I am definitely getting a raw deal. Just look at what the New York Times says some kids are eating: "Hanna Mandel, 5, set to mixing yeast pebbles, sea salt and extra virgin olive oil into an artisanal dough, which she topped with mozzarella and a nutty, slightly stinky Gruyère before choosing a vegetable topping. As she kneaded, she talked about her No. 1 food, sushi, declaring, 'Seaweed is my favorite part.'" They even get to go to Mario Batali's restaurants.
Me? I get to order from the kids' menu at places where they give you crayons to draw on the paper sheet covering the table. Macaroni and cheese. Cheapo pizza. No Gruyere in sight! No dishes like they make on the Cooking Channel. No Mario. Maybe I'll go on a hunger strike.

Baby Einstein?? Did I hear that right? The president of the United States addresses the country and he's talking about one of my favorite videos? Maybe he forgot that kids my age can't vote. I don't know why he was honoring the woman who founded the company. Did Bush run out of other heroes? Will he have Elmo in the first lady's box next year and really go for the youth vote? The truth is, I didn't actually watch the speech. I was falling asleep in my crib--to my favorite Baby Einstein tape.

Boy, I showed my dad who's boss tonight. While I was TRAPPED in my high chair (after an awful meal of Tater Tots), I wanted to watch some food shows. But no! He said he had to watch Katie, Charlie and Brian. "My job is to watch the news," he said. How lame is that?
So I said, "My job is to watch the Cooking Channel." Ha! He didn't have an answer for that one.

I'm an expert on playgrounds. Swings, slides, you name it, I've done them. So I'm glad that New York, as the Times reports, is building a fancy new one with sandboxes featuring ropes and pulleys, wheelbarrows, milk crates and other strange stuff. I like to indulge my inner child, which in my case is the same as my outer child. But get a load of this: the kids will be guided by a staff of "play workers." I mean, really! I don't need some grownup telling me how to run around or build a sand castle. And we don't need to be putting these people on the government payroll, where my taxes--well, once I get a job--will pay their salary. This belongs in the Hall of Fame for dumb ideas.
I had my pink outfit on this morning--pink leotard, pink tights, pink shoes--and was all ready to go to dance class when my mom got worried that I might spill my yogurt on my clothes. How humiliating! I mean, I'm 2 already! But it gave me the idea for a title when I publish my collection of blog posts as a best-selling book: "Ballerina in a Bib." Watch for it on Amazon.