Hand Me That Cell Phone So I Can Call CPS

Yikes--just when you thought talking on your cell phone was ok as long as you're not driving a car, speech pathologists (like my sister, Cassie) announce that talking on your cell phone while with your kids can have "serious consequences." Namely, delays in language development. While there's apparently not much research proving it, SLPs are seeing an increase in speech-delayed babies and toddlers that they feel is linked to the fact that, if a parent is on the phone, they aren't interacting verbally with their kid. Fair enough.

Ok, so you better get all your talking done before you have the baby, then--right? Wrong. A recent Danish study found that the children of mothers who frequently used a cell phone during pregnancy were 80 percent more likely to have emotional, social and behavioral problems, including hyperactivity.

Does this mean I can stop feeling guilty for never calling anyone back?

Apparently I Kick Ass

I'm totally drained from an afternoon of shopping with the kids so I'm just doing a quick check-in so you don't all think I've dropped off the face of the earth.

The big news of the day is that my other blog, Mizz Information, is now on Alltop, an "digital magazine rack" that features "all the top" sites on the web. My blog is featured in the social media section. Social media, of course, being all my nerd stuff like Twitter, blogging, Facebook, etc. At any rate, I'm psyched because maybe now that my blog feed is on Alltop I may actually attract more than 4-ish readers per day. And if not, I at least get to post this nifty logo on there:


So yeah, if you add that to the $1.98 I earned from Amazon Affiliates program (those ads for Amazon on this page; if you click them I earn like a cent or something) I'd say this could qualify as a banner day in my blogosphere.

And now Martha Stewart is having a contest on her blog--basically in exchange for including a link to her blog on yours she will (allegedly) review it and, if she decides it's worthy, post a link to it on hers. Somehow I don't think that she'd consider this blog very "Martha" but who knows--stranger things have happened. So in that spirit, notice that I have added a link to her blog to my blogroll.

Dinner calls....but stay tuned for my post about The Feminine Mistake, which I know all of you are also reading.

Is She Really Mistaken?

I don't have time to write what my British friend, Jane, would call "a proper post" so I figure I'd do the FIO thing and re-purpose an old post. It's AS IF I were writing this post now because I am, yet again, getting ready to read The Feminine Mistake: Are We Giving Up Too Much?

I read it a while ago and remain obsessed with it because, as much as people dis Leslie Bennetts' ideas--including me, in theory--I can't help but think that ultimately she's right. In case you don't want to read the book I'll give you the FIO synopsis: women should never quit working to stay home with kids, no matter how much money their husbands make, because there are no guarantees in life and if he dies or leaves you, you're SOL.

I'll save further comment for later, after I (and, of course, you) have read it again.

Poem

I want to say I understand this poem by Matthew Zapruder--and actually sort of do--but mostly I'm like "huh?"

Matthew Zapruder is a friend of mine from back in the day. He is crazy smart--not only a poet but a poet who translates Romanian poems.

Maybe if you're lucky I'll try to unearth one of my poems from way back when I wrote stuff more creative than blog posts about social media or Augusten Burroughs.

You thought I was off him, right, since I haven't written about him lately? Think again--I am still his #1 fan and am obsessed with him. However I do have to say that the redesign of his website is so bad it almost makes my eyes bleed. I could write a dissertation about how bad and why it sucks--but because it's Augusten I'll reserve comment.

Score one for this complaining soccer mom

Remember my infamous soccer rage rant from last fall? The one that spurred me to write this comment on the local paper's website, which ended up being published in the print version? Which led to this "Open Forum" that mainly consisted of people ripping my "sweeping indict of the nature of games at OBGC" (the local boys and girls club)? Which then led to me writing this response, which they ran in the paper, which led to this email to me from the Executive Director of the club, which led to THIS tirade (yes, she wrote it in RED) of an email? Then finally this response from OBGC to me, again in the paper?

Then, just when we were all thoroughly bored with the subject, The Washington Post published a blog post I had written way back before the whole saga even started. By that point I pretty much never wanted to talk or hear about the issue again--after all, in reality I couldn't care less about my kids playing soccer.

Anyway, a friend recently emailed me telling me that apparently the whole saga had been productive because, lo and behold, OBGC has announced a new, stricter Code of Conduct policy.

Guess the Executive Director's red, angry rip-fest at me wasn't, in the end, warranted after all. Guess I wasn't the only one who thought their policy wasn't strict enough; after all, why would they be making such a big deal about their newly strict policy?

