I would like all two of you readers out there in Dadwagon land to consider the image here and ask yourself: Are your little ones actually angels or the cross-eyed smoking/drinking fallen-angel types?

I do not intend to pass judgment on your sweet punk(in), but in case you’re not sure, I would like to leave you with three, admittedly old, statistics from the Harper’s Index:

1. Percentage of U.S. children who say their greatest wish for their parents is that they make more money : 23
2. Percentage who say their greatest wish for their parents is that they “spend more time with me”: 11
3. Percentage of parents who predicted that their children would prefer more time with them: 56

I think of this only because last night JP forbid me to sit next to him at the dinner table (I overruled) and then later told me I wasn’t his best friend (Curious George was). He did, however, want me around when it was time to wipe his bottom.

Such is the life we have chosen.

Ellen Galinsky, Ask the Children, William Morrow (N.Y.C.)

Ellen Galinsky, Ask the Children, William Morrow (N.Y.C.)

We here at DadWagon were worried sick when we heard that 17 percent of food-chokings are caused by hot dogs — sending 10,000 kids under the age of 14 to the emergency room each year. After all, we are New Yorkers. Hot dogs are our national dish.

So we called upon the skills of another transplanted New Yorker, the hyper-talented artist and designer Jon-Paul Villegas, to redesign the hot dog. He immediately confessed a fascination with “America’s favorite meat slurry” that kids love despite persistent rumors that they are made out of “clown hearts, corncobs, elf necks [and] hobo guts.” And though Villegas noted that hot dogs will never be all that healthy — even if they become less “chokey” — he still volunteered five eminently survivable hot dog designs, each with his explanations attached. Vote for your favorite at the bottom!

[polldaddy poll=2747929]

From a new Dad Blog called Band of Fathers, which I heard about from my “real world” friend and colleague Charlotte G., comes a debate about a movie called, simply enough, Babies. They pose a reasonable question: would dudes go see this? Or (in my words) is this just meant to be a lushly filmed lactation aid for moms who need to produce more milk?

I will defer on that question. (I actually found the trailer below quite entertaining.) But I am not sure how I feel about the choice of the four babies. They picked one new baby to follow from four countries: Mongolia, Namibia, Japan and the U.S.

That’s the point, right: to show how different (and similar) babies are across the globe. But they really chose the extremes. So the Namibian baby isn’t from Windhoek, for example, which is a proper city of almost 300,000 people. No, it’s from Opuwo, in the Himba heartland, where villagers still mainly wear mud instead of clothing (really). In other words, it’s from an idealized and frankly anachronistic Africa that is much different from the current Africa, which is much more urban, for better or (often) worse. And the U.S. baby isn’t from a regular ole town in the States, but from San Francisco. And judging from the shots of baby dance classes, etc., it’s likely that this baby is also an outlier, being raised on the yuppiest fringes of American society.

Obviously, the director was going for contrast. But I wonder if the film doesn’t slip into stereotype in the process. Just sayin’. Watch the trailer (and the movie when it comes out) and decide for yourself.

The child-trader's booking photo,
courtesy of Evaneline Parish / AP

This disturbing (and yet somehow believable) crime story from Louisiana reopens an age-old debate. What’s worth more: two kids or a cockatoo?

Yes, the child trader in the story swapped two kids (a girl, 4, and a boy, 5) for a cockatoo. But the bird wasn’t quite an equal trade, so she asked the couple to throw in $175 as well.

Now, I know there’s some outrage about this. The courts convicted both the trader and the recipient (a married couple, perhaps tired of IVF?) of serious crimes, for example. But I’d like to offer a modest defense of the woman involved.

First, these kids were placed in her care by their biological parents.  It’s possible the parents just hadn’t mapped out clear expectations for the arrangement. Did they state, in writing, Don’t Trade Kids for Exotic Pets? Doubtful. You can’t expect people to just infer things like that. Sheesh.

Second, I know Cockatoo sounds like an unimpressive beast, because it’s tiny and incontinent and has a the word ‘cock’ in its name. But have you considered the magnificence of a cockatoo? They didn’t say exactly which species, but it could have been a Major Mitchell’s for example, which is pictured here. Look at that big beauty: it’s like a pink eagle, for Chrissakes.

Or, it could’ve been a red tailed black cockatoo, which retails for up to $15,000. Tell me what those kids have done to generate that kind of cash. And I shouldn’t have to mention the great problem facing art thieves also faces kid-sellers in this economy: it’s very risky getting them off your hands. Making that asset liquid could get you in a lot of trouble. The cockatoo market, on the other hand, is easy and sometimes even legal.

Let me be the first to admit that cockatoos do have one major weakness as pets and partners. The cockatoo comes from the jungles of Australasia and therefore have evolved to communicate in insanely loud screeches. And if you do not respond to their demands, they only screech louder.

That is, they are exactly like preschoolers. Except in this case, they also came with $175 in cash. In Louisiana, that can buy a lot of crawdads, people. Case closed.