It’s the end of summer and the only thing said around my house more than “I’m hungry” is “I’m bored." The “I’m hungry” doesn’t bother me as much because it’s usually me saying it defensively to my cats while I’m eating chocolate directly out of the refrigerator, but the "I'm bored" is starting to drive me entirely fucking insane.

And if all else fails you can just play with them. After all, those guilt-laden parenting commercials always say that “you’re your child’s favorite toy,” but to be fair that’s probably just because you haven’t bought them an Xbox yet.

An open letter to very young teenagers wanting babies:

No.

Just ... no.

Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you? Have you ever even met a baby? Because most of them are assholes and they’re the only variety of people even more moody and cranky than teenagers.

Look, I know. I know you want a baby because you feel alone and you want someone who will love you and need you. I get that. And that’s why you should go get a puppy. Because puppies are totally glad when you come home to see them. Babies on the other hand aren’t there when you come home from school to see them because they’ve been taken away by child protective services because you can’t just leave babies on the floor while you run to class. This is just one of the many differences between puppies and babies.  

Other differences between puppies and babies:

Puppies will pee on your rug for a few weeks until they’re trained.

Babies will pee on your rug, your clothes, and (on several occasions if you have a boy) your open mouth. FOR YEARS. Puppies almost never pee in your mouth.

Puppies occasionally poop on the carpet.

Babies occasionally pull the poop out of their diapers to create a mural on the wall, which you will then have to clean off. Puppies almost never make you clean human feces off walls.

Puppies come from animal shelters. You have to pay for them with a credit card.

Babies come from your uterus. You have to push them out of your vagina.

Puppies don’t need circumcisions. Also, you don’t have to clean their junk every time they go to the bathroom.

Puppies love you. So do babies. That one’s a tie.

Puppies love you even if you aren't perfect. Babies would kill you with their minds if they could simply because you aren't fast enough at reading their minds. Instead they’ll just scream their heads off. Puppies almost never scream their heads off.

If a puppy can’t sleep you can put it outside. If you do that with a baby you go to jail.

When your puppy finally does sleep you can curl up next to him and he’ll snuggle against you and you can nap. When your baby finally falls asleep you’ll try to take the first shower you've taken in days but then you’ll wake up the baby by thinking too loudly. Nice try, lady. Back to work.

Your puppy needs clean water, food, and a few toys. Your baby needs so much shit that you’ll need to take out a loan for just the basics. Six months after buying it, everything you bought will be recalled for safety issues. 

You don’t have to hire a babysitter, tutor, or nanny for a puppy. Puppies never want summer camp and designer jeans and tongue piercings. Puppies never ask where babies come from, or why they can’t spend the night with their boyfriend since you got pregnant when you were their age. Puppies chew up your new purse. Babies throw up in your new purse. In fact, they do it so much that you don’t even get all that grossed out when you have to clean it up. That’s just how used to vomit you are.

Puppies are best enjoyed at any age. Babies are best enjoyed when you are responsible, out of high school, and economically independent. 

That’s why, teenagers, I say to you now ... get thyself a puppy. And then when your parents get all pissed off that you got a puppy just say, "I’m pregnant." Once you calm them down and they see that you’re really just carrying around a puppy instead of a fetus they’re much more likely to think reasonably and will probably be fine with a puppy. It’s all about perspective really.

Hugs,

Jenny

PS. Condoms are your friends. So are chew toys. Don't confuse the two.

Right now there’s some minor drama on the Internet about a woman’s right to choose to have a child. You might think I’m talking about “choice vs. life” but that would be far too obvious and actually worthy of argument. Instead the kerfuffle is over the fact that some women are loudly choosing to be childfree.

I actually have a pretty strong opinion about this.

Who. The fuck. Cares?

Choosing not to have kids is a lot like choosing not to wear a sweater. You may feel comfortable not wearing a sweater but most likely someone is going to say, “You need a sweater, you poor thing. You’re going to catch a cold.” Then you’ll explain that getting a cold from temperature is an old wives' tale but they’ll still insist you wear a sweater. Now you’ve got a sweater that you never wanted in the first place and you have to carry it around with you at the amusement park and it gets heavier and heavier and eventually you want to just throw it in the trash and when you finally let someone else hold your sweater you feel free and fabulous and like you could run a marathon if people would just stop throwing sweaters at you. And that’s what having a child is like. At least that’s what it feels like when one is thrust on you by society. 

People who have always wanted kids (myself included) sometimes have a hard time understanding why others wouldn’t want a sweater. Especially when it’s your favorite sweater. The one you searched for forever. Comfortable and snuggly and a little too baggy and probably not flattering at all, and all your sweater-free friends keep telling you to leave it at home but you know that later that night there will be a time when you’ll happily bundle yourself up in that sweater and feel like the whole world is right. You’ll look at your sweater-free friend and think, "She must be so cold. I wish she could feel as happy and content as I do right now." You might even be tempted to push a sweater on your friend but here's the deal. She doesn’t want your damn sweater. And that’s fine. Awesome even. There are already plenty of sweaters in the world and the last thing we need is a bunch of sweaters getting left at the bottom of duffel bags by people who never asked for your damn sweater to begin with.

I guess my point is, sweaters make terrible analogies. And that it’s okay people to choose to be parents or to choose to be child-free. In fact, it’s more than okay. It’s the American way.

Stop being so concerned about sweaters, you guys. It’s embarrassing all of us.

This month a tiny bit of my terrible advice will appear in May’s issue of Redbook.  I know. I don’t understand it either. My guess is that the editor is high. But it’s an excellent opportunity to pimp out my book and to make sure that people do understand the important things you can do for your children.

The article is called “The 50 Best Things You Can Do For Your Kids” and although I only needed to come up with one I ended up with 10 myself. Because it’s fairly easy to end up with unsolicited advice when you’re a mother. Or when you’ve been drinking. Or both.

More from The Stir: Lesson 29: Teaching Your Children to Curse (VIDEO)

A year ago I did a post about parenting idioms that needed to updated for 2011. I think it’s about time for the 2012 edition. The first part is the actual idiom/quote. The second part I probably need to apologize for.

Life affords no greater responsibility, no greater privilege, than the raising of the next generation. Which means you just took a lifelong job with no chance of promotion or advancement. Worst. Job. Ever.

The voice of parents is the voice of gods, for to their children they are heaven’s lieutenants. Or maybe you should clean your room when God tells you to.

If you want your children to improve, let them overhear the nice things you say about them to others. Because raising an eavesdropper is always the way to go.

What a child doesn't receive, he can seldom later give. Like affection. Or gonorrhea.

We are apt to forget that children watch examples better than they listen to preaching. Which is why most of them are so shitty at arson.

Live so that when your children think of fairness and integrity, they think of you. Because apparently the best thing you can teach your child is how narcissistic you are.

To be in your children’s memories tomorrow, you have to be in their lives today. Or yesterday. Or really, anytime in the future. This is how memories work.

Kids spell love T-I-M-E. And that’s why you need to have them tested for learning disorders.

It is one thing to show your child the way, and a harder thing to then stand out of it. Which is why I just rely on Google maps.

Affirming words from moms and dads are like light switches. Speak a word of affirmation at the right moment in a child’s life and it’s like lighting up a whole roomful of possibilities. Or you could just switch on the lights. Most kids enjoy electricity.

The best inheritance a parent can give his children is a few minutes of his time each day. Because who the hell needs a college fund?