A love song to Twitter?

I never thought of this post as a "love song to Twitter" but the clever folks at Ragan.com added that headline and featured one of my blog posts on their homepage today.

I May Not Be White But I Am a White Trash Mom

Remember my abysmal score on the Stuff White People Like quiz which revealed that I am only about 10% white? Well, curiously (or not?) I think I may qualify as a white trash mom, based on just this one question on the White Trash Mom quiz--"Fakin' It for the Bake Sale."

In fact, I go one better than even bothering to try making it look like I actually baked something; when asked to contribute to a class party or bake sale I have no shame about plunking down an unopened box of Entenmann's cookies. Think the grandma in "Sixteen Candles" with the box of donuts, attempting to open it with a knife (or was it a long, fake fingernail?) while deftly clamping a cigarette between her lips.

I don't smoke, though--does that make me less of a white trash mom?

Wii

Well, we finally found the Wii last week and so far it's been worth spending a horrifying amount on. Even Mimi has played enthusiastically--and those who know Mimi know she isn't enthusiastic about much. So far I have only injured myself slightly while playing tennis a little too enthusiastically.

That's about all that's been going on. I have been feeling crappy for over a week so hopefully now that I'm on antibiotics I'm on the mend. The only problem was this morning I took the pill when I woke up, fully intending to go eat something since the bottle said "take with food." An hour or so later we finally stopped at McDonald's to get something to eat and suddenly I felt sick and ended up on the bathroom floor with my cheek resting on the toilet seat. As sick as I felt, I think Patrick felt worse when I told him about my toilet-hugging--he is not a fan of the germs. I'm going to have to disinfect for a month before he'll touch me again.

Well, I'm distracted because Patrick and Matthew are playing Medal of Honor--I need to go kick Matthew off and grab a gun.

Sorry I'm not so interesting tonight--between feeling crappy and being distracted by the Wii I'm not in my best blogging form. If you want to read a great post, read this one by Penelope Trunk about Palin. 172 comments and counting--most of them ripping poor Penelope a new one. Then, read this one where she basically does an about-face and changes her tune entirely.

All I have to say is Palin needs to fix that hair--a grown woman shouldn't have a hairstyle that requires a ponytail holder.

Wii--WTF?

After, what, a year? two years? of thinking about it we decided to give in and buy a Wii. Matthew wanted it, then I saw they have a shooting game and I wanted it, then Patrick played it at a conference and he became obsessed with it so we finally caved and decided to just buy it.

Or so we thought it was that easy.

Never would I have imagined having to go to such great lengths to--unsuccessfully--spend $350. Since Sunday, these are the stores we attempted to buy it from:

1) Target #1 (Sunday)--sold out.

2) Target #2--sold out.

3) Toys R' Us--this store may have actually had it in stock but at that point we didn't know what a nightmare it would be to find it elsewhere and niavely thought we'd think about it and look around to see if we could find one that came as a bundle with extra controllers and games. Ha!

4) EB Games--they had the box behind locked glass so, after deciding ok, we'll just go ahead and buy it we go up to the counter and the girl basically laughed in our faces--"We don't have any!" Um, then how about taking the box with the $249 price tag out of the locked glass cabinet and not spending 10 minutes telling us which bundle to buy.

5) Game Stop--sold out.

6) Game Stop #2--sold out.

7) Target #1 (Monday)--sold out.

8) FYE--sold out.

Today, Patrick called two more stores--neither had it. I called another game store; shocker--SOLD OUT.

That makes ELEVEN stores that were sold out of a $250 (or $350 if you want the bundle with the extra controllers and the shooting game) toy. How does every single person in the world apparently have $350 to throw away on a game?

Turn That Monthly Frown Upside-down

There is a god: you can now turn your period blood into boobs.

I swear I am not making this up.

Saving the Environment by Working 10-Hour Days?

Whoops! If you were stumped by a total non-sequitur of a post earlier today, I had accidentally posted a long comment I made on an article in The Washington Post about the idea of a four 10-hour day work week. Guess I must have been using Blogger as a text editor instead of Word. Oh well--that's the beauty of having almost no readers--nobody catches mistakes like that.

Oh well, rather than have me summarize the entire article and then add my commentary you can just go read the article and see my comment (it's the last one at the top, Maggie7).

In short, no, having people work four 10-hour days--thereby ostensibly keeping them house-bound and not driving around killing the ozone layer one day a week--is not going to save the planet. Anyone knows that when you're home all day the first thing you do is drive to Target, then to the gym, then to Starbucks, then on several other errands at opposite ends of town.

