Strollerderby : strollederby playdate

Strollerderby Playdate: Shape It Up, Maggot

Amy Kuras — Fri, 18 Apr 2008 11:31:00 GMT

When I grow up, I want to be tough.

Not like a motorcycle riding mama or anything, but a strong, athletic chick who can scoop up my kids and save them from a fire or scary pervo if need be – and hell, avoiding diabetes and heart disease would kind of rock.

Back when I was a young, single slip of a girl, I was a pretty avid exerciser. I ran five days a week and did races and was really pretty buff, at least for someone who is a big fan of carbs and beer and chocolate and whose genes give her the build of her Polish washerwoman ancestors.

Then I got married, and infertility treatment put crazy hormone weight on, and I quit smoking and got cable and had two babies and basically turned into a lardass couch potato. A state of affairs I realized during my last pregnancy would have to change as soon after delivery as I could muster.

Luckily, I have inspiration (and a local Y with child care). There's our own deeply badass Kelly Mills, who writes about health and fitness here and also at her own blog, Fitness Fixation. Kelly's wit and heart are as in shape as the rest of her, so it's worth a read even if your exercise is limited to walking to the fridge.

And there's Doctor Mama, who I came across from infertility blogs, but guess what? She's the inspiration and drill sergeant behind The Maggots, a group of lovelies she's teaching about running.

If they can't help whip me into shape, well, nothing will.

Photo: Fitness Fixation

Strollerderby Playdate: Anonymously Hilarious

Amy Kuras — Fri, 21 Mar 2008 18:02:00 GMT

One of the weird things about blogging is that you end up knowing a lot of really intimate details about people you've never met (sometimes, it must be said, details I'd care to not know). People write about poop, odd sexual proclivities, body odor – it doesn’t leave much of a sense of mystery.

And then there's those bloggers that maybe write about those things, but maintain a deep cover that the CIA would envy. Like Anne Nahm. Here I thought she was using her actual name (and was impressed with her ballsiness) – turns out it's a play on Anonymous. She's even managed to post weight loss pictures without showing enough to identify her.

Which is all to the good, because she's so wickedly funny I would probably stalk her relentlessly if I knew who she really was. She's appropriated "Rosemary Demi-Batard" as her super evil secret name, for one.

And then there are the Peeps. (NSFW. Or for looking at when your three-year-old is watching. Dora is involved.)

And she heckles "Beauty and the Beast" while watching it with her daughters. And let's not discuss the many adventures she sent baby Jesus on at Christmastime.

So, Anne, I don’t know who you actually are, but I would love to desecrate holidays with you and giggle uncontrollably at your wit. I'll bring the Jello for Baby J, you bring the wine, 'kay?

Strollerderby Playdate: A One-Stop Irreverence Bonanza

Madeline Holler — Wed, 12 Mar 2008 17:17:00 GMT

Some playdates are all about the kids. And that's no fun. Playdates need some grown-up drama, gossip, intrigue, or else why bother showing up week after week?

Which is why I loved today's playdate with The Irreverent Homemaker. Plenty of her friends showed up. They know how to dish. Not a single well-mannered, conventionally polite, minced word in the hours we spent together.

Let's see ... there's the freshly married woman who's obsessed with her ex-boyfriend. (Awkward!) And the one who fell for a trucker. (So sweet -- she knows truckers have a really high rate of hemorrhoids, right?). Also, a kind of preachy piece on politics (there's one in every crowd).

Those are just the added irreverent voices. The Irreverent Homemaker holds her own too. So we get recipes (typical homemaker!), a treatise on giving up the well-manicured lawn (Amen!) and lots of random but relatable ramblings (coffee's almost ready, T.I. Homemaker, hang in there).

The irreverence gets a bit extreme in the blog section, as it's been nearly a year since that's been updated. Come on, TIH, we know you're not beholden to convention, but how's about an update when we meet back at your place next week?

Photo: The Irreverent Homemaker

Strollerderby Playdate: She's Leaving the Group

Madeline Holler — Wed, 13 Feb 2008 20:32:00 GMT

So this is it. It's over. One of my guilty pleasures is to be no more. My conflicted feelings over loving to read Elisabeth Hasselbeck's parenting journal, curiously over on the Dreft laundry detergent website, is to be no more.

