Life On "Planet Mom"
Two of my friends from college started a company a few years ago called Planet Mom, which designs and sells T-shirts and other forms of apparel to the "Mommy" demographic. The items all carry funny and attitude-laden messages, the kind of "yeah, I get that, I totally get that" statements capable of making any Mom the hit of the play-date or pre-school drop-off.
They just came out with a new set of shirts, and one in particular caught my attention because - Mom or Dad - it expresses a feeling I'm sure many of us have had at one time or another.
Here it is:
We all have our own personal examples of this dynamic - elaborate vacations for toddlers who can barely walk, Redwood swing sets that resemble small villages, dinners out at real restaurants, dancing lessons, organized athletics, art and music classes, Webkinz stockpiles that border on the obscene.
Early next year, our girls will make their fifth annual family pilgrimage to Aruba, a few weeks before Ava turns 5. I'm not sure I left the country before junior year of high school, and that was for an educational exchange trip to England, not a week of swim-up bars and water slides.
My childhood vacations involved cramming into the back of the Family Truckster with my two sisters for the long drive down to Florida, catching a few days at Disney, and then turning the car around to head back home. We'd fold down the seats so we could lay next to each other and sleep, in between rounds of asking whether we were "almost there," an approach to highway travel with children that would, today, probably result in parental arrest.
No complaints from me, we all turned out fine, but I have to say I think the ladies of Planet Mom are onto something.
They just came out with a new set of shirts, and one in particular caught my attention because - Mom or Dad - it expresses a feeling I'm sure many of us have had at one time or another.
Here it is:
We all have our own personal examples of this dynamic - elaborate vacations for toddlers who can barely walk, Redwood swing sets that resemble small villages, dinners out at real restaurants, dancing lessons, organized athletics, art and music classes, Webkinz stockpiles that border on the obscene.
Early next year, our girls will make their fifth annual family pilgrimage to Aruba, a few weeks before Ava turns 5. I'm not sure I left the country before junior year of high school, and that was for an educational exchange trip to England, not a week of swim-up bars and water slides.
My childhood vacations involved cramming into the back of the Family Truckster with my two sisters for the long drive down to Florida, catching a few days at Disney, and then turning the car around to head back home. We'd fold down the seats so we could lay next to each other and sleep, in between rounds of asking whether we were "almost there," an approach to highway travel with children that would, today, probably result in parental arrest.
No complaints from me, we all turned out fine, but I have to say I think the ladies of Planet Mom are onto something.
posted by Dad at 7:29 AM
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