Dear readers,

With Thanksgiving behind us, now's the time to turn to holiday cards and newsletters. For some of you, writing about your lives might be tricky. Not me! Really, it couldn't be easier to look back on the year that's passed and share some of the joy with family, friends, and especially you, my Cookie-pals. So I'm going to do just that and share the first draft of my holiday newsletter right here:

Whew! Can you believe how time flies? For the Crabfamily, it's truly astonishing to say "there goes another year of joy, achievement, and growth (both personal and financial)." But  sure enough December is almost upon us, Santa is prepping his sleigh, and there's a touch of holiday magic in the air.

As you all know, having a toddler has been something of a challenge for Crabmommy, but by working positively and with self-control through the tough times, I'm proud to say that I now have a rather uniquely marvelous preschooler. Truly it is amazing what they teach us when we let them! Especially when they are as special and unusually kind as Crabtot, who voluntarily gave up her Radio Flyer toddler trike and a gently used sticker book so that the children of Iraq could have a special Christmas too. Bless her tiny heart! I think as parents we all know that this is the stuff that really counts, and the other stuff such as advanced verbal facility (Crabtot is almost bilingual in Spanish now) and developmental developedness (her fine motor is, I must say, ridiculously good) just aren't very important compared with having a deep-seated sense of morality.

I'm also pleased to report that this same generosity shows itself in Crabtot's day-to-day interactions too. Not only does she share, but she actually teaches others to share too. Just last week her teacher told me that Crabtot actually refused to eat her lunch, offering it instead to another child! Talk about selflessness! Of course Crabhubby and I know that raising such an emotionally (and intellectually) wise child is a grave responsibility. We don't want to push her, so we try to simply raise her in an atmosphere of loving normalcy. I've been reading biographies by mothers of great people (Gandhi, Mandela, Celine Dion) and I think a common thread between all of us moms of special people is that we don't treat them any differently for being different. So maybe you have unique listening skills at age 3 and maybe you're going to change the world someday, but today you're still bringing your plate to the sink, young lady! I figure that's the best way to be as the mom of a special kid, and I mean even if your kid is special like handicapped-special you should probably do the same as what I'm doing and just treat them as though they are totally normal. Even if they aren't. It just seems to work out better if you minimize their gifts (or in the case of the handicapped kid, their limitations).

Moving on to other news we're thrilled that Crabhub has done so well as an architect that he has become the personal architect to the Rolling Stones, doing up their houses all over the world! No wait, that's what he dreamed last night. Silly me! The holidays really get to my head sometimes. Just to say he and I both feel pretty swell about everything. I mean, we've had our rough spots. But now that we've sold off a bunch of real estate and are doing daily yoga as a family we feel centered, anchored, and basically just super-stable in all ways. Especially since Crabhub has stopped snorting everything up his left nostril and I've finally taken the gin out of my tonic.

Truly, marriage is about growth, and sometimes that growth can be malignant, like a tumor or a big fungus or something. But if you nurture your marriage with sunshine, laughter, love, and water (I'm drinking so much water these days!) you can see good growth, like an apple tree.

Goodness would you look at that? A whole page and I haven't even mentioned Africa! Yikes, there isn't any room left to report on political activism, or what we've been doing in the Crabtown community, much less space to mention Crabtot's involvement with an African orphanage or my book deal, or the fact that we've decided we might take a year off and build tsunami shelters in Thailand. (Crabtot is just busting to learn a South Asian language and heck, I could use a tan!)

But I don't want to go on and on about me. Just to say that the Crabfamily looks back on 2007 with contentment and looks forward to 2008 with delighted anticipation. And we wish you and yours the absolute best for the season, no matter what your religion. Unless you're Mormon. Which we're feeling rather conflicted about these days, 2007 being the year in which we read John Krakauer's thoughts on the matter.

Anyhoo, jingle jingle bell to you and may the doves of peace alight on your corner of the universe.

Crabmommy

So that's just a first draft. What do you think? Any suggested edits?

I'm sorry, but I can't love your dog. Make that any dog. Animals just aren't very important to me. I know one day history books will point to the likes of me as an example of the primitive thinking of ancestral humans, but even so, back off with your beagle.

I've always tended to disapprove of those supposedly heartwarming news stories in which people rescue pets during natural disasters. I know I'm meant to be overjoyed that the dog is alive, that someone clutched a puppy to his chest as he swam through a flood...but I'm always suspicious, always thinking what about the granny clinging to the log behind you? Because I swear, there probably was a little old lady somewhere off screen left, but you know, that swimmer just saw that cute puppy! And people want to save puppies. And it's considered humane to do so. Humane. A peculiar word. When I think of humane, I think of kindness to humans, not animals.