She has written her final entry. And she has bid the blogger playgroup in my mind farewell. Dammit, Elisabeth. I was just starting to like you.

Her final entry is a whirlwind of ideas and activities and subtle clues about the woman who we know so well from Survivor, and that one E! show where she went shopping for cheap clothes, and now as the guardian of all ideas red, right and conservative on ABC's The View. Before she waves good-bye, she confesses that she doesn't easily say "no," bites off more than she can chew, and hasn't written thank-you notes to those who sent her newborn gifts (he's now 3 months old). She tells us she is overwhelmed with preschool applications for her unpotty-trained, binky-loving 3-year-old. Human, are we? I KNEW it!

You're going to miss Elisabeth too, right? It's not just me? I know I could start watching her on The View, but it won't be the same. I've accepted that we'll now only see each other when she's made a gaffe at work. But we had some good times, me and Elisabeth. Some good times.

Strollerderby Playdate: Do Toddlers Belong in the Voting Booth?

Madeline Holler — Wed, 06 Feb 2008 12:14:00 GMT

Sure, there have already been some pretty important primaries and caucuses, blah, blah. But even if you didn't vote yesterday, you have to admit: Super Tuesday felt pretty important and somewhat all-consuming. So it feels appropriate to call a playdate with our favorite parents 'n' politics blogs.

Political Nanny started an election scrapbook (without the cutsie baby bottle and paci embellishments you might find among your civilian scrappers). There are baby pictures and a roundup of the candidates' more interesting kids. She keeps you posted on every tear Hillary sheds and some of the more interesting (questionably relevant) endorsements.

MomMania tackles a question I hope you will also answer in the comments: whether to take kids into the voting booth with you. Did you drag your unpredictable toddler to this teachable moment?

PunditMom has a bit to say about these elections too.

What about you? Who are you inviting to the political parents' Strollerderby Playdate? Drop your favorite personal political blogs' url in the comments.

Photo: Salt Lake Tribune

Strollerderby Playdate: Mommyblogging, Kicking Ass, and Taking Names

Amy Kuras — Fri, 25 Jan 2008 20:10:00 GMT

People who loooovvveee to bitch about "mommybloggers" tend to complain about the lack of substance in your average parenting blog; that any intelligence or insight about other matters goes right out along with the placenta and suddenly we only write about poop.

And while that certainly holds a grain of truth, the parent blogs I read capture the experience of parenting with such depth and beauty that I'm drawn to them again and again.

Then, there are those that use their parenting to inform their view of the world and are not shy about being outspoken about such. Motherhood sure didn’t stunt their brains, and they are all the more ready to take on the world because of it.

So this week my Dream Playdate is Uppercase Woman (formerly known among we infertile bloggers as Wasted Birth Control). Cecily's smart, funny, loud, liberal, and not afraid to stir shit up. This week alone she's written about the Barbie/princess dilemma with her toddler daughter as well as midseason TV and, in post that drew a whopping 67 knock-down drag-out comments, the lighthearted treatment of adoption in "Juno." The current post is about Cecily's experience with pre-eclampsia, which took the lives of her twin sons and nearly killed her as well.

I might not always agree with her, but if you enjoy chat about deeper topics than teething and diaper rash during a playdate, this one's worth a read.

Strollerderby Playdate: She's a Beauty

Madeline Holler — Wed, 16 Jan 2008 12:18:00 GMT

Here’s what every playgroup needs: a good photographer. Someone who shows up – unbidden – with a camera and a strollerload of talent. She takes pictures, shrinks, crops and uploads only the gorgeous ones – she’s got plenty to choose from -- making sure to load your Inbox only with those shots that star your own child. God, I love that playgroup mom.

Which is why I’m excited about today’s playdate with Chookooloonks. Just thumb through her daily photos. I mean, just a few days ago, she took an absolutely stunning shot of – are you ready? – a birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese’s.