Parents need to fill a child’s bucket of self-esteem so high that the rest of the world can’t poke enough holes to drain it dry. Because that’s the best thing you can bequeath to your child. A big, holey bucket.

Let parents bequeath to their children not riches, but the spirit of reverence. Or maybe life insurance. Life insurance can be very handy for bequeathment. Also, why are so many of these about death? It’s sort of morbid.

If I had my child to raise all over again, I’d build self-esteem first, and the house later. Because homeless children feel great about themselves, since they have to learn to fight off the rats at a really young age. 

A happy family is but an earlier heaven. Which means that having children equates to an early death. Not exactly a wringing endorsement.

Lucky parents who have fine children usually have lucky children who have fine parents. Unlucky parents usually have children who are half hamsters and spit acid.

A baby is born with a need to be loved -- and never outgrows it. Unlike their shoes, which they seem to outgrow every two hours. If we could make shoes out of the same stuff that “a need to be loved” is made out of, we’d be millionaires.

Few things are more satisfying than seeing your children have teenagers of their own. Conversely, few things are less satisfying than seeing your teenagers have children. That’s why you should give them condoms.

I don't think children's inner feelings have changed. They still want a mother and father in the very same house; they want places to play. They also want ponies that poop cupcakes and eat homework. So maybe children shouldn't be trusted so terribly much.

A mother who is really a mother is never free. Much like a prisoner serving a life sentence. Or really expensive chocolate. I prefer the chocolate analogy.

I know. I don’t want to talk about it any more than you want to read about it but this shit is going to happen so buckle up, buttercup.

If you have a child, chances are that one day very soon you will have to sit them down and have "THE SEX TALK." Most likely you’ll put it off because they are still far too young to even know what sex is, and occasionally you’re right. I’m 38 and I’m pretty sure my father thinks I’m almost ready for the talk.

Most of us put it off until it’s too late and then your kid rolls her eyes says, “OHMYGOD, I already know all about this. I probably know more than you do.” And then you feel very relieved and then immediately horrified. This is why you have to hit them with the sex talk when they’re young enough to still be interested and unembarrassed but old enough to not tell all the other kindergartners what a labia is. It’s a fine line and each child is unique and probably already knows way more than you suspect. Plus, she learned it from dumb-ass kids who learned it from the Internet and bad rumors. 

Not only that, but nowadays porn isn't as hard to get as when we were kids. Now every 12-year-old boy thinks sex is supposed to look like an impossible porn shoot and every 12-year-old girl thinks they’re supposed to be married to glittery vampires. This is a recipe for disappointment and destruction on all sides. 

The first key to having the sex talk is to give yourself a refresher. Go onto Urban Dictionary and freak the shit out of yourself but looking up “Rusty Trombone” and “Canadian Backhoe.” Then move on to “Dirty Sanchez” and “Donkey Punches.” Then, never have sex again. But you NEED to know these things because your kid is going to ask you what they are and you don’t want them thinking this is all perfectly normal stuff that you do all the time. Except that (now that I think about it) maybe you do want that because that will probably keep them from ever doing it. If you tell your kid how every Thursday night her dad gives you a "Cleveland Steamer," chances are she’ll associate every scatological sex act with old people and you've just saved her from a life of being shit on. Literally.

It’s also important that you know the slang because your child will ask you what certain terms are. The other day I was with two highly-educated friends and one asked if we’d ever heard of a salad bowl. I had. It’s what you put salad in. Then she explained that it was a sex act her daughter had asked her about and that’s when I said, “Oh, do you mean ‘tossing someone’s salad'?" and then I had to explain it. I’m not going to explain it here because I just ate, but it’s disgusting and will probably give you cholera. She’d also never heard of tea-bagging, donkey punching, or The Human Centipede. It was disconcerting. For both of us. And that’s why you need to do your research now. Learn what two-girls-one-cup is (BUT NEVER WATCH IT). Be aware of sexting and tell your kids the dangers of their naked pictures circulating around the school for the rest of their lives.

Above all, tell them the truth. The mother of one of my junior high girlfriends told us that you could get pregnant by letting a boy whisper in your ear. She backed this up with the Bible, pointing out that that’s how Mary got pregnant with Jesus. I countered that if Mary got pregnant by God whispering in her ear, then it's no wonder people say the voice of God will make you lose your mind. God clears his throat and the whole state'll get pregnant. Soon after that my friend wasn't allowed to speak to me anymore, and then the next year she had a baby. Probably because she was only worried about protecting her ear holes and was a little too loose with her other orifices. I’m not really sure. We weren't close by then.

What I am sure about though is it that it's important to talk to you kids and to keep an open line of communication with them. Keep your ear to the streets. Let them ask you questions, and be ready for the hard stuff. That’s what I’m doing with my daughter. 

Just as soon as she turns 39.

It’s important to always be an authentic version of you. Unless you’re an asshole.  Then you can be someone else. Although, now that I think about it, there’s only one you so if you’re pretending to be someone else that's an authentic version of you as well. An authentic version of you pretending to be someone else. And now my head hurts. 

 Let’s start again...

Authenticity is important because if you aren't true to yourself then you can’t be true to others. Plus, it’s more fun to be you. Unless you meet a girl who looks just like you and she’s a princess who’s tired of being rich and wants to switch places with you even though you’re a homeless vagrant who gets beaten every night.  Then I say go for switching places with the princess. Or better yet, kill the princess so you can take her place. Anyone stupid enough to want to trade places with a battered vagrant sort of deserves a violent end. That’s just my opinion. I’d apologize for that but I’m being authentic and being authentic means never having to say you’re sorry. Or always having to say you’re sorry. I suppose it depends on who the authentic you really is. If you’re an authentic douche-nugget you’ll probably have to apologize a lot. Sorry. That’s just life. Unless you’re now pretending to be a princess. Then it’s someone else’s life. Plus, princesses never have to apologize. I think that’s in the princess rule book.

Oh hell, let’s start again, again, okay?

Webster’s defines authenticity as “factual sincerity in devotion and intentions." This all sounds lovely until you consider that Jack the Ripper was very authentic in his sincerity and devotion to being a sadistic murderer. So maybe authentic is something to be avoided. Or perhaps authenticity is only good if positive shit comes out of it. If every other thing you say leads to a fight or hurt feelings or dead hookers  and you claim “I’m just keeping it real” then you are an authentic dick-wagon. It’s somewhat admirable that you’re true to yourself, but mostly it’s just sort of fucked up and everyone eventually avoids you. And this is why I’ve decided to change this essay as of right now. 

One more time…

The art of being good is important. So important, in fact, that not being good might get you stabbed, and if there’s one thing to avoid it’s getting stabbed. That shit hurts like hell. It’s like stubbing your toe times 1,000. Think of kindness as your Kevlar, and karma as your shield. And patience is your battle helmet. And your pants are made of flame retardant love. Your toes are still going to get stubbed though because even good people stub their toes. It’s the common problem of the masses. It doesn't matter how good you are…stubbed toes stop for no man.

So I guess that’s the real lesson here. Be good. Be kind. Watch out for coffee tables if you’re barefoot. 

Wow. I should not write these when I’m drunk.

Sorry. They’re not all going to be winners.

But they will all be authentic.

