One of these days, I’m going to take my daughters to Broadway and see Beauty and the Beast or The Lion King. I’m in no rush, because there’s an amazing children’s theater company right in my backyard.
The Downtown Cabaret Children’s Company in Bridgeport starts it’s 25th season this Saturday (Sept. 30) with a world premiere orginal production based on the gothy kid’s book "Cinderella Skeleton." (That's Cinderella in the photo at left)
Our 6-year-old daughter has grown up going to the Cabaret’s shows and our 2-year-old, when she’s not busy causing national security alerts, is also a big fan.
Simply put, the Cabaret is genius on a stick. The creative crew weaves theater magic seemingly from old paper bags, tattered cloth and children’s imagination. The shows are often spoofs of well-known material, like the show "Rudolph!" which mated the Christmas tale with "Chicago!" style attitude. Every production is fun, cheery and full of wacky humor and song. Company creative director Bert Bernardi puts it best when he says "At the Cabaret, it’s always new, always different."
If you’ve never taken the kids to the Cabaret, I can’t urge you enough to make the trip. Heck, if you don’t have kids, it’s a great offbeat date. Support local, independent theater!
This season, the lineup is "Cinderella Skeleton," "Christmas in Candyland 2," "Oliver Twist," "Peter Rabbit," and "Beauty and the Beast."
Who needs Broadway?

I noticed this morning that my daughter's soft-sided lunch box is torn.

Before we head off to Target and but some lame Polly Pocket or Barbie lunchbox, I thought I'd suggest a few other options.

After all, what's wrong with a lunch box that advocates pot smoking?

All these lunchboxes and more are available here.

So my wife is in Stop & Shop and our 2-year-old daughter is in the cart. My wife has her back turned to the cart and hears a shelf stocker start speaking.
"Oh, no sweetie. Take that out of your mouth."
In the split second it takes for my wife to turn her head, numerous possibilities are considered: A bottle of bleach. Some choking item, like a small toy. Perhaps the guy’s pricing gun.
Nope. None of those.
Our daughter has somehow grabbed the guy’s box cutter and put it in her mouth. The blade was not exposed, but I’m sure it was only a matter of seconds before she figured out how to flick it open. In fact, I’m pretty sure if you handed her a shoulder-fired Stinger missile, she’d have it armed, aimed and ready to take out the nearest tall building.
This little girl needs to be on some kind of watch list, don’t you think?

My first-grade daughter stepped off the school bus recently and something was obviously wrong. She could barely move, as if a giant weight was pulling her over. Funny thing is, there was a giant weight pulling her over: her backpack. I lifted it. I’m going in for torn rotator cuff surgery tomorrow.
Well, at least she’s bringing home lots of good books and homework. Then I opened it. No books. Just stacks and stacks of fundraiser notices.
First there was the school supplies shakedown. Now comes the wrapping paper mafia.
I have no problem with helping out my daughter’s school. My wife and I volunteer in the classroom. We donate money for the various field trips and holiday celebrations. We don’t let our daughter bring any of her guns to school.
But I have a problem with being forced to take part in a $1.4 billion per year industry. Especially now that the hockey season is about to start and I have to get ready for the new "24" season in January.
It seems plenty of parents are just like me. According to a recent Washington Post article, which I’m plagiarizing, retail sales in product fundraising between 2001 and 2005 are down 11 percent. Know why? It’s the same old boring junk. Candy and wrapping paper. No one wants to sell it. No one wants to buy it. It leads to situations like this:
LITTLE JOHNNY: "Hi Grandma, I’m selling wrapping pape-"
GRANDMA: "You’re out of the will!" (sound of phone slamming down)
Here’s a new idea: A Hartford company called ArtStamps creates legal postage stamps from your kids’ artwork. Parents sell the stamps to raise money for school. Farmington is the first school in Connecticut to sign on, and I think it’s going to be a hit. People go loopy over their kids’ scribbles (me, too), so you’ve got motivated sellers. Buyers will be grateful for not hearing the words "wrapping paper."
For now, that’s what I’m helping my daughter sell. Want to buy some?

Some scumbag in New Haven somehow got ahold of one of my old checks and tried to cash it for $150 last week. The good people at Bank of America’s Long Wharf branch quickly called the cops and the creep fled.
I had to go down to my local Bank of America branch to change account numbers and guess who handles the details? The same person my 2-year-old daughter called "fat" a few weeks ago. (see post "Well, no one was going to confuse her with Kate Moss")
I made sure my wife kept our daughter out of this very nice woman’s office, but I fully expect my ATM card to stop working very soon.

How long do you think it will take for a Milford kid to hack the server, change his and his geeky friends’ grades to A+ and all the cheerleaders' and football players’ grades to D-?
One day? One hour? One minute?

AP NEWS ITEM: "Marie Michel’s fifth child was one for the record books. The Norwich, Conn. woman gave birth to a 14-pound, 13-ounce boy on Tuesday at William W. Backus Hospital. Backus officials said the newborn — Stephon Hendrix Louis-Jean — broke the 18-year record for the biggest baby ever born at the hospital by 1 pound, 13 ounces. He was nearly 23 inches long. "He’s built like a linebacker," said Dr. David Kalla, who delivered the baby by Caesarean section."
Had it been a girl, she could be on the runway at Fashion Week right now.

