Self-improvement classes held in the l&d ward daily. Results nearly guaranteed.

There's this scary aspect of having kids in that it forces you to be a better adult.

Not a better parent, just a better person overall.

You can't grab a bag of chips for dinner, lest your kids take note and develop their own crappy eating habits. You can't whine about your weight lest your kids develop their own self-esteem issues around weight. You can't yell fuckwad! at the screen every time Sean Hannity opens his mouth. Occasionally you have to you turn off the TV altogether and open a book.

You have to make the bed. (Well, at least you probably should.)

You have to watch your language when you smash your head on the couch. Hard. You can't talk about your neighbors/teachers/parents/kids' friends behind their backs. You have to make good on promises. You have to make good on threats.

And probably, most daunting of all, you actually have to wait until the big red hand becomes the white walking person before you cross the street--which could only be more annoying if there were zero cars coming, and not the single 1992 Lincoln going 5 miles an hour that's still six blocks away.

There are definitely times I don't know that I'm up for this. Even three years later, it all seems like a huge freaking personality transplant, like all my insides and vital organs have been sucked out my ears then replaced entirely with new stuff that's programmed to set examples actually worth following.

Parenting is hard.

The picky eater's Thanksgiving

I asked Thalia what she thought she was going to have for Thanksgiving dinner and she showed me this picture she drew for her first "homework" at preschool.

The meal consists of:
-crackers
-a carrot
-one french fry
-"pink sauce"

At least clean-up will be easy.

Wishing you and yours a happy, healthy and delicious Thanksgiving.

I am definitely in the wrong industry

"Okay mommy, we're going to play that I'm the mommy and you're the kid and I'm going to tell you I'm going to work and you're going to ask me if you can come. "

"Sounds good, Thalia."

"Okayyy...I'm going to work now, kid..."

"Can I come, mommy?"

"Sure!"

"What do you do at work mommy?"

"I go to where the jellybeans are, to look at them and make sure the jellybeans are all okay."

"That's what you do for work?"

"Yes!"

"You are a jellybean caretaker?"

"Yes! And you can come. And I put them all in a box and then there is paper and I take the paper off and I am very careful and then I put them back and then I make sure they are okay and then I can eat them. And then we jump! Jump, jump!"

"And that's what you do at work?"

"That's what I do at work."

The Motrin Moms ad campaign: Oy, as they say.

Since the Motrin ad campaign broke this weekend (h/t Jessica Gottlieb with more excellent recaps at at Pistachio and Twitter Maven) I've been bombarded with emails (okay, two) asking me what I thought of it. You know, because I'm in advertising and we all know each other.

Wait, actually that's true. We do.

Which is kind of making me a little nervous because the creative team might in fact be people I know and respect and would have to get drunk one night and then slap them upside the head and ask them what the hell they were thinking.

It's worth watching to get the full effect, but here's the transcript:

Wearing your baby seems to be in fashion. I mean, in theory it’s a great idea. There’s the front baby carrier, sling, schwing, wrap, pouch. And who knows what else they’ve come up with. Wear your baby on your side, your front, go hands free. Supposedly [insert air quotes here] it’s a real bonding experience. They say that babies carried close to the body tend to cry less than others. But what about me? Do moms that wear their babies cry more than those who don’t? I sure do! These things put a ton of strain on your back, your neck, your shoulders. Did I mention your back? I mean, I’ll put up with the pain because it’s a good kind of pain; it’s for my kid. Plus, it totally makes me look like an official mom. And so if I look tired and crazy, people will understand why.

I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that Motrin missed the boat. I mean, they close the ad with the tag line, Motrin. We feel your pain.

Huh?

Why that line makes no sense at all! That line almost sounds like it was written for a campaign that demonstrates some level of empathy with parents.

The script is just calling for a line that "closes the circle" and completes the story.

Motrin. Because you can't have an epidural every day of the week.

Motrin. Your body just ain't what it used to be. Sucks for you.

Motrin. It's like totally what, like, all the official moms are taking.

Motrin. For parents who long for the days that they only got body aches from dancing all night and doing coke.

Motrin. Quit yer whining, woman.

Sigh.

Snide remarks aside--I'll leave that to the thousands of moms on twitter who are going nuts right now if you search #motrinmoms--I'm actually feeling Motrin's own pain right now. They have an awesome brand, a tried-and-true product, and a very smart idea at its core: Motrin works on the pain that only mothers understand.

What the campaign is missing is the love.

And that's not something that can be captured in a single throwaway line about being willing to endure pain for your kid.

It's not easy to do snarky well when you're talking about parenting. Popular blogs like Motherhood Uncensored, Finslippy, Baby on Bored, White Trash Mom, Laid off Dad, and Metrodad to name a few, are not popular simply because they illuminate the ups and downs of parenting with brutal, hilarious honesty, but because they do it through the eyes of parents who truly, deeply love their children. It's the rare writer who can capture the negatives without bitterness, who can elaborate on the hell without sounding, well, like a 34 year-old male copywriter who's never had a kid. Whether or not that's actually the case.

There are some good freaking writers on parenting blogs. They connect with thousands of parents every day. And none of them are making nearly what creatives in ad agencies are making.

Maybe that should change.

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Update: I just received an official statement by email from Kathy Widmer, McNeil's VP of Marketing

I am the Vice President of Marketing for McNeil Consumer Healthcare. I have responsibility for the Motrin Brand, and am responding to concerns about recent advertising on our website. I am, myself, a mom of 3 daughters.

