As a blog that focuses on urban style parenting, I’ve written about you before. By all accounts, you’re a sweet city celebu-dad who totes his precious cargo Jack around NYC on your shoulders, romps with him in the park, ties his shoes and ensures that he gets a steady diet of star-studded play dates.
More to the point, although a lot of sad, misguided individuals claim to be your soul-mate, *I’m* the only TRUE one. I’ve provided solid rationale for why it’s so, here.I’m sure you’ve read it, but you might want to peruse it again to get that nice, warm feeling one gets from reconnecting with someone you’ve shared past lives with.
Of course, being karmically connected to you, I had to run out immediately and see your new flickI Love You, Man.And that I do. I love you. I love you. I love you.
There. I’ve said it.
I can’t help it. You’re funny. You’re sweet. You slap the bass (at least in the film). Ok, so you’re not the tallest tree in the forest… but I hear that you smell good and as far as I can tell have a full head of hair. Your career is on fire and now there are rumors floating around out there that your wife, Julie, is pregnant with your second child. Read the rest of this entry »
Our guest poster, Karen Sullen, gets creative about creative baby names with personalized gift ideas fromCorner Stork Baby Gifts. Be sure to check out ParentZing perks for an exclusive coupon code!
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I’m no astrologist, but they say you can look to the stars for direction. Well, not if you’re looking to celebrity stars when you’re trying to come up with a baby name.
Down through the years, celebrities have had knack for the unusual and unexpected. Back in the day, it was Moon Unit (courtesy of father Frank Zappa), but today it’s Moxie CrimeFighter (daughter of Penn Jillette of Penn & Teller Master Illusionists).
If they keep this up, the companies that make premade name plates will be out of business. Thank goodness forpersonalized baby gifts! I mean, where are you going to find a gift with the name “Sage Moonblood” on it for Sylvester Stallone’s daughter anyway? Or how about “Seven Sirius” for Erykah Badu’s child? From “Bluebell Madonna” to “Heavenly Hiraani Tiger Lily” (now that’s a mouthful), the list just goes on and on. Read the rest of this entry »
ParentZing! readers, you rock! Ok, so it’s in a chair with a burb cloth over your shoulder, but still…Thanks for all of your great e-mails, comments and offers to babysit. (What? You didn’t offer to babysit? It sure sounded like that to me. What was it you said, then?).
But seriously, folks. We hear you loud & clear. Our country’s undergoing a transformation, and there are some differences you’d like to see in our site, as well.
And. of course, some things you wouldn’t dream of altering in any way.
We’re gonna work on some news looks. More posts. More of our fun and cheeky posts, specifically. You love the interviews. Appreciate “ParentZing! Perks”. You look forward to our the tips and ideas for living in or visiting different cities with your family. And want to indulge more in the guilty pleasures of reading about city celeb parents. And of course there’s the shopping.
But most important is that you have echoed the need for ParentZing! and our mission. You’ve begged us to never, ever lose our focus on urban. style. parenting.Parenting and the City is the new Sex and the City, they say.All right, maybe “they” don’t say… but *I* do.
February will start off with a boom, not a bang. Boom-boom-boom of the heart, that is. We’ll pass on unique suggestions for Valentine’s Day gifts so you can get that off your mind and focus on more important things: Like, really? Urban-dwelling mom Molly Ringwald– yes, Ducky’s “girlfriend” — is having boy/girl twins?
Hope she thinks blue is as pretty as pink…
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ParentZing! Perk: Enjoy 30% off sale items from Martin & Osa with promo code 98131954. (Expiry 2/2).
He sang about dreams. And it’s safe to say he’s voting for Obama.
Speakin’ of dreams, I’m in a bit of a dream haze myself… but it has nothing to do with politics.
About a week ago or so I completely and utterly randomly chatted with The Boss. No, not “my” boss, but THE Boss… As in Mr. Springsteen, himself. Days later I still feel like I’m in that haze, andif there hadn’t been witnesses I probably woulda chalked it up to one too many Jello chocolate pudding cups before bedtime.
I’ll explain, but let me preface the story with this: I’ve never been one of Springsteen’s mega-crazy, whack-a-doodle-doo fans. I’ve always appreciated him, respected his work and his hardscrabble climb to fame. I have lots of favorite Springsteen songs. Many of his CDs.