I know, it can’t be. But it's true. Great shot. She takes pictures of flowers, her daughter, herself, stuff from her house (am I making her sound boring? It's not.) Just look at that picture of her coffee mug above. A mug!

Sure, Chookooloonks doesn’t feature any pictures of my kids – that would be weird, because I don’t actually know the blogger. But I’d be glad to meet her, especially if she promises to bring her camera.

Chuck E. Cheese’s! Get out!

Photo: Karen Walrond via chookooloonks

Strollerderby Playdate: Man-o-pause

Mike Adamick (Cry It Out!) — Mon, 14 Jan 2008 12:01:00 GMT

A friend of mine who has a 3-year-old daughter recently brought home from the hospital a new boy. "Oh, we're fine," he told me, "The baby is actually sleeping from 10 to midnight now, and then again from 1 to 3 and then some more from 5 to 8 or so. It's not as bad as I thought."

Not as bad? Not as bad! Dude, you're waking up like what? A million times a night! That sounds pretty fucking bad to me. That's what I wanted to say, at least. I ended up saying something like, "Wow, he sure is cute," even though he looked like the drummer for the California Raisins.

As my own daughter is approaching 2 now, I have no memory of what it was like in the beginning -- the constant feeding, the constant wakefulness, the inability to hold her head up by herself or make Elmo do her bidding. At the time, immersed in the two-hour feedings and the all-night burp sessions, I had thought that it was something you would never forget, the ability to care for a newborn. But now that our house is back to some form of normalcy and my daughter is just a kick-ass person to chat with (that she also sleeps like a codeine addict is helpful, too, because I'm selfish like that), I have to admit holding a newborn again gave me pause -- man-o-pause, if you will. Because I had forgotten.

I didn't know how to hold his head, his Jello-y body. I couldn't read the signs that he was going to spit up. I couldn't do anything to ease the tears. I felt like a rookie again. I didn't think that was possible. Just as my wife and I are seriously considering an addition, it dawned on me that I will, once again, have no idea what I'm doing. It's different now, I suppose, because I know that eventually the new child will grow up and start yapping non-stop and want to eat tacos all day, which is just fine with me. But who's going to care for it until then?

Am I alone?

Looks like it.

F-bomb (a new favorite read) says it's like riding a bike. Crap!

Strollerderby Playdate: New Year, Same Old Shiz

Jessica Ashley (Sassafrass) — Tue, 08 Jan 2008 11:59:00 GMT

We get those brand-spanking new calendars with pristine, blank sheets and numbers that hold so much promise for organization and goals and unrealistic but well-intended resolutions. And then the kids start beating each other with Santa toys and you smell the garbage (again) and the cat's peeing on the floor next to the baby's blankie and all that beautiful dreaminess of new beginnings fades into a normal day. Sure, there are those blessings and light. But mostly, there are dishes and disposable diapers and toys that talk in irritating voices. Here's some of that sweet, sweet magic already oozing out of parental lives in '08:

The damn dog.

Effing toddler-eating monsters.

Incriminating, irritating Target receipts.

Saving grace books on poop.

Save-the-day big girl panties.

Strollerderby Playdate: Dooce's Husband Speaks Up About Depression

Rachael Brownell (Redsy) — Mon, 07 Jan 2008 15:48:00 GMT

If you'd like to understand clinical depression, especially post-partum related depression, read Dooce. If you want to laugh and cry and understand the ins and outs of parenting while mentally ill, you'll be glad you did. Furthermore, if you want to understand what it's like to live with mental illness while untereated, read this.

But what of the spouses and partners of people who struggle with mental illness? Turns out, Dooce's husband has an incredible riches of experience to share on this topic...

Late last month, on Blurbomat.com Dooce's usually non-blogging husband, Jon, spoke up about what it's like to live with a partner who is clinically depressed or mentally ill. He discusses the usual topics of self-care and the benefits of talk therapy, but with an obviously hard-won maturity that is truly impressive.

Living with clinical depression or another mental illness isn't easy, but one can imagine that being the partner of this person might in some cases be even more difficult, especially when children are involved.

