I'm lying on a bench at the playground. From the corner of my eye I see my daughter gesticulating at some kid. And he's gesticulating back. And they're looking tense. And one of them is climbing UP the slide! My body stiffens. UP the slide! If ever there's a playground no-no for me that's it. Because just think of all the things that can go wrong, the kids that can get hurt, the bad manners... And so on and so forth. But I'm not budging. Do I seem like I'm lazy? Actually, what I'm doing takes work. I am in fact trying very hard to resist a powerful urge to march over to the kids, observe, mediate, modify, and otherwise interfere with the business of child's play.   

I was never a mom who thought toddler and preschoolers should just "work it out" when they clash over a toy or treat each other badly. Like so many moms I have looked askance at those moms who hang back from their kids when they are rude or misbehaving. But, people, I've changed my tune. It's this book, A Nation of Wimps: The High Cost of Invasive Parenting, by psychologist Hara Estroff Marano. We've heard of "helicopter" parenting before, but this author takes the concept far further, suggesting that hovering over our children's every move and micro-managing everything they experience (she calls it "hothouse parenting") creates adults who can't take risks, handle stress, or in fact make any independent decisions. According to the author, even our economy might suffer the consequences of the parental hover. Freaky!

But I buy it. It's really a most compelling book, sourcing everyone from admissions counselors at Harvard to experts on ADHD. And having read it, I've vowed to change my ways. Not all of them. I'm not going to take Crabtot out of her weekly Chess Grand-mini-master classes or cut out the private pre-pre-K tutoring. I mean, I've got to get this child ready for school, gotta give her an edge. But I am going to stop hovering over her at the playground. I'm going to let her peers teach her a thing or two before I get in there to stop them. I know it won't be easy. But I'm going to try. So if you see me lying on a bench, hypermommies. don't look down on me. I'm working hard. I'm trying to perfect the art of imperfect mothering. In fact, I'm saving our future economy. Maybe even democracy itself. Read the book and you'll see.

I'll leave you with a quote: "The paradox of parenting is that the pressure to make it perfect can undermine the outcome." So kick back with me, chill. Let's not work so hard to make our kids perfect.  Let them work it out.

Earlier in the life of this blog I came up with a series of inventions: gadgets to make parenting easier and Crabmommy richer. Modeling myself after such notable mommy millionaires as Julie Annoying-Clark from Baby Einstein, the California Baby mother, and the chick who invented a toddler-proof clasp for the toilet paper holder, I expected to the fame and fortune to come in. It hasn't. Or at least, not yet. But it will.

For it is a fact that I have invented some pretty dang cool stuff, such as:
The MartyrMeter, a hand-held device that objectively measures which parent has had a worse day, Mom or Dad.
The Baby Bjorn Clip-On Food Visor, a handy stowable food tray devised for moms who like to stuff their face with food in spite of having a giant baby clamped to their chest in a vertical baby carrier.
The PelletTracker, a device designed to locate runaway poop pellets during diaper changes.
The Ambient Legmower, a razor designed to strap to Mom's leg, in in order to mow unwanted leg-hair while multi-tasking mom is on the go!

Oh yes indeedy I had me some million dollar ideas! But then my brain just stopped. Until now. For I have developed a new gadget, people, and I am unveiling it for you today.

The WhineNot

Tired of your child's whiny voice? Has this whiny "phase" become a part of everyday life?  When nothing else works, the WhineNot can. Purchase this handy gadget and, as we say, "She might still whine but to you she sounds fine!"

A simple and entirely harmless voice-altering device, the WhineNot offers a smashing solution to a pesky problem. Tucked discreetly below your child's voice-box, the WhineNot boasts powerful voice-distorting technology, transforming whiny high-pitched tones into ordinary lower-pitched speech registers! As small as a Cheerio but as powerful as a Boze mini-stereo, the WhineNot ensures comfort and ease-of-use while delivering optimal voice-changing results.

Comes with cool styling necklace attachment bands: choose from Dora, to Bob the Builder, to plain colors, or custom patterns. Appropriate for ages 3 to 13. And beyond.

Want to purchase one today? At a mere $17.99 in three easy monthly installments...WhineNot?

