Junk Mail Now Starts at 6 (Years Old)

My daughter got a letter marked "personal" today. It was a blue envelope, marked with a non-profit's seal on the upper left hand corner of the envelope.

Did I mention she is 6?

Her first junk mail. At 6. A momentous moment.

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I Have No Shame; I'm a Blogger

There comes a moment in every blogger's life when she has to take stock of her life and ask: do I have any shame left?

I have admitted a lot over the years, and it's all out there, ready for a Google search to bring it flooding back. Heaven help my child when I open the parental controls on her laptop.

Yes, I have read 50 Shades of Grey. And the two books after it. The writing was horrible, but I read 'em. So there!

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I Am Now & Forever Shall Be ... A Bulimic

In 20 years, we'll look back, and the Mother's Day present will be adorable. I hope. Crafted at school, it's a letter to mom, complete with lines for kids to "fill in the blanks" with details about THEIR mom.

My kid filled in my weight with a guess of 20 pounds. Twenty pounds. Looking at the number, I realize what it means. I'd be dead.

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My Kid's a Pompous Windbag, Yours?

Here's the problem with allowing your kid to be photographed for a major American newspaper: she tells everyone. The guy at the car dealership. The waitress at the restaurant. Everyone.

Now, I know what you're thinking. It's a major American newspaper, did she really think people weren't going to find out? Duh!

Stop the eye roll right there. My brain hasn't been that numbed by all the Disney Channel and My Little Pony play.

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This Paparazzi Parent Thing Has Got to Stop

The cameras flashed. The video was recording. The dozens of little dancers danced their little hearts out on the stage at the college, and every step was captured for the ages.

This is what it is like to be a kid in 2012. If Mom or Dad isn't taking a picture of it, they're talking about it on Facebook. Or, for my poor kid, blogging about it.

The good. The bad. That time they forgot to wear underwear to school or fell backward off the swingset.

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The Avengers Red Carpet Vs. The Wrap I'd Rather Forget

Image via Louise Bishop at Mom Start

Warning. This column will contain some bragging. I'm sorry. It can't be helped (well it could, but it wouldn't be that interesting).

I should have known it would happen. I was invited by Disney to cover the New York premiere of Marvel's The Avengers, and I had everything set. The dress was bought (yes, folks who are accustomed to seeing me show up at your events in jeans and a hoodie, I did indeed buy a dress). The shoes were bought. Four inches of heel with pretty pink straps.

Then I made the podiatrist appointment. I didn't even think about it. Raised by a nurse practitioner, when something goes wrong, you get it looked at.

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I Took My Kid to Jack Daniel's (Or I Hope They Serve Whiskey in Mom Hell)

Jack (Daniel) and Jill

Yes. I know. I made a Tucker Max reference when I think he's a misogynistic toolbag. But then, I did take my daughter to the Jack Daniel's distillery this month, so in certain circles I'm already a crap person.

A disclaimer right off the bat: they don't serve alcohol during regular tours (it's a dry county, for one), and even if they did, I wouldn't have let my 6-year-old get a taste. I'm not crazy. I just enjoy a little bit of fun on my vacations.

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