A few tidbits from this morning’s newspaper:

Garden coaches. The Escapes section ran an article about people who hire coaches to teach them about gardening. I laughed, but if there’s anyone who is the target market for this kind of service, it is I. Even though our garden is a scanty affair (it’s a one-yard strip around the perimeter, no front or back yard) it looks like hell’s weed patch. I’ve never been that interested in it, but if I wanted someone to teach me about gardening, I think I’d call my mom, not a coach.

Designer babies. On the Op-Ed page, David Brooks writes about the latest craze sweeping the country: Hipster parents trying to produce designer babies by requesting Harvard-educated sperm with liberal tendencies. Mr. Brooks apparently thinks the greatest menace facing the country today is not terrorists or even the current administration, but rich white parents. [Husband: We should go down to New York and scare the crap out of him: “Our kids have funny names and we’re going to run you down in our big stroller! Booga-booga!”]

Family photos. According to this article, men display photos of their wives and kids at work, but women only show photos of the kids. Why? Because modern women think of the dads as kind of superfluous once they’ve dropped off their sperm donations. (I had to look twice to make sure David Brooks didn’t write it.) In our family, it’s just the opposite. Not only do I take most of our pictures, but I have a serious aversion to having my photo taken. I’m not afraid of losing my soul, just of seeing myself on film. I am probably the only person wed in North America since the invention of the videocamera who has never seen her own wedding video.

Fill it up with leaded. And to really cheer you up, here’s this from the Business section by way of Sodor. Now I have to explain to my boys why I’m throwing out a small fortune’s worth of their very favorite toys. These things are small blocks of wood with wheels, people. Only two things are required to make them childproof: 1. Remove all choking hazards and 2. Do not coat them in a toxic substance. Well, I guess that explains Aitch’s early inability to distinguish between mommy and daddy.