Starting

Kevin has declared 2009 the year in which nothing was finished. My new shiny outlook gets to declare 2009 the year in which many things began.

Either way, we still have major construction going on at our house.

It's going to be lovely when it's done.

That's my mantra. I say it three times as I breath slowly and stare out the back into the mud and mess. Really, it's not that bad. It is going to be lovely, and Rob, our contractor, is an amazing miracle worker. Truly.

2010 will be the year for finishing a lot of thing though. The house will get finished. Our family will be complete. Kevin will finish up a lot of lingering projects at work. He's really looking forward to it.

I'm okay with not being finished though. I'm kind of looking forward to starting a bunch more new things in 2010. Here are a few that come to mind:

1. Becoming a mama of two boys.
2. Learning to live without the extreme highs and lows I've had.
3. Tandem nursing.
4. Writing and recording again finally.
5. Getting back in shape.

Lovely will be starting high school. Little Bird will be starting multiple days of preschool. And my littlest boy will be starting life.

So here's to never completely finishing and finding plenty of new things to start in 2010.

Happy New Year, everyone.

None of us is the only one

Why is that during the times I have the most to say, I find it hardest to say anything at all?

Two weeks ago, I had the most productive appointment with a health care professional that I've ever had in my life. I left it feeling defeated and broken. I thought I had received terrible news that would pigeon hole me and leave me with an unshakable stigma.

It only took four days after that for me to realize that I didn't care about the pigeon hole or the stigma. I felt so much better in just four days that I couldn't believe I ever cared about any of that.

I have clinical depression, but I don't look like those commercials you see on TV. I don't sit around in my pajamas and ignore all of the people around me. Mine manifests itself in anger, anxiety, and irrational reactions to stuff that should roll off my back.

When Sarah suggested that I start Zoloft, she might as well have said to me, "You are a complete failure, and you aren't capable of managing your life." I didn't want to hear that my issues weren't something that I could fix myself. Of course, that was some seriously small minded thinking. Because I am fixing them myself. Starting with an itty bity dose of Zoloft every night.

Four days. That's all it took for me to pull out of the black place I was in, look around, and realize that I should have done this so so so much sooner. It's not going to completely fix me, but it's helping me become a better mother and wife and person by allowing me to stand firmly on both feet. It's given me some stability.

It's taken me two weeks to write about this because I wasn't sure that I wanted it out there for everyone in the world to see. However, when I was feeling at my lowest after that appointment, I only knew one person to call for advice. Lucky for me, she answered the phone and talked to me as long as I needed to.

Since then, though, I've found out that I'm really not alone in this. More friends have stepped up with, "Me too." None of us is the only one.

So I'm out, and I'm saying that this is one of the better decisions in my life. A tiny little pill. A whole lot of clear headedness.

I'm on my way to being the wife and mother I should have been all along. It's a great feeling.

My 12 days of Christmas

On the first day of Christmas
My true love gave to me
A broken washing machine.

On the second day of Christmas
My true love gave to me
Bird's double ear infection
And a broken washing machine.

On the third day of Christmas
My true love gave to me
A broken toe on the left foot
Bird's double ear infection
And a broken washing machine.

On the fourth day of Christmas
My true love gave to me
A sprained ankle on the right foot
A broken toe on the left foot
Bird's double ear infection
And a broken washing machine.

On the fifth day of Christmas
My true love gave to me
Thirty days of Zoloft
A sprained ankle on the right foot
A broken toe on the left foot
Bird's double ear infection
And a broken washing machine.

On the sixth day of Christmas
My true love gave to me
More rain in the forecast
Thirty days of Zoloft
A sprained ankle on the right foot
A broken toe on the left foot
Bird's double ear infection
And a broken washing machine.

On the seventh day of Christmas
My true love gave to me
No energy for baking
More rain in the forecast
Thirty days of Zoloft
A sprained ankle on the right foot
A broken toe on the left foot
Bird's double ear infection
And a broken washing machine.

On the eighth day of Christmas
My true love gave to me
A dirty dirty house
No energy for baking
More rain in the forecast
Thirty days of Zoloft
A sprained ankle on the right foot
A broken toe on the left foot
Bird's double ear infection
And a broken washing machine.

On the ninth day of Christmas
My true love gave to me
A daddy in the hospital
A dirty dirty house
No energy for baking
More rain in the forecast
Thirty days of Zoloft
A sprained ankle on the right foot
A broken toe on the left foot
Bird's double ear infection
And a broken washing machine.

