Shhh! Mommy's Reading!

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!

Crabby moms speak out!

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...)

Swagilicious! FREE STUFF

[And the winner of the giveaway is Rachel. Rachel who had an African hedgehog named Sonic and who didn't think she'd ever win anything, lady, you just won! Email me at crabmommy at gmail dot com and I will fwd your address to the sellers so they can ship your goods to you. Well done! And to the rest of you, Thursday sees more swag]

So there's been all kinds of crazy going on in the comments over at my Cookiemag bloglet. I thank all of you who came so readily to my defense and told the ticked-off poster that just because I beat my child with a stick and smoke crack all day does not mean I'm not a good person and a great mom.

Some people really are so quick to judge. (Judge? Who does that? No one in this room, I'll tell ya.)

So: reward time. From today through end of Sunday I will be taking names in the hat for some sweet prizes. For those of you who saw my hedgehog series over at my friend Gabfab's,* the vendors of that sweet homemade, original, one-of-a-kind loveliness have ponied up some freebies for your delectation.

Rules: Comment on this post (a simple, "ME! ME!" will do, as I am too worn out to pose any intriguing questions) and the randomly picked winner shall receive the all three of the following lovely loot:

1. a pair of custom-made craftastic hedgehog booties courtesy of mayaeliseboutique. Now if you don't love these you're need medication:(The winner gets to pick color too and even a different fabric if preferred! Score!)
2. a pair of hedgehog ponytail holders too divine for speech from cutecumber: If you don't love these then for God's sake, get yourself checked up):
3. This isn't hedgie-themed but is equally scrumptious: Jules Goldin offers you, our winner, a custom Smushies blankie for your weeny one to snuggle with. These are just divine. They almost make we want another baby. Almost, but not quite. And even if you don't win a Smushie, check out Jules's shop for her fantastic deals. If that's not thriftiness, utility, and beauty combined then by all means slag me off in public.

THREE FREE ETSYLICIOUS ITEMS!

This is so swagilicious I almost can't stand it. Entries taken until 10pm, PST, on Sunday night. Or sooner. Or later. Depending on how organized I am and how my mood is on that day. Anyone can enter. Even Mormons. Or those who live in a third-world country (like my native country of South Africa. Hi, SA'ns!). We don't discriminate here at Crabmommy. At least not on the weekends.

As for forthcoming posts, I will muse on feminists in preschool, washing children's mouths out with soap, the sheer impossibility of finding a bath duck that actually floats, abs (or more specifically, a lack thereof), smack, crack, whack, flak, that sort of thing. (No, I don't know what I'm talking about. Why do you ask?) The point is that I aim to post more, and in a frequently peppery tone. Wholesome goodness here at Crabmommy. And if you missed Randomommy #3, owing to the perverse speediness of my new posting habits, please scroll down if you wish to engage in utterly insubstantial musings: Hemp brownie mix awaits (on the shelves of my local grocery store).

Hedgehogs and Hamsters

I'm not a big animal lover. I have written before about this. That doesn't mean, however, that I am immune to the sweet charms of the occasional if fleeting scrumptiousness that the animal kingdom offers. That is why I have chosen to write about hedgehogs today: as a guest poster on DesignMom. Whaaa? you say. Crabmommy is talking about animals and giving design tips? This from a dog-dissing lady who recently lived in a prefabricated house (and not the Dwell magazine kind)?

Yes. But. Here's my disclaimer to those of you who think I'm going all chic on you. All designy on you. All craftastic on you. All corporate on you. I'm not.

Okay, I am.

Because the future of Crabmommy depends on hocking more than just my mommy complaints and grammar tips (but I'm glad so many of you appeared to enjoy the first installment of Grammarmama). In order to preserve my sanity and earn a few shekels over at the bloglet, I have started widening my beady eye to include the occasional posts on nifty products, such as paper Russian dolls and cherry blossom detangling hair mousse for curly tots. But here's the thang (and no, I don't know why I used "thang" instead of "thing"): nobody has asked me to review the cute things I put forward. They are entirely my own finds. In addition, I strive to keep my coolio picks verrrry cheap and/or in some way ethically harvested. No, I don't either quite know what I mean. But I suspect it will all soon become clear...Anyhoo, back to cheap. Cheapmommy seeks the good appealing designed objets for the modest budget. And for the most part, I succeed. So when I find adorable handcrafted hedgehog-print baby booties, you can be sure the bootie-maker hasn't pushed them booties onto me for a fee. 'kay?

Last, I want to say that while Crabtot's room doesn't contain any of the cuteness I have hitherto written about (too lazy to order, too cheap even for the cheap stuff), I live in a conceptual bedroom of cuteness for her. Meaning, it exists in my mind's eye. And if I can draw your attention to some sassy muffin of a vintage-print pillow for a few measly bucks, then hot damn I will! NOW, THANK ME FOR IT!

