We'll drink to this: Jamba Juice has joined forces with the National PTA to help raise $1 million for local schools nationwide and encourage healthier lifestyles. They've created a keychain-sized School Appreciation Card that you can swipe at the 742 Jamba Juice stores nationwide when you purchase one of their yummy smoothies, salads, flatbreads, or other good-for-you-and-your-kiddo offerings. Every time you use the card, 10% of the purchase will be donated to your local PTA, and another 2% to the National PTA. Local PTA officers just need to go to JambaJuice.com/PTA to register, then the swipe cards will be shipped out to be distributed in your community. Now that's one delicious deal!

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Not yet a member of your PTA? It's a great way to connect with other moms working for positive change in their children's schools. Parenting is also a proud partner and supporter of the National PTA, and readers can get a special discounted membership rate. Go to Parenting.com/PTA for all the details.

File this under: What Took Them So Long? A new web site is renting special occasion designer dresses a la Netflix, just in time for your holiday parties!

Rent the Runway is the genius idea of two Harvard Business School grads -- women, of course! RTR loans out the high-end duds for a four-day fling for as little as $50 (or up to $200, pricey by our standards but maybe you'll feel the thrill of wearing a $1,000-plus dress is worth it). The dress is shipped directly to your doorstep with a prepaid return envelope and the price includes dry cleaning (they do it -- one less errand for you).

Not sure about the size or style? Each gown comes with a "fit kit" that includes bra strap adjusters and double-sided tape, and an on-call stylist to help you decide. An extra size of the same dress is provided at no extra charge, or an additional $25 will get you a second style as a backup.

The one beef we have is that there's a waiting list for "membership," though when you sign up RTR promises to "get you in -- and into one of our dresses -- as soon as possible."

Today my darling six-year-old daughter Sasha informed me that I have a girlstache.

Readers of my blog, Formerly Hot, know that this is not the first time one of my daughters has pointed out one of my relatively new physical flaws that I would have prefer remained unremarked upon. I don't even write about all of these affronts because there are too many, plus my daughters think perfectly normal things like pubic hair is horrifying and remark on those as well. Just a few of note: the pores with tiny hairs inexplicably growing out of them, and of course, the full frontal tushie.

Girlstache, I didn't need, although I had to laugh, which I know sent the wrong message. There are so many things wrong with that statement that don't know where to begin.

1. How does a six-year-old learn such a word? I have had a girlstache for over 35 years and have never heard it.

2. I have spent untold sums in the last 35 years on bleaches, waxes, electrolysis and laser treatments to eradicate said girlstache, and I thought I'd done it, long before Sasha was born. Apparently it's baaack.

3. She's strawberry blond. If she ever has a girlstache, no one will notice it, so I can't even tell her that girlstaches are in the grand tradition of the Semitic people, a group from which she should be proud to derive. She looks like a little Irish riverdancer, and I have no idea why. Besides, not for nothing, even if you're proud to be a dark and sensuous Mediterranean goddess, you're not exactly flaunting your girlstache.

The thing is, in the process of carrying that child for nine months, my body developed stretch marks, strange pigmentation, leaky bladder issues, and a whole host of other common postpartum dings and dents. I've never questioned for a second whether it was worth it–my daughters are the light of my life. But you'd think the least they could do is keep their adorable little unlined, pore-free, hairless faces shut about my makeup-free visage!

You must excuse me. I have some emergency bleaching to do, which should tide me over until someone can aim a laser at my lower lip and eradicate my girlstache, at least until the next follicular growth cycle.

See more on Stephanie's blog, FormerlyHot.com

There are a few words that skeeve me, like, a visceral, shuddering feeling along the back of my neck and in my throat. Having to listen to them again and again would seriously test my gag reflex.

Most of these words, thankfully, don't tend to come up in regular conversation. I can't remember the last time I had cause to discuss the Falange (eeeew -- doesn't that sound gross? It was, actually, if you think of fascist groups as gross. I do.) I try not to say puss or use the word succulent and I can avoid the word moist with great dexterity. (MOYst. Ick)

But one word (rather, an acronym used as a word) I can't get away from, and that that regularly makes me want to puke, is MILF.

