Blue hair. Big deal.

My kids’ dad looked at me last night when I said: “I’m a typical mom,” as though I’d said: “I’m an anteater,” with an indulgent look over the top of his eyeglasses.

“Um,” he started, flailing for tact, “ya think? No.”

Embarrassment? I’m Bulletproof.

Now: I, my own self, am nearly impossible to embarrass, being a rather outspoken, outgoing sort. (Anyone who sings in public doesn’t exactly have a low embarrassment threshold.) But one does have to remember what it’s like to NOT be a grownup.

Crime and Punishment. Not.

Listen, though, kiddo. Next time you’re mad at me, be mad at ME. Don’t take it out on innocent Tuck. That’s a bad road to go down, if you know what I mean. I don’t want to have to go back to the shelter and have to find one of those dogs with a spiked collar that will swallow you in one bite, you know.

Should I worry? MMMM… nah. A little beheading is good for the soul. Right?

If YOUR nine-year-old hated Barbie® with THIS kind of passion, would THAT worry you?
I mean, I remember MY mom disliked the sexist nature of the doll, and restricted my ownership to that most neutral of Barbie®, Malibu Barbie®. She had plain, straight hair, and Mom refused to buy any sparkly clothes for her.
All her clothes [...]