Disclaimer over. Do go and see some swell stuff in my hedgehog-related post. Great cheap, original, homemade baby shower presents that entirely defect from someone's registry and show you to be the independent thinker you are.

In other news, my next post will be of a Randomommy nature. Stay tuned. I will also soon be speeding up the postage (okay, wrong word but I like it) on this here personal blog. Crabtot will soon be back at school after our arduous move to Crabcity, and when she goes I will blog my blogging finger off on this here site. There will also be more giveaways. But they will not last all dang week long. And they will involve cool one-of-a-kind sassy lovely freebies for your delectation. And then probably, sprinkled into the mix, some corporate stuff foisted upon me by PRs. I hope. because I am a momocrite. So PRs, if you are listening, take heart! I am still here for you. I want your swag. We all do.

I close out today's post with something I never in my most outrageous whacked out notions thought I'd see coming from me: a link to a video involving animal cuteness. But watch it. You must see this baby hamster eating broccoli. It's so cuuuuute I can barely stand it! Watch through to the end; there is this business in the middle where the hamster rotates its tiny feet and you almost want to eat it. On a roll with mustard. Or at the very least, you want to squish it with love!

Okay, so here is hamster eating broccoli.

Oh, no! I just watched it again! It slays me with sweetness. And that tinny music is just too delectable. I am in a state of virtual catatonia from the sheer adorability of this animal. But no, I don't want one. No animals in this house. I have told Crabtot when she is four she may select a fish. That is all.

Thanks Tamara for the link.

Lame Parenting Advice: We Have a Winner!

A hearty thanks to all those who entered the swimsuit competition, sharing your lame parenting advice nuggets with me. Competition was seriously stiff; it's amazing how much utter nonsense we moms are told when we produce spawn: from the bottle mom receiving "breast is best" (Jennifer!) to being told to avoid rounded car seats (Hi, Marina), to being given books that include bits on how to avoid raising a gay son (Bklynmom!). Of course having your crunchy mom-friend suggest a placenta-cake for family noshing is always a sensible tip for the new mama to to take home from the hospital (Hi, Mommyknows!).

Indeedy, I had a good chuckle reading the entries and truly think we should compile a book of these, to give out to family members and friends when people have babies; i.e., Moms' Advice on Bad Advice – a cautionary guide to help those unhelpful ones around us refrain from helping us altogether.

Before I announce the winner, here, for your delectation, is a recap from your comments, a selection of the lamest, most ridiculous advice given to you mamas:

Got to love a lady who tells you colicky crying is just exercise! Nice one, Meg! And Lina, to be told by hookers that your kid needs to cover up! Too much!! Indeed, so many of us have been told to cover up our cold babies. But to be stopped in the grocery and told never to let a kid near the cold stuff without a hat—that's pushing it. Competition got really tight with the next three that I'm going to mention: Pennryoo was advised never to eat in front of a male child unless he's eating too. Too weird for speech! Elizabeth's kindly aunt suggested she tape her baby's ears back every night to flatten them out! Good idea! And then there is Samantha, who was told "a crabby mommy makes a crabby baby." For obvious reasons, this one stuck in my mind; except, Samantha, I thinks she's right. In my case at least. ☺ So that disqualifies you from the jackpot prize which MUST be awarded for the top tidbit of entirely lame-o advice.

Speaking of, while competition was close, one entry still stands out in my mind's eye:
buttrflyty, who shares with us, compliments of her grandma the following:

Women shouldn't hold infants while menstruating because it will give them colic.

Right on, Grams!

So, buttrflyty, email me me your deets at crabmommy at gmail dot com and you shall receive a $100 gift card from Land's End. Everyone else, well done and tune in for the next freebie opportunity.

And for those of you sick to death of my comps right now, yes I know. You want some content here. It returns tomorrow, with installment number 2 of Randomommy, swiftly followed by Grammarmama and an assortment of tidbits that shall not include any hocking, pimping, or otherwise courting the cyber-populace with swag. Not for a few weeks at least.

All this unsolicited advice inspired me to write about a nasty chick who decided to tell me how to mom Crabtot in a restaurant recently. For more, please go to the bloglet for When Parents Attack!

"Trista Baby" Diaper Bags: Something Smelly This Way Comes

Yes, I swore I'd never write about celebrities on my blog.
So I'm not.

I'm going to write about shalebritays. (The desired pronunciation is that of Sascha Baron Cohen persona Bruno, the German fashionista. Make that Cherman fashionisto... Anyone ever see Bruno? I think he's making a movie about Bruno...I just know the hilarious Ali G. sketch.)

So, since I must report on all things newsworthy in the world of mothering: shalebritay Trista Sutter. Does anyone remember her? How could we not? Even those of us without televisions knew a bobblehead bobble-boobed bachelorette had married some big bonehead Ken doll on television and received a lot of money for it.

