So, the charity for which Aubrey O’Day is playing on Celebrity Apprentice deals with the tireless fight against bullying. And I think this is unfortunate, because every time I see her on the screen I want to punch her in the face.

It’s probably not an accident, though. Because every time I encounter the word “bully View definition in a new window” lately I want to punch something.

Mini was lecturing me a while back about “speaking up” if you see a boo-lee, or if somebody is boo-lee-ing you. Having seen one of Nickelodeon’s bullying PSAs, he considered himself a resident expert on the scourge of bullying in late capitalist America and, truth be told, he probably does have about the same understanding of the whole issue as most people who consider themselves experts. I told him that “speaking up” is all fine and good (though, frankly, I’m more of the school that advocates socking bullies in the face but I’m not convinced this is the best strategy to teach my kids), but how was he going to know if he had seen a boo-lee? How would he know when to “speak up”? And who, precisely, did he plan on “speaking up” to?

Because the thing with bullies is that everybody has a different idea about who they are and how best to deal with them. Using the “B” word has become the Godwin’s Law of 2012. Or perhaps the “mean girl” of 2012. Suddenly everybody is a bully View definition in a new window or has a bully View definition in a new window they are dealing with, or was bullied as a child, or is currently getting over the sting of having been bullied. I’m kind of wondering if the problem is that we have so many bullies, or if the ones we do have are just terribly busy.

Make no mistake: I’m certain that bullying happens. Like for instance, once I dealt with somebody whom I felt was “a person who deliberately intimidates or persecutes those who are weaker” (OED). “Dealt with” is probably not the right way to say it — I provoked this person. I wouldn’t say I deliberately provoked this person, but I did say things that I knew this person would not like, and I did so because I thought this person was acting like a colossal jackass, but nobody seemed to be policing it. I didn’t really want to be the person to say it, but since nobody else did, I went ahead and did it.

Now, it turns out this person wielded some power. From my perspective, this person might have been called a bully View definition in a new window because in a certain sphere, the person possessed a great deal more power than myself, and this person was not exactly known for wielding that power responsibly. The power was what kept people silent about the person in question’s notorious jackassery, and not only that, it inspired people to make dramatic, public proclamations of support for the notorious jackassery. In these public proclamations, it was often me who was called the bully View definition in a new window, and since I wield zero power in said sphere, I have to assume that the discrepancy in power referred to a discrepancy in the intellectual capabilities of the two of us.

So you can see, who is the bully View definition in a new window and who is the bullied is really just a matter of where you’re sitting sometimes.

Bullying absolutely does happen, and it absolutely is something that should be eliminated, particularly when children are involved. But making dumbass PSAs is not going to do it. Critical thinking might have a shot, but it’s not going to work unless the adults in the world start seeing real bullying for what it is and talking about it openly. And since it’s hard to talk about a real bully View definition in a new window without getting SLAPP’d in the face, I’m not sure this is going to happen anytime soon.

So for now, I’ve gone with the easiest definition for Mini: a bully View definition in a new window is a bigger kid who is hitting, shoving, or otherwise physically intimidating somebody who is smaller than him or her. I told him to never be afraid to “speak up” to a teacher when he saw that — I’m pretty sure he will.

There’s no real reason for this post except to say that LL has her first Lakers jersey.

Except, it’s really a crawler, but you don’t really refer to things like a baby’s “first Lakers crawler.”

The number is Pau Gasol’s, and this is not accidental but it’s also not what would be my first choice. (It is definitely not Mr. Right-Click’s first choice, either, since he refers to Gasol alternately as being such a “weak Euro” or “YES! OLE PAELLA!” depending on his mood and how well Gasol is playing that night.) The thing is, they only make kids and baby jerseys in a few players’ numbers, and I refuse to allow my child to wear a Kobe Bryant jersey until he/she is old enough to request it specifically. My feelings on Kobe Bryant are complex and I need not go into them at length here, suffice to say that, while I immensely respect his basketball skills I have questions about his character that preclude me from having my children wear his number without problematizing the matter a bit.

Which brings me to Mini, who is now old enough to ask for the Kobe jersey and indeed has done so. Now, I could have gone into the problems I have with this but this would involve me discussing things with Mini that he is light years away from understanding or even roughly conceptualizing. So instead I grudgingly accepted this fate as I had agreed to do so many years ago. I still wince whenever I hear him shooting baskets with his friends and saying, “I’m Kobe, you be Gasol.”

Life is complicated once they become too big for Trumpette socks with bows on them.

Having a baby in the house makes purpose seem that much more important. The second kid also seems to bring with it a new impatience for dealing with things that don’t fit. I think it might be something to do with having less time and wanting to be more productive with the time you do have.

There was a time where figuring out how the mechanics of social media monetization worked was an endlessly interesting puzzle for me. That was how I started writing about the topic of mommyblogging as a business: it was curiosity that drove me more than anything. A few years ago, there was not much information available on how much money mommybloggers were making, or how they were making it. Even now, much of the information that is available is incorrect, incomplete, or misleading. There is still a need for honest reporting of this information. The problem is that it is not a job that will win you friends, and the weight of that can beat you down after a while.

Some time has passed since I first started writing about this stuff. I have seen behind the curtain now, and it’s not as interesting to me anymore. Despite the dubious quality of portions of the business writing available on the mommyblog space, it does give me some measure of solace that there is some type of conversation happening. Even if it’s about the wrong thing and with the wrong numbers, it is more than was happening three years ago.

All that said, I have grown weary of some of the practices, the smoke and mirrors, the straight up hustling that is part of professional mommyblogging. It is no different from any other commercial venture, but for this crucial point: we are supposed to act like it is different. We are supposed to act like it is all about community and the empowerment of women, and this sticks in my craw a bit. It is not about community and the empowerment of women — today it it is about Levi’s Curve ID and tomorrow it will be about Hillshire Farms. Which is completely fine. Just cop to it.