Strollerderby Playdate: The Weekly Playgroup You Love and Hate

Madeline Holler — Mon, 08 Oct 2007 19:38:00 GMT

When I first became immersed in modern parenting culture, I shuddered at the notion of "playdates" and "playgroups." Why the rotating schedule? Why the detailed organization? Why all the hugging and muffins? Why bother?

I learned quickly, though, that the house becomes a prison, the park gets old and it’s easy to overspend at Target when you’re going there three times a week just to kill time.

I have embraced the playgroup ever since.

Still, I find them to be an imperfect solution, these weekly playgroups. In the same way you can’t choose your own family, playgroups are a crapshoot. You take what you can get. And what you get, I realized (after belonging to thousands in three different cities with two different kids), is pretty much the same. In blog format, I present you with the playgroup prototype:

This is the mom behind every playgroup. She’s the one who reaches out, invites you in, and reminds everyone of the details -- this week’s location, theme and snack provider. She’s awfully busy and not always interesting. But she’s where you start.

Then there’s this mom: the attention hog. Her voice is a little louder than everyone else’s, and there’s a good chance she won’t talk to you. She believes she’s very funny, and she sometimes is. You feel immediately exhausted whenever she shows up and a little let down when she doesn't.

There’s also this mom, the most popular. You don’t know what the big deal is – she looks normal, she sounds normal. Still, you watch her too. You feel the fizzy bubbles of jealousy surface now and again when you see everyone huddled around her, looking after her kid, listening to her vacation stories. You’re relieved each time she mentions her medications. You notice right away when she's gone.

Around this mom, you just feel dumb. Big, stupid, oafish, offensive and dumb. You replay the conversations you have with her over and over in your mind, looking for anything that might have been misconstrued as racist or insensitive or, god forbid, a small-minded display of your white privilege. You kick yourself for mentioning your daughter’s straight, blond hair.

Here’s the mom who talks endlessly about fertility issues. You love the gory details, you nod sympathetically at the masked pain. You feel a little shitty for being pregnant and hope that you'll move again before it becomes obvious.

Of course, there's the one you have a mom crush on. Her stories are tied up nicely in big, tight, raffia bows. But you read between the lines, and you see the rage, the impatience, the lack of control, the self-loathing. She's writing your life, pretty much. But your kids don't come across nearly as deep.

And don’t forget about the dad, the token guy. He shows up once, sits in the corner with his daughter and her juice box and never, ever comes back. Was it the fertility mom's ease in discussing cervical mucus? Maybe the anti-racist's bit about white male domination. Who knows. But you come back, again and again, dreading it before, bitching about it after, scrolling down your bookmarks week after week, getting out, checking in, staying connected.

Strollerderby Playdate: People I Read

Mike Adamick (Cry It Out!) — Wed, 03 Oct 2007 11:02:00 GMT

Last week it was all about the friends, or at least people I would like to befriend, and so why not this week, too? Continuing the tradition started by Jessica, here are the parenting writers who take up way too much of my time.

For that, I love them and loathe them.

Oh, The Joys knows a thing or two about messes and poops.

Rebel Dad breaks down fatherhood like a 2-year-old high on Pixie Stix -- which is to say, he rocks. Non-stop.

Daddy Types is both crafty and cool. So many cool toys and so much good insight.

Strollerderby Playdate: Take Baby Out to the Ballgame

Mike Adamick (Cry It Out!) — Wed, 29 Aug 2007 11:12:00 GMT

For just about everyone else in the country, the coming of fall means the coming of baseball -- playoff baseball, the best time of the year. I desperately looked forward to the possibility of bringing Emmeline to a baseball game when her team, er, my team was in the hunt for the World Series.

I have such fond memories of watching the playoff races with my family -- and even my grandparents -- that I couldn't wait to one day do the same with my daughter.

But I root for the Giants. And this year, they suck. Big time. Not even steroids can help them.

Still, it's good to see at least some people enjoying the nice weather and the ballpark with the kids. We'll be there today -- and yeah, I'll have hot dogs and beer, and I'll give Emme her first taste of garlic fries. And though I know we'll have a great time just being together, I also hope they'll win one for her.