Now they are "happily married," have a bouncing baby boy, and Mom's pimping out a new line of diaper bags that cost $145 apiece. Me, I think something smells a tad funky round them thar parts.

Why am I speaking in dialect?

Haven't a clue.

What was the point of this post, exactly? I don't know. I'm bored with it already. Mocking shalebritays is truly shooting fish in a barrel, innit?

Okay, so here's something very much more profound: My Dollar Store Giveaways! You who feel brave and have not yet put your name in the hat for the Dollar Store Pregnancy Test Prize Drawing, please do! I've got a preg-o test for one lucky winner. Indeed, while I have just moved both north and west, I still found time to purchase a pregnancy test from the Dollar Store of Crabtown. And your name is on it.

Because when you need to know if you're in the pink...a Dollar Store pregnancy test may help you find out. Then again, maybe it won't.

Seriously I get a kick out of the notion of buying dollar-store prego tests...even though some of you have told me they're dead accurate. Sign your name in below, gals! The competition will close at midnight three days henceforth.

Annual Earnest Post

I've been blogging about a year now. Mostly making fun of motherhood, Mormons, cowboys, and incorporating top tips on parenting for your edification such as the Slap 'Em to Sleep™ strategy. Between this blog and my bloglet, I get my share of feedback from readers and hey, not all of it is positive.

Which is really a shocker.

I mean, who could dislike me? I post pictures of my beautiful child every day; I speak about the joys of being mom to a gifted child; and I wax lyrical about the great blessings that have been bestowed upon me and mine. I post about celebrity births and wish "J.Lo and Mark all the best" and I thank the Christian God out there for making me and mine more special and privileged and basically better than you and yours! In short, I am a blogger likely to top the mom-blog traffic charts.

Wait, I said this post would be earnest. So bear with me. I now officially remove my mantle of sarcasm and irony for exactly one post to explain who I am, what I believe, and why most mom-blogs are absolute drivel. I feel I must clarify my position from time to time, so as to make entirely plain to everyone who asks (all five of you) why I write the way I do. Some people think I'm mean and "hateful." They misunderstand me. Conversely, I am dismayed to learn that some of my own fans seem to think I encourage them to write mean, nasty, and downright un-entertaining/insubstantial attacks on those around them and people in general. I will address both of these prongs in the following:

I DO COUNT MY BLESSINGS
I just don't do it in public. I have a magnificent child and a magnificent husband. We have many magnificent moments in our lives. Having a child is the single most important and defining moment of my life. Yuck, those sentences are so cheesy. They may be true, people, but they are also very boring sentences. This is why you do not hear them more often. It is not my bag to brag about how swell my life is or how astonishingly perfect my child is. It is not my bag to post images of my exceptionally handsome husband and exceptionally gorgeous child. It is not my bag to talk about how lucky I am. To feel lucky; privileged; and occasionally, stupidly gloriously happy: these are private, personal sentiments and serve absolutely no purpose in other people's lives. So I keep the happy moments to myself. With the exception of those I find to be highly amusing and which I think might be enjoyable for others to read.

Plus, ahem, I am just someone who likes to dwell on the glass-half-empty experience. It's where I'm at my best. To be joyful in blogging makes me feel ill. Joyful bloggery, unless wildly hilariously clever, is utterly useless and entirely scary. You may have noticed I am writing less and less about Crabtot's tempestuous toddlerness of late and confessing to fewer lapses in martyred maternal good humor? It's because I'VE BEEN ENJOYING MYSELF more and more as her mother. And this makes it a heck of a lot harder to write about with any real substance or hook.

I DON'T WRITE WHATEVER POPS INTO MY HEAD
Some people have praised me for my "brutal" honesty or cited me as an example of nasty mom-bloggery. Tart, opinionated, barbed. This is how I see my most prickliest posts. I believe in the power of negative thinking but only because I believe there is much that is positive in expressing one's most down-in-the-gutter-humiliating experiences of parenthood, preferably if it is done with a big wodge of humor ladeled into the mix. I also believe in negative mombloggery as a way of dressing down the general mom-public when I think we most deserve it: I write occasional snarky things about baby showers and mulitmedia momming and suchlike because I believe there are people who really deserve to be taken down a notch. In short, I believe I am performing a public service.

Okay, so, not really.

Boy, being earnest really is so hard to sustain! Happy-religious-joyful-perky moms, HOW DO YOU DO IT?

