(Not that I know anything about being a drunk college student. *Ahem*) 10. They have no problem passing out in strange...Read More
You know those ubiquitous “MY CHILD IS AN HONOR STUDENT AT BLAH-BLAH MIDDLE SCHOOL” bumper stickers? Well, I was...Read More
When I say I like to nibble on chubby babies, I mean it FIGURATIVELY. Yikes.
Way too realistic-looking for my, um, taste. Guess we should just be thankful it’s not a red velvet cake.
To all the pregnant ladies out there, remember: THIS is the prize at the end of your nine (or more!) months of pregnancy and many hours of labor: the chance to take funny pictures of your little one! (And, hopefully, share them on the Internet for our collective entertainment.)
Truer words have never been babbled.
We’ve all been there, baby.
Of course, not all of us can pull it off with such aplomb.
This is what happens, kids, when you demand to have your window down.
Murphy’s Law of family road trips.
Uh-oh. The kid is on to us.
“Sharknado” has got nothin’ on this little guy.
PRO BABY TIP: For maximum nutritional benefit, apply blueberries everywhere on body EXCEPT the inside of your mouth.
Remember when our weekends ended like this?
Q: Where do babies come from?
The sinking realization that she learned to repeat “MAP!” for nothing.
Sophie raises her hand in protest of a common parenting technique: Brainwashing via baby onesie.
These are the daily dilemmas that torture our youth.
Baby sums up Mondays with a single expression.
Friends don’t let friends drive nap-deprived.
The “B” word sparks outrage.
When I weaned my son with no plans for more children, I was left with a cabinet full of nursing pads. Tons and tons of nursing pads. But never fear — I found plenty of alternative ways to use them. Here are my expert tips for recycling leftover nursing pads:
1. Classic art.
First step: Face your fears. That’s right! Stick your face right in there.
Second step: Learn which end goes where.
Third step: Confiscate the camera from Mom and Dad. Photographic evidence of this process can lead to no good, no good at all.
If you are considering going above and beyond this Sunday to prove to the kids that the Easter Bunny did, indeed, visit the house, you may want to avoid leaving “clues” like these:
1. Having the Easter Bunny poop jelly beans.
If the kids are young enough to believe this, they are young enough to eat jelly beans out of the toilet.
Because what captures the Easter spirit better than a gallery of creepy Easter Bunny pictures…?!
My kids’ preschool is on Spring Break this week — and it’s occurred to me that experiencing Spring Break as a parent is surprisingly similar to those I enjoyed as a college co-ed.
Before the Oscar nominations and trips to “sex rehab,” celebrities were just innocent babies in search of their next hit of oatmeal, as we all were once upon a time. See if you can guess the famous faces behind these baby/kid photos…
Miss Skye will go to kindergarten next year (say WHA–?!), which means I have been obsessively researching schools and options in the Los Angeles area. And by “obsessively,” I mean spending pretty much every waking second on it. I no longer have time for mundane tasks such as feeding my children and acknowledging my family’s presence — LEAVE MOMMY ALONE, SHE HAS TO GOOGLE “WHAT THE HELL IS THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN A MAGNET AND A CHARTER SCHOOL AND WHY IS THIS ALL SO FREAKING HARD WHEN ALL I HAD TO DO AS A KID WAS WALK TO THE ELEMENTARY SCHOOL DOWN THE STREET?!?!?!” To which Google responds, “Lay off the Caps Lock, woman. You’re giving me a headache.”
Yeah, well, I’ll tell you what a headache is — navigating the L.A. school system. We’re not fortunate enough to be assigned to one of the better elementary schools, so I’ve been wading through private school brochures, dozens of sites explaining the district’s point system (you need a Ph.D in Mathematics to understand it, true story), inter-district applications, intra-district applications, and charter and magnet school reviews. After my endless research and hand-wringing, Mr. Candy and I arrived at a very thoughtful conclusion:
Screw it. We’re moving to a good school district.
So we’re movin’ on down…to the beach side. We’ve been in the process of looking at houses down there — a process that means very little to a two-year-old (Drew is just irritated that it takes precious time away from playing outside) and getting your hopes repeatedly raised and crushed to a four-year-old. Every time we go to an open house, it goes like this:
Every. Single. Time. It also raises the hopes of the realtors showing the houses, who can’t help but notice Skye’s excitement and coo: “Awww. I think SHE’S ready to move in right now!” I’m sure this tactic is in the Selling Houses for Dummies book — “If your potential buyers are parents, note that their weak spot is their children: POUNCE!” — but when the child declares she wants to buy every house she steps foot in, said parents become decidedly less moved by the child’s enthusiasm.
“Yeah, she acts that way at all the open houses,” I say and roll my eyes, much to the realtor’s chagrin. But it’s true. Even if we went to, say, a trash dump, I’m confident it would go like this:
(Actually, we have seen places like this that have sold for seven figures. Welcome to L.A.!) And when I explained to Skye that it was a DUMP…? A literal dump? Her answer invariably would be:
*Sigh* Poor kid.