Oh Posh.

When I heard that your next baby is going to be a girl, I rolled my eyes. Not because I am unhappy that you are finally adding some of that good old double X into the family, but because I thought, great, now I’m going to have to sit there and compare what my daughter is wearing against what your daughter is wearing.

And really, since you have about a gazillion more dollars than I do, I’m thinking your daughter is going to wind up in the winner’s column more often than not. Today I was just happy that she had an outfit that matched and was clean so that we could go to the park without me looking like I haven’t done the laundry in four days. Uhhh, that would be allegedly.

But I’ve always had a little something against you, and I’m certainly always ready to make fun of you and your naked public displays and your penchant for wearing high heels in what seem to be inappropriate situations.  I actually haven’t even scratched the surface with those posts, actually, but I’ve only got so much time in the day, you know?

To be honest, I’d sort of forgotten about you a little bit.  The news about your baby girl has put you back in the spotlight, to be sure. But how could I forget the face that portrays some of the most dour expressions I’ve ever seen?  Who could not love that face, even just a little bit?

You claim to really be a million laughs and just a regular gal, despite your cars worth a hundred grand or so with your husband’s jersey number monogrammed on the headrests and all of your designer duds and bling.

Listen, the only way you could convince me you are just a run of the mill soccer mom is if I were to open up the door of your family-toting vehicle and find that just like me, there are old water bottles, cheap prizes won at the local fair, and socks with no matches floating around on the floor.  Just like mine.

Until then, a woman like you, with a man like this, ain’t no regular gal.

*If you think Posh is just the bee’s knees, then consider this a royal “we.”

Good grief, what a weekend.  I, along with everyone else, sat and watched with horror the devastation in Japan.  The people in northern Japan, especially, just cannot seem to catch a freaking break.  My heart goes out to them and to all affected by the tragic events.

Last week I wished to find out how you got along with with your parents, and 43% said wonderfully with both.  Much higher than I expected, actually.  Not getting along with one parent in particular was split evenly with 17% each, and a small 5% answered not well with either parent.  I would say that I “get along” with both my parents, but my mother definitely knows how to annoy the crap out of me and does so often, but my father and I have a more even-keeled relationship. Actually, I can’t even remember the last time I fought with my dad.  My mom, well, that was unfortunately last weekend.

Today I’ve got a question about books.  People seem to fall into one of two categories when it comes to them.

No, my daughter isn’t into heavy metal.

At least, not yet.

But what she is into is banging her head on whatever convenient hard surface is nearest her when she gets angry or frustrated.

Here’s how the scenario plays out:

1) The Munchkinette doesn’t get something that she wants, whether it be a toy or to remain in my lap or a gazillion other things that upset her.

2) She proceeds to cry very loudly.

3) I don’t really pay any attention to her.

4) That of course, makes her even more angry.

6) She will then bend over from the waist and begin hitting her head on the hardest, most painful surface that is nearest her.  This ranges anywhere from concrete to tile to marble to drywall.

7) She then hurts her head.

8 ) She then starts crying even louder because her head also hurts, not to mention that thing she is still angry about although she’s probably sort of forgotten what it was at this point.  But she’s STILL MAD.

9) Looks to me for sympathy.

10) Sees me shake my head and tell her that if she didn’t hit her head, it wouldn’t hurt.

11) STILL MAD.

12) Continues crying until distracted by something else.

This occurs almost every day, sometimes multiple times a day.

Her brother never pulled anything remotely like this.  Usually if I told him to stop doing something or that he couldn’t have something, he would whine and move on.  No throwing himself to the ground, no screaming.  He really only had a few tantrums, and those were over relatively quickly.

My daughter, though, is an entirely different story.

I’m beginning to think that my daughter, as much as I love her, isn’t very bright.

If you haven’t heard already, the internets is abuzz over the photos of Suri Cruise, aged 5, sucking on a pacifier.  Simply Google “Suri Cruise pacifier” and pages and pages of commentary will pop up.

Because it is perfectly fine for the foibles of a five year old, presumably the most fashionable one on the planet, to be subject to the judgement of the world!

Listen, anyone who has had a kid, and I wonder about some of the people doing all of the pearl-clutching and their experience with children, knows that kids have quirks.  Neither of my children had any interest in a pacifier whatsoever, so I’ve never had to wean them off of one.  But all children have their comfort objects, and as long as it isn’t hurting them, I’m not going to say anything about it.

And I sure as hell know that I am beyond glad that there aren’t a million paparazzi chasing after my daughter every second she is out in public.  Because man, I would probably be proclaimed the world’s second-worst mother, right behind this woman.

But who knows what Suri does with her pacifier?  Maybe it was a one-day deal.  Maybe she found it between the cushions of the car seat and decided to haul it out for old time’s sake.  Maybe the photographers constantly following and shouting at her and her mother stress her out and she needs a binky.  This actually distresses me just thinking about it.

Or maybe, just maybe, the all-knowing internet could just lay off a five year old that they don’t even know.

Ya think?

Because goodness knows that if anyone has the money to pay for any dental bills, it is Tom Cruise.

This is a bona-fide exchange between my second-grader and his teacher:

Teacher: Class, when you are coloring your dinosaurs, don’t use purple or blue.

Munchkin: But, why?

Teacher: Because there were no blue or purple dinosaurs.

Munchkin: But how would anyone know if there were no purple or blue dinosaurs if there was no one around to see them?

Teacher:  Because…just…don’t color them blue or purple, OK?

Jesus Christ on a stick, what is with this school district and their issues with coloring? Coloring!

If only they put as much energy into addressing the kid in my son’s class (keep in mind this is 2nd grade) who still throws himself on the floor (in class!) during a tantrum, which apparently happens when he gets in trouble.  Which is much too often for my comfort.

Last week I asked how you would feel about vacationing with extended family, and 53% of you categorized it as possibly pleasant.  Which is technically indecisive because only 14% said it would be great.  31% are of the mindset that it would basically be akin to torture, and it’s good to have those that are brutally honest with themselves.

Today I’ve got a question for you that oddly enough, I’ve never asked on this parenting-centric blog.

Jeffrey Dean Morgan emerged victorious yet again, this time with a smackdown of Marky Mark.  Uh, Mark Wahlberg, that is.  My husband and I just got around to watching “Date Night” on the DVR, and one of the funniest lines of the movie was when Steve Carrell implored Mark Wahlberg to “please put on a f&$%ing shirt, already” as his character in the movie is constantly shirtless. 

Yeah, whenever I have a kid I fall, like, two years behind in movie watching.

Today’s challenger was at one point considered a washed-up, no-good, has-been who was his own worst enemy and whose career was never going to revive itself.  Well, guess who is laughing now?

VERSUS

As Ford introduces an inflatable seat belt for children, can a car that simply puts your kid in a bubble be far behind?

Forgive me, dear readers, as I deal with my own skyrocketing body temperature and a vomiting 16 month old.

And, in case you haven’t already seen it, (although you probably have) here is Tom Hanks as Pageant Dad.