On the tenth day of Christmas
My true love gave to me
Braxton Hicks contractions
A daddy in the hospital
A dirty dirty house
No energy for baking
More rain in the forecast
Thirty days of Zoloft
A sprained ankle on the right foot
A broken toe on the left foot
Bird's double ear infection
And a broken washing machine.

On the eleventh day of Christmas
My true love gave to me
Dog poop on the floor
Braxton Hicks contractions
A daddy in the hospital
A dirty dirty house
No energy for baking
More rain in the forecast
Thirty days of Zoloft
A sprained ankle on the right foot
A broken toe on the left foot
Bird's double ear infection
And a broken washing machine.

On the twelfth day of Christmas
My true love gave to me.
A high of 65
Dog poop on the floor
Braxton Hicks contractions
A daddy in the hospital
A dirty dirty house
No energy for baking
More rain in the forecast
Thirty days of Zoloft
A sprained ankle on the right foot
A broken toe on the left foot
Bird's double ear infection
And a broken washing machine.

Ho, ho, freaking ho. Thank goodness for the fifth day of Christmas.

Here's to time with whatever part of your family you get to be with, whatever food you get to eat, and however full your stockings are. Christmas is coming tomorrow whether I like it or not. Might as well enjoy it as it is.

Merry Christmas, everybody.

Twas the night before Christmas Eve

The stockings are hung by the chimney with care.

The presents are wrapped and under the tree.

The pirogi are in the fridge and Papa has bought the ham.

And none of the rushing around or planning matters because Little Bird has a fever of 102. Funny how all of the sudden I don't care about finishing the family's pajama pants when my little boy just needs me to hold him while he fretfully sleeps.

All I want for Christmas is for my little boy to get well and stay well. Poor Little Bird.

I'm still no scrooge, but . . .

I have a confession to make.

I'm not really in the Christmas spirit. I know. I'm supposed to be the jolliest elf of them all with my trees, my Santas, the celebration of each day of Advent, the baking, the wrapping, the Little People Nativity every day. I'm supposed to be the annoying holiday neighbor.

But I'm just not. I haven't been playing much Christmas music. I've baked one batch of cookies. The outside of the house isn't decorated because the yard is so destroyed and nasty right now - I just don't feel like calling even more attention to with lights in the dogwood and the adorable animated elephant I bought last year.

I'm so tired. The thought of baking everything I usually bake makes me want to cry. It's just not going to happen. My poor lingering two students came and went today without even a card from me. That's never happened before.

I didn't mail our Christmas cards until today. They've never been that late before. I think it's fine - except for the one headed to Sweden.

Kevin asked me to not cook for Christmas. This usually would have insulted me greatly, but this year I was actually relieved. I'm probably going to buy the pirogi from The Fresh Market and spend the energy I would have used making them to hunt down some decent pickled herring. That card that is going to Sweden? Is going to the woman who made me a pickled herring fan. It was really awesome, but she's not here anymore. I just cannot go back to the jar from Costco.

Christmas day, Papa is going to cook a ham. I'll do some cheese grits, but other than that, nothing special. Some fruit. Some pastries, that I'll buy. It's all just too tiring.

This is so not like me. I love the holidays and all of the busyness that comes with them. I love the baking and the shopping and the wrapping and the getting to everything at church that happens. But between Little Bird being sick all of last week and how absolutely miserable I feel now, I just can't live up to my own expectations.

So I guess I'll just have to lower them a little. That will be alright for this year.

Forgotten birthday

Today was my father-in-law's birthday, and we completely forgot. It's just another stupid thing I've done this week. I can't keep anything straight and keep making the dumbest mistakes. I don't remember being this flaky when I was pregnant with Bird. Maybe I should check my archives.

I teach on Wednesday afternoons, getting done at 5:30. Tonight, I finished up and asked Papa if he was going to stay for dinner. He said he would if he was invited. Of course he was. He had picked Lovely up from school and brought her home. Then the two of them were helping with Bird while I finished teaching. Dinner was the least I could do. Except that I had completely forgotten that he eats with us every other Wednesday, and had only thawed two chicken breasts for dinner.

Luckily, while Papa and Bird were in the other room, Lovely said quietly to me, "Did you know today is Papa's birthday?"

Oh, crap. I had forgotten. Totally forgotten. I started to cry. It's my job to remember these things, and if we don't celebrate Papa's birthday, then who will? I felt awful.

