The U.S. Consumer Product Safety Commission and Infantino have announced a recall of Shape Sorting Toy Castles. Four reports have been received of children nearly choking on the colored counting beads when the plastic rod holding them in place came loose.

The toys were made in China and about 68,000 of them were sold at Wal-Mart, Target, Marshalls, Meijers and other toy retailers nationwide from January 2006 to May 2007 for about $12 each.

The Shape Sorting Toy Castles have four play figures sitting atop a plastic castle. On the sides, there are several different shapes and letters that fit into the holes as well as the aforementioned counting beads. The word "Infantino" is printed on the lower right-hand corner of the side with the letters.

This recall applies only to castles with the following date codes: 5349, 6087, 6132 and 0906. If you have one with another date code, without a date code, or with a metal screw holding the plastic rod in place, your toy is considered safe. Look for the date code on the underside of the blue top - you can see it if you look through the top square shape or the "A" letter opening.

If you have one of the recalled toys, you should immediately take it away from your child and contact Infantino at (888) 808-3111 between 8 a.m. and 4 p.m. PT Monday through Friday for instructions on returning the toy for a free replacement. More information and a free return shipping label is available at the Infantino website.

I am a sucker for daddy/baby pictures, and this one will be among my all time favorites. This is truly a lovely moment between two souls that appear to be completely at peace with one another. Thank you so much to Cl ea tecl ea for sharing this image with us here at Image of the Day.

In July, we'll be looking for smooches. Kisses. Love. Sugar. So, start adding those wonderful photos to the pool!

If you'd like your own picture featured here, simply upload photos into our group Flickr Pool - We'll select an image every day to highlight. Remember: we're on the lookout for shots with interesting backgrounds, cool angles, or original composition. Be sure to read the intro on the main Flickr page for more information and limit your uploading to 5 photos per day.

According to research in the UK, two out of three families in which both parents work rely on grandparents to care for the kids. This free grandparent care saves those parents an average of £2,685 per year in childcare expenses. What's more, many of these families say they couldn't afford to pay the mortgage without the free childcare.

When Christy was growing up, I had no choice but to get a job. In the beginning, my mother cared for her while I worked. Later, when my mom started working herself, I had to put Christy in daycare. Not only was I now relying on strangers to care for Christy, I had to shell out big bucks for the privilege. I truly felt like I was working to pay day care so I could work to pay day care.

While Christy's daycare experiences varied from great to horrible, I always longed for the days she spent with grandma. Besides the money I would save, I knew my mom would care for her like she was her own. Plus, I didn't have to worry about calling in sick at work when Christy was ill and nobody got mad if I was running a little late picking her up.

Having experienced both child care alternatives, I definitely preferred the grandma arrangement. What about you? Who cares for your kids while your work?

Recently I succumbed to the ever increasing demands of my offspring and I ordered them a cell phone. It is a step I have long been postponing, instead loaning the kids my cell phone when they are out and about and might need to reach me. But now that my oldest are 14 and 10 I could no longer avoid the addition of yet another phone to our family.

When the phones arrived my kids were more excited than I have ever seen them. I had upgraded all of our phones and the sleek new designs coupled with the cameras were huge winners. I then threatened them with forms of punishment beyond their wildest imaginations if they ever, and I meant ever, lost or damaged the phones or went over our allotted minutes.

Fast forward a mere eleven days into our new life of yet more phones in the family. I was doing laundry and happened upon a pair of my son's jeans. It is always pretty exciting for me to actually get my hands on his clothes so I quickly scooped up the pants, patted the pocket areas and tossed them in the wash. About 30 minutes later my son asked about his jeans and I smugly told him they were in the wash. With a very pale face he informed me that the new cell phone was in the pocket. We ran to the washer and fished it out. The screen was misty with water. The phone turned on but was not able to transmit calls. We removed the battery and let it dry for a few days. I felt sick to my stomach over the whole thing.

By some merciful miracle of the cell phone deities our new phone dried out and continues to work as well as it did the day we bought it, butI no longer have any smugness or credibility with the kids over the phone issue. They know I was the one who washed it and they are not likely to forget this fact any time in the near future.

If you have been wanting, really, really, wanting to see the Spice Girls get together again, you are in luck. The popular 90's girl group has announced plans for a reunion tour which kicks off in Los Angeles on December 7th. With 10 more dates planned around the world through January, 2008, fans will once again have the opportunity to appreciate the superior vocal talents of Scary, Posh, Baby, Sporty and Ginger.