What do you think? Could I sell this new gadget? Would you have any use for it?

Okay, so for those without a sense of humor: this post is a joke, so keep your pants on. No, I do not strap voice-altering devices to my child's throat. Because, sadly, an anti-whining voice-deepening device is not yet on the market. On a non-joking note I have an amazingly stylish and all-weather-proof baby blanket/changing mat going for free over at my personal website this week. Stop by and enter to WIN!

My 3.5 year old still drinks from a bottle. And I'm fine with it.

Dear Department of Child Services,

I believe the Perfect Mommy Police have called you about me. Yes, I'm the mother whose child still has a bottle and she's in preschool. I realize that Perfect Urban Motherhood has notified you about this already, but may I explain before you take my child away from me?

Okay, readers. Let's scrap the pseudo-letter. I'll make my case to you straight: my daughter drinks a bottle every morning and every evening and she is almost four. In the morning bottle she has herbal tea. She likes this tea and it's harmless. In this morning bottle I also add a drizzle of honey. Which drives her wild with joy. In the evening, before bed she has herbal tea again, minus the honey. Then after she cleans her teeth she has another slug of her "Bobby," but this time, only water in there.

A hundred years ago, when I had my daughter in Brooklyn NYC, land of Perfect Urban Motherhood, I did all the things that Perfect Mommyhood requires: I attempted natural childbirth; I breastfed, read Dr. Sears, and spent a great deal of time learning about when to introduce eggs and dairy products into the baby's diet. In short, as a PMIT (Perfect-Mother-In-Training) I smiled at the good and frowned at the bad. And then, at the appointed time ordained by the Perfect Momming Collective (PMC), I implemented a much-dreaded but very important phase: getting my child onto sippy cups.

As a Perfect Mom, I got quite antsy when my baby didn't respond perfectly to my perfect ideas. She was reluctant to take a cup and it was a constant battle. And the one day I told my own mother about how the baby bottle was not disappearing from our lives on schedule. And my mother, who has raised three children (with very straight teeth), said to me: "Why do you want her to give it up? Is it about you or her?"

Of course I made the case of Perfect Motherhood to my mom, because naturally the generations of moms before ours were themselves anything but Perfect. However, when I got to the obvious sticking point that bottles are bad for baby teeth, my mom just laughed. She told me that my sister had had her bottle for many, many years. Indeed, my adult sister can even remember her beloved "Bobby"! So that must mean she was, like, fifteen or so when she quit. (Joking, people, but she was maybe 5 or 6?) Mom told me that yes, my sis's teeth did stick out a bit after years of Bobby, but after she gave it up, her teeth went "right back down in a matter of weeks."

And then we laughed. And my mom spoke of the parenting fads and facts that changed with the advent of each of her children. And suddenly Bobby didn't bother me so much anymore.

Now I admit I may have taken things a bit far and long with Bobby. But so what? We've moved a lot and my daughter is quite a wound-up sort of gal like her mom. And Bobby gives her comfort. And then just last week I read a blog in which the blogger posted a pic of Suri Cruise to discuss her hair and whether it was dyed. And a commenter expressed concern over the bottle in the Cruiselet's hand. "Almost two and still on a bottle?" was her shocked reaction at the Holmes mothering style. And it occurred to me that it is a weird day in the world when what is shocking about the Tom Cruises is their toddler's bottle.

Thus commenced a back and forth over the bottle with the commenter expressing concern that my child would go to Kindergarten with her bottle. And there were dire warnings about jaw realignment and so forth. And I'm not knocking this woman's experience with her own kid, and certainly she would not be the first mom to think ill of baby bottles beyond the baby stage (never mind the Breast-Is-Besters who often diss all bottles altogether). But you know what? I'll take my chances. Because I can't take the hysteria. And frankly, the orthodontic nipple on Crabtot's Bobby doesn't look like something likely to inflict permanent damage on her face. So really, give me a break.

This kind of bottle talk just reminds me that Perfect Mommyhood is always out there. And I don't want to be in it anymore. Back to the bottle itself, sooner or later Crabtot will need to give it up. I suppose. Mind you, I still drink from my own Bobby and my teeth are fine!

