Slate's family correspondent Emily Bazelon was relieved recently to learn that her 8-year-old son has no hits on Google. Not for lack of trying! She writes about her young son, Eli, occasionally, but obviously she doesn't want her child to be an Internet Persona, Fair Game for bloggers and commenters. But then, she's writing about him in Slate. And her husband's name, which is presumably her son's last name, is readily available on Wikipedia. She's dangerously close to crossing into the territory of the chronic familial oversharers whose crimes against their children she ponders in her essay. Like remember Neal Pollack? "His young son Elijah's bathroom habits are fair game for Pollack's blog, but his son's discovery of his sexuality, Pollack says, is not." Jesus, Neal, you just did it again. Dear internet: blogging about your children is child abuse.

Every year Gawker commenter and ad sales guy (and the best argument for abolishing the divide between editorial and advertising) LolCait has a super special Thanksgiving in his mind. There all of his and your favorite characters meet and dreams come true. This year Laurel Touby hosts.

Our story so far: Neal Pollack's son Elijah and Josh Stein's son Mordecai have enrolled at N.Y.U., where they have begun learning about poor people. It is the year 2025.

Elijah and I decided to room together at the Dov Charney Washington Square Studiodrome, the new N.Y.U. dorm built where there used to be a park or something. No one understands me like him or him like me. Also, we get a discount on housing costs because the construction is crazy, which is a good thing since we need all the help we can get. My dad Josh and Uncle Neal say that since they became empty-nesters, the writing assignments have slowed to a trickle. And so I must contend with the clamor of jackhammers and the conversations of the rough-necked construction workers. Elijah counsels that one must needs be patient with the proletariat. Though they lack taste, he says, they do have souls. But frankly I find their patois poisonous. How am I to read Baudelaire's divine verse against a background of coarse and vulgar words?

It was a Tuesday morning and as I sat down to the computer, a mug of kombucha tea steaming at my elbow. I had made a breakfast ragout of autumnal vegetables (squash, pumpkin). The wife had taken our incredibly self-satisfied dog Leslie out for a walk and my four-year-old son Mordecai was in the other room, reading the Wall Street Journal "Puh-pah," he said, "when I'm in ur gardenz, prunin' teh plants, am I a hedge fund manager?" Smart kid!

We recently launched a sneak attack against daddy-author Neal Pollack's adorable 4-year-old son, Elijah. Or more accurately, we launched a sneak attack against author Neal Pollack shamelessly exploiting Elijah for his own literary ambitions. Pollack responded. Fark weighed in. Facebook profiles were updated. Pollack expressed a realization: That his constant blogging of Elijah exposes the little tyke—or rather, the trite twee petite-bourgeoise portrayal of him—to public scorn. One might think this would prevent Pollack from sending little Elijah back into the baby mines. But then one would be wrong.

Understandably unhappy professional father Neal Pollack is understandably unhappy that yesterday we called his four-year old son Elijah the worst and predicted that in a few years he'll be a full-grown horror show. Why did we launch this "disgusting sneak attack," he asks, in an email blast to his "Friends, Colleagues, Supporters, and anyone else who might be interested."

When is it okay to hate a 4-year-old? Maybe when the kid's name is Elijah Pollack. Elijah is the son of Alternadad Neal Pollack, the author and oh-so-hip dad who has been remanded to blogging his existence away on Epicurious. This week, they visit a cheese store and, well, Elijah is the worst. Now we know both he and his portrayal are at the mercy of his daddy.He is essentially a formless mass that has been fashioned into what he is by his father. But if we were to come across a sculpture that resembled, for instance, a large penis, we would be remiss not to mention that fact simply because the statue was created by a sculptor and did not form itself. And if you think we are somehow being hyperbolic or unnecessarily cruel in being so harsh on little Elijah, let us show you.