Motherhood Mondays: Brushing kids' teeth

When I was twenty three, I went to the dentist and discovered that I had ten cavities. Ten. How mortifying is that? I swear I'm not totally gross. Meanwhile, Alex somehow has never even had one, so, needless to say, we're hoping Toby takes after him. Here are three things that have helped three-year-old Toby get excited about brushing his teeth...
1. My friend Kendra recommended getting a wooden step stool so Toby can reach the sink and brush his teeth like a grown-up (!!!). He likes standing up there so much that we actually have to tell him after a while to step away from the sink.
2. Watch this Elmo video. Warning: The annoying song will get stuck in your head, but kids adore it. We sing the song ("Brush brushy brush brushy brush brush, huh!") when Toby is brushing his teeth and he always starts laughing. And funnily enough, Nicole Kidman, Bruno Mars, David Hyde Pierce, Naomi Watts and Liev Schreiber are in the video, too.
3. Find natural toothpaste that actually tastes good. The Honest Company—which we love and already use for our household, bath and baby products—just came out with toothpaste for both kids and adults. The adult toothpaste is mint, and the kids toothpaste is strawberry. Toby loves it and even asks for more squeezes onto his toothbrush. And there are no questionable chemicals or artificial sweeteners or dyes.

Any other tips for getting your little stinkers to brush their teeth? If you'd like to try out Honest products, get 40% off a bundle with the code ACOJBundle. Limited to U.S. and Canadian residents, applies to your first bundle order only, and expires October 9th.

P.S. The Honest Company also has the CUTEST diapers.

(Photos by Alpha Smoot for Cup of Jo. Thanks, Alpha! This post is sponsored by The Honest Company, whose products and mission I adore. Thank you so much for supporting the sponsors that make Cup of Jo possible.)

"Monday Monday, Da-Da-Da-Daaahh..."

Last week, I said this:

Or maybe an ostrich with its head up someone's ass would be the perfect marriage of the two, but I don't have the time or the graphic imaging skills, or the means and animal husbanding abilities to set up the actual shot.

Which prompted "BKJimmy" to make this:

(Yes, those are The Panties.)

As far as I'm concerned that's all I should really need to post today (or arguably this whole week), but for some reason I'm going to continue anyway.

So, to continue anyway:

Further to last Friday's post, I was surprised to learn that after somebody gets killed by a car it's technically possible for the police to actually figure out what happened:

(Via Twitter)

Unfortunately, it costs $13,000 a pop, which is way more than a human life is worth here in Canada's hemorhhoid:

Marco Gehlen, a Hague police traffic investigator, said real-life accident reenactments are required for every bike fatality or serious injury. In the case of high-speed crashes, the effort is outsourced to a company in Germany, which videotapes the test crashes with slow-motion cameras. The service costs the Hague police more than $13,000 for each case.

Yeah, there's no way a human is worth almost as much as a Toyota Yaris.  Here's the current exchange rate we're enjoying:

(One Human Life = 1.5 iPhones)

Admittedly, until recently a human life was worth a couple more iPhones, but, you know, then the new one came out.  And it's gold.

Also, in certain parts of America where they believe strongly in "Jesus," people do refuse to measure human life in iPhones, but only just as long as the human is unborn.  Postnatally, the value of the human drops precipitously, sort of like the moment you drive that new Hyundai off the lot.

By the way, it's worth noting that iPhones have only existed for about six years and are already equipped with all sorts of technology to aid law enforcement.  Meanwhile, cars have been around for well over a hundred years and they still don't have shit to record the actions of all the assholes who use them to kill.

Then again, this is America.  We don't go in for socialist nonsense like spending taxpayer money to find out why our taxpayers are dying.  It's way cheaper to simply tell cyclists they should wear a helment and then to fine them for stuff like failing to put both feet on the ground and reciting the alphabet backwards and forwards before rolling again at that stop sign.  In fact, it's even profitable thanks to the fines--which are ridiculously high because we fine the cyclists just as much as the drivers, even though a typical city bike weighs about the same as a driver's Slurpee.