Obviously it's not the idea that a mother might, in fact, inspire the odd erection that I have an issue with. The more maternally-inspired erections the better, I say! I'm pro-erection. Free erections, free elections. That's my motto, Mr. Supreme Leader.

Back to MILFs: Yeah, sure, it would be nice if the idea that a mom might be sexually desirable weren't such a fringe concept that it required a separate acronym, but ok. And I prefer pure compliments, rather than the mixed sentiment expressed in the term, which I hear as, Despite the fact that she's a mother, I'd f&*% her. Gee, thanks. The term MILF embraces that crusty old mother/whore split which has been freaking men out since the first whore became a mother (which was bound to happen given the sorry state of Biblical era birth control) by putting mothers in a category separate from women in general, in terms of their potential desireability.

But mostly MILF gives me the heebie jeebies because MILF sounds like milk, which I dislike unless there's chocolate in it. Associating milk and mothers makes me think of breastfeeding, which makes me think of all those months of pumping in my office, storing the milk in the communal fridge and carrying home little leaky plastic sacs of milk for my girls. Not sexy. It also makes me think of my dad's uncle Milton, and of Millard Fillmore, our 13th President.

The only thing that skeeves me more than the word MILF is women who call themselves MILFs in any kind of serious way. I went on Flickr in the Creative Commons section to search for a photo to accompany Laura's post and just for the hell of it typed in "MILF." What came up was photo after photo of one mother in her 40s, apparently named Lynda. Lynda on the beach in a bikini, Lynda at a party, Lynda in an office environment, a MILF for every occasion. Lynda posted them herself, along with the claim that she gets 6000 views a day, and testimonials as to her MILFliness.

I maintain that you cannot call yourself a MILF, even if you really, really want to, even if you think you look super duper MILFly. It is not a self-designated term, as indicated by the "I." Another person has to deem you a MILF.

Which is another reason I hate the word: it's disempowering. You have no control over whether or not you're a MILF -- it's up to some guy with a beer cozy surfing the web.

What do you think of MILF? Do you hate it as much as I do? What can be used in its place, a word that's truly complimentary? Let me know your thoughts!

Read more on Stephanie's blog, Formerly Hot!

...then he simply MUST meet the Gerrothorax, a 3-foot sea creature that lived 250 million years ago. Or perhaps she'll have more fun hanging out with the Astrapotherium — a sort of elephant-hippo hybrid with a trunk and teeny ears that was around 40 million years ago.

Not to worry if you've never heard of these two (or the other bizarro prehistoric creatures that populate the fossil record). I hadn't either, in part because Steven Spielberg has not made a blockbuster about any of them (although he should.) But I think the main reason is that, shockingly, there are no toys or games that teach kids about the evolution of life on Earth! (Leave a comment if you've found one.)

That's a pretty big oops. In fact, it's a T-rex sized omission, especially considering how easy it is to find chemistry, geology, and biology toys ... and given the fact that the teaching of evolution is being challenged in school districts across the country.

Into the void steps Charlie's Playhouse, (Charlie is Charles Darwin) with a new line of goodies that teach kids all about evolution and the myriad weird critters that slithered and crawled and galumphed along over the past 600 million years, some alongside our friends, the dinosaurs.

Launched this year by a mom and scientist who was irked that her info-hungry kids had no fun way to vacuum up all they wanted to know, Charlie's Playhouse has scientifically accurate playthings geared to kids 4-10, including the Giant Timeline, a durable 18-foot-long play mat (which folds up to the size of a coffee table book) — a veritable beauty pageant of 67 extinct and still-living creatures, complete with goofy factoids and size comparisons. While the Giant Timeline ($49) is Charlie's Playhouse's biggest deal, apartment dwellers will appreciate the Giant Timeline Poster ($29) and the Ancient Creature Cards ($16), an oversized deck with all facts and details about the beings that appear on the timeline. (Bonus: shipping is free through Thanksgiving weekend!)

Excuse me. Gotta go. There's bug-eyed eel-like animal that was among the first to rock a backbone 480 million years ago called a Promissum that needs my attention.