Teeny Manolo

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If you have watched any daytime television lately, you have seen Jessica Seinfeld, wife of Jerry, promoting her new cookbook.  It features recipes for children, but with a twist.  Faves such as grilled cheese or tacos look normal, but have healthy ingredients snuck into them to fool the kids into thinking they are eating the same old unhealthy versions they know and love.

Recent allegations have cropped up that Mrs. Seinfeld has plagiarized some of the recipes from a similar book written by someone not married to a famous comedian. In reading about the recipes that are alleged to have been plagiarized, they do indeed sound alike. But it seems to me that there are only so many foods that can be put into a particular dish and not be recognized, so it might just be coincidence that the recipes are similar. Then again, who knows?

But do they not know that stealing from one another is a time-honored tradition among moms?  Whether it be ways to soothe a fussy infant or the number of that great babysitter, moms always have an ear out for getting the 411 on the latest.   Why, some of the best tips I’ve ever gotten were from some women whom I was eavesdropping on at the park.   

And really, masking healthy food is not a new concept.  I mean, ever heard of a smoothie?  You can dump all kinds of stuff in there.  The idea for which, I need to give props to the lady with the big brown purse and unruly toddler!  Thanks nameless lady, for helping me introduce wheat germ into my son’s diet with him being none the wiser! 

Sometimes we have to be sneaky about getting the info, but we get it.  If we can put pureed spinach in brownies, we are pretty much capable of just about anything, don’t you think?

I just hope the lady with the big brown purse doesn’t come after me, looking for royalties.

The first rule of Friday Caption Contest is: you don’t make cheap Fight Club references on a mommyblog.

You know how it works, people. Work it! Captions in the comments, winner announced on Monday after I recover from the Surrey International Writer’s Conference (ie not early).

This image comes to us from regular reader Susan, who explains that her daughter can make a hat out of virtually anything. Please, someone set this girl up with an apprenticeship with Philip Treacy; there’s money in them thar fripperies! Besides, I need someone to whip up something flattering to tuck the snakes into; the darn things won’t stay in a ponytail!

This is the bedroom of Apple Martin, the daughter of Gwyneth Paltrow and Chris Martin of Coldplay.

I am sure that the linens alone probably cost more than my entire living room set, but why does this room not speak to me?

The bed just seems so imposing for such a little girl, although it could be just the perspective of the photo.  But no, those four posters pretty much reach all the way up to the ceiling.  Somehow it reminds me of a bed that the Dowager Duchess of Cornwall should be climbing into at night, demanding querulously that her servant place a warming brick at her feet, rather than that of a three year old.

Perhaps all the toys, books, photos, and cute little themed rugs were pushed to the other side of the room for the sake of the photographer.   And I don’t know exactly why that nightstand bugs me, but it does.  Maybe because it bears more than a passing resemblance to a spittoon, it does nothing to endear itself to me.  I know for a fact, though, that nobody keeps a vase of fresh flowers right next to a child’s bed.  Nobody, not even Gwyneth Paltrow.  Especially not with white carpet.  You’re just asking for trouble.

The only things I like about the room, as far as I can see it from the picture, anyway, are the two little stuffed animals and the pink stool.

Because even though the young Miss Martin could probably buy me many times over, no little girl’s bedroom is complete without some stuffed animals. 

Do NOT tell Mizz Britney! She’ll be ordering the entire range.

Yes, folks, bring the Ragnarok, we can just shutter this world now; it’s over. There is an actual company which retails celebrity-tribute wigs for babies. Maybe they’ll be adding a little Katie-Lee Webster/Elvis Weasley version soon.

Admittedly, at this time of year it’s acceptable as almost practical. I mean, jam the awesomeness which is the Bob Marley on little JoJo’s head and hey, presto, instant Halloween costume.

“No baby, no cry“

For a more feminine, if more felonious look, there’s the Lil Kim.

“For your little miss thang. Sassy pink locks for the diva in diapers”

Then there’s the Donald Trump, although why in the name of all that is holy you’d want your precious treasure to resemble that cotton-candy monstrosity of a comb-over I cannot imagine.

“You’re hired! Meet the new CEO of the playgroup”

But nobody messes with the Samuel L.

“You know what they call a wig for a baby in Paris?
They call it a Le Baby Toupee”

Should you be overcome with the irresistible urge to purchase after seeing these fine designs (lined with soft fleece! For maximum baby sweat!), know that there’s a gallery of happy, apparently well-adjusted babies wearing their wigs proudly. From the evidence, it would seem that The Donald clearly runs the place. Voting enabled, y’all!

Pictured above are Madonna and her daughter, leaving a restaurant.  They were celebrating Lourdes’ birthday, and had already pampered themselves during a rumored six hour session at One the Spa located within the ultra-pricey Shutters on the Beach Hotel in Santa Monica, CA. 

