I specifically don't let my kids wear clothes to school with words on them (and they're young enough I can still control what they wear). Gap, Old Navy, Nike, cartoon characters, sports teams, whatever. I just don't like them. They wear them for play clothes (and we have a ton)... that's where I put the t-shirts from Grandma's latest cruise, shirts from their summer day camp at the rec center, last year's soccer shirt, and the inevitable GAP hand-me-downs from other kids. But they don't wear them to school. Call me old-fashioned, but I like my kids to at least leave home in the morning without looking like little ragamuffins, and without advertising anyone's products.

But, we also limit the TV, and we watch occasional Sponge Bob episodes on DVD because I can't stand the Attack of the Gimme's that they get from watching commercial TV.

I think selling advertising on a kid is pathologically weird... but it falls into the National Enquirer category of people who do equally weird things, so weird that it makes the news. When I start seeing it on every street corner, I'll pitch a fit. Until then, whatever. I feel sorry for the kid, but there are kids out there with a whole lot worse problems than that.

Gag. Yes, it happened, about the time I realized the Disney Channel "teenybopper" shows came on much earlier than I knew of. I thought it was an innocent morning of letting my daughter watch cartoons while I slept late.

This is the same little girl who has asked me repeatedly for makeup, doesn't understand why I won't buy her high-heeled wedge sandals, and wants to wear a bikini. She's SIX!!!

I feel like I'm so careful with this kind of thing... she has one Barbie doll, none of the dreaded "Bratz" dolls, and most of her toys are play and fantasy--doll house, grocery store, castle with dragons, blocks, Legos. I think the desire for all things girly and made-up must be in the water. I know if I took her to a spa to get her nails done and have a facial, she would love it. I would gag, but she'd be in heaven.

The hit of Christmas last year was a $1.99 Hello Kitty set of sparkly clear nail polish. All the other toys could have quietly disappeared and she never would have noticed.

The best advice I ever got after a messy, horrible, devastating breakup was from a friend who had recently lost his mother to cancer. Any psychological wound like this takes a long time to get over. How long? I don't know. Neither do you. But a long time.

His analogy was that it's like moving a huge pile of rice, one grain at a time. You will have to pick up every little grain, look at it, think about, cry over it, and let it go. Grain after grain after grain. Some will be harder than others. Some you will attempt to never let go, but put them in your pocket to save. Others will be easy. At some point, who knows when, you'll realize the pile is smaller. At some point, you'll realize you've finished, and the pile is gone, even the grains you snuck into your pocket. There's no way of knowing how long that will be. But you do have to deal with it all, little by little, until you're done dealing with it.

It sounds daunting, but I also found it oddly comforting. This takes a while. It won't happen overnight, or in a week, or in a month. There was nothing wrong with me for taking so long, nor will there be with you, for taking the time you need. In our society, we don't "do" grief well at all. Many people will expect you to be done faster, but you won't. Take as long as you need, and do the work you need to do to move those grains of rice.

Is ordinary sunscreen (with both UVA and UVB) and a broad-brimmed hat. All available at your local Walgreen's. Jeesh.

That's it. Science over. Keep your skin out of the sun as much as possible, and it will be lovely.

These people who want to invade everyone's lives have never had the tough choices to make. They make it sound as if women are sitting around eating bon-bons and filing their nails and just missed that old deadline of 20 weeks because they were busy watching Days of Our Lives or something.

Jeesh.

For those of us who have been through a pregnancy, serious prenatal testing doesn't take place until 20 weeks. That's when I had detailed ultrasounds (in the hospital with an ultrasound tech, not with the little machine in the doctor's office). They find out if there are serious defects. If the baby has all its organs. If anything looks weird (non-medical term here) they recommend further testing--amnio, genetic testing, and so on.

I am truly blessed that I did not have to face the choice that some women and couples do. What are you to do at 20 weeks when you learn that the baby has a non-fixable genetic defect, and may not live long past birth? Or will have a difficult and painful life filled with surgeries and medical treatments? I cannot imagine a more agonizing choice to make. Continue your pregnancy to have your baby live a short and painful life, or abort and try again? That choice is deeply personal, between a woman, her partner if she has one, and the doctor. Absolutely no one else has any place in that choice.

I am deeply grateful I did not have to make it. But I might have had to. I would reserve that ability to choose for anyone, for any reason. It's not my place to insert myself into someone else's life.