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Today, we signed up with the Million Baby Crawl, sponsored by Seventh Generation. We attended an event near our home, where we met Trista and Ryan from The Bachelorette fame. There were the usual events-with-small-children trappings, including face painting, balloon artistry, children’s songstresses, and because we live dangerously close to Boulder, a children’s yoga instructor (who was wonderful and captured Bea’s attention).

I made a little digital Archie, who is now crawling to Washington D.C. to ask our government to adopt stronger chemical law.

Go, Archie, go.

Similar events were held all over the country today, but if you missed out, never fear. You can still get involved here.

Today, I denounce

I denounce a parenting theory held in great esteem today:

Giving small children choices.

When I was a new mom, I read many parenting magazines and books for advice. One of the fashionable bits at the time was to instill a sense of power and control in toddlers and preschoolers. The theory—Kids between the ages of 1 to 5 are easily unhappy and contentious because they feel powerless and disrespected.

Never fear, this was easy to fix. Here is a popular scenario:

Your child is thirsty. When you reach into the cupboard, grab two different cups. Allow the child to chose the cup he or she prefers. This will help children make decisions and send the message you value his or her opinion. The child will feel a sense of power and control over their world. It seems simple and harmless, right?

So I did this. I tried to give my kids choices in nearly everything small and innocuous.

This has especially backfired with Beatrix.

I showed her two cups. Then three. Now she must carefully consider the entire cupboard-full before making her selection and God save me if I choose for her and it is the WRONG cup. A casual observer would think a girl’s mother would know which cups are pleasing to her daughter. They’d be failing epically.

One day, the panda cup from the San Diego Zoo is coveted. The next, it more horrifying than the wilted shell of a dead spider found in a basement corner.

From the beginning of her cup-drinking days, I should have picked the nearest to the edge of Shelf #2. She would have taken it gladly, even if it had watercolor stains and a come-hither Big Bird.

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Really? What’s her problem?

Veuillez ne pas prendre ma photo

I posted a picture of Berthe with her sister, Vera, a few weeks ago. Here’s another photo of Berthe on a city street, striding with cool 1930s purpose. She looks slightly miffed and may be thinking unkind things in French.

I have a theory about these photos.

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I think my great-grandfather took them. I think he thought she was beautiful and had a sudden urge to catch her in motion. He ran ahead about 20 feet and waited until she caught up, but barely.

His name was Jay and I have photos of him, too. He’s smiling in all of them, wide and earnest. You can’t see him in this photo, but he was there.