Last week I wanted to know if you read tabloid newspapers, and zero of you felt you were addicted.  However, not quite the same when applied to gossip news sites on the internets, where 40% of you often find yourself reading about the newest fight between Blake Lively and Leo DiCaprio.  23% of you only read the newspaper version at the checkout line, and 36% of you swear that you never do, even when the annoying lady in front of you is writing a check.

Today, I want your feedback on a post and picture that originally appeared on Consumerist.  It seems the father of the little boy posing with Chuck E. Cheese up there felt that Chuckie was giving his son the finger. He complained to the restaurant, where they insisted that wasn’t the case.  He then took it to Consumerist to “ …stir up some debate and maybe make some other parents more aware for when it comes time to take their kids’ photos with the big mouse.”

When asked last week about A & F’s push up bikini top for girls, you responded with an overwhelming “WTF!?” Only nine percent of you thought it wasn’t that big of a deal. I beg to differ with that nine percent, though. This type of product is yet another in a long line of products that sexualizes our young girls. I’m not even cool with regular old bikini tops for 8 year olds, much less padded, push up ones.

We’ve discussed this topic a bit before, but Consumerist reports that airline Ryanair advertised their intention to start “child-free” flights starting in October.  Now, this was released on April 1, so let’s take that with a grain of salt.  However, it is an interesting idea, is it not?

Oh, or in case I’m pulling a “Xerox,” adhesive bandages.

A couple of days ago, I rather stupidly grated the top part of my finger along with the block of medium cheddar cheese.  Note to self, next time you get close to the end of the block, just throw the damn thing out instead of trying to get every last shred out of it! 

Anyhoo, I wound up needed to put a bandage on that sucker because it just would not stop bleeding. 

After dinner I washed my hands, and what do you know, the bandage practically leaped off my finger.  Cursing the fact that my husband had seen fit to buy a cheap drugstore brand, off I went in search of the good stuff.

Good stuff, applied. 

Washed my face before going to bed.  Needed another freaking bandage.

The next day I went through no fewer than six bandages, all of them committing hara kiri when I even so much as waved my hands in the direction of the sink.

As a kid, I remember having bandages applied to my skinned knees and actually dreading the moment I would have to rip it off.  Unless it was reeaallly bad, I wouldn’t even want a bandage.  Because back in the day, the bandages literally became one with your skin.  Your cut would be totally healed and yet days later, extreme measures still had to be taken to get the bandage off.  

 The best place to bring the pain was the bathtub after you’d been in it for a while.  Then, with your knee submerged, you would start to rip off one corner, and then yelp in pain.  You knew you needed to just do it in one grand swoop, as your mother would remind you, but the pain of doing so was enough to almost make you pass out.  Then, after much grimacing and the dramatic sucking in of air through teeth, you finally managed to remove it, along with the top three layers of epidermis. Then you would also have to deal with some of the little dark adhesive nubs (for lack of a better word) that refused to come off, unless you were willing to apply some elbow grease and alcohol.  Which I never was. 

Am I remembering things correctly, my friends?  Were band aids indeed super-glued to your skin in the good old days?

Or have I stumbled off Memory Lane and onto Delusional Drive?

Last week I asked if a 17 year old was too young to be Miss America, and 72% of you think just that.  I agree.  The funny thing is, I don’t really have any “facts” to back that up with, it’s just my gut feeling.  I will be honest, I was fairly selfish and self-centered at 17, and I can’t imagine having to do all of the things a Miss America is supposed to do at that age.  However, maybe I was just an immature brat.  Not completely out of the realm of possibility, I’m afraid.

Today, I wanted to point you to a fascinating discussion going on over at BoingBoing and find out what your views are on the topic, which come from an article written by pediatrician Rahul K. Parikh on CNN.

A full 50% of you are optimistic that 2011 will be better than 2010.  God, I hope you’re right.  21% think it will be the same, and 15% predict doom and gloom with it being worse.  And 12% of you took yourselves out of the running completely by refusing to gamble.  Boo.

All right, normally on a Monday I try to talk about light issues, but the shooting incident that happened this weekend has upset me.  I imagine it has upset, many, many people, and rightly so.  I had been reading about it on the computer, and the Munchkin walked up behind me (as the computer is in our kitchen) and I quickly minimized the screen so that he wouldn’t be able to read the headline.  I don’t allow him to watch the news or read newspaper sites unless supervised, but I’m wondering if I’m sheltering him, or doing him a favor.

I was browsing the internets a while ago, and came across a clothing company called Dollie & Me.  They make matching outfits for a girl and her doll.

When I was a young tot, I do not remember even remotely wanting my doll to look like me.  My doll was my doll, something to prop up on a chair, pour pretend tea with, and then possibly throw around on the lawn and drag around in a wagon.  I guess you could say it took a while for my maternal instincts to kick in.

I don’t know what it is about buying dolls so that they look just like their owners.  I think that it is totally appropriate to make dolls that reflect all races, but since when do eyes and hair color and outfit have to match?  I happen to think it zaps the imagination right out of the whole “pretend” thing. 

Maybe I’m just easily annoyed lately, but you won’t find me purchasing any matching outfits for my daughter and her doll.  I refuse to ever buy matching outfits for her and myself, so why would I spend good money for her and her doll?

I did just fine appropriating things I found around the house into my doll’s wardrobe, and my daughter will have to do the same.  In a pinch, you’d be amazed at what you can do with a doily.

Do I think it is a good idea for my children to learn another language? Emphatically, yes. I, along with almost every other parent I know, do not wish to see my child crushed in whatever future global competitive job market that is coming.  An acquaintance of mine has a child that is tri-lingual, speaking English, Arabic, and Spanish.  This, of course, makes me  feel anxiety that my kids are going to be left in the multi-cultural dust.

And that is why toy manufacturers have jumped on the bilingual bandwagon with toys like this, this and of course, this.

Of course you can buy them just for simple exposure to another language (and by extension, another culture), but if you are truly looking to teach your child another language, don’t fool yourself that these will do the trick. 

You might be better off getting some flashcards, but I would recommend a) having someone fluent in the language speak to your child on a regular basis or failing that, b) classes.  If your child is a bit older, something like this will probably do the trick, as second language courses in public elementary/middle schools have already gone the way of the dodo due to budget cuts, if they were ever there to begin with.

Let’s face it, your child is not going to become fluent in Spanish just because she presses a few buttons once or twice a day that sing “rojo” and “verde.” Trust me on this one.

48% of you are doing just fine with your holiday shopping, while 31% of you are eyeing them in a  fit of jealousy.  Not to mention the 11% who are already done, and the 8% of you who don’t do any holiday shopping.  I’ve not really started yet, but I know pretty much exactly what I’m getting for those I’m buying for.   For others, it’s just a matter of deciding to give them my homemade cranberry almond scones or the chocolate chip.

Today, I want you to look at the photo of the young ladies above.  Apparently this is what happens when you allow Tom Ford to take over French Vogue.