Roit, back to the point. I say negative things and I mock moms and momming quite often. But I have a line. I do not, for example, write about the personal miseries in my life. I don't write nasty things EVER about my family and friends even if I feel or am experiencing nasty low points with the aforementioned. Why do I not post about those close to me? Because they are close to me. And every single word you say on the internet is forever cached. Every foul word, expletive, personal revelation, indiscretion, is there in perpetuity. I think about this quite a lot, peeps. As do all the bloggers I love. For some, the degree of privacy is far less stringent or Victorian than mine. Many mom-bloggers use their kids' names, photos, and record intimate details of life as mother and wife. I'm not saying you can't do this successfully or legitimately and decently, but I choose not to. I also choose not to write about my kid's bowel movements (poop! ha ha! How FUNNY!) or say things that might, later, cause her shame and anger. I realize that no matter what I write she will probably be embarrassed and annoyed by her mother's musings down the road...but I certainly do my best to respect the privacy of someone who has no say in what her mother chooses to record about her online.

I'm not perfect in my blogocratic oath. I am a momocrite. I once wrote about Crabtot having a wee in the flowerpot and using my cashmere sweater as toilet paper. But people, it was CASHMERE! Exceptional circumstances!! I have also had some low moments --Polish poolboy, anyone? Yes, occasionally I have felt it necessary to issue an apology. For not being funny enough.

MY LAST EARNEST WORD
You have to have rules. Self-imposed limitations. Some mom-bloggers don't and some of you in that grouping think I am one of you. I'm not. If you have nasty personal things to say about those you love, try keeping a diary. But please don't think I dig you if you're just plain mean-o! I dig you just as little as I dig those who write all their braggiest, cheesiest, most appallingly narcissistic smug-self moments into their public blogs.

Thus ends my annual earnest "What I Believe." I think we can all agree that it was not the most delightful. I think we can all agree that we do not wish to see this sort of thing again for another year. I think we can all agree that blogging, when intense, is sort of slightly creepy. I think we can all agree that when Flavor Flav says "Do you know what time it is?" we do not.

I have no idea what that meant either.

I look forward to a return to lightness and laughter! Oh, how we shall laugh together, my friends! But it will be a good week before I post again here. I am on the road tomorrow, heading north and west. There are plump posts ahead and they will be consist in a combination of marshmallows and anchovies; sweet and salty, fluffy and fishy. Meantime, get thee to the bloglet for Crabmusings if you want them next week. Because, you know, even if I am traveling or taking an extended crack-binge break or whatevs, the people at Cookie still expect me to post reg'lar and good. Wankers.

Meantime, thanks to Guy Kawasaki at Alltop, a fabu new non-robot-chosen aggregator thingy that lists the Crabby blog in its mix. I am finding some good sites in there, like Stuff White People Like and other such bloggish goodness. Check it out, ai-ight?

And ah yes. The comments, I know I may get some harsh ones. Blogging is fair game. Bring it on! [she says, running away terrified...]

Good Idea

You just have to adore spam. Crabmommy recently received an email entitled "Good Idea," as follows:

Hi friend
I am spanish and I have seen your blog.
Is cool, but you need to add an animated image or a clock.
Make it more creative. I have added a clock in my blog and the people like it.
Just go to www.myclock.we.bs
Is very simple to include in your blog. Just selecting a simple code and put it in your page.
See the website.
Your friends will love it.
We need to be diferents and creatives.

A clock. Man is that ever a good idea. Indeed, I need to be diferents and creatives. Thanks, jlg7564@hotmail.com. You're super! (I particularly love the non-sequitur-like quality of the line "I am spanish [sic] and I have seen your blog.")

p.s. After attempting to be chipper and picking out my favorite egg-shaped things for the bloglet (like the Eames egg-chair with MP3-hookup and a hefty price tag), you may be pleased to note I have reverted to my crabby ways: today, getting peppery with Horton Hears a Who Cares About This Remake? And no, I haven't even seen it. But having no informed knowledge of a matter never stopped me from weighing in.

Wow, that's a lot of linkage. Can anyone say "plug"?

War in the Playground: Babble Bullies Offsprung

Guys, things are getting nasty: 2 parenting websites are clashing in the playground. And I'm taking a side.

Babble did a bad, bad thing.

If you read this blog you may notice I often refer to Offsprung, a parenting website whose motto is "because your life didn't end when theirs began." I like Offsprung, and I like their parenting forum, called "The Playground," where open conversations can be mildly addictive and where I even hosted a virtual Parents' Night Out complete with real cocktails.

But since Offsprung's been up a while now, one can only imagine why Babble (which has been around even longer) has suddenly seen fit to debut the Babble Playground. Another online forum for a parenting site? Fine. But calling it "The Playground"?

Babble can hardly claim ignorance of Offsprung and its playground, which I imagine they will do if questioned about the coincidental name. Offsprung is the venture started by Neal Pollack, author of parenting memoir, Alternadad. Babble knows Pollack. They've gotten quite a bit of mileage out of discussing his book on their site.

I enjoy both Babble and Offsprung. In fact it is Babble that inspired me to start Crabmommy, right here. Babble debuted as a supposedly edgy, ironic parenting website, but their first video featured the gorgeous CEO couple giddily chatting about the beauty of parenthood while their son frolicked in his Modernist nursery. Edgy, ironic stuff!

