So thanks to Laid Off Dad, along came this little article in to my twitter feed that listed a mere dozen ways that we’re effortlessly, gleefully screwing up our kids for life.  Life, I tell you! Yes, they’ve gathered child psychologists! Psychiatrists! and OTHER EXPERTS (who’d they call? your mother-in-law?) to come up with this handy list of everyday things that you, too, are probably doing which will inevitably result in gigantic bills to either a therapist or bail bondsman later in your child’s life.   And what are these things we’re all doing to mess with our kids, pray tell? Are they things like violence? Verbal abuse? Oh no, no. Far worse. Much more insidious. To mess up your kid for life, you merely have to:

• threaten to leave your kids behind (guilty)
  lie to your kid (guilty) (No, honey, Elmo’s asleep right now, he can’t come sing on the big TV…)
  Ignore your own bad behaviour (guilty) (you should have heard the curses coming out of my mouth this afternoon when  I stubbed my toe for the goddamn 4,682nd time on that goddamn corner..)

Anyway, for the sake of brevity and to keep you from reaching the point where you really just want to call children’s aid on me already, I will let you know that I’m pretty much guilty of every single sin on the Atlantic’s list. And so, probably, are you. Because there is nothing that isn’t on it that we, as parents, don’t do every day just to get through the day.  We’ll rush, and we’ll serve junk food, and we drive our cars, and we just do whatever it takes to keep everyone alive and healthy and happy. And even by doing that, we’re screwing it up. So thanks, Atlantic, for providing us with yet another impossible measure, yet another list that tells us how we, as parents, are irrevocably screwing up the next generation and how the downfall of western society is ENTIRELY OUR FAULT.

So the way I figure it, given that we can do exactly nothing that does not screw up our kids, here’s a list of things I am henceforth not going to give a crap about when it comes to parenting.

1. Kraft Dinner. I have had quite enough of making homemade macaroni and cheese with wholewheat pasta and 1% organic freerange whatthehellever milk and cheese made from unicorn farts. A couple of bowls of KD are not going to kill her, and frankly, not having to stress one more ounce about making that carb-laden shit from scratch is better for both of us in the long run.

2. Swearing. She’s gonna learn the words somehow, might as well learn how to use them appropriately and in context. Bonus: She’ll be the cool kid on the playground. And I’ll get to know the Principal really well.

3. What anyone else thinks. Yeah, I might do things you’d never do as a parent. Tell you what: You call me in 25 years and remind me of that time I did that thing at the mall that you rolled your eyes and huffed at. And then I’ll laugh at you, then you’ll laugh at me, and then we’ll pop our teeth in and go have a drink and chortle at the things we all used to take so damn seriously.

I got my first real six-string

Bought it at the Five and Dime

Played it til my fingers bled

Was the summer of 69…

If you were a Canadian kid growing up in the 80s, you had a teenage-girl-crush on one of two music artists. You were either going to marry Corey Hart or Bryan Adams.

The reason there were only two was because of a little thing called Can-con, which meant that local radio stations gave preferential treatment to Canadian artists even if their music sucked. This gave rise to bands such as the Parachute Club and Jane Sibbery, both of whom produced unique if quirky music and both of whom wouldn’t have stood a chance under today’s onslaught of manufactured pop tarts. But I digress.  Because of Can-con, your teenage crushes in 1985 were necessarily directed towards one of two homegrown artists: Corey Hart or Bryan Adams.

If your crush was Corey, you were a romantic. Corey was sultry, his music deep and moody.  It didn’t matter that the line “Don’t Switch The Blade On The Guy In Shades” made no goddamn sense. We still belted it out at the top of our lungs at junior high dances, prancing awkwardly back and forth in our sock feet and giggling with our girlfriends next to us, pretending the bewildered boy who was supposed to be our dance partner didn’t exist.  If you were in celebrity-love with Corey, you were the sensitive type.

If, on the other hand, you had a crush on Bryan Adams, you liked the hard rock party guy. The guy with the t-shirts and jeans, the guy who probably drove a pickup truck with a gun rack in the back. The Bad Boy. “If the feelin’s right I’m gonna run all night, I’m gonna run to you.”  (Tell me you didn’t just get a total Video Hits Every Day At 5 PM Flashback.)