Don't get me wrong: I don't hate dogs. I will pat them. I will even compliment the pleasing color or intelligent eyes of someone's hound. And I myself have had fond, if slightly distant relationships with dogs of my own: the name Pasha, as well as an old framed photograph of a sheepdog-husky mongrel sitting on a rock, can certainly bring a happy tear to my eye.

But I draw the line at elevating people's dogs to the status of children. I also draw the line at finding elevated turds in my shrubs. In Crabtown—make that Dogtown—my attitude is highly unusual. And even beyond Crabtown, I'm finding my kind less and less represented in the world. Most everyone these days seems to be a serious dog-lover, and I just no can tolerate.

Last year, two dogs knocked Crabtot flat onto rocks at the bank of a river; in both instances the dogparents excused their beasts with a classic "he's very friendly." As a result Crabtot doesn't like dogs. And I know enough to know that I mustn't encourage her fear or dislike of dogs. So when someone's slavering woolly mammoth bounds over to us in streets and playgrounds, I try to stop her from screaming. I try to make her think I love dogs.

And then, last week, a dogmommy at a park said some very unusual words to Crabtot. She said, quite cheerfully, "You don't have to like dogs." It was an oddly objective thing for a Dogtown dogmom to say, and Crabtot took to this and repeated it later in the day. "You don't have to like dogs, Mom," she told me. "I don't like it when they lick me," she added. Now that's what I call humane. Granny clinging to log, or puppy stranded on the shore? Methinks Crabtot won't hesitate to make the right call. (Not to mention potentially saving her parents the joys of vacuuming pet hair. How humane is that tot?!)

Happy Thanksgiving, all. May you wrestle your turkeys well and nobly, and partake of the festivities with much cheer. If your guests are pests, may I suggest a parlor game? (Thank you, Heidi.) I have heard Mafia is just perfect for dispensing with pesky relatives.

I know you don't have time to waste reading blogs. But like drinking, drugs, and trying to teach your newborn how to swim it seems many of you are still doing it even though Crabmommy disapproves. If you're going to do it then, may Crabmommy at least point you in the right direction, so you don't visit really bad parenting blogs (which would be most of them) in which the words "amazing" and "precious"  frequently appear (along with witty commentaries involving the word "poop"), complete with pictures of the blogger's amazing, precious, and poopy spawn. Oooh! Stinky!

Now clearly you already have fine taste, for you read Crabmommy. But much as I like to pretend I'm the only one breederblogging decently, I'm not. I may be the absolutely most smashing blogger, but there other worthy ones. Some are already too famous to mention. (There is, like, this chick in Salt Lake City...?) Some are famous but I can't resist mentioning. 

Old Gold: Blogs That Have Been Around a While and Are Still Great
Finslippy: To me, she is the reigning matriarch of funny mom-blogging
One Good Thing: Just plain hot damn good
Confessions of a Pioneer Woman: Because you know, I live in Wyoming, and Ree, she's a rancher's wife. And she knows how to make dang good food. And she writes killer recipes for totally unpretentious casseroles and even if I have actually not made a single one of them, I love to read all about them, for they are written most amusingly. Ree also posts photographs of very hot cowboys and very attractive livestock. Rural-fabulous!
Citymama: Speaking of recipes and other assorted chic and right-on mommishness, go here for Stefania (also a Kimchi Mama) Pomponi-Butler's pomegranate mojitos and persimmon-inflected green beans.
Metalia: This mom knows her priorities. She anaylzes Asian Pear deodorant ("aggressively fruity"), buys too many shoes, and takes pictures of her makeup.
The Simple Family: Trenchant discussions of eco-momming (because Crabmommy likes greenmomming and indeed she even washes out her uses Ziplocks. Sometimes.)

Beautiful Newborns: Blogs Newly Launched
Offsprung: This is madly fun and involves a whole big swirl of irreverent bloggityness, with titles like Dadsmacker and Mecomium ("Lots of Overpriced Crap You Can't Live Without")
I Breeder: Over at Newsweek Brian Braiker is brand-new to parentbloggery and most swankily excellent at it.

I have more, but that's enough for now. I'll showcase other blogs in the forthcoming months (so settle down if you know I read yours but haven't mentioned it here). Yes, I'm happy to spread the bloglove here at Crabmommy. For while we bloggers sometimes downplay our competition I am so hoping to get blogrolled recipcrocally confident and generous that I'm only too pleased to share.

