I gotta say, I'm not a big fan of those pants which...well, I won't say the brand name, but it's the one that labels your posterior as being juicy. I don't really need to draw more attention to my hindquarters, thankyoumovingon.
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I'm not the most experienced parent in the world, but from what I understand, I have only a few months left until my daughter asks that inevitable question: Can I get a pet? Knowing her, it won't be any old pet; it will be a turtle or a snake or, help me, a rat.
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In my daughter's language, everything with four legs is a dog. Cat? Dog. Lion? Dog. Cow? Dog. The only animal that isn't a dog is our dog who is, simply, Deh.
For the past two years, this household's been on a steady musical diet of Sesame Street and The Wiggles. Don't get me wrong--I love me some Rubber Duckie--but I've been meaning to try something a little more exotic.
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The pressure to outdo, outspend, outimpress when it comes to your child's birthday party is extraordinary. We're not necessarily advocates of extravagance, but we understand that sometimes you just can't resist going all out where the kiddo is concerned. In which case, have we got an idea for your next bash.
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Oh, the ant. The sweet, sweet ant. Yes, I love the little guys and in fact one of my fondest childhood memories includes my trusty ant farm. The memory could only be made fonder had the ant farm been instead the super-looking Antquarium.
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When it comes to baby gifts, I’m a huge fan of matching sets. Unfortunately they generally fall into one of two camps: the Little Brown Bear category, and the Trying Hard to be Funny (But Failing) category.
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From among the audacious number of gifts my daughter received this holiday, I was happy (and proud) that her favorite was a book. Of course it was a special book - one personalized with her name on all the pages. Who could blame her?
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If you're anything like me, you have a whole bathroom drawer devoted to those makeup bags so graciously "given" to you when you spend a jillion bucks at the cosmetics counter. Please, leave them in the bathroom. Not only do they scream FREEBIE, they're a cheap ploy to get you flash the company's logo around town.
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I'm always on the lookout for children's apparel that straddles the line between my sigOth's sensibility and my own. He doesn't want her in everything pink; I don't want her in everything Redskins. What we can agree on: These Kenji Dragon Pants from Tea Collection.
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When I found out I was having a baby boy, I quickly bought the most
masculine looking car seat I could find. Blue--dark blue--punctuated with every shade of blue. So what do I do if I have a baby girl next and I'm bitten by the pink bug, I wondered. I'd hate to toss a perfectly good car seat over the aesthetics.
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The first time they throw the bottle on the ground, it's kind of cute. They laugh, you bend over, and like the naive parent that you are, you give it back. But after doing it fifteen times straight, you realize that it's not so cute, and neither are herniated discs or painkillers.
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I used to live in Northern New Jersey, proudly known as "the embroidery capitol of the United States." Seriously. There's even a sign proclaiming the honor that's posted on the highway running through the town.
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The one time in my life I was totally dilligent about thank you notes was after the birth of my daughter. I couldn't thank everyone enough for nine months of love, support, and yeah, the gifts.
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I have found a fantastic new kids CD. In fact if you play it with your eyes closed and a latte in hand, it's almost like listening to a cool new indie band in your favorite coffee shop--if only coffee shops had Hot Wheels scattered around the floor. And the faint odor of soggy Cheerios.
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I am not apologetic that I use my daughter's chest to promote my own interests, tastes and sports affiliations. It's just a small part of my master plan to get her to agree with a few of them. If you share my perspective, you are going to have a field day at Reckon Wordwide, the online shop of poet, artist, and silkscreen master, Chris Weige.
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After being quarantined for three months with a tiny infant thanks to the advice of some old school pediatricians, I was ready to get out of house - rainy fall weather be damned. This is where I learned that my child thinks that blankets are for kicking to the ground, even in 40 degree temperatures.
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I may not be the handiest gal around, but I'm certainly not one to rely on my significant other to handle the "big stuff." And while you may not see me chopping logs in the backyard, I have been known to put together some tough toddler toys, some of which even required screwdriver usage.
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I am one of those people for whom one medicine cabinet is not enough. I have all manners of lotions and potions spilling out from every available crevice and corner in the bathroom. So when I run naked from the shower shouting about the joys of some new product, you have to believe it's something special.
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Ever since I got wind of the whole latex balloons are the devil stuff, I've been distraught. While I would hate for my daughter's birthday celebrations to be entirely balloon free, I also don't need to decorate the place with a bunch of colorful choking hazards.
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While my home has seen its fair share of battery-operated toys that never want to turn off, I’m proud to admit that my daughter prefers her cute little handmade cloth block my godmother made for her first birthday.
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Frequent readers of CMP will know that we're not a big fan of barnyard animals on the kid duds, but we do love all things creepy, crawly, and traditionally unloved. So of course we were instantly smitten with the Beasty Baby monster rompers at indie emporium Aunt Beep.
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I listened to my mother when she told me, "Never underestimate the power of the rattle." However, after three plastic shakers and a stuffed bunny that sounds like it's filled wtih a couple grains of rice, I was still faced with a screaming baby. I wish she had been a bit more specific about the kind of rattle.
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Everywhere I go I'm seeing dogtags. And no, not just because there's a military base in town. I'm talking about those blinged out engraved initial ones that look heavier than a bicycle lock. And while I like to keep up with the trends, this is one I've been keeping at arm's length. Until now.
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How many of us have wanted to chuck the soul-sucking corporate life and follow our hearts? (I'm raising my hand over here.) Jenni Gaynor actually had the guts to do it.
