Rah, Rah, Rah For Rocket!

I can't remember how The Poo discovered The Little Einsteins, but it hardly matters. Because when she did, it was obsession at first sight.

We keep at least three episodes of this musical action cartoon in our DVR queue, always at the ready to soothe and entertain her.

Yes, she watches TV. She loves TV. And if it teaches her about Igor Stravinsky or Paul Klee, I can't really argue with it. Besides, how the hell else would I get all this bloody blogging done?

So when I was offered an advance copy of the new Little Einsteins DVD, "Rocket's Firebird Rescue," I jumped at the chance. How could I refuse a 45-minute episode of The Poo's favorite show of all time?

She was so excited to watch it, she could barely contain herself. Then, as the story really began to roll, she found it deliciously suspenseful. When the mean old ogre begins to threaten the Firebird and Rocket, she hid her eyes in her daddy's belly.

Now we're on our 9,457th viewing of the DVD, and she knows the ending. She shouts out to the Firebird, warning her and helping her to defeat the ogre. Most amusingly, she's started pretending she's one of the characters, and insists on being called "June."

It even kept her completely entertained on a 45-minute car trip last week. That is no mean feat.

I highly recommend this DVD for any kid who wants to go on a trip with their favorite rocket ship. If you doubt me, you can check it out for yourself by watching clips of the episode here, here and here.

You can also get a sneak peek at the activities available on this interactive DVD, and it comes with a bonus episode of the show.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to put "Rocket" in the DVD player.

Again.

The Art Of Girl Talk

Living in a college town, I get an eyeful of fresh adolescent flesh just about everywhere I go.

These girls, caught on the precipice between girl and woman, 18 years old and outwardly so very, very sure of themselves.

I mean, have you seen the way they're growing them these days? I don't know about you, but when I was a teenage girl, my hair was a disaster, my chest as flat as a board, and my fashion choices - well.

Let's just be kind and say it was the '80s.

These days, girls - even the little ones, the 'tweens - are beautiful, coiffed creatures with round breasts and sun-kissed, honey-drenched skin.

What the hell. I blame hormones in our food. But that is a whole other post.

My point is that someday, The Poo might be one of these girls. Of course, she has that uphill battle against her parents' genetics, but in my opinion she already possesses unbearable physical beauty.

And I cannot for the life of me imagine ever, in this lifetime, talking to her about blue balls.

Thanks to OB-GYN Melissa Holmes, M.D., and pediatrician Patricia Hutchinson, M.D., I don't have to.

These woman are the force behind Girlology - the art and science, if you will, of talking to your daughters (or any other young woman in your life) about relationships, their bodies and sexuality.

The pair have 20 years combined experience with women, children and adolescents, and have developed programs that bring mothers and daughter together.

Parent Bloggers Network asked me to review Holmes' and Hutchinson's latest book, "Hang-Ups, Hook-Ups and Holding Out: Stuff You Need To Know About Your Body, Sex and Dating."

The book is written specifically for high-school aged girls (or boys) and focuses on keeping bodies and minds healthy during these tumultuous years.

Using stories to illustrate their points, the authors take on subjects that I know my mother avoided like the plague: STDs, sex, how to know when a relationship is going bad.

With wide-ranging topics from the very difficult (abortion) to the very common (yeast infections), the book discusses the pitfalls and potholes of being a teenage girl in this highly sexualized society with frankness and freshness.

I have to admit that I skipped some sections (uh, "swallowing seamen") because I'm just not ready to think about that in relation to my daughter. It is hard enough to imagine potty training the kid.

One thing I was struck by is how true the book is to actual teen experiences. And how much I wish I'd had a copy when I was 15.

This guidebook doesn't excuse you from having the hard talks with your child. After all, it is my responsibility to guide The Poo through every stage in her life.

Just as I held her hands while she learned to walk, I'll hold her hand when she is walking through the blackboard jungle, trying to find her way in a world halfway between girl and woman.

So you can be sure that I'll keep "Hang-Ups, Hook-Ups and Holding Out: Stuff You Need To Know About Your Body, Sex and Dating" on my bookshelf - to guide us both.

Todd Parr Rocks My World

When The Poo was barely four months old, I signed her up for one of those book-clubs-by-mail - you know, the kind that sucker you in by letting you buy a gazillion books for a penny?

Of course, then they send you $49.99 worth of books every month if you don't mail in a postcard that says, no, thank you by the 30th.

Dude, I can't even remember when my last period was. You think I can remember to mail in a postcard? I'm certain I owe $8,965.31 to somebody, but I've moved so they can't trace me.

Anyway, one of the books I ordered in a free-stuff frenzy was The Peace Book by Todd Parr. I didn't know anything about Parr or the book itself, but the title caught my eye.

Two years later, that book is still one of The Poo's favorites.

The oversized book has bright, simple illustrations styled to look like children's drawings. The equally simple text offers pretty profound moral guidelines for living together in a community:

"Peace is everyone having a home"
"Peace is having enough pizza for everyone."
"Peace is new babies being born."

