The other day, Violet picked out a Barbie activity set at Costco–her present to celebrate Tuesday. It included stickers, a dvd of Barbie movie trailers, and a “book.”

Barbie Magical Moments Storybook is so bad it makes me feel like I’m committing child abuse. It’s the literary equivalent of feeding your child pixie sticks, bubble gum cigarettes and Pepsi. I’ve read it now about 50 times. The “illustrations” are computer animated stills from the fine Barbie “movies” and the “stories” are novelizations of these cinematic gems.

Today I was reading Barbie in the 12 Dancing Princesses, in which Barbie portrays “Genevieve” the prettiest of a dozen princess sisters and that’s really all you need to know about the plot. On the second page of the story, two consecutive paragraphs begin with the words “That night,” and then the following two paragraphs start “Back at the castle.” I was rapping it, “THAT NIGHT, THAT NIGHT, BACK AT THE CASTLE, BACK AT THE CASTLE!” Call me Michiko, but can’t they find an editor? I mean they’ve got Barbie’s money behind them, they should be able to hire Jonathan Galassi. I just hate the idea that Violet’s going to grow up thinking not varying the start of paragraphs is okay. I’m getting off my high horse now.

If you see my brain anywhere, please email it back to me.

My perfect husband has been spending weekends teaching Violet how to ride a bike. Before I was a parent, I used to see people teaching their kids to ride bikes and think, “I’d like to have a kid, but I don’t want to have to teach it to ride a bike.” When Paul brought his big Schwinn [insert Beavis and Butthead chortle] to our first date, I knew I’d found a man I could procreate with. So yesterday in the million degree (not including humidity) weather, they were out for three hours riding so that I could do some writing.

I have a lot of work to do and zero time to do it during the week. But instead of using the three hours of quiet time prudently and responsibly, I watched this commercial over and over and over.

It’s really hot in Manhattan today (think the middle of a grilled cheese sandwich) and it doesn’t look like me and my gaoler are going anywhere. So far, I’ve read aloud over thirty picture books (I had to take a lozenge mid-way through), had to play with Disney Princess Polly Pockets–spent 45 minutes trying to get Cinderella’s head back on her body with a screwdriver– (I hoped I’d accidentally jab myself so we could go to the infirmary), and was told not to sing whilst scrubbing the broiler. If she goes to sleep, I’ll try tying some sheets together.