Several posts back I rounded up some craftastic ideas for playtime with paper. Only I somehow forgot to mention a huge hit in this family: The Eames House of Cards. I'd never seen these until my aunt sent them for a Crabtot birthday. They're fab to play with and easy on the eyes of any chic-mod-mommy too! The set consists of a series of cards with images on them, from geometric patterns to snapshots of vegetables and buttons.

Crabtot adores them and they've distracted her quite a bit during our move. They're super-fun to assemble on the floor of an empty house or a temporary abode. It doesn't hurt that they're compact and easy to take to Grandpa's vacation apartment In Crabtown, where we've been stashed for the past few weeks while we wait to depart for Crabcity.

Come to think of it, a house of cards probably isn't the best toy to play with when you're taking a kid from her home and moving her someplace else. Luckily Crabtot doesn't seem to pick up on the moveable house metaphor. And while our actual move has tweaked her vibe somewhat, she's unfazed when the Eames paper walls come falling down and she has to start all over again.

Mostly she just likes scrutinizing the patterns, and designing new bedrooms for herself. Preferably with dark-pink walls.

But of course.

*If you spring for these, get the medium size. They're relatively easy for small hands to grapple with, and also heavy enough to support some small doll furniture or a weentsy dish of jelly beans or whatnot, as you build "floors" and "bedrooms."

"Would a young mother describe twenty or thirty cunning tricks and sayings of the baby to a bachelor who has been helplessly put beside her at dinner [...]?" Emily Post

So opens a post on mommy email etiquette, brought to you by Emaily Post, a netiquette-fixated gal whose blog advises people on decorum in email.

Some months ago I was moved to write on my personal blog about a particularly prolific species of rude mommy: the Multimedia Mommy. She's the mom who sends you 50 hi-res jpegs of her tot (freshly born and in full meconium-tinted glory). Multimedia Mom might also mass-mail pix of an early fetal sonogram. To everyone in her email address book, including her pediatrician (and the customer service department of Ebay).

I didn't think I had anything new to say on the subject, until I received a note from Emaily Post. Emaily herself has done a snippet on the Multimedia Mommy, only her piece is far more succinct, direct, and helpful than mine.

Highlights from Emaily Post's tips on creating offspring-centric email updates that won't go straight to the Trash:

Segment Your Audience.
Yes, I said it, even when it comes to baby updates good old segmentation applies. While grandparents can't get enough of their little muffin, most friends would be satisfied with only periodic updates.

Less is More.
I am just as prone to snapping endless photos as the next mum, but let's try and keep in mind that no one wants to see 151 photographs of little Madison or Charlie trick-or-treating. Pick a handful to share, a dozen if you must, but spare your friends from endless slideshows (remember they don't make fun of slideshows for nothing!).

Anyone else have a multimedia mommy spamming your inbox? Or (gasp!) are you one yourself? Attack it, defend it, tell me what you think of it.

I hate modern animated features.

I hate the bloated 3-dimensional lifelike stuff we get from Pixar and co. I hate the fine-tuned realism, the way creatures swoop down on the viewer in their bursting fiery rainbows of techy-techni 5-dimensional color. I hate the freakily photographic quality they aim for in these things. To me it lacks imagination. And the punny grownup humor  tweaks my vibe. The other day I saw a promo on one of Crabtot's DVDs, for Shrek 3 or Ratatouille or one of the other wildly popular movies that I fail to "get." There was a joke in the trailer about contact lenses and health insurance. How is this relevant to children?

I guess these movies aren't really for children. Or at least, they're meant to be for kids with extra lines thrown in to entertain the parents. Whatever. I still don't like them. For all the tech effects, they leave me cold. I've mentioned this before. But I want to talk about it again, now that we have a new version of Horton Hears a Who.

What was wrong with the original? Crabtot loves it and so do I. It's beautifully rendered by animator Chuck Jones, with the 2-dimensional flair that can only come with using imagination over software. And yeah, Jim Carrey is talented, but I had no desire to hear him replace Boris Karloff as the Grinch any more than I'd like to hear him go all spastic as the voice of that sweet little elephant Horton.   