We swooned to their music and their posters on our bedroom walls. We waited anxiously for their new records at the mall or for their songs to come on the radio so that we could hit “record” at lightning speed on our tape recorders so that we could listen to them whenever we wanted. We were total fangirls.

The years passed and slowly, eventually, inevitably, we all kind of got over our Can-Con inspired celebrity crushes. We grew up, the 90s came with its flannel and angst and Nirvana, and we kind of forgot Corey and Bryan.  But then, even today, if you ever happen to stumble across Straight From The Heart or Never Surrender on the radio you can still belt out every single word at the top of your lungs, even though it’s been over 25 years and counting and we are old(er) and married and have kids and mortgages and the dreams we had of marrying a rockstar to live a life of glamour and fame have (mostly) been left behind for the sake of the life we finally decided was going to be a whole lot better than that dream world – and we were right.

But still. Even though we’ve  left all that far behind, the sight of Bryan Adams with his teeny baby daughter – and still, still wearing that same white t-shirt and jeans – still kind of tugs at my heartstrings. Your first celebrity crush is, after all, the one you never forget.

And I’ll just bet: He’s a Bad Dad. Welcome to the club, Bryan.

Look, I don’t have anything against beards, really. I know that I’ve spilled a few words here about not loving them, but I don’t, like, hate them. Some perfectly wonderful men have beards. Gandalf! Dumbledore! Santa!

That said – and I’m really not trying to suggest a conspiracy or anything here – ever notice that all the good dads on television are clean-shaven?

Ward Cleaver: clean-shaven.

Cliff Huxtable: clean-shaven.

Mike Brady: terrible, terrible hair, but still… CLEAN-SHAVEN.

Mr. Drummond: complete absence of facial hair.

Dan Connor: you get the picture.

Now, I suppose that it must be said that Tony Soprano, Homer Simpson and Al Bundy were also all clean-shaven, and that complicates my theory a little, but still. Where are the bearded dads? I ASK YOU.

No, really: I ask you. Can you think of any TV dads that weren’t clean-shaven? Also: this is totally where I mention the Bic Flex 4 razor, which stands firmly on the side of well-groomed male faces, and also some lady legs, and Bic in general, which has underwritten my exploration into all things stubbly this month. Thank you, Bic!

My husband loves his facial hair. Really loves it. Like, he would totally wear a beard, always, because he thinks that it makes him look manly, and more mature, except that I don’t let him, because, beards, ugh.

It’s not that have anything against beards qua beards, or facial hair in general. There are some men out there who can totally rock the facial hair. Tom Selleck, for example. Sean Connery. All of those British wizards: Gandalf, Dumbledore, et al. My dad usually sported a beard, and when he wasn’t sporting a beard, he was sporting a mustache, and the look suited him perfectly. Which is the core of the problem with beards on my husband: they remind me of my dad, and Sean Connery, and wizards. All of which are awesome – my dad especially – but they’re just, you know, not reference points that apply well with husbands. Mine, anyway.

So I insist that Kyle stay clean-shaven, mostly. I don’t mind a little stubble here and there – he looks good when he’s a bit shaggy – but full blown beards or mustaches are out of the question. Yes, even for Movember. Yes, I know that makes me a selfish twit, but still: I’m a selfish twit with issues about facial hair, so.

(That said, if you’re Tom Selleck circa 1986 and you’re reading this through some sort of time-collapsing wormhole: these rules don’t apply to you. CALL ME.)

Tom Selleck never had a Bic Flex 4 razor, which is probably for the best, because if he had, he wouldn’t be Tom Selleck. Right? So where do you stand on facial hair? Are you pro-beard or anti-beard? Pro-Tom or anti-Tom? Inquiring razor holders want to know!

Hey, Mother’s Day is this weekend!

And while all the Good Moms will smile and say it’s totally OK if you forgot Mother’s Day, or if you’ve booked a golf trip all day, or if her Mother’s Day is being spent at your Mother’s house where she will be subjected to passive-aggressive jabs and jell-o salads, be aware this crowd of Bad Moms sure won’t let you off the hook that easily. (And if you’re lucky, your partner is a Bad Mom, because Bad Moms are way more fun.)  So save yourself the pain, and coordinate your Mother’s Day around our handy tips.  This will totally work for you in the long run.

