009-05-14T09:51:00.000-07:00

Seattle is swell. Crabhub and I popped up from Portland by train for a few days and our visit coincided with that of a major celebrity: the sun. Yes, the sun deigned to shine upon us for at least a quarter of each day in Seattle. (Seattle-ites, don't get uppity about my sun-swipe: I live in Portland, so I'm clearly not a big sun-worshipper. We can either now argue over which has more gray or simply agree that neither is exactly the shiniest place on earth. Which is all FINE. We know it's fine. Keeps everyone else in Cali, right? But let's not do a whole Seattle-really-is-very-sunny thing right now in the comments...k?)

Ahem. Lost my thread there. Ah, right. Seattle! It's really a quite lovely city to visit. I like the way they do things over there: for example the toilet stalls all seem to have very low doors so you can select your preferred toilet bowl without having to go into the stall to survey it.

Seattle has many splendid things about it. The Central Downtown Library, designed by famed architect Rem Koohaas, is not one of them. Seriously, for all three architecty types who happen to read this blog, I must just let you know that I don't doubt that the otherwise highly attractive and intelligent city of Seattle paid an extraordinary amount of money for an architectural embarrassment to define its skyline. No that the outside of the building is so awful. It's the inside: so completely awful it is, full of stupid Deconstructivist high-concept-theory-crap angles that...fulfill what purpose, exactly? To make you feel ill? Claustrophobic. Frightened. Why? Is this a holocaust memorial? No. It is a library. Or at least I thought it was until I went to the restroom: up one of those scary steep highlighter-pen-colored escalators and emerged in a creepy tunnel bathed deep abortion-red, pulsing with the shadows of homeless people. No, I am not against homeless people. I am almost sure I will soon be one of them. But I think a person has the right to go to the restroom in a public library without physically brushing up against transient humanity-at-large. Impossible not to as one fumbles through a long dark clubby-red corridor. Wait! I think I get it now--the architect's vision is to bring uptight people into contact with downtown transience. Mission accomplished, Mr. Koolhaas!

Okay, archi-rant over. Sorry, I'm married to an architect. My marital lingo nowadays went from the early-days sweet nothings to chitchat involving words like "spandrel" and "cornice." Sigh. I guess everything must evolve. But at least we are still here, together, and occasionally dining like grownups in such places as Seattle's Boat Street Kitchen. What a nugget of a restaurant! Such crabcakes!! Go there.

I hope y'all had a good Mother's Day. My child cried on the phone to me during mine, telling me she missed me. My heart broke briefly; it's true. But I chose to take the episode as a straight-up example of how long overdue Crabkid's Special Time with Grandma is and how right we were to leave. Time with grandparents alone is important for all children and their parents and grandparents--or at least that's my ideal. And I feel lucky that my mom-in-law was so willing to fly in from Utah to provide us all with what we needed.

Plus Crabkid was so cuddly on return. It's so delicious to go away, miss your child, and then capture them for a smothering love festival on return.

You? How goes it?

Shhh! Mommy's Reading!

2009-05-07T09:15:00.000-07:00

If you've ever asked yourself if you're a bad mother or second-guessed your maternal instincts even slightly, or if you get a tiny frisson of pleasure from discussing the bad judgments /lazy-assed performance/ not-so-hot mothering skills of the moms in your orbit, then Ayelet Waldman's new memoir is for you. Aren't you glad I didn't use the word "momoir"? So am I.

Ayelet's name has crossed my lips before on this blog here and here. She's the author of the Mommy Track mysteries, of Love and Other Impossible Pursuits, of Daughter's Keeper, has four children, and still manages to look tremendously adorable. And so I ~~deeply dislike~~ admire her greatly. In fact I really do. She is brave and compelling and I am sure every one of you out there will agree that whether you subscribe to all Ayelet's ideas of familial love hierarchy or not, we mothers are all served well by those among us who are willing to engage the tricky parts of motherhood with bluntness and intelligence, instead of clogging the world of mommy media with yet more safe, peppy, rah-rah motherhood claptrap.

Ayelet's memoir Bad Mother: A Chronicle of Maternal Crimes, Minor Calamities, and Occasional Moments of Grace is just out. See her read from it here:

For those of you in California, Ayelet is doing readings all around the state the next couple of months. Check here for a sched.

Also just out is True Mom Confessions: Real Moms Get Real. Culled from her fabulous website, True Mom Confessions, where moms come to anonymously rant and confess crimes real or imagined, author Romi Lassally reminds us that we all say/feel/think shocking unmommy-ish, unwifely sentiments all the time. All of us. None of us are perfect and trying to be can make you even worse and witchier and crazier and guiltier and more miserable and therefore less available to our families. So cut yourself some slack, y'allz! And while you're at it, cut that other mom some too. That bad mom you were just talking about. The one brought Kool Aid to the picnic. (And can you believe she lets her kids watch that show? I agree, it really is inappropriate...)

See more on True Mom Confessions and Romi's readings and interviews here.

Off to Seattle to be childless on Mother's day, I am. What a bad mommy!

Spoil That Mommy!

2009-05-01T09:12:00.000-07:00

Hi Chums,

As Mom's Day rolls around again I think back to last year's. It was just perfect.I got exactly what I wanted: a day to my crabby self, prowling the streets of my city toute seule.

I've never been a big one for all that MD gimmickry but now that I'm a crabmommy I'll take all the appreciation and worship I can get. This year promises to be a goodie since my mother-in-law is graciously flying in to watch Crabkid for three days while Crabhubby and I take a train to Seattle. I have never been to Seattle but it just a few hours from Crabcity, that being Portland, OR. I am most excited to travel by train; trains are so much more dignified than cars. Although you can't argue as much in them so that is definitely a con.

Anyhoo. In anticipation of MoDay, I have guest-posted a series of my ideal presents over at Etsy. Because it is not enough to be childless and carefree for a few days of Seattle. It is not enough to have my mother-in-law go out of her way to ensure this break for the Crabparents. I want more. Always.

Do stop by and help these great vendors of vintage and handmade fabulosity. Its just astonishing how gorgeous Etsy's loot continually proves to be. Mothers, treat yourself or your mom or grandma to a dear little pair of vintage earrings or a cactus in a vintage lusterware pot or whatever your mommy soul desires. Or send your spouses and boyfriends and polyamorous partners over to the site in support of you, O wondrous selfless mommy-creature, you!

The only sucky thing about guesting at Etsy is that I get all bitter and annoyed that I cannot have it all, every last bit of it. My face gets all pinchy and sour as I pick out the products and then it turns pink with covetousness and then green with envy as I picture those who can actually buy any trinket they wish off Etsy, any day of the week. Then my face turns purple with rage. Just sharing!

Enjoy, my dear mom-friends. And do tell me, what do you want most of all for Mother's Day? Please don't answer "hugs and kisses." Those kinds of answers are not welcome on this blog and will be removed by my site administrator.

Help! There's a pirate on my blog!

2009-04-23T21:34:00.000-07:00

Friends,

One of the very best things that has come out of my having a momblog these past few years is the reg'lar readers with whom I have forged new and surprising friendships. In the spirit of this happy event, I have asked one of my dearest and most unlikely readers to guest-post this week. Tony Park, whom some of you may know as "tonypark," also as "childless man from Australia" also as "tp" (thought that does not in this case refer to "toilet paper") is one such online treasure that I have had the pleasure of gabbing with online. Tony is indeed a childless man from Australia who somehow enjoys the Crabmommy musings. Tony is also a writer, of many books, thrillers set in Africa where he and his wife, Nicola, spend half the year, driving around in a land rover, drinking too much, bathing too little, and finding material for Tony's novels, such as Zambezi, Silent Predator and soon-to-be-publighed Ivory.

Ivory is a racy yarn about pirates off the coast of Africa, and I think it's very clever of Tony to have lately orchestrated an actual piratic (or is that piractic?) event for American readers, off the coast of Somalia, to coincide with the publication of his novel.

Following on from the recent comments of my last post, involving piracy, I asked TP, my resident expert, to post on the matter. And so I entreat you to read on, comment, and to visit Tony's website where you can buy his books and see a picture of him. He is very tall. He is also a major in the Australian Reserve. I am 5'2" in thickly soled Skecher sneakers. I am not at present involved in any military undertakings. As you can see we have a lot in common. Okay, take it away, Tony...

Avast, mommies and daddies… there be no talk of cute kids, Bristol Palin, baby showers or Gwyneth Paltrow on the good ship Crabmommy today. For this blog has been boarded (temporarily), by pirates!

Aye, the Crab has scuttled away across the floors of silent seas and I, Tony Park, have come here seeking answers (from what I’m assuming is a mostly female demographic).

My question for ye is, what is it about pirates?

In the comments on the Crabmommy’s last post, Ravi raised the whole idea of what kids–and adults–think about pirates. Simply put, it seems that fictional pirates are OK, but real pirates are bad. I’m good with all that, totally, but I want to know why.

My latest pot-boiler, “Ivory” (due for release in August), is about modern day pirates off the coast of Africa. No fewer than five of my female friends insisted, at corkscrew point, that I use their names as characters in the book and all were adamant that they wanted to keep company with the lead pirate (two added the further rider that their fictional alter egos must have exceptionally good legs).

Three more women paid significant amounts of money at charity auctions I spoke at last year to buy their way into the book. I later approached one of the successful bidders and offered her the choice of the last two unnamed female characters in the book.

“Would you like to be the PA to the managing director of a shipping company, or the pirate hero’s old girlfriend?” I asked, adding: “The ex-girlfriend is married, with two kids, but the pirate king has a one night stand with her anyway.”

“Duh,” replied the woman by email. “What do you think?”

I put the question of what it is that women find attractive about pirates to a twenty-year-old I know. Her take was that pirates reminded her of rock stars. “They drink, they sing, they wear leather and they, like, completely trash whatever place they land in.”

Interesting. Like some gender blender rock stars I could name, pirates don’t tend to conform to the more mainstream stereotypical definitions of manliness. Pirates wear pantaloons, puffy shirts and knee-high roll-top boots. Johnny Depp’s much-beloved (by chicks, at least) Captain Jack Sparrow further sports guy-liner and Whoopie Goldberg hair.

Taking on board the notion that someone like, say, Bruce Willis, will probably never be cast as pirate king, I wanted to give my leading seaman a sensitive side. He’s actually been forced into piracy by the current economic climate and is hijacking ships to help fulfil his life’s dream of renovating an abandoned hotel on an island off the coast of Mozambique. He steals paint and building materials and flat screen televisions, and has an eye for soft furnishings. He plots hotel room renovations in between raids on unarmed merchantmen.

Of course, as Ravi and Crabmommy mentioned in their recent comments, the fascination with pirates begins for most people at a very early age. As you parents may be aware, the Australian children’s music group, The Wiggles, has a pirate character called Captain Feathersword.

If using a feather as a sword isn’t a precursor to wearing eye makeup, then I don’t know what is, yet I have a mate whose son wouldn’t leave the house for two years unless he was dressed as the aforementioned Cap’n. (To the lad’s credit, he also carried a small plastic version of an earthenware jug, which he told me contained ‘grog’. “All pirates drink grog,” he assured me.)

Predictably, my fictional nest of pirates also includes one or two bad eggs, to remind readers that piracy is actually bad, and that not all pirates are like Johnny Depp and Errol Flynn.

In fact, let’s be honest about this. The good pirate is up there with the hooker-with-the heart-of-gold and John Grisham’s principled lawyers. Pirates always have and always will rob and kill and rape and pillage, so why do people dress their children as buccaneers and why do I have a book full of pirate wenches with names like Jane, Lesley, Sue, Lisa, and Kim?

Can someone please tell me what it is about pirates? Do you encourage piracy in the home?

A Heartbreaking Anecdote Revealing Staggering Genius

2009-04-20T08:50:00.000-07:00

Since this is a mom blog, I like to indulge myself every so often with little snippets of the darnedest thing my tot does and says, as they are all wont to do.

Scenario:

Crabkid (age 4.5) climbs out of the bath. As always, I dry between her little toes and tell her that if we don't, "mushrooms will grow between them." Then I pretend to spot one and eat it. It is pink and delicious! But Crabkid appears to be outgrowing this sort of nonsense:

"That's not real," she says, full of scorn. "You always tell me things that aren't real."

"So what do you believe in?" I'm genuinely curious to hear the answer. Crabkid has always seemed skeptical about the usual fantastical things of childhood, politely listening to tales of Easter bunnies and Santa Claus but never really seeming to be swept away by the magic. "You believe in Santa Claus, right?" I test her. "And fairies?"

She shrugs, noncommittal.

"Tell me, what do you believe in?" I ask again.

"Chicken nuggets." And then she adds, "and people."

Isn't she a nugget of delight?

Why, thank you. I agree.

GOOP OFF! Gwynnie's ticked off with me!

2009-04-16T11:20:00.000-07:00

It is a sad thing when the world commands so much of one's attention that one can't make good on one's promises: I had promised you I'd dissect every single GOOP newsletter that Gwynnie-pops Paltrow ever sent me, but I'm several newsletters behind.

But at least I used the pronoun "one" in the above paragraph, which gives one a certain a propos British tone, when one is speaking of a certain transplanted member of the Commonwealth. A certain member who sends out monthly GOOPy newsletters in order to share with the world her "incredible" and "very lucky, very unique life."

Anyhoo, in the latest installment of GOOP. I really feel Gwynz hit the nail on the head. Finally, she is actually talking to me, not above me or down to me, but to me.

Me, personally. Because this week's newsletter focuses on people who enjoy taking others down. It involves a very big, very German word, that Gwyneth wants one to rid oneself of: schadenfreude. This week, Gwyneth asks a bunch of her sages how we can stop being such bitchrocks, crabmommies and generally mean-o people who delight in the dressing down of others:

I’m curious about the spiritual concept of “evil tongue” (speaking evil of others) and its pervasiveness in our culture. Why do people become energized when they say or read something negative about someone else? What does it say about where that person is? What are the consequences of perpetuating negativity or feeling schadenfreude?

And I totally know she is talking about Crabmommy. Because Gwyn recently spoke the evil tongue in the media, jabbing back at those of those of us who have been speaking the evil tongue about GOOP:

F--k the haters! I saw this blog of people writing horrible things about me and for a second your ego is so wounded. How could people hate me, my intentions or what I’m trying to do? I’m a good person and I’m trying to put good things into the world.

Gawd, do you think it could really be me she's talking to? I am so totally hoping so! But there are a few of us who have GOOPed off on the lass, so I can't be sure she was talking to the Crabmom. No matter, either way this hit of pure schadenfreude I just received—in knowing that Gwyn has been made to feel like a toss (albeit only for a wounded second) about this pretentious, condescending new empire of hers—is wonderfully energizing. Almost like a trip to the gym! Thanks, Gwyn!

But hey, in all seriousness, when the laughter has died down we haters need to look deep within ourselves and see the negative energy we shoot at others for the pernicious awfulness that it is. Yes, I know there are people out there who think it's time I stopped dissing on the Gwyn. Including Gwyn herself. And lawd knows her Zen and Kabbalist sages wouldn't approve of my childish scoffing!!

The problem is I happen to think raining on smug people's parades is something of a social service. And it feels so good!

That was the devil speaking in evil tongues on my shoulder just there! Sorry! I really am trying to take the sages' advice to heart. Let me try again. Hmmm...let me see...can I hear the good voice deep within my inner aspect... the nourishing voice? The inner, nicer Crabmommy? Yes, I can....here she is:

"Hi, guys! I'm Crabmom's inner nourishing angel. I don't get out much, so excuse me if I sound a little shy and unsure of myself. Um, Crabmommy? Leave Gwyneth alone! Ignore her newsletter if you don't want it, and stop trashing something simply designed to be helpful, something designed to put good things into the world, something that comes from Gwyn's innermost aspect! OK?"

Me: "You mean the aspect that motivates her to share her 'very unique life' [sic.]?"

Angel: "What does 'sic' mean?"

Me: "It means there's no such thing as 'very unique.' We are all unique, each person on the planet as important and unique as the next. That's Zen 101, Gwynnie!"

Angel: "Hey! If you can't say anything nice, why don't you just say nothing at all! F--k you, hater!"

SPLAT!

Yes, that was the sound of me killing my inner angel. Once and for all.

I think it's fair to say I'm going a bit loopy and goopy over here. Enough nonsense! Here's the thing: I can't and won't stop reading my GOOP! For I don't keep reading that GOOP I will not be able to reap, albeit secondhand, the rewards that come from reading the words of someone privileged enough to tap the very greatest sages on earth in order to go very deeply and organically into her very nourishing inner aspect even if outwardly she sounds like a patronizing prig. Quite simply, if I don't got GOOP, I can't pick out my next sailor-striped tee, much less my next kitchen sink:

I have this incredible, blessed, sometimes difficult, very lucky, very unique life, and I've gotten to travel all over the place and to work and live in different cities. … I go on tour with my husband and go to cities I would never necessarily go to. So I started accruing all of this information. I am the person my friends call when they want to know: "I am redoing this bathroom, and I want a sink that looks midcentury, but a contemporary version of a midcentury. Where should I go?"
—Gwyneth Paltrow

Mother's Day In: Rejected Essay #1

2009-04-09T11:05:00.001-07:00

This is the first of a new mini-series, Rejected Essays. I wrote it many years ago back when I was a new arrival in Crabtown. I tried to sell it in various forms to the usual venues—Babble (they said they were too urban to pub an essay by a ruralmom! I told them urban is a state of mind and my essay was all about that very thing, but they nixed it anyway, the smug urban twits); also sent it to Brain, Child (I guess it wasn't brainy enough); Cookie (no room for first-person essays of this sort) and blah-di-blah. Having just read an interview with Cheryl Hines (the actress playing one of the moms in the new TV comedy In the Motherhood) at Cookiemag.com, my erstwhile home, I decided it was high time I published this essay. The actress mentions a similar anecdote to the one I describe here. I guess they are filming it for In the Motherhood.

Incidentally, I am boycotting In the Motherhood b/c they had the cheek to send their PRs to my and other momblog websites asking us to share our stories with their show producer in some sort of exciting phone call. I told them the Crabmommy's idea of an exciting phone call with their producer begins and ends with a discussion of money and credit. Wankers. Seriously, PR, read my bloody blog. I'm not here to help you with your TV show.

Anyhoo, Hines reminded me of a funny story I myself tried to tell many years ago, but couldn't get anyone to run. The beauty of a blog? You can just run your own dang rejects yourself. Hopefully you will enjoy, my dears! And Crabtown readers, there's a little poetic license taken here and there; I hope you will humor it. Okay, enough chit-chat. Rejected Essay Part Uno...

Mother's Day In

After our baby was born, we did the unthinkable. We did exactly what we had always scoffed at, what we swore we would never do, what no real New Yorkers–no truly urbane parents–ever resort to, no matter how challenging the life of cramped apartment and schlepping stroller into subway. We left.

We nixed suburbs (we’d both read Revolutionary Road), but when my husband got offered a job in a remote and famously charming mountain Rocky Mountain resort, leaving seemed better than staying. Because when you get knocked up and have to move so deep into Brooklyn it feels like the end of the world, switching city for town doesn’t sound, well, like the end of the world anymore. And so there comes a day when you look at each other and agree that having a baby in the city with no bucks absolutely blows, and let’s just finally, after all this talking about and conjecturing about life in other places–let’s just stun ourselves and our friends and get out of here.

But the decision was made in the full thrust of summer. To stroll gently upon alpine meadows containing bashful deer, or to stay in steamy Kensington, Brooklyn, mashed against the narrow corner-store grocery aisles by forceful Ukrainian matriarchs?

Problem is, summer’s gone now. And, I think I might have made a mistake. Certainly all this time, space, and distance is making me obsess over what I’ve abandoned, all those things I’d always taken for granted in New York, things you don’t even think about until you’ve left. For instance, one of the best things about living in New York City is that no one ever invites you on a hike. In winter. With your baby in a backpack and tennis rackets on your feet. In a big city, such activities can be avoided. In our new town, this sort of thing unfortunately happens all the time.

Here, winter lasts forever–longer if you’re lazy and have an infant. And Patagonia-clad moms’ groups deal with winter by getting into it, in snowshoes, scampering up ice-shellacked buttes, offspring stashed dorsally in high-performance carriers. But not me, not mine. No thanks. Having had no choice but to Bjorn my hefty daughter for the first nine months of her life, on foot from subway to bus and Brooklyn to Manhattan, why would I choose to pick her up and put her on my back when I finally have a car?

Except there aren’t many places to drive to with a tot when the playgrounds are frozen for most of the year. And without playgrounds we can’t make any friends, hence no playdates. No matter, we shall hunker down at home, the baby and I, and I shall entertain her with a hip-mom technology-shunning program involving books, wooden toys, and fetching felt finger-puppets.
That was the plan. But it does not go well. The all-day one-on-one mom-baby time is a clear and unremitting hell. I ditch the wooden toy mandate fast–show me a tot who actually likes a Haba spinning top!–and it’s on to television, preferably all day, though to my great disappointment Teletubbies don’t mesmerize a baby half as much as people caution.