Parr's other books are just as endearing and instructive as "The Peace Book." I particularly like "The Mommy Book" and "The Daddy Book."

In fact, The Poo and her daddy are reading "The Peace Book" right now, giving me a rare moment of peace and quiet.

So I'm outta here.

Some Things You Just Can't Scrimp On

I'm on a budget.

My husband is a doctoral candidate at a Huge Midwestern University, having matriculated after nine years of professional life. For many years we lived well on his small public-school teacher's salary and my ridiculously bloated corporate marketing salary.

Fast-forward to 2005 - we had a kid, so of course we both quit our jobs to follow our dreams (I'm making a go of it as a freelance journalist). I mean, who wants to raise a kid with all that money hanging around?

Am I right? Gimme an amen.

Thanks to luck and the generosity of our extended families, we live well for three people who should be food-bank regulars.

But Rockefellers we aint't.

When it comes time to grocery shop, I gravitate toward store-brand and generic, especially for the stuff like shampoo and soap. Same formula, same result - at least, 99 percent of the time.

I recently purchased a large can of Meijer-brand shave gel for women.

Never again. The stuff sucks. It barely gets foamy and it didn't do the job on my hairy calves.

Take my advice - by Skintimate.

Trolling For Treasure: Garage Sale America

When we moved to the Midwest, Mr. Chicken made me promise we wouldn't buy anymore "old shit."

Rare books. Art Deco furniture. Mid-century pottery. Vintage sheet music. Old instruments. Bakelite and celluloid jewelry. We have a basement full of this kind of stuff.

It doesn't help that we spend summers on Cape Cod, perhaps the epicenter for New England antiquing. You can't go five feet without being hit with a sign promising "Ye Olde Useless Crap To Blow Your Wad On."

Then there was that time when Mr. Chicken scored a rare Fire King jadite breakfast bowl at a church rummage sale for a quarter. He knew I loved green glass, but what he didn't know was that his score is worth $125 on the eBay market.

We were hooked.

So when Parent Bloggers Network asked me to review Bruce Littlefield's book, Garage Sale America, I said yes, please!

Despite my promise to avoid old shit, I still like to look for that gem, that rare find that will make my house less cheap subdivision and more shabby chic.

Littlefield's book is full of tips on how to score the kind of finds you see on Antiques Roadshow, and he also shows how he uses ordinary objects in extraordinary ways. The photographs of his Upstate New York home, which is loaded with his garage-sale bargains, are inspiring.

One of his best buys is a pair of metal chairs - you know, the kind that Crate and Barrel wants to charge you $200 for? He gets a pair, sands them down and repaints them. Instant retro cool.

There isn't a lot to do out here on the prairie, but damn if there aren't a plethora of garage sales. I was crossing my fingers behind my back when I made my promise to Mr. Chicken. Besides, if I get a 300 percent return on that 50-cent purchase, he can't be mad, right?

Right?

There Is A God

I'm having a hell of a time staying on my diet. And I crave chocolate and salt like the dickens when it is - ahem - my lady time.

Grocery shopping while in this state is a mistake of the highest order. Until today, that is, when I discovered Hershey's 100 Calorie Pretzel Bars.

I didn't have a lot of faith in these. Most of the "100 calorie" foods I've tried have been less than satisfying.

But these babies? Heaven.

Creamy chocolate and salty, crunchy pretzels. Perfection. Kills two cravings with one stone. The bar comes in two pieces, so you feel like you're eating not one, but two candy bars.

Excellent. Get some. You won't be sorry, and you won't feel guilty.

Scents Of Summer

I used to be a slave to body potions and products. I first discovered the joy of body wash when I was 15, just after we moved to England. It was there that I was introduced to The Body Shop.

Filled with medicinal-looking jars and bottles, the stores were filled with the scent of the all-natural ingredients used in the products lining the shelves. Banana. Coconut. Mint.

It was heaven. And I was hooked for life.

By the time we got back to the states, The Body Shop - once a European-only experience - moved into the U.S. and I was able to get my banana conditioner and avocado body butter whenever the spirit moved me to take a stroll down Newbury Street.

Years later, Bath And Body Works made an appearance, and I added bubble bath and body wash to my repertoire of girly indulgences.

Ever since I walked into my first BBW, I've loved their summer line. I buy a body lotion and wash in a different flavor each year, and that scent forever reminds me of the particular time and place in which I indulged myself with these potions.

This year is no exception. Despite the fact that $37.50 could be better spent on diapers in my household right now, I selfishly took some of the money I recently earned to the mall to choose my summer scent.

For the first time, The Poo helped me choose. I opened jars and bottles with nifty graphics and catchy names. The girl and I both breathed in deeply, inhaling coconut, mango and strawberry.

This year, I chose something less sweet, more offbeat - Ice Tea Twist, in the three-in-one body wash and the lotion.

Can't wait to hit the beach, smelling like fresh tea and lemon.

And I might just have to go back and get the banana, too.