Two of My Favorite Things, United

Continuing with your favorite theme of mine: "EVER"--current best book EVER: Stuff White People Like.

I don't know why I'm so obsessed with this book but I just am--I think it's hilarious. Maybe it's because I have discovered, in the course of reading the book and taking the quiz at the end that I am not, in fact, really white. I don't even score high enough to be on the scale, which starts at 15%. And--if you can believe it, despite his lily-white skin, Patrick isn't any whiter than I am. In fact, I believe he scored even lower than I did.

At any rate, the book is hilarious for more reasons than I can list, and I highly recommend you buy it. You might wonder why buy a book of a blog that I can already read online...I thought the same thing until I bought it. First of all, it has stuff that's not on the blog and, second of all, it is somehow 20 times funnier when you're reading it off a physical page. Too bad for Amazon, because I was recently toying with the idea of buying a Kindle, thinking it would be better than dealing with paper books, but Stuff White People Like made me realize that actual books might be better than books on a screen.

And no, btw, I am in no way affiliated with Christian Lander--the author of the book--in case you're thinking my glowing reviews are in any way fueled by me standing to profit from sales of the book. I wish. I'm even too lazy to figure out how to do the affiliate link correctly so if you were to buy the book by clicking on the link in this blog I would have made a cent or two.

Anyway, you'll have to read the book yourself but I will reveal one helpful tip from it: If you see a person riding a bike to work--or doing anything else that is similarly eco-friendly--go up and say "Hey--thanks. Sincerely, The Earth."

That ranks right up there with "Ding-Ding! Here comes the shit-mobile!" in terms of funny. And that's saying a lot, since that is officially the funniest thing I've ever heard in my life.

And best of all? I discovered a common thread between Twitter and Stuff White People Like.

And you thought I wasn't intellectual.

The Freakiest Show EVER

Ok, I realize two "...EVER" posts in one week is a little much, but I'm sorry, this is just too good not to share and since I'm all by my lonesome this weekend, you, readers, are the only ones I have to share it with.

The show Intervention is always a crowd-pleaser; however the episode about Allison just takes the cake. I realize it's not so nice to make light of someone's addiction story, but I'm sorry, I defy you to watch this show--or even the trailer--and not wonder if it's actually a joke. Seriously, I will bet money that Saturday Night Live does a parody of this girl.

Apparently I'm not the only one who found the show hilarious/horrifying--if you go to YouTube and do a search for "Allison Intervention" you'll see that a slew of people had the same reaction I did. Do yourself a favor and watch the whole thing--then tell me it isn't the craziest thing you've ever seen. Girl could do a PSA for why huffing is a BAD idea.

Best 20-Something Career Advice Post EVER

Forget what I said about all Gen-Y posts about career advice being identical and useless—this one is like no other job advice blog post I’ve ever read before. Somehow this guy makes a case for the interrelationship between casual sex, video games and entrepreneurship. Here is my Cliff Notes version of his salient points:

• Fun: "My third year at UCLA was one big blur where I would wake up half naked every other night not knowing where I had left my jeans, shoes, or dick.”


• Productivity: "What does it mean to be truly productive with your life? Hanging out with friends and drinking alcohol all night is fun for the moment, but I always wake up in the morning vowing to never drink again. Same with video games. You spend all of your time leveling-up your character and getting new features, only to have your hard work made completely insignificant once the new version of the game comes out.”


• How do you want to live your life? "The best way to reach the point of self-actualization is to play your life as if it were an RPG (Role Playing Game)"




• Never stop learning: "In a video game, you gain experience by slaying monsters and completing quests. Therefore in real life, you gain experience by reading, keeping up with the news, and gaining internships and a high GPA."


• Expand your network: "In a video game, the more people you talk to, the higher the chance you have of someone telling you a hint to complete a mission, giving you an item, or providing you with secret information."


• Find the perfect relationship: "A meaningful and loving relationship will make you much happier than any one-night stand. As an entrepreneur with my personality type, it is much more productive to be in a serious relationship than to be single, and here’s why: If I was single, I would be out there chasing girls left and right. I would not be able to focus on my company because all I would be thinking about is who my next piece would be."