I mean seriously, listen to these idiots:

The criminal prosecution in the case also came quickly, and under rules of evidence very different from those common to American courts. The truck driver was charged within days and a year later received the maximum sentence of 240 hours of community service and a provisional sentence of two months in prison. His driver’s license was revoked for 18 months.

It wasn’t a particularly harsh sentence, and community members said it didn’t need to be. But, they say, it was important for a person to be held responsible under the law. And under Dutch law there was no doubt who that person would be.

Charged and sentenced, just for killing a kid on a bike?  No wonder they lost their empire:

In your face, you stupid Dutchbags!

(Well, I suppose the people who renamed it "New York" lost their empire too, but at least they've still got Canada.)

And here's some more Hollandaise crazy talk:

“It’s a deadly weapon, the car. So it’s good to protect those who are most vulnerable,” he said.

It’s an attitude reflected by police officers like Constable Tommy Hamelink, head of the Hague police bicycle unit, who admitted he is half-hearted about ticketing bike riders for gliding through red lights or drunk cycling.

Instead, he said, police focus on the issues they believe most help people avoid accidents: Putting lights on bicycles and encouraging cyclists not to ride in the blind spot of large trucks or buses.

You're not going to get a job on the NYPD with that attitude, pal.  That kind of enforcement may work in Europe's Nether regions, but here in America where 6.3 pedestrians are killed by bicyclists every year we need to crack down hard.

Still, you'd think maybe American police forces might be tempted by the opportunity to conduct awesome crash reenactments with dummies:

Sure, a helment may not have saved that cyclist's life, but at least it would have neatly contained his head after it was severed by the windshield.  Speaking of the windshield, I was amused to note that the wipers start going as soon as the body hits.  Must be one of those moisture-sensing models.

What will those Euros think of next?

Closer to home, not too long ago riders were being jumped for their bikes here on the Hudson River Greenway, and here's yet another chilling reminder to be very careful there no matter what you're doing:

Here's how the NYPD described the incident, which occurred just after 9 a.m., as an attempted rape: The NYPD received 911 calls about a woman who was attacked on the bike path near the Henry Hudson Parkway in the park. When police arrived, they found the victim, who said she had been pushing her stroller when a man called out to her from behind. The man approached her with a broken bottle and then struggled with her.

They fell to the ground—the stroller was knocked down, too—and the woman defended herself with a bicycle pump by beating him on the right side of his head causing a laceration. The suspect fled.

It's also yet another reason why CO2 inflators suck.

By the way, via the same source and in the same (general) area, here's just another day on the Henry Hudson Parkway.

If there's anything more American than a blood feud between an outlaw motorcycle gang and a person driving a Range Rover then I'd like to see it.

Actually, I don't think I would.

Anyway, sometimes I look at the state of New York City cycling and just think to myself, "Why bother?"  Consider this, for example:



I don't know what's more depressing: paying for someone to give you a tour of overdeveloped gentrification hell, or the fact that people are afraid to approach bicycles without first donning Grey Helments of Shame:

Interestingly, this tour promises to deliver an "authentic North Brooklyn bike experience," and it's worth noting that until relatively recently that would have involved having to fight off an attacker on the Williamsburg Bridge with your bicycle pump.

But you can rest assured that your friends and family back home don't need to worry about you now (vehicular assault aside, of course):

"Hi, Mom?  Yeah, I'm totally in Williamsburg.  No, actually it just looks like Cleveland with more assholes."

And you'll even get to see the "impressive street art in Bushwick:"

"So yeah, you see this?  Someone with an MFA invented a name for himself and spraypainted it on a warehouse in pretty colors."

Yeah, okay.  You wanna see some art, you rubes?  Here you go:

"Sistine Chapel" my sranus.