We certainly did not mean to offend moms through our advertising. Instead, we had intended to demonstrate genuine sympathy and appreciation for all that parents do for their babies. We believe deeply that moms know best and we sincerely apologize for disappointing you. Please know that we take your feedback seriously and will take swift action with regard to this ad. We are in process of removing it from our website. It will take longer, unfortunately, for it to be removed from magazine print as it is currently on newstands and in distribution.

Nicely done.

And now I think it's time for the twittering to callllm down just a bit, for everyone to stop calling for the company's head on a platter, and allow them to make amends. After all, we do like our ibuprofen, right?

----

One more update, via a friend at the ad agency: The copywriter is no longer with the agency.

She's on maternity leave.

Wow.

"When I'm a parent, I'll never be one of those people who...oh wait. Scratch that."

We've become Those Parents who trot our child out and ask her to perform for company.

God help us.

It starts innocently enough - Thalia likes singing the goodbye song from school. She likes showing company how many rhymes she can make. (Telelphone...delephone!) She likes the knock knock jokes.

The next thing you know, we have a roomful of brunch guests, with Thalia at the center of them all, showing them her Dancey Dance moves and reciting the Redskins fight song.

And here Nate and I are justifying it, oh look, our guests are charmed! They think it's great! They love our kids! Here we are not even contemplating for a moment that our friends are going to go walk out the door and before the elevator has reached the lobby, they're going to be grabbing each other and saying, "Did we really just spend our entire Sunday listening to a three year-old rhyme ball with mall then tell us all about how she poops by herself?"

I think you could say we're officially parents now. The plaque is on its way.

Safe toys for kids this holiday: Good thing to buy if you ask me

Oh man I've been so swept up in election-y matters that I totally forgot to mention -The second annual Cool Mom Picks Safer Toy Guide is here.

We've rounded up truly safe toys for kids from baby teethers and rattles to cool ride-ons and handmade dolls so that whatever you get the little people in your life, you can rest a little easier, support some great small artists and boutique owners, and keep more plastic junk from China out of the landfills.

Also, you'll save a crapload on batteries.

Plus if you add the purdy button above on your own blog you could win $600 worth of awesome goodies for the kids (check the guide for details). Pretty fair trade if you ask me.

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For more on how to pick safer toys for your kids, check out our post on the Alpha Mom Guide to Everything.

History

new pic: Reuters

I am still too overwhelmed to get my thoughts completely straight.

Outside, there were people spilling out of the buildings of my otherwise quiet Brooklyn neighborhood. Cars were honking and flashing lights, an incredibly diverse group of Brooklyn College kids were cheering and singing and dancing, filling the sidewalks like a Mardi Gras parade. No cops came to stop them. No scowling passersby rolled their eyes. Instead, people high fived strangers. They hugged their neighbors. The streets were teary and joyous and magical.

It felt cathartic as much as celebratory; like a heavy weight lifted off our collective chests. Like enchanted statues in some sci-fi movie cracking open and revealing living humans once again. Like a triumph of hope over hatred. Of progress over fear.

At an election watching party last night, one friend turned to me and asked whether I was going to wake my kids and give them the news. I told her I wasn't sure; I think they were too little to understand, even if the night really belonged to them.

Then I turned to her and said, "Our children - they're going to grow up during the Obama years."

She squeezed my hand and we cried together.

Necessity is the mother of Halloween costume invention

So in typical blogworld fashion, you were all right: The girls had a dandy Halloween party without me, I survived The Big Meeting, and I made it home in time to get them dressed again for trick or treating. The thing is, Thalia was happy to get into her cat costume (far less challenging than last year's peacock to be sure) but Sage was in overstimulated-sugar-crash-getting-a-cold mode and would not put that gay lamb costume back on for all the Kit Kats in the world.

And by gay I mean exactly that. It was totally gay, so get your finger off the PC police hotline. We're talking like Liza Minelli-belting, interior decorating, blue satin bow tie-wearing, name your stereotype gay. Even Nate's best friend, who is gay, agrees. In fact I am sure that we saw at least 18 guys dressed the very same way on TV at the Greenwich Village Halloween Parade.

Gay.

Having given up on Sage's likelihood of making it up past 6, Nate got ready to put Sage down to bed. But as I started to head out with Thalia to knock on the doors in our building, Sage got a second wind and, clad in nothing but a diaper, decided she wanted to join us.

So we did what any family would have done in the same situation.

We threw an apron over her, shoved a whisk in her hand, and called her The Naked Chef.


I think three people in our building got it. We like them.

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This is a public service announcement (with guitars?): If you are having ANY problems at all voting tomorrow, if anyone tries to give you a provisional ballot, if you are turned away at the polls or see any fliers or get any calls with misleading information tomorrow please please PLEASE call 1-866 OUR VOTE or text your question to RTVOTE. This is not some wacky conspiracy theory - there have already been 80,000 complaints made about voting problems.

[Edited to add: These suggestions is based on knowledge I've gained working closely with Rock the Vote over the past month on an election protection campaign and having the honor of speaking one-on-one with Greg Palast. If you are given a provisional ballot, there is a 1/3 chance it will not be counted. By calling 866OURVOTE you can request immediate adjudication, so that if you are indeed qualified to vote, you vote. Not all counties or polling officials are dishonest. But you know? Some are.]

I know my segue is terrible but that's what happens when you wait three days to post Halloween pictures in an election year.