Normally this column is all about my terrible advice to you on child-rearing. Most people enjoy it or just avoid it but some of you seem intent on calling me out as being a terrible parent in spite of the fact that this column is called "Ill-Advised" for a reason. In fact, I recently got an email implying that I didn't even have a child. Which is ridiculous. I have a 7-year-old named Hailey that I stole so I could write this column in good faith. BECAUSE ETHICS ARE IMPORTANT TO ME.

Also, I stole her from heroin addicts so stop judging me. It took six months just to get her off the horse and she still complains that she has bugs under her skin.  

In short, I am like some kind of a goddamn saint. But in case you still think I'm lying, I have decided to share an hour in the life of my daughter with you.

YOU ARE WELCOME AMERICA. And Canada. And ... whoever else is here.

Let's begin:

Hailey is an only child, so she has a lot of playdates with cats. Especially Ferris Mewler because he's the smallest and least likely to rip her face off when she dresses him up for tea parties.

Today was a special tea party, celebrating the birth (and consequent death two hours later) of a new batch of sea monkeys and Ferris was dressed to the nines.

Hailey poured, and Ferris plotted his escape.

Then Ferris decided to pour. Unintentionally. Probably.

For a cat blessed with opposable thumbs you'd think he'd be better at this.

Hailey didn't seem to mind though. At least Ferris was acting more appropriate than the stuffed lemur who was already drunk.

But in the end, a good time was had by all.

Even Ferris:

Manners are incredibly important in today’s society because people who don’t write thank-you notes get smallpox and die. Or at least, that’s what my great aunt told me. Fortunately I seem to be immune to smallpox. One would think my great aunt would be relieved, but instead she just seems to grow more bitter as I tempted fate each year by refusing to write cards.

I understood the concept but the logic seemed fuzzy. I’d already told the person “thank you” in person, and I’d never had anyone stop me mid-thank-you to scream, “PUT IT IN WRITING.”  

Now that I’m older, when I get a handwritten thank-you card, I always keep it and feel very guilty for not responding with a handwritten “You’re welcome” card. And even if I did manage to write one, the person would feel obligated to send a “No, really. You shouldn’t have” card and then I’d be forced to send a “Don’t mention it" card. Seriously. "Don’t mention it again OR I WILL STAB YOU” card and then eventually everyone hates each other and we’ve killed an entire tree doing it. That’s why I just prefer to be lazy and rude, but in a way that only pisses off people who are real assholes about stuff no one else cares about. 

This makes me the perfect person to teach your children manners. Because I only give a shit about important stuff. And that’s an excellent lesson to learn. In fact, that’s the first lesson: Give a shit about important stuff. This includes remembering birthdays, or at least finding someone who remembers birthdays to remind you of birthdays. Or you could do what I do and just send out presents to everyone at the beginning of the year and tell everyone that you’re doing birthdays early in case you get eaten by a cougar. That shows caring, foresight, and a kind of flexibility people enjoy. Plus, it’s helpful if you do actually get eaten by a cougar.

Lesson 2: It’s rude to eat sushi with your fingers but it’s far worse to point that out to someone eating sushi with their fingers because I can actually use these chopsticks, thankyouverymuch. I can use them to gouge out your eyes. 

Lesson 3: Always apologize for gouging out people’s eyes. = It’s something we threaten ... not something we do. Mostly. Depends on the circumstances really.

Lesson 4: Remember where you came from. Some people believe this refers to the importance of being humble and grounded, but I think it’s really more about not getting so drunk you can’t remember your home address because eventually the cabbie will just wait until you pass out and toss you out onto someone’s lawn. That’s rude and should be avoided. By you and the cabbie.

Lesson 5: Don’t eat with your mouth open unless you need to tell someone their hair is on fire. Never wait to tell someone his or her hair is on fire. That’s the real lesson here. 

Lesson 7: Do unto others as you would have done to you. These are manners from the Bible. Many of the manners you learn from the Bible are suspect at best but this one holds up. If you want to have a friend, be a friend. If you want a backrub, give a backrub. If you want another pony, share your pony. You’re not going to finish that whole pony yourself. That pony could feed a whole town. 

Lesson 8: Don’t eat your pony. That’s just bad pony-owning.

Lesson 9 - 10: ... unless the pony was already dead and was a gift from your great aunt who is from a country where they eat pony. Then you have to take one bite. And write a thank-you note. And go to therapy. For a long, long time.

If there's one thing worse than a child who curses, it's a child who curses poorly. That's why this week I decided to focus on teaching your children how to curse properly ... specifically using the F-word.

I decided to write a poem to teach kids. It's called "Everyone Says 'Fuck-Off'" and it's a lot like "Everybody Poops" but with less poop and more cursing.

Plus, it's on video so I don't have to type.

EVERYONE WINS.

Or, I should say, everybody fucking wins.

And now, a reading of Everyone Says "Fuck-Off":

See this video on The Stir by CafeMom.

A few years ago I went to visit my sister around Christmas and her kids told me that they had to be very good because "the elf on the shelf is watching us." It sounded like the beginning of a bad Stephen King novel, but turns out it was just a tiny stuffed elf that parents hide around the house so that the elf can report back to Santa. Because nothing says “Merry Christmas” like intentionally bringing in a spy to hide in your house, eavesdrop on your family, and then report all questionable activity back to the authorities. 

I told my sister that I thought the whole thing smacked of McCarthyism and she pointed out that it was more accurately a manifestation of Freud’s Super-ego in elf form.

I countered that most of Freud’s theories have been disproved. She argued that it was a stuffed elf that made her children brush their teeth more often. I carefully considered that and then asked where I could buy one.

I didn’t buy one though. Mostly because I couldn’t find one. And also because I don’t really want a tiny elf judging me whenever I make a booze slushie at midnight or purposely avoid flossing. I face enough judgment in this world without paying for some soulless-eyed elf to question me when I have to make my kid sandwiches made out of waffles because I forgot to buy bread. I get that enough from my husband, thankyouverymuch.   

Plus, the cats love to disembowel Hailey’s stuffed toys so I’m fairly sure that having my kid wake up to a mutilated elf spy who is expected back at Santa’s Workshop would be traumatic at best.

Frankly, if I’m going to stoop to using stuffed animals to force my kid to be good, I’d just skip the elf and buy a teddy bear nanny cam. And then I’d sit down at Christmas to run a holiday reel of all the injustices done in this house. Except that most of the injustices would just be videos of the cats purposely knocking things into the toilet and me screaming at them about how they don’t deserve plumbing. So really it would just be a highlight reel of why the cats and I don’t get along.

And that’s why I’m against bringing in stuffed-animal-espionage during the holidays.   

PS.  This post was originally about the true meaning of Christmas, but then I got distracted with McCarthyism and cats. I’m not entirely sure how that happened. 

I blame communism.   

The other day a friend asked me what the best pet is to have around small children and my answer is “None” because small children are very dangerous. My friend thought I was joking and so I made up a list of why pets suck when you have little kids.

Terrible pets for children:

1. Dogs: They will lick up everything that falls on the floor. Including vomit. I’m not sure if this is more of a pro or a con. Either way, dogs are gross.

2. Cats: Cats are awesome and teach children that they have to be gentle with animals. As a bonus, your child will look like a small pirate in his new eye patch after the cat teaches your child to be gentle.

3. Hamsters: Hamsters make great pets because they are very inexpensive to replace when your child goes on an unintentional murderous rampage. Also, your child will learn that “GENTLY” is code for “That furry thing is about to explode.” I suggest having them practice first with water balloons filled with blood.