Best of all though is that you'll get to ride en masse on the sidewalk!

After which you'll enjoy the quintessentially New York experience of being on the receiving end of a criminal summons.

Maybe while you're in jail you'll get to meet the next Banksy.

You know what else isn't worth saving?  Pro cycling:

Yes, the sport that has been all about cheating ever since the invention of the safety bicycle is now suddenly and completely throbbing with integrity:

The Englishman promised to herald in a new era underscored by transparency, cooperation, and the pledge of rebuilding the sullied image of a sport racked by decades of doping scandals.

Hilarious!

And do they seriously use a lucite box for the balloting?

Doesn't seem very laterally stiff or vertically compliant.  Seems like crabon would be more appropriate.

Anyway, if Cookson guy is really worth anything he'll clean up the sport by eliminating every single discipline besides artistic cycling.  I mean, I'm sure there's a way to dope for artistic cycling, and I'm sure at least some of them do, but does anybody really care?  After all, it is "artistic," and drugs are the glue that holds the lucite box that is the art world together.  Does anybody get mad that William S. Burroughs was a junkie?  So yeah, sorry, but if you want to keep riding your bike for money you're going to have to get with the program and learn how to do this:


Because those wheelies ain't gonna cut it anymore, fancypants:

Photos from the weekend

How was your weekend? The crisp fall weather was gorgeous! After a nutty week, this weekend was great and restorative. (Thanks for the sweet comments.) Here are a few more photos, just for fun...
We met this lovely street artist, who Toby thought was Santa. His head almost exploded.
We met some friends at the playground. (Funnily enough, this little guy above was Toby's very first friend.)
Anton has been smiling like crazy! It kills me!
On Saturday evening, we had peanut-butter-and-jelly-sandwich picnic in the grassy meadow in front of our new building (where Toby has had all his birthday parties). Anton passed on the sandwiches and instead ate his hands.
These were the views! Since our building is way over by the water, Alex and I were talking about how feels like we live in the suburbs but in Manhattan. It's a funny mix. Looking forward to sharing more photos of our new apartment once we finally get it decorated.
The scene on my desk on Monday morning made me smile.

What did you do this weekend? Hope you had a good one! Lots of love! xoxo

SNL's Spoof on Girls

You've probably all already seen this SNL spoof of the show Girls, but just in case there's one person out there who hasn't, I figured I'd post it. It's too hilarious to miss. Their impressions of the characters are SPOT ON—especially Hannah and Jessa. I was laughing out loud the whole time.

Have a great weekend.

What are your plans for this weekend? We're having friends over for a picnic on Saturday and I'm hoping to check out this this cheese shop. In other news, Anton woke up four times last night! I'm so tired! I feel like crying! It seems like everyone else's babies are sleeping through the night. That can't be true, right? It makes me think of this book. Well, hope you have a wonderful weekend, and here are some fun posts from around the web...

The joys of being a restaurant regular.

Made me laugh.

Zucchini parmesan crisps.

Grinning from ear to ear watching Joseph Gordon-Levitt dance and Justin Timberlake joke around.

How to beat jet lag.

This nail polish is on my wishlist.

Egg font. (It took 1000 eggs!)

How to say no. (Fascinating.)

Four tutorials for short hair.

Cute emailable invitations.

What Amy Poehler wants in a best friend.

J.Crew has a baby shop!

And three past posts you may have missed:
* Real actors read Yelp reviews.
* A hilarious Halloween costume.
* 60 years of roses.

BSNYC Friday No Quiz, Just Depression Because I'm Bummed Out And So Should You Be!

Another day, another child killed by an Escalade:

But, you know, it's the victim's fault because she wasn't holding mommy's hand:

The girl was not holding her mother’s hand as they crossed the street near 5th Avenue and 55th St. in Sunset Park around 3:15 p.m., sources said. The little girl drifted into traffic and was crushed by a white Cadillac Escalade, sources said.