In truth there are many pieces I have enjoyed at Babble. But it's always scary when major corporate-sponsored sites step on the little guy. At Offsprung, you are free of pop-ups sporting new designs for SkipHop bags or Sigg flasks. Offsprung is going it alone, whereas Babble is a corporate venture by ultra-successful NerveMedia people. Nothing edgy or ironic about their m.o. there.

Look, far be it from me to diss advertising. I blog for Cookie magazine for God's sake. But when you're on a sponsorship-free site as good as Offsprung, you know it's a rare treat and it should be protected, not threatened. It's basically public service for parents. All parents. Even rural ones. I once sent Babble a piece I'd written about leaving the city (NYC) for the rural mountain west. Only to be told that they couldn't run it because Babble is only for urban parents. Now THAT'S edgy, innit?!

Thankfully Offsprung doesn't mind the country hicks swinging by with our weird rural ideas and crappy unironic decor. They accept me, unsophisticated as I am given that I am agrarian folk...They's good peoples.

Babble, don't steal from the little guy. Get out of the playground. Go have fun in "The Sandbox" or on "The Sidewalk" or some other edgy, hip urban place where you do your edgy, hip urban thing. Meantime I'm off to copyright Crabmommy, in case you plan on debuting me without my being there.

Mom on Trial for Being Normal

Apparently Chicago police have too much time on their hands.

According to CNN, some poor chick was arrested for leaping out of her car, running over to put some money into a Salvation Army bucket with her 2 kids or somesuch act of goodymomness, when the police arrested her for leaving her other tot in the car-seat for all of one minute. And now she is on trial. That's right. On trial. And not just on Nancy Grace. (Whose Country Star name -- for those of you into the music name generator -- is Cooter Perkins.)

Ooooh. Baaaadmommy alert! Thank God I'm not moving to the windy city....where it's a lame wind that blows nobody any good. If you follow.

I think the cops should be sentenced to 5 years of tampon-wiener craft activity.

On a happier note, I have posted some links to truly swanky egg-shaped design loveliness, for your delectation over at the bloglet, just in time for Easter. Especially do not miss the adorable "egglings," tiny ceramic eggs that hatch into basil and mint plants. Too delightful!

Rock Star Name Generator

This is hilarious.

Input your name in this search engine and it will tell you what your rock star name should be. Apparently mine should be "Brock Ash." Um, okay. And it says Crabtot should become "Izzy Jones" when she takes to the stage. And my rap star name? Maya Tricky. Erm. Yep.

What about yours? Better yet, your offspring's?

Judging Mommy (or Shweesh! One Dang Long Post!)

As you know, I'm a momocrite who has plenty to say about moms who tweak my vibe. This ranges from infant edumoms to strident athleti-moms to humorless twitmoms to perky dullmoms to smug multimedia moms and so forth. All that said, I reserve my greatest judgment for those moms who see fit to judge badmoms most harshly.

Yes, yes, the irony is not lost on me. But let me make a distinction: I think it's good to bash moms who think they're on top. But bashing moms who are down? Not for me. I don't want to talk about Britney here. I want to talk about this freaky woman named Nancy Grace who heads up this insane so-called "news" show, which I have insanely been watching while stashed temporarily in my father's vacation apartment in Crabtown during the course of my move. And in this my father's apartment television is available to me and anyone who knows me well knows that when I see television I become insanely addicted to it and cannot believe it and must simply talk about it as much as possible while in the throes of its miserable and shamefully delightful clutches.

Meaning that every night now I flick on the Teevs for vast blocks of time. I might start with Rock of Love, and then I tune in for a bit of Flavor of Love, this indescribable piece of nonsense involving onetime Public Enemy rapper Flavor Flav, a tiny little whacked out man waving chicken wings at various potential love matches. Only one thing stops me from watching Flavor Flav for too long: when he starts making out with gigantic Brigitte Nielsen (whom he calls Bridget), I look for something else. *Those of you who have seen this guy: Did you know: Flavor Flav is a classically trained pianist? Freaktastic!

BACK TO THE POINT: Last night I couldn't stomach seeing Flav and Bridget, so I ended up on watching this incredibly nasty and graceless Nancy Grace woman unfolding her incredibly nasty little show before my disbelieving eyes. I am probably the last person on the earth who had not known of NG prior to last night's TV marathon. For anyone else still blissfully unaware of her: she is this witchy little ball of anger with a furiously shellacked head of golden hair that seems itself to send messages of ZERO TOLERANCE and HOT DAMNIT I'M A REPUBLICAN! and so forth. Moving on to what really ticked me off:

Last night Nancy spent about thirty minutes on a BREAKING NEWS STORY about a woman who went out to ostensibly buy birthday presents for her 9-year-old boy and instead spent the night out, drunk, and only returned in the morning to find policemen waiting for her. Apparently her little boy had called 911 and though he hadn't said anything on the line, the cops came anyway to find him looking after his 2-yr-old sister. Or something.

