Gender Identity Disorder

Posted on 9/30/2008 09:09:00 AM
I am constantly amazed at the need for strangers to know if my child is a boy or a girl. And how often they get it wrong. Not that I care, mind you. Personally, I think all babies until the age of two pretty much look like grumpy old men with bad comb overs. But there are subtle, social cues that most people pick up on... like hair bands, or this.

I'm not much on pink. So I get it when I have my kid dressed in a denim overalls and people in the elevator say "Oh what a cute little boy." Most times I just say thanks and let it go altogether, because if my only interaction with you is going to consist solely of stilted small talk between floors six and thirteen, then it doesn't really matter if I don't set you straight on the gender of my spawn. But occasionally, the conversation progresses and it usually goes something like this:

Stranger in Elevator: "What a cute baby."

Me: "Thanks."

SIE: "And what a big smile."

M: "Yeah."

SIE: "How old is he?"

M: "Oh... she's one year."

SIE: "Oh! I'm so sorry!!" *awkward silence*

M: "That's okay, they all look pretty gender neutral at this age."

SIE: "But you have her in a blue jumpsuit."

M: "I dislike pink."

*more awkward silence*


OK, maybe I only think that last part.

When people get my child's gender wrong it does not offend me in the least. But it does perplex me when they miss those subtle cues that to me seem so easy to notice. For example, when I was walking through the hall in my office building the other day with The Caterpillar toddling at my side dressed in exactly the outfit below, a middle-aged, lawyer-type gentleman stopped me to say, "Oh, what a cute little boy."

And I get it... at first glance, maybe my kid does look like a boy. The chubby cheeks, the toothless grin... but please, do you really think I'm the kind of person who would dress my boy in a pink skirt? So doesn't that say more what you think about me than what you think about my kid?

Maybe, I'm just more practiced than most, but this looks like a girl to me.

My thoughts: 

Two-Fisted Drinker

Posted on 9/29/2008 05:24:00 AM
Is the indecisive gene carried on the Y chromosome? Because I'm inclined to blame The Father for this:

Oh and incidentally? Very Green Juice from Trader Joe's sounds like an environmentally responsible, soundly nutritious choice for your child who could use some more green vegetables in her diet. Unlike peas, which she spits onto the wall just over your left shoulder, she will drink this down with gusto. But be forewarned. You will later have to clean this off her clothing:

So figure out now where your loyalties lie.

My thoughts: 

Hurricane Caterpillar

Posted on 9/28/2008 08:04:00 PM
This is what happens when you let a toddler loose in your house to do whatever she wants while you work on a project and only half pay attention to her:

I told her she got it all out; she could clean it up too. But I'm pretty sure she's not going to do that.

My thoughts: 

But Some Are More Boring Than Others

Posted on 9/27/2008 06:29:00 PM
Some people think they're more interesting than others, however. This is the KingofHearts':

You Are 64% Interesting

You are a fairly interesting person. Many people find you to be intriguing.

You have a dynamic, adventurous life... a life that others envy.

You are genuinely interested in and open to the world.

You love making new friends, and you're always up for an unusual experience.

Like everyone else, you can get a bit boring from time to time. That's normal.

But unlike everyone else, you can pull yourself out of a rut. You don't stay boring for long.

My thoughts: 

Everyone is a Bore to Someone

Posted on 9/27/2008 12:15:00 AM
Of course, since I answered the questions on this test myself, it's really a test to find out how interesting you think you are. Given that, 84% interesting is not really that great an achievement.

You Are 84% Interesting

Believe it or not, you are a very fascinating person.

You're probably too busy being interesting to realize exactly how interesting you are.

You have a rich, full life. You are curious about the world, and you are very open to new experiences.

You have a lot to talk about, and people find you to be an amazing conversationalist.

And most importantly, you are truly interested in other people. How could anyone find that boring?

You truly listen and learn from others. You're not self absorbed or shallow.

Take the test yourself.

My thoughts: 


Posted on 9/26/2008 05:15:00 AM In:

My thoughts: 

Poor Name Choice for a Business

Posted on 9/25/2008 12:51:00 AM In:
Where NOT To Have Your Teeth Pulled in New York City

Edited to add:
I've been fascinated by this neighborhood ever since reading The Fountainhead, by Ayn Rand wherein one of the characters grew up in Hell's Kitchen. Pursuant to Lucy's question, here's the reason for the name of the neighborhood which I found fascinating as paraphrased from Wikipedia.