I'm not the only one with baseball on the mind these days.

Training Loving Hearts didn't go to the game, but at least watched on TV -- and peed in the night.

Melissa of "I seriously have to deal with nine months of this?" vows to take her boy, if she has one, to the ballpark. Well ... take a girl too damn it!

Strollerderby Playdate: Dislocated Dad

Mike Adamick (Cry It Out!) — Wed, 15 Aug 2007 11:06:00 GMT

I'll admit it. Wakeboarding is not my cup of tea. My shoulder, which is still floating somewhere on a calm lake in Northern Michigan, thinks so too. On the last day of our vacation, I decided to wakeboard -- which, simplified, is basically Satan's form of recreation.

I strapped a board to my feet, grabbed a rope and watched as a speed boat barreled through the water, pulling my shoulder out of its socket. Thankfully, my frantic gasps for air snapped it back into place. Lucky me.

Of course, I'm not the only one coping with a malady. At least this one's not mental.

Tracy at Outside didn't pass out when they popped her shoulder into place, but yeah, I bet she was close.

Stacer makes my shoulder look like a granite slab carved by Michaelangelo. I feel better already.

Amber's kid fell off the bus and spent a sad party nursing a, wait for it, dislocated shoulder. Now I feel bad for complaining at all. Poor guy.

This isn't a shoulder, but it's close enough. Besides, the cute-as-hell boy of my wife's all-time favorite blogger -- Shim and Sons -- sports the best sling ever made.

[Before my shoulder fell off, I honestly envisioned performing the above-pictured trick.]

Strollerderby Playdate: Chores and Wars

Kelly Mills — Fri, 10 Aug 2007 11:02:00 GMT

People sometimes accuse blogs of covering only the most mundane stuff, like, "Then I went to the laundromat and I ran out of quarters" and of course, some of them are really like that. But power parent bloggers know there's funnies in the laundry. And the plumbing. And the power struggles over chores. Play with these folks and see.

White Trash Mom has a nine-year old's guide to blaming your sister for a mess.

Wiping Up Snot had plans for the splash park--and then got her own, right at home!

Adventures in Babywearing knows sometimes calling the yarn store constitutes an emergency.

The Queen of Shake-Shake uses laundry as an opportunity to teach her husband about the difference between boys and girls.

Three Kid Circus lives for grocery day.

Strollerderby Playdate: Nostalgia, Baby

Jessica Ashley (Sassafrass) — Tue, 07 Aug 2007 11:07:00 GMT

I'm back home from four long and lit-up (mostly from casino lights, I swear) days in Las Vegas. It was my first time there and not at all what I expected. It was all expensive waffle-house food and bad cocktail uniforms. And what did I expect? Expensive waffle-house food and bad cocktail uniforms with more feathers and Dean Martin playing in the background. Delusional but true. Apparently, I am not alone in my yearnings for times of yore, my friends. Here are a few bits of nostalgia that may just have you hunting for your sparkle suit and Vegas ashtray, too:

Liz at Mom-101 misses being pregnant, not for the warm, fuzzy baby stuff. More for the getting-people-to-do-shit-for-you stuff (is there a better reason really?)

Yvonne at Joy Unexpected is looking back free years since her daughter's birf (and longing for all those lipsticks that have lost their lives along the way).

Our own lovely Karen's longing for leftovers. Either that or some sucka to clean out her fridge. It's hard to tell.

Fame Crawlin' Whit's kid is yearning for snow and hot chocolate. Oh, and maybe a sibling.

...and finally, speaking of much swankier cocktail uniforms, thank you, thank you, small children.

[photo credit: earlyvegas.com]

Strollerderby Playdate: Mommy Blogger Power

Kelly Mills — Fri, 03 Aug 2007 11:05:00 GMT

Hey, did you know some of us went to BlogHer? Are you soooo sick of hearing about it? Do you put on your best Jan Brady voice and say, "BlogHer, BlogHer, BlogHer, why is everyone always talking about BlogHer?"