So, take a deep breath and say it with me now:

No criminality suspected!

Now, I may be suspicious by nature, but when I see a little girl dying in the street I actually do suspect criminality.  I know, call me crazy, right?  So I looked more closely at the picture:

First of all, the windows on that car are more tinted than Lindsay Lohan's sunglasses, which is illegal in New York City.  Fine, not a smoking gun, but it's a start.  Next, I looked up the license plate number, which is also legible in the photo.  The system only gives you information on parking tickets and red light camera violations, but I found that this particular vehicle had received three tickets for not having a valid inspection:

The most recent of which was issued this past Saturday:

I considered the possibility that maybe I'd looked up the wrong plate, but the system is pretty clear on the fact that these tickets were issued to a white Cadillac.

Okay.  Even though we're talking about a dead child for fuck's sake, let's give the owner the benefit of the doubt.  Let's say after last Saturday's ticket he went and got his car inspected, and so he was operating his car fully legally when he ran over the child.  (You know, apart from the windows.)

No.  Fuck that.  I'm pretty confident that tub of shit Escalade should not have been on the road.  And I don't want to let the driver off the hook here, but I also suspect that if they'd towed the shit tub after that third ticket it would now be sitting in the impound at the Brooklyn Navy Yard and not on top of a dead child.  If someone can't be bothered to get their potentially deadly $60,000 car inspected in two weeks then they shouldn't be allowed to have it.  At the very least, you'd think that a dead child would be more than enough to arouse suspicion of criminality, and that maybe someone would, you know, look into it.  I found this stuff in about 19 seconds while sitting around in my underpants drinking coffee.  What else was he doing wrong?  Are we not even going to investigate the possibility?

I'd love to see a mayor with the balls and/or vulva to admit that if you cracked down on all the assholes with expired inspections, no insurance, suspended licenses, out of state registration to save money when they actually live in New York, and so forth, you'd take a shitload of dangerous drivers off the road.  Three tickets for no inspection?  Tow that shit!  "Oh, boo hoo, it's hard having a car in New York City."  No shit, asshole.  It should be hard, and if you can't hack it then don't drive.  You're asking a lot of the city and its residents to accommodate your car.  You should be creeping around town at 20mph with your valid paperwork on hand at all times, petrified at the idea of making contact with anything.

Sadly, instead, all you need to do is strap on your stupid bumper protector, mash your foot to the floor, and let everyone else clean up after you.  It's actually surprisingly easy to own an operate a car in New York City, even if you do it by the book.  You can park your car for free here, which is insane.  Even if you get a parking ticket a month you're getting the deal of the millennium.  Market rate for real estate in Brooklyn is something like $750 per square foot, so you do the math for what a parking space is worth.  (No, seriously, please do the math, because I can't.)

Also, look at this car:

I have a car.  I've pretty much always had one in New York City.  It's registered and insured--to me, at my current address.  Ironically, the reason I've always had a car is that I'm a cyclist, and I wanted to be able to get myself to races.  (Bike racing makes you do really dumb stuff, like shave your legs, spend stupid amounts of money on crabon, and own a car in New York City.)  Also, like many bike dorks, I like operating vehicles with wheels, and I actually enjoy driving.  (You know, open road driving, not city driving.)  Therefore, I like to be engaged in the act of driving while I'm doing it.  My car has a manual transmission.  It has four doors and a hatch, but it's small (miniscule by American standards), and it's pretty low to the ground.  If I go over a bump I feel it.  The engine is small (miniscule by American standards), but with a manual you can work the motor hard when you need to, and anyway, any car that can carry three cars on the roof at highway speed and still have a little left over is more than enough power in my Haggadah.