The months move glacially. I revisit the options: what’s worse, staying home where baby and I are both crazed with boredom and isolation, or backpacking with a moms’ group into some nasty dark canyon, me huffing in the altitude while my poor chilly mite snots up the back of my puffy jacket, ice wind chapping her delicate cheeks…? To be sure, neither of us is digging it at home but still I can’t bring myself to climb a mountain instead, nor can I bear to exchange my MacLaren XT for a winterized jogging-type stroller adapted with snow tires for walks across the elk-inhabited tundra downtown.

But judging by the other mothers I see leaping, jogging, shushing through ice and snow, I am entirely alone in my distaste for activity, and I miss the sensible girls I once knew, for whom competitive knitting is about as aerobic as it gets.

We do break out for Storytime at the library on Thursday mornings; nonetheless I feel trapped and glum. Other mothers seem happier, but in a town where people seem hell-bent on teaching their infants–and yours–how to high-five, maybe happiness, like stay-at-home motherhood and living in a snowy hamlet, isn’t really for me after all.

“I go to the rec center,” one mom, my neighbor says. She’s the only mom I’ve met here who complains about motherhood. (Another thing to miss about city life–all the abundant complaining!) “The rec center is great,” she says. “You dump your kid off in the daycare and then go swim. It’s the only way I stay sane. I practically live there.” Makes sense–she’s Amazonian, superfit, like everyone else here. “Besides,” she adds, “the daycare is only two dollars an hour.”
Two dollars? It sounds impossible, but having never set foot in anything resembling a rec center, how would I know? I heard something about these sports center thingies in NYC that came complete with daycare, but they always required a hefty membership fee. Besides, baby-toting was more than enough workout for me: I never had the slightest desire to re-firm my abs or deal with my wibbly thighs post-enfant. All I ever wanted was to rest, something entirely too costly for my budget.

But two dollars. That I could manage.

“So long as you’re a member and you remain on the premises, you can do the Kiddie Klub from nine to noon” a rec center employee, Bryce, verifies when I drive over to check things out. Bryce is both girly and butch, with a skimpy voice and huge lats. He takes me over to a gigantic tot-and-toy-infested gym room. “Kids love it here.” I feign concerned parental interest as he details the abilities of the Klub staff and how no child ever cries with so-and-so but my mind is on the money and the numbers make me giddy. “It’s a very fun and safe environment,” Bryce concludes. Fun? Who cares? It’s two dollars an hour! Safe? What’s the worst that can happen in a room lined with gym mats and life-size plush pandas? I mean, is an adult really even necessary? Hell, if they shaved a buck off the fee, I might forgo the warm body and take my chances, do two hours for the price of one…

Bryce keeps chit-chatting but all I hear is two bucks this and two bucks that. I can palm my child off for less than a cup of coffee! Less than a Nuk pacifier! It’s music to my desperate ears because, town for city notwithstanding, we’re still poor and any sort of paid childcare has been out of the question. Until now.

I pay the absurdly cheap Rec Center annual membership fee on the spot. There’s only one small problem: Now I have to swim. Or otherwise exert myself. I take a look at the bulletin board. Morning schedule lists lap pool and cardio-something in the only other gym room. I walk around. Two pools. A damp small lounge area opposite the front desk. Is swimming worse than playing with tot or better? Swimming worse than hiking or hiking worse than swimming? Why does it always come back to exercise? The rec center now feels like a rebuke, part of this town’s ploy to get a mother off her ample postnatal nether-cheeks and make her work out. Apparently if I want even a shred of time to myself, I’ll have to swim for it.

Or will I?

Would anyone check to see if I was actually swimming? The front desk, the daycare gym room, the pool, none are in view of the others. What if I just pretend to go swimming, pass through the swinging doors with a sports bag as though on my way to the pool and then just sort of…lurk. Under the radar and in a stairwell. Doing nothing. For a whole hour, maybe even two, if nobody caught on. I could read. Make phone calls. Or I could just stretch out on the floor of the capacious handicapped toilet. Bliss!

Day one. 10 am. Bryce signs me in, I hand tot over to daycare staffer, a teen whose golden looks, easy cradling of an infant, and blank expression made her seem a likely Mormon and therefore far more qualified to serenely look after an entire fleet of bleating toddlers than I am to mind my own single child. Bryce scans my ID. “Well,” I say, making a big show of throwing a towel over my shoulder and heading for the locker room, “If you need me, you know where to find me.”

Not exactly, Bryce. For I slip away, down the hall, dodge the locker room, pass the pool. I come to rest at cul-de-sac near the rear exit, spend some quiet time wedged discreetly in a nook between the snack machine and a water fountain. I see no one. No one sees me.

“Good workout?” the Mormon asks when I return after a phenomenal hour spent playing playing Minehunt on my Palm Pilot. “Great,” I reply and hug my daughter. “We’ll be back tomorrow!” And I shall bring my computer this time in my sports bag, hit the ladies’ locker room, and power up behind a punching bag. Read the Times online. Return emails. Maybe even paint my nails.

I’d like to say all of the above really happened. But the truth of it is, I lost my nerve right after signing the baby into the Kiddie Klub and signing myself in for swimming. This is what really happened:

Bryce scans my ID. “Well,” I say, making a big show of throwing a towel over my shoulder and heading for the locker room, “If you need me, you know where to find me.” But as I head for the ladies locker room I notice it’s busy today: brawny moms are filing in and I’m getting nervous. What if someone spots me and asks me what I’m doing? What am I doing? Whatever it is, it no longer feels so fun, so recreational. In fact being in this rec center is winding me up even more than trying to wrestle an Ajax-laced sponge from my child’s bleached gums. Such strenuous avoidance of exercise–it’s completely exhausting!

I turn around, return to the front desk. Bryce is picking his thumb. “Look,” I say. “What if I come here, put the baby in the daycare but I just lie on that couch over there.” “Lie on the couch,” he repeats. “What if I pay not to swim,” I plead. “Like, three dollars an hour?” “Why?” Bryce is not the brightest bulb. Or maybe it’s just that in this place where the word “accessory” denotes the yellow Lance Armstrong bracelet, no other mother has ever suggested such a thing. “I just want to relax,” I confess. “I’m tired.”

“Oh, honey.” Bryce smiles. “That’s no problem. So long as you pay your two dollars and stay on the premises we don’t care what you do.”

No judgment, just compassion. Were it not for the men in Speedos, one might think one were in a Buddhist temple and I am duly humbled. Having had no experience with rec centers before, I had no way of knowing, but I had been pretty sure the staff of a sports center, in a town obsessed with physical fitness, would get peppery with some cheapo parent’s taking advantage of the daycare pricing so she could do absolutely bloody nothing at all. I was wrong.

“Go ahead, Mom,” Bryce says. “Put your feet up.”

I lie on the couch. It is brown and orange. Ancient, granular bits of protein bar fleck the creases. From here through glass doors I can see–but, joy of joys, not hear–my little moppet playing in the Kiddie Klub, happy with her new friends while capable two-dollar-per-hour Mormons look on. I breathe in the rich, mossy athlete’s-foot-and-chlorine aroma of the rec center. Ambrosia. Outside snow falls, but inside it’s heaven. I could live here.

So That Dental College Job...

2009-04-06T21:20:00.000-07:00

As I mentioned in my last post, I attempted to beat out the masses for a job teaching English at a dental college. I tried every other institution of higher learning in my town in the last year, looking for supplemental income, and so I thought I'd go to the institutions of lower learning this year, after the death of my Cookie magazine blog, also known as "the bloglet."

Some of you may recall that Crabmommy has done a fair bit of teaching when not occupied by blogs and such. And I must say, for some reason I thought the dental college gig would be mine without question and that finally my Ivy league grad school would step up to the plate and bat for me! I even fantasized that I could march right into that dental school with "Dude Where's My Comma?"--the class I created to teach grammar to Crabtown high schoolers (remember that one, old faithfuls?)--and just regurgitate my own prior coursework onto this new crop of dentally inclined people. Alas, someone screwed me over!! Someone snatched my dream away from me! Someone else was chosen over me! I don't know who, but the gig was "very competitive," so HR told me when I huffily inquired as to the status of my app. I am seriously ticked off. Who beat me?

I think it was Jonathan Franzen.

Seriously, it probably was. This is a city of unemployed writers. We are all begging to teach writing in the context of dental hygiene. I am pretty sure I saw Chuck Palahniuk interviewing for a job at Trader Joe's!

Depressing stuff. We had a sweetly pre-summer day here in the Pacific Northwest, but I feel old today. And melancholic. It is the end of an era. Last year seems so long ago. We all had it so good, people! The world seemed so full of promise back when I complained for a living! What a happy time that was! But now Levi Johnston and Bristol Palin have broken up and soon Jonathan Franzen will be teaching hygienists-in-training how to differentiate between "its" and "it's" for tooth chart purposes. Talk about a Corrections.

And y'all? And y'all's kids?

Soy Sauce in My Coffee

2009-04-02T10:06:00.001-07:00

That's what Crabkid did to me as an April Fool's joke. And while Dad was in the shower, we put toothpaste in the bottom of his sock! She was hysterical with joy as he described the feeling of minty squishiness between his toes. She loved that he had to go and wash his foot again! Dad really got into the spirit of the day and offered me a sherry last night that was in fact apple cider vinegar. As Crabkid would say, de-scrumptious.

And you all? Any tricks to report?

For those new readers who have come here from Cookie, welcome! No, that wasn't an April Fool's joke: I have really been laid off. And yes, it's okay. They were very good to me and I had lots of fun with that blog and made money out of it and ticked quite a few people all off. All good. But on the positive side of being laid off, I can't make fun of Mormons as freely over there as I can here. And when I said whackjob Octomom's kids should be taken away from her, they did ask me to "soften the message." Thankfully here I can be completely unfiltered...and I plan to get back to that so stay tuned, non-vaccinators, religious people, and people who have too many children: Crabmommy is coming for you!

Not Dead, Just Hibernating

2009-03-30T08:58:00.000-07:00

"You should have given me a nicer punishment!" Crabkid crabbed at me last night when I beat her with a stick or whatever it was I did as negative reinforcement for impishness.

That's the only parenting-related line I can think of that is worth sharing with you today, my friends. It certainly gave me a chuckle.

I've never taken a 3-week hiatus from this blog before. Nor have I written the kind of post I'm writing today. Which basically has no content. Nor much in the way of juicy phrases. Nor pithy anecdotes, whiny musings, nor sage/sassy pronouncements on parenting of any sort.

Y'alls, I'm just finished in my head. The head is empty. There is nothing there. Plus we was away. See? I can't even conjugate verbs anymore! We was at my sister's wedding. Crabkid got to wear gold shoes and attend ski school, which she tells me she will never attend again. A day of ski school absorbed the last of Crabhubby's 401K fund. Oh, well.

If you're looking for a less mentally flaccid Crabmommy, I will, for the penultimate time in my life, direct you to the bloglet where you can hear about my swimming in a community pool en famille. I got a way-intense wedgie up my left butt-cheek on account of swirling around in a furious whirpool. Yes, this is the second-to-last time I will direct you to the bloglet, for I have been downsized and after this week there will be no more bloglet, no more second blog at Cookie.

We can't say we didn't see it coming. Perhaps it was long overdue. Still, it will be hard to replace that gig so I'm fretting. It will be hard to fight over a secretarial job at a dental school with the rest of the city. We will all beat each other about the ears with our transcripts from Ivy league grad schools. But I have a foreign accent! And if that doesn't work, I can make a strange chicken sound from the back of my throat which I have honed since childhood and which I have been told is most unusual and impressive.

And how goes it wit' you?

One fish, Two Fish, Red Fish--Dead Fish!

2009-03-09T09:18:00.001-07:00

In which we discuss the dead fish.

You may recall the Crabfamily acquired three guppies recently, yes? And I did not like their home, a hot-pink aquarium complete with bulbous lid and garish purple gravel. Still, I am not so cruel as to punish them for what they have no control over. So I dutifully fed them, chlorinated the water, massaged their tiny fins...in other words, what were meant to be my daughter's first stab at having a pet instantly became my new charges.

If you want to hear the full saga of the red-tailed guppy's demise, go here. Here at Blogger I'll try to summarize. After a week of feeling sick and at first enjoying and wallowing in it, then growing annoyed with it, I spent what felt like my entire weekend engaging in: watching a guppy languish and then expire before my very eyes; getting into a passive-aggressive battle with Crabhubby over who, exactly, was to blame for the dead guppy; secretly buying a replacement guppy; driving all over town in search of the right fish and fishy accoutrements; and scrubbing purple gravel to rid it of fish-flake fungal blobbiness and assorted nitrites, or whatever the heck they're called.

It was exhausting.

The good thing about my weekend: I met Ed the Aquarium Man. Ed is the fish expert at my local Petco. He looks the way a fish expert should: slick, gingery ponytail, barrel chest. Somehow that seems right for a fish expert. Ed told me loads of not uninteresting factoids about guppies. Did you know their tummies are tinier than their tiny eyeballs? You do now.

I promise this will be my last post on fish, but since it is my last post I'm going to let myself go a little and muse upon the significance of this moment: I can safely say it's a lot of work keeping guppies alive. They may look easy but they challenge you in ways you never imagined. They require more of you than you signed up for. They also cost more in both time and money, as I discovered when had to call all over town for a miniature aquarium heater, which I found at a fish store called The Wet Spot. Gag! the Wet Spot was fairly busting with people and buzzing with fishy assistants in blue coats, sporting multiple piercings in the nose, lip, and eyebrow. In a recession it seems everyone heads for the fish store and buys up entire schools of guppies and squids and exotic whatnots. I guess in tough times, in lieu of a trip to Hawaii people just get themselves a tropical fish and be done with it.

In conclusion: I am pleased to report that we now have three healthy guppies. If my single-child only decision ever wavers at the sight of a melty-cute newborn, I will remind myself that even a guppy is too hard on my wallet, conscience, schedule, marriage, and brain power. Even a guppy is too taxing for the Crabfamily. Even a guppy can barely be kept alive in this house. Even a guppy is cause for resentment, stress, strife, martyrdom, and all in all is way more work than I bargained for.

So if you ever hear me say something mushy about babies (perhaps unlikely for the Crabmommy but I do have my mushy moments) just say these three words: remember the guppy!

Your turn: how was your w/e?

Sick Mommy, Lucky Mommy!

2009-03-03T08:08:00.000-08:00

One of the trickiest things about being sick as a married person is trying to remember if you displayed enough empathy the last time your spouse was sick, to ensure that you will be brought cups of lemon water with honey, discharged from all parenting and domestic duties, and otherwise be encouraged to wallow in your misery, aided, abetted and generously supported by the other grownup in the house.

Unfortunately for Crabmommy, sympathy for grownups with flu is not part of my genetic makeup. When Crabhubby starts telling me about a scratchy throat or that "something's coming on" or that he doesn't feel "at my best," I can actually feel this little sympathy center deep within—the amygdala?—shrivel up into a raisin. Instead of immediately thinking of the spouse, I immediately think of myself. Because when the other parent is out of commission it is you who will have to take on the job of looking after both a real child and an infantilized, incapacitated adult.

And so the game goes. This weekend it was I who had to utter the lines that are meant to elicit sympathy from another. Lines like "my hands feel clammy" or "I think I'm getting a fever" or "my head hurts" or "I feel weak." These lines work in two ways, in the double-speak of marriage: they are as much intended to describe the symptoms as to warn the spouse that they need to get their act together because soon you will be totally out of commission. And Crabhubby has been appropriately sympathetic. He has duly taken on all household duties and left me in my bed with a copy of Lucky Jim by Kingsley Amis, who is in my view the much funnier Amis. And I think it is on account of the Amis that I speaking rather formally and grandly to you here from my perch in my bed, laptop atop my knees.

So when I told Crabhubby that I felt weird and that I had a strange taste in my mouth, I was confident that he would react with the sought-after sympathy. Because I was in credit. I had points stored up. You see, while I do not have the genetic disposition to feel sorry for flu-stricken adults (I inherited an impatience for illness from my mother), I have learned the hard way that one must feign tremendous interest in and pay attention to the spousal illnesses, especially in winter, because you need to save up points so that you you, yourself, will receive similarly tender loving care when it's your turn. And usually it's your turn right after theirs.

Since Crabhubby had only last week been gently ministered to by me, and I had pretended extreme interest in the various subtleties of his virus, I have managed to earn myself the same loving care in return. The whole thing is a perfect metaphor for marriage. You give them what they want and they will do unto you the same.

I wasn't always so forward-thinking on this subject. I used to react snappishly when Crabhub came down with something and I would huff about like a martyr, making a big production out of mixing Theraflu. But I'm glad to say that I have learned from my mistakes. Which is why I am having such a nice time right now. With points in credit I'm actually loving being sick. My flu virus is just one of those where you feel weak and achy and have a cough. Nothing too revolting. And I get to lie in bed and watch the sun slide around the room. I get to read my book in the daytime and not feel guilty. The door is closed and small people are ushered gently but firmly away from Mommy's bedside.

I am helpless, unable to attend to any duties in the outside world, nor any duties within the home. I am encouraged by others to sleep and "take it easy." I have only one job: to convalesce and recharge my batteries. In other words, I'm on vacation.

Best I end it there, people. I need to conserve my strength. All this blogging has tired me out, set me back at least two days. Oh dear. Poor Crabhubby. Lucky me.

Recess Redux

2009-02-27T10:40:00.000-08:00

Damn that last post of mine was somber! I think Crabmommy is officially LOSING HER MIND, my peeps. Maybe it's the endless chill of the Pac-NW; maybe it's the stress of our almost-about-to-be-maybe-probably-lost incomes-that-are-already-paltry to begin with...but the Crabmom clearly needs some major time on the tire swing. Seriously, when did I get to be so serious?

Don't know. Let's hope it doesn't last.

Thanks those of you who commented on the play deprivation/role of recess post. Elsewhere on the web where the thoughts of the Crabmom appear, I had a teacher remind me that the No Child Left Behind Act has put loads of pressure on teachers to get kids performing their little tushies off...and in many cases this has forced a shortening of recess. So sad, so counterproductive. Another teacher also mentioned that it can be hard to come up with alternative punishments that work to get troublesome kids to behave. In her experience nothing was more effective than depriving kids of recess because she said she had tried everything she could think of, and plum nothing else worked.

And I thought about this teacher and tried to put myself in her shoes. I imagine it must be quite tricky to discipline kids in the classroom these days, especially as even when kids' parents ARE involved and interested, few of these kids are properly disciplined by their indulgent "pussyfoot-around-my-darling's-self-esteem" parents. Really, how do you run a classroom effectively when few kids are taught any sort of real respect for their elders? So let's just say you're presented with a naughty, impish grade-school tyke who is really hampering your ability to teach. I guess if you're going to be PC and fit into our culture in mainstream America, you as the teacher must beg the child to behave (using lots of pleases and thank yous, as we do to kids nowadays) and offer positive incentives for every negative behavior. But what if the little troll is still awful and rude and won't listen even after you've dangled prizes and packs of smiley face stickers in his face? What then?

Really, what are teachers to do to effectively discipline kids who don't behave properly? Add more homework? Keep kids after school? (Most stay after school anyway, don't they?) I think we need to put our heads together and figure out alternative punishment systems for kids who would otherwise be denied recess.

Here are mine:

force girls to wear an Amish bonnet during recess (thereby humiliating them around their friends while still preserving all-important playtime)
force boys to play clapping games with the girls during recess (see above)
force macho boys to build a Waldorf-y fairy nest using twigs and acorns (ditto)
force girly girls to engage in extensive pirate battles complete with rambunctious stabbing noises and duels with sticks (you get it)
force boys and girls to do hard, manual, outside work during recess--weeding of school garden, scrubbing of walls, mowing of school lawn (that's if the free play punishments don't work)

That's all I could come up with so far. But I'm quite pleased with my list. It includes what I think are primary and effective tactics for disciplining children: the use of humiliation and child labor. And recess with its all-important outdoor, rambunctious, free-range possibilities remains intact! Somebody just hire me already.

What do you think teachers should do to punish kids for bad behavior? Any teachers out there? What really works for you? Positive reinforcement stuff or punitive stuff?

Play Deprivation: it's wigging me out!

2009-02-25T12:02:00.000-08:00

I know it's low to constantly point you to the bloglet, but today I wrote such a long essay over there that my blogging finger has gone into spasm. Warning: the piece is Crabmommy at her most grave, gabbing on about stuff we are seeing an awful lot of in the media these days: about play-deprived children, about the value of recess for our school-age children, and how the scientific community accords an ever-growing health-related significance to recess, in direct contrast to the diminishing attention educators place upon it. Playtime is serious stuff, all right.