Any funny un-poopy parentblogs you want to recommend to the floor?

Surely you're all sick of reading about weird baby names by now.

No? Good. Because boy do I ever have a site for you! The brainchild of one Cari Clark, formerly of Utah, the Utah Baby Namer comprises 10 years of uber-bizarre baby names with a uniquely Utah Mormon provenance. (Thanks, Char, for passing on this priceless link!)

As one living in Wyoming and traveling often to Utah to visit Crabhubby's fam (nope, not Mormon), Crabmom has personally picked up on the existence of super-odd names across the state border. Be it the strange retoolings of ordinary words (MemRee) the last name-type hybrids (Brexler), the proud-to-be-from-here derivatives (Utahna), or the Frenchified wackiness of LeVoid, there are some serious kickers in Utah that make Zen and Apple look as plain as Jack and Jane.

Calling itself an "An online help for parents looking for that distinctive name that says 'I'm a Utah Mormon!'" the site pokes fun at the special flavor of Utah names and analyzes how they differ from soap opera dreckery or other regional sources of baby-name inspiration. To be fair, the author dutifully lists the ordinary Hannah and Emily top ten lists that hit Utah the same as all the rest. But her real passion lies in trolling through state government registers, obituaries, and other Utah databases to pull out those less common but more thrilling monikers that simply smack of proximity to the great Salt Lake.

Do check out the list entitled "Cream of the Crop": sub-categories include "The Ward Choir Director's Daughters" (Aurel, Choral, Sonica and LaVoice); "Maybe They're in the Klingon Ward" (Zy, Nivek, Zon'tl); and "Girls You Just Know Have Big, Floofy Hair" (Blondeen, Rayette, Faundaree). And then there are those in a class all their own: my personal favorite is Apathy.

But while the site muses over the origins of Aquanetta and Dallin, it misses what I think is a far simpler explanation for all the creativity: surely when your major religious prophet is rather unimaginatively named Joseph Smith, you might feel the need to amp things up a notch when it's your turn to name his next disciple? I think Nauvoo and Morona's moms agree with me.

I know as moms we're meant to say that nothing delights us more than a big fat stack of wordy books before bedtime, because reading is so important and bedtime is so special and yadda yadda, but come on: there's a reason Goodnight Moon is so popular, and I'll wager it's not just the red balloon in the bedroom.

Truly does my heart leap when Crabtot picks storybooks that are short on text. In such cases, two books are a breeze and then it's lullaby, lights-out, and grownup time, thank you very much. I especially love it when Crabtot picks a book that's not only short, but also funny and a tad peculiar. And I've found it's often the books I've never heard of but plucked randomly at the used bookstore that become the biggest hits. Example: The Yawn Goes On by Sally G. Ward, (which you can buy used for a whopping 3c here).

It's an amusing little book about how tedious life can be, with witty text and manic watercolor drawings. On the cover, a mother yawns, and her mouth is a puncture hole that continues through the book from front to back. This hole becomes a yawn on each page, a great big yawn that passes from person to person in the course of a busy day. On every page someone is tired. The final page moves from the family, collapsed in exhaustion, to an owl yawning in the garden.

I love this book for its simple realism, for showing that life is not just about hugs and rainbows but is also exhausting and monotonous. I love this book because it has this odd and rather hypnotic refrain—and the yawn goes on—that Crabtot likes repeating. I love this book because the dad bathes the kids and the mom looks completely frazzled. And I love this book because it is short.

I'll be doing more book reviewing in this blog. If you'd like to recommend your tot's favorite, comment or email me (by clicking on the envelope below this post). Also feel free to bash a book or three! We can alternate Must-Reads with a Book Bashing, where schlocky books (anyone else hate Guess How Much I Love You?) get the dissing they deserve.

Infants, please stop swimming! You're scaring me!

Prompted by comments in my last swimming-lesson-related spewfest, as well as my cold&flu post, I've  realized I'm not done sounding off on the fear-based parenting we're coerced into practicing here in the Land of the Free and the Terrified.

I'm so tired of our national obsession with with safety. It's not good for us. And LAWD it's hard NOT to get sucked in! Crabmommy's radar is well-attuned to dangers both real and imagined. But we have to resist, parents. Or else we'll inspire our children to be like us: a bunch of neurotic wussies.