Here's where I got creative. Perhaps I should have just told him that I forgot both dinner and his birthday and moved on, but I just couldn't. I cut the chicken into tenderloins so that it could be shared by all of us. I pulled the turnips from last week and this week's CSA delivery and roasted them all. I tossed in some of the green onions, and steamed the greens from the turnips to bed it all on. Then, just in case, I heated up some English peas, because I didn't think Papa liked greens very much. While all of that was going, I made a chocolate chip pound cake, but poured it in a sheet cake pan so it would bake faster.

After everything in the kitchen was put together and the table set, I ran upstairs and raided the stocking stuffers I had already bought for him. I pulled the movie that was supposed to go in his stocking and wrapped it for his birthday instead. I can always buy another movie before Christmas. I put it on the table in front of his place.

A phone call to Kevin while he was commuting home served as a warning that we had forgotten Papa's birthday, but don't let on.

We sang to him. Even Bird helped out by wishing him, "Happy DAY! Happy DAY cake!!!" He opened his present. Then we said good night and bid farewell.

I'm too chicken to ask him if he could tell we forgot. I hope that he didn't. Because forgetting his birthday is not how we really feel about him. You don't forget the birthdays of people you love. And we love our Papa.

Next year I'll make it up to him. I hope.

So it's not a tradition. That's alright.

I love traditions. I especially love long time traditions, but I'll take the new ones too. This time of year is full of traditions, and having children makes me want to establish even more.

Last year, Lovely and I took Bird to see Santa. She is such a good sport, and even sat on Santa's lap with her little brother. While we were waiting for Santa to finish his lunch break, we went to Build-a-Bear and got reindeer with twinkling lights on their antlers. It was a really fun afternoon, and I declared it a tradition.

Today, we attempted the second year of this tradition and included Kevin. Can I just say that doing this on a Sunday close to Christmas was not a great idea? Plus, it was Bird's first outing since he's been sick, and he got tired pretty quickly.

When we arrived at Santa's lair, the line wound all the way around, and Santa was nowhere to be seen. I'm not sure how I'm so adept at showing up when he goes on break.

So we decided to go to Build-a-Bear first. I'm pretty sure that a good time was had by all, which is good, since we went back to an even longer line at Santa and went home with no pictures. Lucky for us, Santa is going to the Great Wolf Lodge at the exact same time we are! I think we'll just wait for our pictures then. I declare the mall off limits from now until January.

Necessary cuddling

My absence here was necessitated by the need to be holding my child with both hands and arms for the past three days. On Tuesday morning, he woke up with a fever of 101.4 and it didn't go down until last night. By Wednesday night it was spiking up near 104, so Little Bird came to bed with me, and I basically watched him sleep all night long.

I have to admit. He has been so snuggly this week, and sleeping with him was so awesome. Granted, I didn't sleep, but having him cuddle up to me and sleep with his little head on my shoulder was heavenly. Poor Kevin had to sleep on the couch because Bird pretty much slept perpendicular in the bed, but still. One night of snuggle blissdom. I'm just sorry that it had to be because Bird was so sick.

He's better today, although I'm sneaking in a blog post during a very unusual morning nap. I'm just glad he's sleeping. He woke up without a fever this morning, but still with no appetite and no desire to do anything but be held by Mama and watch the Charlie Brown Christmas special over and over and over again.

I guess one more couch day with the remote and a stack of books won't kill either of us.

If you are wondering where my usually ridiculous prompt Christmas cards are though, they are still sitting unsealed and unstamped in the chair across the room. I have had some cuddling come up that just couldn't be ignored.

Cookies, anyone?

Last night, after Little Bird was in bed, I started making my first batch of Christmas cookies. There was a cookie exchange for my woman's circle at the church this morning, and I was supposed to bring 10 dozen cookies.

Best laid plans, right?

I went to get started, opened the fridge and found that I only had one stick of butter. I needed five. My dear, sweet, wonderful husband changed out of his pajama pants and went to the store at 8:30 at night.

By 11:00, I was finally finishing up baking the cookies. I still had to turn them into oh so delicious little double doozies with my frosting, and roll them in my crushed candy canes, but I went to bed instead. Figured I could do that part in the morning.

This morning, Bird woke up with 101.4 fever. That meant no school for him, no cookie exchange for me, and a trip to the doctor.

I can't decide if I'm upset by the 120 chewy chocolate double doozies on my counter or thrilled to death. A little of both, I believe.