Seriously, are bottles really bad beyond a certain age...or is this just another non-issue we moms create so we can judge each other? What's your take?

Those of you who have been following this blog know that every month Crabmommy morphs into Astromommy and looks deep into her crystal ball to see what the stars have in store for you moms. Who can explain this sudden burst of psychic energy? Is it because I myself am a mom that I can divine how other mothers will fare from moon to moon? All I know is that when the stars speak to me, they speak to me of mothers and the mighty challenges they face. Ladies, it's not always pretty here at Astromommy, but at least I can forewarn you.

Taurus: Just when you thought all the sibling rivalry and miserable playdates had dissolved. And now this. Prepare for a tough month of tattle tales and toys not shared. Deal with it on a case-by-case basis. And be sure to have a cocktail every night.
Gemini: Someone plans to give you a fabulous present. But planning and actually pulling it off are two different things. Accept the standard gift certificate with grace. Not everyone's the mommy superhero you are.
Cancer: Once again you vowed to start an exercise regimen, but who are we kidding? Nobody could stick to that plan in this heat. It's no wonder you've already given it up and are spending most of your precious free time kicking back with US magazine and eating dip. Never mind. There's always next month.
Leo: You're feeling a tiny bit guilty about something and have resolved to deal with it this month. But you won't. Which will only make you feel even guiltier next month. But what's a bit of extra guilt when you're a mom? Just another drop in the ocean...
Virgo: Although you're a neat-freak, this month you won't feel like moving the furniture during vacuuming. So don't. Just, for once, don't do it. Live dangerously. Clean sloppily. All month long. No one will notice but you.
Libra: There's been some majorly inconsistent parenting going down at your house. Are you and your partner ever going to be on the same page? Not if you don't sit down and make a plan. Do it, or beware the consequences.
Scorpio: If that child asks you one more time about getting a dog you think you might lose your mind. Haven't you had that conversation, like, twenty times already? Offer a bird. If not a bird, then an exotic turtle. Either way, I'm sorry to say by the end of this month there'll be a new friend in your house!
Sagittarius: It's not that you don't like your mother-in-law. Really, you do. Ish. It's just those long visits. All that hovering in the kitchen. And what isn't said. Maybe you can suggest something a little different next year. Like, leaving the kids with her and skipping off to Europe. Yeah, right. Like that'll fly.
Capricorn: You so seriously need to clean out your inbox it's not even funny. Even just deleting 200 emails from Travelocity Faresaver or Mothers Against Drunk Driving or links to old acquaintances' Flickr albums containing zillions of pictures of their tots will make you feel as though you've spring-cleaned your house. So what are you waiting for? Get to it! 
Aquarius: You've recently been suffering from OME ("Other Mother Envy). The grass is always greener, but seriously, girlfriend, you are peachy-cute even if you've put on a few pounds lately. And you're a dang fine mom, even if your temper gets the better of you sometimes. So that chick wanders around in fab silk tops and has wads of cash for nannies and good toenails and neat eyebrows!! Drop the envy. It's bad for your skin. (And besides, her kid's not the brightest bulb in the chandelier.)
Pisces: Organizing that overflowing toy chest fills you with doom. And what's worse is that you know your kids are old enough to participate in this one themselves. All those tiny half-pieces of Playmobil! All those wooden animals that belong who-knows-where. The half-dry markers. Ugh. You've considered just leaving all of it at the Salvation Army but you're scared they won't want it and they have cameras to watch for illegal dumping. Or maybe it's time to have a garage sale. Hmmm...These are the kinds of thoughts you'll have all month. But thinking and doing are two different things.
Aries: You've been a bit neurotic lately. Hyper-parenting. Getting overly involved in the minutiae of momhood. This month it's your month to officially stop sweating it. Go on a mommy sabbatical, even if it's just in your own mind. Pour yourself a large drink as often as possible. Don't discuss anything with your children that you can't actually change. Encourage sleepovers. At other people's houses.

My child is terrified of volcanoes. At her last preschool in Crabtown, when they got to "v" in their alphabet studies, they did an amazing blow-up papier-mâché volcano thing in the classroom. The experiment sounded awesome. But Crabtot didn't like it one bit.