CO-WORKER: "I wonder what Anna Nicole Smith’s son died from."
ME: "Embarrassment."

In the history of rare events, there’s stuff like erupting volcanoes, drivers on I-95 using their turn signal and Britney Spears using contraceptives.
Then there’s really rare.
Today, my daughter’s first-grade class is experiencing just such a thing: a male teacher.
Her regular teacher, a woman, started the school year last week. The fact that she was eight months pregnant with twins put her at a distinct disadvantage for teaching more than a few weeks. Most of us parents figured she wouldn’t make it past lunch on the first day.
Well, she’s gone and her replacement is carrying the Y chromosome and an uncontrollable urge to drink milk from the container while standing in front of the fridge.
According to the National Education Association, just 24.9 percent of the nation’s 3 million public teachers are men, a 40-year low. In 1981, 18 percent of elementary school teachers were men. Today, just 9 percent are men. Many educators argue that having a male teacher in an elementary school classroom gives boys a positive role model outside the home and lets girls see that traditional gender roles don’t have to be followed. Those are valid opinions.
So far, the only detail my daughter has passed on is that her new teacher "wears glasses." It will be interesting to see how my daughter responds to a male teacher.
If she suddenly wants to start watching Monday Night Football and calls me "dude," I might get a little concerned.

One week after that terrible day five years ago, I wrote a column for the Register in the form of a conversation with my then 17-month-old daughter, Olivia:
"It’s time to put your toys away and get ready for bed, Olivia. Mommy and me will read "Goodnight Moon." Then "Polar Bear, Polar Bear What Do You Hear?" And "Ten, Nine, Eight." Maybe one of your Kipper books. It’s been a long day, and you’re yawning. I’ll give you a hug and a kiss and after a while you’ll drift off to sleep in your crib, Winnie the Pooh and Henrietta Hippo by your side. Soon daddy will go downstairs and turn on the TV with the volume low. I’m glad you’re just 17 months old. You don’t understand the horrible images being shown on TV. The two-inch high headlines in the newspaper don’t mean anything to you. I don’t have to explain to you that there are evil people in the world consumed by hate and blinded by religious fanaticism."
Over the years, I thought about that column but never read it from start to finish. So much has changed in my life in the last five years, so much has happened in the world and, certainly, Olivia has grown from a toddler to a beautiful girl.
Now seems like a good time to have a new conversation with Olivia, a first-grader in love with books, her little sister, friends and life:
"It’s time to finish your homework and get ready for bed, Olivia. When you wake up Monday, you’ll pick out a nice outfit, get your backpack on and I’ll walk you to the bus stop. It will seem like a normal day, no different from any other. That makes me happy. Five years ago, I wondered when the day would arrive when I had to explain what a terrorist is, what a war is and why American men and women are dying. The day I dreaded is nearly here. Your world is expanding so quickly. I know I can’t shield you from cruelty forever. I will tell you that terrorists are bad people who want to hurt you for no other reason than you live in the United States. Sometimes I don’t understand why we’re fighting a war in Iraq, but I’ll tell you that our soldiers are very brave and deserve our support.
Five years ago, I told you you would have a job to do. You must work for peace and protect our way of life, a life of freedom and equality. How can you work for peace? Well, at the bus stop this morning, you will stand with Jewish, Christian, black, white and Muslim children. They are your friends. They are Americans. You honor their beliefs and respect their differences. You prove by example what makes this a great nation.
I was wrong five years ago when I told you that by your first day of school, all of this would be over and evil people would be punished. I’m afraid you will grow up in the Age of Terrorism. For now, don’t worry. Mommy and me will love and protect you. Just like that night five years ago in your room, I’ll give you an extra long hug.

"My name is Katie Couric, AND THIS IS HOW I ROLL."
You're welcome

I really don’t know how to react to the news that a Danielson couple is selling advertising space on their 20-month-old disabled child.
Lets see, how about shock? Revulsion? Confusion?
Jonathan and Lisa Bastien’s daughter, Novalea, was born three months premature and struggled to survive. She had three operations and needs a wheelchair. She probably will never walk or talk. Like any parents of a disabled child, they struggle with the everyday costs not covered by medical insurance.
Their response? Put their kid’s picture on eBay and auction advertising space on Novalea’s "onesies, bibs, hats, pins, temporary tattoos, small banner for her wheelchair, or a magnet for our vehicle." Here’s their pitch: "Being a baby, being adorable, and being in a wheelchair puts her in the limelight. ALOT!!! People are always stopping us to see her and ask questions about her condition."
The opening bid? $7,500.
Here’s why they need the money: "Any money made from the venture will be used to help our family with medical bills, recouping losses and help up get caught up with bills, purchase medical equipment for Novalea, and/or to make our house handicap accessible."
This is wrong in so many ways. I’m sure the Bastien’s love their child very much, but this is exploitation. A child is not a "venture." A child is not for sale to the highest bidder. You could argue that it’s no different that having the words "Old Navy" on Novalea’s T-shirt, but treating your child like billboard is crass.
There are other ways to raise money. The Register has profiled many families with ill children over the years, like little Dillon Flanigan is Derby. The community has rallied around the family and numerous fundraisers have helped raised thousands.
The Bastiens should turn to their community. People want to help. They don’t need anything in return, just a chance to help a needy child.