Playing at Work and Gastro-Explosions: A Gift Guide

I've seen two toys advertised this Christmas season that have me a little baffled.

The first is Doggie Doo.

The product description states,

"Europe's top new action game has come to America! Feed and walk your little pup, if he makes a mess, you clean it up! When you squeeze his leash, he makes a gassy sound that gets louder and louder until...plop. The first to clean up after the dog three times wins!"

At our house, this is one of the boys' actual, real-life chores which we affectionately call "poop patrol". Why play it, when you can live it?

The second is Pop the Pig.

In this game, you feed the pig hamburgers until his stomach ruptures. That's what the product description hints at anyway, but from what I could see on the promotional videos, it looks like his vest just pops open. What a jip. Kids all over are going to be disappointed on Christmas morning when they find out his stomach doesn't actually explode. Incidentally, this toys is made by the same folks that make Doggie Doo. It is also a big hit in Europe where they call it "Feed the American Capitalist Pig until He Explodes". Just kidding. I don't think they call it that.

I Didn't Win My Curtis Doll

Sad news today. I did not win the buttoned-up doll version of my husband.

Folk Man Doll by Pepperstitches

Perhaps it's for the better. When I showed my kids the above picture, Mike said, "It looks like Mr. White." 

Mr. White Blows by Casablanca

Also, based on the feedback I've gotten from other people regarding this picture of Curtis... 

People should make dolls in my honor.

...I might as well get one of these instead:

I pity the fool.

My Husband is a Doll

We all know my husband, Curtis, is fabulous. Even he knows it.

He sends me flowers and rubs my feet.

 He writes me the sweetest notes and puts up with my incessant picture taking.


Not to mention, he's the greatest dad in the whole world.

Just look at him. How could you not love him?

 He really is a doll... no REALLY, he's a DOLL.

Bearded Folk Man by PepperStitches

Okay, so the outfit is not quite right, but slap a Heineken t-shirt and a pair of baggie shorts on this guy and it's totally Curtis!

He's made by Pepper at PepperStitches. (Check out her super-cute stuff on Etsy and her Blog.)

Also, my new friend, Stacey, at Blogs Tea & Me is giving these dolls away!

I've entered to win one and I get an extra entry for writing a blog post about her contest (not that I wouldn't have said all those nice things about Curtis, anyway). If you want to enter to win one of these dolls yourself, go here. (If you win, you can always give it to me as an early Christmas present, if you want, because that would be kinda weird for YOU to have a Curtis Doll propped up on your shelf or lying on your bed.)

Good luck!

Lord of the Flies

Inspired by Guns and Prose(s) by Christine at DotMoms

Before I had kids I was on the fence about the whole nature vs. nurture debate and how it related to gender stereotypes. For example, are boys predisposed to liking trucks because that's just what boys do (nature) or do they like trucks because their parents give them trucks, thus influencing their tastes (nurture)? If anything, I was leaning toward nurture's yard, mostly because I was still under the delusion that I actually had some control over my life and the people in it. Silly girl.

When King was born we gave him lots of gender neutral toys and I made sure he always had some stuffed animals around to snuggle with.  I soon realized there would be no "favorite" stuffed animal. If it didn't have wheels or balls (sorry), he didn't want anything to do with it. I know there are always exceptions, but my child was throwing my theory right out the window and then, much to my horror, he was beating it with a stick.

Not only was my son naturally attracted to "boy" toys, but I was frankly shocked by all the VIOLENCE. As he grew, I began to realize that this "boys will be boys" thing was no myth. There is some feral kick-it-beat-it-throw-it gene that they are just born with. It didn't matter that we didn't have a toy gun in the house; EVERYTHING was a weapon.  I even called guns "blasters" for awhile, as though giving them a different name would make up for the fact that he was pretending to kill me and the dog on a daily basis. I remember when I first bought him the Sock'em Bop Buddy.

I was recently divorced and thought he could use it to expend some of his extra "wrestle" energy between visits with his dad. No sooner had I inflated the thing than King was beating it repeatedly with a baseball bat. I was a little disturbed.

Lest anyone should wonder, King was neither exposed to domestic violence or abuse, nor was he allowed to watch overly violent television programs. He is not violent toward living things, and if he shows any signs in this direction he is sternly corrected.  I hate to say it, but I think it's just "a boy thing".

We call guns "guns" now, and the phrase "Must you throw EVERYTHING?" is part of my daily mantra. We draw the lines where they need to be drawn and leave the rest to work itself out.