"Where's Hawaii?" she asked nervously, and on a regular basis, after that day. "I don't want to go there," she'd add. Thus began a routine of volcanic conversation. "Do we live near Hawaii?" was a repeat question. "Nowhere near!" we soothed. "Have you ever seen a volcano?" she'd ask me. "Never!" I responded. "Volcanoes are faaaaar away," I reassured her. "They can't hurt you."

"Are there people who live near volcanoes?" Crabtot pressed us, night after night, day after day. "Do you know lava? Is there lava in Hawaii?"

We all know that teaching your kids not to fear things is key, that teaching them to face their fears is important. In theory. But with our three-year-old, the Crabfamily solution was just plain denial: There were no volcanoes anywhere near us, no people living near them. Never mind that at the time of her classroom experiment, we lived less than an hour from Yellowstone National Park, which is the largest caldera, or volcanic pustule, on the planet. When it blows they say it will take out the whole of the west. And that's before the radiation aftermath.

And now we live in the northwest, where Crabtot's favorite playground is on top of a small mountain. But not just any old mount. It's an extinct volcano. Just don't tell her that because we certainly won't.

What's the lesson here? I guess that there aren't very many v-words to teach preschoolers in the alphabet. Or at least, none suitable for young ears.

What frightens your kids? And how do you handle their fears?

I'm going to share a motherhood tip that I hope will be useful to you. I'm going to tell you how to eat a donut right in front of your preschooler without her catching on and wanting one too.

I've long been meaning to keep a journal of motherly hypocrisy, recording all those things I swore I wouldn't do until I became a mom and now do constantly (from judging other moms to encouraging my kid to watch some TV). Being a momocrite of course also extends to doing the very things that you tell your kid not to do.

In my case, I have bad teeth and want Crabtot to grow up with good ones. So I try to keep sweets to a minimum. I try to do the same for myself, but while the mind is so often willing, the body, my friends, is weak.

Last week I was grocery shopping at Albertson's when I wheeled past their delectably, hideously fabulous donut display. A whiff of trans-fatty deliciousness greeted my nostrils and there was no turning back. It didn't help that I hadn't eaten all day and it was now 4pm. It didn't help that soon I would be home in my own house where the most exciting treat in the pantry is a bag of mango strips.

Sometimes, mango strips just don't cut it. Sometimes there is only one thing that hits the spot, and it is round and glazed and has a hole in the middle.

But how could I eat a donut without the alert, beady-eyed child seeing it happen? After all, she was right in front of my face, in the grocery cart kiddie seat up front. This is where true parenting expertise is called for. In other words this is where you need to get really sneaky. I myself favor a three-prong plan of attack: Distract, Deflect, Devour.

Distract: I wheel Crabtot over to a wall of children's toothbrushes and have her examine a fistful while mommy goes "to get ginger." Crabtot has a hard time making decisions. This means I get to buy some time. And a donut. But, while Crabtot takes time over decisions, she also gets antsy if I'm gone too long. So I cannot lurk in the veg aisle to eat the donut solo and instead report promptly back to tooth aisle, donut stashed discreetly behind my right thigh.

Deflect: I don't only possess a donut in my right hand. I have a Fruit Roll-up in my left. Fruit Roll-ups are not great for the tot teeth either. But in this case you have to measure the damage: donut or Roll-up?

I open Crabtot's Roll-up and let her have at it. It's hard for her to peel, which makes donut consumption easier, since Crabtot's gaze is concentrated on the peeling. We continue shopping, and all the while I perform this elegant trick I shall call the swipe and swallow. What happens is that you direct the tot to look at something, or show you how well she's peeling her Roll-up, and while she busies herself in front of you, you sort of lurch off to the side for bites of the donut, one arm extended while half-concealing the donut up your sleeve.

Devour: the real point here is that you have to eat fast. Which is not a problem for me. Since having a child, I can eat an entire bowl of pasta in about three bites. Standing up. I think you moms out there know what I'm talking about.

And so, fellow mothers, while I may be ashamed of the donut consumption itself, I'm proud of one thing: I accomplished something that in retrospect seems quite remarkable. I stuffed my face right in front of my tot's face! And she didn't see a thing.

