Blog Posts by Mommyish

Confessions of a Governess is a Mommyish series from the perspective of someone who gets paid to watch other people's children. Moms, take a deep breath.

When I lived in France, I often watched children to make extra money. Prior to leaving for my year abroad, I had managed to save a pretty respectable sum of money. But between my developing taste for kirs and little French cardigans, I was beginning to realize that additional income would be needed. My host mother, an incredibly chic divorcee who smoked little French cigars but complained of smog, knew that I had babysat extensively in the United States and recommended me to a couple she knew with a young son.

Why I'm Taking My 9-Year-Old To SlutWalk

The power French couple as it were lived in an apartment fairly close to where I was taking classes and, after meeting me a few times, decided that the arrangement would work out. The little boy was seven years old, an only child, and very high energy. I remember being

Last night I attended an event titled "An Evening Celebration of Parenting" in New York City to benefit The Parenting Journey (a division of The Family Center). At dinner, I was seated next to a friendly mother of three who started chatting politely with me over salad and wine. When I told her that I wrote for a parenting website specifically for women, she started sharing with me her own experiences with motherhood - something that happens quite often since I've assumed this post. She made a reference to her "working days" and I asked her what she did prior to being a mother. She looked up from under her blonde bangs and said that she had been a lawyer for many years but that she quit when her professional life became intolerable.

"In terms of balance?" I assumed.

"No," she winced with the acidity of the wine. "In terms of the quality of work."

The Single Mother: An American Pop Culture Timeline

I already knew prior to meeting this mother that some career tracks are

I have a huge problem with the sexification of 'tween wardrobes. You won't find my daughter wearing a micro mini, strappy dress or kiddie heels. It goes without saying that bikinis - and even shirts with coy, "sassy" phrases - are verboten, too. No Lolita-esque tees with screen-printed cherries will ever cross the threshold of our house for years - nay, decades - to come.

So why are we going to Slutwalk?

Because it's vital that we attend.

Why I'm Taking My 9-Year-Old To SlutWalk

A newly revitalized sister protest to Take Back The Night , SlutWalks sprang up a few months ago in response to the misguided advice a Toronto police officer provided to a sexual assault prevention workshop held at York University: To avoid sexual victimization, don't dress like a slut. (I don't need to outline how simplistic, wrong and offensive this view of sexual assault is - I'm sure you know that already.)

I have some concerns about the walk: Will there be misogynist counter

I got my wisdom teeth out the other day and it was kind of fun. Ditto last month's colonoscopy. Why? Because, like most moms out there, I have little time to myself. And so being put to sleep in a doctor's office and then spending the entire day in bed is somewhat blissful.

Crazy, right? But I'm not alone in feeling this way. One mom of three tells me that having the flu is like being on holiday: she sleeps, reads trashy magazines and watches re-runs of Sex and the City while her husband chauffeurs the kids around and cooks dinner. That's how I felt post-wisdom teeth. What's better than a built-in excuse to slack off on your parenting duties (while high on painkillers)?

I say this all tongue-in-cheek, of course, as I am blessed to be healthy - something I do not take for granted. But in a similar vein to employees having 'sick days,' I think that moms in general should have 'do nothing days' in which they're free to lie in bed sans guilt. The problem is that no matter how

When I was in school, I was the queen of extra-curricular activities. It started at a very young age. By third grade, I was part of a show choir, a travelling drama group, band, peer mediators, soccer team, swim team and an extensive list of dance classes. I absolutely loved it. I was completely insatiable. It didn't calm down through high school. I still danced, at school and at a studio. I was President of my class, French club, Future Problem Solvers and a wide variety of random other activities. In fact, a friend and I created our own group, we were just so darned determined to be involved and active. (It was called DAFFODIL - Diverse Academic Females For Outstanding Development In Leadership. What can I say, we were in high school.)

Mommyish Poll: How Do You 'Stoga' ?

I never thought of all these activities as too much pressure. I thrived on it. But even knowing how much I loved being involved in extra activities, I still had hesitation about when to sign my daughter up

At my daughter's daycare, there is only one phrase whose utterance can end in a full day on a blue nap-time mat. I'm assuming you can guess which phrase that is, since I put it in the title of the post. But honestly, "Shut up" and "That's stupid" might get you in trouble, but nothing compares to telling someone, "You're not my best friend!"

This phrase began to run rampant at daycare. Whoever started it, all the kids caught on. It was the go-to response whenever someone wouldn't share a toy or take their turn. If they wanted to play a different game or made fun of your art project. Whatever the issue, my daughter and her group of four preschool-aged girlfriends would solve it with, "You're not my best friend!" It got so bad that my daughter started saying it to me.

Gluten And Other Food Allergies Are On The Rise In Children: Why?

My daughter's newest line was normally accompanied by crossed arms and a raised eyebrow. Sometimes she'd even shake her head as she spoke, in a

Or so a new study published in Environmental Science & Technology says. When Heather Stapleton, of Duke University's Nicholas School of the Environment, got pregnant in 2009, she decided to lead a team in testing baby products for the presence of retardants.

The team collected baby products from 13 states and looked only at products that contain polyurethane foam because they expected to find high concentrations of flame retardants there. And they did.

The Full Spectrum: Is Five Minutes All It Takes To Detect Autism In Babies?

Researchers found fire retardants in 80 of the 101 products they tested, including car seats, changing table pads, sleep positioners, mattresses and nursing pillows. A third of the products contain chlorinated tris, the same chemical that was removed from pajamas in the 1970s over cancer concerns. Another retardant, listed as a carcinogen in California (but, then again, what isn't?) was found in a number of nursing pillows.

The data revealed

A funny thing happened en route to the ass-kicking I was about to deliver my kid at the climbing gym. Ass-kicking? Definitely. Let me backtrack a bit…

One thing I abhor, even as a bourgeois, overindulgent parent, is the idea of letting my 9-year-old daughter beat me at stuff. When we play against one another, I'm in it to win. I'm not going to mysteriously fade out the last 10 yards of an 100-yard sprint, or flail about in the deep end before she reaches the side of the swimming pool before me.

I hate seeing parents condescend to their kids this way. It's demeaning to a kid who's doing her best to beat you, and it's also often a lame-ass kind of passive-aggressive cop-out on the part of the parent. (Who hasn't seen a dad racing his kid at the park, only to lose steam - you can tell by the red face and humid-looking bald pate - and pass it off as a jovial "Good race! You really beat me, son!" - aka, I let you win.)

• Why I Don't Let My Kid Win

In any case, while