I touched on this a while back on this blog, when interviewing Nation of Wimps author and Psychology Today editor Hara Marano, who talked to us about play-deprived kids. And last month Scientific American also published an article stressing that when kiddies aren't given time to goof off, their brains and bodies wig out. Then they either become serial killers, too-compliant drones of society who can't do or think anything on their own, or at the very least, "socially maladjusted adults."

"Play deprivation" is clearly the latest buzzword(s). I hesitate to add fuel to the alarmist fires out there, which blaze brightly whenever it comes to matters of parenting and how we aren't doing it right--and how we need to freak out over something new, even if it's freaking out over freaking out, or hyper-parenting through educating ourselves on the latest research on hyper-parenting, in true hyper-parenting fashion.

Certainly there's something ironic that happens when you get super-serious about kiddie playtime. But this is a subject that, like vaccinations (see my new pro-vax button on this blog!) I feel strongly about and which I think concerns all of us, as a society of parents not just as individual parents. And it's not always so easy to access the simple things of childhood--like time and space to chill out and play like a kid should. Numerous factors conspire to make it hard for kids to get enough of it. I know. I've been there. It's not always as easy to access a simple an unstructured childhood for your children. Especially if you work. And if your kids go to traditional public schools.

Yesterday's piece in the NY Times brings the subject of free play to the forefront with the question of recess, and what it means to children's development. We whose kids are at public schools must be vigilant and take action to prevent recess from ever being denied our children for any reason whatsoever. It's up to us to stay on it with regard to our rather strangely backward education system, which somehow still has in place the sorts of teachers who think that denying recess to kids as a punishment is going to achieve some good. Seriously, I never thought I'd say this, but the longer I'm a parent the more I get why people opt to take their kids out of conventional schools. There's just so much turgid, stodgy thinking still going on in the education system.

I think I'm going to homeschool Crabkid from now on.

Bwa-ha-ha! Ri-ight. Like either of us would survive a single day in such a scenario.

Please do check out my essay or skip it and tell me if you've ever found yourself concerned about the amount of free play time your kids have in their days, both at childcare/school facilities and at home. For me it's the number one battle of my mom-life right now: finding time/space for Crabkid to play for a decent chunk of time, preferably outside, on a regular basis.

Seriously, after 4 years of daycare and school (both very structured as they tend to be), 4 years of apartment building living with no yard space and tricky climates preventing us from getting out much anyway, I'm almost ready to pull a full-on steamy Southern eternal sunshine suburban move, trade my fabby Crabhubby for an unattractive dullard with a pile of cash so I wouldn't need to work and could instead look fondly on Crabkid roams freely around our capacious garden, engaging friends real and imaginary, finding squirrels' nests in hollow trees and tended to by lovely Nanny who happily makes snacks and cleans the mud tracks when Tot comes back in. Ohhhh, life is golden and free, blissful and creative for little Crabkid, tranquil and serene for her erstwhile Crabmommy...but wait. What's that I hear? Oh, the sound of the door! Yucky new Hubby is home for the evening and I have to converse with him and look at his portly physique. So much for my fantasy. Feh!

Yowzer, Crabmommy! Another essay just came out of that poor blogging finger! And it's pretty much a paraphrase of the first. Yeesh! Enough!

Right. Over to you: What's your feeling on "play deprivation"? Sound silly or are you taking it seriously too?

Goop OFF! African Wisdom from Gwynnie

2009-02-20T07:05:00.001-08:00

I know I promised regular GOOP analyses but I'm behind by several GOOPy bulletins. Alas, it's hard to keep up with Gwyneth! She's got such a work ethic with those newsletters of hers.

Since talking about her favorite rock-star hotels to not recommend to you and her fave NYC restaurants that you won't get into, she's been super-busy in the kitchen cooking things you can't afford, like oysters in champagne sauce and things drowning in something called agave syrup (I haven't a clue what that is but I suspect it's heaps pricier than good old refined sugar, which makes Gwyn "cringe").

But in all fairness Gwyn's latest newsletters have been a bit more useful. Maybe one of her chums told her she needs to get plebbier and less condescending if she wants to become a lifestyle guru. So she's working harder to reach the lower echelons and to help us uplift ourselves. And uplifted I definitely feel after tucking into some Gwynnie prose!

When not devouring Dostoyevsky and Chekhov, Gwyn is either cooking or scrutinizing her inner aspect in compelling new ways. Indeed, this past month she's taught me how to eat an artichoke, how to make a bowl of peas (that's the rustic plebby part; they go with meatballs) and she's also taught me, via one of her gurus, that one's sense of well-being is enhanced when one practices the African art of "ubuntu," a word denoting a heightened sense of our shared humanity.

As one born and raised in South Africa where ubuntu was invented, I feel pleased knowing that Gwynnie is herself tapping into her inner township mama and getting into the vibe of community consciousness. I assume I can now camp out on the lawn of her Hamptons estate this summer and I look forward to it with every inch of my inner aspect. Enkosi gakulu, sisi! (That's "thanks, sister!" in Xhosa!)

Meantime, the Crabfam has expanded our own sense of community consciousness: we're sharing our home with three new friends! Yay!

Magnetic Poetry for Blogs

2009-02-19T21:15:00.000-08:00

I was never big into magnetic poetry. I liked it well enough when it first came out in the 80s but after I had it sitting on my fridge for a year, making pretentious undergraduate whiffle about clouds and other ephemera, it plum got on my tits and I got rid of it.

But I rather dig this silly site called wordle.net. Feed it your url and it turns your site into a sort of instant magnetic poetry. Check it:I love how this represents the Crabmommy in mostly accurate ways, though I definitely think "diss" should be bigger than "domestic" in my word picture. I do enjoy how "bloody" and "piggy" sit next to each other and I like that some of my fave words/most pronounced personal traits have indeed made it into the wordmap of my head; i.e., "appalling and "cheapo." I also like the placement of "disgusted" adjacent to "chirpier"(though "disgusted" is bigger and RIGHTLY SO)! Ditto "born astonishing." Why thank you very much, wordle, my friend. Perhaps my most favorite is the random "Amy" that appeared every time I did versions of this picture.

Go check it out: http://www.wordle.net/

What does yours say about you?

Recession-fabulous!

2009-02-18T09:13:00.000-08:00

If there's one thing I feel really awesome about during a recession it's the fact that both Crabhubby and I went to graduate school. Because when you're picking up that unemployment check at least you can say to yourself, "I went to graduate school." And then you get a little hit of superiority in spite of the paltry check. Because you learned a bunch of things at graduate school. Including some very big words. Polysyllabic configurations, as it happens. And no one can take that away from you.

Okay, so I'm not making a whole big heap of sense up there. Let's just say the Crabfam is getting jumpier than a Mexican jumping bean on crack about our various jobs. And sadly our rainy day fund (Crabtot's piggy bank) already got raided by me when she was a newborn. Our darling NYC landlords gave Crabtot a piggy bank when she was born and put money in it. I stole $20 of the $40 dollars in there for pizza. I intended to pay it back. Never did. I'm an appalling mother, I know. Bite me.

On a chirpier note, let's talk about cupcakes. Shall we talk about cupcakes? I WANT TO TALK ABOUT CUPCAKES. Or, specifically, cupcake apparel. I mean, cupcake ornamentation. Accessories. Indeed, it's a cuptastic extravaganza over here. Do you see these ridiculously cute tulip cupcake liners? Are they not fewking excellent? I found these and other vintage cheapo fantabulous party treasures at my fave site. You know the one. More on that if you go to this place. Get 'em and get some cutely re-usable recession-fabulous toppers too. I found some very Amy Sedaris-y examples for your delectation, and they truly are perf for both your kiddie party and your grownie Oscar bashes.

Speak to me. About cupcakes. About recessions. About your dream last night. I need to hear about someone else's life today.

octofreak!

2009-02-17T09:17:00.001-08:00

Please keep the Domestic Diss suggestions coming, friends.

And for pithier news...yes, I have an opinion on the octuplet mom. I think we should totally support her. After all, every in vitro egg is still a human life on this, God's planet, and she doesn't need our judgment; she needs our compassion. Pus, why shouldn't she as a single mom have the same child-bearing rights we couples do?

Yeah, riiiiii-ight.

Lady is a freak, a menace, a disgrace. her kids should be taken away by Child Services. She is an unfit mother. I yak about it here and also point you to a most astonishing photo of her preggy balloon-belly. YEESH!

But you have to click on those sneaky links, my peoples, 'cuz I needs yo' traffique. AREN'T WE ALL SO DANG SICK OF HEARING ME SAY THAT? Ooosh! I am so disgusted by my own self. (But, apparently, as always, not disgusted enough...)

Domestic Diss! Results Are In

2009-02-16T09:21:00.000-08:00

The results of my first ever Crabmommy Domestic Diss poll are in. It was a tight contest with "cleaning the microwave ceiling" and "searching for the right Tupperware lid" going neck and neck to be ranked as most annoying domestic chore.

In a winning bid, 27% of you chose "looking for the right bloody Tupps lid" as the thing that bugs you most in my list of choices, while 20% of you chose "cleaning the ceiling of the micro." My personal bête noire, "removing a hair from the kitchen sponge" came in close to the bottom, taking in a lower but still noble 15% of your votes.

I'm so digging this poll format and thrilled with myself that I managed to crack the technology to get such a thing onto my blog. Just call me a tech genius because clearly I am.

I plan to make a regular thing out of Domestic Diss, but I need your input people. What things bug you most around the house? What tiny domestic details send you round the twist when it comes to cleaning/cooking/child-rearing/errand-running and so forth?

Share!

Lovey-Dovey Overdrive

2009-02-12T08:49:00.000-08:00

Note: my Domestic Diss poll is still open. Closing end of week. Vote, por favor!

Friends,

Some of you have seen it. Some—not yet. Some of you will think it's sweet. Some of you will sour on me on account of the sweetness. Some of you will say to yourselves, "Finally, that Crabmommy has stopped complaining for one second to count her blessings!" Some of you will say, "I thought Crabmommy swore she'd never count her blessings! Frack this! Outta here!"

Because all week long I've been engaged in a online Crabmommy love festival. Over at the bloglet and elsewhere, I have written up my personal happiness for all the world to see:

1. How I met Crabhubby
2. My wedding

To those of you who wish to witness me happy and thrilled with life, these posts will bring joy and gladness! You will even see a photo of me looking (if I do say so myself) good on my wedding day (and let me assure you that was the very last time I looked so uncrabby and it is the single shot of me in which I managed to tuck my double chin). I needed to post a pic of me dolled up, since the post is at Glamour magazine, and as we all know, Glamour is so filled with Euro-style glamour it has a "u" in its name.

Indeed, I have revealed a sparkly side of the Crabmommy this week. And I'm not entirely happy about it, for it goes against my mission: to complain, whine, and reveal my under-performing, underwhelmed nature in blogging. And if you see me up there, with my delightful husband, looking all fancy, and if you read of chance meetings on subways and all manner of happiness, you might think I'm a sham. You might think I'm bogus. You might wonder what I could possibly have to complain about. So much for lazy, shabby, crabby mommies, eh?

But, dear readers, please realize that on account of having a professional blog gig during a time when, shall we say, incomes are challenged, I believe I must do all that I can to appeal to everyone from teenagers to octogenarians! From my research into other modes of employment available to me, it has become abundantly clear that when the bloglet gig ends, I have one option: sex worker.

Even at that, I don't think I would do very well as a sex worker. For starters I haven't been doing my mom-flap exercises so I'm not in great shape. I tend to wear my hair in a bulbish lid, and I favor plastic track pants lined with tee shirt material. My skin is, as always, deeply chapped because I haven't been drinking those 5 glasses of water a day, and none of the PRs will send me lotions to vivify my carapace, no matter how I plead with them.

In short, I am now on a blogging survival mission and have let go of all principles: I will blog however, whichever and whatever, reaching out to to one and all, young peeps and old, witchy and glammy, chipper and crabby, diversifying my portfolio, myself, my life, my voice, my ethics. And if they want to see me happy, I will show them happy. I CAN DO IT! YES, I CAN!

Domestic Diss!

2009-02-09T09:36:00.000-08:00

Let's take a poll, shall we, for those of us who find ourselves frequently mired in housework.
And if you're looking for something sweeter today, see me confess to my OUTRAGEOUSLY EMBARRASSING AND SCHLOCKY crush here. I know, I know.

Grace in Small Things

2009-02-04T11:52:00.000-08:00

Since I write so much about the crabby side of life, I decided to take on this challenge as a counterpoint: Grace in Small Things came to me via the lovely blogger Whoorl, who directed me to Schmutzie and in turn to this: for 365 days I will post a list of 5 things that make me happy and grateful to be on this earth, either on the day of posting or just generally.

Almost had you there, didn't I? Crabmommy listing loveliness every single day of the year?! She's got to be joking! And she is. Sort of.

I can't keep a list like that for a year, peoples. For starters it goes against my blogging manifesto: if I am going to take readers away from work, parenting, cleaning, watching porn, picking your noses or doing whatever-all else essential activities of a given day, then it best not be to blab about the things that make me feel peachy. Nay, as a blogger—and a momblogger at that—I have always aimed to characterize my blog with stories of failure, irritation, doom, ill humor and other assorted negativity, the better to comfort you in your own trials and make you look up to your own selves by looking down on me. Good writing needs conflict, or so they taught me at writing school.

ALL THAT SAID. I do think it a worthy challenge for Crabmommy to reflect on life's bounty in public on this here blog, if not daily then at least today. Can I come up with 5 things that make me happy, today and always? I absolutely can. Can I do it without irony? Just watch me.

Note: I will leave out of the list the very obvious objects of my gratitude and adoration, for the sake of making my list un-obvious and hopefully un-cheesy. Of daughter and husband I can be very cheesy and sentimental but I think we'd all prefer I do that with and to them rather than you. Truly, I can't speak of the things about my family that are so dear to me I could literally eat them on a roll with mustard. Because if I start saying some of these things it offends my eyes, for I imagine my eyes to be your eyes, and I imagine the gagging, because it would be my gagging if I were you. Because other people's insanely happy, precious moments are precious for being their own, for being deeply personal. When shared they take on some serious cheese. In my hands at least. I mean, yesterday I caught a glance of Crabkid in profile and oh my GAWD it was so absurdly delicious I had to reach out and tweak a cheek! But it was a "you had to be there" moment; or, as with most parenting joys, a "you had to be her parent" moment.

On to my list. Yes, I can and do feel heartfelt thanks on this day for there being really swell events, thoughts, humans, and objects that appear twixt the mundane chores and woes, for my delectation. Here goes:

Grace in Small Things

1. my cactus table (plus one geranium). This makes me happy every day, whenever I look at it, which is often as it is right next to my desk, and yes I know the lighting sucks on this pic but still...
As the only plants I have not yet murdered —and as the recipient of the bulk of the sunlight in this chilly room—this tableau makes me feel warm and sunny, particularly today as we have a single Narcissus bulb that has just started to shoot out in earnest (Crabkid calls it the "balb"). can you see the decorative sticks Crabkid makes for my plants. Aren't they fancy? For those of you snickering at my pride in this fairly paltry offering, just remember that I have two blogs to weed, grow, and nurture and hence my somewhat modest efforts in other arenas. Yes, that cactus on the left looks feeble but it has babies; you just can't see them. Theyz newborns.
2. hedgehogs: I am really grateful that, somehow, through the lines of evolution hedgehogs came to be. Hedgehogs are it. Especially baby ones. Does this little fellow not look exactly like Rod Stewart? I once found a hedgehog in my garden. It made this unbelievably cute snuffling sound that was so cute I almost had to squash it out of love.
3. Patrick Swayze: Patrick Swayze is by no means a "small thing" but I am very definitely grateful that he is around and so I put him in this list today. If there is one thing you need to know about Crabmommy that you don't already know, it's that I heart Patrick Swayze. Then, now, always. Now obviously I am not happy that Patrick Swayze has pancreatic cancer, but I am happy that he is so brave and lovely and that he is here. Patrick is the best. Nobody puts Baby in the corner!
4. random joy in my inbox: Thanks be to my friend Tamara who this very morning sent me this picture of a baby bunny rabbit that is so astonishingly, edibly cute I am almost MENTAL with love for it. I might have to check myself into an institution out of adoration.
5. you: Thank you for coming to my blog and for being a friend of the Crabmommy. You're a chum!

Okay, your turn. 5 things to share if you dare, below in the comments, or leave us an url. If you make us gag and scoff, SO WHAT, right? Sometimes it does a body good to be glad. Oh, and please, if you feel like yet more Crabmom, go to the bloglet today for a chat about Roald Dahl's revoltingly swell book The Twits.

Val Day Giveaway! Yay!

2009-01-29T09:59:00.000-08:00

*This giveaway is now closed. The winner of the cookies is Wendopolis! Well done, Wendopolis! I will be in touch and your cookies will soon be winging their way to you.*

It's been a schizo week. I was very crabby at first, moving to sweet (I had such fun being Guest Buyer of darling baby things for Etsy); and now it's 100% sweetness, my friends.

The lovely Thea of Gumdrop Cookie Shop is offering a pack of heavenly choco-chip cookies to a lucky Crabmommy reader this Val Day. Gumdrop Cookie Shop, you ask? C'est quoi? (Why, yes, I do take every opportunity to show off the fact that I majored in le francais...since I never have used that language since). What were we talking about? Ah! Cookies. And the Gumdrop Shop.

It's this super-awesome cookie shop online where you can order up all sorts of divine things, from uploading your own images and messages to be placed onto cookies in an edible format, to purchasing this scrumptious range called the Van Gogh: these are yummy sugar cookies that arrive frosted in white, with edible markers so your tots can scribble on them and give them away as treats. Clever, eh?

For the sweet and lovey-dovey season, the store is baking up seriously fancy Valentine's cookies, designed by a student at the Parsons School of Design. As my little one would say, they're de-scrumptious! Check it, y'all:

And for you, dear lucky winning reader we have a yummy bag of chocolate-chip cookies given to you, gratis:
Demz cookies is dang HUGE, peoples, and the bag also includes a sugar cookie with the message of your choice.

So: please visit our gracious sponsor, order up her yummy treats if you can, or else pass her name onto someone with a special occasion coming up. Gumdrop also does swell custom cookies for weddings and such.

And now onto the rules of the giveaway: put your name and a contact in the comments. Please don't post as anonymous. You may choose the "anonymous" option in Blogger's ID field but then pop a contact email in your message! No need to write anything fancy. Just say "want 'em" or "need 'em" or "gimme" or whatever and you will be eligible. At 7 AM PST on Monday morning, Crabkid will randomly select a winner whom I will contact. Got it?

Crabby moms speak out!

2009-01-27T12:56:00.001-08:00

Chums,

Crabmommy gets colicky this week, here, where I lob a few crabacious sentiments at the NY Times parenting blog, Motherlode. Motherlode recently ran a promising-sounding post about how losing it in a mommy-meltdown and yelling at the kids can actually be good for them—only their example of an "angry mommy" was so tame I had to retch. And kvetch. And I did.

Come check it, yo! And sound off in the spirited comments, however you feel. The Times has asked me to come and tantrum it out on their page too. Though I'm scared. Will I be crabby enough? Or too crabby for the readers? Will they pound me with hate mail? Hunt me down and impale me on a stick me on behalf of Positive Parenting?

On a sweeter note I'll be doing a Valentine giveaway courtesy of the very much awesome Gumdrop Cookie Shop later this week. Come and pop your name in the hat to win choccy-chip cookies for yerself. Yumz!

From sour to sweet—I feel schizo. Come to think of it, 'aint that what motherhood's all about?

Also this week I'm Guest Curator (doesn't that sound super-fancy?) at Etsy...picking sweet things for new moms and babes. (And yes, for those who followed that last link, that was helluva sneaky. I'm embarrassed. But apparently not embarrassed enough...)

Barack Obama: Looks Matter

2009-01-21T08:53:00.000-08:00

Barack Obama is a great man, but frankly I voted for him because he's hot.

Perfect face, perfect bod, great hands.

Whenever it comes to serious matters—such as choosing a president—my advice is to go shallow. And, people, Crabmommy knows what she's talking about. Just look at my voting record: every time I have voted for a president, said president has become a hero of international proportion. Witness the presidential elections that—through fate's strange hand—are the only two elections I have voted in:

1. 1994, South Africa: for Nelson Mandela
2. 2008, USA: for Barack Obama

Not to overly estimate the power that is Crabmommy, but I think the results above prove that I am onto something: whenever Crabmommy votes, great things happen. Because evidently I am able to see what makes a great leader.