Judging by these rules I should be a millionaire by now. Did I miss a step? Maybe because I never lost awareness of where I left my jeans, shoes or dick in college I missed out on that valuable career step? Maybe my video game play--while compulsive enough to render my hand numb for 3 months--just wasn't sufficient to build the skills necessary to become a successful entrepreneur? Maybe I'm having too much sex now--albeit in my perfect relationship--and it's preventing me from "striving for more" in terms of my career.

But here I am, 40 and still with the word “assistant” in my title; meanwhile, there he is, a year out of college and a (self professed) entrepreneur and management consultant.

My question is, when he and other the Gen-Yers' career advice bloggers say that they’re entrepreneurs and consultants, do they mean they’re actually supporting themselves in those capacities? Or are they "consultants" and "entrepreneurs" in the sense that I am a "consultant"; e.g. yes, I can write—here’s my email address if you’re ever interested in hiring me for a project…and now it's back to my cubicle where I sit for 8 hours a day so I can pay the bills and support my kids.

In theory I could brand myself as a thought leader, writer, life coach, marriage counselor, or social media expert…as in, I COULD call myself these things and, while it wouldn’t actually be lying because I could theoretically serve in any of these capacities, the reality is that I don’t currently earn a dime doing any of those things.

But that's a whole other post on personal branding, a mainstay of Gen-Y blog content.

**P.S.** Sorry but I just went to his blog and checked out his response to one reader's question "How does a student become an entrepreneur?" Hey--does step 2 sound familiar? "Move back home to save on cash."

Gee, another Gen-Y blogger endorsing that mainstay of 20-something career advice: move back in with mom and dad!

Sorry but when I think of a guy who lives with mom and dad, the image that comes to mind isn't so much entrepreneur; it's more Will Ferrel's character in Wedding Crashers, Chazz Reinhold, screaming "MA! Meatloaf! Fuck!"

My Name on Rice



Mimi bought me this necklace at Kings Dominion last week. She knows, obviously, about my fixation on tiny things and had heard me tell the "Name on Rice" tale many times.

I forget when or where but once I saw a kiosk at a mall or an amusement park (Cassie, do you remember this?) called "Name On Rice." Not only is that the best name in the world for a kiosk, but how excellent and random a concept is painting something on a grain of rice then putting it in a tiny glass vial on a necklace? Don't even get me started on the collection of tiny things with stuff painted on them at Ripley's Believe it or Not museum in Williamsburg, VA. Suffice it to say that I now own a camera capable of taking super close up photos of tiny things and will be bringing it with me next time I visit that museum.

Anyway--I once had this "name on rice" necklace but it got lost, leaving me with nothing but the fond memory and the lingering obsession with it. So last week, Mimi--who usually doesn't so much as make me a card for my birthday--returned from a camp trip to Kings Dominion excitedly clutching an envelope.

"I got you a present," she said, trying to be nonchalant but obviously excited. And there it was, a new name on rice necklace! It even has a flower painted on the other side of the grain of rice. The kiosk was called "Your Name on Grain" this time--slightly less awesome than "Name on Rice"--but still, it's my name on rice.

Anyway, I'm sure this isn't exciting for anyone but me...but I am plenty excited about it.

Then, speaking of my name on things, I feel like such a social media darling--my name was mentioned in not one but two blogs today. How knew that asking a question about Facebook would be cause for such interest and enthusiasm?

3 Out of 4 Moms are Worst Parents Ever?

So far, I'm batting 3 for 3 on the Worst Parent Ever (WPE)scale (as defined by me, of course.)

But who would have thought I'd be in such good company? According to a very BPE (best parent ever) source--the esteemed New York Times--most moms give up on breastfeeding. According to the article, here are 4 more defining criteria for WPE:

Returning to work, being a smoker or living in the Northeast decreased the likelihood of long-term breast-feeding. Notably, low-income women who participated in the subsidized Women, Infants and Children program, which provides food, milk and formula to mothers and young children, were also more likely to stop breast-feeding sooner.

Interesting--I can see how returning to work or smoking could be considered WPE characteristics--and of course it's a given that low-income women on WIC are WPE--but I'm surprised to see that "living in the Northeast" apparently makes you more likely to be a formula-feeding WPE. Strange, given that a decent number of Ivy Leage schools--BPE (oh, actually, White people--well,same thing) pillars--are located in the Northeast.

Doctor's Out

So much for MedSpa doctor--I was all geared up to go get my Botox fix at 10 am today; at 9 am the girl called to say he couldn't do it today. Bummer. Now I have to deal with tense forehead until Thursday. Maybe I'll have an epiphany between now and then and will be able to just say no to Botox. Or maybe someone will invent topical Valium before Thursday.