1. Let Mom Sleep In. Take one for the team, brother. Get the baby monitor, take the kids, leash the dog, and get the hell out of the house if you can. Yes, we are aware it’s a lot of work, seeing as how we do it all the time. On Mother’s Day, Bad Moms want nothing more than to relive our glory days the only way we know how: pretend we’re 22 and single again with no reason whatsoever to get out of bed, certainly not because anyone’s banging at the door or demanding Cheerios at 6 in the morning.  Let us wake up on our own and drink our coffee in silence. It’s bliss.

2. Someone Else Can Cook.  And Clean. If your kids insist on making breakfast for Mom (after she gets out of bed, of course), SUPERVISE. Otherwise your daughter could end up putting 1/4 cup of salt instead of 1/4 teaspoon in to the french toast. And that’s a bad surprise.  Then, when the kids are done, don’t leave the mess for Mom to clean up. Do the dishes. And wipe the counters. Seriously, it’s easy.

Better idea: Make brunch reservations. And make them today.  Don’t wait til Sunday morning to call around frantically hoping you can squeeze in somewhere because trust me: You can’t.

3. She Doesn’t Really Want To Spend Her Mother’s Day With Your Mother. Or Hers, Even. Yes, I know your mother is going to raise holy hell if Mother’s Day isn’t all about her, or if you miss the faaaaaaaaaaaamily dinner, or if you all don’t show up to bow at the Shrine of Grandma, but here’s the thing. If you have young kids, your wife or partner is the one doing the heavy lifting right now. And all Mother’s Day at Grandma’s is going to get her is hours of wrangling the kids, making sure they don’t smash Grandma’s precious collection of tchotchkes, keeping them away from the overly large, usually drooly and generally unfriendly dog, and putting up with the passive aggressive jabs about her going back to work/her not going back to work/her weight/your weight/et cetera. Wow, what woman wouldn’t want to spend Mother’s Day that way?  (Here’s a hint: All of us.)  Your wife comes first. Tell Grandma you’ll come for brunch on Saturday (and bring flowers when you show up), but keep Sunday for your wife/partner and her alone.

4. Macaroni Art Wins. Sometimes you get lucky and the kids’ school takes care of the handcrafted Mother’s Day art. But if they didn’t, then it falls to you. Get some construction paper, macaroni shells, glitter glue and crayons and let the kids go to town. It’ll keep the kids entertained, and Mom will cherish it forever. OK, even if she doesn’t, you’ll get major cred for having thought of it in the first place.

5. The Gesture Of Love And Thanks. If you have all of the above in place, Mom probably won’t give a rat’s ass if you don’t give her anything, but you’re going for WINNING here. A card that tells her that you do notice and appreciate what she does for the kids – in whatever love language you speak – and a joyful bouquet of flowers, or a bottle of her favourite wine, or something else you know she’ll love and that is a special treat (ie. not a drill. Or a vacuum. Seriously, dude?!) will remind her that you do, indeed, rock as a husband. THIS WORKS WELL FOR YOU.

6. When In Doubt, Or If You Screwed Up All Of The Above: Expensive Jewelry. Cause while we don’t particularly *want* to be bought, we’ll be OK with it if that’s all you’ve got.

If you stick to our tips, you will be certain to avoid the fate of getting new socks and the cold shoulder this coming Father’s day. And won’t that be worth it?

Look, I get woken up enough at 3am by my toddler. I don’t need to actually make the effort to get out of bed, just to see a wedding, even if it is Kate and Wills, and even if they are kind of adorable, and even if I do have fond memories of getting up in the middle of the night with my mom when I was a little girl to watch the Chuck and Di wedding, which confused me a little, because if she was a princess, why did she have short brown hair? CINDERELLA DIDN’T HAVE SHORT BROWN HAIR.

Anyway.

Speaking of Chuck, remember that time he tried to breakdance?

You can’t unsee that, I know. But aren’t you going to be so much more amused when you watch him at the Royal Wedding tomorrow? Because, yes, I know you’re going to watch it.

You can thank me later.

(You can also thank Jezebel.)

Full disclosure: I watch Toddlers & Tiaras. I watch it like it’s my own personal train wreck happening smack dab in the middle of my living room.

Honestly most of the parents on that show make me feel so much better about my own parenting mishaps because nothing I have done in the past five years, even if all combined, would ever equal the damage done to a child’s psyche in one round of a total glitz pageant.