Here, for the first time ever, I'm happy to lift the veil on the voting booth and share with you the oh-so-simple secret behind my spot-on picks! Friends, my one and only criterion for predicting great presidents: appearance. True, both of the above men exhibited impressive track records of service, humanitarianism, idealism, intellectual heft, and so forth, but when it comes to the actual voting process I set everything aside for simplicity's sake and go on looks alone. Physical-merits-based voting: it works every time.

Nelson Mandela: He may have been old when I voted him in as South Africa's first democratically elected president, but he was still hot. In South Africa this is a pretty widely accepted fact even for white people (except perhaps by those who still long for apartheid, and there are a few of those left). Mr. Mandela has a great physique: he is tall and well-built (as a young man he was a boxer). He has high cheekbones, and is basically all-around h-o-t. See, even here as an old chap, he remains beautiful:Not so P.W. Botha, another famous former president of my native country:Aside from the fact that the man above is a ghastly racist, he's plum not sexy—a superb, picture-perfect example of how NOT to vote in presidential elections.

Moving on to the USA, no one could fairly say that Bush is ugly. He has nice cheekbones and a decent nose. But the famously tiny too-close-together eyes seal the deal. And the mouth is loose (see left). I do understand that sometimes politicians are captured on film while talking, but one can still make hard aesthetic choices by analyzing motion shots. After all, here's Barack (at right) doing much the same as G.W. is doing, only he looks hot while the other does not. Who's going to go down in history as the better president? I don't think we need time to tell us: we have the photos, and the answer is clear.

I hope you've learned something today, dear reader. And that going forward, like me, you will continue to vote with your eyes. Imagine a world where we all picked leaders based on looks alone! A world where this guy— —and this guy—
...and similarly atrocious leaders would be vanquished from the pages of history! Let us dream of that beautiful possibility, my friends, even as we give thanks for the exquisite reality we are currently enjoying in the USA. p.s. New posts this week at the bloglet, as always. Please to visit the corporate sponsor of your Crabmommy?!

GOOP Off!

2009-01-15T08:59:00.000-08:00

Newsflash! We interrupt yesterday's long and serious Crabmommy post on manners (but please read it! It took me bloody ages!) to bring you the latest bulletin from GOOPy Gwyn Paltrow. This week she salutes New York City, and gives us awesome tips for where to dine and stay when you have no money and no connections to Mario Batali! Here's my fave rec from the NYC newsletter:

The Bowery Hotel
The Bowery has been one of my homes-away-from-home in the last year. It is a very cool spot, with the people to match. As it is located on Bowery I wouldn't recommend it to the Park Avenue set, but my English rock star friends can’t get enough of it.

Good to know, Gwynnie-pops! Super-useful, as always. Now all the reader has to do is ask, Am I in "the Park Avenue set" or am I a rock star? Hmmmm...

Next week's GOOP: "Some of my closest friends and I will be sharing our favorite novels." I expect we'll be hearing Madonna discourse on Middlemarch. I can't wait!

Manners, please!

2009-01-14T10:32:00.000-08:00

The Times has an interesting piece by a pediatrician who posits that manners are a key part of child development and that if they were referred to by a trendy new name ("social skills") more folks would be inclined to insist their tykes behave better.

The piece sent me off on a bit of a manners tangent at the bloglet today, and I found myself sounding off on something that concerns me as a parent: as a group, modern American parents (all adults, actually) tend not to present a united front to children when it comes to what manners we expect from them. Yes, many of us ask our kids to have basic table manners and ask for things with a "please" and a "thank you," but that's a cursory approach to courtesy, and often parental expectation stops right there when it needs to go deeper in my not-so-humble opinion. Yep, from what I can see, we don't all have the same expectations of children, and I'd say few adults really care about what an old teacher of mine once called "the line between familiarity and contempt."

I know it gets old to hear people crab on about bad manners and kids. I know many kids with plenty good manners. Of course. But there are plenty kids with poor manners 'cuz their parents either have poor manners too, or else their parents just don't think all the old-fashioned "frills" really matter anymore and are just that--frills rather than essential components of social interaction. I'm talking about a bigger picture that centers on respect for others, especially one's elders.

I've been criticized for the parent etiquette-related posts I do over at the Cookie bloglet. Sure, I like to be tart in my tone and poke fun at a Bragdaddy or a Multimedia Mommy, but there's a serious issue at stake: our kids. If adults don't know what really matters and are inclined to narcissistic ways of communicating with each other, what are they teaching their tots? And most important to me, what are they teaching mine?

It would be so dang excellent if all parents and teachers had the same basic expectations of kids! The same core code. Here's a wacky example of how it could be useful: As a former teacher for a semester at a private school, I had kids in my classroom who thought it was okay to chew gum in class (or when talking to an adults generally) because the school didn't have an official policy on gum-chewing. Gum-chewing! Like so many other PC moments in our culture, the school I taught at allowed gum-chewing at the teacher's discretion. Seriously. So you end up sending a kid off to a college interview and she arrives armed with swell grades but has a wad of Hubba Bubba in her cheek? Shweesh, man! Ri.di.cu.lous. Yet this is exactly what happens to a kid who has no idea of propriety, and who sees no big diffs between hanging with your buds and conducting yourself in the world at large.

Gum-chewing aside, there are many much more basic concepts of politeness that I wish to hell ALL GROWNUPS WOULD INSIST UPON so that all our kids would go out into the universe poised to be happy and successful adults, good co-workers, and overall thoughtful human beings who can absolutely rock the boat when it counts, but who also understand tact and the subtle arts of diplomacy that make people facile in society. There's nothing snobby or mysterious or overly stern about basic good manners, and it would be so much easier--much less work for all--if we could agree on them and stop sending mixed messages. How bloody magnificent would it be if we presented a uniform manners model to all our kids?

As I discuss in the bloglet post, I feel like there once was such a thing as a understanding among parents-- an "expected" way for kids to act towards parents and grownups in general--which the majority of adults automatically reinforced whenever kiddos didn't toe the line. But nowadays the whole parenting vibe is so diverse and complex, and you can't assume another mom (or teacher) or will agree with you on anything, from diet, to sleep, to conduct.

More's the pity. Anyhoo. I can dare to dream. Here's a rough draft of Manners Wish List (leaving aside obvious table manners and please/thank you stuff):

Teachers can't be called by their first names. Ever. Much less school principals.
Children should look adults in the eye when greeting them. From Kindergarten up, they should be encouraged to address adults by name when greeting them. (not just "hello/hi")
By, say, third grade (when it can stick!), kids should be taught to step aside for adults when entering buildings or walking down stairwells.
Children must always thank adults for having them at their homes.
As soon as they are old enough to call each other on the phone, children must be taught to introduce themselves if a parent answers, and greet the parent by name (whether first name or Mrs. So-and-So), before asking for their buddy.

If the above (or something like that) were something we all agreed on I bet we'd have a much healthier society and of course people would adore our kids even if they were impish little beasts who got up to all sorts of tricks! Having basic manners doesn't mean you have to be insipid or conforming or that you don't get to rebel against your elders. But kids need something to rebel against, and if your elders don't insist on a line between children and adults, then what the heck is growing up all about?

*p.s. A word about the Mr./Miss/Mrs. thing: Personally, I'm not bothered if kids call me by my first name. Traditions evolve and I don't think we need to force our kids to go into some needlessly old-fashioned mode that nobody around them participates in (I don't live in the South, y'all, so nobody around me does the Miss So-and-So thing). So long as a child is polite to me (as in the above list) I'm happy.*

And you? Are you a stickler for manners with your kid? Do you feel comfortable reprimanding others' kids for not displaying their manners ?

Atheist Moms Unite!

2009-01-11T20:03:00.000-08:00

Are you out there, fellow atheist mommies?

I know there are lots of Christian moms in the blogosphere and in particular, Mo-moms (Mormon moms) who seem to run the media these days, dispensing domestic and decorating advice amid a sea of children to those of us who can barely manage one.

But where are the atheists among you? I ask. Not for any particular reason, really. This title isn't really a call to arms for atheist moms. Just wondering if you're out there, pondering those inevitable God-driven questions from the tots. Me, I was born to a Christian-born mother and Jewish-born father but both were non-believers. My father didn't possess a yarmulke and when called upon to wear one at some family event, he supposedly had to make do with a handkerchief. My mother wasn't very devoted to God either. She's become a bit Deepak Chopra-ish of late but when I was growing up there really wasn't much of a spiritual vibe in the fam. In fact, the only religious person in the family was me. For a time.

See, I went to a Christian school (a private school that happened to have a Christian affiliation). I first heard the call of God in the second grade when singing the song "Jesus wants Me for a Sunbeam" during music class. That song stirred something deep within. A love of the Lord!

Jesus wants me for a sunbeam
To brighten up his day
In every way try to please Him
With the things I say.

When I sang the words I believed that Jesus really did want me to be his personal ray of sunshine in heaven! I can still remember being amazed at this new feeling. I really loved God! As it turned out it wasn't God I loved so much as singing.

Either way my joyful pious warbling landed me a place in choir and I spent all my school career heaping blessings upon His name in both English and Latin, in both pop-Christian melodies ("If I was a teddy bear, I'd thank you, God, for my fuzzy-wuzzy hair") and in somber classical performances (Benjamin Brittens Requiem in D Minor).

For a while I also attended Sunday school at a local church. I went with another family who gazed sorrowfully at my heathen mother as she waved goodbye to me in her robe. I attended Sunday school because the girl I accompanied had shown me these awesome stickers they gave you for going. Stickers you could stick into your very own cute little Bible! The stickers were tiny and had cute weentsy little bees on them and inspirational messages: Bee kind. Bee nice. Bee good. I went to church so I could get the loot. Bee mine! But once I got them for myself I lost interest in Jesus. And once I realized you could be in the choir without praying, I no longer felt duty-bound to be anyone's sunbeam.

Thus began and ended my conversation with God unless you count the many, many Halleluias I have proffered in churches, standing in my choir girl's robe. I spent a fair bit of my schooling learning about other religions and I think they're all equally sensible in theory and dreadful in practice. So I don't plan to raise Crabkid with any of it. But I know I must also be careful not to be too contemptuous of religion, which is hard for me; yet we all know if we look down upon something, our kids—if they have any spine at all—are likely to revere it.

I'm all for the study of religion from a historical/literary/philosophical perspective. But I'm also with those people who think that atheism's message should be equally voiced in a tolerant society. Gotta love the Brits for coming up with the cash and gumption to run this plug for atheism on municipal buses!

As for Crabkid...God-moms, don't get your knickers in a knot: I'll do my best not to push my atheism onto her and I certainly plan to discuss anything she's interested in and expose her to sources other than her mom. But I can't help hoping she'll nix the God business and be a Buddhist type like her dad...I just think Buddhists are so much more civilized.

p.s. Hot off the presses: come read about my run-in with a Bragdaddy.

Great Coat, Bernie Madoff!

2009-01-06T09:39:00.000-08:00

After a delightful winter break of resting on a tiny deck chair in the Bahamian sunshine, my blogging finger has returned bronzed, buffed, and ready to get back to business here at Crabmommy, reporting on significant financial, cultural, emotional, maternal, and trivial events as I see them.

I should qualify that I refer to my "blogging finger" because I am still one of those people who can't type properly and who types with my right index finger dominating the keyboard. Regretfully, when I was at high school, typing was a skill taught only to those who were truly tanking academically. Amazing to think the one practical ability that would have helped me out in my chosen profession of writing is now lost to me forever. And I say "forever" because I am super-fast with my blogging finger but feel that my spastic bashing with blog finger is now such a part of me that I could never unlearn it in favor of dignified ten-finger typing.

Anyhoo. Hoping you and yours had a swell time at Christmas, and were successful at attempting to mask whatever feelings of envy, frustration, bitterness, martyrdom, and futility accompany most family gatherings.

Speaking of the hols and family, one has to wonder how Hanukkah went down for the Madoffs this year. Which leads me to my blog title: seriously, does Bernie Madoff not have the most awesome coats and jackets (in that Upper East Side patrician genre)? Even the black tie he dons for that somber "mea culpa" look is indisputably chic! Check it out:White-collar-criminal fabulous, I say! Fewking-A!

I am truly obsessed with Bernz Madoff. He's being so naughty this week! Did you hear he sent fancy mittens to friends and family, in addition to some jewelry whose value is being hotly debated? His lawyer said that sending mittens doesn't constitute a violation of Madoff's bail agreement. Indeed, the mittens are free to go to Montauk without any sort of tracking device whatsoever.

Okay, so I'm not making sense, but really, nothing about any of this makes sense, eh? For my money, I think it's wonderfully entertaining to read about. I am fascinated picturing Bernard, all handsome and silvery, sitting on a plush chair in Park Avenue eating kosher meals in frozen silence with his wife, Ruth, staring in defeat at the embers of a dying fire in the handsome Beaux Arts fireplace...or maybe they scream at each other and Ruth hurls bowls of her famous matzoh-ball soup at the wall (Ruth is a celebrated chef, FYI). Another scenario: maybe she really did know what beloved Bernie was up to all along and so for fear of being bugged they communicate in sign language or write furious notes to one another on miniature blackboards (like the one that Anthony Hopkins had when he played that ridiculous old man in Legends of the Fall) —communications regarding secret bank accounts and buried baubles...

Oh to be a fly on Madoff's wall! And to return to you able to repeat the dialogue between the Madoffs!

I will return to you soon, my friends, with if not a word-by-word recording of Madoff convos, then at least more GOOP reportage. Because I have been receiving wonderful newsletters and recipes from Gwyneth over the holidays and I have learned much that both Gwyneth and I wish to share with you. White sugar makes her "cringe," for example, and so she sweetens everything with something called agave syrup, which I imagine is very costly but I dunno...maybe you can substitute your bread, milk, meat, and coffee budget for agave syrup. It's definitely better for you than that crap you're eating now! Gwynnie also wants you to know that she calls soy sauce "shoyu" but she knows you don't know what that means, you pedestrian pleb, so she helpfully places an English translation into her shoyu-containing recipes so that they look like so:

1 tsp shoyu (soy sauce)

I love it. And I love her.

Oh, and this week at the bloglet: book recs. Please come and tell us what kiddo books you love and also, which ones you do not love. It's an equal-opportunity reccing and dissing forum over there so feel free to tell us which books drive you bonkers but you're forced to read them by your tots...

It's a Tripp!

2008-12-31T06:51:00.001-08:00

I am taking my blogging finger off hiatus to report for those few of you who have not yet heard the breaking news:

Bristol Palin and her smoldery genius-lover Levi Johnston have had their baby. And his name is TRIPP. She's a traditional girl, that Bristol, and one can assume the moniker was selected for its classical Palin qualities. Fitting in with uncles Track and Trig, Tripp is the next in a what is sure to be a long line of monosyllabia from Wasilla.

WELL done, Bristol.

For those of you hankering for Crabmommy while she affects hibernation, me and my blogging finger might be ignoring you here on Blogger, but we're still on at the bloglet, as ever, musing on resolutions, family life, and all manner of important trivia, right here and also, neatly summarized by topic as follows:

Girl talk: it's not a snowman, it's a snowgirl chez us.
Super-spouse: behind every competent husband there's an incompetent wife. Or so I've found...

Tonight I will be making New Year's resolutions at the bloglet too, and hoping to be less feeble about keeping them. So far I have only one and it is both astonishingly boring and incredibly challenging for me: I will drink water in 2009.

I hate water. I'm actually allergic to it. Even as I type I am so dry and shriveled that I could rival the ancient packet of raisins I just found in my travel bag which I believe were purchased in South Africa circa 1999. As I type my blogging finger has riven in two, so cracked is it from total dehydration. Said finger is all shriveled and crispy-like, and still I cannot bring my bark-dry lips to drink a cup of water. Until 2009 when I plan to remediate the problem.

Resolutions, you? Any good ones?

Way Happy Holiday Newsletter!

2008-12-18T12:53:00.000-08:00

Salutations, one and all:

I regret to inform you that I did not manage to get around to taking and posting any sort of holiday greeting, comprising a snapshot of our family in matching JCrew sweaters chortling spontaneously and giving the impression that all is well at our house.

Happily, I did manage to write a holiday newsletter. Counter to Crabmommy character, it is way positive because even though I frequently write negative self-pitying sorts of anecdotes, I do nevertheless know that I am in an awesome orbit of this thing called life, and when all is said and done I know that I ROCK hugely! And so does everything and everyone whose lives touch mine.

Here's an excerpt:

It's been a busy year in the lives of the Crabfamily. We moved from rural Crabtown to Crabcity, left friends and enemies behind and are busily making new ones. But change is good! Unless, of course, it's bad. In which case it would not be not good at all.

Thankfully we feel much happier in Crabcity, or at least, Crabmom does—and as we all know a happy mommy is the most important part of any family. I love being back in the urban jungle, even if my particular choice of city puts me in touch with the occasional fascist hippie-mama with whom I might tussle in a verbally abusive exchange on a street corner. But all in all I enjoy taking Crabkid out to parks and playgrounds to mingle with a diverse multi-culti crowd and display her talents and charm to a wider audience.

Please go here to read it all and in fact, to read any Crabmommy musings in the next couple of weeks. My blogging finger is going on a vacation. Me, I'm doing a staycation, but my blogging finger is going to Me-Hi-co.

May you and yours enjoy a snippet of snow, a jingle of bells, a crazy-amazing Kwanzaa, a Hanukkah so happy the minora practically levitates off your windowsill—unless you're Bernie Madoff, and if you are I suggest you lie very low and avoid noshing any food brought to you by your relatives, for it may be kosher but it may also be poisoned. Seriously, Bernie. I'd even nix the Wolferman's muffins this year.

And thank you, yes, I will delight in all that Festivus brings to my me and mine.

Your friend, who truly is grateful—without reservation or irony—to have you as my reader,

Crabmommy

Toy Story: Should Safety Really Come First?

2008-12-16T09:25:00.000-08:00

Peeps,

I'm freaking over a new measure that will drastically affect all those cute toymaking people at Etsy or in your local craft fair. See my latest bloglet post:

I just learned that on account of a stringent new safety measure passed by the new Consumer Product Safety Improvement Act (CPSIA), our toy-making friends at Etsy and anyone else who makes fantabulous handmade objects of delight for children may soon be history.

The measure is designed to protect us from the freaky stuff in mass-produced toys, after the recalls on Chinese-made products got the nation into a tizzy over safety.
Like any parent with a titch of common sense, I'm all for the banning of lead and those other un-spellable dangerous compounds. I'm all for asking corporations to show us that their mass-produced toys are safe. But the CPSIA Act mandates that smaller handmade, artisanal-type businesses in Europe, Canada, and the US also roll out new tests and comply with an expensive new regulatory process that will drive most of them out of business.
And for what? It all seems a touch absurd, since we haven't had any problems with Waldorf dolls from Wisconsin, Pinocchio puppets from Prague, or wooden teethers from Winnipeg.

Please go here to read the complete story and add your two cents if you so desire. Seriously, I am so over all this safety hysteria in parenting. I just saw on a mommy noticeboard some dufus mother was worried that a Christmas poinsettia would pose a danger to her infant.

Yes, a Christmas poinsettia is going to kill your tot!

I mean, hey. Maybe she has a point. Maybe we need to get some legislation on Christmas vegetation. What if an infant gummed your wreath before you put it up and got a pine cone lodged in his throat! And maybe we need to extend this legislation to include food baskets. After all, it is entirely possible that your toddler could shove a Harry and David cashew up her nostril.

Shall we take action? Want to join me? Shall we write to Obama and ask him to add poinsettias and Christmas cashews to his list of national threats? LET'S!

Swagilicious! Girls' winter jacket giveaway

2008-12-10T09:05:00.000-08:00

This giveaway is now over! And the winner is..."The West Coast Elkies!" WCE, please be in touch with me and I will get you your swagilicious jacket! YAY!

Chilly yet where you are? Here in Crabcity we feel positively tropical compared with the Wyoming freezover of our erstwhile home in Crabtown, but it's still dang cold. I mean, Pacific NW cold: wet, dark, damp, like living in an armpit for about six months of the year. Except it smells better.

So yes, we are cold and grumpy. But thanks to my swell friends at Lands' End, I can kit out the kid in this delightful Girls' Weatherly Jacket, and so can you if you win this giveaway, you luckymommy!

Nothing is more depressing and potentially traumatizing to all concerned than shoving a tot into a massive puff of a winter jacket. Which is why I dig Lands' End's offering. It's warm, but not bulky, but with a temp rating of +5°/-15° Fahrenheit, it will def keep your tot toasty unless you plan to take them on some super-extreme heli-ski adventure during a deadly cold snap (and if you're one of those intensivo Crabtown athleti-moms, I know you will)!

