Ten years ago, when my oldest son was a newborn, I remember some extremely frustrating shopping trips. When it came to stylish and well-made baby products, it seemed that the pickings were pretty slim.

From strollers to baby carriers, most everything was powder pink, baby blue, or an unfortunate combination of teal, purple and fuchsia. Prints were juvenile (like teddy bears), ugly (geometric shapes) or both (teddy bears wearing sweaters decorated with geometric shapes). It was as though baby-products manufacturers felt the need to loudly announce that the baby inside the stroller had sucked out her mother’s sense of style.

But things have changed a lot in 10 years. Featuring trendy prints, a variety of fabric and color choices, and an ever-growing price tag, diaper bags began to rival designer purses. Instead of uncomfortable, bulky, and just plain ugly baby carriers, you can now buy slings to coordinate with your wardrobe and match your lifestyle: satin for dressy occasions, fleece for cold, mesh for wearing in the shower or pool.

Strollers have become much more than just a way to push Baby from point A to point B. With model names that sound like they belong at an upscale car dealership, these strollers are stylish, sleek and sexy.

And even though our sturdy, not too ugly, and reasonably-priced old Graco held up remarkably well through four babies’ worth of walks and my youngest is almost old enough not to need it for much longer, last fall I found myself staring enviously at other mothers’ strollers. I saw them everywhere: at the park, at the coffee shop, at the zoo: modern, hip little-person transporters with funky minimalist design and cool features like clip-on umbrellas and all-terrain wheels.

After a while I had to face the facts: I had major stroller envy.

It wouldn’t be a total waste to buy a new stroller, I reasoned with myself: after all, it might encourage me to go for more walks, which would be healthy for me and stimulating for Owen. And I’d been making do with this old ride for almost ten years. Didn’t Owen deserve a three-position seat? Didn’t I need a swiveling cup holder?

But I was in for a rude awakening when I jumped onto the Internet to do a little comparison shopping. The stroller I’d been eyeballing cost $900, and that was WITHOUT the cup holder or clip-on umbrella.

Of course, as it turns out, my hankering for a $1,000 baby buggy is small potatoes. Recently gossip blogs and columns publicized Jennifer Lopez’s baby registry, which includes a $3500 baby carriage. At first, I rolled my eyes at her extravagance. Then I realized that, considering J-Lo is worth over $100 million, her buying a $3500 stroller is roughly equivalent to me picking one up at the dollar store.

When you have kids, it’s easy to start thinking of yourself as frumpy and unfashionable. It starts to feel pointless, styling your hair and wearing great shoes just to chase your kids around all day, and it’s easy to begin that morph into a person who wears “fancy sweats” to work and never gives up the 90s’ Rachel-from-Friends hairdo. Maybe pushing a high-end stroller is one easy way to look like you’re still “with it” even when you’re with a kid - or four - all day.

But splurge on a spendy stroller and where do you stop? Pretty soon you’re hankering after cashmere spit-up rags and suede diapers. Unfortunately, no amount of expensive fabric on her backside is going to change the fact that a baby is, overall, a pretty unglamorous little creature. And a high-end stroller may provide a smoother ride, but it’s not going to make the road of parenthood any less bumpy. While I’m all about buying quality stuff, it just feels wasteful to spend so much money on something that’ll be peed, pooped, and puked on, and used for a relatively short time.

As for myself, while I still have the occasional bout of stroller envy, I decided to save myself $800 and splurged on a pair of warm, comfy, and supportive boots instead. I guess I could feel guilty that I invested in shock absorption for my feet rather than Owen’s stroller ride, but the fact is, I need it more: after all, I’ll be running after him and his brothers long after he’s outgrown it.

Want a chance at winning a prize? Want to read about the fibs I tell my kids–and why I think it’s (sometimes) OK for parents to tell little white lies? Want to see a super-cute picture of my youngest boy? Head over to the latest installment of Disney’s Family.com Comment Mania Contest and check out my essay: Mom’s a Liar!

For a project I’m working on, I’m trying to get some information from parents about what they read and what parenting experts they like (and don’t like). The survey is 20 questions, mostly multiple-choice, and anonymous. I’d love it if you head over and take it now!

My extended family-parents, siblings, their spouses and kids-gets together about twice a year. Not enough for my liking, but since we’re spread across four states and our numbers have grown to include 14 children and nine adults, gathering us in one place now requires a plethora of pillows and blankets, a couple of refrigerators full of food and enough space to give us all at least some floor to curl up on at night. It takes planning, budgeting, and the ability to put aside any semblance of privacy for a few days while we all converge on somebody else’s house.

The last time most of us got together, last summer, our three-day vacation started out great but turned sour in the 25th hour, when one of the kids began complaining of nausea. By that evening, 75 percent of us were laid out with a nasty stomach bug, and the 7-Up and Pepto Bismol flowed like wine.