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Since becoming a mother, I admit I'm a little lax about certain aspects of my appearance. However when it comes to my bags, I'm so picky that the folks at the local department store know me as The Crazy Purse Woman, who attacks them with questions like "can I get Purse A in the fabric of Purse B with the handles of Purse C?"
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When I was young, I had a beautiful wooden music box that featured a dancer pirouetting on a mirror inside. It was regaled to a high shelf in my bedroom except for the few times a year when my mom reluctantly pulled it down for me. I'm still bitter whenever I hear "The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy."
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I'm not a brag book kind of gal. It's not that I don't love showing off pics of my daughter--just ask anyone who's ever come within six inches of me over the past year--it's that I don't need yet one more big thing to weigh down my already overloaded bag.
If baby #2 is anything like baby #1, you will rarely see me without a tot in my arms. Combine that with the toil of chasing around a three-year-old, and my back just might not be able to hack it without heavy medication.
I love the idea of lockets--the entire notion of keeping a photo of someone you love by your heart is just so cool. And yet lockets themselves? Not usually so cool.
There is no shortage of great blankets out there to keep your newborn warm, from traditional baby blues and sweet pinks, to retro-modern hipster designs in every shade of chartreuse. But what if you're yearning for a blanket like the one you had back (ahem,cough) years ago when you were a wee one?
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I have mixed feelings about watching the news. I do want stay on top of current events; but to do so I have to get through 20 minutes of tragic, ratings-trolling disaster stories just to get to anything actually of value.
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There's a fine line between pretentious and hip. Pretentious (and also sort of stupid) would be filling your toddler's library with museum coffee table books. But introducing him to the board book, The Art of Shapes: For Children and Adults, well that's something we can get behind.
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If you're anything like me, you love looking at children's books as much as your kids do. Okay, so maybe not the one I have to read fifteen times a day. But I do fantasize about some of the illustrators coming over to my house and jazzing up my daughter's room.
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We have arrived at the highly unanticipated "I can do it myself" stage in our household. Unfortunately, that includes things that my daughter really can't do herself, like chopping vegetables with a big pointy knife. So in order to maintain some semblance of my sanity, I'm in the market for anything that fosters independence--and won't cut off her fingers.
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Check writing may not be as efficient as a debit card or as satisfying as handling actual cash, but to me it's enjoyable in an old-fashioned pen to paper sort of way. But then again, I still own casette tapes.
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When my daughter is a bit older, she's definitely going to be embarrassed by the nicknames I've given her, some of which are so long and absurd, they sound like a combination of Russian and Chinese as said by a person rolling marbles around in her mouth.
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Is your rendition of If You’re Happy and You Know It boring you and your toddler to tears? Could your Wheels on the Bus could use a little somethin' somethin'? If so, Baby Loves Jazz: Go Baby Go is just what you need to rediscover the fun – and the funk – in kiddie tunes.
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Whenever Hillary Lang posts photos of her crafty creations on her blog, Wee Wonderfuls, I sigh and try to imagine what it must be like to have that kind of talent. Mending a sock or sewing on a button, I can handle. Anything more complex gets outsourced.
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My daughter is definitely an early bloomer when it comes to artwork. She's already drawing faces that are a step above a massive scribble fest (if I do say so myself). But there's only so much you can do with 25 notebooks full of toddler art.
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I love getting my tees for my friends' kids because I know they actually get worn. (Unlike a few of the things we've received--enough said?) But a gift needs to be something a little more special than your average, run-of-the mill Hanes undershirt with a decal, and the cheeky, hand-embroidered numbers from [More]
When I was pregnant, I spent roughly 400 thousand hours, give or take, looking for the right birth announcements. Nothing seemed to be...me. Not the pink bows, not the pink gingham, not the pink polka dots. And certainly not all those ducks.
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I have never understood the question, "what bag do you carry?" Bag? As in, one bag, singular? I know of no such thing.
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Cupcakes are arguably nature's perfect food. I don’t think it’s possible to ever be angry at anyone or anything when you’re eating a cupcake.
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I have a feeling my daughter is going to be one of those kids. You know, the ones who ask incessant questions like "Why do we have five fingers? or "What are ankle bones for?" or "Why does Daddy have one eyebrow?" And the good mom that I am, I will look it up on Google. Or more likely, just fake it.
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There is no law that says that A has to be for Apple and B has to be for Banana. Especially if you're one of those edumacated households with perhaps a mathematician or a chemical engineer at the dinner table.
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Baby naming is a big deal. With our first child, we made the mistake of telling everyone our name choices. But when our in-laws countered with a list of "appropriate" names, we realized we should have kept our mouths shut.
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When a recent trip left me pondering The Complete Works of Shakespeare versus How to Fix The Kitchen Sink as potential beach reads, I realized I had a problem. The shelves in my home library are overflowing with nonfiction and kids' books, but the fictional reading selections are positively uninspiring.
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After my second weekend-long absence from the girl, I came home to find her speaking several new words. She can now say helicopter, big candy, and, inexplicably to me at first, juno baby.
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I have a confession: I'm a complete and total insect-loving mama. I was raised to appreciate the little buggers with wall-to-wall ant farms in my childhood bedroom and fish tanks full of snails in the backyard.
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I was a fair-skinned child who grew up at a time when the sun was worshipped, not respected. Think baby oil and reflectors. Yikes. I had more than my share of heinous sunburns, and now that I know better, I'm doing my best to spare my children that pain--or worse
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Fall is in the air and I can almost smell the school lunches. Okay, so my toddler isn't going to high school anytime soon, but that doesn't mean I can't dress her like a little varsity superstar.
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