I haven't seen the remake of Horton, but not experiencing something firsthand has never stopped me from casting my crabby judgment before. This is no exception. I'm gonna bet it's lame.

Thankfully after an antiquated childhood diet of Mom-chosen animations, Crabtot will herself one day frown upon the latest animated flicks from the box office. Ri-ight. Oh well, for now I control what she sees. And we're skipping this one.

Anyone else feel similarly? Or have you seen and loved the new Horton Hears a Who? If so, sock it to me!

This is my obligatory Easter post. With a twist. I'm not going to talk about Crabtot and Easter. She will have her Easter egg and that will be that. I won't bore you with the minutiae.

Except to say that I briefly considered taking her to the local egg hunt on the village green of Crabtown. I weighed up giving her one last chance to find multicolored hard-boiled eggs in the grass of our picturesque hamlet before we move on to Crabcity. But I was too scared one of us might get hurt in the mad scramble that reportedly characterizes this event, an egg hunt infested with intensely competitive parents acting like children. So I've heard. "Wear shin guards," one of my parent friends told me last year. "And don't be late." Needless to say, we skipped it then. We'll skip it now.

Easter aside, I have always been obsessed with egg-shaped things. Something about eggs gives me a good feeling, so I possess many egg-shaped trinkets and objets, from lamps to containers to Russian painted wooden eggs. So I thought today to make like our bloggers on Daily Find and Nesting, by sourcing cool egg-shaped goodies to for your enjoyment.

Are these herb-growing "egglings" not delicious? I received one but dropped it before I could use it. Available in mint and basil here.

How about a crate of eggs for a night light? Yes, this actually lights up. Find it here, on the site of a European designer named Joons. His English isn't so hot, but what a lamp!

If you're feeling spendy, why not spring for your very own Eames egg-shaped chair. Some models even come with MP3-playing hookups. And you can customize your color. Me, I'd take classic yolk-yellow for the inside. I can't think of anything nicer than climbing inside an Eames egg to listen to a good song. Like "Egg Cream" by Lou Reed.

Last, who wouldn't want this birdhouse? I don't have a garden to put it in, but I got one for my mom-in-law and it looks swell in hers. Get it here. Hope you enjoyed my Egg-a-thon. Happy Easter!

I've been keeping a zipped lip about something big. We're moving. As in, we've moved. Ish.

As I write this I'm in temp digs in Crabtown, staying at my Crabgrandpa's vacation apartment with Crabtot. Crabhub has already gone, to start a new job in our new city, and the movers have packed up our house and trundled it off to a distant metropolis in the west. (Not the house. I mean, houses can't move. Oh, wait. Some of them can. But I think you know what I meant. Our stuff is all gone. Only Crabtot and I remain, hanging for a few loose-end-tying weeks.)

Those of you who have followed the life of this blog know that I began it as a fish out of water, an ex-urban NYC mom who sought greener pastures as a rural mom in Wyoming. Only to find herself at odds with her new enviro, even though it is a swanky ski hamlet in the fabulous Rocky Mountain West. The fish-out-of-water-vibe worked just fine from the blogging perspective: to feel you don't fit is to find plenty to whine about and poke fun at. My two favorite activities.

For the past 2.5 years I have felt myself to be something of an urban gal in a rural place. And now I'm about to exchange the rural for the urban once more. I don't doubt I will continue to see my glass as half empty. Because for me there is no perfect place to live, only those countries in my own mind, populated with both city and country vistas at the same time, a country where I live in both a ramshackle country house and a chic apartment (with ample dollars, a fleet of nannies, chefs, chauffeurs, personal trainers, personal shoppers). In this country I have perfect haircuts all the time. When I open my pocketbook I do not ever see loose coins nor the ghosts of Ricola throat drops past. When I open this wallet I do not find ancient granular business cards to now-defunct Brooklyn car services...