My oldest brother and I were the last holdouts. We spoke at around 10 p.m. on Night Two, each reporting that we thought we’d made it past the danger. Forty-five minutes later, I was lying face-down on the carpet next to the bathroom, trying to keep the contents of my stomach in through sheer force of will.

As it turns out, my will is not that strong.

The two-night vacation stretched out into three days and beyond. People were simply too sick to drive home. By the time the last person left my Aunt Paula’s house, we were all weak, tired, considerably thinner … and sure we’d never be invited back.

So it seemed particularly unfair that our very next get-together was also tainted by a whopper of a stomach bug. This year we were hosting, and the weekend leading up to New Year’s Eve, the entire family - plus a friend or two - descended upon our house. One night we were all sitting around stuffing our faces with leftover Christmas cookies and playing “Rock Band”. Twelve hours later, the first victim ran for the bathroom. Twenty-four hours later, we were dropping like flies.

The washer and dryer ran all weekend as we sent out the still-standing troops for 7-Up and Gatorade. I ran around obsessively wiping down toilet seats, doorknobs and faucet handles with bleach, but still spent two bleary-eyed nights getting up with sick children.

As the little ones ran around - even stomach viruses can’t dampen the fun of a house full of kids - we adults sat around on the couch looking weary. Though clean towels and sheets were in short supply, drama was not: I rang in New Year’s Eve hovering over my youngest with a bucket while paramedics wheeled my 11-year-old niece off to the ER for a breathing treatment (asthma attack, not stomach bug).

The family’s been gone for a few days now, but we’re still sitting on pins and needles. We’ve heard from others who’ve suffered from it that this is one of those bugs that can show up and punch you in the gut a week or two after exposure. In our little family, only three have gone down so far; but it could knock the rest of us out at any minute. If and when it does, will I regret inviting the whole crew and their germs to my house?

Nah. After all, that’s how it goes in a big family. One minute everyone is eating, laughing, and making merry; the next you’re all puking, crying, and begging for mercy. If we avoided each other every time there was a virus going around, we’d probably never see each other at all.

In the safety of our own homes, we might miss out on a night spent hovering over the toilet, but we’d miss the good times, too. Like making immature jokes about the body’s digestive functions at one another’s expense. Isn’t that what families and holidays and togetherness are about?

I can only hope that when my boys have grown and have kids of their own that they have the same kind of fun with their brothers as we do - stomach bugs and all.

But just in case? Before the next get-together, I may invest in surgical masks and rubber gloves.

Chris is embarking on a neat project–a year without buying anything she doesn’t need.

I thought about doing something similar over a year ago, when we were still living in a tiny town in Michigan. I was going to commit myself to only buying products from local artisans, farmers, craftspeople, etc; and then if I couldn’t get the item actually MADE locally, I would only buy it from a locally-owned business.

That seemed like a real challenge when I lived in a rural town of 3,000 people. Now that I’m here in Chicago, it seems like it would be more akin to shooting fish in a barrel. But Chris has gotten me inspired and once again thinking about ways to cut down consumption while still supporting local businesses.

So if you have a pulse, a TV, or an internet connection (I’m guessing you have three) you probably know about the latest Britney Spears drama, at least peripherally. Many of you will have clicked a link or visited a celebrity gossip site and read the account of her standoff with the police, or perhaps even seen pictures of her being loaded into an ambulance.

I know I did. Though I’ve never been into People magazine or OK! or In Touch or any of the other celeb gossip rags, a few months ago I started visiting a celebrity gossip site with some regularity. It was snarky, mean, and often downright hilarious, and I got in the habit of checking in every morning while having my cup of tea to laugh at the antics of Paris and Lindsay and Britney.

Somewhere along the line, though, the Britney story went from “oh-no-she-didn’t!” hilarious to just plain sad. The fact is, something is wrong there. Whether it’s substance addition, a postpartum mood disorder, mental illness or she’s just self-destructing before our very eyes, we are witnessing somebody’s very public demise. And those of us who are clicking the links, reading the blogs and looking at the pictures? We’re participating by creating a demand and a market, turning that downward spiral into mass entertainment.

I’m not willing to be a part of it anymore. It won’t be easy…reading the latest Brit story has become as habitual as my daily caffeine fix. But think what you will of Britney, there are children involved here. If we don’t stop looking, we are just as guilty as the paparazzi. After all, in a roundabout way we’re the ones who pay their fees. And once the Britney story reaches its conclusion, who’s next?

So? I’m out. No more celeb blogs. No more pictures. They’re off my favorites list as of today.

Anybody with me?

–Cross-posted at Chicago Moms Blog