Well, I went, and liked it. There was a panel on mommybloggers (I haaate that term, too cutesy) and the panelists were smart and great and said sage things. Meanwhile these two yucksters kept me entertained with running commentary. So here's the next best thing to being there.

Her Bad Mother has a giant brain, and I love her now. And don't touch the scrunchie.

Cheeky Lotus answered all these, and reminded us that we blog and surf to combat our post partum depression.

Notes From the Trenches is always great, and her rundown is superb. Hmmm, doesn't she look familiar?

Can't wait till next year.

Strollerderby Playdate: While Mommy is Away

Sarah, Goon Squad Sarah — Thu, 02 Aug 2007 11:01:00 GMT

I don't mean to harp on this whole BlogHer thing, but honestly after spending four days with so many other bloggers it is hard to think about anything else. Plus, it is all anybody is really writing about, so without further ado, who missed Mommy the most?

The Sarcastic Journalist's husband missed he so badly that he TiVoed an episode of SpongeBob Squarepants just for her. Squidward kept saying things that reminded him of her.

Look at what Lindsay's family did to her poor house!

Redneck Mommy's kids were all about her swag. Yes, I am speaking of the condom lollipop.

Susan's son missed her so much that he left for three days when she got back. Wait a minute...

Strollerderby Playdate: Girly Stuff Bonanza!

Jessica Ashley (Sassafrass) — Tue, 24 Jul 2007 11:02:00 GMT

Haha! BlogHim, my ass. This one’s all about the layyyyydayyyys, baby. Here’s some of the lipstick stuff I am very happy to launch into after a my testosterone-filled days with my husband, penis-talking toddler and the unholy trinity of Calliou, Arthur and Elmo (he is a boy, right?). You read up on these bloggy delights while I order me up some Jessica Simpson hair extensions. Enjoy, y'all!

What to wear, what to wear?

Only eclipsed by how the hell can I squeeze all this curvaliciousness into a fabulous-looking swimsuit?

Speaking of curvaliciousness.

Shoes, shoes, shoes!

Pampering. Or at least more than five minutes of silence.

Don't forget hair. Better make that nails, too.

White teeth (and red wine drinking).

A bit of lovely DIY adorning.

And finally, a bit of ladyscaping. And yes, that includes that business.

Strollerderby Playdate: Spring Cleaning

Kelly Mills — Fri, 20 Jul 2007 11:02:00 GMT

Uh, yeah, it's actually summer, but you know, we parents are generally running a little bit behind schedule. So July seems to be the month of spring cleaning, of purging and packing and reusing all kinds of crap. If you are so inclined to say "out with the old, in with the new," find solidarity amongst the bloggers.

If you are all for a big cleanse, join Tied Down With Battleship Chains for a full overhaul in Glad bags.

Or hit the closet with Mom to the Screaming Masses and get yourself some replacement clothes too.

Suburban Turmoil is staying with the in-laws, who need to replace old pillows with the new, or by god, they'll be forcibly replaced.

The Cheeky Lotus has new uses for old stuff, making Mom Camp rival Grandma Camp.

Strollerderby Playdate: That Came Out Wrong

Sarah, Goon Squad Sarah — Thu, 19 Jul 2007 11:01:00 GMT

You know how sometimes you say something completely innocent but it comes out sounding filthy. Need an example? The other day I said: I think the tight end is a very valuable slot. That sounds terrible, but I was talking about fantasy football.

More examples?

Karen was sucking off her cousin's neighbors. (She was stealing their wireless internet connection, you perverts!)

Stop boufing your brother? (Roughhousing. But is sounds BAD.)

What if I don't want to lick Harry Potter? (Stamps. Just stamps.)

Top Gun and Snowballing? (Okay. She really meant that.)

Strollerderby Playdate: Surprise, Surprise!

Sarah, Goon Squad Sarah — Thu, 12 Jul 2007 11:01:00 GMT

It's been a week full of surprises for Mommy and Daddy bloggers all around the blogosphere. Blogosphere. Did I spell that right? Anyway - go read these:

Stacy's husband received a very strange letter from a school that his kids don't go to.

Whit's new hairdo surprised me.