Since breaking up in 2001, the girls have become better known as mothers than as performers. Victoria "Posh Spice" Beckham is the high-profile wife of soccer star David Beckham and mother to his three children. Melanie "Scary Spice" Brown recently became mom to comic Eddie Murphy's baby girl. And the others have or are expecting children as well. Between them, they have seven children and the plan is to bring them along for the tour.

"Our priority is going to be our families. We want to have fun," said Beckham. "That's one of the many reasons for this, for our children to see what we used to do. And I may be the cool one in the family for once."

I was never a big Spice Girl fan -- I was well past their target demographic age in the 1990's. However, based on Ellie's taste in music, I think if they play their cards right, they could conceivably gain a fan base with a whole new generation of girls.

I am a firm believer that foul language, be it written or verbal, has its place. If I break a glass or stub my toe I have been known to let an f-bomb fly out of my mouth. But I rarely use profanity in front of my kids and I would never wear a shirt emblazoned with the words "F%$# You" on it. This rule, I believe, should be adhered to by parents everywhere. We are raising children, the future of the world and all that, there is simply no need to wear trashy clothing with trashier words.

Apparently Cynthia Rodriguez, husband of uber baseball player Alex Rodriguez, does not feel the same way. She was recently photographed wearing a tank top with the offensive phrase at a Yankees/Oakland baseball game. What could she have possibly been thinking? She was not in the privacy of her own home. She was with her young, toddler daughter in a very public venue where her famous husband plays a famous game.

There are far worse blunders in the world than trashy clothing worn in poor judgment, Britney Spears is a mother and she routinely errs in bad fashion taste. But the fact that this woman wore the top in such a public arena and in the company of her child seems brazenly out of place.

What do you think?

Ellie has a cute little Elmo doll that sings the theme song from "Elmo's World". She has played with that doll off and on for about five years and as of yet, it has not started promoting violence. The same cannot be said for the Elmo doll Andrea Barbosa bought for her 18-month-old nephew, Derrick.

The "Sing with Elmo's Greatest Hits" doll is supposed to sing "Shout" by the Beatles, but instead it sings a warped ditty about self-mutilation. According to Barbosa, where Elmo is supposed to sing "Be like Elmo", he instead sings "Beat up Elmo". He goes on to suggest that kids "Rip out your fur."

It sounds pretty funny to me, but little Derrick's mother, Deja Barbosa, isn't laughing. "I played it again and I really couldn't believe I was hearing that," she said. "Who knows how many children have heard this already."

The doll was purchased at a Wal-Mart store in Fort Myers, Florida and was briefly removed from the shelves due to the inappropriate lyrics. Andrea Barbosa is happy that Wal-Mart took action, but is still concerned that other little kids may have been subjected to Elmo's tirade. "I don't want to buy a toy for my nephew that says bad words or that teaches him to say bad things," she said.

The maker of the toy, Fisher Price, claims the lyrics that Elmo is singing likely got distorted after use and asked Barbosa to return the toy. She decided to keep it. Maybe it will show up on e-bay someday?

Elmo, we love you and hope you get the help you need.

Reader Stephanie wrote to ask about movie ratings, specifically the G rating given to Ratatouille, the latest animated film from Pixar. She writes:

We took our young son to see Ratatouille this weekend. Most of the content was ok, except a scene in the beginning where a woman starts shooting at a colony of rats. She even needs to stop to reload. My son is now obsessed with "shooting." He has turned about four different objects into a gun. I have tried to explain how we do not play guns in our house, but he doesn't seem to understand. I am at a loss for what to do! I want to know how the movie industry can rate a movie featuring guns be rated G?

The movie ratings are assigned by the Classification and Rating Administration (CARA) which is a ten to thirteen member board comprised of parents. According to the Motion Picture Association of America (MPAA), which operates the ratings system, "there are no special qualifications for Board membership, except that the members must have a shared parenthood experience, must be possessed of an intelligent maturity, and most of all, have the capacity to put themselves in the role of most American parents so they can view a film and apply a rating that most parents would find suitable and helpful in aiding their decisions about their children and what movies they see."

When I first learned I was going to be a father, I was in art school -- the place where narcissistic college students and self-centered artists collide to form shockingly self-important young people with a flair for the dramatic. "What? Me? A father? What about my needs? WHAT ABOUT MY ART?"

I was a big wuss. I was distraught. And I was convinced that parenthood was incompatible with any activity that wasn't entirely pragmatic -- thus taking away the romanticized, starving artist lifestyle I'd envisioned for myself, and replacing it with a fate that I assumed would be worse than death: the 8 to 5 job.

