Motherhood Uncensored

For Halloween I Decided to Dress Up Like a Vaginally Challenged Mother in Denial About Moving to Little Rock for Five Months. You?

Apparently I'm still suppressing all my emotions regarding this very closely impending temporary move (t-move? temp-ove?) to Little Rock. I realized this the other day when I found myself bawling on the couch, about halfway through a bag of 100 Grands.

[Note to self: Do not think you're being extra smart by purchasing large bags of halloween candy that you looooove because then you won't mind having "leftovers" because duh you'll just eat them all before the actual Halloween night because with your luck you'll get your period back and have to move again]

Oh and so much for that pants size thing.

The longer I'm in my wonderful house, the more I reaaaaaaally don't want to leave for an old transitional furnished house on a base in Little Rock.

Plus it doesn't help that all two of my very friendly and well meaning Arkansas readers have emailed me to say "the area near the base, is um, well, interesting so if you need a place to go..."

Um. Thanks, guys.

Actually, they've been cool. I just reaaaaaaaaalllllly like it here.

And so, when the huz broke the news that he will indeed go on orders November 12 to Little Rock, not Dobbins, that nice base up the street from us, I thought, for an extremely lengthy moment, that perhaps I could really just stay here.

But then that preschool already took all my money. And we'd be alone.

A lot.

And that just doesn't bode will for my bowels, amongst other things.

So I'm going. We're all going.

After Thanksgiving is over, I will pack up our suitcases, toys, and anything else I can fit into my truck and we will drive due West for eight hours to our next destination on this seemingly long ass journey.

You will come with me, right?

Don't cry for meeeeeee Atlanta! I do enough for all of us, particularly at 3am when Mommy is fast asleep.

So Really, What ARE You Doing About Lead in Toys?

Just when you thought it was safe to buy 14 battery operated no-off button heinously loud Dora toys, yet another recall list drops.

I'm kidding. I have never purchased ONE battery operated toy.

Um, well, at least for my kids.

[ahem]

But honestly, it's more my in-laws that I worry about. We've spent Christmas with them every year since my daughter was born and I'm not one to say they have to "run" their toy choices by me because I would just leave them all there (heh). But this year, I'm afraid.

Not only due to the recalls, but also because I have my own house now. And I don't want that crap in my house.

I've got two boxes FULL of crappy little toys that I have yet to give away or *gulp* Freecycle. And I don't want any more. I've got a big wonderful list of fantastic toys that I want to get for them.

And I've emailed it to them, trying to subtly beg them to purchase those and not the lifesized plush Dora and Diego doll.

But seriously, what are you guys doing this year when it comes to the recalls? And check out this awesome page at Cafemom!

Big is Not Always Better

*Clearly my readers leave the best comments. If you need a laugh, please read them*

I've shared my innermost secrets here, without shame or embarrassment.

I'm stupid open like that.

The prairie dog sized hemorrhoids, the pubic gnomes, and my marriage have all been scrutinized in great detail by my faithful readers, wayward Googlers, and God only knows who else.

So, why would my tampon sliding right out of my "personal purse" be any different?

Um, because I've never heard one person, no not one never ever ever, talk about their big old post-partum vagina. But apparently, that's exactly what I'm sporting these days. Except in this case, big is clearly not better.

Amidst my costume sewing fest that then became a stinky and terror-plotting glue situation, I got my period back -- which in itself is incredibly annoying since I have not one feminine product in my house.

Okay, that's a lie. I found two tampons in my teeeeeny tiny "I'm so cute and young and only need to carry lipstick and a credit card and apparently tampons" purse from a bazillion years ago. Like that's not depressing enough as it is. But other than those too sexy and single tampons, I'm walking around with toilet paper in my underpants until I can get to a Target.

And so, I bought my regular old Tampax, now with an extra handy applicator gripper by the way (amazing the developments that happen in a couple of years!), and went about my business.

That was until I went to the bathroom later that day because I felt something very odd and noticed my not totally used up yet tampon was not where it should be.