Dawn's little surprise reminds me of the time I cut up a bunch of jalapeno peppers and then took out my contacts. (Not recommended.)

And my favorite surprise of all. Congratulations to the whole Crunchy family.

Strollerderby Playdate: Freedom Barbecues for the Whole Family

Mike Adamick (Cry It Out!) — Wed, 04 Jul 2007 11:01:00 GMT

My father-in-law, Duane, is a master backyard chef -- the term "barbecuist" doesn't quite do it justice, hence the title chef. He slow cooks ribs for days at a time and has been known to wake up at ungodly hours just to check the fire. He is a good, good man.

And so as a tribute to backyard chefs everywhere -- and really, nothing says independence like carnitas, right? -- the SD is venturing around the country to find the best in 4th of July family cooking. Because on this Independence Day, the last thing I want to think about is the guy in charge of keeping it.

So please, this year, put the children in the Pack-and-Play. Bring grandma over to babysit. Pour a big glass of Zin. And bring on the ribs.

Just by saying BBQ Tienna Knits has my attention. Mmmm.

Damaged Girl sticks up for America. Tomorrow is not the day we kill turkeys. (But I can't wait for that either.)

Lonestar Concerto really puts a damper on my enthusiasm.

But it doesn't matter. Soon enough, I'll be elbow deep in a pile of ribs and thinking, "Isn't America great?"

Strollerderby Playdate: Where Have All the Babies Gone?

Jessica Ashley (Sassafrass) — Tue, 03 Jul 2007 11:02:00 GMT

And so it goes: The cute little buggers grow up. You bring them home all swaddled tight in a crappy little hospital blanket that you will never, ever throw away and three minutes later, their sitting on the big potty. Ninety seconds after that, they need prom dates and braces and a good dermatologist. And of course, that's the blessing and the stuff of tear-warped scrapbooks.

In the whir of holidays and schedules and pick-ups and drop-offs and the fast-forward of our daily living to take pause and just look at these children, sprung up out of round bellies and thigh rolls, coos from the crib and little parties at all hours of the morning. Even as we celebrate their triumphs and successes, even as we toss the training wheels and cheer for the end of the binky dependency, will we always have a little lust for the babies they are, or at least, once were?

These mamas are caught up in the ch-ch-ch-changes:

Catherine from Her Bad Mother's watching her little bird take flight.

Susan from Friday Playdate's sure someone's replaced her baby with a giggle-happy curiousity-stricken kid.

Our own CityMama's watching her girls grow up on the beaches of Hawaii (and making my own concrete back"yard" seem even sadder).

RockstarMommy's baby hasn't become a toddler, he's become a terrorist who is plotting to kill her.

And Magpie Musing's already prepping for the Hillary Duff experience.

(Oh, and this makes me want to dig out Where Did the Baby Go? just for the occasion).

Strollerderby Playdate: Whither You Go Roadside Bar?

Mike Adamick (Cry It Out!) — Wed, 20 Jun 2007 11:03:00 GMT

It used to be that I loved going to Oregon. I loved the long drive up the northern spine of California. I loved the idyllic theater town we stayed in, and I loved the 5,000 Shakespeare plays we'd see when we got there.

But now ... now the thought of strapping a 14-month-old into a car seat she uses maybe once, twice a month is just too much to bear. Emmeline is accustomed to traveling on the bus or in my arms -- both car seat-free conveyances. She treats the car like it's a dentist -- it's there simply to drill her teeth and make her scream.

But, alas, this morning we depart for "vacation." And while the plays will still be there when we arrive, beckoning us, I'm not sure I'll have the mental brain capacity thingy stuff to enjoy them. See? A 5 hour ride is already getting to me. (Yes, I know, poor, poor me -- I get a nice break.)

Still, I'm taking solace in the fact that it's summer, and I'm not alone. America is all about the road trip.

At least Hilary's road trip ended with a cool concert. Even if it was in Kansas.

The Adventures of Adler knows how to dress a kid for the road. Awesome hat!

Laughter and Loveliness embarks on an 11-hour trip. I feel much, much better.