Oh the horror! Woe was me! Etc.

But, though my initial reaction to the news of impending fatherhood was a little luke-warm, and my rationale for feeling that way was decidedly juvenile, it was a real fear, nonetheless. Up to that point in my adult life, I'd only had one passion, and I was incredibly driven in pursuing it -- almost to a fault. I didn't know anything about being a dad -- and I was worried being a parent would take my passion from me.

It was the worst thing I could imagine.

* * *

Cut to 9 months later. After following Edan's mom to Texas (a state I used to swear I'd never set foot in), I found a city that wasn't filled with cowboys, oil tycoons, and ornery rednecks who'd want to "kick my Yankee ass," landed a job, and got to wondering what I'd do with all my spare time. So I started a performance company -- mostly because I didn't know what else to do. It might not be New York (or Chicago, or LA, or Paris, or any of the other places I thought people were supposed to move to when they decided they were artists), but, I figured, why not? Everyone needs to have a little fun.

And both of my lives carried on. To my surprise, I loved being a father, and I really enjoyed making art in my new city -- much, much more than I'd expected.

But the lives were separate -- almost entirely. So much so, that -- even though Edan and I are together almost every day, and I consider parenthood a huge part of my life -- people I'd been rehearsing with for months had no idea I was a father.

* * *

Cut to this past weekend.

In what might be the most brilliant marketing strategy of all time, eleven 7-11 stores across the country (including one in Canada) were transformed over the weekend into Kwik-E-Marts, the fictional convenience store seen on "The Simpsons". The month long promotion is designed to build excitement for the July 27th opening of "The Simpson's Movie" the cartoon's first venture onto the big screen.

The U.S. locations for Kwik-E-Mart are New York City; Chicago, Illinois; Dallas, Texas; Denver, Colorado; Burbank, California; Los Angeles, California; Henderson, Nevada; Orlando, Florida; Mountain View, California; Seattle, Washington; and Bladensburg, Maryland.

People far from Kwik-E-Mart locations don't have to miss out on all the fun, regular 7-11's will be carrying Kwik-E-Mart products like Buzz Cola, KrustyO's cereal and Squishees, the slushy drink knockoff of Slurpees. Because of the movie's PG-13 rating, marketing executives opted not to create Duff beer. (D'oh!)

If you have a serious Simpson fan in your life, I smell a road trip!

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My Mom works in the Canadian health care system, and I have an endless fascination with the dichotomy that is Michael Moore, and both of us have been scheming to see Sicko since we first heard about it.

I have groaned about the health care system here, the insane taxes we pay, the long emergency room wait times and the fact that it's going to take several months to be able to get this revolting belly-button hernia repaired. But after watching Sicko, I'm reminded of the time I got hit by a bus and was transported to emergency in an efficient ambulance in ten seconds flat, my compound fracture repaired within hours. My only bill was for the windshield of the bus, which was shattered in the impact (I was jaywalking.) When Nolan hurt his leg early this spring, I took him to Children's and had him seen by a razor-sharp specialist within hours. X-rays and casts and consultations with various doctors and nurses would have cost us thousands of dollars in the US; here, I just whipped out my health care card and breezed out the hospital doors with my repaired baby.

Say what you want about Michael Moore: the man has a talent for illustrating the beauty and corruption of humanity. I teared up at several places during the film, particularly when children's lives were impacted by a corrupt system: a child who died because her Mom's insurance company would not allow her treatment at the closest hospital, a little boy who lost his father because his insurance would not cover his treatment, deeming it "experimental."

I have to say: I don't understand a lot of the hatred for Michael Moore. Sure, his movies are probably fairly-one sided, but that's what people with their own opinions do: present their version of the story. And if he wasn't so consistently good at it, people wouldn't bother seeing his movies.

In the case of Sicko, I think Mr. Moore has an extremely compelling argument, and one that would compel me to spring into action if I were an American parent. As it is, I think the French medical system could give the Canadian one some tips (compensating a Doctor for improving the health of his patients? Brilliant!) and I'll be writing some letters to my own country's policy-makers.

Thumbs up on a movie that I think every parent should see.

A friend recently returned from a short trip to a hairy situation: her nine year old had talked dad into giving him the mohawk he had wanted earlier in the year, but had been denied due a "no distracting hair" rule at school. She left behind a little boy and returned to Travis Bickle. (Sources tell me no husband kneecaps were harmed after the mohawking of the child.)

