I like gummy bear | i love gummy bear | gummy bear song english

I know I don't usually write here about non-family-related stuff but I just read an article that made my blood boil. I've been casually following the Roman Polanski arrest story in the news. For the uninitiated, Polanski had sex with a 13-year-old girl after plying her with champagne and drugs. He took topless pictures of her at Jack Nicholson's house before taking her first to a hot tub and then to Nicholson's bedroom. Why the child was there at Nicholson's home is rather inconsequential to the story but apologists surely point out that she was a young teen willing to drink, take pills and pose topless for a much-older man, that she was likely promiscuous, blah blah blah. Yes, she was clearly troubled or, at least, poorly parented. Polanski ended up pleading guilty to the crime of unlawful sexual intercourse - the elements of which are basically the same as what we call "statutory rape". Unlike a charge of forcible rape, statutory rape doesn't require

I can recall saying to mothers of other toddlers, "I thought age 3 was WAY worse than age 2 for my kids." But I couldn't remember exactly why. My babies will be three in January. And now I remember. "I do it myself." All day. Every day. Times two. Slowly leading me to to insanity. Picking out clothes? I do it myself. Taking off and putting on clothes? I do it myself. Taking off and putting on socks and shoes? Yep. I do it myself. Opening the door to the garage. Hitting the garage door opener button. Opening the car door. Putting on car seat straps. Buckling car seat straps. Getting out of the car. Closing the car door. Opening doors at stores and restaurants. Wiping nose. Packing backpack. I do it myself. (Note: Often, there is only one thing to do - like close the car door. So, then we have to open and close the car door twice - because, well, there's two of them and they both want to do it themselves.) I am now late to everything. Every time. I know that t

I had a great conversation with the mom of one of M's classmates the other night. Mom-mom relationships are an interesting thing. Lots of judging (or at least, perceived judging) over in the elementary-school-mom-social-scene. Rah-rah moms, moms who seem to live at the gym, moms that look a little too perfect. (See? Me. Judging.) Anyway, M's friend's mom and I had a real conversation. About being frustrated with kids. About yelling. About trying not to swear in front of the kids. I know these parents are involved with their kids and have fun with their kids and adore their kids. But it was refreshing to hear another mom talk about the same daily frustrations and lost tempers as happen at our house. A little bit of validation goes a long way. (Not that I don't still wish that I handled my frustrations better - but I'm gonna try to stop laying a guilt trip at my own feet.) I think we all put on some sort of facade to strangers and acquaintances. And it's nice when

Just picked my kids up at school (first and second grade). Without further ado, here's what they had to say about the hubbub: M: I saw Obama at school. Me: What did he talk about? M: You should never let down your country. Me: What does that mean? M: Letting down your country is bad. Me: But what does that mean? M: Quitting stuff. Like school. G: And there was a senior president there. Named Tim Spicer. It was at Wakefield High School.* M: In Virginia. Me: What else did he talk about? G: Responsibility. M: And compassion. Me: What is compassion? M: Working together. I learned that from the counselor. Not Mrs. Frank though. We have a new counselor named Mrs. Graves. I'm scared of her puppets. And that was that. Totally brainwashed, I tell you. *This kid can't remember to brush his teeth thirty seconds after I tell him to brush his teeth, but he correctly remembered the name of the teenager who introduced the president and the name of the freaking venu

Dear Walmarts: The cost/benefit ratio can't be favorable to you. When a mother of toddler(s) walks into your gargantuan "super" store and is immediately confronted with a coin-operated kiddie car, are many really stopping to pump it full of quarters before continuing with their shopping extravaganza? I quit you once before because of this. About five years ago. G was 2. The Mickey Mouse car at the entrance caused me to lose my shit in front of the poor, kind, retired greeter. As I dragged my screaming child out of your store by his armpit, pushing the shopping cart containing one-year-old M precariously with one hand, I believe I said something along the lines of "I will NEVER come back to this fucking store until all of the goddamn kiddie rides and vending machines are GONE!" My boycott lasted a little while. I stuck to my guns for about a year if I recall correctly. And the kids grew and I forgot and forgave. Until today. At one of your "super" store

I dare you to NOT start tapping your toes while listening to this little gem.

These guys started Mother's Day Out yesterday. They will go on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 9:30 to 2:30. Their first day was terrific. C even told me that playing outside at school was "awesome". They played and had circle time and ate lunch at a table with the rest of the kids. Next week, they'll stay a little longer and have naptime too. (We'll see how that goes...) I think I'm going to really enjoy the time on my own. It's been a while. I didn't think I would miss them. And I didn't while they were there. But when I returned and saw them through the doorway, minding their manners, sitting at the lunch table like such big boys? And when their faces lit up when they finally noticed I was there? My heart ached just a little bit - partly because I realized that I had actually missed them a bit and partly because I realized, in that moment, that my babies were on their way to not being my "babies" anymore.