Several different explanations exist for the original name. In 1835, Davy Crockett said, "In my part of the country, when you meet an Irishman, you find a first-rate gentleman; but these are worse than savages; they are too mean to swab hell's kitchen" But he was referring to another Irish slum area, Five Points, and not Clinton (which is the preferred name for the area these days).

According the Hell's Kitchen Neighborhood Association: No one can pin down the exact origin of the label, but some refer to a tenement on 54th Street as the first "Hell's Kitchen." Another explanation points to an infamous building at 39th as the true original. A gang and a local dive took the name as well.... a similar slum also existed in London and was known as Hell's Kitchen. Whatever the origin of the name, it fit.

Another historian, Mary Clark, cites that the name first appeared in print on September 22, 1881 when a New York Times reporter went to the West 30s with a police guide to get details of a multiple murder there. He referred to a particularly infamous tenement at 39th Street and 10th Avenue as "Hell's Kitchen," and said that the entire section was "probably the lowest and filthiest in the city." According to this version, 39th Street between 9th and 10th Avenues became known as Hell's Kitchen and the name was later expanded to the surrounding streets.

Another version ascribes the name's origins to a German restaurant in the area known as Heil's Kitchen, after its proprietors.

But the most common version traces it to the story of Dutch Fred The Cop, a veteran policeman, who with his rookie partner, was watching a small riot on West 39th Street near 10th Avenue. The rookie is supposed to have said, "This place is hell itself," to which Fred replied, "Hell's a mild climate. This is Hell's Kitchen."

Personally, I like the latter definition the best - but that's just me. John Stewart's and Stephen Colbert's shows are taped in Hell's Kitchen, but I did not know that the real life inspiration for the apartment in Seinfeld... the room across from Kramer's... was actually in Hell's Kitchen. What I found the most interesting was that all these years I've read about what a slum it is and how dirty and crime ridden it is. And yet, until I saw this sign, I didn't even realize we were in Hell's Kitchen. So... gentrification works, I guess.

My thoughts: 

People of NYC

Posted on 9/24/2008 06:35:00 AM In:
By far, the coolest thing about walking around New York City is the people too be seen. Here in Washington when you walk the city streets, you see mostly Capitol Hill hipsters wearing Washington power suits and tennis shoes for the walk from the metro to their offices, interspersed with tourists. Sometimes there will be an occasional interesting character thrown in for color, but it's a pretty homogeneous group for the most part.

By contrast, anywhere you look in New York, you can find people from every walk of life, every socio-economic background, every ethnic group, dressed in clothing from every decade. I became obsessed by the idea that if I just got the right camera angle on a specific person in front of the right building, I could take a photo that looked like it came straight out of the 1920s, 1940s, 1960s, 1980s.... anything you want. But taking a bunch of photos in New York without a press credential is a little dicey. I was actually yelled at by a security guard in the Post Office across from Madison Square Garden, who gestured wildly while he explained in no uncertain terms that I could "take pictures of this side, BUT NOT THIS SIDE." Because apparently, what the terrorists want? Is to see our postal employee service windows.

This guy was in the park at the Pratt Institute doing some unknown exercise routine.

He took it very seriously and we had to resist the urge to join him -- which, if you know us, would have meant mocking him. Somehow, I think he would have enjoyed the fact that we joined in and completely missed the mocking part.

I loved this woman who was sitting in the same park eating breakfast and reading a paper. I don't know if she consciously dressed up to look like the statue. Maybe she's the model. Maybe she's just drawn to it for some as yet unknown reason to her but one that everyone else can plainly see. Whatever the reason, it was too good to miss the photo op. We had to pretend I was taking a picture of Monica, however, because this woman had a look on her face that said if anyone messed with her she'd pull a switchblade out of her back pocket and cut them. And that's a part of the New York experience, I just didn't want to have.

My thoughts: 

Near As I Can Tell...

Posted on 9/23/2008 06:39:00 PM In:

My thoughts: 

Old Tymey NYC

Posted on 9/23/2008 06:40:00 AM In: ,
Here's a view of the Manhattan Bridge from the Brooklyn Bridge and a photo of a street lamp once we got to the Manhattan side of the bridge. By running a couple of filters in Photoshop, I kind of expect a very greasy Daniel Day-Lewis to step into the frame. I know that movie won all kinds of awards and critical acclaim, but what it really does for me is make me very grateful for indoor plumbing and soap.