Strip Mall Botox

I have absolutely nothing to say but feel compelled to try to keep up some kind of momentum with this poor neglected blog. It's Friday night, Patrick has a baseball game and I'm home with the kids. We went to Burger King for dinner. Did you know that BK onion rings have less fat and calories than almost anything on the menu? Just a little nutritional tip from me to you, courtesy of the tray liner that now includes complete nutritional content information for every single item on the menu. Including ketchup packets (10 calories, 0 fat).

The highlight of my day was that the former "day spa" in Olney--e.g. glorified nail salon--is now a MedSpa. "Med" meaning that a doctor has decided to make some cash on the side so he opened an office in there. All I know is this: I went in to ask how much Botox is there and it's half what I usually pay.

I will pause here to mention that I make no bones about the fact that yes, I get Botox in my forehead. Why? Because a few years ago I had a horrible eye twitch that lasted for--no lie--8 months. It would start the minute I opened my eyes in the morning and would last all day, every day, from January until August until I finally got insurance to pay for the one available treatment for "blepharospasm": Botox. I was so psyched, thinking that the doctor would put one drop in my eyelid then generously offer to use the rest on my forehead for free. Not that I even had a ton of wrinkles--ok, I actually had no wrinkles--but did have a few lines and was just curious to see what I would look like without them.

I got so fixated on the idea that when, sadly, it turned out that the doctor charged me (luckily, my insurance paid it) $400 for ONE tiny shot in my eyelid and would have charged me $600 more if I wanted it in my forehead too, I found another doctor who charged half that and ponied up the money.

(By the way, the Botox didn't really fix the eye twitch, but it spontaneously stopped the day I moved out of my ex-husband's house. Literally--gone--just like that.)

Anyway, as I said, I shelled out the money for the Botox and loved it. Even when my first go-round rendered me totally cockeyed looking, with one eyebrow raised up WAY higher than the other, I was totally mesmerized by my smooth as an eggshell forehead and the resulting expression of perpetual tranquility. I loved it. Then, after about 4 months it started wearing off. It's like Cinderella at midnight--you watch as your blissfully lineless, relaxed forehead starts waking up and them--poof--you're back to you regular middle-aged lady forehead once again.

The thing about Botox is that you get addicted not only to the look of your line-less forehead but also to the way it feels. That is, you feel nothing--imagine the ultimate muscle relaxant--that's Botox. Ok, so it doesn't actually relax the muscles; it paralyzes them...but it's a very comfortable state regardless. Once it starts wearing off and you can once again move your forehead (you can move your eyebrows the whole time, btw) it feels very uncomfortable.

Imagine not using your legs at all for 4 straight months. Then you get up and try to walk. Your legs wouldn't feel too good, would they? They'd be so weak it would be an effort even to move them. Now apply that to your forehead. For months those muscles were basically dead; once they start waking up they are atrophied from disuse. Which means that just the effort of them not being totally dead is a strain--your forehead starts feeling they way your neck and shoulders do when you're really stressed out. I don't know how to explain it other than that it feels like the effort of just keeping your eyebrows in place is a strain and it leaves your forehead feeling weirdly exhausted and tense.

Long story short: you get addicted not only to the look of your flawlessly smooth skin but also to the physical feeling of totally relaxed muscles. It's like crack--once you start regaining feeling it gets more and more uncomfortable and you start jonesing for another shot to put them back to blissful sleep for another 4-6 months.

I was going to quit--honestly I was--I decided it was ridiculous to spend that much money on something as stupid as a smooth forehead. But my forehead is TIRED and I swear I'm craving that shot like a smoker craves cigarettes. And now I can get it for half what I used to pay--how can I resist?

So if you see me on Monday and it looks like a hive of bees went to town on my forehead (the shots leave big welts on my skin for a day or so after I get them) you know I caved.

You Want Career Advice? Ask a 20-Something

Anyone who reads my blogs knows that I’m a huge fan of Penelope Trunk. I used to read her blog—still do—but now I also read some of the featured blogs on her website Brazen Careerist. The site is geared towards Gen-Y--or the term I find funnier, Millennials-- and many of the bloggers are 20-somethings giving career advice either before they have careers or from the vantage point of their entry-level jobs. A lot of posts are arrogant dissertations about why Gen-Y is better than previous generations--smarter, more creative, more technically savvy, not willing to settle for the crappy lives every person over the age of 35 has--basically annoying and sort of hilarious.