On my recent vacation to Mt. Tampon, I rented a car, because you can't really get around there without one.  The car was what is called a "compact crossover."  Yeah, "compact" my balls.  (Actually, please don't compact my balls.)  I was sitting higher than I would have been on the roof of my own car, which made anything happening in the immediate vicinity of the vehicle ambiguous at best.  The windows had a slight tint to them which made me feel like I was driving stoned or wearing sunglasses at dusk.  Besides that, the stupid shape of the windows made visibility poor, and I really couldn't see out of the rear window at all.  Hence, the car came equipped with a backup camera system.  Holy shit, is that weird and annoying!  Forget being detached from the driving experience--it's like wiping your ass with a series of levers and pulleys.  (Or an "aubesian"--which, come to think of it, would make a great model name for a "compact crossover.")

Seems to me you should need to get a special license for any vehicle that requires using a fucking camera to operate.

Anyway, I fucking hated this car.  I especially hated it the couple of times I had to drive it into the city when I had to drive this stupid loaf with its poor visibility through intersections and crosswalks.  It was like walking around in a fat suit.  And then I look at that white tub of shit, which could easily drive over my rented "compact crossover," and all I can think is no fucking way.  Giant trucks driven recreationally without inspections in the second-most populated county in America?  (That's Brooklyn.)

Yeah, no shit people are getting killed.

In any case, sure, I guess I'm part of the problem with my car and my free parking and all the rest of it (uh, my car's OK, but any car bigger than mine is BAD!), but you have to wonder when, how, or if people are ever going to refuse to accept that it's okay to kill people here with a car.  Even I didn't think about it that much before starting this blog.  Hey, a story like this may ruin your day, but at least it didn't ruin your life.  (Yet.)

On a lighter note [SMILEY FACE!!!] Robin Williams went on the "Daily Show" and talked about riding bikes:


Not sure about the helment crap or the little "push-them-off-their-bikes" gesture Jon Stewart made, but this is about as enlightened as bike-related conversations get in mainstream America.

Great new book

My friend Ann just wrote a wonderful memoir—Mastering the Art of French Eating—which came out today. I read it while breastfeeding Anton this summer, and it's one of those books that makes you pause to daydream while you're reading. She's a funny, sweet and disarming writer, and I got swept up on her journey.

Here's her story: Ann was thrilled when her husband was given a diplomatic assignment in Paris. Two years of stinky cheese, romantic dinners, road trips...she couldn't believe her good fortune. But right after they arrived in Paris, her husband was called away for a yearlong post in Iraq—alone—and she was left to find a life for herself in a new city. At first, she was lonely (she describes turning on all the lamps at home to make the rooms feel cozier; "the hours until dinner and bedtime stretched before me dry and uncompromising," she recalls), but then she had an idea. She could spend her time in France—traveling to small towns and meeting crazy chefs, farmers and restaurateurs—to discover the history and secrets behind the country's incredible signature dishes, from boeuf bourguignon to buckwheat crêpes.

Mastering the Art of French Eating is part funny memoir, part cookbook, part historical essays and part love story. (She describes her husband so sweetly; even though we know him, it was so lovely to see him through her eyes.)

It's such a wonderful book! If you like Julia Child or Amanda Hesser or Peter Mayle, this book will be up your alley. I loved it and would highly recommend it. Congratulations, Ann!
Are you reading anything good these days?

(Bottom photo by Valeria Schettino)

It's not the height of your bottom bracket, it's what you do with it that counts.

Remember on yesterday when I mentioned the United Nations and the kveching?

No?

Remember now?

Well, a reader I'll call Steven Arthur (though his real name is Stephen Arthur) writes in with a story that will tug on your heartstrings, testicle sack, or labia, depending on how you're equipped and where you're most sensitive:

Attempted NYPD confiscation of my bicycle averted by building doormen!

As if I did not have enough bad news to deal with today...

when I walked out of my office after work, my blue Bianchi of over 14.5 years, was missing, and two of my locks were cut laying on the ground.

I froze!

But I figured, that the NYPD cut my bike locks because Vice President Joe Biden was next door speaking, though when I parked my bike just before 9AM that morning, there was no indication of any police or fencing on the street that day.