My thoughts: 

Bad Place for a One Night Stand

Posted on 9/23/2008 06:38:00 AM In:

My thoughts: 

I've Got a Bridge to Sell You

Posted on 9/22/2008 07:08:00 AM In:
While in New York, we walked across the Brooklyn Bridge - just for the hell of it. It was something I'd never done and I'm glad we did, but my ankle is still very unhappy with me for the decision. I was fascinated by the cable suspension wires and the optical illusions they created as you walked underneath and stopped to take about a hundred pictures... much to Monica's dismay because I think she wanted to make it to Wall Street before she lost all the money in her 401K.

My thoughts: 


Posted on 9/21/2008 07:30:00 AM In:
The big hole in the sky in this photo is the place where the World Trade Center should be. There wasn't a lot of opportunity to see this site and what is being constructed on it but it was nonetheless a weighty experience to stand right here and be this close.

I lived here in Washington, D. C. on September 11, 2001 and I haven't been up to New York since before that day. It just seemed like too much. (It's hard enough driving past the Pentagon whenever I have to take I395 out of the city.) It was still almost too much seven years later, but I'm glad to have been there and marked the moment. The church across the street, St. Paul's Chapel, was quite moving and I was impressed by what a place of escape and refuge it seemed. How much more a haven it must have been for the volunteers and workers who actually did take refuge there in the weeks and months after.

My thoughts: 

Way to Kill a Moment, Kid

Posted on 9/21/2008 05:19:00 AM
Matt (who, by the way, really needs a moniker for this blog doesn't he? any suggestions?? I was thinking we might just call him MaryAnn but I'm afraid he might find that disturbing), putting The Dormouse to bed:

D: "Why do Daddy and Momma and you love me?"

M: "Well, Mommy and Daddy love you because they made you. They're your parents so of course they love you."

D: "Oh."

M: "And me? Well... I love you because you're special."

D: "Oh!"

*both pause to appreciate the poignant significance of this moment they both have just shared; one in which real emotions were exchanged and meaning was communicated, then...*

D: "I can touch my eyeball."

My thoughts: 

Yo Ho Ho and a Buttload of Photos

Posted on 9/20/2008 08:00:00 AM
Normally I don't do theme parties, but this one was really conceived of a year ago by Monica. (Come to think of it, many of the weird and unlike-me things I've done in the past decade are due to Monica's questionable influence. Maybe I should get some additional friends.... eh too much trouble.) Anyway... welcome to our pirate ship.

My pir-ettes.

The littlest scallywag.

No one would surrender to the Dread Pirate Gary.

This little guy's older brother (about The Dormouse's age) took one look at the party favors I put on his brother and declared "Those are for GIRLS!!" ...and wouldn't let me get near him with even the blackest of pirate booty.

Some people just don't appreciate a free eye patch.

They do okay with a hair clip, though.

And what kind of cake do you have for a pirate-themed one-year-old girl's birthday party? Why, a treasure chest of course. It's no Ace of Cakes cake, but I did learn everything I needed to make it from watching Duff himself. Sometimes weird obsessions do work to your advantage.

In my family, it's been a tradition to let the children have a cake all to themselves on their first birthday. So that cake was for everyone. This is The Caterpillar's actual cake:

She wasn't so sure about it at first.

But Mari was kind enough to show her how it works.

Oh, and incidentally, I've discovered the secret to getting The Caterpillar to sleep through the night, for all you who have been anxiously awaiting the end of that story. Invite thirty people over, build a fire in the back yard, fill her up with sugar, put her to bed and hour and a half late, and she'll sleep all the way until 7:00 the next morning. I'm just not sure it's a sustainable bedtime routine.

"Wow, why didn't you tell me about this cake stuff before?"

My thoughts: 


Posted on 9/20/2008 06:33:00 AM
While in New York, we happened upon the Pratt Institute of Design and its sculpture garden. Basically, we went all the way to New York City and missed the Guggenheim but found this fun little park in Brooklyn. This is what I love about cities like New York City and Washington, D. C. You can totally miss the big attractions that the cities are famous for, but find some equally impressive little free entrance event on every other street corner and still feel like you had the cultural experience of your life.