Okay. So OBVIOUSLY this is a horrible story. And OBVIOUSLY this drunk woman is a freak show and a menace and a bad parent in this particular moment of her surely quite miserable life. But there's another dark side to this and it's the shellacked demonhead dispensing fury and judgment from the seat of her news show. Seriously, I could not believe the venom with which this Nancy Grace judged the wayward mother. She went completely ape, and more or less uttered a stream of wounded outrage for half an hour because it's all deeply personal to Nancy Grace. From what I can see Nancy is or was some kind of lawyer. Maybe even a judge. Which would make sense for she sat at her desk fulminating and frothing at the mouth over this BREAKING NEWS STORY and passing lavish judgment on the shamed losermommy for a good half-hour, without pause. She had a panel of experts on the show too, but whenever they started speaking about rash legal judgments or not taking children away from the mother quite yet because they didn't have enough facts and the woman had never done this before, yadda yadda, Nancy interrupted and practically levitated with anger. I firmly believe that had she been within physical range of this sad pathetic woman, Nancy herself would have personally throttled her. Because Nancy is a new mother, a point to which she alludes to throughout her show.

Which brings me to my very long-winded point: self-righteousness and outrage at bad mothering. This is what makes me most ticked off of all. Ayelet Waldman wrote about this phenomenon far better than I can. And it is a phenomenon: this desire mothers have to cast blame onto those who are down. This need of "good" sanctimommies mothers to fall upon "bad" mothers with such devoted impassioned glee.

Nancy Grace pointed out correctly that the children in this case were endangered by their mom's reckless, selfish, etc. etc. act of abandonment. I am sure that mom will be prosecuted. I am sure she will lose her children. Maybe she deserves it, maybe not. But does this need to make the news and be dissected by a professional white-collar upperclass conservative SANCTIMONIOUS mother, complete with call-ins from similarly outraged mothers? Why? To what end? People, nothing actually happened to these children. Something could have happened, yes, but it didn't. In other words, nothing happened that ought to make it to the top of a news show on CNN no less, and be dissected for thirty minutes. This is the sad miserable crappy story of one family in this country, a story to be hashed out in the miserable small town where it happened. National news? I don't think so.

Here's an irony: maternal love does not make us soft. Love for our children brings out a hardness in us. Or, at least, some of us. Through the process of loving our own children we come to hate those who don't do right by their own. But is it really their children the Nancy Graces of this world are fighting for? Or is it simply that NG and her ilk enjoy kicking a dog when it's down? Because it makes them feel good and right and moral and on top of it. Pa.The.Tic.

This episode reminds me of a conversation thread I participated in a while back on a blog called, ironically, Slackermoms-R-Us ("where moms are cut some slack"). For the record I like this blogger and don't find fault with her post. It's the comments that took me aback. Maybe some of you remember the case of the Missouri pediatrician whose child died of overheating in her car seat? A terrible, appallingly weird accident where the two doctor parents each thought the other had dropped the child at daycare. If I remember correctly the mom had the dad meet her at the hospital where she worked; she was late and wanted dad to drop baby at daycare and park her car. Dad never got the message right; he picked up the car but did not know the baby was in it. The baby died.

A ghastly story. Which the blogger was simply reporting. But the comments! Ohhhh the sense of superiority and certainty with which women weighed in on the mother, on how negligent, how screwed up her priorities etc! Few of these people saw room for human error and absurdly dreadful but plausible misunderstanding between father and mother. Few of these commenting mothers saw room for mitigating facts (that maybe the baby was asleep and in a rear-facing car-seat and thus the father did not know she was in the car; that maybe the part of the mother's cell phone message about dropping off the baby at daycare before parking the car had not made it through to Dad). Mostly the commenters stroked their own maternal egos, and passed judgment, and swore such a thing could never happen to them because, you know, they are good mothers. Unlike this woman. One might read in their words that this woman whose child had just died deserved to have this happen to her. Because she was a bad person who did not care enough about kids. Like that makes any sense. A pediatrician who doesn't care about kids. Especially her own.

Just unbelievable. I think only I (posting as someone called "Amanda") and one or two other chicks tried to stick up for the poor bloody woman. Just imagine her life: First, she loses her child under circumstances so cruel and devastating as to be almost surreal. Second, she has to face the smug mothers of America. The Nancy Graces in houses everywhere. So for this mother, it's a double dose: I'm sure she blames herself. And just in case she doesn't, we'll do it for her.