Cookies, anyone?

Acceptance

We have an interim minister at our church right now. I don't envy his position at all. There is a huge staff and the previous senior pastor had been at the church for a long time. His delivery is stiff and not particularly inviting. He looks and sounds more like a Baptist minister, if you know what I mean.

Not that any of this is relevant. Other than, regardless of his demeanor, he struck a chord in me today.

The Advent liturgy always stumbles through John the Baptist. Like the brussel sprouts you have to eat before you can have your figgy pudding, you have to have a Sunday in Advent where somebody talks about John the Baptist.

Today though, I realized that I really don't mind it. Adding in the repentance in Advent actually is something to enjoy. A clean slate. A dumping of the baggage you've been carrying. It makes it far easier to celebrate when you've had a good helping of repentance.

What Bill said this morning that was so striking was about victims. It wasn't a main point of the morning, rather just something he was mentioning on his way to repentance. He said that it is all too common today for people to have no concept of repentance because it's always someone else's fault. Our society is full of victims who aren't really victims.

I should have taken notes, because that's not exactly it, but it's close.

I guess that's why I don't mind the repentance part though. I like to own it all, the good and the bad. Even when I was in therapy trying to work through the emotional and sexual abuse I endured my senior year of high school - even then, when we got to the part about how none of it was my fault and I was the victim - that was when I stopped. I had to own the fact that I chose to stay silent. I had to own the knowledge that regardless of the threats made against me, I knew I could find help, and I didn't.

There have been plenty of mistakes in my life. Mistakes that I've made. Some of them I'll be happy to drag out into the public eye, and others I'll keep between me and God and Kevin if he wants the laundry list.

There is only one aspect of my life in which I truly feel like a victim. Where there was nothing I could have done to change things. Nothing I did to have such a horrible outcome. Nothing that I could have done to stop it.

That would be the pregnancies I have lost.

After that first loss, I tried. I tried so hard to figure out a way to own it. I wanted to find a reason that I could place the blame on myself so that I wouldn't be a victim.

I hate being the victim.

But then I lost another. And another. And I began to accept the fact that there really was nothing I could do or could have done.

I guess it's December, and I'm going to be thinking about the babies that will never be along with some of my other friends. And I repent how I was arrogant enough to believe that I had complete control over my pregnancies. It just doesn't work that way.

I'm ready to quit trying to own it now and let the victims just be victims.

Unfiltered

The birth center called. My thyroid test came back normal. I'm thinking I'm supposed to be glad about that, and I am in regards to no drugs and baby is okay. However, the flip side to that is that if everything is normal, then I'm just a little bit crazy. Awesome.

I suppose if my dear family can hang with me until about June of next year, I'll be leveling out again by then. I'm pretty sure Kevin can hang that long. Poor Papa may not make it though. He is so lucky that I'm comfortable enough around him that I don't feel like I have to fake things. Yes, that was sarcasm.

If I could just get a filter, things would be better. Things that actually are annoying, I tend to just call as they are instead of filtering a socially acceptable response. As in, the neighbor who was talking to another neighbor and her two dogs IN my driveway AT naptime. True, it was annoying to have them choose my driveway to stand in with the dogs, thereby driving my dogs insane and waking up Little Bird. However, I wish I could have thought of something to say other than, "Hey, y'all. I'm trying to get my child to sleep and you are driving my dogs insane. Could you please move?" Something nicer. I can only think of meaner things, not nicer ones.

I'm harsh. I know it. No filters. It makes for the crazy to come across even crazier. Awesome.

Twitchy

It's been awhile since I've had a really soul bearing session here. I have to admit, ever since I linked up to Facebook and also found out that not everyone in the blogosphere who claims to be your friend, isn't after all? I haven't been so free to just let it all out here. It's still my space though, and some days, I need to use it like I need to use it. Now is one of those times.

In short, I gots me some issues.

Pregnancy exacerbates the problems. I've thought many times that it's a good thing this is our last baby. I don't think I could do this again.

I have highs and lows that are driving me and poor Kevin crazy. Anxiety and panic attacks. I'm exhausted, but I can't sit still.

The biggest problem is that it comes and goes. I'll have a great week and then an awful week. So just when I convince myself to do something about it, I get better again and forget about it.

Then, I crash.