This piece is by Raphael Zollinger. I'm a little concerned about the plaque that accompanied the piece, however. If Raphael wrote the blurb that's reprinted below sic, I'm thinking he should stick to art and let someone else edit for spelling, grammar and words that aren't really words.

Welcome is a commentary and protest on recent events, ((my work examines both personal and public representations of critical issues in the realm of contemporary social change.)) The prisoners, cast in hard cement their hands bound, sloped forward create architypical images, symbols of the abuse humans visit on one another. The original installation incorporated a neon sign, which spelled out an ironic message, ((Welcome))

My thoughts: 


Posted on 9/19/2008 06:54:00 PM

You Are 70% Pirate

Garrrr, yer a true pirate down to yer bones.

Yer an originial sea dog, an' ye certainly have earned yer sea legs.

No one be goin' to accuse ye o' bein' a landlubber.

Ye got yer eye on the prize, an' yer willin' to go pillagin' fer some booty.

Your Pirate Name Is...

Evil Ladyfingers

My thoughts: 

What a Difference a Year Makes

Posted on 9/19/2008 05:46:00 AM
One year ago today, I was sitting in a hospital waiting room, waiting to have my abdomen sliced open... because I am an irresponsible mother.

One year ago I was wondering how the hospital was going to keep someone from walking off with my baby.

One year ago I was still lacking in supplies for a new baby -- including diapers. If I hadn't gotten a package as a gift at the baby shower, I'd have taken her home and had to wrap her butt in a dishtowel.

One year ago I was SO OVER the pregnancy thing.

One year ago I wasn't getting any more (or less) sleep than I am now. But I was having better dreams.

One year ago I was stressing about how I would love and care for another child as much or as well as I did the Dormouse.

One year ago I couldn't imagine my life with another baby girl in the house.

Now I can't imagine my life without her.

Happy Birthday, Screamy McYellerson.
You may be noisy, but all in all, it's totally worth it.

My thoughts: 

Me and NYC

Posted on 9/18/2008 05:22:00 PM
Things I learned this week in New York City

Buying a 1-Day Fun Pass to ride the subway at 11:55 pm is not a good use of $7.50.

Falafel sandwiches taste much better when consumed on the steps of the Post Office in front of Madison Square Garden while a crazy man stands nearby and mutters because someone is on his step. Especially when you have a view like this:

Stephen Colbert has very soft hands.

I will follow you anywhere on the subway as long as you act like you know where you are going. Because I am a sheep.

I may need a new obsession. My current one has become rather predictable to those around me.

Pigeons can be surprisingly horrifying.

Working with sex offenders has given me a unique perspective on the world.

Monica has very patient relatives -- or at least one that I can think of.

Joking about using breastmilk in your coffee is only funny to those who have breastfed children before... to everyone else, it's just creepy.

Monica is
awesome and offensive. She also conspicuously left out the part of the evening where when the comedian mentioned that the Aussies were spread out throughout the studio, she said, "That's to keep them separated for security reasons."
Comedian: "Why? Who are they going to attack?"

Monica: "Us!"

Comedian: "US?? What are they going to use to attack us?"

Monica: "Boomerang."
You might think that bringing a breast pump and chilled breast milk to a taping of a television program would be odd and unique, but the security guard who goes through your bag will simply assume you've brought it as a gift for the television personality because of a previous sketch.

Watching seven episodes of Dexter in a row, then seeing his creepy leer staring out at you everywhere you go on the NYC subway... THEN stepping into a bathtub shower that's fully enclosed by a plastic shower curtain tends to play with your nerves.

I may be a lot older than I was in college, but I can still subsist on two hours sleep a night when I need to. Take that, twenty-somethings!

Even though I am what's technically known as an "adult," I still believe the cure for stress is a good road trip. (This is a comic strip I saved from a newspaper in college. Click to make it bigger if you can't read the words.)

My thoughts: 

Unconventional Chair

Posted on 9/17/2008 06:53:00 AM

My thoughts: 

Warhol Telephone Pole

Posted on 9/16/2008 06:25:00 AM

My thoughts: 

My Kingdom for Some Peace and Quiet

Posted on 9/15/2008 06:25:00 AM
I've made many references to The Screaming (which would make a pretty good title for a Stephen King novel, by the way) over the course of the last few months, but either I don't feel like people understand me or I just feel the need to share my pain. Here's an example of The Caterpillar and her communication techniques. Keep in mind that I'm sitting right in front of her and handing her cheerios in these clips. She's not being ignored in the slightest and is having her needs met, so this is just her normal, everyday run of the mill scream. Keep in mind that when any one of the above things isn't happening, her normal scream increases in pitch, volume, frequency. I'm actually glad I don't have a decibel meter because I'm afraid I'd find out that she's approaching the death of hearing tissue range.

