Longtime TeenyManolo readers will recall our play-by-play of the first round of the hotly-contested (and, apparently, hyphen-generating) playoffs in the international Drop the Baby league. Indeed, as with the great Secretariat winning the Belmont in ’73, who could forget the way the untouchable Britney effortlessly pulled ahead of upstart newbie Kat(i)e HolmesCruiseBot? An easy win for a truly legendary thoroughbred.

Here are two fresh competitors late out of the gate, but who show great promise. While it’s true that neither Gwen Stefani nor Larry Birkhead have actually dropped the baby (subject to updates TK) we figure between his habits and her heels, it’s just a matter of time. Let’s break down the challenges these two represent, shall we?

First up, Golden Gwen Stefani out of Orange County, California, whose husband so ably displayed secure baby-handling technique all this week at the fashion shows. Realizing that such attention to baby safety and anti-splat measures is directly antagonistic to the paparazzi-attracting imperative, Gwen decided to take teeny, adorable things into her own hands.

Kingston: I like that Kingston is rocking the Seventies headphones; he’s probably grooving to some totally happenin’ Steely Dan right at this very moment. And his sweatshirt and coordinated bright (easy to find if dropped) pacifier are cute, although low-rider jeans are not a good idea on anyone who wears a diaper. A full Pampers is not exactly a jeweled thong, you know? Decent enough shoes, not the foot-truncating ballet flats of the earlier appearance.

Gwen: THOSE SHOES! These are, without question, the highest shoes yet to make an appearance in Drop the Baby. She needs oxygen at that altitude! An excellent choice for round two, really ramping it up and showing that this challenger is one not afraid to make the daring, if painful, stretch. While not unacquainted with flats, she knows this is what it takes to catch the leaders and she’s willing to do what it takes, whatever it takes. Brava.

That dress! Seriously, folks, it’s pretty and it fits and I heart well-made pave sequin fabric and all (oh, no-one hearts it more than me!) but if she actually does drop the baby some day, it’s either say ah, hellwithit and just let him BASE jump from that height or show everyone in the world exactly where babies come from.

Gavin: Who cares what he’s wearing, he’s hawt! He’d look best nekkid.

Note: Stefani loses points because despite a solid effort, she, in fact and in actuality, failed to drop the baby.

On to the second challenger.

Boy, this guy doesn’t fool around, does he?

Round Two: Birkhead!

Summer weekends are increasingly rare occurrences, and not to be taken lightly. Truly, there are only a couple left before everyone starts wearing pumpkin-adorned Shetland sweaters and olive cords and talking about snowshoes. It is strongly to be hoped that you have prepared adequately for two days in the uninterrupted company of those you love or to whom you are irrevocably related. The scenario is fraught with pitfalls, and as more than one wise man has noted, in such unpredictable situations it’s best to learn from the mistakes of others, for lo, ye shall never live long enough to make them all yourself, right?

Right.

So, what do we here at TeenyManolo recommend for your basic Lazy Sunday?

We suggest going old-skool.

Summer weekends are exactly those periods of time when it’s best to fall back on things your grandparents would have found delightful, when they were about four. This is both cheaper and easier than flying to Paris for a shopping spree, scaling Everest to “show those snotty Scouts,” or renting a theme park for Timmy-Billy-Bob’s birthday party.

Old-skool summer weekend activities include:

• camping; yes, even in the backyard, but it only counts if you make s’mores and tell at least one ghost story
• playing pleasantly dopey games like charades, hangman, Life or anything using the Pop-O-Matic
• making and/or consuming lemonade and sun tea
• lemonade stands (particularly lucrative if you live near a bike path; raincoaster is generally good for buying five rounds)
• the zoo
• pony rides/hay rides
• making popcorn the old-fashioned way, whether or not you use the magically enchanted brand that poufs into a silvery turban (but come on: why wouldn’t you?)
• reading to each other, particularly kids to parents, for lo, kids always think you’re reading crap and have better stuff they could show you, if they thought you wanted to know
• cooking together. NOT reheating together
• pointless wandering around, either in a car or human-powered (bikes, skates, or pedestrianization).

Things to avoid:

• anything one of you has done before and knows s/he actively hates
• anything mildly pleasant that you do in a typical weekday anyway. A weekend is a moderately special occasion, and kids deserve to have fun on special occasions. And so do adults
• anything demanding batteries or extension cords
• anything chosen primarily for its photo possibilities. What good are memorable pictures of forgettable experiences?

And now we will leave you with the image that most perfectly sums up the perfect weekend afternoon with the wee ones, stolen from wanderlust, via Bridlepath.

We at TeenyManolo humbly express our greatest thanks to SpiritFingers, who passes from the Daily Mail along this eminently captionable pic of the sweet, yet very furry, ten-week-old Katie-Lee Webster.

Her mother, Stephanie Pleasance, said: “Most people when they see a baby say ‘Isn’t she cute?’. When people see her, they say “Look at her hair!’.”

Katie-Lee’s father, Danny Webster, added: “No one we’ve met has ever seen anything like it – we’re forever being stopped in the street and asked, ‘Is that a wig?’.”