Back to the jacket, check the pic and the stats:
* Nylon shell with DriOff® finish: water beads up and rolls off
* Exclusive PolarThin® insulation in body and hood for warmth without bulk
* Sherpa Fleece lining for cozy softness
* Slightly fitted waist with adjustable tabs in back
* Microfleece-lined handwarmer pockets behind exterior cargo pockets
* Rip-grip adjustable cuffs

Available in a range of sizes from toddler through to big girl. Also available in various of colors, but of course Crabkid's is...can you guess?...Yes! You're right! BUT HOW DID YOU KNOW?!

So put your name in the hat, ladies, and the kind folks at Lands' End will send the lucky winner a freebie. And if you don't win, don't feel crushed. The jackets are on sale right now at $49.50, here, and after ponying up major bucks for all the Patagonias in my past, I can safely say this this is a score. It's slim and trim but warm and snug, keeping your bug in a rug-like vibe without the padding. Double-yay!

Rules: Put your name in the comments. No need to be fancy or witty with the comment itself though I always appreciate it if you are. No anonymous comments, por favor. Or at least, if you're anon, put an email contact in there for me. I will run this giveaway through...heck...Sunday night, Dec 14! At 10 pm I will rouse Crabkid from her slumber and have her pick a random winner.

p.s. Looking for deeper Crabmommy musings today? Don't be disappointed! They're at the bloglet. In the latest installment of The Momocrite Diaries I talk about judging other moms and how I jis' can't help myself...Come judge me for judging you!

Shortest Post in Crabmom History

2008-12-08T13:31:00.001-08:00

I know it's wrong.
But I feel sorry for O.J.

There. I said it. I can't help it. I just do. I don't know why.

I know he's a murderer. But I always feel sorry for the wrong people.
Anybody else? Or am I a MONSTER?

Swagilicious! Crabby's fabby loot!

2008-12-05T11:46:00.000-08:00

Still looking for Xmas/ Kwanzaa/ Hanukkah/Festivus prezzies for the loved ones? Perchance I can help!

I spent what felt like 100 hours scouring Etsy for my best $20 and under holiday present picks. Etsy truly is the store of my cheapmommy heart, but it takes a discerning Crabacious eye to sift through some of the MONUMENTALLY ugly stuff up there and find you the treasures. But I did it. Because I'm cool like that.

My fave is probably this "girl with hula hoop" stationery, which is personalized by color and name of your choice and is sweet for a girl or a mom. Go to the bloglet for more, and for a discount on the stationery if you order by Dec 15. Click along, then!

Crabmommy Interview! Check it, yo!

2008-12-02T11:01:00.000-08:00

CityMommy has just posted a lengthy interview with the Crabmommy, complete with a real and actual and recent shot of me with my chin perched atop my hand.

Here's a sample of this convo:

CityMommy: You blog, you raise Crabkid, you engage in tampon wiener craft activities, you run a household...how do you do it, Crabmommy?

Crabmommy: Let me tell you a little secret, mom to mom: I never recycle. All those hours that the rest of you moms put into wiping and folding tin foil, scrubbing out plastic trays of takeout vindaloo, and rinsing anchovy jars? I just stuff it ALL into the garbage. Every last bit! What a time-saver!

JK, people. JK. I live in the world capital of recycling. If I didn't recycle the eco-fascists (whom I totally dig and am grateful for) would come and yank me out of my blogging chair and put me into the garbage themselves.

The real and honest and not-ironic interview is here, for those of you who just can't get enough of who, why, what, and how much when it comes to Crabmommy. Real and sincere tips on blogging. Completely candid chat about momhood and writing from the crab POV. It's a rare thing.

You could also skip all that and instead sample this utterly hilarious video, brought to me courtesy of my pen-pal, Libba. Watch it again. And again. Even if you got laid off today I guarantee you will laugh. It's that good.

GOOP Off!

2008-11-30T15:23:00.000-08:00

Yes, it's a letter from Gwyneth of Paltrow on her website, GOOP. I dig this bit:

Many of my friends, or friends of friends, have asked me for "my London" so that when someone is traveling here, or lives here but wants some extra info, it is compiled in one place.

Indeedy, I used Thanksgiving weekend to nourish my inner aspect and get all caught up on the Gwynnie website I've had such fun mocking here and here. Sure, talking smack about Gwynnie-pops is akin to shooting fish in a barrel, but as I said before, Gwyneth personally asked me to mock her, and who am I to deny the call of a shalebritay!

Back to GOOP, one big change to the site is that we now no longer have to wait for the Goopy newsletters to come to us; at last when you go to GOOP there is actually content there. And what content it is!

My favorite is the above, which appears under the tab GO, and is the opener to a travel tip piece on London. Or specifically, on Gwyneth's London. For as she said, many people (friends and "friends of friends") who come to London or even those who live here, can now come to the website and conveniently access Gwyneth Gooping off in one place. Which I guess is why she's doing this. I mean, she's definitely not writing this for us, the plebby strangers, as she makes abundantly clear:

The first installment of this three-part newsletter will include restaurant, hotels and pubs. The hotels are on the pricey side, but my GOOP girls are doing some research into some more affordable places which we will personally try before recommending.

Fewking un.be.lie.vable. Gwyn's words are swiftly followed by images of a sumptuous palace called the Blakes hotel, "my home away from home in London before I got a flat." A flat. Perhaps most astonishing in this bit about hotel is the phrase "my GOOP girls." GOOP girls! Who are they? We know they will be responsible for sleeping in some pretty un-Gwynnie-worthy beds to prove to Gwynnie that plebby hotels do exist in Londres. What does it take to become a GOOP girl? I wonder. Do you have to be blonde? Do you have to be British? How do you get the gig? Does it even really exist? I mean, if Gwynnie seriously gave a rat's bum about providing affordable accommodation tips on her trippy website, wouldn't she have found some before she shared this nugget of a so-called newsletter with the general public?

These and other mysteries we shall continue to ponder in what will now become a regular series chez Crabmommy: the GOOP Off! Stay tuned. And thanks to my friend Justin for customizing these GOOP-inspired buttons for my website.
You'll see a lot more of those in future Crabmommy dispatches. ...And hey! Gwyneth, if you're reading this, you GOOP, girl! You really do.

Crabmommy revealed! In her school uniform!

2008-11-24T05:14:00.000-08:00

*If you're here to enter the TEDDE giveaway, by all means do! Go here and put your name in the comments. This giveaway closes on Monday, November 24 at 10 PM PST.*

I've never wanted to show my face to you. I always swore I wouldn't flash my fabulous self at you, dear readers, and would instead let my words do the talking. But you can't hide from your fans forever. Sooner or later you have to let them lay eyes upon your visage. And it is for this reason and one other that I reveal myself to you today:Yes, that is me. Maybe fourth grade or so. I continue to maintain fancy bangs. Sadly, that gorgeous frock I'm in is no longer in my wardrobe. For it was my school uniform and though I wore it for TWELVE YEARS in my native country of South Africa, where fascism was ALIVE AND WELL for a very long time as we all know, I have sadly divested myself of it, and of its winter counterpart, a similarly hideous affair, designed in 1922, involving choke collar, strange A-line, and, for a few years (until the moms petitioned it away), matching regulation underwear. Which we had to show to the teachers on demand.

Lovely stuff.

So why, then, would I love for Crabkid to have this dress? I would. I'm being dead serious. I think there is much to be gained by forcing children to wear appalling outfits throughout their school years, and no, I'm not being ironic. I'm a big believer in uniforms. The uglier the better. I draw the line at regulation underwear but a ghastly, never-changing frock is a great thing as far as the Crabmommy is concerned.

To find out why the Crabmommy would wish to foist something this hideous on her one and only and precious and beautiful bairn, please click on this magical link which through the wizardry of modern science will fling you through cyberspace and to a bloglet that will make all clear to you. And as if you need further enticement, let me just say that I saved the better photograph for this page. Same uniform, different hair. Two words: even worse. Two words: acorn cap. Two words: Pontius Pilate. Two words: Julius Caesar.

Swagilicious: TEDDE giveaway!

2008-11-20T09:35:00.000-08:00

This giveaway is now closed. The winner is Elizabeth Stark. Yay! Elizabeth, I will be contacting you!

Let's give the Mormons and exploding pythons a day of reprieve, shall we? Oh, wait! That's what you're here for? You're a Mormon who wants to give me what-for over my last post, or a gay person who wants to give me some props for my pro-homo work? By all means, go here. the rest of us, however, shall go to a nice weekend giveaway because it's a recession, and free stuff is good stuff, especially when it's good stuff. And hell, we could all use something cuddly right now.

On the subject of cuddly, I've got a teddy for you. I mean, a Tedde. Because the teddy I am talking about comes from Tedde, and these people make alterna-teddies for the modern child. As many of you know, I don't like PRs approaching me with stuff that makes no sense to me or is something my readers wouldn't like, or has anything to do with educational toys. But I do like it when people offer me something I can actually use, or when they offer me something adorable made by human hands.

Now, people, just so you know: I do not require my giveaway sponsors to send me samples of their swag, especially if it is handmade. If it is lovely-looking on the web that tends to suffice for me when it comes to the free stuff. But when these delightful vendors simply INSIST on sending me something, I cannot say I turn away Eric, the mailman, with his package, wondering who Crabmommy is and what the hell I do at my casa.

So I did not decline the sample Tedde that came in the mail for Crabtot. And I want you to know that said sample: he was big and he was ugly and Crabtot adored him instantly and transported him off to a new home she made for him out of a wine box. Ugly in a good way. Because Teddes are sort of the Ugly Doll version of teddies. They are irresistibly not-perfect, with a certain squashy homeliness that can only come from being lovingly handmade. Check out the site, here.

And today, for one lucky reader, we offer a free Tedde, this guy:.Is he not frumpily scrumpacious? Teddes are hand-crafted, sometimes hand-painted, and employ super-sweet techniques like embroidery, hand-stitching, knitting, crocheting and felting … no one Tedde is completely identical to another. Sure, you can get a bear stuffed by a machine, fresh off an assembly line, along with a bunch of others that look exactly like it. Teddes, on the other hand, are intentionally created with individual expressions and personality differences.

So put your name in the comments and Crabkid will randomly select a Tedde winner by Monday 10pm PST. Also, please visit our gracious sponsor and think of these hard-working human hands when it comes to selecting your one-of-a-kind holiday gifts. These craftastic peeps are my idea of recession-fabulous, supporting themselves with their nifty stitching talents. O, come let us adore them! I already do. And might I add that there is also a more conventional-but-still-original ted on their site that will please those of you needing something slightly less wacked out for your tot.

So, the giveaway: No need to be fancy in your comments. Just say that you want in on the Tedde and your name is in the hat. No anonymous comments please (or if you choose to sign is as anonymous, pls leave an email contact).

p.s. please stop by the bloglet for "Crocking Out", an encore of my crock pot love confession. Also next week I will be telling you about the craziest turducken in the global history of turducken, and I will be following that up with an astonishing surprise for all readers of this blog: two words: 80s, photo).

Dear Mormons

2008-11-17T07:50:00.000-08:00

What do Mormons and gays have in common with exploding burmese pythons? Why, for that you must read on!

There were two noteworthy headlines in the paper this past week: "Mormons Tipped the Scales in Ban on Proposition 8". According to the New York Times, Mormons raised $5 million in a matter of days, right before the measure to outlaw gay marriage in California, thereby tipping the scales and defeating those sexual deviants by a hair!

In an equally explosive national moment, a Burmese python in Florida recently ingested an alligator, and then blew up. Biologists suspect the alligator may have chewed the python's stomach from the inside, causing it to burst.

So I don't want to rehash tired explanations for why gay people should have the same legal right as the rest of us. I don't want to remind the Mormons that church and state are meant to be separate in our country and that it serves them well that this is so. I don't want to remind the Mormons that not so long ago (and currently, in certain Fundamentalist polygamist quarters) they had a pretty funky take on marriage themselves, so it seems a bit rich to be getting so peppery over a union involving two people who just want a decent tax break and a committed monogamous partnership. I don't want to irk my Mormon readers by once again making fun of Mountain Dew, invoking the name of John Krakauer, and otherwise being saucy. I mean, I wouldn't want to seem intolerant. Because, you know, we all have our rights—as everyone reminds me whenever I get cheeky about theirs.

Except that some of us still don't have those rights. And the thing of it is, Mormons and everyone else against gay marriage, you are not going to win this war for long. Sooner or later when you try to swallow the alligator it will be too big and too aggressive and you will damage yourselves instead.

So, why not be smart and skip to the punch line? Let gay people get married. Letting them get married doesn't have to reflect on your own marriages, Mormons, just as Warren Jeffs and his child bride unions don't represent mainstream Mormon marriage—a point you are understandably eager to reiterate whenever the subject comes up. Saying yes to gay marriage doesn't make you deviant and queer and gay and stuff. Unless you're already gay and are just hiding it in your heterosexual church-ordained union. As one gay protester said, "We can't all marry Liza Minelli." The point is, you don't have to believe in gay marriage any more than I as an atheist believe in the angel of Moroni. Nor do you have to like it. But as Americans in search of tolerance yourselves, you have more in common with these other Americans than you think. "Momo" and "homo": see? You even rhyme with each other!

The bottom line, Mormon church, is that you're fighting a losing battle because California will eventually sanction gay marriage, and one day your children and/or their children will see nothing wrong with giving legal rights to all members of our society because my children and their children will be at school with yours. So, why not be pragmatic? Be the Christians who don't have to blow up over this issue. Be nice to the alligator, for he shall rise from the swamp again. And as we all know, it's never smart to bite off more than you can chew. p.s. On a chirpier note, go to the bloglet today for incredibly swanky and festive and cheap-ass Thanksgiving delights. It's recession-fabulous! (Gwyneth Paltrow, take note: if GOOP sourced me a set of letter-pressed funkalicious Thanksgiving place cards for $3, I'd be digging you too.)

Dear Gwyneth, It is I: Your Sensitivity Chip

2008-11-14T22:12:00.000-08:00

Dear Gwyneth,

If this letter ever finds you please know that I am looking for you. Yes, I know it's odd to receive a letter from me, but as I am missing, and would very much like to be found, I'm reaching out and doing something very unconventional—sending you a letter on the internet. It seems everyone is on the internet these days—even you! So maybe you will find me! But until you do, I remain lost, and holy mackerel, so are you!

Maybe you will recognize me when you see me again, maybe not. But it would be a very good thing for you and all of motherhood and womanhood at large if we were reunited. You see if you had me with you wouldn't be getting yourself into all this GOOPy muck. You wouldn't have tossy plebs like Crabmommy fulminating all over you and calling you a trollope on her bloglet for rubbing her nose in your beautifully nourished couture-clad life.

Gwyn, you have always come off as a bit of a snit. But now that you've decided to be a slut for celebri-smugness, I feel ever more compelled to find you and plaster myself to you and never let you go. Now, naturally I know you are very posh, and jolly well-dressed and classy and refined, and you can't help that, but a lot of people also think you're a twit and some of that is entirely your fault.

Hey, have you noticed I'm using all these British words to describe you? Mackerel. Posh. Twit. Jolly. That's because you live in the UK and I know that makes you quite British and all like your BFF, Madge, and you gals play tiddly-winks in your parlors and so forth in a decidedly English manner. And I'm cool with that and so I am speaking to you in your own vernacular and appealing to your British sense of restraint and to what I thought was your natural good taste. Come on, who didn't enjoy The Talented Mr. Ripley? You were so great in it! I mean, so super! But ever since you started smearing your beautiful life in the haggard economy-ravaged serf-y faces of the world's women via your GOOPy newsletters and your Oprah workouts and whatnot, you're starting to seem a bit ugly.

Seriously, it's bad enough that you send newsletters discussing the important and rigorously edifying art shows you attend, as well as delivering recipes (no doubt for lobster with peasant-echalotte sauce or some barney inflected by your drunken bashes with best bud Batali)—dispensing said recipes like crumbs from your hand-hewn Nakashima-designed one-off table—but now you've got us all in a tizzy over astonishing spreads of you dispensing fashion advice and demonstrating the pieces of your wardrobe that best suit your rampantly perfected bodaciousness, and reminding all the gals out there to save up for a Chanel dress because it never goes out of style.

But Gwynnie-pops, the thing about "nourishing your inner aspect" is that when it's really nourished it all stays in there. It doesn't get out for all the world to see, all the world to envy, and all the blogworld to parody.

So please, take my advice: stop telling everyone about having the cleaning staff clean out your spaces while you travel to the Costa Brava in your Balenciaga flip-flops to BUY, GET, BE, LOVE, DO. By all means eat clams like the natives and with the natives to illustrate that while you are above the natives you can still get down with the natives in a natural and native way! By all means go to ponce-y art shows with Madonna where the two of you actually understand and converse in the language of the signifier and the signified, because you are high-low and all shades in between of sophistication! Do it! Of course you should. Everyone would if they could. And by all means think really important and humbling thoughts in the apple orchards of your country house in the Hamptons. For goodness' sake, you absolutely must. Just, you know, have a little mercy, my poppet, and zip your pretty little Estee Laudered lip. At least until the recession is over in a decade or three.

You think you want to help others, but I know I can help you, so keep your eye out for me.

With best regards,
Your sensitivity chip

p.s. stupid, yes. But I'm feeling stupid. And hey! Look out for my new Crabmommy web design. Its going to have all these GOOPy buttons: PANIC. WORRY. FRET. COMPLAIN. ARGUE. DISS.

Grammarmama Takes Umbrage!

2008-11-12T09:29:00.000-08:00

Pompous though it may sound, there are pitfalls to having one's commercial blog gig syndicated by Yahoo. Far be it from me to bite the hand that feeds me, but there are moments here at the Crabmanor when I sit in my purple blogging robe, stare at the screen, and wonder how much farther I can plunge myself into the rank armpit of mass culture.

One doesn't expect major brain power to be drawn to a blog about motherhood appearing at a Yahoo women's channel called Shine, for God's sake (and this is where my Cookie bloglet is now syndicated), but when I read the comments my posts elicit, I am almost impressed by how low it can go. Witness the sort of thing that accompanied my admittedly ho-hum post about that tiny living Nepal goddess:

This is there culture and what they believe. But if this was done in America it would be called child abuse. I won't pretend to understand this, this is a three year old child who will tossed away when she starts to menastrate.

Good point, "Necee"! Indeed, we can all feel sorry for a menastrating three year old.

To be sure there are some perfectly smart responses in the mire at Yahoo (and many of them come out when you least want anyone to actually think about the drivel you've written), but a fair number of these comments are quite spectacularly atrocious. And MANY APPEAR IN CAPS:

I THINK THAT IS WONDERFUL WHEN YOU CAN BE HONEST IN ANY ASPECT OF LIFE WE NEED TO BE VERY HONEST WITH OUR CHILDREN ,THEY NEED THAT SOMEONE THEY TRUST AND CAN RELATE TO.

Or just in plain lowercase, caps be damned:

thats weird i just told my five year old mommys got a baby in the belly and his first responce was "how?" i wasnt ready for that. lol, but hes happy, he wants a little brother.

I know it's just an online forum and all, but I can't help the fact that I have elitist tendencies that no amount of shock therapy has been able to erase.

I am also amazed by the avatars people choose for themselves in these settings. Indeed, the online handles are often utterly Byzantine and involve long series of numbers and misspelled nicknaming: MommakityAngelcakes567498. Okay, so I made that one up, but you get the picture. It's also hard for people to stick to the point sometimes. You write about mommy manners, or lack thereof, and you get this:

I appreciate your topic. This very nice to say. Do you like hot black singles? Manys peoples finding love on thes site. I hear Mariah Carey is going there.

Anyhoo, things have definitely improved over at the Yahoo comments of late, and there are certainly more appropriately directed readers coming over to the Crabmom...but I remain enchanted by the peculiarly, spectacularly warped sentences sprinkled into the mix. Thankfully I am very popular at Yahoo. Here's what one unfortunately quite articulate reader had to say about me after I admitted to—gasp!—not being able to recognize my baby in the baby nursery:

Seriously? you shouldn't be breeding; poorly written, poorly thought out, arrogant, narcissistic, whining b.s. all rolled into one-seriously, the saddest part is not that you're so unworthy of praise for your writing and parenting, it's that you've diluted the gene pool of our species even further by reproducing...how sad. time to tie those tubes up, for the sake of humanity.

If you're so inclined, please go over to the bloglet today for more "narcissistic, whining b.s.": Only this time it isn't from me; it's from Gwyneth Paltrow. And, yes, Crabmommy tries to avoid writing about shalebritays, but I'm afraid the slender golden Paltrow begged me to, and even I can't resist a begging shalebritay. Last, for those of you asking what's become of my commitment to banishing my postpartum tummy flub, also known as the mom-flap? Read about my harder-than-sushi-knives abs right here.

Blogger Bailout Plan?

