The Rock managed to pulverize (it’s an illness, really) his competitor last week, obtaining 70% of the vote, despite an impressive showing by Usher.  But the smooth-voiced singer and his six-pack were unable to beat Mr. Johnson’s smile and his six-pack. 

Our next contender is a new dad, and actually someone I was never sure of being good dad material.  But, time will tell, won’t it? Perhaps having a daughter will temper his reportedly womanizing ways.  But who cares about monogamy when you’ve got a body like his? I’m objectifying here, but it’s been a long week.

VERSUS

Every day when you send your kid to school, you assume that they will make it back home in basically the same shape they left.

For my son, today was not that day.  The excitement never seems to end here at Casa Glinda.

I was attempting to take a nap (since I just cannot seem to get better and I sound like a two-pack a day smoker) when I get a call from Erica, the school nurse.

“Yes, well, the Munchkin was knocked over and hit his head on the edge of a lunch table, and I really think you should come down and take a look at it,” which is nurse-speak for get down here right now.

So off my husband goes to pick him up, and I have thoughts of egg-sized contusions on his head or a possible concussion.

When my son comes through the door, he looks like Mike Tyson after a fight.

What stands out the most is his right eye, of which the upper part beneath the eyebrow is already swollen and purple.  As is the part under his eye, and despite icing efforts, his eyeball is becoming a small slit due to the pressure on the soft tissue above.

So we spend the better part of the day at the ER, and although everything checked out, there was a bit of a scare in the possibility of a detached retina or other such ugly eye-related catastrophes.

Poor guy, he’s in quite a bit of pain.  And I’m guessing tomorrow he won’t be able to see out of the eye at all.

Great, I can already see the disapproving stares coming from pretty much any and all adults who will see him in the next week or so.  Whispering behind their hands about what an irresponsible mother I am for allowing her son to retain such a horrid injury.  Why the hell can’t parents like me watch their kid?

Although you know that I’m going to take a picture of it, right?  No self-respecting parent would neglect to take a picture of their badly  injured (but eventually just fine) child. For, uh, legal purposes, of course.

Now that I have a daughter, I find it hard to say that I enjoy shopping for her.  I feel it is disloyal to my son to say that, but there are just so many more things for girls than for boys.  It’s unfair, but until I figure out how to design my own clothing line for boys, that’s the way it is.

I recently found Luna Luna Copenhagen, which makes beautiful, simple clothes for girls.  I like them because they do not have all the poufs and froufs (a totally made-up term) that so many girls’ things have.  My daughter is not a poufs and froufs kinda gal.  Are these clothes on the expensive side? Yes.  But I still love them.  These clothes are from their Holiday 2010 and Fall 2010 collections, but they’ve got lots more. 

So gorgeous!

This is practically perfect.

Simple and lovely.

Want!

Why was there nothing this awesome when I was growing up?  Eh, my mom probably never would have bought it for me anyway.

*I received no pay or other type of compensation for this review.

While I love my son dearly, there are times when he drives me especially cray-cray. All children have that special talent, don’t they?

When he was an infant, I would put a heavy blanket sleeper on him (because hello, it was winter and it was cold!) he would fuss and not sleep well. It wasn’t until I made the switch to 100% cotton at all times that he began sleeping better and fussing less. It was so worth the extra money spent on heating bills.

Then when he became a toddler, he would refuse to wear certain types of clothing, especially jeans or anything with heavy stitching and pockets.  Pockets drove him nuts.  Yeah, you try finding pants for boys without pockets.  It’s a hell of a lot harder than it sounds.  Finally we got to a place where he could tolerate some types of pockets, but I know to avoid certain kinds.

Tags also became a special nemesis, and I would automatically begin snipping them off as soon as the article of clothing was approved for wear by my young tyrant.  And to this day, I will not take off the tags of anything unless I’ve had him try it on first.  It makes for special times, to be sure.  There is nothing like your son taking off a perfectly good pair of shorts and refusing to wear them because they “bug” him.   Thank goodness the clothing industry has started forgoing tags and printing the care information on the shirt itself.

We have a neighbor across the street who is giving us the clothing her son (who is three years older than the Munchkin) has outgrown, and I have unfortunately had to pass more than half of it along to my sister in law, as the clothing does not meet the Munchkin stress test.  We were given a beautiful Quiksilver sweater that happens to have the word “Quiksilver” embroidered across the front.  I should have known better, and I tried to make my son wear the dang thing, but it only ended up with me yelling at him and him stomping off to find something else that was not embroidered and of course, not as nice.  Phooey.  Well, at least my nephews will get to wear it.

And socks?  They must be worn inside out.  No exceptions.  He cannot stand the seam along the toes.  And again, try finding socks without seams that don’t cost a small fortune.  If a quick fix like turning them inside out works, I’ve saved mucho dinero.

Have I been very accommodating?  Actually, not really.  Sometimes I forget about his issues, or I just get frustrated that he will not wear perfectly good clothing for what seems to me a poor reason. After I took the quizzes here, I realized he probably has a low level hypersensitivity to touch disorder. Although as he has gotten older, he’s gotten a bit better.

And don’t even get me started on his hypersensitivity to sound.

I just keep telling myself that in a few years, he can probably start sewing his own damn clothes.  Or weaving them on a loom, or something. 

I pity his future wife.

It seems I have somehow angered the sickness gods, as all of my family members (including me) keep getting struck by illness. This is my second illness in a week, and I’m a wee bit tired of feeling like crap. I suppose I will have to make some kind of offering, on a shrine built out of empty tissue boxes. Which goodness knows there are plenty of around here.

We’ve got a bunch of animal lovers here at Teeny Manolo, with twenty-nine percent adoring all animals except icky types of animals, and another twenty-nine percent being dog lovers. Next came twenty-five percent of you being partial to the catnippers, or the catnappers, if we are being more precise. Nine percent of you said you weren’t animal people, and that’s OK.

Speaking of illnesses, are you one to take preventive measures?

I seem to be one of the only people I know that finds this video hilarious. But I’m inflicting it upon you, anyway.

Oh yeah, well you’re a sucky retail worker.

Boing Boing presents the Candy Hierarchy.

The poor little brother rat.

Toddlers are just so nurturing.

If you don’t want to see a scary Mr. Rogers, don’t click here. And yes I just used a double negative.

The Rock continues to pound his competition, and I continue to use horrible, horrible puns using his name.  I’m sorry, I can’t help myself.  Mr. Johnson managed to win over Jerry O’Connell, but I hope you clicked over to the People story I had linked to last week.  Well worth the few minutes.

Today, and as God as my witness I am so glad it is Friday, I’ve got one smooth operator up as challenger.  He’s best known for his music, and my goodness, the man can certainly sing.  He also has a pretty impressive set of abs.  Just sayin’.

VERSUS

You get a celebrity baby picture!

Awww, look at that cute little guy!  I think I seriously need to nom on those toes.  However, Louis seems as if he has already learned to hate the paparazzi.