4. Snakes: I had pet snakes when I was young and they’re surprisingly sweet when they’re not biting your friends in the face. That sentence? Not an exaggeration. Have you ever had to pull your snake's fangs out of your (former) friend’s face? I don’t recommend it. Also, snakes carry salmonella so if your baby puts your snake in its mouth, it’ll probably get sick. I’m not entirely sure how snakes carry salmonella since they don’t have hands or pockets, but somehow they manage. They’re like the Typhoid Mary of the reptile world.

5. Frogs: Frogs are hardy and they come in a tiny cube and seem very easy to care for. Then you look on the Internet and find people telling you how cruel it is to have frogs in such tiny enclosures. The frogs live. But it’s not a good life.

6. Goldfish: The only difference between having a goldfish in a goldfish bowl and watching one on the computer is that the goldfish on your computer isn’t dead.

7. Rabbits: We had rabbits when I was little. One time we got one out of the cage and his ear fell off. We were never certain if it was attacked or if it just dropped off an ear like lizards do with their tails when they get scared. My sister and I waited to see if it would regenerate a new ear but turns out rabbits can’t regenerate. They can, however, totally die of missing-ear-infections.

8. Rocks: Rocks are not pets. But they are hardy. And choking hazards.

9. Hedgehogs: Hedgehogs are so cute I can’t stand it and when I see them take baths I CANNOT CONTAIN MYSELF AND START SHOUTING. Which is unsettling for the hedgehog and everyone else concerned. Hedgehogs are adorable but they are nocturnal and your child will keep waking them up in the daytime and eventually they will die of sleep deprivation or just get really, really bitchy. Plus, they’re made of spikes.

10. Flame-throwers: Stop it. You’re not even trying anymore.

11. Sea-Monkeys: Terrifically overrated. You expect to get this family of near-mermaids wearing hats and hair ribbons and instead you get something that looks a lot like underwater genital lice. Your child loses interest in a day and now you’re forced to care for these things until the cat knocks over the plastic tank and gets genital lice. No one wins.

12. Imaginary mice: True story: When I was little I pretended there was an imaginary family of mice that lived in my walls. They wore tiny outfits and helped me pick out my clothes for school. They were awesome and I would leave crumbs out to feed them and that’s how we ended up with real mice, who were much less interested in picking out my clothes and much more interested in eating my clothes and making nests out of them. Those mice were assholes.

I guess my point here is that there really isn’t a good pet for small children. Also, there aren't a lot of small children that are good for pets. But why let that stop you? Technically small children will destroy your house and a great portion of your social life but they’re still worth the hassle. Same thing goes with pets. So I think I just disproved my whole essay here.

Fuck it. Have a kid. Adopt a pet. Let the chips fall were they may. Life was meant to be enjoyed. Go get your genital lice and enjoy the hell out of them. 

Yesterday I read about a provocative ad made by the Milwaukee Health Department, which warns parents about the dangers of sleeping with babies. I didn’t actually read the article myself, but I saw the ad, and so I can understand some why people would be so upset about these ads.

First of all, Milwaukee, babies aren't as dangerous as cleavers. I’m not even sure why I’m having to clarify this. I’ve almost never cut myself on a sleeping baby. No one murders co-eds with sleeping babies. Sleeping babies aren't even sharp. This is just ridiculous and it’s ludicrous to imply otherwise. If I was a baby, I would probably sue.

Then I did a little more research.  

Perhaps, I thought to myself, the ad refers to the fact that babies armed with cleavers can be just as dangerous as babies not armed with cleavers. A fair assumption ... but since babies don’t have the muscle stamina to wield cleavers effectively, why even bother to advertise that? Wouldn't the general public already know that babies don't have the motor skills to use cleavers? At best they might be able to pick up a shiv, but even then they’re unlikely to hurt anyone but themselves. 

Baffled. I was baffled.

I decided to write an angry letter to the Milwaukee organization making these ads, but then I realized that what they might actually be saying is that making your baby sleep with cleavers is dangerous to your baby. Which is hard to argue with. As much as I like to play Devil’s Advocate, it's hard to argue that babies sleeping in beds filled with cleavers are safer than those not sleeping in beds filled with cleavers. At most I could only argue that it might be a waste of ad space, since that sort of thing is covered in the most basic of parenting manuals. 

I was just about to give up on the whole thing when I accidentally read the fine-print and realized that the ad was actually about the dangers of co-sleeping. And then I sort of stopped reading because I don’t care as much about the co-sleeping debate (at least compared to how much I care about the importance of not letting babies sleep with cleavers). Personally, I wasn't a big fan of sleeping in the same bed with my baby because (true story) babies shit the bed. Your bed. A lot.  

Deciding whether to co-sleep is a personal decision that each of us makes ourselves after learning about all the dangers and the benefits. The dangers were too great for me because I'm a heavy sleeper and was worried I'd roll over on her. Plus, I get night terrors and I sleep-kick. The last thing I want to do is to have to take my baby to the doctor after I kicked her while having a particularly realistic zombie dream. And also, I didn't trust myself not to roll over on her without building some sort of fort around her to protect her from me. But it couldn't be a fort made of pillows because of the suffocation risks (and honestly pillows don't stop me at all when I'm kick-boxing a zombie) so I’d have to make her bed fort out of something that would really protect her from me, like barbed-wire and ... um ... cleavers. Ah. 

Touché, Milwaukee. Touché, indeed.

If you’re anything like me, you spend most of your day suspecting that you’re pregnant. I blame too many years of watching unsuspecting women on Oprah tell of having a stomachache that ended minutes later with an unexpected baby laying on the grocery store floor. That’s why I’ve devised these simple guidelines to help you figure out if you’re pregnant or just paranoid.

Let’s get started:

You think you might be pregnant because you're craving ...

... ice cream at midnight. (You’re a human.)

... ice cream at 2 a.m. (You’re an insomniac.)

... ice cream at 2 a.m., 4 a.m., 6 a.m. (You might have OCD.)

... human flesh (You’re a zombie.)

... 18 deviled eggs and some chalk. And when someone tried to take your chalk away, you stabbed them. (You might be pregnant. Or insane.)

You think you might be pregnant because you started crying hysterically ...

... when you fell off the roof and shattered your femur. (You’re a human.)

... when you were attacked by a horde of attic rats. (You need an exterminator.)

... when Snape died. (You’re me. Also, you just ruined Harry Potter for at least eight people.)

... at the grocery store, because they ran out of that Kleenex you like and then it reminded you of that commercial you saw 10 years ago about calling your mom. (You might be pregnant.)

You think you might be pregnant because ...

... you have a twinge at your side after eating three chalupas. (You have gas.)

... you gained five pounds for no reason at all. (You’re normal.)

... you have a sharp, stabbing pain in your chest and now you're turning into dust. (You’re a vampire.)

... you have a rash on your testicles. (You’re not pregnant. Also, you should get that checked out.)

... you have a tiny human coming out of your vagina. (You were totally pregnant. Or you were starring in a bizarre dwarf porno. Probably the first one.)

You think you might be pregnant because ...

... your best friend told you that "you look 200 months pregnant in those jeans." (You need new friends.)

... you injected your urine into a rabbit and now it looks sick. (You need therapy. And a new rabbit.)

... you need to go to the store to pick up some milk. (I ... don't understand the reference.)

... your doctor just told you you're pregnant. (You’re pregnant.)