Once in junior or senior high school — I don’t remember which but it was way before CDs existed — tix to one his concerts sold out before I could score one. For some particular reason that escapes me, going to this concert was dire.
I tried and tried to win one from the local radio station, listening day and effin’ night for the one Springsteen song you were supposed to be the 15th caller on. I was the 8th caller one night; that’s as close as I got. My dialing fingers raw and my eyes jacked open by Mountain Dew, I finally had to let it go. I knew defeat when it came knocking. I might have even cried myself to sleep.
So, yes: You could say I’m a fan. But not one of *those* kinds of FANS. You know, the kinds that have been to hundreds of concerts; refuse to give away their vinyl, 8 tracks and cassette tapes even though they also have the whole collection on CD; would swoon and declare life has meaning if handed his toe-nail clipping in a keepsake tissue. Or, would gladly hand over a first born in exchange for a chance to hug it out with Bruce. And while I am not personally one of those fans, I do know at least one who is.
Anyway, back to the story: I was at a horse show held in a big indoor arena. The very kind of venue that Bruce plays (and has played) in. Our kids like going to these shows because it’s a sport where they totally “get” what’s happening: The pretty horsey that jumps over all the fences and doesn’t knock anything down gets a “yea!”; the poor horsey that knocks down poles gets an “awwwwww”.
[What can I say; it's much easier to explain that than, say, why the pitcher should throw an inside pitch to that particular batter or why the quarterback should go for it when it's 4th and inches.]
Kids being kids, although they really *were* totally into the show, they were also totally into making us get up time and time again to fetch this and/or fetch that.
“Oh, no! Pole down. Daddy, I’m hungry, can I have some pizza?A horse refused a jump! Whew!Mommy can I have something to drink?That one was good, she didn’t knock any down!Daddy, can I have some ice cream?That’s a pretty horse, it has spots.Daddy, I’m still thirsty.Mommy, look at that big jump! I don’t think any of the horses can make it over that. I‘m still hungry. Can I have a pretzel?
With the pretzel request, my husband cracked. “That’s it!” he glared. You go. I’m not going again for *anything*!” I said nothing but shot back the, “Fine, I’ll go get the da*m pretzel, you lazy bleepity-bleep” look. I’m sure you know it well.
I picked up my barely-settled tush and slogged my way up the stairs. Exited onto the concourse. Shuffled my way past the hot dog stand, the pizza place, the donut emporium. Luckily we went during the middle of the day when none of the big prize or final competitions were being held, so lines were at a minimum everywhere. Even at the pretzel stand.
In fact, there was only one other guy standing next to me, already paying for his pretzel. I ordered mine as he dug around in his jean pocket for money. Hmm. Cool jeans, I thought. Wow, he’s a fun guy… look at all of those friendship bracelets tied around his wrist. Probably made by his daughter and her friends.
My eyes traveled up to his face…and.. “Holy Rosalita,” I thought. “That man looks just like… just like…just like… Bruce freaking Springsteen!”
Right, I sneered to myself. Springsteen is buying a day-old pretzel at some pony show. Himself. Not his assistant, not his body guard. Just him, standing in the pretzel line and rummaging around for change in his jean pocket, thick black glasses dangling from the shirt collar. Then a real voice interrupted the deep conversation my head was having with itself:
“Hey, man,” Pretzel Dude said to Cool Jeans/Friendship Bracelet Guy, “I saw you when you played here last year. You comin’ again?”
My heart thumped right out of my chest the way they do in cartoons, where you can actually see it beating. I swear! ”WHAT?” I began the conversation with myself again. “The Pretzel Dude asking him if… WHAT?! Could this random guy standing next to me really be….”
“Probably be back here again,” this gravely voice said in response to Pretzel Dude’s question. “Didja have a good time at the last one?” Pretzel Dude eagerly confirmed that he had. Read the rest of this entry »
It doesn’t s*ck, unlike some other shows (which shall remain nameless). Actually, one particular one was so disappointing this season that I *will* mention names: Shame on you Heidi, Nina & Michaelfor wasting my precious time. I wash my hands of you! BTW, Leanne: Cut that #*&$%* hair!).