What was I saying? Oh, right. Moving:

As we head westward, to a city I shall refer to only as Crabcity (the better to poke fun at it and its inhabitants without causing personal offense), I'm doing it with a bunch of happy feelings and a little sadness too. Read all about that here. Because while the rural thing isn't really quite my thing, the truth of the matter is that I'd have felt a fish out of water no matter where I was. Because I emigrated to the country of New Motherhood a few years ago, and it's a place with no natural-born citizens, only foreigners applying for permanent residence.

I'll spare you the dull details of my move. I'll just say that we're doing it. And it's awful. And it's great. And I definitely don't want to do this again. For a while.

How cute is this 3D paper doll (designed by artist Nick Knight)? Maybe you want to make it. If you do, go here. Me, I probably won't.

I always thought that when I had a child, I'd become seriously craftastic. You know—the mom who spends time with her tot creating lovely things out of paper and pipe cleaners. I've always been drawn to such things. Then again, I've always been a lazy person in many ways, a conceptual artist (meaning when I think craftastic thoughts I feel as though I've already made the craft).

A few times in my Crabmommy career I have acted on an idea and hence the now infamous tampon wiener, inspired by my mother-in-law's white wiener dog, Gertie. But these impulses don't come often. So I've decided to start this monthly "Crabmommy Gets Craftastic!" mini-column here, in the hopes that by sourcing craft ideas for you, I would force myself to try them out. Which brings me to today's topic: paper crafts.

Fun facts first: I'm sure we all know that origami is the art of folding paper; but did you know that kirigami is the art of folding and cutting paper? Me neither. And did you know that it is physically impossible to fold any piece of paper in half more than eight times? Again, fascinating snippets of knowledge brought to you by Crabmommy.

Right, getting on to the crafts. I searched online for some fun paper activities to do with Crabtot. Some are a tad tricky for a preschooler, but darling anyway and worth a mention, like the Japanese doll above, which involves cutting and folding and gluing paper (so I guess it's orikiriglueygami). All you need is a color printer, glue, scissors, and a hell of a better grasp of how to attach all those flaps than I have. Good luck.

Let's try something easier, shall we? Like these fetching and easy origami dolls. Or this kirigami card project, where you can make a mouth pop out of a folded card. And amazingly, Crabtot and I have managed to make a fleet of these moderately tricky but mega-cute origami paper chicks for Easter! We're going to give them out at school instead of choccy eggs. Yay!

Okay, so I just lied. Making origami easter chicks with Crabtot? Are you kidding me? Like I would even try that right now with the tantrums we're both having during playtime?! I think, however, that I *might* try this over the weekend, which looks perfect for preschoolers and their kirigami-challenged moms. It's a nifty gender-equal string of paper chain dolls and looks about my level of kirigami talent. And just thinking about it makes me feel good, as though I've actually done it. That's me, conceptually craftastic Crabmommy. In my own mind at least.

It's been a while since I've posted about books that have made our hit list. As some of you know, we like books that are short (meaning, I like books that are short), uncheesy, a bit peculiar, and preferably have weird author names that Crabtot and I can say out loud and chuckle over at story time.

Which brings me to Nothing at All by Wanda G'ag (dead serious, that's her name). Nothing at All is a book I stumbled upon at Crabgran's this summer. It's been in our family through many generations of children. And it shows. (Can't tell what's on the cover. Old ice cream? Paint? Bird droppings?) It's a mess, but it's still around. I fell upon this book with glee this past Christmas. Like her mom before her, Crabtot fell under it's rather bizarre spell too.

Nothing at All is the name of a dog who looks, well, like nothing at all. He's invisible. Which is beautifully rendered as a ball of whiteness: Nothing at all lives on an abandoned farm, along with a couple of other ordinary and visible dogs. One day some darling children come by and take the other dogs away. But they don't take Nothing At All because they can't see him. Not content to be left all by himself, Nothing at All follows them. It's my favorite page: Along the way, a little bird teaches him a spell that helps him to take shape. He has to whirl round and round saying, "I'm busy getting dizzy" (Crabtot loves this bit) over and over again until he picks up doggy features. At first he just assumes a featureless doggy shape, then he gets spots, then a tongue, eyes etc. Eventually he looks like a real dog, the children adore him, and the book ends happily.