This week is Banned Book Week so I thought to myself, What better week to write about dinosaurs? Then I remembered that I don’t get paid to write about dinosaurs and so I turned my attention back to banned books.

As parents, it is our duty to protect our children from questionable, controversial, and uncomfortable ideas at all costs. Book burning seems strangely out-of-fashion lately (probably because of all the wildfires) but there’s something to be said for shoving your children’s hands into a bonfire of books and then telling them that their pain was caused by J.D. Salinger, who should probably have just focused on drawing pictures of happy kittens. 

The cautionary tales are everywhere. We all know children who turned to the dark arts after reading Harry Potter, or who became a communist immediately after reading The Wizard of Oz. And I think we can all agree that the parent who had Fahrenheit 451 banned (because it contained a curse word) is a goddamn saint. I mean, what kind of balls does it take to insist on banning a book that teaches the inherent dangers of book-banning? Answer: Non-existent ones. 

*sigh*

I’m sorry. I was trying to keep up the pro-book-burning argument for this whole article, but I sort of want to stab myself now. Book-banning is ridiculous, if for no other reason than it makes people want to read the banned book even more. The exchange of ideas (even unpopular or inconvenient ones) is important in making us who we are, and helping us to promote independent thought. Also, books about witches and talking animals are awesome.

Truthfully, I’m a fan of all books and I encourage my child to be as well. Do I worry how she’ll be affected by the ultra-violence of A Clockwork Orange, or the raw sexuality of Brave New World? Nope. Because she’s 7 and she can’t reach that high on my bookshelf. And because, as her parent, it’s my job to prepare her for life and to let her know that there are millions of ideas out there to look at objectively ... and some will make your stomach hurt, and some will make your heart soar, and some will make you furiously angry about things you never imagined existed. And some books ... the very best ones ... will set you free. 

It’s my job to prepare my daughter to be excited about finding the voices and authors who speak to her, and who will help her find her path in life -- even if it’s not a path I’d ever take myself -- and she can’t do that in a world where ideas and books are banned or censored. And that’s why I’m vehement against banning books. Unless it’s a book about the importance of banning all books. Then I just get a headache.

So in honor of banned book week, I'd like you to tell me about a book that changed the way you saw life ... whether it was banned or not. Because I need to put together a reading list for Hailey and there’s no better time to prepare than the present.

PS. I apologize for being much less sarcastic and ridiculous than usual. I think I might be sick. Last night I read part of a scandalous book (which was banned last year in a California school) and I think it gave me cancer. You might have heard of it. It’s called The Dictionary.

To circumcise, or not to circumcise? It’s one of the most debated and controversial questions a parent will ever be confronted with, and regardless of what you decide, you’ll probably be judged harshly. It sucks, but it’s good practice for the rest of your life as a parent, because strangers will forever be giving you shit for things that are none of their damn business, and this is a good practice for ignoring them. 

Still, you’ll always remember this moment, because it’s one of the first decisions you’ll ever make about trimming your child’s sexual organs. Luckily, it’s probably also the last.

Some people will say that I’m not qualified to talk about circumcision since I don’t have a son, but I would point out that I’m not qualified to talk about any of the topics I’ve given advice about in the last year, and that hasn’t stopped me yet. In truth, though, I was very relieved that I had a girl and didn't have to make a decision about circumcision. Frankly, I don't have enough creative vision to make solid design choices about a living room, much less a penis.

Some people will say that they want their son’s penis circumcised (or uncircumcised) because otherwise "they’ll look weird" depending on whatever the parents are used to themselves. Newsflash: They all look weird. Because they're penises. And there's no amount of trimming, bedazzling, and tea-cozying that will change that.

Here’s the thing about circumcision: Uncircumcised penises look like they’re wearing little hoodies. If you gave them moustaches, they’d all look like tiny hipsters. Circumcised penises are naked and can’t pull off moustaches, but look fine with beards. It’s like skins vs. shirts, but with penises. 

Some people worry that their friends will judge their decision when they see them changing their kid’s diaper, and to that I'd say, "You probably shouldn't be friends with people who are checking out your baby’s penis." And also, it doesn't even matter because baby's ballsacks are so damn freaky that no one even looks at the penis. Why the hell are they so huge? What are they hiding in there? Those things are disconcerting.  

I have some Jewish friends who consider themselves lucky, because a bris (and complimentary circumcision) is considered traditional, so they don't really have to make the decision. They just call over their friends and have a party while some religious dude performs genital surgery on their dining room table. My Christian friends often gawk at the strangeness of this, but I think that 1) if you're going to have to make the decision to cut off a piece of your baby's penis, you should probably be drunk and have a lot of friends around to distract you, and that 2) maybe you shouldn't be so judgy if you come from a religion that believes that your priest just turned perfectly good wine into blood so you can drink it every week. All religions sound kind of fucked up from the outside, and genital mutilation parties seem like small potatoes compared to forced vampirism.

Remember when everyone and their sister started getting Brazilian waxes, and for a while almost no one had '70s bush? I bet the people from Brazil were all "What? Americans are just now hearing about this? My God, they're so behind." Point being? Find out what they're doing to penises in Brazil, because those people set a standard regarding painful genital fads. Or you could simply realize that you probably shouldn't really care about what women are doing to their pubic hair in Brazil, or what anyone else is doing to their baby's genitals. You don't have to give your kid a circumcision any more than I ever have to pay someone to wax my butthole. Just because everyone else is doing it doesn't mean you have to do it, too. Do it, or don't do it. It’s up to you. 

(But if you do decide to do it, I suggest saving his foreskin in a jar so that you can give it back to him if he hassles you about it later. Then you have all your bases covered. Plus, it’s like keeping his first lock of hair in his baby book. Except it’s foreskin in a mason jar. It’s almost exactly the same thing. Except way grosser. I’m going to stop writing now.)

I recently read that many girls start dieting when they are 8 years old. This pissed me off for two reasons ... one, because 8-year-olds should not be thinking about their figures, and two, that skinny 8-year-olds are probably judging me at the pool. Both of these are unsettling, and as parents, we need to put a stop to it. I get judged enough from grown-ups, thankyouverymuch.

When I was 12, every girl in my class wanted to have boobs big enough that they could hold a pencil under them. I suggested just storing your pencil behind your ear, because otherwise it would be very awkward to get to it during math, but then they explained that it was just a way to measure if your boobs were big enough. Big enough for who? I have no idea, and I’m pretty sure none of the other girls did either. Nonetheless, we all became obsessed with the pencil measurement. A few decades later and I can now carry a hammer and two small birds under a single breast. And guess what? No one cares. Except for me, that is, because I now have to carry around these enormous knockers. Do you have any idea how nice it would be to just take these boobs off for a night or two? Big boobs are like giant purses you can never put down. No one tells you this when you’re 12.

But here’s something I will tell you ... there is a pattern to body acceptance that comes with age. It’s over-generalized and I just made it up, but that doesn’t make it less true. Here it is:

But here’s the deal ... whether you’re a girl or a boy, you’re probably going to be overly-sensitive about your appearance at some point. You will obsess over whatever it is that you think is so obvious to everyone else, except that mostly no one else will never notice because they’re too busy obsessing about whatever flaw they think they have.

Sometimes people will make fun of you. This is not because you deserve to be made fun of. It’s because some people are assholes. When I was in junior high, kids called me “Fievel Mousekewitz” because I had this wonky ear that stuck out, but now I love my wonky ear. It makes me special. Plus, if I’m ever mauled by bears, it will help my family identify my body.