My kids' personal taste has also been on the conservative to the point of yawning of boredom side. They wear the same plain t-shirts, jeans or khakis, and tennis shoes EVERY SINGLE DAY. Unlike so many of their friends, they've shown no interest in growing their hair out.

As their personal barber, the only hair dilemmas we've encountered was when my hand slipped (oops!) or when bangs were cut shorter than the customer requested (it looked fine!). I like to think I'm open minded, but the thought of one of my kids with a mohawk makes me cringe. When I surveyed local mothers on their opinion: half felt it's only hair and no big deal as it could be so much worse; the other half was of the over-my-dead-and-decaying-body-until-they're-living-on-their-own and if-they-do-crazy-stuff-like-that-as-young-kids-what's-left-when-for-the-teenage-years mindset.

How would you react if your child request a mohawk in elementary school? And how long do you think parents can control how a child wears their hair?

Summer has just started and the kids have already started their relentless begging to watch television or play video games. Before succumbing to their electronic addictions, how about making a list of forgotten summertime pleasures to enjoy? Most are free and will provide memories that will be cherished long after the Wii has been relegated to the trash pile.

Summertime activities kids should experience at least once before growing up:

• running through a sprinkler
• spending a rainy afternoon at the library
• making mud pies with real mud
• walking barefoot in the grass and splashing in a puddle
• picking berries
• watching a small town parade
• catching an interesting bug (fireflies, preferably)
• constructing a fort or hide-out (indoors or out)
• playing in the rain
• eating an entire meal outside without using silverware
• staying up late and look at the stars on a clear night
• learning the rules to a real card game and playing it with adults

What do you remember doing as a kid you'd like your own child to experience?

Every day, there's an appearance of something I've never noticed before: a crinkle under my left eye, a deeper crease on my forehead. I am aging and I can see it, so much more fully than I ever could in my twenties. My once-taut stomach has never recovered from childbirth, my hands, even, are succumbing to my thirties in the form of bigger veins, deeper, greener. I hesitated before leaving the house in my trendy grey hat yesterday, wondering -- is this age appropriate? I am a Mom, not a tween, and it's never been more evident.

I spent the years before my thirties stressing about turning thirty. And when I the clock switched over and I was suddenly 3-0, I felt like I could breathe a sigh of relief. It was anti-climactic, like a dreaded chore that is actually kind of satisfying, once you get around to it. My girlfriend told me "It's better being 30 than 29. Now you are the youngest person in your decade, instead of being the oldest. " Plus, I had my son growing in my belly, kicking, developing, churning with hope. I could focus on him rather than my fading youth, my knowledge of cool indie bands and the best brand of overpriced jeans.

Before Nolan was born, I schemed about ways to get back into my jeans. I stared longingly at shiny tank tops, flowing hair, young couples on patios cupping their hands around frosty pint glasses. I'll be there again, I thought, I'll pop this baby out and return to my youth like I'd never left it. Gestation, it seemed, was a reprieve from youth, and not a welcome one.

I was surprised to learn that the shape of my butt was not nearly as important when Nolan was born. I didn't really care if that cute guy glanced my way on the street. I did not spend hours obsessing about that new laugh line, because my god, look at my baby's face. Future landscapes seemed less overwhelming: instead of an old lady on a rocking chair, surrounded by pot-bellied pigs and too many cats, I see Nolan's eyes: his hockey stick, his grad date, his stature higher than my own. My crinkles, my veins, my aging is not a farewell to better days but a sign that I have passed the threshold into understanding of what's really important.

If I believed in God, I think I'd understand that children are Heaven's antidote to aging, a gift of vibrancy to fading youth.

I hate to admit this but this trip has made me so tired that last night I went to bed before my grandparents. They're both 77 years old. When I went to sleep it was still light outside. I've never before experienced anything quite like it, and I feel like a dweeb. A somewhat well-rested dweeb, yes, but a dweeb nonetheless.

On the plus side I woke up before them and before the baby. Miraculously I managed to wake up, pump and get this (hopefully) written before my son awakens for his early bird AM feeding. I can't seem to get online consistently, again, but am confident I will be able to post this at some point today. Who knew getting on the web would be so difficult when traveling? Here I thought it was merely as simple as turning on my computer.

In other news it turns out I am almost out of prenatal vitamins. Again. Again? Asked my husband--yes. I take one a day the whole time I am breastfeeding, so I go through them pretty quickly. I am so used to taking them that I basically forgot about them until I had to pack them and realized I had less than a week's supply. Just one more thing I didn't think about in advance (enough or at all).