Mamarazzi Friday: Pete and Ashlee, the clue phone is ringing, and it's for you

So pretty much the first thing I did this morning (after waking up, opening a birthday present, and drinking a little coffee) was refuse to trek up to my daughter's school with her iPod, which she forgot to bring to school today, even though she has a field trip and might get bored on the bus ride.

I know. I'm such an unnatural mother. But I spared her my tales of my poor deprived iPod-less childhood where we actually had spend our time on long bus rides talking to other kids and driving the bus driver crazy by singing "100 bottles of beer on the wall."

And why did I refuse to oblige her? Other than my usual laziness and curmudgeonliness, I mean?

Because I was writing this week's Mamarazzi post, in which I make fun of Pete Wentz and Ashlee Simpson-Wentz for trying to sell pictures of their (I have no doubt) ugly baby son, Bronx Mowgli Wentz.



Wait a minute. I just realized Bronx's initials are BMW. For that alone, Pete and Ashlee deserve to be pilloried.

But honestly, now. Should I have been more tolerant? More generous? Nicer?

And to whom, my daughter? Or the Simpson-Wentzes?