May I present: The Caterpillar and Her Impersonation of a Tea Pot. This is why I've been so hip on teaching her sign language. Because I'm hoping that an alternative method of communication will replace this:

Alas, she just does both now.

Even she's tired of hearing herself scream.

My thoughts: 
The fourth in a continuing series on the awesomeness of the internet.

If I were Sarah Palin's kid, I'd be named:

Beretta Hockey Palin

Find out yours at the Sarah Palin Baby Name Generator.

My thoughts: 

It's Like They See Inside My Soul

Posted on 9/14/2008 06:12:00 AM In:
song chart memes

My new favorite pasttime is GraphJam. Check it out. You won't be sorry.

My thoughts: 
If you're reading this now, that means the Large Hadron Collider that was activated this week did not create a black hole and destroy all life as we know it. Of course I suppose it's possible that it did create a rift in the space/time continuum and we've all just been shifted into another dimension, completely unaware of the change. Perhaps that explains this awesome video:

"We love the rap, and the science is spot-on," CERN spokesman James Gillies said.

My thoughts: 

My Dog Ate My Homework, Officer

Posted on 9/13/2008 02:30:00 PM In:
I kinda feel sorry for the guys this happened to, but it also makes me grateful for the Interweb. Without it, I would never hear about things like this in the world and life would be decidedly less interesting.

September 07, 2008 12:00 am

A BURGLAR who broke into a home just east of Fresno rubbed spices over the body of one of two men as they slept in their rooms and then used an 8-inch sausage to whack the other man in the face and head before he ran out the house, Fresno County sheriff's deputies said Saturday.

Lieutenant Ian Burrimond of Fresno County, California, described the crime as one of the strangest he had ever heard of.

He said a suspect was found hiding in a nearby field a few minutes later and taken into custody on suspicion of residential robbery. Deputies, he said, had no problem linking the suspect to the crime. "It seems the guy ran out of the house wearing only a T-shirt, boxer shorts and socks, leaving behind his wallet with his ID,'' Burrimond said...

...The victims, both farmworkers, told deputies they were awakened by a stranger applying spices to one of the them and striking the other with a sausage. Both the spices and the sausage, Burrimond said, reportedly were obtained from the victims' kitchen.

After the man fled, the victims discovered the home had been ransacked and that some money was taken, Burrimond said. Burrimond said the money was recovered, but that the piece of sausage used in the attack was discarded by the suspect and eaten by a dog.

"That's right, the dog ate the weapon,'' Burrimond said.

My thoughts: 

Jealousy Isn't Green, It's Red, White and Blue

Posted on 9/11/2008 10:58:00 PM
This morning The Dormouse insisted on wearing this outfit to school. I don't usually let her wear dresses to school; in preschool, they always wanted the kids in play clothes. Also, The Dormouse had a tendency back then to invite the world to see her underwear when she had a dress on and we were asked politely to consider one of three options: not bring her back in a dress again, have her wear shorts under her dress, or have our daughter face sexual harassment charges. So I guess I'm still a little sensitive about that.

This morning was a bit hairy. We were one car down after I was stranded last night in The KoH's car after rehearsal (in the last ten years, we've had seven cars, but we've had nine and now maybe ten engines -- there has GOT to be some car shaped voo-doo doll with me sitting in the drivers' seat somewhere. If you come across it, will you kindly take the pin out of the engine, please?) and we were trying to work out the logistics of how everyone was going to get everywhere. (Also - we managed to send The Dormouse to school without lunch and with no lunch money. We're such good parents.)

Anyway, I was not in the mood to argue with The Dormouse about appropriate clothing to wear to school. She came out with the dress and I told her in no uncertain terms that she was to go back and get some pants and that was the end of the discussion. She looked totally dejected and whined, "But moooooooom! We're supposed to wear red, white and blue because it's a holiday."

"No, it is NOT a holiday today," I snapped, "Now just go get dressed."

"It is too a holiday! My teacher told me. It's Celebrate America Day. I want to wear my red, white and blue dress to celebrate America."

And then it hit me.

