The recent Parenting story "The new playdate playbook" included advice for a mom who wasn't comfortable letting her daughter have a sleepover at a single dad's home. Based on our expert's advice (which advised the mom to say "thanks, but we'll pass"), some accused us of calling single dads unfit caregivers, and even predators. It's time we reined in our post-Sandusky hysteria.
The new documentary The Other F Word answers the question: What happens when the punk rockers who said “I don’t give a f#@!" have kids, and start giving a f$#%? As you’ll see in this flick, they give a f$#%. Like, a sincere, concerted f$#@.
Here at the Pop Culture laboratories – a small space near the office supply cabinet and the fire extinguisher at Parenting headquarters– we work hard to bring fathers to the forefront, to shine the spotlight on them. But there are some fathers - thousands and thousands of them, actually - who do not want the spotlight. It’s actually illegal for us to shine it on them. There’s only place you’ll find any concrete evidence of these fathers: in ICI vials submerged in liquid nitrogen, packed away in a storage facility in Los Angeles. Welcome to California Cryobank.
Forget about letters, numbers, walking, crawling, talking and potty training. Elf on the Shelf, an idea created by a mother-daughter team in Marietta, Georgia, has become the Next Big Mompetition. And it’s making people angry. Like angry angry. Check out this post on Babycenter titled “Elf on the shelf overachievers (can suck it).” There's an entry about “Over-achieving elf on the shelf mommies” on the blog People I Want to Punch in the Throat. Well ladies, you can add dads into the mix.
Dear editors of Babble.com, I’m having a really, really, really, really (really) hard time understanding how Pop Culture did not make your year-end list of the Top 50 Dad Blogs. I realize we're competitors and all, but allow me to make my case....
If I have to listen to that happy train song one more time, I'm going to step in front of the choo-choo. That was me five years ago, with Jackson's fave CD spinning in the nursery boombox. Kids music can be a little injured cockatoo duct-taped to a police siren on big ears. And adult music can be a little #@$ #$@$ *&%$ @!#$ on little ears. Can't we meet in the middle? I did some digging, and (gasp!) found some tunes that work for all age groups.