As you can see, the mood is light here in the Crabcorner. I blame it on watching that toss, NG. Because when I see other mothers beating a mom when she's already in the gutter, I don't know about you, but I feel for the target. Even if she's a bad mother. If anything I identify with the bad mother more in these circumstances because I don't want to and can't connect to the good mothers strapping the badmommy to the ducking chair. If it means choosing between Nancy Grace and the bad side, I know where I'm headed. Heck, maybe that drunkmommy was watching Nancy Grace that night and thus simply had to dash out on her kids and drink herself into a coma.

Sorry to be a titch humorless today and a lot verbose. It's all this moving, man. And the TV. Get me away from the TV! It's like a car accident. I have to look. Especially when it gets late. But tonight I'm skipping all depressing news shows, from Barack's losing his big edge to NG's losing it in general. Instead I think I'll watch something worthy. Like Charles Bronson in Deathwish 4: the Crackdown.

Anyone else feel the self-righteous twinge of self-righteous anger when self-righteous moms get all...self-righteous on each other?

New post today at the bloglet: Help me answer the question, "Mom, when am I getting a baby sister?" Because my first answer ("When your dad gets another wife") isn't really working well for Crabtot.

Okay, Offsprung it's about time you linked to the Crabmommy already...

...because she is linking to you, like, totally-all-the-time-this-week, dude?!
First, there was the piece about the fancy furniture over at Offsprung. And now, a hilarious vid up there: Who doesn't leave their kid at the airport from time to time?

Lord, Posting Twice in One Weekend?!

Anyone read that thing in the NY Times about how schmantzy parents in stylish hoods are freaking out because their kids are climbing all over their George Nakashima coffee tables and shooting darts at the George Nelson paper lanterns? Alternadad Neil Pollack read it, and posted a hilarious retake on his witty website Offsprung.

Two new posts this week, Monday and Wednesday, chez bloglet.

Judith Warner, will you rock my world? (Yes, Crabmommy. I will.)

Okay the title has nothing to do with the piece. But I did, you know, recently get to see TV in a hotel room and by God that show Rock of Love was ever phenomenal. My South African and Commonwealth readers, it's a surreality show about this ageing rocker, Brett Michaels of Poison, trying to pick a new (play)mate. Hi.La.Ri.Ous.

But Judith Warner, of The New York Times. She always tells me things that make me think this woman is just loaded with common sense! And no I am not being sarcastic, for once. (Boy, it feels odd not to be sarcastic! It's weird for me. Like running around naked in the driveway or something.)

OK for the third time, let's get back to the point. Judith Warner, the parenting voice of reason over the NYT, is talking today about medicating kids and our generation's current culture of parenting in which we are all drowning in a giant vat of neurosis. Read it. Here's a particularly juicy bit, in which JW asks some clever guy why it is we are so freaked out all the time about our spawn:

“Tremendous fears about downward mobility,” he quickly answered. “We believe we’re living in a new world where the avenues of success are harder to get into and there’s no guarantee that things will work out. There’s tremendous worry that our kids won’t be able to recreate our class status. This creates an adversarial relationship between our kids and other kids.” And, he added, “displaced guilt.”

And how about this bit:

We know that our current lifestyle of 24/7 work, constant competition, chronic stress and compensatory consumerism is toxic. But we also know – or feel – that there’s not much we can do about it. We feel guilty about the world we’ve created for our kids, one of lots of work and not much free play. But we’re also wedded to that world, invested in it, utterly complicit with its values and demands.

Some dang juicy stuff in there and for my part it's striking a nerve, people. Make that several nerves. Because, you know, I have quite a lot of them. And just reading about and thinking about neurotic parenting and the world we've created for our kids makes me go into a neuronal amplification of maternal hysteria.

But much more important than all of that is the following question: I am wondering if JW would hang out with me if she could (i.e., if I let her) and if so, whether she would find me to be a giant wad of neurotic somatic cells or if she would find me bubbly and fun! Sort of beside the point, but then this is my blog and it's always slightly sort of beside the point, innit?

This week at Crabmommy's bloglet: predicting your mommy horoscopes (momoscopes), the Astromommy way. What do I see in the stars for you? For goodness' sake head over there and find out, you silly bird!

"War on Terror" Coloring Book

Crabmommy has found the new perfect preschooler birthday present: a new coloring book called "I Don't Want to Blow You Up." Check it out:


" ...A book for kids and adults to counter the terrifying messages transmitted in the name of the “War on Terror.” In an age of yellow, orange, and red terror alerts, let's draw attention to the myriad people of different colors and cultures who are living peaceful and meaningful lives. 32 pages, softcover, illustrated. $9"

As NYMag expains it, this is "a didactic coloring book that presents thirteen people with names like Sarah Takesh and Omar Ahmad and explains that, despite their names, they have no intention of detonating an explosive near the reader." The book is by Ricardo Cortes and MY FRIEND, the venerable F. Bowman Hastie III,also knows as the assistant to famous dog artist Tillamook Cheddar, who has appeared on many national TV programs and whose artwork fetches many greenbacks.