Lucky for me, I crashed today when I had a midwife appointment. After giving Kevin all sorts of hell before I left the house, I show up for my appointment and have to wait 45 minutes with a toddler at his lunchtime. There was no way for me to hide how upset I was, but instead of just being angry about waiting, something prodded me to just tell her about the crashing. Explain that I was angry at everything, even puppies and sunshine.

When she asked me if I had anything I needed help with today, I believe my exact words were, "Yes. My legs and ankles are really swollen, and I seem to be a bitch, but I don't want to be."

She didn't blow me off or offer me someone to talk to or a pill to take. I liked that. She did mention that it sounded like a thyroid issue and we could do some blood work to check. I liked that too. It felt proactive.

For now, I'm continuing feeding my ridiculous chocolate obsession and have just finished some hot tea with the Rescue Remedy I had stowed away for former foster dogs. I do feel better.

Still twitchy though. And still crying for no reason. And okay, I'm still kind of pissed off at the world when the world hasn't really done anything to me. Most of it anyway. There are a few places where I could be justifiably irritated, but right now I'm too tired to think about it.

Maybe I can sleep straight through until the next high. That would be nice.

Here comes Santa Claus

It's December 1st. All neighborhood pumpkins are on notice. Starting with these.

The Christmas season is upon us, and I have plenty of felt. Loads of it.

Ho.

Ho.

Ho.

Squirmy Wormy

Dear Butterbean,

You are such a little squirmer. Your big brother earned the name Mr. Kicky while still in the womb, and has lived up to it ever since. You, on the other hand, are not so much a kicker as you are a squirmer.

My belly popped out a stretch mark immediately after you decided to do what felt like a full somersault last week. I can sit and stare down at this enormous belly you've helped me create and just watch you swim. Alien belly. I wonder how this will translate when you are here - outside.

I'm trying so hard not to wish away this pregnancy; this being my last pregnancy. I want to enjoy every moment that I have you completely to myself. It's hard though. I am so much bigger this time. I am so much more uncomfortable. Being sick twice has left me fighting to catch my breath even after just going up the stairs once. I've decided it's time to change my attitude.

You see, I certainly don't want you to come early. I want you to stay right where you are, baking away until you are good and ready for the world. So I'm changing my tune as of right now. Slowing down to enjoy this time with you scarf dancing in your little nest.

I have to admit though, that I'm getting really excited to meet you. I've been pulling out your clothes. They are so incredibly small. I've been thinking about where exactly you will fit into this family. We are ready for you. Your daddy, your big sister, your big brother, both big dogs, and me. We are all looking forward to meeting you.

Love,
Your Mama

Stinky feet

Little Bird has upped the foot game. Adding to his "eat the feet" routine, he is now "smelling the feet." Apparently, the girl who watches him while I teach taught him this game. It's better than what his daddy taught him to say the other day.

Where I decide I'm too cheap

I guess with the holidays now in full swing, I'm going to be a little more active on my craft blog. Today you can read about how sometimes you should just buy it.

Tree day

And so it is written: one day is turkey day, and the next day is tree day. Amen.

There was a whole lot of chasing in and out of the trees. Thank goodness Lovely was with us.




















There was some joyful merry-go-round riding. Again, compliments of his big sister.














Wagoner's wants us to have a "treemendous" holiday season. I'm just sharing how "treemendously" huge I've become.




















Lovely caught this shot of her daddy taking the second tree off the roof of the Jeep.














Little Bird was much more intersted in taking the ornaments off the tree at first, but his big sister was patient with him. She kept putting them back and showing him how.














He just about got the hang of it, but in the end, he thought it was much more fun to just get them from Mama and take them to Sister until she had a huge handful all at once. Heh.




















We almost finished this one. It needs a topper, and I'm going to have to make something. I don't know what we've been putting on top of our multi-colored tree, but I can't find anything among our Christmas things, so I guess I'm going to get crafty. Because I refuse to go buy decorations at full price before Christmas. The world would stop on its axis for sure.




















This is our smaller tree in the living room - the blue and silver tree. Not a great picture; maybe I'll try again when there is daylight coming in. It's good enough to see that Kevin wasn't smiling when he put the star on. Anyone knows that if you don't smile when you put the star on top that it will be crooked. We'll have to work on that tomorrow. I think I've squeezed enough Christmas cheer out of him for one day though.

Crafty me

Today's post is over at Specraftular. I've been appliqueing again. Be very afraid.

You can hang it on your wall

There was an interesting article in the paper this morning. Recently, a banker here in Raleigh was convicted in a ponzi scheme. He and his family have disappeared, and last week, all of his belongings were auctioned off to recoup some of the money he stole.

