Mommas, don't let yer babies...

My almost three-year-old has taken to carrying a shoulder bag. Not the hip, newsboy style messenger bag, or a tough and rowdy saddle bag, but an all out Chanel knock-off... chain strap, red faux leather, with "leopard skin" accents. In it he has stowed a pink lemonade Bonnie Bell lip gloss, a pacifier, and a few carefully wadded up bits of paper, which he insists are money. Oh, and the keys. A wad of old keys he cobbed on to while we were 'touring' the relatives back in March. They add both weight and a nice jingle to his swishy purse. I fear he intends to wear it out of the house, and I'm dreading the inevitable meltdown that will ensue when we cannot make a hasty exit (restaurant, grocery, or other) because "we can't find Eli's purse, mom!"

Eddie Izzard has nothing on my toddler, who has already, oh, so carefully, given himself a bright red manicure. It took place whilst 'Boris' was on child survival-duty. When I came home and asked why the baby's hands were all red, dearest husband claimed he had no clue how the boy even reached the nailpolish. It took five days to find the bottle... Eli had hidden it in a bulk pack of toilet paper in the bathroom cupboard. Only one roll of toilet paper was sacrificed, along with my favorite Orly "Rock On Red" toenail lacquer. Summer won't be quite the same without it, but more to the point, I have to find an acceptable substitute for young Master Eli's bag habit, because as accepting as I may be of all my childrens' quirks, ideas, and experiments,that bag is soooo fifteen years ago.