I think the biggest thing my parents ever did for my birthday was throw me a skate party.  You know, rollerskating.  To answer your question, yes, I am old.  Back in the day, skating parties were a fairly big deal. You got to invite 10 of your closest friends to skate with you and share a lunch of cold hot dogs, warm coke, and stale popcorn.  And I’ll never forget that I invited one boy.  Why? Because it was my birthday and I wanted that one boy to skate with me. I pictured us, skating hand in hand while “Against All Odds” crackled through the speakers, and the disco ball bathed us in its glow. But no, he had to go and have a crush on one of the other girls I had stupidly invited, so I spent the entire party fuming and plotting my revenge, including but not limited to possibly bashing said girl over the head with my skates.

Why, why could my mother not have been a world-famous singer/questionable actress/entertainer?  I mean, screw the rollerskating, I’d have taken a “revitalizing treatment of Swedish Massage and Seaweed Scrub & Buff treatment, concluding in a Tropical Rain Rinse” over Gary Ferguson any day.

No store-bought Spiderman or ghost or jokey celebrity reference or, god forbid, Paris Hilton In Jail costume is good enough for the spawn of a true acolyte of the Great Old Ones. Instead, why not dress up your child as the adorable and tentacular Elder God Cthulhu? Another in the fine tradition of reverence for the great HP Lovecraft’s Cthulhu Mythos stories, from the LiveJournal of Allistairagator the Magnificent.

via BoingBoing

I saw this new electronic banking version of Monopoly and I thought, how could that be as fun?  I mean, wasn’t the whole power trip of “I’m the banker” and trying to rip off your younger siblings a major part of the appeal?  Who didn’t love finding out three quarters of the way through the game that all the five hundred bills were gone and that you had to go and make a bunch on your own? Or how about my husband’s version of the game, in which it was a family tradition to try and steal money from each other.  I’m thinking I would totally miss stacking up all my hundreds and twenties and sticking them under the board so I didn’t lose any of them, whether to an errant breeze or some sticky fingers.

On Amazon, they list the features of the game, and one of them is “An experience that capitalizes on today’s trend of a cashless society.” While I agree that we are moving to a cashless society, I’m not sure I would promote that as a reason to buy the game.

What about you?  Is it not the same without the itty bitty monies, or would an electronic version just make life that much easier?

Nothing cements a parent’s Cool Status among a kid’s peer group like throwing a really, truly unforgettable party, even if the kids all go for naps halfway through and sleep through most of it. Note to the newbies: this only becomes truer as they get older, but it starts in preschool.

We here at TeenyManolo have scoured the Internets for the most original, the most daring, the most memorable and, because we are known to be tight with a penny, the most easily staged for less than twenty bucks, total.

We have found it.

Ladies and gentlemen, from the great RattlingTheKettle comes this brilliant plan for children’s entertainment. Ponies? Who needs ‘em? Clowns? Too scary! Gift bags? You can pick up theme-related items in the local Walgreen’s for less than a buck a kid, and practical too!

It is with great pride and some giggles that we present:

The Teeny Toilet Party!

From the post:

Although he certainly enjoyed the party amenities, I’m pretty sure Ronen’s favorite activity was going to the bathroom.

You see, this was his first experience with a child-size bathroom. At home, the toilet is too big for him, so he sits on a potty. The bathroom at Kids Klub, however, had five minaturized toilets lined up against the wall. It was bathroom heaven…

Once there, he pulled down his pants and proceeded to sit on each toilet, each time for about three seconds before jumping off and heading for the next one. When he finished that, he went around again, this time flushing each toilet and watching the water go down the drain (”bye, bye water! Bye, bye pee pee!”). And again. And again. It took me twenty minutes to convince him to pull his pants back on and wash his hands. In the miniature sinks, of course, which he also loved.

I’m thinking of scrapping our original low-key idea to have inflatable pools and a bubble machine for Ronen’s birthday party next week, and instead rent a bunch of child-size toilets for the kids to play with.

Sounds like a brilliant plan, but I really don’t want to see the pictures.

It arrived in the mail last week.

The official sign that my son is growing up.

You see, in Halloweens past, it was me who basically suggested what he should have for a costume.  For the first three years or so, his input was pretty negligible.  I mean, the kid could barely talk, so if he had any objections to being Tigger when he was a baby, his articulation needed to be better than “Uuuuuggghhhh.” Really, that could be interpreted either way. When he got a little older, I kept him in deliberate ignorance of all the costume choices out there. 

This, year, it’s different. 

From an episode of “Arthur” he gleaned the information that Halloween costumes are supposed to be scary.  No cute costumes allowed, Mom, I was told.  So much for me holding that show in high esteem anymore. He wanted to scare the bejeebers out of everyone that sees him, and after looking through many costumes that fit his description of “ghost pirate,” I think he is going to accomplish that goal.

Actually, I think it scares him a little, he is just too stubborn to admit it. He doesn’t like the makeup as shown, so we won’t do it that way.  Maybe just a white face with some black around the eyes.  A kinder, gentler dead pirate guy, if you will.   Thank goodness the sword isn’t included in the costume, because I think it is a bit over the top.  And to think, he has never even seen any of the Pirate of the Caribbean movies.

My little boy is getting older. 

Sniff. Pass me that tissue, will you?

Forget the tissue, just give me the whole box.