Take this post, for example Twentysomething: Why My generation is More Productive Than Yours. Main takeaway from the post: "We’ve seen our washed up parents work shit jobs they hate, and we won’t go through the motions for the sake of job security." Hey now--give your poor hard-working parents a break: someone had to finance your lessons, sports, activities--you know, all that stuff that helped you get into the expensive college that they also had to pay for. And just when they thought it was over and you'd be getting jobs like college grads of yesteryear did, you decide you are going to do the responsible thing and move back home.

One of my favorite Brazen Careerist posts was written by a 20-something who's "working a temporary job as I actively pursue a career in the publishing industry." Actively pursuing as in working a temp job with no benefits while daydreaming about moving to France and getting a kick-ass job? Naturally, the crux of the plan is moving back in with her parents. You go girl, with the career advice. Send me a postcard from the major publishing house in France and let me know how that worked out for you.

Back to the "washed up" parents, though: maybe their "shit jobs" aren't the only culprit of their washed up lives. Maybe they're exhausted from having spent 20 years lavishing attention and praise on their youngins. The helicopter parenting that created these arrogant 20-somethings is bound to wear a person out. Think about it--20 years spent anxiously hovering over your kid, making sure he/she doesn't have to experience a moment's discomfort lest it damage their self-esteem--it's like being a stewardess or something. Not to mention a bank; sure, it's easy to be a 20-something who won't settle for just any mundane job when your parents are still supporting you. Rent? Health insurance? Not a worry for these clever Gen-Yers who will end up happier and more successful and just better in every way than previous generations because they're making their own rules and succeeding on their own terms.

Don't worry about reading all the blogs on Brazen Careerist; I'll sum them up for you: the keys to career success are:

1) Mastering MySpace and other social networking applications that the older generation just doesn't get and which are basically the only job skills required at the flexible dream jobs where there are no rules, no set hours and unlimited vacation.

and

2) Relying on your parents to support you and then hook you up with a sweet internship that will ultimately--no rush, now, since rent isn't an issue--lead to a job that pays as much as your parents' "shit job" but that is satisfying and morally superior.

Don't get me wrong--I am all for the results-only work environment (ROWE)...but I'm old and I've earned it.

Worst Parent Ever

Inspired by one of my favorite websites Best Parent Ever I got to thinking "what about worst parent ever?" Surely not all of us went in for the Bugaboo stroller; for some of us, the good ole umbrella stroller--available at any Kids R' Us or Walmart for about $20--was just fine. Light, easy to manuver, foldable with one hand, washable--what's not to like?

A few other Worst Parent Ever qualities:

1) Letting your baby sleep on its stomach

How many parents, desperate to get baby to sleep for more than 2 hours at a clip listened to our mothers, who pointed out that back in the day tummy sleeping was today's back sleeping? There probably aren't any studies out proving that babies sleep better on their stomachs; all I can say is that, from my unscientific study based on a sample of at least 5 moms who were willing to furtively admit that yes, they let their babies sleep on their stomachs, the consensus was that the babies did sleep better.

2) Formula Feeding

We all know my feelings about the whole "breast is best" thing; suffice it to say that, while I did breastfeed each of my kids for 6 weeks, I blissfully gave in to formula after that and enjoyed every convenient, no-guessing-required about how much my babies drank minute. Apparently my kids survived despite my Worst Parent Ever behavior because they have lived to the ripe old ages of 10 and 12 with no apparent ill effects.

Worst Parents Ever make no apologies for not breastfeeding--whether it's just not their cup of tea or whatever, they proudly stock up on those great big cans of formula and enjoy the beauty of being able to handle nighttime feedings by chucking a bottle into the crib and going immediately back to sleep.

Oh, and bonus Worst Parent Ever points if you scoff at the doctor's warnings that babies stomachs can't handle milk until they're 12 months old and decide that you're tired of shelling out $25 a can and switch to regular milk when your baby is only 10 months old.

3) Extended pacifier use

Yeah, I admit it--my son had a pacifier until he was 7. Not like out on the street or anything, but yes, in a little box in his room, he had one and had no shame about using it. At home, that is. I didn't qualify for the uber Worst Parent Ever: the kind who lets a kid--not a toddler or even a pre-schooler--appear in public with a pacifier. You know, the kind of parent who gives their baby Coke in a bottle or...


lets it play with cigarettes.