A Mercedes convertible went for around $107,000, and a diamond wedding ring was sold for around $170,000. There were several "big name" handbags that sold for a couple thousand each, and some designer shoes that seemed to have been in my size. Oh, darn.

The article in the paper this morning focused in on the "artwork" that was sold though. To be specific, the Thomas Kinkade "paintings" auctioned off to the highest sucker. I mean bidder.

One of the paintings was sold for $15,500. Wise, the rogue businessman, paid $85,000 for it originally. Apparently, it was so expensive because Kinkade himself painted it. Which is such an absurd thing to say in the first place. It's hard to even make a joke about it because it's so stupid. A painting is worth more because the painter actually painted it. That's hilarious.

The woman in charge of fine art at the auction house had this to say,

"Thomas Kinkade paints pictures that are very pleasing and are accessible to a large number of people. He's painting decorative pictures; you can hang them on your wall."

Again, it's hard to turn that into a joke. It's so funny on it's own. "You can hang them on your wall." That's one of the benefits of a Thomas Kinkade painting. How can you not snicker at that?

The article also goes on to say that Kinkade "offers a touchstone for art buyers who want security." I'm kind of wondering though, in an auction where people were willing to pay $2500 for a used Louis Vuitton handbag, where is the security in an $85,000 painting selling for $15,500?

It doesn't really matter. The paintings are complete crap, and Thomas Kinkade is a crook. His company sold paintings to gallery owners who were required to sell them for a minimum retail price while the company, and even Kinkade himself, undercut those prices on cable TV. The gallery owners sued and won.

My father-in-law likes to buy original artwork. It is one of his endearing qualities. He also likes for it to be from local artists. He's a cool Papa. His tastes vary from mine, and that is alright. Sitting in my living room one day, he looks up at "Bird Tropolis", by Anna Podris, and says, "Well, that's pretty, and I know you like it, but I like scenes. You know, paintings of scenes." I told him that technically, it was a scene, a cityscape, if you will, but he wasn't buying it. That's totally fine. There's a wide span between people with different tastes and those with no taste.

Of course, I think if Thomas Kinkade makes you happy, and you don't know any better, then by all means, hang him or someone who paints what he tells them to paint on your wall. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder after all. What grabbed me about this story is that this banker was obviously attempting to "invest" in art by purchasing Thomas Kinkade paintings. Which is ridiculous.

I admit, one of the reasons I saved my pennies to buy Anna's work is because a gallery owner who knew that I already liked it told me that she was the Raleigh artist with the greatest potential for investment. I liked that little bit of information. Granted, if you tried to take one of my paintings from me now, I would never sell them for any amount. I love them, which is the real reason to buy original artwork.

We also have a Jason Craighead and a Bob Rankin. Kevin and I both loved the Craighead at the exact moment we saw it, and quite frankly, the Rankin just went nicely in our guest bathroom. There is also one of Keith Norval's owls upstairs by Lovely's room. Some other artists grace our walls, but from out of state.

I can't tell you if anything we've purchased will go up in value monetarily or not. What I can tell you is this:

• I know who painted it.
• I like who painted it.
• The money we paid for it stayed in our community.
• The money we paid for it went to support a real artist.
• We like the work.
• We intend on teaching our children that artists, like musicians, deserve to be paid well for good original work.
  

All of which is in direct contrast to the painter of light. Who makes me shudder.

I got your gDiapers coupons right here

We've been using gDiapers on Little Bird since he was born. We don't use them exclusively, but I do prefer them to anything else during the day.

They don't sponsor me, and I haven't been given free gDiapers to pimp my blog out. I just like them.

That's why when they were looking for moms and dads to join their gMum program, I signed up. Of course, I'm not even taking the time to look up the right label for that. I'm awesome. Basically it means that they send me a stack of coupons and a little happy (this time it was some Dropps detergent to try).

I share the coupons with friends, and I stop by the local Babies'R'Us and try to straighten up the disaster area that usually is where they keep the gDiapers. I don't know what it is about the gDiapers that make people want to plow through them like animals, but it's always a wreck. I'm the crazy woman you might see hanging back up the little gPants and trying to put back together the starter packs.

The starter packs are a cool way to just try out gDiapers, and I've got coupons for $10 off of one. If you would like one of those, or a $2 off any product, just leave me a comment. Of course, I need to be able to email you back, so please hook up your email with your comment.

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