Okay, folks, that’s right up there with patting pregnant strangers on the belly. If you can’t tell new parents their baby is cute, then please, my friends, just STFU.

Caption suggestions in the comments, please. Here’s mine:

“Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
is proud to announce its youngest student in history:
Elvis Weasley.”

And one of them is my son!

No, there is no imminent English invasion ahead. “Red-shirting” is the term used for holding children, usually boys, back a year in order for them to have a better chance at success in school. It is lifted from sports terminology when referring to team members who practice with the team, but don’t actually play. Usually to get them acclimated to the level of play so they will be ready the next year.

This is a big topic among almost all parents who have children with birthdays in the months of September through December. On one hand, you want your child to have as many advantages in school as possible. Some parents believe the developmental differerences between a child born in January and a child born in December of the same year are too large to ignore, thus putting the December child at a disadvantage in an academic setting. On the other hand, you have social pressure to put your child in school even if they have a late birthday because in doing so, you are somehow admitting your child won’t cut it.

Talk about a minefield!

I agonized over the decision to hold my son back for almost a year. The biggest opponent to holding him back was actually my own mother. She was not, is not, will never be happy that my son is in “Junior Kindergarten” this year instead of regular. She has tried to talk me out of it multiple times, each time with less and less patience on my part.

It is my opinion that with the heavy emphasis on academics in schools courtesy of the No Child Left Behind Act, he would do better if he was held back. I tried in vain to explain to my mom that the kindergarten of my youth is not the same kindergarten of today. He also, I think, needs more time to learn the important skills of cooperation and teamwork, which will hopefully make his school career go a bit more smoothly. Social skills are just as important as academic ones, and younger children are less socially developed than their older peers.

It wasn’t a decision I made lightly, and it certainly wasn’t because I want him to be the biggest and strongest kid on the playground. It also wasn’t due to a lack of intelligence, he can already read. However, taking all the factors listed above into account, as well as his personality, I made the executive decision. Because I am without a doubt the decider.

Besides, the school’s own admission policy states that any child enrolled in kindergarten must be five at the start of the school year. My son will be five at the end of this month. Many schools are doing this in their own self-interest to boost or maintain scores, as well as recognizing the increasing academic load being placed on our children at an earlier age. And since it works out that their policy is also in the best interest of my son, I’m all for it. As an added bonus, it shuts my mom up, too.

There are not many things better than male bonding at a baseball game, am I right?

Maddox is so excited and fascinated with whatever object he is pointing at. He is adorable with his front teeth missing.

Brad, the boy selling newspapers on the corner wanted me to ask if he could have his hat back, please!

And, I’m guessing that the man sitting right behind Maddox is forever grateful that he did not move even a fraction of an inch when this photo was taken. Because being known for the rest of your life as the dude with Maddox Jolie-Pitt’s finger up your nose would totally suck.

Now, if you’ve been around the internet any length of time, you’ve seen a few lulus of URLs:

• therapistfinder.com
• molestationnursery.com
• speedofart.com
• fordowners.com
• etc, etc

Now, most of those are unintentional portmanteau words that were born from the unsanctified mating of one perfectly respectable word with another perfectly respectable word, in a context where no-one is allowed the decency of so much as an n-dash between. Well, what do you expect, when you throw young words together like that?

But sometimes a really, really bad URL is both intentional and unintentional. Let us examine one such example:

http://PimpMyDaughter.wordpress.com

Yes, that reads “Pimp My Daughter” and yes, it’s supposed to.

The blogmommy says the site:

“exists to have fun, build Amelia’s confidence and to introduce our family to the exciting world of blogging…If you think the name ‘PimpMyDaughter’ implies that I am willing to actually pimp my daughter then you will probably be disappointed (If your name is Bill Gates then we may be able to work something out).”

Beautiful, truly beautiful: really putting the “ass” in “Class” there, Ma. She claims she got the idea from MTV’s “Pimp my Ride” having, apparently, never in her life heard that the word pimp derived from the word…well, pimp.

Who’da seen that coming, so to speak?

When former sex trade workers are leaving you multiple comments suggesting your blog’s name is tasteless and offensive, you should consider the possibility that the blog’s name is tasteless and offensive. If you’re fine with it, brazen it out, but expect Parents Day at school to be a mite frosty for all ages. If you’re not fine with equating yourself with criminally abusive parents who rent their children out for sex, then perhaps you should consider an alternative that is slightly less criminally-abusive-parents-who-rent-their-children-out-for-sex.

I’m just sayin’.

Seriously, folks, am I alone in hoping that instead of a site to give a shy teenager some confidence, this is some sort of tricksy Russian Mail Order Bride scam? It would be a lot healthier.

more at twiigs.com…

How to get your kidlets to do all the weeding you promised your spouse you’d get done while s/he was at work. As tricksy methodologies go, this one has legs; I’m pretty sure this was the only way my ancestors ever got their fields harvested. Well do I remember my mother’s taunts of “your sister’s picked a whole basket more strawberries than you; do you think you can catch her?”

And lookie: here’s a whole list of functional, kid-sized gardening tools, so now there’s no excuse for having a ratty yard. Just equip your teeny team and challenge them to make Ye Olde English Lawne Strypes.