Fortunately for me, the doormen of the building I had been parking in front of for the last 2.5 years, intercepted the attempted NYPD confiscation of my bicycle, and had it waiting for me in their building, along with a picture they took of the incident.

Here's a video of the police removing the bike, which I assume was taken by the heroic doorman:

I see about a thousand places you could hide something dangerous around there (the planter with the tree in it, hell-ooo!!!) so I'm not sure why they're fixated on the bike.  And what, they can't just have a dog sniff it?  They have to go at it with the saws?  Actually, maybe I've got it all wrong, and perhaps Vice President Joe Biden has a disorder that causes him to ejaculate repeatedly whenever he sees a bicycle so they need to sweep the area free from bikes before he arrives.  You can't have a world leader addressing other world leaders with a rapidly-growing wet spot in his pants, so if that's what all this is about I guess I don't have a problem with it.

And here are the severed locks:

So anyway, the doorman, who recognized the bicycle as belonging to someone he saw every day, convinced the NYPD and the Secret Service to leave it with him instead so he could hold it in trust for the owner.  Steven Arthur (real name: Stephen Arthur) also sent me a video interview with the doorman, but I'm not posting that, because if I were the doorman I wouldn't want my likeness plastered all over the Internet, especially because the NYPD and the Secret Service might come after me looking for revenge and I'd have to go all Jason Bourne.

In any case, the moral of the story is: 1) Joe Biden has an ejaculatory disorder that is triggered by bicycles; and B) Doormen are awesome people and the cornerstones of our neighborhoods, which is why I tip the one I don't have one million imaginary dollars every Christmas.

PS: I hope Steven Arthur (real name: Stephen Arthur) gifts the doorman a nice bottle of wine or a fruit basket or an all-expenses-paid trip to Cleveland (going rate: $75) or something, because he went way out of his way on that one, and if I had seen the police cutting a bike off a pole you can be damn sure I wouldn't have done shit.

In other bikey news, Lucy Burningham (wife of noted framebuilder Tony Pereira) has published a story in "Bicycling" about the bike tour they took with their not-quite-two-year-old son:

Never in a million years did I imagine we’d be subjecting our innocent toddler to imminent dehydration thanks to that promise. It was official: Our adventure was too adventurous. And in that moment, in my mind, it was all Tony’s fault. I tried to stop focusing on the peeling paint on the top tube, which suddenly seemed like a metaphor for our marriage.

Yikes!  This is why the most ambitious family bike tour I've ever taken was loading up the Big Dummy homeless-style and riding like eight miles to the beach:

I realize people don't want to let their kids slow them down, but I have no problem waiting it out until they're ready and willing to pedal the goddamn bike themselves.  (And preferably fix it, too.  If the kid flats then that's his fucking problem.  Amirite?  High five! [Sound of slapping hands.])

By the way, just to be clear, this is not a criticism of Ms. Burningham.  It's merely an acknowledgment that I'm a lazy wussbag.  I wouldn't even do a 500-mile bike tour through the Cascade Mountains by myself.  My criteria for any ride is that I'd better be back in my own home by sundown eating food and drinking alcoholic "recovery" beverages while watching Netflix or I'm not bothering.

No campfires, canned foods, and crotch rot for this wussbag.  [Points to self with thumbs.]  Amirite?  High five!  [Sound of slapping hands.]

Oh, my life's so empty and meaningless.

Oops, did I type that out loud?

Whatever.