2008-11-07T09:12:00.000-08:00

Dear Federal Government,

Now that you have been Baracked I know that you are going to totally rock at saving this economy. Or at least, you're going to do a way better job at attempting to save it than Jenna's father's crowd. I don't doubt that this is an entirely sucky way to start off the new administration, and I am sure it's way hard to figure out who to help and who to diss when it comes to bailing out the various industries in peril. In this regard I just want to put a little plug in for a sector or two that you might otherwise miss when it comes to selecting candidates for white-collar handouts.

Since you guys are considering propping up Ford with a few billions and are pumping all those other billions into the banks and mortgage lenders (and probably even bloody Abercrombie & Fitch 'yo), I want to make a case for two sectors that are very near and dear to my heart, are seriously imperiled, wouldn't cost you a whole bunch to help, and have done nothing greedy/ immoral/risky/stupid to bring any of this misery on themselves.

The first is the blogging sector. I know that Bush probably doesn't know what a blog is and McCain definitely had never heard of blogs which is part of why he completely ate dirt on election night. Barack, however, not only knows about bloggers but has been boosted by them and supported by them and basically, we all know the internet has done a whole bunch to bring about change. Just look at Crabmommy, herself normally so utterly incapable of doing anything to promote anything or anyone whatsoever. Government, I was MOVED to add my two cents to the Obama campaign and I pushed the agenda as earnestly and constructively as I knew how—by making fun of people in a petty manner! Did I not mock Sara Palin's breast pump rhetoric in a most inflammatory and traffic-inciting way? Did I not try to get the mom vote for Barack by appealing to something moms feel strongly about (baby names)? Did I not write a personal letter to Bristol's baby daddy, referencing his lookalike—my ex-boyfriend who went crazy, smoked truckloads of pot, drew compulsive pictures of horses, and became a still-photogenic racist? (Okay, so maybe that's a tad beside the point, but.)

Government, the point I am making is that we bloggers have been blogging our blog fingers off to promote a new order in the universe but now we need your help. Barack gets it, I think, and I am heartened to see that he has even placed Google CEO Eric Schmidt on his panel of economic advisers. And Google is in fact the host of this blog, and of all Blogger blogs. See? We're all on the same team. That is, until many of us are forced off the team.

Sadly, Crabmommy does not know how long I can remain on this team and I am sure there are many others in my shoes. You see, blogging takes up a wee bit of time and it is a labor of love, also known as non-revenue-producing. Also known as a terrible habit that generates little to no money for the vast majority of us. And in order to waste our potentially revenue-earning hours on the computer, we depend on other sources for mon-ay. But in my case at least, the revenue is looking decidedly dodgy. The company that hosts my revenue-producing bloglet is getting Condé Nasty on itself, cutting staff, salaries, and whatnots across the board. And then there is the small matter of my husband's job, which is a big part of my ability to write piffle and swiffle on this blog whenever I so choose. As an architect, Crabhubby is deeply and woefully embedded in that scary thing called the building sector. Big layoffs are happening at his firm and everyone else's in our city. All of which leads me to ask you, Government, to consider boosting the two professions that comprise the Crabfamily's channels for rustling up shekels. But it's not just about us. I want you to know that by helping us you'd be promoting things you care about deeply; namely change and productivity. Here's how:

A BESP (Bloggers' Economic Stimulus Package) would help the laid-off nation find things to do with its free time. Instead of a) attacking employed strangers on the street, b) mugging homeless people for drinking money or c) lying on the couch and crying into their Cracker Jack, the nation's jobless could be at their computers reading piffle, swiffle, and generally feeling edutained, which is good for morale, an essential component of human productivity. I think a slender $30 mill would help enormously in this regard and could easily be divvied up among those whose blogs do not focus on the amusing antics of the family cat, the importance of Christian homeschooling, or the lives of celebrities. I would be more than willing to offer myself up as judge for disbursing the BESP budget; serving my country as a blogger is important to me, so please do not hesitate to call me in when it comes to the process of assigning checks to the most deserving.

An AESP (Architects' Economic Stimulus Package) is a little harder to sell. When no one is building there is little point in keeping architects at their jobs. But may I just say that many of these dang architects like Crabhubby are good and long-suffering and civic-minded people who have studied long and hard but don't earn much, and many have not in fact contributed to the rash of building projects that can be tied to greed and mismanaged mortgage products. Like the peeps at my hubby's workplace, who are building libraries and schools and stuff. But they can't do that when they're all getting shafted. And so, I entreat you to prop them up. If they don't have any work, let's at least pay them something to sit around making houses out of Eames cards. Look, just take it from me: you don't want these people at home. You want them all in one building together, contained, micro-adjusting the lighting, reorganizing their hair-thin pens, and speaking passive-aggressively to one another.

Seriously, Government, bloggers and architects are major casualties of what is happening right now. But no one talks of helping them. We are hard workers. We are educated. We didn't sell anyone anything they shouldn't have bought, and we are really, really good at living on a budget. So what do you say to tossing just a few mill our way?

Don't answer immediately, dear economic advisers to Obama. Mull it over. Hang out and chat about the matter over asiago bagels in the conference room, or whatever. Just, please, entertain the notion of "change" as it pertains to selecting sectors of American industry that need—and dare I say it—actually deserve, a boost.

Sincerely,
Crabmommy

Anyone else want to plug their biz?

Obamanic!

2008-11-05T12:57:00.000-08:00

"Even though Crabmommy is a US citizen (though raised in South Africa), I didn't vote in this election. Being a busy mom, I just forgot, until it was too late. And now I'm feeling as guilty as all get-out..."

To read on, go to the bloglet.

*Disclaimer: the opening line of this post may or may not be misleading.

Hodgmania!

2008-11-04T09:08:00.000-08:00

During such tense times I find myself riveted to the news, unable to stop myself from reading the very latest breaking stories...as they pertain to John Hodgman and his new book. With his offering aptly titled More Information Than You Require, the American comic helps me feel secure in an insecure epoch, because I know that if I buy this book I can rest assured in the knowledge that I will have more knowledge than I require.

See John Hodgman on BoingBoing TV discussing knowledge and its dissemination below, in the link that I just embedded (and very clever of me if I may say so! Go Techmommy!). And if the clip is too long for you and you feel you are not sufficiently enlightened or amused, skip ahead to just past 2 mins 30 for his unforgettable rendition of the "Happy Birthday" song.

I had such a chuckle. Enjoy!

Grammarmama: Get Your Preposition On!

2008-10-30T20:45:00.000-07:00

It's been a while since I began Grammarmama, intended to be a mini-series to help you help yourself speak gooder by teaching your tyke how to talk proper. I know I've been sluggish in following my lay/lie post, but prepositions have brought me back.

I'm a tad sensitive to prepositions, a touch tweaked by them when they aren't used correctly. They are small but they can hurt; a little splinter in the sentence if you will.

And no, I'm not talking about stuffy grammar rules requiring people to murder their own tongues in order to avoid ending sentences with a preposition, e.g., "Crabkid, this behavior is the sort up which I shall not put," to borrow from Winnie Churchill. I'm not some fuddy-duddy pedant. I can be sententious. When I'm not using words like "sententious." Meaning this grammarmama has no beef with easy talking and writing. But some things, prepositionally speaking, do grate, like the following exchange, at bath time:

Mom: "Why did you just pour [a giant pitcher of] water onto the bathroom floor?"
Crabkid: "I did it on accident."
Mom: "By accident."
Crabkid: "By accident. I just poured it on accident."

Now "different from" and "different to" is something one can actively convo about, but "on accident" just plum don't exist, people. And so when Crabkid does these sorts of things she gets away with other things, like pouring water directly onto the bathroom floor, because I just can't get past the prepositional offense.

On the same token, there's something else that really gets me all kinds of unreasonably peppery when I hear it. Almost got you there, didn't I? On the same token! Sneaky Crabmommy! It's by the same token. NPR, are you listening? I hear you on your token all the time, but you're actually off it by two letters. Speaking of NPR, Terry Gross, can you please stop saying "you-man" when you mean "human"? It gets me all twitchy-like beneath my seatbelt.

If there's one thing I will teach my daughter it's what really counts and by God, if she ever falls in love with a youman who says "on the same token" I will just have to dispense with creature, whoever s/he is and I will do so by telling him/her all kinds of embarrassing claptrap real and invented about my child and our family. And if that doesn't work I will behave as crabaciously and ridiculously as possible, which is astonishingly easy for me, thereby sending the young grammatically challenged suitor far from the fold.

When Crabkid asks me why I did it, why I shunned her true love through my appalling behavior, I will feign total surprise! "I'm so sorry I ruined your relationship, darling! I did it on accident."

*Related segue: As a South African who came to the USA in my early twenties I have had to grapple with and learn to understand what appear to be American prepositional faux pas if you are coming from the outside in. For example, Americans love to double up on preps: "off of the train"; "outside of the house." And they like to add a prep where none is needed: "Listen up!" And yet, Americans can be mysteriously economical in their use of articles: "Get in back of the car" sounds quite odd to those of us used to "in the back of."

All that said, squashing snobbery in language is a good thing and I am a strong believer of the "When in Rome" approach to English, if and only if it doesn't contradict a fundamental grammar rule of American English. Not sure how many people really know this, but there are, in fact, numerous differences between American and Commonwealth English that extend far beyond the dropping of the "u" in "colour"; for example, American punctuation is significantly different from British punctuation and as a writer and editor and teacher I have had to learn those diffs dang well. So, you won't catch me living in the US but consulting the Oxford dictionary to orientate myself properly in this heathen land. I am happy to orient myself with Webster's, just so long as nobody asks me to get my token on.

Got any grammar beefs for me?

Let's Face It

2008-10-23T21:39:00.000-07:00

Word to the PRs who contact me to hock new products: never send me a promo email starting with "Let's face it, times are tough." And then go into some spiel about why it is that I should get behind your new Mommy Calendar website to facilitate my multi-tasking mommy life or whatevs.

Times are tough? Says who? Personally, I spend my days--once Crabkid is dispatched to preschool--lying on the floor in my purple blogging robe, masticating large handfuls of the licorice candy Good 'n Plenty while playing Mine Hunt on my ancient Palm Pilot. Speaking of Palm Pilots, PRs, can you get me an iPhone? Heck, even a Blackberry would be be a step up from my ancient Palm Pilot. Bristol Palin's soulmate Levi Johnston has one, and I wrote about it, so right there you can see intelligent product placement if you've got a spot of intelligence yourself.

PRs and random stuff-hockers: it would also help if you could tell the diffs between a blog and a concrete, physical locale. So when you offer some sort of peculiar mommy-centric faxing services to the "guests" of my "hotel" you've rather missed the mark as far as my venue is concerned.

And now let us come to the pesky recurring matter of educational products for children. For those of you with websites promoting educational toys, where on Crabmommy did you ever see mention of educational playtime? Oh, wait, was it here? Or maybe here? If you know and like my blog as you say you do, you'll know that edutainment and Crabmommy do not mix.

Ditto if you have a product that just plum don't make sense. I hate to call out individuals but I gotta give the award on this one to a company called Emotes who emailed me to promote their new product. Emotes are "cyber-beings with human-like emotions" that live inside the internet in the land of Emotia (this is all intoned in flat robot voice on their website). Robots teaching children about their feelings? Crab. Mommy. Does. Not. Get. It. (intoned in robot voice)

Don't know about the rest of you bloggy people, but I prefer the emails that offer me stuff I really can get behind. I have my readers to think of and authenticity and consistency are key for them. They don't go to Crabmommy looking for an endorsement of your new digital Time Out station or a flashcard game that teaches children how to make good choices. They come to me looking for zero edification whatsoever. And maybe for a Dollar store pregnancy test or two.

So, send me your special soaps for washing out kiddie potty mouths. Send me your cruel-to-be-kind portable child prison. Fine, call it something cute like "Safe Station." Just make sure it has a lock and soundproofing. Send me cookbooks for my crockpot. Better yet, send me a crockpot. I think my "high" setting is still too low. Send me vacations. I can get behind those. Even if it's a timeshare in a subdivision in El Paso. If there's a pool and you can score me some JetBlue passes, I'm yours because staycations are even worse than the word "staycation" itself.

Send me art supplies. Lots. I loathe cracking out the shekels for that stuff. Send me tampons for making wiener dogs. And another tip: if you claim to love my blog and know me like the back of your hand, spell my name right. Crabmommy: one word, not two. In summary, dear random hockers who blast my inbox frequently, here's the most important thing you can do for both of us: First see if product placement is remotely likely before you get in touch with the mommyblogger. It's PR 101, no? I know I'm not the first to talk about this (I remember Queen of Spain doing a good rant about this once), and I am surely not the last. If you come here, offer me something that makes sense, something I would actually dig.

Like lip balm. I can talk about lip balm until the end of my days. Indeed, when I am on my deathbed and the family leans in for last loving words, I will likely be croaking about my favorite lip balm (currently, that's Bigelow). I also really, really like sunblock and can get very, very involved in any discussions of sunblock, utilizing such fancy words such as "helioplex" and "broad spectrum." And I like well-designed, useful things for children and parents. Such as cashmere onesies for the entire family.

If you're in doubt, here's something I can place any time of the year: send me money. It's worked remarkably well in the past and Crabmommy is likely to be captivated by it in the future and will heavily endorse it for you--and sincerely too!

Last, to those who email me announcing that I have been selected to be on the blog roll for your new entirely unknown site called MomConnected or MommyIsASuperhero or MomsRockOutSoBigTime or whatever the frock, please understand that while I am incredibly grateful for the rare privilege of a spot on your roster, Crabmommy doesn't have the space to embed your stupid widget into the sidebar of this blog. But thanks anyway! I wish you all good fortune in your venture. It sounds totally awesome!

p.s. Fans of Pippi Longstocking: New post today on "Thing-Finding" at the bloglet.

What's a Gender Blender?

2008-10-21T08:44:00.001-07:00

That was the question Crabkid asked me that this morning en route to school, as a winsome gender-neutral radio voice announced "Gender Blender!" a new show focused on helping gay and bisexual and polysexual and transsexual kids bump up their self-esteem. I thought I was on NPR until I realized I'd switched away from talk radio yesterday during a squabble with Crabkid, and had instead dialed into a local station whose African drumming music had drowned out the back seat back chat wonderfully well.

Returning to the gender blender question: I like to think I'm supremely tolerant and broad-minded but if anything is a yardstick for your truest values, it's parenthood. And while I tell myself I will be quite fine with any gender blending my child might one day be drawn to here in the epicenter of liberalism, the fact is I think I'm really only just capable of surviving lesbianism or bisexuality (the Lindsay Lohan sort please, with lipstick involved) and even then the concept of a lesbian/bisexual daughter gives me a slight vasovagal feeling, which is a cardiological term for feeling faint. If Crabkid starts walking around in a breast-binding shirt, shaves her head and listens to whatever future equivalent there is to Ani di Franco, I'll have to join a support group. And if Crabkid one day wants to be a full-on gender-blended Thomas Beattie, it may be too much for my socialized Victorian ways, ways inculcated in me by growing up South African during the 1980s, which in American years is like being a child in the 1930s. Seriously, in the land where races couldn't even blend, gender blending wasn't even a faint notion on the horizon. There were no gay people ever in South Africa when I lived there, not a single one. And the ones declaring themselves queer now? As far as I'm concerned it's just a phase they'll grow out of. (Cousin Paul, are you listening? SNAP OUT OF IT!)

So...what is it that makes me cool with the concept of a gay male child but uncomfortable with the idea of a lesbian/gender-blending daughter? I understand and relate to homosexuality and bisexuality on a conceptual level and as an atheist have zero religious or otherwise ideological issues with any of it. I can even see how I am just an unevolved human who has not allowed herself to branch out on the great sexual continuum because of my background and upbringing and a certain prudishness that is nothing to be valued.

Still, I'm not digging the possibility of a lezbo daughter even if some of my best friends are lesbians! Yup, we're all tolerant until we're proven hypocrites.

Crabkid, if you're older and you're reading this and you are by some chance gender blending, just remember that Mom loves you no matter what, but she's just a bit hysterical over that macho key chain thing hanging off the back of your flubby man-jeans. She'll get over it, but you have to give the dinosaur time.

Back to this morning, when my 4-year-old asked me "What's a gender blender?" my mind raced ahead to the many uncomfortable questions parents have to face whether they're ready for them or not. But obviously a 4-year-old doesn't need to know that Mom finds the question tricky. What she needed was a simple answer, so I told her the truth, which is to say I told her the first thing that came out of my mouth and that I thought sounded convincing:

"A gender blender is a very special type of coffee machine."

p.s. If you missed it, big competition happening this month with major cashmere involved!

Snowballs! Cashmere! Free vacay in Montana!

2008-10-20T08:40:00.000-07:00

Who wants to go to Montana and spend a week frolicking in the snow without paying a dime?

Who wants to bathe in a sea of cashmere?

Rhetorical questions. Which is my I am giving you the following news bulletin from our friends at Lands' End, who have given to the Crabmommy swagilicious backpacks and other assorted delights for your delectation.

Lands’ End is giving readers a chance to win a family get-together for 7 nights for up to 12 people at The Resort at Paws Up in Montana! Entries at www.landsend.com/greatgettogether through noon October 30, 2008. Prizes include:

Grand Prize: A get together for 7 nights for up to 12 people at The Resort at Paws Up in Montana, which includes round-trip airfare, meals and four half-day wilderness adventures per person and also includes a new waterproof Windfall outerwear package
Second Prize: Cashmere Great Get Together package with Lands’ End’s high-quality cashmere sweaters and scarves for the family
Third Prize: Fleece Great Get Together package with cozy fleece jackets and accessories for the family

Now obviously that main prize is heavenly, but me, I almost prefer second prize: cashmere for the whole family! I can already see that family holiday photo with everyone from tots to grandparents decked out in all manner and hue of cashmere from pastel tones of Jordan almond to bolder Lego-toned statements for the men...carefree laughter on everyone's faces as we offer holiday salutations to one and all!!

Seriously, I so wish to bathe my family in cashmere. I am not being remotely ironic. I have often fantasized about living my entire indoor life in a cashmere onesie, with snaps up the front and footie slippers attached. Imagine blogging in that? As opposed, say, to the Crabmommy's standard purple blogging robe.

THAT PRIZE MUST BE MINE!

So how do you win? Go here, enter your details and submit a 300-word essay on your most memorable family get-together, and a photo of the clan yukking it up on vacay.

I am still working on my essay. It's hard for me to remember a truly hands-down Lands-Endy perfecto vacay in which the entire massive clan that is my family cozied up in a fog of goodwill and exemplary behavior all round. Many a memorable vacation do I have in my past, yes, but a lot of them involve combustible scenarios in which sisters fight over bathroom time and my father ends up barking with rage at being surrounded by women. Now, if we were head-to-toe in cashmere it would all be different, wouldn't it? This is the question that may, indeed, become the hook for my essay...

So go here and good luck for the big one but back off my second-place sweaters, k?

What's On My Mind

2008-10-16T09:39:00.000-07:00

On a more serious note than usual, I just can't stop thinking about the news today, of what I have just tried to digest on the front page of the NYT.

The cruise ship the QE 2 is about to be retired and turned into a floating hotel in Dubai.

Yup, after 40-odd years of transatlantic travel, the Queen Elizabeth 2 just made its 701st, and also its last, appearance in New York City's harbor. And I feel cheated. I always wanted to go on the QE2. It seemed only a matter of time. My grandparents were always going on the QE2! (Okay, maybe just once or something but you know, it's family tradition!) Going on the QE2: I just assumed it would happen, you know? When I retired! On my non-existent 401k.

Now I have to be content with sitting on a stationary QE2 in Dubai and frankly that's not the same thing. For one, where's the British hospitality? It just won't be the same to take my Earl Grey and crumpets from a stewardess in burka.

Bloody bad times indeed.

Dear Levi Johnston

2008-10-13T11:06:00.000-07:00

Dear Levi,

I know the whole world has been telling you this, but it never hurts to hear it again: you really are very cute, which is a good thing for the baby of Bristol Palin since she is herself very cute as is her mother, and all that cuteness will help your kid out when you guys can't deliver in the more cerebral departments.

You also do very cute things. Like when you lost the "promise ring" that, in a twist on tradition, your budding feminist Bristol gave to you, and you decided instead of a ring you'd just tattoo Bristol's name on your ring finger. I know a lot of people who will think that is cute. People like Pamela Anderson and Tommy Lee and a bunch of others who dig that whole tattoo-instead-of-ring thing. I myself don't find that very cute, personally, but I can understand how it might be deemed as cute by others and how it will definitely seem refreshingly cute if your mother-in-law makes it to the White House. The tattoo, paired with your dropping out of school to become a rigger or a jigger or whatever it is they call oil people, can be cast in quite a cute light: it's that whole down-home Wasilla in Washington thing.

I really did enjoy reading more about you today over at ABC News. Like, this part:

The soft-spoken teenager discussed his relationship with Palin and how life has changed with fatherhood fast approaching. He agreed to talk despite the presidential campaign's advice in the days following Gov. Sarah Palin's nomination to avoid the media.[...] "They're not telling me anything right now," Johnston said as he checked his Blackberry. "It's pretty chill."