Grand supreme that suckers.

Anyway. Apparently Tom Hanks also watches the show which kind of surprises me. It also apparently influenced his parenting which also kind of surprises me. I didn’t really peg Mr. Hanks as a full glitz pageant kind of guy. Well there you, you learn something new every day. Enjoy.

I really want to snark on this. I really do. It’s so full of snark-opportunity (ed. note: snarkotunity!) Billy Ray Cyrus says Hannah Montana Ruined Everyone’s Life! Achy-Breaky-Heart-Mullet-Guy!  Trainwreck-bong-smoking-media-moron-daughter! Most-annoying-television-character-in-the-world! You-did-this-to-yourself-idiot! Christ, it’s fish in a barrel!

But, god. You know, it’s actually almost… too easy.

Back in 2006, Billy Ray Cyrus had a nice little nuclear family unit with a happy wife, a blended family of six kids, a 500 acre farm outside of Nashville and had a happy life by the tail. Then he let his daughter go work for Disney. Disney! I mean, who would have thought that someone who once worked for Disney could turn in to a trainwreck, right?

Yeah.

And now, in 2011, Miley shows every sign of heading straight into the brick wall that Britney Spears, Lindsay Lohan and countless other stars have smashed in to head-on in the last few years.  Leaked photos and rumours of drug use, partying and displays of seriously questionable judgment do not bode well for Miley’s future.

So while the rest of the adult world wishes he’d never have let Miley do Hannah Montana either (because, UGH), and while Cyrus also managed to participate in some of the other questionable things Miley’s done, I also cannot imagine looking at the destruction ahead on path your child is walking and knowing that you allowed it to happen.  So for that reason, and for the fact that at least, unlike some Hollywood parents (*coughDinaLohancough*), he can see where he made his mistakes, I can’t snark him too badly.

What I will say is simply this: It would have been a good idea to start parenting a few years ago, Billy Ray.  Might want to take a few notes before your younger kids start ignoring you too.

… all television commercials – all the car commercials and cereal commercials and toilet paper commercials and Mac commercials (‘I’m a PC’/'I AM YOUR FATHER’), every single one – would be like just this one:

I’d accept an Obi Wan or Yoda variation, I suppose. Maybe even something featuring Han Solo. Just so long as it did exactly what the commercial above does, which is to say, make me want to sit my five year old down in front of Star Wars immediately.

/running out to buy Darth Vader costume for Emilia and Star Wars box set NOW.

I have to warn you: This post is not for the weak of stomach.

It’s just… there are people with SOME NERVE out there.

I mean look at this magazine cover. It’s disgraceful. These people, this family, this couple who’ve been committed to each other for 18 years posing brazenly on the cover, showing an obviously adored and well-fed baby (as evidenced by his condition of complete passed-out-ness – SMOOSH!) accompanied by his beaming dads. This is the sort of thing our children need to be protected from, all this LOVE and ADORATION and COMMITMENT and PRIDE AT BEING NEW PARENTS.

It’s thoroughly disgusting. Honestly, the way parents show off their babies these days, you’d think that there’d never been a baby born before anywhere in the world. As if it doesn’t happen every single day!

So I personally think that the Harps store in Arkansas that covered the magazine up with a “family shield” to protect the young and innocent from this horribly corrupting image – oh god, avert your eyes even from the description, it’s so disturbing – this image of a loving family (AGH!) were absolutely in the right. My god, what would little children THINK if they were to see an image like this in the lineup at the grocery store! Their brains would obviously be burned, burned by this horrible image of love and tenderness and joy. What would their poor little psyches be scarred with forevermore? Would they learn that celebrity couples can stay together for nearly two decades instead of splitting up after 20 minutes? Would they learn that the joy of parenthood transcends age and fame and sexual orientation? Would they learn that having two Daddies is just as amazing as having two Mommies or a Mommy and a Daddy or a Grandma or an Auntie or however your family might be configured? WE CANNOT HAVE OUR CHILDREN LEARN THESE THINGS. No, no, no, Harps store was absolutely right to cover up the magazine the same way they cover up Hustler and Penthouse and all those smut magazines on their shelves, because love is obviously just as horrible and corrupting and shameful as porn.

*Crosses arms and nods smugly, content in her protection from all things evil.*

/sarcasm. In case you didn’t, you know, catch it.