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Archive for December 2nd, 2008

Brooke Shields Shows You How Not to Pose With Your Kids

Tuesday, December 2nd, 2008
By Glinda


Brooke Shields: I’m so glad I did those tricep curls, or else I would have totally slipped off the edge of this couch by now!

Girls: Wheee! We’re upside down!

Brooke Shields: I feel awkward, like the photographer told me to just sort of pretend I’m trying to keep just the one daughter from slipping off the couch as well. But really, it’s a token hold, they just didn’t know what to do with my hand.

Girls: We’re really cute, but you would have no way of knowing!

Brooke Shields: Just ignore my thigh over here, for some reason it looks twice as large as it really is. My hair, though, is perfect. Admit it, you are totally jealous of my hair.

Girls: Admire our shoes! Aren’t they fab?

Brooke Shields: I have a feeling this one isn’t going to make the cut for the Christmas card.

The Four Husbandly Christmas Duties

Tuesday, December 2nd, 2008
By Glinda


I have something to confess.

I live with a Christmas Grinch. Uh, one whose heart never grew two more sizes, that is.

For reasons lost in the ether many moons ago, my husband has grown up to have a healthy dislike of all things Christmas. It could be that as a middle child, he was always ignored and never got what he wanted. Or maybe it was the time his oldest brother, completely inebriated, one year mistook the living room Christmas tree for a green, pine-scented urinal. Whatever the reason, the holiday season is one of his least favorites.

And you know, fine, I get that. Not everyone can have holiday cheer oozing from every pore, candy cane in pocket to hand out to every child they see. Still, living with a Christmas Grinch can be hard work when you are trying to spread some joy, dammit!

But as I told him when our son was around two, you have to try to fake it for the sake of the kids. The children do not understand utterances under one’s breath about how insincere and fake it all is, and how if one hears Jingle Bells one more time, one might be forced to embark on a long eggnog binge.

To ensure everyone’s sanity, my husband has only four simple duties at Christmas.

1. He must get the tree. Now, he may not actually pick out the tree, but he is responsible for hauling it into the house.

2. He must string the lights on the tree, since his six inch height advantage on me means he does not have to get on a step ladder.

3. He must put up the lights around the outside of the house. This, I’m told, is a manly thing to do as it involves both cursing and ladders.

4. Lastly, he must assemble all large and annoying toys that need assembling.

After that, I inform him that he can simply fade into the background if he so desires. I don’t expect him to care about where I hang the garlands or what kind of candy I should put into the Advent calendar.

Some years he has gotten more into it than others, but I suspect this year won’t be one of them.

Hey, as long as he doesn’t snitch on who actually ate the cookies for Santa, it’s OK with me.

The Littlest Podcaster

Tuesday, December 2nd, 2008
By raincoaster

Hey, it’s never too early for career pressure, eh? Not only is your poor child subject to those snide remarks from passive-aggressive Alpha Mummies at the playground (when did he start walking? Oh, gosh, that’s well within the lower range of normal. I’m sure he’ll catch up) but s/he must also compete against peers. Peers whose ranks include the youthful French podcaster Capucine. This video alone has had over 331,000 views.

Once upon a time… from Capucha on Vimeo. Passed along on a tip from Twitter from ThatWife

A breathtaking story by Capucine. Starring baby monkeys lost in frightening trees, a witch, crocodiles, a tiger, a “popotamus” and a lion, and even a “tremendously very bad mammoth”. There are also magic powers and an orange ring, but sometimes, “something goes amiss”.
Bring your popcorn and enjoy the show.

Ah, but she’d better watch her back. Everyone knows child stars burn out fast. Everyone remembers the brief, shining star that was Pearl the Landlord.

Disclaimer: Manolo the Shoeblogger is not Manolo Blahnik
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