I'll tell you what the cure is for ennui, though: Buying Stuff!  How many bikes do you own?  One?  Three?  A millionty-seven?  Well, no matter what the number, it ain't enough unless you have a Dedicated Gravel Bike (DGB)!  Even Wired is up on the trend now (as a reader informs me):

Oh and in case you haven't heard, gravel bikes have become A Big Thing. Everyone is scrambling to introduce a bike that is not a road bike yet not a ‘cross bike and definitely not a skinny-tired mountain bike, but an honest to goodness all-day adventure bike. If you’re struggling to understand just what a "gravel bike" is, the key criteria appear to be a bottom bracket lower than that of a cross bike but higher than a road bike, with a wheelbase a little longer than both. Gravel bikes also have quick handling and plenty of provisions for racks and fenders. I want to give a special shout out to two I liked in particular, the Giant Revolt, the HED Black & Tan, and the Raleigh Tamland.

Okay, I'm still struggling.  My understanding of the "high bottom bracket on a cross bike" thing was that it was left over from when people needed clearance for toe clips, and that most of the cool new race-specific cyclocross bikes had lower bottom brackets now anyway.  And now they have dick breaks too.  Like the gravel bikes.  Also, fenders on a gravel bike doesn't sound like a good idea, and it seems like a bike with racks and fenders and a long wheelbase already exists as a touring bike.  So many permutations!  I'm so confused!!!  I thought the "fixie revolution" was going to end all this, and that embracing the fixed-gear drivetrain and its concomitant "zen simplicity" was a rejection of the ever-increasing number of cogs and fancy gew-gaws.  But now the revolution is over, the same people are buying gravel bikes, and there's more (and more expensive) kinds of bikes than ever.

Incidentally, speaking of dick breaks, do you want to see a dick-compatible rim?  Here you go:

(Deep-section gravel-specific Joe Biden "collabo" dick break rim.)

My favorite, though, is how now everybody's like, "Wait, what?  Gravel bikes are cool?  I invented riding on gravel!  Buy my stuff for it now!":

However; it may surprise you to learn that Steve Hed is a big fan of gravel road riding. “I grew up riding these roads and my uncle was a county maintainer.” The company founder told me. His roots go way back to riding in rural areas and also in touring. “I really am a touring cyclist. That’s where I started. I was attracted to the Iron Man thing initially because I looked at it as an adventure.”, Steve explains, “Later on it became all about racing, and then the aero thing…” Of course, the rest is a well known story.

I'll skip the boutique gravel wheels but I'm looking forward to the upcoming biopic, "Steve Hed: From Mankini to Gravel Weenie."  I've also got eleven (11) words for you which I believe perfectly encapsulate the current cycling zeitgeist:

"Five thousand mile epic gravel-grinding adventure with toddler in tow!"

Throw in a KuKu Penthouse and you're all set.

Also, here's a related question: When do you set your kid up for a Strava account?  I mean, seriously.  Do you wait until he or she is old enough to ride himself, or do their segment times count if they're still sitting in the trailer?

Fuck it, I'm leasing a Hyundai.

Fall uniform

Inspired by my tomboy mom, I've been hoping to come up with a fall uniform. But the other day, I realized I already have one. Almost everyday, I've been wearing a Everlane seed-stitch sweater. The box cut is flattering and looks great with jeans. It feels like a sweatshirt, yet still feminine and pretty. I'd highly recommend it if you're looking for an easy shirt this fall.
What's your uniform these days?

P.S. Parisian wedges.

NatureBox giveaway

Today's giveaway is from NatureBox, the snack subscription service that sends you five bags of natural snacks every month. My favorite are the blueberry almonds (above), which taste like blueberry muffins; and we also like the guacamole bites, banana chips, yogurt pretzels and whole-wheat raspberry figgy bars. You can choose the exact snacks you want (they have more than 90 different kinds) or let them surprise you.
Today NatureBox is giving one reader an entire year of snacks! We love getting five new snacks to try every month. For a chance to win, please visit NatureBox and leave a comment below. A winner will be chosen at random tomorrow. Good luck! Update: The winner has been emailed. Thanks for playing.

Bonus for all readers: If you'd like to try NatureBox, get 50% off your first box with the code CUPOFJO (so you'll enjoy five bags for $9.95). Good for two weeks.

(Photos by Alpha Smoot for Cup of Jo)