Resistance is easier said than done, though. Fearful parenting starts before you're even a parent. Right from pregnancy, the fear-mongers come out to get us:

First trimester: You got drunk/smoked pot and didn't know you were knocked up? Uh-oh. Probably you need to tell your OB and/or spend the next 10 months feeling haunted by your irresponsible behavior.'
Second trimester: You ate GOAT-CHEESE!? If you have a God, pray to Him/Her.
Third trimester: If you're having an easy pregnancy and feel okay about childbirth, by all means start reading up on autism and vaccinations and then get totally freaked out. In short, enjoy being pregnant. Oh, and did we forget to tell you? You MUST relax when you're preggers. If not, your stress will tweak the baby's in-utero vibe, with unknown but scary consequences...

Now that you have a baby, you can start worrying about the "drowning epidemic facing our children." Drowning epidemic. Those are the words of a company called Infant Swimming Resource. These people will teach your tiny tot to swim, and they will also help you feel incredibly frightened with their super-freaky swim video. Honestly, watch at your own peril. Scariest thing I have ever seen. (But watch, so you can freak with me in the next paragraph.)

OK, is it amazing that this bitty baby can swim? Yes. Is it amazing that he can lie there floating for five minutes (all of which are filmed) while nobody comes to his aid, no matter that he's screaming? Remarkable indeed. But it is also mostly dang creepy. Someone pushed this kid into the pool (how else did he get in there in that onesie?). And then there is that swimming method itself. Way clever of that baby to move his leg in a sort of bicycle pump motion to stay alive. Clever, but seriously creepy. Then there's the culty choir music. I feel sure that these same voices double over at the Scientology website. Last, there is the rescuer of that baby. Is he Dad? I hope not. He looks like a serial killer. Or maybe a porn actor. Man is he ever creepy, shooting out from Screen Left with those open arms. Baby, SWIM AWAY FROM THE MAN!

Did I mention those chirping crickets at the beginning of the flick? Whoo, that was unbearable! Such a SOUND OF DOOM. Scary enough to watch, this video, but I wonder just how scary it must have been for the video's star. Someone forced him to learn to swim. He must have been petrified.

In the end, I am most scared by how we parents insist on scaring ourselves. And I find it scary how many profiteers there are to help us feed our fear.

I've had enough. I'm off to drown myself in a vat of tranquilizers.

Kiki broomsticked over to preschool yesterday, and while nobody knew who she was (see Kiki's Delivery Service), everyone admired the giant red bow on her head. Kiki's pals did smashingly on the costume front too. One three-year-old asked to be a "vampire moose" this year, so his mother heroically pulled together a Count Moosula ensemble. Mooses, or meese, or whatever they're called, are part of the scene here in rural Crabtown so a plush moose-head was easily procured; then vampy teeth were slotted in and a brown moose-ish colored cape completed the look. Brilliant.

Overall, H-ween went smoothly in Crabtown. The town erupted in a show of pleasantness and goodwill. As is our local tradition, ghouls and ax-murderers genially handed out candy in the stores lining the town square. Even the trick or treaters that came to our house were very polite and good. And I'm not sure I like that.

I mean, it's all very mixed-messages, isn't it? We tell the kids to look witchy/impish/evil but be good. In Crabtown if you egged a car or toilet-papered a tree you'd probably get arrested and have to endure months of volunteer work and counseling about appropriate behavior. But surely being a little bit bad on Halloween is appropriate behavior? Tots eat vats of candy and turn into sugar-addled monsters, and we're okay with that. But, in Crabtown at least, it's all treat and no trick.

How about your town? Any mischief there? A mom in Atlanta told me she lets her kids play tricks on them but not the neighbors "for fear of litigation." Another Crabfriend reminisced about the old days, when a kid in her high school class took Halloween trickery literally to the max—by covering a neighbor's Plymouth with Maxi pads.

Now I'm not saying I want my car appliquéd with sanitary pads, nor a rotten egg in my mailbox, but...  maybe in your mailbox! Just so we have something to chuckle at. Just so the kids have more to remember of Halloween than just the sweet taste of sugar. Because a bit of badness, once a year, where's the harm in that?

I think it's more harmful to talk about strangers and candy and razor blades and all that urban myth claptrap. I mean, either you let your kids take the candy from the stranger opening his door or you don't. But checking the candy? Now you're really scaring me!

Okay, off to nosh the rest of Crabtot's Halloween stash. Weirdly, she got an APPLE in the mix, from this  creepy man who lives alllll alone at the top of a darkkkkk country lane...