Aside from the odd concept and appealing illustrations, which are all done in a striking palette of green, orange, black, and white, I think I like Nothing at All because it has no big message that I can see. Except, perhaps, that it's best not to be invisible. Whatever that might mean.

Sometimes no message can be the right message for story time. Because sometimes you just want to hear a strange tale by someone called Wanda G'ag, about a white blob, who is actually a dog, called Nothing at All. Works for Crabtot.

Any odd stories pass your way lately? Or other non-messagey books to recommend?

Crabtot is learning about siblings at preschool this week. I think some of the kids are having trouble with their wee brothers and sisters, so issues like jealousy and anger are being addressed in stories and games. An age-old theme, sibling rivalry. I feel sure I've seen a million books with titles like Go Away, Baby Carla! and Get Your Own Mommy, Kayden! Or something like that.

But I'm looking for a slightly different book. It's called I Want a Sister, But Mom Says It's Not Happening. Or maybe it's called Why Does My Mommy Look So Freaked Out When I Ask for a Baby? Or something like that.

Seriously, there's a sibling book that needs to be written. A book for our modern age. Where more and more of us are too selfish, broke, old, environmentally conscious to have more than one tot. Maybe I will write this book! Let's give it a crack, shall we?

It will be a variation on the classic Are You My Mother? It will be called Are You My Sister? But instead of a bird looking for its mother, it will have a little girl in it. After getting no satisfactory answer on where her baby sister is from her parents, the little girl runs away to find her. She goes up to a baby chick and says, "Are you my sister?" And then she asks a calf, a piglet etc. etc. Eventually her parents find her and tell her they've been half mad with worry and that no way is there ever going to be any baby sister. I mean, they put their arms around her and say that they love her too much to share her with any babies. And then they say "Let's go get a goldfish!" Or, "Let's get some dark pink ice cream!"

Or something like that.

Yes, Crabtot thinks it's lame that she has no siblings and plans to improve on our track record when she grows up. She's 3.5 but she already knows how many kids she wants. "Sixteen," she states firmly every time I ask. And after talking about sisters with me this past week, she announced another game plan yesterday: "I'm going to buy a baby sister." Good idea. Because that's the only way you're going to get one, my poppet.

Anyone have any good answers to the "Why don't I have a brother/sister?" question?

I swore I'd never write about celebrities, not here, nor at my personal blog. But since I stirred trouble last week around the web with my post about the tackiness of baby registries, I figured this week I'd focus on something we're all more likely to agree on:  Christina Aguilera's freaky celebri-nursery: Um, what in GOD'S NAME was she thinking when she decided to put that giant moon in there? Apparently it is 11 feet tall. Can you just imagine Xtina reading Goodnight Moon to her tot with that thing rising over the crib? I'm going to guess that when Baby Max gets a little older, he might have a titch of trouble going down for the night.

Even if she got rid of the moon the nursery's still creepy. For one thing, the room is so gigantic it's like a warehouse. And putting that tiny round crib smack in the middle of this cavernous chamber gives me chills. It kind of reminds me of Rosemary's Baby, when Mia Farrow and her devil friends cluster around the circular demon-crib at the end. And then there are those moon and star things on the crib itself. Look closely. Do you see them rising up on, like, pitchforks? Could anything make this scarier? Perhaps the image of flaxen-haired red-lipped Xtina bustling into the room to sing a lullaby in seven octaves to her spawn. I see that little one waving his cloven hoofs adorably at her as she reaches in to pick him up....

Ooooh! Stop me! I'm going to have nightmares tonight.

The truly scariest part? That she could afford to have the nicest possible nursery, filled with anything she fancies. Like this ridiculously adorable toadstool pouffe, for heaven's sake!

p.s. On the subject of scary: For those of you who followed my United Airlines travel nightmare, I must follow up and let you know that United Airlines sent both me and Crabtot $250 in travel vouchers. Vouchers for more travel on UA. So that the horror may continue.