For more on the coloring book or if you want your child to help create a rainbow of tolerance, go here and place your order.

Parenting lessons? Don't bother.

This in the news today:

Parenting lessons do not stop toddler tantrums, study finds:

A new study shows that parent training programmes fail to reduce behavioural problems in toddlers, suggesting that coaching on how to rear children may be a waste of time and money...

Yeah, toldja.
Talking nice lessons don't help.
Plum don't work, people.
Kids is what they is.
Why am I talking like this?
I don't know.

Anyhoo. That headline just caught my eye. Bwa-ha-ha!

Shhh! Mommy's Reading!

Thought I might pass some mom-centric reading recommendations along. I know few of us have time to read, much left brain cells left to understand what we're reading, but anyhoo.

I have written before about Rachel Cusk, one of my favorite writers. She wrote a collection of essays on motherhood, "A Life's Work: On Becoming a Mother." For many it will be too dark, but this is precisely why Crabmommy loved it. Cusk dispenses with the usual obligatory AND HIGHLY OBVIOUS facts about moms loving their babies and cherishing the happy moments and instead, she focuses on the difficult stuff: the identity adjustment you have to make when your body goes from one to two (cf. the essay "Motherbaby"); the bewildering nature of babies and how their mothers are supposedly meant to understand them but often don't have a clue...etc. Cusk also references literary characters in an interesting way in her collection (e.g., the childless Lily Bart from Edith Wharton's The House of Mirth).

What I like about this sort of writing is its invitation to the imperfect mother within all of us. The author is not interested in happy-mom automatons (momatons?) and their drivelous observations; by writing about the more disconcerting aspects of motherhood, she reflects the real things about motherhood that are worth sharing. As I have always stated in my not-remotely-humble opinion, parental joy does not good reading make. Unless you're being funny or witty, don't bother writing about your happiness. Despair and doubt, on the other hand...

If dark and difficult isn't yanking your chain right now, I'm always happy to point out some clever light fare. Author Ayelet Waldman has a series called the Mommy Track Mysteries with titles like Death Gets a Time-Out and The Big Nap. Crabmommy loves me a writer who doesn't take herself too seriously and while Waldman writes real literary fiction (AND has four children) she says of this series, "you're supposed to read them while breastfeeding." In other words, a perfect shower present.

Any mom-centric reads you want to rec? Or any other funny/sad/diverting/witty reads in general?

(New posts today and Wed at the bloglet. I need drug advice. Go see, please.)

Three's Company

Polygamists of Colorado City, Utah, you're not alone. Seems quite a few people are poly-marrying out there (only, doing it with people who are of marrying age—Warren Jeffs, take note!).

Leave it to Babble to find Miriam Axel-Lute, a "polyamorist" with a wife, a husband, a baby, and an essay called "And Baby Makes Four." She is keen to stress that her family is just the same as anyone else's. And she doesn't get why people always want to know about the sleeping arrangements.

To wit:

It used to be that the most common questions we got when we explained our relationship involved jealousy (not a problem, but an understandable question) or sleeping arrangements (why this is so often the first thing people think of is beyond me).

I know, Miriam. Wacky weirdos we are wanting to know about those sleeping arrangements when what we really should be asking is who takes out the garbage and how the health insurance plan works.

Now I'm not judging the three-way. Not judging, just laughing. Hard enough to find one person committed enough to you in life, but two? You've got to be seriously foxy-looking for that one, thinks I. But Miriam has a little purple hat on when I find her picture. And well, you all know how I feel about purple.

Still. A free world. You are free to wear purple and triple-commit and multiply fifty ways from Sunday. For now. But I hope the law will soon tighten up on this sort of thing. Because it's immoral. Indeed, I dream of the day when purple will be outlawed in America.

p.s. Apologies for blog-neglect. Terrible illnesses abounding in this home. Stay tuned for upcoming report on how Crabmommy accidentally killed the Precious "Bangy" (security blanket/lovey thing). And Monday sees new posts at Cookie, yadda yadda ya.

Flip flops and...Zen and the Art of Corey Feldman

It's always heartening to see courageous rebels in troubled countries, such as Myanmar, getting together with the authorities to hash things out. And I mean this seriously.

But I like it even more when they hash things out in flip-flops as in this pic from the NY Times showing an opposition leader and a Burmese official in talks:Surely they can reach some agreement. I mean, they're both wearing 'flops!

In a completely unrelated point I was moved to read that Corey Feldman, that pitiful Lost Boy, has a toddler called Zen. Which is surely asking for trouble, and is also kind of confusing: "Zen, calm down! Zen, get your finger out of your nose!" It will be a titch ironic if young Zenny ends up on Ritalin.