It's the eleventh of September.

She was talking about September 11th.

To my four year old, today is just the day you wear red, white and blue and talk about America. Nothing more.

I know that one day this will change for her. She'll learn about September 11th, like I learned about Pearl Harbor Day. She'll come to appreciate the gravity of the anniversary but never really have experienced it first hand. My daughter doesn't remember a day when two thousand, nine hundred and seventy-four people were killed for doing nothing more than going to work on a Tuesday.

How I envy her.

My thoughts: 

It Must Be Beethoven

Posted on 9/11/2008 04:13:00 AM

You know the composer of the symphony you're playing is repetitive when you accidentally turn from page nine to page twelve and you don't realize you're on the wrong page until three-quarters of the way through.

I'm just sayin'.

My thoughts: 

Chase the Clouds Away

Posted on 9/10/2008 09:00:00 AM
The Caterpillar has had a little bout of diaper rash -- the first in her young life. I totally attribute the fact that we haven't had to fight the diaper rash battle so far to two things: 1) not slathering on a bunch of goop, salves, powder and other crap on her porcelain bottom skin and 2) I generally only use wipes when she's dirty. When she's simply wet, I just let her little butt dry off a bit before sticking on the next diaper. Someone gave me this advice a few years ago and for this kid at least, it's totally worked.

Plus, while it's no sphagnum moss solution, but it is a little more ecologically friendly and a little less wasteful then using a wipe each and every time I change her diaper. As a result, I've still got the original tube of diaper rash cream and bottle of talcum powder that I had when she was born.

This recent foray into eating anything and everything she can find, however, has contributed to a shiny red bottom of stop light proportions (The child eats pinto beans... straight from the can. *shudder*) and I've had to break into the stash of zinc oxide. The problem is, The Caterpillar's other main interest involves picking up two completely random items and walking around the house with one in each hand, guarding them viciously and taking them everywhere she goes for the entire day. Yesterday, it was a pair of The Dormouse's underwear and the lone tube of diaper rash cream from the changing table.

Anyway, in the course of carrying around these two oh-so-important items yesterday, the tube of diaper rash got lost somewhere in the house. So when The KingofHearts got home and decided to change her diaper at one point, he couldn't find the diaper rash cream and instead decided to use talcum powder instead. But any of you who knows The KoH personally knows this about him: he is patently incapable of
underdoing anything.

I have a musician friend who got a gig playing the bass at Epcot center one summer and was privileged - and I'll use that term loosely - to play a concert with a Well-Known Jazz Musician who shall remain nameless in case he's so vain as to be googling his name constantly -- which, as I think we all know, is a given when you're talking about musicians. In one of the pieces they were playing, the Well-Known Jazz Musician changed some of the music in the dress rehearsal -- they wouldn't take the repeat marked in the music but rather go on to play the coda and end the piece. During a performance, my friend forgot to make this change and went back to the repeat while the rest of the orchestra played the coda. Every musician makes a mistake like this now and then and in a thirty-five piece orchestra, a few people on stage might notice this, but no one in the audience will ever be the wiser.

However, Well-Known Jazz Musician did hear it and in what I can only assume was a drunken fit of blind rage at the loss of his former fame and a career that was now only big enough to garner a secondary stage at a theme park, stopped and turned to berate the idiot bass player who'd made the mistake. I'll repeat that for emphasis: Well-Known Jazz Musician stopped playing his instrument in the middle of a piece during a crowded performance at Disney and began yelling at the top of his lungs and pointing to my bass player friend, "Play the f*%$ing tag! JUST PLAY THE F*%$ING TAG!" In front of a family friendly Disney audience who sat there next to their children, listening with mouths agape. (And if you didn't believe before that Disney was the evil empire - consider this: they fired my friend for this... NOT the Well-Known Jazz Musician.)

Since then, "Just play the tag" has been a favorite expression in our house, used to describe what we mean when someone should have just done the obvious and not gone overboard.

This is what happens when your husband, who cannot just play the tag to save his own life, uses talcum powder on your child's bottom (watch her diaper closely when she falls):

My thoughts: 

Me in 3 Seconds

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Washington, D.C. Metro, United States
Married, 40ish mom of two (or three, or four, depending on how you keep score) who stepped through the lookinglass and now finds herself living in curiouser and curiouser lands of Marriage, Motherhood, and the Washington, D.C. Metro Area.

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