Now, back to more important issues, like the quirky Entourage chaps. Seeing how ParentZing!’s theme isurban. style. parenting., bet you’re wondering how the heck I’m gonna weave the good ol’ boys into a post that reflects this. Trust me, hon, I can weave with the best of ‘em!
Behold exhibit A:
Enter stage right, Ari.
Yes, Ari, Ari, Ari: You had me at “a b*tch slap for a b*tch.”
Whooo hooo! You go, boy!
I gotta say, it would be kinda nice if every once in a while someone was inspired to b*tch slap another individual because of me. I’m not saying all the time, just, like…I don’t know, every couple of years. Ari is a devoted dad. Doting (some would say whipped) husband. So what if he’s a little, um, rough around the edges? The man b*tch slaps to preserve his wife’s honor!
Ari, will you marry me?
Along with standing up for his wife, he encourages her buy, buy and buy some more.Sarah Palin’s $150,000 wardrobe probably couldn’t stack up to Mrs. Ari’s sock collection. On top of all this, he’s even voting for Obama.
Well, not Ari, exactly. Jeremy Piven is for Obama – the actor that plays Ari. Now, Mr. Piven seems OK and all, but I really have no desire to marry him…you know, the real guy.
Now, *he’s* a real guy I would love to hang out with and talk to (and perhaps stare longingly into his eyes). Have you seen his documentaryon finding his real dad? That sweet young thang’s rockin’ a deep soul. And now he’s rockin’ the vote, as well:
Yo, Adrian, will *YOU* marry me?! (Pretty please?)
Gwen & Gavin have cool digs for their kids; you can, too.
Why should your baby or kid have a boring ol’ room when he or she can have a “vrrrrroom“?
Come on, there are no longer *any* valid excuses for having a tired or tacky nursery or kid’s bedroom. And ok, let’s be honest: Haven’t we worked hard and shopped long to get the rest of our home just the way we want it? Really, you don’t have to sacrifice your style … your little creature’s habitat can have both function AND form.
Thankfully, these days the merchandising powers-that-be understand that many of us think Pooh is cute as long as he stays within the pages of a book. That means modern, well-designed furniture and accessories are out there for the masses. Yes, you could spend a bundle on your bundle… but you don’t HAVE to.
In this series of posts — starting with today’s nursery finds — we provide some affordable options to check out as well as some splurges. Mix and match inexpensive with expensive, old with new, pre-fab with handmade.
Now, all you swanky gentleman & ladies: Start your engines… and get ready to vrrrrroom!
Celery’s line of baby furniture is at once utilitarian and stylish. Part Zen/part mod, this rockin’ cradle would fit into any nursery from now until we party like it’s 2999. We say that date because this piece IS expensive… but it appears well-made and is intended to last for generations. (And it’s eco-friendly, so your great, great, great, great, great, great, great grandchildren won’t hate you for contributing to whatever mess Earth is in at that point).
You know those American Express ads in print magazines — the ones where Ellen DeGeneres and Tina Fey fill in the blanks with witty statements that simultaneously say nothing and everything?
Yeah, you remember ‘em. The ones with the images and pithy comments designed to manipulate us riffraff into feeling a kinship with the featured celeb so that we’d wanna become members of the same club: card members, that is.
It never occurred to me that American Express might be right until last night, when a piece of the ad with Tina and her daughter Alice got stuck on my sweaty glass of iced tea. Read the rest of this entry »
Like pretty much everyone else, I’m a Project Runway addict. So shoot me. I claim to be a hip urban parent; I didn’t say I was a dead fish. I need my downtime too, you know.
I sat last night and watched the various designers have hissy fits while Michael — with that pained look on his face as if he needed Ex-Lax (and stat!) – poo-poo’d their, um, “dresses.”
And then, DING! The most fantabulous idear evah occurred to me: Ms. Klum is missing a golden opportunity to have her airbrushed urban mom face plastered on yet more billboards and merchandise.
Heidi, Heidi, Heidi… girl, think about it:
People looooove to watch hissy fits. On a regular basis, the designers have hissy fits as if they were 3 year olds. Michael has hissy fits as if he were a 3 year old (with constipation). Nina has hissy fits as if she were a bored 3 year old who desperately needs a haircut. And real 3 year olds have hissy fits, like…ALL the time.
Dear Paul:
“Oh, no! Pole down. 
Thank G-d for 