Bottom line? If you could see how beautiful you truly are, you would be amazed. Wear yourself -- flaws and all -- with pride, because you are stunning. And if anyone says any different, it's probably just because they’re ugly.

Hi. If you are very religious and/or easily offended, you should skip this post. Unless you get off on being offended and righteously indignant about ridiculous things. Then, you should totally stick around. Welcome. You totally owe me.

Today we’re going to talk about kids and religion. Personally, I’m not that into organized religion, but I do believe in letting your children find spirituality themselves. That’s why in our house we talk about Christianity, Judaism, Buddhism, and the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster objectively, so that our 6-year-old can one day make a decision for herself.  

Victor and I aren’t church-goers but we wanted Hailey to experience it for herself, so she goes to a fairly open-minded church with her grandparents. A few weeks ago she entered the Sunday School contest for “Make-your-own-Armor-of-God” with a sword she made from cardboard and tinfoil. She won.

When I asked why she wasn't more excited about it, she said, "I won a bookmark with a dead guy on it." True story. I assume the dead guy was Jesus, but when I asked her if she knew who Jesus was, she told me, "He was God’s neighbor, or little brother or something" and that "he was always getting in trouble and learning lessons." I’m fairly sure she’s confusing Jesus with Dennis the Menace. Which is fine, because she’s 6 and she has time to learn. I do, however, feel that it’s important to pass on your knowledge to your children, and this is why I’ve created a short lesson for kids about everything I know about religion. 

Okay, kids ... first up is your christening/baptism/bris. Girls, you’re going to put on the prettiest dress you’ll own and then some stranger will throw a drink on you. This is good practice for the prom. If you’re a boy, you’ll get the same pretty dress, but someone may cut part of your penis off. This is your first taste of the inequality of the sexes ... your sister gets a pretty dress and you get part of your genitals cut off in public. Don’t worry. This all evens out when you’re older.

You will learn many biblical quotations in your life, but you’ll typically only hear them when they’re being used (inaccurately) against you, or when you’re watching The Exorcist. It’s a good idea though to know what these phrases mean, so I’ve made a few translations for you, based on my personal experience.

“Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.” = “None of us are immune to being douche-bags occasionally.”

“For I am with you, and no one is going to attack and harm you, because I have many people in this city.” = “Chillax, y’all. I know a guy.”

“Jesus answered, ‘I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.’” = “I am God’s bouncer. If you want in, you better represent.”

“For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.” = “If you sin, you’re going to die. If you don’t, you’ll become a vampire. Or something.”

“Your body is a temple.” = “You’re like a big tent. Stop filling your tent with meth and bullshit. Have an Eskimo pie.”

“Give, and it shall be given to you. For whatever measure you deal out to others, it will be dealt to you in return.” = “Karma’s a bitch. Stop being such an asshole.”

“It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.” = “No one cares about your stupid Rolex. But in heaven, tiny camels are the new purse dogs.”

“A fool shows his annoyance at once, but a prudent man overlooks an insult.” = “Don’t feed the trolls.”

“Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.” = “Be nice. It makes you look skinnier.”

“If anyone curses his father or mother, he must be put to death.” = “God’s swear jar is insanely severe.”

“Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep's clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves.” = “Werewolves are hot, but God is probably Team Edward.”

“Judge not, that ye be not judged.” = “You’re technically not allowed to say nasty things about this post. Sorry about that.”

“There she lusted after her lovers, whose genitals were like those of donkeys and whose emission was like that of horses.”  = Um ... wait. Is that really in the Bible? It is? Crap. I’m out. 

Good luck, kids.

This week CNN ran a story called "9 Things You Shouldn’t Say to Your Child." Personally, I was surprised that they could only think of nine, but I assumed that I could guess them all without even reading their post. So I wrote down my list of things that I thought you should never say to your kid and turns out their list of prohibited things included stuff like “Don’t be sad” and “Great job!”

My list included things like, “Of course you can go play with those bears” and “But how will you know you don’t like meth unless you try it?”  

I suppose CNN and I will just have to agree to disagree on this one. But while we’re on the subject, I’d like to share with you my list of things you probably shouldn’t say to your child. (Feel free to add your own in the comments.)

What makes your list?

Being a responsible parent means being prepared for all sorts of natural disasters, but what about the unnatural ones? Sure, you might know how to survive on melted ice-cream during a two-hour brown-out, but have you considered the importance of keeping your flame-throwers well-oiled in case of chupacabra attacks? Have you begun stockpiling water-proof tasers for the impending giant squid invasion? Have you decided how you will welcome our new alien overlords? 

Of course you have. Because that’s what responsible parents do. But what you might not have done is consider who in your family is most likely to survive in the event of an unnatural disaster. Which is fine, because I’ve done that for you. Because that's my job.

Zombie apocalypse: Babies are most likely to survive the zombie apocalypse simply because of their similarity to zombies. They speak in grunts and moans, and shuffle around mindlessly. Plus, they try to bite everyone, which will only exacerbate the issue later when their baby teeth come in and you realize your baby actually has been turned into a zombie. Conclusion: Zombie babies will probably take over the world. 

Nuclear wolves: Again, babies are the clear winners here, as wolves are known for adopting and raising human children. Also, radioactive wolves make great nightlights. On the downside, wolves almost never let you watch The Wiggles. Conclusion: Those babies will survive, but they’re going to be pissed.

Melting ice caps flood the world: Once again ... babies. From what random hippies have told me, some women give birth to their babies in swimming pools. This seems dangerous, unsanitary, and sort of inconsiderate to the other people trying to enjoy the pool, but apparently babies can naturally swim immediately after being born. Which is kind of confusing because I used to be a baby and I can’t swim at all. Conclusion: I have a terrible memory. Babies might have gills. Those hippies might be lying to me. 

Hostile vampire takeover: Again, babies are fairly safe, although it depends on the type of vampire. The glittery ones love babies. The True Blood ones wouldn’t bother with them because babies aren’t sexy. The old-fashioned vampires would most likely skip over the babies, simply because we adults have way more blood in us. Unless it’s a vampire on a diet. Then all bets are off. Babies are probably like Lean Cuisines to anorexic vampires. Conclusion: I’m probably going to hell for this post. Also, Lean Cuisine should totally hire me to write their ad copy.

Sasquatch invasion: Don’t be ridiculous. Sasquatches are gentle giants and would never invade anything. They’re sasquatches. They don’t have an active military or a sense of land ownership. I’m not even sure why I’m having to explain this. Conclusion: Stop vilifying sasquatches, you assholes.

In summary, most of us assume that babies are the weakest and most vulnerable members of our families, but in an unnatural disaster, it’s anyone’s game. Babies are tough, easily adaptable, and may have gills. They might also be zombies. Regardless, it’s pretty obvious that babies will outlast us all. Except for me, because I’ll have a large working flame-thrower and pants made of tasers. And I’ll be wearing a vest made of babies.*

*Live babies, y’all. Because you guys are all probably dead from lack of flame-throwers so now I have to take care of your babies. I bet you feel bad for judging me now. It's fine. I forgive you.

You’re welcome. 

I was going to focus on dads this week, in honor of Father's Day, but when I started my list of “Ways to tell dads apart from moms,” I couldn’t really think of anything past “Usually dads have bigger penises,” so instead I decided to just create something all parents can equally hate ... a quiz showing you just how little you actually know about your kids, which is important because it’s entirely possible that your children are actually burglars, or large raccoons. Let’s just check, shall we?