Now that's good momming for you!

Anyone else have a guilty pleasure or momocrite moment to share?

There's something I really, really want for Mother's Day.

I've got my eye on it. And I think if I ask my sweet husband for it, he will actually give it to me, even though it's quite a hefty gift, and we've just moved, and Crabhubby has a lot on his plate...But Father's Day is coming up too. So Mother's Day can be a sort of bargaining tool for FD, right?

I've never been a big fan of Mother's Day. Like Valentine's Day I think these things are generally cheesy and the sentiment is mostly lost in the sea of commercial claptrap. My own mother never made much out of MD. At most we brought her a messy breakfast in bed, and she pretended to enjoy it even though we all know breakfast in bed isn't quite what it's cracked up to be. But my mom never drew attention to MD. And, until now, nor have I. With only one child, aged 3, I haven't had many Mom's Days myself. And it's not something I've anticipated or cared much about.

But this year I'm all over it. This year I need it.

Many of us want spa treatments, swanky treats, bling, and schmantzy dinners for MD. And many moms  probably just want husbands to do the housework. But my husband does housework anyway. And spa treatments, while nice, aren't really in our budget, having just spent a chunkload moving from Crabtown to Crabcity (Cookie magazine, can't you throw some spa stuff in for me? I'm your mom-blogger! Wrap me in seaweed, I beg you!)

Back to what I want from my man: pampering the Crabmommy is just too pricey right now, so if Crabhubby gave me a spa massage for Mother's Day, I wouldn't enjoy it because I'd be too busy thinking of the Visa damage. There is, however, one thing within range. It's a pretty major present. But one I think I deserve. You see, Crabtot and I are at home together full-time at the moment in a new place. We are without playmates and preschool, both of which this momblogger and are her tot are used to. So life has been, shall we say, crabby for both of us.

What I want for Mother's Day: the sweet sound of silence. For a whole day.

I want to get up on Sunday and walk the streets, without keeping an eye on someone else. I want to drink coffee sitting down. With a book. I want to poke around in vintage stores for hours, something I haven't done in at least three years. I want to explore my new city for a whole Sunday, with no aim, no schedule, no competing agendas. A day with no conversations, except those in my own head.

To not feel like a mother on Mother's Day: that is what I want. Just for one sweet day.

What are you asking/hoping for this MD?

I took a deep breath. "Oh dear, Crabtot!" I said cheerfully. "Ella Yellow just got eaten by the praying mantis. You have to go back to start! Never mind. You'll soon catch up."

We were playing the Ladybug Game. Anyone else have this board game? The players are ladybugs trying to get back to their rosebush home after being blown off course. First they have to make it past the praying mantis in Hydrangea Maze (if you get the "bug off!" card you don't get eaten). Then they have to collect aphids along the way to feed to evil ants that block their path in Ant Alley.

It's a good game. If your kid wins, that is. But lately I've decided Crabtot shouldn't always win. She's almost four. Soon enough she'll be a big girl at big school. And in the game of life, you don't always make it to the rosebush unscathed. In life, there are praying mantises along the way. And ants who want your aphids. If you follow my meaning.

Crabtot was not thrilled with me yesterday when I stopped pretending that she, Ella Yellow, would always beat me, Ricky Red, in the Ladybug Game. Here's the thing: I'm not sure I did the right thing. Maybe she's still too young to get sent back to start. Maybe I should continue to pretend, every time, that she's "lucky" enough to draw a "Bug Off!" card to protect her from the mantis. On the other hand, maybe I should stop making sure she stays lucky. Maybe I should stop ensuring she gets an aphid stash big enough to get her through Ant Alley without a hitch while I, Ricky Red, get abused by the ants every time. Because if I teach her to start losing now, she won't mind so much when she's older and ants come along and mug her for her aphids. If you follow my meaning.

It's always fun to see their little faces when they win. Then again, tell your kid she's always a winner and you might just be setting her up for a fall. The question is: when is a game just a game in which kids can win whenever they want and when is it a lesson for real life, where everyone's a loser sometimes?

You tell me: Do you teach your kids to lose? If so, at what age did you start?