Parenting: you’re doing it wrong.
Bakersfield, California, mother Frances Hena asked a local news station whether she was supposed to “whoop” her 11-year-old daughter instead, which was clearly the only other alternative to making young Jamie stand in a busy intersection with a sign reading, “I was disrespecting my parents by twerking at a school dance.” Hena thinks that publicly embarrassing her daughter will teach the kid not to twerk. Had she watched Miley Cyrus’ twerk-performance at the VMAs, she would understand twerkers are plenty capable of embarrassing themselves, thank you. Keep reading »
In impoverished Yemen, the forced marriage of young girls is not an uncommon practice. According to the UK’s Daily Mail, men will pay poor families a “bride price” for their young daughters, so marrying off girls as young as Nada al-Ahdal, 11, happens often. There is also a traditional belief that if girls are married when they are young, they will live away from temptation and will grow up to be obedient wives. Keep reading »
A 11-year-old girl in Chile, who was impregnated by her mother’s boyfriend, told a TV interviewer recently that giving birth to a baby would be like “having a doll.” Chilean President Sebastian Pinera, who opposes abortion, has praised the fifth grader publicly for her “depth and maturity” in carrying the pregnancy to term.
Oh, and did I mention that in Chile, abortion is super-duper illegal? Keep reading »
Nine-years-old is apparently old enough for pint-sized actress Quvenzhané Wallis to be called a c**t.
So why not let a nine-year-old rapper called Lil Poopy slap an adult woman’s ass in his music video for “Pop That Remix”? Childhood — who needs it?
Ugh. When the fuck did we stop letting children be children and start sexualizing them?
Keep reading »
A mini-explosion occurred on the Internet this week when Bishop Larry Trotter, pastor of a Chicago mega-church, posted a picture of himself in the bathtub with his four-year-old granddaughter. Trotter sat in the tub smiling beside the little girl, whose face has been blurred out; both are covered in bubbles, so it’s impossible to tell whether he or she is naked (or wearing swimwear, or otherwise clothed).
Quite understandably, people got very concerned. Keep reading »
I consumed almost no wedding-related media in the eight or so months between when Patrick and I got drunk at the lake and decided to get engaged and when we actually tied the knot on April 21, 2012. I came to like Offbeat Bride and its attendant forums and creative user group, though I was ultimately put off by its (I think unavoidable) preciousness. Not surprisingly, I found the full-throttle focus of wedding-related magazines and sites to be frustrating and demoralizing rather than helpful.
Instead of answering actual questions I had about weddings — about how much should it cost to feed 80 people? Why is it so hard to find tea-length wedding dresses? What’s the history behind women being “given away”? — I was being given solutions to problems I didn’t know I had: for starters, I was almost certainly too fat. And my hair was too short. My bridesmaids (who would obviously be all women) either should or shouldn’t wear matching dresses, but whatever I decided would be ultimately wrong according to somebody. I hadn’t given enough thought to napkin rings and their very important role in the formal place settings my guests would be wholly unable to enjoy themselves without. I was already behind on making the 6,000 origami swans that I was previously unaware I needed to personally hand-craft. The list grew and grew. Keep reading »
Nadya Suleman, who is best known as the “Octomom,” is now fighting allegations of sexual abuse against her eight younger children. Suleman is denying the claims, calling them “blatant lies.”
In interviews with CBS2 in Los Angeles, two former nannies, who wished to remain anonymous, say that they were witnesses to Suleman’s neglect of the eight young children and saw sexual abuse.
“I feel like those children are in danger,” one said. “I think something is going to happen to those children if nothing is done.” Read more…
I grew up in the ‘80s on a tree-lined neighborhood that skirted the edge of New Haven, Connecticut. Nobody really traveled down my short street unless they lived there or were visiting, and my family was friendly with all of our neighbors. With a backyard that was mostly brambling bushes and trees, I spent the majority of my childhood playing right out in front of my house, alternating between frolicking in the garden (much to my mother’s chagrin) or biking up and down the sidewalks with friends. A good portion of that outside time was spent with friends, by myself, or with my younger brother in tow, but mostly unsupervised by adults. Sure, my mom stuck her head out every now and again, and a neighbor was never far off. But the majority of my outside play was independent and unstructured. Keep reading »