Parenting

It's that time of year, again.

How do you finish the classic kid song, "Jingle Bells, Batman smells..."?

I do this every year and I've heard all kinds of versions, and I get some interesting searches for it.

One even includes a reference to Uncle Billy, a willy and a motorway.

What say you?

I was talking with a group of moms a few days ago when the subject of boys playing with girls' toys came up.

I happened upon this doorstop at my son's school in the caf-a-gym-a-torium.

It looks like she's indicating "Welcome to this small utility closet."

You aren’t nearly that lucky!  I will be here, junking up this little corner of the Blogosphere, until they drag me kicking, screaming, and farting either into Le Looney Bin or to the afterlife.

That’s right, I don’t plan on going quietly into that good night.

Since I began my blogging all consuming obsession little hobby, I have noticed a few changes in my life.  I have decided to come clean with you, my wonderful Friends of Fussy. I know admitting my problem is the first step in recovery.

1) I have the power of telepathy.

I've never shopped at Etsy (surfed around a little but never bought anything) and I need Christmas presents so would you mind terribly telling me which shops have great stuff?

Please comment with your favorites so I know where to start.

And include recommendations for men, please, the bain of my Christmas list.

Dear Toy Manufacturers,

I used to think you were benevolent and slightly whimsical, doing your best to manufacture unbelievably wonderful toys that small children could dream about at night while waiting for Santa to fly over their rooftops. Now, though, I just think you're greedy.

Y'all know I do reviews. But really, who wants to see a bunch of boring reviews or reviews telling you how awesome a mediocre product was? What about writing some tired lines about a product that sucks? Not me.