I just love how you check your Blackberry! Levi Johnston is a busy man! Seriously cute. And I love this part too:

Johnston hinted he's expecting a boy, but he declined to discuss baby names.
"I'm looking forward to having him," he said. "I'm going to take him hunting and fishing. He'll be everywhere with me."

I love how you didn't give the gender away. Very artful of you, my cute young friend!

Another reason I probably find you cute is that you remind me of an ex-boyfriend of mine who was terribly cute. I mean, really devastatingly handsome. You can't maybe tell in this mug shot I'm about to show you but trust me, handsome as all get-out, like you, Levi.

Unlike you he actually came from a top-notch blue-bloody family but he went a bit bananas. I remember it as the big tragedy of my early 20s, where I met this lovely cute person whom I thought I could have babies with and then one day he just stopped coming out of his bedroom. His roommate called me and told me he had locked himself into his room with pounds of pot, and was maniacally drawing pictures of horses, which he would slide under the door. The horses were sort of a bad sign I guess, but I was in my 20s so I ignored the sudden equine obsession and continued to throw myself at him in a fog of adoration. Then he went more nutso and druggy. Luckily he was very rich and managed to purchase his own crack den down south. Sadly it all came to an end when he was had up on rape charges. And I know it's bad and all to say but, in spite of the bad lighting in that mug shot (which I Googled) and the drugs that have ravaged him since we were young, I still think my ex looks a little bit cute so...you know, maybe the alleged victim sort of got lucky? I'm sure your mom-in-law would agree with that one!

Anyhoo, I suppose I'm getting a bit off-topic here, Levi, not that you would know about that since you probably didn't get to the whole 5-paragraph essay bit in school. I guess I just wanted you to know that, like a lot of people, I think you are dang cute! And I sincerely wish for your baby that you and Bristol will really resist tradition when it comes to that baby name and just go with something like Jane or William. So that's my advice. And, you know, stay away from the drugs! Because when you're a rigger or a jigger or whatever, there can be temptations! Of the meth-y sort! So just, you know, just say no! If you can't keep your pants on, at least keep your nose clean.

I guess that about sums it up for Crabmommy advice, Levi. All best to you, your bride, and the fruit of your loins...How cute will that baby be? Forget it! I almost can't stand to imagine the level of super-cuteness about to debut. The future for all of us in America may be uncertain, but experts are predicting a landslide of cuteness in that scrumpulicious new Wasillian you've been working on. So, high five on that!

All best,
Crabmommy
p.s. Readers: acorns. Do you love acorns? I bloody love acorns.

It's All About Me

2008-10-09T09:09:00.000-07:00

"That song's about me?" Crabkid asked this morning as we listened to the radio en route to school. I'd switched from Voice of Doom NPR to some oldies thing and the song was "She's My Lady." You know that one:

Well she's all you'd ever want,
She's the kind they'd like to flaunt and take to dinner.
dum di dum di....blahdiblah...She's a winner.
She's a lady. Whoa, whoa, whoa, she's a lady.

"Why's he talking about me?" Crabkid said, all huffy-like in the back.

So I'm wondering if a) she's just a natural narcissist (Gosh! Not my gene pool!), or if b) she's simply relating to the song because her dad used to refer to her as Baby Lady.

She's a lady. Whoa, whoa, whoa. She's a lady.
Talkin' about that little lady, and the lady is mine.

Crabkid grew progressively more annoyed by the song. "Why's he calling me that?" she huffed. "Why's he call me his lady. I'm not his lady." So I'm thinking it's b) above, by this point. But then, the kicker, proving definitively a) over b): "Why isn't he calling me by my name in that song."

In an only weakly related segue...please go here to weigh in on what it's like to be a little girl who really has the world revolving around her. As in the latest newly anointed living Hindu deity. The little tot has to spend a night alone in a room full of goats heads to get the job. Yeah, yeah, cultural relativism and blah-di-blah, but it must really suck to be a goddess.

I beg of you, wade into the mire via the comments button and weigh in. Or just stopp by. Even just clicking for a nanosecond. You see, my Cookie blog job (or as I like to call it, the bloglet) depends on readership. Which means that I depend on you. And this here original unauthorized, steamy, and salacious version of Crabmotherhood and rando-whatnot bloggery also depends on you. Because without you there is no point to any of it. And without Cookie paying me to sit in my robe and call it a job, there can be no waffling on about various claptrap and bloglicious ephemera here at Blogger. And these are tough times, and Cookie's parent company is going to get lean and mean and Conde Nasty on me if I don't drum up some peeps, ai-aight? Do you see the interconnectedness of it all? Do you see how my proverbial back is against the wall, albeit cushioned by several deep inches of plush purple blogging robe?

And also there is incentive for you to read my professional giglet. Oh, yes indeedy! Every one of you who visits my bloglet will receive a check in your bank account! So completely not kidding! I will deposit $56 into your very own PayPal account just for having you read the bloglet. And if you send another person, preferably of the mommy persuasion to my bloglet, I will add another $56 into your PayPal account!

You can't beat that! Just don't forget to drop me a note after you've visited the bloglet, with your full PayPal information contained in said note (including passwords) and my personal banker in Lagos will make an immediate deposit into your account.

Shweesh! I've never linked so much to myself in a single post. My blogging finger is on fire!

Sooooriously...I have a number of most excellent upcoming posts for you here, involving among other things the much-promised and long-delayed return of Grammarmama as well as Randomommy (Notes from the Domestic Frontier). And, for those who subscribe to the Crabmommy Premium Package™, a comprehensive analysis of my school uniform from 1980s South Africa, the country of my birth. That post necessitates the first ever Crabmommy photograph published on this here blog (not including my sulky mug in my banner). If you want to see cultural relativism at its finest, you need look no further than the image I shall soon be presenting to you. Of me in my apartheid-inflected, fascist-inspired school uniform, a getup I wore every single day for 12 years.

Thanking you for your patronage. And how's your 401k doing? Is it doing as well as mine? I haven't lost a dime. Because I never had a dime in there to begin with. Har har har. We laugh, but evidently I have very sound fiscal policies. Matter of fact I might just take that to a mini-series in which I give financial advice on this very blog: Your Two Cents: Ask Crabmommy.

Really, ask me. Ask me anything.

Because Other Moms are Funnier

2008-10-07T09:25:00.000-07:00

I think we're all a little tired of me and my Sarah Palin satires. I'm finding myself a smidge dull and obvious at present, so I'm going to send you elsewhere instead. Here are 3 nice linkies to amuse:

1. Blogger Sugar and Snails talks of how she found a velvet Jesus painting at a thrift store...and through the miracle of bribery, managed to wrest the artwork from another shopper. Read it here.

2. See this most excellent entry from blogger Suzanne Broughton's 6th-grade yearbook.

3. If you aren't already watching Season 2 of Motherhoodlum over at Offsprung then shweesh, get on with it already! Readers may remember Emily and Marty from when I first wrote about them here...they "J-vibed" on Jdate, got together, had a baby and now Ems is navigating mommylife...getting kicked out of eco-mommy groups ("Oh my God, she's only two and her carbon footprint is huge!"), inveigling herself into a single-moms group in a desperate bid for sisterhood, almost making out with her sleazy ex-boyfriend in an alley while out taking the baby for a walk, and trying to figure out how to keep the flame between her and Marts. If you haven't seen the show, start here.

Palinoscopy: Exclusive Crabmom-Sarah Palin Interview!

2008-10-03T06:32:00.000-07:00

I am goshdarn excited to tell you that while Sarah Palin hasn't granted many media interviews she agreed to let me interview her candidly for my motherhood blog, so long as we avoided the topic of motherhood altogether and did not mention baby names even once. Here follows a transcript of that session:

Crabmommy: Ms. Palin, you only got your passport last year. But you have spoken of being able to see Russia from Alaska.

Sarah Palin: It's just right over the border.

C: Does seeing Russia sort of count as having traveled to another country? You know like "I've seen other parts of the world"?

SP: Absolutely, yup, yup.

C: So how do you see Russia—

SP: Well, Crabmommy, you just don't blink!

C: Because if you blink then you can't see it anymore?

SP: Absolutely!

C: If you make it to the White House...you've got your Blackberry, your breast pump, and your nuclear button. How do you know which button to push at 3am?

SP: "All of 'em, any of 'em. You just don't—

C: —blink?

SP: Absolutely.

C: Do you feel qualified to make decisions about your own hairstyles as a VP?

SP: I still can't answer that question until somebody answers for me: what is it exactly that the VP does every day?

C: What do you think of the race thus far? How confident are you?

SP: It is a very long race. Iron Dog is the longest race of its kind in the world. But Todd has won four times and as a family we are committed.

C: Seriously, things aren't looking so hot for you guys at the moment. How exactly is your team going to win?

SP: On a snowmobile. Iron Dog is like Iditarod, without the dogs.

C: With regard to dogs, if you had a pit bulls would you put lipstick on them, and if so what color?

SP: I'll try to find you some and I'll bring them to you.

C: So you think raped women should pay for their own rape exams?

SP: Absolutely, yup, yup.

C: Do you think raped women sort of brought it on themselves then?

SP: Absolutely, yup, yup.

C: So what do you do if a rapist is coming at you?

SP: I just say "thanks, but no thanks."

If You Are Homeless

2008-10-01T10:22:00.000-07:00

It's been serious, sincere, and heavy over at Crabmommy of late. And it's about to get worse. Because as we all know a crisis is afoot. And while I usually traffic in claptrap and whatnot and randomommy trivia, I feel compelled to talk about the current crisis. I cannot ignore the grim realities of day-to-day life in America. And I know you all want to know what I think about what's going down in our country today. And many of you have written to ask me how I'm managing and how my 401K is doing and the answer is very well! I have taken ZERO losses there. Because there was NEVER ANYTHING IN IT TO BEGIN WITH.

Anyway, it's true that we're in trouble right now. And facing tough times. I myself worry every day. About the big stuff. Like how to re-register my car with the Department of Motor Vehicles.

As some of you may recall, I moved recently, away from the rodeos and Polish poolboys of my former resort town in Wyoming...and ever westward to another state where the rain falls freely and the Teva sandals are as abundant as the congenial lesbian dogwalkers and micro-brew-drinking men sporting Devendra Banhart-y folksy facial hair and Maasai earrings.

But this is a state also very interested in one driving a law-abiding smog-checked car. And apparently I have very little time to get my car tested for smog output before I will be sent to a special jail reserved for the most criminal of offenders: those who don't recycle properly and whose SUV's are belching unconscionably into the fine misty air.

So I have been going to our state's website. And reading about emissions checks and re-registering of licence plates and such. And I came upon this incredibly fine and sweet and oddly touching thing that I must share with you. Check out this section at my state DMV website, on proving residence:

All documents submitted must be acceptable to DMV. DMV has the discretion to reject or to require additional evidence to verify your residence address.

Homelessness

Individuals that are homeless may use a descriptive address such as "under the west end of the Burnside Bridge."

Nice to know that if the economy is going to screw Crabhubby, Crabkid, and me out of our rental home (and it actually, jokes aside, might), we are welcome to domicile ourselves under one of Crabcity's bridges, so long as our car burns clean.

Milking It: Manipulating Motherhood on Planet Palin

2008-09-25T08:19:00.000-07:00

Seems quite a few women are incensed to see the "sexism" abounding on the net (and here at Crabmommy) when it comes to questioning Sarah Palin's ability to run the White House, should she be so required if McCain kicks the bucket or spontaneously combusts in a fit of his trademark ire.

Many of you agreed with me when I said--saucily, people, as is my wont--that anyone breastfeeding her babe shouldn't have a finger near the nuclear button; others found my post anti-feminist and offensive. I find it hilarious and stupid in equal measure that we are even having a conversation about empowered mothers, women's rights, and shattered glass ceilings when the person in question is totally against women's rights and reveals herself to be quite a questionable mother at best, not to mention a believer that the road to smart women begins with teaching Adam and Eve in school.

Some thoughts:

If Sarah Palin were a great VP candidate we would not be talking about motherhood.
If Sarah Palin were a great mother we would not be talking about motherhood in the White House because she would not be politicizing her children for her own ambitious ends.
If Sarah Palin's camp thinks it's unfair for her attackers to talk about her children and pontificate on her ability to simultaneously be a mother and a VP, then Sarah Palin's camp ought not talk about her newborn, nor parade her knocked-up child on stage for all the world to see in a grand fallacious gesture of "walking the talk" of family values.

The irony, the hypocrisy. It's so funny, it's turned me serious.

In spite of the Palin freak show we continue to engage in absurd conversations in which people say such things as "If Obama had a baby no one would ask him how he planned to juggle it" etc. etc. Similarly, several comments here and elsewhere suggest that if Obama had a young baby then we too should question him on how he would cope. Puh-lease.

Me, I don't ask the same questions of Obama or McCain because neither man has a babe attached to his bosom, nor does he traffic in talk about juggling breastpumps and Blackberrys and "soccer mom" hoo-ha. If either man were the primary caregiver of an infant I might idly question how that kid would get shafted (though it wouldn't play a role in my vote), but that's not the case here, is it?

This convo is so ridiculous in its bending-over-backwards attempts at political correctness. For one, Obama isn't grandstanding about family values while parading his pregnant teen onstage like a circus animal and speaking proudly about stepping up to grandparenthood. Nor would Obama in power ever do anything to reverse a woman's right to choose whether she wants a family at all. Obama is not a mom and he's not running as a Supermom while also attempting to stop moms from making their own decisions about family and career, so I'm not asking him to show me if he can handle being a mom and running the country at the same time.

As for Palin "walking the talk" let's hear some of the talk and then see if she's really "walking" it. On abortion: we all know Palin is pro-life, even if her own daughter were raped, (and on the subject of rape, as we now know Palin thinks raped women should pay for their own rape kits). As for the pro-life/pro-choice question, I believe we are meant to see Palin's Down's baby, the unfortunately named Trig, as the living example of Palin's truly "walking" her own talk. I dare say that's a major insult to anyone with a Down's child: comparing Palin's circumstance with Trig to one in which a person is raped and falls pregnant is offensive beyond all measure, yet that's what's actually between the lines if anyone considers Trig proof of Palin's "walking" her pro-life talk; i.e., that the decision to have her child proves her to be a woman willing to go all the way when it comes to her beliefs on life vs. choice.

I believe that everyone has the right to abort or keep any baby, healthy or not, but I don't believe that Ms. Palin's decision to have her Down's baby is something for which anyone should be congratulating her, much less a signifier of the beautiful courage of the pro-life position; Palin's decision to have her son is her personal choice in a personal and individual case, a case with far more opportunity for a mother's optimism than, say, the case in which a fetus has a disease or a congenital defect that would cause it unbearable suffering and/or certain death were it to be born. A Down's kid may have health complications, but there are, quite obviously, way worse diagnoses than that. And then there's rape, Ms. Palin.

To reiterate, babies are a matter of personal choice in my book--the mother's choice. That Ms. Palin *may* exhibit courage in the matter of choosing to have Trig is irrelevant to me and should be irrelevant in any political campaign. But it's not, for Palin and her team and supporters have mined and distorted this narrative of so-called personal courage in quite the twisted way, when you look at it closely. As for poor naughty knocked up and unfortunately named Bristol, again Palin is not walking her talk because it's not hers to walk: it's Bristol's, whether Mom wields the influence or not. And, to be blunt, this daughter cannot either be touted as an extension of Palin's particular pro-life position because this daughter has not been raped, though apparently if she had been, Mom would still push her to have that baby. Nice!

Whatever happens, America will get what America asks for. And so many Americans right now think Palin is, at the very least, is a woman we should all take great pains to view as capable of both motherhood and governance, because any other stance is sexist and backward and redolent of double standards! Slap on the wrist, Crabmommy, and anyone else who dares to suggest that her particular circumstances as a mother might cloud her ability to run the country.

To the various self-proclaimed feminists who have come over to this blog and declared me and my supporters to be sad disenfranchised victims of patriarchy: keep talking your PC talk and we may all soon become sad disenfranchised victims of GOP patriarchy, only this time disguised in a skirt.

Yet the tedious argument grinds along: whether we dig Palin's issues or not, we ought to respect her right to go for the VP role untainted by pesky sexist questions. After all, party affiliation aside, she's still a role model, right? She's still punching at that glass ceiling while pumping her boob with the other hand! She's still a woman with career and yet devoted to family, juggling furiously and getting it all done! And even if she does have some kinks as a mom, who are we to judge...right? I mean, it's not our business.

From a moral or political perspective I don't care if Palin is a bad mother, which I think she is. Being a bad or good mother or father is a non-issue for me among the issues I do care about when it comes to this vote because I don't particularly care about the candidates' children: I happen to believe the personal lives of politicians have nothing to do with me or my interests. (I also don't give a royal fig who the candidates sleep with; nor do I give a rat's bum whether they're cross-dressers or porno-watchers or wear purple drawstring pants in their spare time.)

I don't care if Palin's a bad mother, or a good mother. But I do care that a woman running as a mother and using her specific family circumstances to further her campaign is not allowed to be criticized as a mother. That's where the double standards come in. If you raise the subject of motherhood in your campaign, Palin, then so can we all. And for my money, you can be any sort of mother you like, just not in my White House (where all that late-night feeding might distract you).

Auction Closing

2008-09-23T06:43:00.000-07:00

Dear strangers, friends, frenemies, and family,

The auction benefit for Stephanie Nielson and Carol Decker has officially ended and I say a grand thank you to all of you who participated, from sponsors to bidders to winners. Hefty amounts were raised in this thing: over $1000! Way beyond my expectations. This is entirely thanks to my many generous and delightful sponsors of beauteous products, and to you, generous and delightful readers, who pushed the bidding high and made sure every item in here was bought to benefit Carol and Stephanie.

To the many vendors and readers who have contacted me offering donations of money and items: thank you. My auction is closed but if you click on the faces of Carol and Stephanie to the right you will be taken to websites full of info on how to help and containing updates on Carol and Stephanie's situations. The PayPal buttons below Carol's and Stephanie's pictures will also directly link you to their respective rehab funds, should you wish to make a cash donation.

Last, for all the many new readers who have come to me as a result of this auction. I feel the need to set the record straight: I am usually a very selfish, self-absorbed mom blogger who harnesses the power of negative thinking for her own petty laughs. In truth, I am not usually remotely inspiring and do not dispense nuggets of wisdom or joy. I do not believe in God and do not lead by example in any aspect of my life; the only thing I aspire to in this venue is to make fun of myself and others.

The auction benefit was a brief moment of respite for me from my usual self because we all need a break from ourselves. Carol's and Stephanie's stories moved me, obviously, and made me want to be other than my typical self. I am so glad I was able to use my blog for a higher purpose this week. But I don't want anyone to get the wrong idea: my lesser and unkinder self will be back in full force as of my next post, when I will return to bash Sarah Palin from here to way beyond the outer banks, where she belongs...and that post will be followed swiftly by cranky and trivial musings that may well offend those of more delicate and noble sensibilities. In short, the crabby mommy returns...

Thanks again to all of you who made this auction a success.

Sincerely,
Crabmommy

Abracadabra...I give you magic pants!

2008-09-21T16:20:00.000-07:00

Auction has ended. The winner is CAMI!
THIS IS THE LAST AUCTION ITEM! That's all, folks!
This one's for Stephanie.
Skimbaco offers to you, my lovely bidders, these David corduroy pants for boys from Fable & Lore. Made of the softest cotton corduroy, they are straight leg cut, with one hidden pocket on the back, two in the front. And the magic part? There's a little attached coin pouch inside the left pocket filled with golden coins. The story behind it is a secret: the pants come with a little story book telling the adventures of Lore, an imaginary boy and the muse of talented designer behind Fable & Lore. Equally magical, perhaps, is that now your little David Blaine/David Copperfield might be less reluctant to wear fancy pants to that schmantzy function where cargoes won't cut it.

100% cotton; color: black. **Size 12 only (150cm).

Generously donated by Skimbaco.

Retail value: $70. Bidding starts at $15. Don't know how to bid? Check bidding rules. Scroll down for more live auctions! This is the last item of my auction.

Tiny Dancer!

2008-09-21T10:38:00.000-07:00

AUCTION HAS ENDED. The winner is DOULAMOMMA. This one's for Carol.
And you thought the cuteness was over, didn't you, my mom-friends? Almost, but not quite. Today is the last day for new items going up for auction and Crabmommy's going out with a bang rather than a whisper. This print, graciously donated by Jenny of peekaboo prints, is so sweet I really can't think of anything saucy to say about it. Tiny dancer is an original 8 x 10 print drawn in ink and digitally colored. The print is on 8 x 11", 100% rag museum etching paper. Winner gets to customize her print with skin color, hair color and/or child's name. How seriously, ridiculously cute is that?