Add or subtract points every time you can agree with the statements below:

Scoring:

Add up all of your points. Now throw them away. Because this quiz isn’t scientifically accurate. Instead go ask your child what’s on their mind right now. And listen. And help. It just might be that you have the answer to your child’s most important questions. Like “Am I worthwhile?” and “Why is high school so shitty?” and “Why did you name me ‘Gravy’?”   

Frankly, we’re all asking ourselves that.

Recent studies have shown that women who have a maid or nanny live an average of 11 years longer than those who don’t. Typically, these same women have lower stress levels and are significantly less likely to poison their partners (who have been shown to lose their hair at a slower rate, and who also have a much more exciting sex life).

This study comes on the heels of another recent poll that showed that women are not your damn slaves and that maybe you could pick up your own damn socks yourself for once. My husband says I should point out that I made up these studies myself, but that doesn’t make them any less accurate. He says, “Yes, actually, it does.” 

It’s like he’s asking to be stabbed.

Honestly though, if you’re struggling in your marriage, one of the best things you can do is to hire some domestic help. They help around the house and they make great witnesses. Your husband isn’t going to tell you that you look fat in front of the nanny, and your wife isn’t going to intentionally set fire to your shirts in the oven in front of her either. So you both win. But if you’re anything like me, you can’t actually afford domestic help, so instead you should just make a secret pact with a neighbor who has the exact same problem, and then pretend to be each other’s maids. That way it’s free and you still feel like you’re rich. 

Besides, it’s basically the same as cleaning your own house, except that you just unexpectedly show up to do each other’s laundry. Which is actually more fun than doing your own laundry anyway, because if you’re the same size, you can totally swap clothes. So you’re getting a maid and new clothes. Plus, your husband will overhear it whenever your “maid” walks in and loudly asks you, “Is that a new haircut? Is it for your anniversary? Have you lost weight?” and then your husband will be like, “Damn. I DIDN’T NOTICE/REMEMBER ANY OF THAT.” And technically neither did your fake maid. That’s why you need to text her beforehand to tell her exactly what to say. This might sound manipulative and that’s because it is. But it’s also how you’re going to keep from stabbing your husband, so technically it’s like he owes you. Plus, he’ll be less likely to murder you as well, because he won’t know when the maid might show up to find him dismembering you, so you’re saving him from prison, while also saving yourself from ending up in the trunk of his car. See. You’ve only had a fake maid for a week and you’re multi-tasking already.

Also, if you forget to tell your husband something and he’s pissed off, you can be like, “Of course I told you that you needed to pay the phone bill last week. I said it right in front of Janie, remember?” and Janie will totally back you up (just as your phones get reconnected). And if you really fuck up and lose your wedding ring or something, you can just blame it on “the maid” and fire her for stealing it, and that way you totally can’t be blamed. Just be sure to have another friend standing in for back-up, because if you’re as irresponsible as I am, you are going to be firing a LOT of fake maids. I suggest organizing a list of fake-maid standbys during your next large mommy-and-me playdate. 

Honestly, it’s about time those things finally came in handy.

If you have kids, you’ve probably caught yourself wondering, “Am I a terrible parent?” and “Would my children be better off raised by wolves?” Luckily there’s an easy way to find out just how terrible of a parent you are using this highly-scientific new quiz that I just made up. 

Give yourself one point for every time you can answer “yes” to the questions below:

SCORING:

0 points: Congratulations! You are an excellent parent. Or you are a compulsive liar. Or you’re too high to keep score properly. One of those.

1-3 points: You’re probably a fine parent. Unless you let your child become a werewolf. That’s just irresponsible.

4-16 points: Wow. Very impressive. Print this out and show this quiz to your local Child Protective Services to redeem your prize.

Over 16 points: You are too drunk to do math. Please ask your child to assist you.

Okay ... really?  You saw the title and clicked over to find out exactly why you shouldn’t eat your baby, didn’t you?  Honestly, I’m a little disappointed in you.  You don’t need an article to tell you this.  Babies should never be eaten.  Because they’re adorable.  And very fatty. 

But I can’t blame you because I was looking at some of the top stories on this very website and they were like “A Good Case for Pepper Spraying a Second Grader,” “World Penis Size Map Is Hard News to Swallow,” and my personal favorite: “Horse Semen Milkshake … Is It Worth the Calories?”  

Some people might say that this type of writing is just plain sensationalism but the truth is that it’s the exact same thing you see when CNN is all “ARE SANDWICHES TRYING TO KILL YOU?  Find out at 11.”  Sensational headlines sell and that’s why when you become a parent and start blogging (this is mandatory, by the way) you’ll need to start practicing writing great titles to really catch people’s attention. 

Examples of not-so-great headline writing:

89 blurry pictures of my cat (who just died this morning)

I hate Mondays

Let me tell you about this dream I had last night.

I think I made an 86 on that test I was studying for. 

Please vote for me so I can win the chance to win a coupon!

This entire post is an ad for wet-wipes but I got paid a box of wet-wipes for it so please send it to everyone you know or I will take it as a personal affront

Examples of great headline writing:

And that’s how I ended up in a Singapore prison.

And then I screamed “HORSE VAGINA!” 

If someone is trying to sell you a sex tape of me, please don’t buy it.  My hair looked awful that day.

A video of my baby taking a bubble bath with hedgehogs and baby pugs while my cats sings a parody of Rebecca Black’s “Friday.”

Examples of sensationalist headline writing:

It’s 10:00.  Do You Know Where Your Children Are?  We Do.  THEY’RE IN JAIL.

On Average, Half of All Children Are Better Than Yours.

Breastfeeding Your Child Too Much Will Turn Them Into Sociopaths

Not Breastfeeding Your Child Enough Will Turn Them Into Bears

Are Your Teens Using Cat Fur To Make Pipe-Bombs?  The Answer May Surprise You.

One in Ten Children Misplace Their Own Legs Out of Sheer Carelessness.

My Wife Wants To Divorce My Wife!

THE ONLY WAY TO TURN OFF MY CAPS LOCK IS BY USING SEVERAL EXCLAMATION MARKS!!!

Woman Orders Steak.  Is Served Her Own Stolen Placenta.

Tattooing Your Fetus While Still In-Utero … Cute New Trend or Horrific Abuse?

Is Your Babysitter a Zombie? It’s More Common Than You Think.

Is Baby Shampoo Made of Babies?  Are You Willing To Take The Chance?!

New Parents in Shock as Baby Girl is Born Without Penis. 

The New Celeb Diet:  Eat all the moths you can catch.

WORST (fill-in-the-blank) EVER!

The Ten Best Reasons Why You Should NOT Eat Your Baby 

'Nuff said.

Today I'm incredibly sick with what I assume is testicular cancer (according to WebMD). When I was a new mother and I was throwing up, or exhausted, or my kid had contagious polio, I was always afraid to ask for help because I thought it was a sign of weakness, but now I realize that asking for help is the only way to survive as a parent. As Hillary Clinton once said ...

"It takes a village to keep you from abandoning your child at a shopping mall when you realize that he’s given everyone in your house lice again." (Paraphrased.) And that's why today I'm asking for help from my brilliantly witty friend, Alice, who just co-wrote a book about babies with laser-beam eyes (true story).

