My Yummy new job

For those who haven't heard, I got a job writing content for the Yummy Mummy Club, the mom site run by Erica Ehm of Much Music fame. 

Unfortunately this means my own blog posts will be even more sporadic than they have been of late.  But I hope you'll continue to support my work here, there, and everywhere.  I'm obviously biased, but think the "Mummy Buzz" will prove a cool read indeed...

Click here to check out the first installment. The Buzz will be updated daily, bringing you hot mummy news as it happens.

Tiger tutor wanted

A-list celebrity Gwyneth Paltrow and her hubby, front man of the rock band Coldplay, Chris Martin, are seeking the services of a private tutorfor their two young children, 8-year-old Apple, and 6-year-old Moses.

According to British newspaper, The Telegraph, the pay is outstanding -- £62,000 (around $100,000) a year for clocking just four hours a day. The package includes star-calibre accommodation, nine weeks’ vacation, and a myriad travel and health care perks.

Now, before you go and polish off your resume, be sure you possess Gwynie’s prerequisite qualifications ad nauseum.

In the ad, which was recently posted on a specialist website,the ideal candidate for the job must meet a long list of must-haves:  a background in classics (including Greek and Latin), fluency in a minimum of three languages (preferably including Mandarinor Japanese).  The applicant must also be able to play at least two instruments, and have a “passion for sailing and tennis, art history or martial arts”.

Is that all, you ask? Apparently not.  In addition to the stringent criteria above, applicants must also be cognizant in “the history of thought from a philosophical perspective”… Looks like Gwynie is giving Amy Chua a run for her money in the Tiger Mom stakes.

No X-boxes or Transformers in the Paltrow/Martin household, then.

Taking the world by Storm

So a Toronto couple has decided to keep their baby's gender a secret.  Only Storm's immediate family knows what's between Storm's squidgy legs.  Is it any wonder this story recently went viral?  That the baby's name is Storm should tell you all you need to know...  Well-intentioned parents land a truly crackpot idea and decide to run with it.  Their hope is that people will get to know Storm as a person, not a gender.  And while the ideology behind the decision is laudable, the reality of a 'sexless' baby is laughable. 

Click here to read the full article, as featured at A Mother World.

Bugaboo: why the new Donkey makes an ass out of you and me

When it comes to decadence and rampant commercialism, I’ll be the first to admit there are a lot of things I don’t get. I’m not a ‘bling’ sort of person. Naturally clumsy, I’ve never been one for heels. So the whole Sex in the City shoe fetish was lost on me. I would sooner spend what little disposable income I have on a family trip or a spa treatment. When it comes to pampering, that’s something I not only understand but wholeheartedly endorse. A timely massage or pedi can do wonders for a mother’s ravaged body and soul.

Needless to say, I’m mystified and more than a little ‘bugged’ by the latest Bugaboo craze. There are cars that go for cheaper than the new stroller, which is the ultimate status symbol of the urban mama and papa.

Click here to read the full article, as featured at A Mother World.

My Rhesus monkey

So, being my progeny, LGO was always bound to be a little strange. But my son is weird in his own inimitable fashion.  Not only does he have a real love affair with numbers (he still recites house numbers all the way down the street -- Rain Man, much?), he becomes attached to the strangest things.  Despite much swaying, he's never been one to cuddle with a teddy bear, though he has many.  Ever wishful, I placed Frank the Frog in his crib, only to find him severely beaten by morning.  Then we moved on to George the Monkey.  No black eyes, yet clearly there is no soft spot for the monkey, either.  LGO never seemed to care one way or another who or what slept in his bed... 

Until recently.  It all started when he made the transition to his Big Boy Bed.  He insisted on reading Goodnight Moon as a prelude to nod land.  Books are fine.  Books are great.  Books are a boy's best friend...  Except he felt asleep clutching the hard cover.  Every night since, it's been the same old lang syne.  'Goodnight stars, goodnight air, goodnight noises everywhere, shhhh...'  Progressively, the objects of his affection have grown weirder.  One night he curled up with a plastic block, #9 being a lucky number and all. Maybe he know more about numerology than his dear ole ma.  The other night, it was a calculator, and tonight: an old cordless phone.

In my day it was a knitted white rabbit called 'Rabbie' that ultimately went gray with age and lovin' abuse.  There was also the satiny rim of a favourite blanket.  Soft, secure.  This is what you want in an attachment object, right?  After all, even the Rhesus monkey had the sense to go for the surrogate made of cloth, not wire.  But nope, this just doesn't fly with my LGO.  What does his choice say about him?  Or more worryingly, what does it say about me as his mother?  Am I as comfy as plastic or as soothing as cardboard?  I must remember to ask him in the morning...

What about you?  Is your kid especially clingy with a strange item?