Generously donated by peekaboo prints.

Retail value: $20. Bidding starts at $15. Don't know how to bid? Check bidding rules. Scroll for more live auctions!

Halloween Craftacular!

2008-09-19T22:16:00.000-07:00

AUCTION HAS ENDED. The winner is DOULAMOMMA. This one's for Stephanie.
Double-win in this auction. Crafter's take note! Up for grabs is one of Mabel's Labels' fantastic Crafter Packs, which includes 49 labels for the crafter who likes to know where her bobbins are. Labels are printed on red with white writing, and cover a range of supplies, from "adhesives" to "soap-making" to "stickers," "yarn," and "scrapbooking." More on the Crafter Labels here. Paired perfectly with these labels is a donation of delectable Halloween fabric from my lovely friend Dina over at Spiceberry Cottage, which is the all-time most delicious name for a store, I'm sure you'd agree. This stash consists of Sandy Gervais Pumpkins Gone Wild fabric squares. Not your average stack of pumpkins, these guys are adorned with dots, stripes, plaids, and are wearing hats and making faces behind our backs. The pack includes 45 5" fabric squares, 100% cotton. Each square is of a different print from this fabric collection. You can see everything you're getting here. So, crafty peeps, what will you make with these? An adorable patchwork costume for a scarecrow, perhaps? Or if you're an eco-mommy, dispense with all those pre-wrapped Halloween treats and bundle yours up in one of these fabric squares. Many spooktacular uses. I can't believe I just said "spooktacular," but I guess I did. Another word about Spiceberry Cottage: Dina has all sorts of fabulous fabrics, from the Heather Bailey stuff you crafters adore to Japanese vintage fabrics, Michael Miller etc. etc. She's a generous lady; please visit her lovely shop.

Generously donated by Mabel's Labels and Spiceberry Cottage.*

Retail value: $19.50. Bidding starts at $10. Don't know how to bid? Check bidding rules. Scroll for more live auctions! Fabulous artwork and nursing gear below. Yay!

Love That Preppy Boy! Fable & Lore shirt

2008-09-19T19:28:00.001-07:00

AUCTION HAS ENDED. The winner is KIM. (Kim, I will be in touch.)
This one's for Stephanie.
Skimbaco offers this preppy size 12 Fable & Lore button-up shirt for your delectation. How sweet is that boy? He looks as though he's weighing up the choice between Brown and Princeton. As though his name is Dexter. No staycation for him this year! Europe calls! Seriously stylish, our lad's plaid sports the colors of fall on a white background. 100% cotton and graciously donated by Skimbaco, the company responsible for Suri Cruise's little ladybug shoes. Check them out; they have loads of lovely gear.
*Generously donated by Skimbaco.*
Retail value: $45. Bidding starts at $10. Don't know how to bid? Check bidding rules. Scroll for more live auctions! Fabulous artwork below.

Behind Every Good Man is a Great Power Tie

2008-09-19T09:23:00.000-07:00

AUCTION HAS ENDED. The winner is KAREN. (Karen, I will be in touch.) This one's for Carol.
"Behind Every Good Man is a Great Power Tie" is the title of this hilarious watercolor print, graciously donated by my good friend Ashley from her etsylicious store. This is a 5x6 inch watercolor in a black 11x14 frame. The piece really cracks me up! The artist says it's her commentary on being a Stay At Home Mother/Navy wife. It's been a fair while since Crabmommy dug deeply into the interpretation of fine art, but I'm going to give it a go. The irony called up by the title is neatly illustrated by the man in his power tie, dominating the foreground, while in the background, his hunched-over wife sorts through the dresser drawers, showing who's really behind the man's success. The punch line here obviously derives from the twist on the phrase "Behind every good/great man there's a good/great woman," itself a commentary on the power dynamics inherent in male-female partnerships. Evidently the wife here is really the powerhouse of the duo: the guy can't even get dressed without his wife's help, and probably she chose the dang tie too...that said, she looks pretty beaten down by the sheer drudgery of it all, poor girl, and could use a large martini or an affair with Javier Bardem. So much for power! And then there is the tie itself: that bright red focal point of the picture. It spells out something we all know to be true in various forms: that appearances are all-powerful, though they may also be deceiving. Whooo...Crabmommy goes deep! And maybe the most salient and thought-provoking observation I can make is that I think the artist has an IKEA Malm series bureau like me! Okay, so my prattle may be so much hoo-ha, but the fact is this piece makes me talk and think a lot, and good art should. And now my head hurts. And yours does too.

I'd like to add that Ashley is another of my chums from Offsprung, the website for parents who are not completely boring. Thanks Offsprungers who have so kindly donated to this auction.

*Generously donated by Ashley of babywalls.

Retail value: $75. Bidding starts at $15. Don't know how to bid? Check bidding rules. Scroll for more live auctions! Fabulous artwork and nursing gear below. Yay!

Handmade quilt!

2008-09-19T08:00:00.000-07:00

THIS AUCTION HAS ENDED. The winner is MINDY! (Mindy, I will be in touch.)

This one's for Stephanie. Featuring sublime shades of pinks and reds, this quilt, graciously donated by Jules of InkiesandSmushies, is ridiculously fetching in a vintage-fabulous way. It has been machine quilted in sweet pattern of daisies and dragonflies and bound by hand with an invisible stitch. It's made with 100% cotton fabric, including the batting, and has already been washed and dried to enhance its vintage appearance. Perfect for cuddling up with or for use as a wall hanging. Machine washable. 34"x39". I should also mention that in addition to quilting, Jules makes loads of lovely snuggly baby blankies. And there is absolutely nothing cheeky Crabmommy can find to say about that. Just sweetly, simply lovely. Did I mention Jules and I met through Offsprung, my fave online hangout for parents who don't suck? A least, most Offsprungers don't. I can't vouch for myself, though. I think at least one or two Offsprungers find me a pain in the rear. Anyhoo.

Generously donated by InkiesandSmushies .

Retail value: $70. Bidding starts at $15. Don't know how to bid? Check bidding rules. Scroll for more live auctions! Fabulous artwork and nursing gear below. Excellent!

Major Score: Nursing Mom Jackpot!

2008-09-18T09:06:00.000-07:00

AUCTION HAS ENDED. The winner is KAREN. Karen, I will be in touch.. This one's for Carol.
I don't know if I can get away with saying this for the fiftieth time but heck, it's my blog so I will! Ignore the dang baby registry, friends of new mothers, and go original instead. Like this Nest Egg travel breastfeeding pillow from my chums Heather and Donna at Blessed Nest Perch. As many of you know, Crabmommy adores an egg-shaped thing, so this 100% organic egg-shaped pillow is straight up my alley. It's also absurdly easy to grab for a little extra support and comfort while nursing. Did you hear organic, my ecomommy friend? How right you are! Free-range, grain fed, no. wait...you can't make an omelet with them, but they are made with 200 thread count organic cotton sateen, filled with organic buckwheat hulls and slipcovered with 100% organic cotton sateen or flannel. Envelope opening instead of a zipper so it's cozy on both sides. Also a perfect cozy lovey for toddlers as the egg is just the right size to be dragged into the car seat, or to bed, to pre-school for sitting on and for nap time. Winner gets to pick from fabrics in lily white, aqua, morning glory, and "to the moon and back" (pictured). More on that here. But that's not all, folks. Leigh of Least Likely to Breed's Tough Titties nipple rub for the nursing mom is also in this stash. Not just a witty name, Tough Titties is extra-soothing with lanolin, beeswax, and essential oils of lemon, geranium, clove, and coconut. And you thought this auction would get all sissy on you as it went on, with lame-o items following the hot stuff.

*Generously donated by Blessed Nest Perch and Least Likely 2 Breed.*

Combined retail value: $48. Bidding starts at $20. Don't know how to bid? Check bidding rules. Scroll for more live auctions!

Nursery Art: Elephants in Love

2008-09-18T08:09:00.000-07:00

THIS AUCTION HAS ENDED. The winner is KRISTI (Kristi, I will be in touch!). This one's for Stephanie. A bit of original wall art for a kid's room is a good thing. I mean, no offense to Winnie the Pooh but how many more friezes of Pooh and Tigger can our kids' nurseries take? And howzabout hose anemic alphabet blocks prints! Yawn. Look, Crabkid's room is hardly about to grace the page of Dwell magazine, but I just want you to understand that it's very cool when people like Rebecca of barking bird art decide to turn their hand to kid-centric art. This is a girl who knows from adorable. Like this print of 2 elephants in love. See it and weep from cuteness overload! And those of you who read my bloglet at Cookie may recognize Rebecca's drawing style; indeed, this is the artist who gave us that print of the hedgehog toasting a marshmallow. If that's not a cute notion then poke me in the eye! So here we have an original 8 x 10 piece from barking bird generously given for this auction. Limited edition of 50. Each print comes signed and numbered on the back. This is an archival quality print of an original pen and ink illustration. Color was added digitally.

*Generously donated by Barking Bird.

Retail value: $18. Bidding starts at $10. Don't know how to bid? Check bidding rules. Scroll for more live auctions! Fabulous label and baby shoe items below. Delish!

Baby Shower Present Perfection:

2008-09-18T05:39:00.000-07:00

AUCTION HAS ENDED. The winner is PAWZPLAY. (I'll be in touch, pawz). This one's for Carol.

Please can we seriously ignore those pesky baby registries and get such lovely one-of-a-kinds as this combo-stash for our new mom friend instead? The always generous lassies at Momspit are offering for this bid 2 bottles of their delightful no-rinse cleanser (7 oz. and 2oz). Momspit: it's inspired by the original! It's also a fabulous cleaner-upper for the tot's chocolate milk mustache or grubby digits, and the winner here gets to pick from 3 options: lemon&white tea, fig&green tea, and unscented if you're quite weird and don't like lovely smells. Also up for grabs, the lovely Leigh of Least Likely 2 Breed is offering her amusingly named Bad Ass Booty Balm, a diaper cream containing more than just a witty name: with such ingredients as chamomile, zinc oxide and something exotically named emu oil, you can be sure this balm is more than mere sassy packaging. I should mention that it also contains Helichrysum Essential Oil, a crazy expensive oil with very strong anti-inflammatory properties. And I'd like to add that Leigh came to me courtesy of my favorite parenting site, Offsprung. A fun and funny place to hang if you're up late at night with a breastfeeding babe. Hey, Sarah Palin should come too! Sarah, you belong with us. Not in the White House...k?

*Generously donated by Momspit and Least Likely 2 Breed.*

Combined retail value: $27. Bidding starts at $10. Don't know how to bid? Check bidding rules. Scroll for more live auctions!

Label Whore! Camp/School Labels

2008-09-17T20:00:00.000-07:00

AUCTION HAS ENDED. The winner is KELLYACHE.
This one's for Stephanie.
My chums at Mabel's Labels have been fantastic about this auction and here's the first of their offerings. It's every dang label you could ever need for your offspring. For those of you still scribbling on those lunchboxes with Sharpies, get your act together, people, and bid on this label pack. Not only will you have school covered, but you'll have camp labels ready to go for next year. Unless of course you're one of those parents that can't bear to be parted from their child. Retch.

The Camp/School Pack has all the labels you need for summer camp or school. It's available in 3 color combinations: Standard Pack: red, green and blue. Princess Pack™: pink, lilac and raspberry. Ocean Pack: teal, purple and ocean blue. Winner tells Mabel what she digs. In this pack you get: 15 Sticky Labels, 40 Iron-Ons or Tag Mates™, 8 Shoe Labels, 2 Bag Tags. More on those here. I can seriously vouch for the insanely excellent adhesiveness of these labels. Crabkid has tags on her shoes and thermos that will outlive her grandkids. Dishwasher/ microwave-safe and UV resistant. Clothing labels are laundry safe.

*Generously donated by Mabel's Labels.

Retail value: $34.00. Bidding starts at $15. Don't know how to bid? Check bidding rules. Scroll for more live auctions! 3 yummy baby booties below. Delish!

Label Whore! Neat freak!

2008-09-17T15:30:00.000-07:00

AUCTION HAS ENDED. The winner is DEVI! This one's for Carol.
Do you find yourself obsessively reordering your spice jars? Do you sleep better when you can be sure the green tea hasn't migrated into the non-caffeinated herbal tea bin? Do you experience a tingling sense of well-being when you know exactly where the 3-6 month old onesies are in your nursery? In addition to the swell kiddie-centric labels below, my Mabel's Labels pals have kindly offered another of their fabulous label packs for you, my compulsive Neat freak friend. The Neat Freak Combo is a mix of Mabel's 3 most popular Household Labels: Spice, Canister and Bin Labels.

50 Bin Labels, 16 Canister Labels, 56 Skinny-Mini™ Spice Labels. More on the specifics here. Printed on white with navy or burgundy writing (Bin). Printed on navy or burgundy with white writing (Canister and Spice).

*Generously donated by Mabel's Labels.

Retail value: $21.00. Bidding starts at $10. Don't know how to bid? Check bidding rules. Scroll for more live auctions! Yummy baby shoe action below. Delish!

Bootie-licious #3: Strawberries & Cream

2008-09-17T09:30:00.000-07:00

THIS AUCTION HAS ENDED. Winner is chicken julie. Julie, you sneaked up on me because I got distracted...DANG IT!
This one's for Stephanie.
This shoe makes me want to have more babies. Oh, but wait! What if—gasp!—I have a boy and then he can't wear these! Such is the conversation in my head. But as my readers know only too well, one is more than enough for Crabmommy. I have just 1 little beauty but I act as though I have 5. Anyhoo, luckily I have 2 friends with new baby girls, meriting my search for this, the perfect baby bootie. Generously donated by fantastic Bianca of Aurelia&Annalise, these feature soft peanut butter felt on the outsides, and vanilla wool felt on the insole. Bianca has hand-embroidered a little strawberry and leaves on top, next to strawberry flowers! Could you not just eat these up? With cream? These little Maryjanes also have a secure button closure. Size: newborn up to 18 months (winner to convo with Bianca on that one). Allow 7-14 business days for your custom order.

*Generously donated by Aurelia&Annalise.* And you know what? Bianca is the sister of Tokara whose equally delightful booties are up for grabs here. And on the subject of booties, did you see the kimono felt adorability on in this here auction today? Honestly, so sweet it is almost absurd. Get those shekels out, girls. This is going to get serious.

Retail value: $18. Bidding starts at $10. Don't know how to bid? Check bidding rules. Scroll for more live auctions!

Bootie-licious #2: Kimono Shoes

2008-09-17T07:30:00.000-07:00

AUCTION (for Carol) HAS ENDED. The winner is ALEKS!
These booties are so delicious it almost makes me nervous. Seriously when last did you see anything quite as unusually darling as these kimono shoes, graciously donated by Natalie of humblebea?

They're made from 2 layers of felt, so they're cozy for fall. They have no exposed seams inside to irritate tiny little feet. Booties measure 4 inches from toe to heel (about 3 1/2 inches inside) and will fit a baby up to about 6 months of age (this age is approximate so don't hold humblebea to it). And just when you thought they couldn't be more dear, check out the soles: two-tone! too sweet! And for heaven's sake, the shoes are edged in rickrack! Spot clean only.

*Generously donated by humblebea.*

Retail value: $24.00. Bidding starts at $15. Don't know how to bid? Check bidding rules. Scroll for more live auctions! Still more booties happening today! Up! Up! Up you go!

Bootie-licious #1: Teal and Red

2008-09-17T06:11:00.000-07:00

THIS AUCTION HAS ENDED. The winner is ARIELAH. Pls get in touch with me asap as I can't figure out how to reach you, arielah! This one's for Stephanie.
I honestly find these baby shoes so sweet that—you guessed it!—I almost can't stand it. Teal-blue with a red felt flower, if you please, generously donated by Tokara of frosting couture. And if you don't like the color scheme, Tokara will gladly work with you. But honestly if you don't like the color scheme then there's something wrong with you. Anyhoo, the point is that you can pick from a host of gorgeous hues. These shoesies are also vegan! As in, grass-fed! More seriously, they are made of 100% organic cotton, and eco-spun felt and are crafted in a vegan household. Personally I prefer a bit of bacon inside my booties but for something this gorgeous, I can make an exception. Sizes: you can choose from 0-3 months,3-6,6-9,up to 9-12. Allow up to 10 business days for your shoes to be lovingly crafted to order.
*Generously donated by frosting couture.

Retail value: $16.99. Bidding starts at $10. Don't know how to bid? Check bidding rules. Scroll for more live auctions!

Halloween Monkey? Toto Knits Animal Sweater

2008-09-16T15:46:00.000-07:00

AUCTION HAS ENDED. The winner is TRENCE MARSHALL. This one's for Carol.This item really gets me. Not only is it the most adorable hand-knitted monkey animal sweater imaginable, but it has been donated by Toto Knits, which is a collective of Kenyan single-moms knitting to provide for their families. That they are sparing something for this auction is amazing. Think about it: a mom in need made this by hand; now it's being passed on to help someone else. Stats: hand spun wool in a darling cheeky monkey design. Complete with ears and tails and ethically made in the outskirts of Nairobi. Size 6 months. And please, go to TotoKnits, peeps. They have STUNNING designs, from animals to classic with stripes. Just gorgeous.
*Generously donated by Toto Knits.
Retail value: $75. Bidding starts at $25. Don't know how to bid? Check the rules. And don't miss the auctions still ongoing. SCROLL DOWN...

Acorn Fever! Scrumptious earrings...

2008-09-16T12:04:00.000-07:00

THIS AUCTION (for Carol) HAS ENDED. The winner is LARRAINE. Crabkid and I are a wee bit obsessed with acorns. So imagine my delight when I found these scrumptious ones for the ears over at the Etsy store of kind and talented Mia of Miabeads.
Antiqued silver acorn tops sit above ribbed vintage beads. Rounded, oversized french wires finish the earrings, which measure about 1 1/4" long. Also available with silver plated leverbacks (shown in last photo) just let Mia know if you'd like a switch! Also available in brass if the winner prefers.
*Generously donated by Miabeads.*
Retail value: $14.50. Bidding starts at $10. Don't know how to bid? Check the rules. And don't miss the auctions still ongoing. SCROLL UP & DOWN...

White Birds on Sky-Blue: Dreamy Apron

2008-09-16T11:00:00.000-07:00

THIS AUCTION HAS ENDED. The winner is CHRISTA. This one's for Stephanie.

Another gorgeous, Etsylicious handmade piece from lovely Adrienne. Scroll down for Adrienne's crocheted "Little Apple" baby hat!"For this apron, I used a light blue fabric, and white edging. The birds fly and sit amongst darker blue flowers." 100% cotton; hand or machine wash cold, gentle cycle, no bleach; hang to dry or tumble dry low. Apron is adult size. *Generously donated by Adrienne Kinsella.*

Retail value: $28.00. Bidding starts at $10. Don't know how to bid? Check bidding rules.

Tangled up in Locket Love!

2008-09-16T08:44:00.000-07:00

THIS AUCTION (for Stephanie) HAS ENDED. The winner is AndreaNoelle.

Even Crabmommy's crustaceous heart melted when I found this locket over at the Etsy store of kind-hearted and talented Mia of Miabeads. How could one not immediately wish to snap it up and pop a pic of a loved one inside?
Stats: An antiqued (not the same as antique—okay?) pewter locket, with a filigree-style floral design, adorned with a cluster of glass flowers. A twisted ring connects the flowers and locket with a pewter ball chain. Necklace measures 16" long. Need a different length? Winner can alert Mia and she will customize the length. Like this style but prefer different colors? Just ask Mia and she'll give options. Locket measures about 1 1/4" in diameter.

*Generously donated by Miabeads.*
Retail value: $19.50. Bidding starts at $10. Don't know how to bid? Check the rules. AND DON'T MISS THE AUCTIONS STILL ONGOING. SCROLL DOWN...

Eat It Up: Baby's a Fall Apple

2008-09-16T05:00:00.000-07:00

THIS AUCTION HAS ENDED. The winner is BRI!
When Crabtot was but a bitty thing, I dressed her as a tomato for Halloween and went to undue never-to-be-repeated lengths to make her a tomato hat. That's because I hadn't yet found my friend Adrienne Kinsella, whose Etsylicious crocheted hats are too sweet for speech! Check out "Little Apple," and consider dressing your babe as one for Halloween. Can you stand the cuteness? Because I can't. The apple hat is sized for a 0-3 month old, and is made from 100% cotton yarn. Hand wash cold, in mild detergent; lay flat to dry. No newborns in your house? Snap the apple up anyway. Not only is it for a good cause, but you'll have something in reserve for the next baby shower, and this way, you can ignore that dull and pesky registry and go handmade instead.

*Generously donated by Adrienne Kinsella.*

Retail value: $17.50. Bidding starts at $10. Don't know how to bid? Check the rules.