So instead of having to write a whole column, I can just interview her and use all this extra time vomiting. Yay! Plus I'll have an additional scape-goat for you to yell at when you skip the part at the top pointing out that this column is called "Ill-Advised" for a reason. Let's begin, shall we?

Alice, you glorious, glowing Julie Andrews of the mommy set, what exactly makes you qualified to give out advice about babies?

Well! 1) I HAD one, and he's still here and just today we got his report card and it just had GENIUS scrawled across the entire card, like they didn't even bother filling out the categories, is how smart he is. 2) I have a master's degree ... in writing!

Baby: check. Writing-know-how: check. Who else but me?

Eden has a degree in something, too. I can't remember what. Associate's degree in penmanship? PhD in etiquette? Maybe both. Her thank-you notes would move you to tears and/or drinking.

Fair enough. Do you think it's weird that when you go out drinking with hot, underage minors, people judge you, but when you go out drinking with your own underage children people think it's totally fine? Also, is it less questionable if the underage minors aren't hot?

Jenny, I live in "Park Slope, Brooklyn," otherwise known as "The place where half the population brings their underage children who are often strapped into strollers into bars with them, and the other half hates the first half with a burning seething rage." It's a really long slogan. You should see our billboards.

Seriously, you're asking the wrong person, because I haven't met an underage minor who I didn't think was hot. Is that okay to say? It's just an aesthetic appreciation, is all. I'm going to change the subject now. I just threw confetti and cash all over the place! Everyone pick out the dollar bills while I run!

Nicely done.  Who would make a better babysitter ... wolves or bears?  (You must choose one. Show your work.)

I'm going to go wolves on this one. It's a gut response, probably because I'm reading Bill Bryson's A Walk in the Woods, and I'm on the part where he talks about bear attacks. Not on each other, you understand -- on us. To us? At us. I can't worry about grammar when there are bears to consider!

Plus, what kind of bear? You've got the grizzlies who can't climb trees but are gratuitously vicious, and the black bears who are a little less bloodthirsty but climb trees like it's their JOB, and what if you can't remember which one you hired to babysit for you, what are you going to tell your baby then? Climb a tree? Don't climb a tree? Play dead, or play alive? It's going to be really difficult to enjoy your night out when you're wondering if your bear-sitter is suddenly going to get all territorial and/or snacky.

Besides, wolves are pack animals. You just rub your baby all over the wolf's fur, and he/she is part of the wolf pack! I don't even know why we're talking about this.

Wow. Me either. Do you smell that?

Even if I did, and I am NOT SAYING THAT I DID, I was raised to believe it was impolite to say so. I always wear a hankie over my face like a delicate, lacy mask.

Have you let a wolf in here any time recently?

Not recently. When Hailey was born, Victor's grandad said that cats eat babies and he said that he was going to come over and slit our cats' throats and throw them in the garbage. This is all true. We shut the cats up with the baby whenever he was in the neighborhood just to keep them all safe but none of the cats ever even tried to eat the baby. Is Victor's grampa crazy or is there something wrong with my baby?

I contracted a case of the shivers, reading this. Real shivers, all over my body, especially in the shoulder range!

You, my friend, got lucky. First of all, you're fortunate to have such a wise old man in your family. Second, you were crazy-lucky that your cats' natural baby-wrecking instincts were clearly blunted in some way. I'm betting you rubbed your baby all over a wolf already -- it seems like the sort of thing you'd do -- and the cat knew that if he/she/it so much as sunk one single fang into a plump baby thigh, there was going to be serious She-Wolf trouble down the line. Cats are horrible, dangerous creatures one should never keep anywhere near children -- we talk about this extensively in the book, which I know you've read. But if there's one thing they're scared of (other than not-you) it's wolves. Also, old men. So let Victor's Grampa back in. Is he still waiting on your porch? I'm assuming he's waiting, and that you have a porch.

I bet you have a porch.

I totally have a porch. Stalker. What's the best trick you've ever learned for dealing with children/other parents/werewolves (pick one)?

I have to pick one? I don't want to pick one. I have so many tricks. My sleeves are packed full and I can barely move my arms! Every time I give someone a high five or wipe sweat off my brow, tricks fall out all over the place! And everyone's all, "Tricks?! Will you share them with us?" And I say no, of course, because boundaries, and then they whine and carry on and suddenly there are broken bottles aimed at my delicate face region and that's when I call in the wolves.

Here are but a few from my Sleeves-of-Tricks™:

Children: To keep them smelling fresh as they grow up and out of their naturally sweet-smelling infant-state, give them a thorough, daily rubdown with a spare baby.

Other parents: If another parent decides to one-up you on what an awesome parent he/she/they is/are, gaily cry out, "You know everything and I know nothing!" Then, as they/we/me are trying to decipher your tone, give 'em the ol' roundhouse* to the ol' breadbasket*. Now flee! Don't forget to grab your kid first!

*note: not sure what these terms mean

Werewolves: There's no doubt we should all have a healthy respect for all wolves, were- or no, but simple common sense should keep the vast majority of us somewhat safe. As long as we avoid wandering Central European forests in the dead of night, and maintain our daily supplementation with rye and/or wolfsbane. Then we have nothing to fear, mostly. I actually don't have any werewolf tricks. I'll tell you right now, though, that silver-bullet nonsense is just that. Don't even try it. How do you think I lost this leg?

(I was born with an extra leg.)

What's the best thing about being a parent?

When your kid grows up and wins an Academy Award and he ends his acceptance speech with, "Thanks, Mom," and you're in the audience and you look super-hot, but really, it's not about you, it's about your kid, but you know what? You do really look amazing.

And what's the worst thing about being a parent?

When your kid grows up and ends up in criminal court, charged with Excessive Cruelty to Woodland Creatures, and when he's asked if he has anything to say for himself, he's all, "Thanks, Mom," and everyone turns and glares at you but they can't really get too mad because even the judge has to admit you look super-hot for your age. But why are you wearing an evening gown to court?

Can you hold my hair for me while I throw up?

Well ... I'm ... okay, yes. Of course I will. For you, Jenny, I will cup my hands to form a vessel, and turn my head to give you some privacy. Let it all out. Aim into the ... no, not the ... into the hands! There you go. Now I will go hose myself down and then get you ginger ale. With the crushed ice, like you like.

Thanks, bunny-face.  In an epic battle for world domination between zombies and unicorns, who would win?

Unicorns. Because if you ask me any question pitting zombies against unicorns, I'm always going to vote unicorns. I don't need a reason, do I? You didn't specifically ask for a reason.

What's the one question I totally should have asked here?

You should have asked me, "Who would be more likely to shove your spine and innards into a blender to make a hideous flesh-margarita -- zombies or unicorns?" Because then I would have to say "zombies," and you would have proven me to be a liar! That's what we call journalism.

Fine. Insert that question here.

Wait, I just ... I did it, up there. I'm so ... what? Where am I? Oh. Okay. I see what you did. Okay. Way to throw me off balance, Ms. Lawson. Way to show me what journalism really is. Touché.

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A special thank you to Alice for helping me write my column today. If you enjoyed this interview you should probably go buy Bunny-Face and Fussy’s new book LET’S PANIC ABOUT BABIES. I would insert a picture of it right here except I can’t stop throwing up.

PS. I was not compensated for this review. Neither was Bunny-Face. We're just as poor as ever. And this is exactly why no one wants to grow up to be a writer.