And that would be sliding halfway out of me.

Without me pushing it out or pulling the string, of course.

And then I thought the dreaded, terrible, and worst thought ever.

I'm all stretched out.

Ugh. Ack. Ptthhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh dfhdofjdalfjaldkjflkdfje9ijflsdfdkjfdk. (That would be the sound of me barfing 1000 barfs)

Yep. There's just no other explanation. Just me and my old stretched out vagina, shooting out tampons at any random moment of the day.

Dare I ask if there is any solution to this problem, you know, like a new tampon brand or a vagina lift?

Do You Want to Know a Secret?

When I'm extremely bored here, alone in my house and the kids are sleeping (shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh), I'm a Googler.

I Google everyone.

People I know. People I knew. Old annoying ex-boyfriends. Bitchy friends from college.

You name it. I google them.

I'm not so sure exactly what motivates me to dredge up the past, but I do it anyway, and quite frankly, I've never found anything of great interest. But it is bizarre to think about how connected we can all still be thanks to the internet.

With Facebook and Linkedin alone, I've found a TON of people I would never have talked to again (some good, some not so good).

So, do you Google?  Seriously. Admit it right here.

And separately, if you could tell me exactly when the "threes" get easier, that would be great. I mean, one was hard, two was hard, and now three. THREE!

She told me that she didn't like the way I was talking to her when I told her to clean up. She said I had to be nicer. She said if I make bad choices (i.e. use a tone of voice that is not nice) that I'm going to have to sit in the corner.

I nearly caught myself arguing about my tone of voice. With a THREE YEAR OLD.

Cripey. And she's throwing huge tantrums when she gets frustrated. And she misses her grandparents. YES, the freaking in-laws. Apparently we have to go visit them next week. And the week after. And every week.

Oy.

You Do Know How I Was Dying to Respond, Don't You?

[D-CountyFreecycle] WANTED; LOOKING FOR ALLTYPES OF FLUTES.

IM AIMING TO START A COLLECTION OF THEM. THANK YOU IF YOU COULD HELP OUT.

Sorry. I'm Busy Trying to Figure Out How to Sew a Dwarf Costume Without Actually Knowing How to Sew

Perhaps you should go get a few costumes *ahem* of your own.

Did you take my survey yet? So far I've learned that my readers like my writing and are old (ha, just kidding).

I'm spouting out advice on baby shoes (and giving away some free ones, well sort of).

If you've got something to say about sneaking veggies into your kids food (or have a better alternative -- you know, like broccoli topped ice cream sundaes), then check this out. There are prizes to be had.

The Toxin Avengers need your help spreading the word about the toy recalls. Did you know that they've recalled bibs and Baby Einstein blocks (not just poor Dora is poisonous!)?

WTF is up with all these spam emails about e-cards? Oy.

Now back to sewing (if that's what you want to call it).

Shoes Glorious Shoes!

A reader emailed me asking about baby shoes.

Okay, so it was a Cool Mom Picks reader. You guys never write to me. *wah* (okay, guilt over. Now I'll get all these trolly emails).

But still, it's a good question. There are A.LOT. of baby shoes out there. Of course, if you're a knock off purchaser or one of those "dude, they are shoes, for a baby, who doesn't walk or really need shoes" people, then I'm not going to offer you any interesting information. But if you love baby shoes, and feel that they are INDEED required or that they are the BEST part of having a baby (you know, after that whole birthing and sleepless night part), then read on. Oh, and keep in mind that a lot of these were started by moms, and many of them are run by moms. So, you're giving money back to moms.

That's cool, I think.

The Shlippers: Now, these have become uber popular and there are about six-bazillion brands of these, including Shoo-shoos, Bobux, and Jack and Lily. My two personal favorites are Cute Baby Shoes and Robeez (a mom-started company that was just bought by Stride Rite). Both of which have some cute styles and run around the same price.

I love me a cute shlipper (yay for Robeez for putting out some more rockin' styles), but as many people will say, they can get a little slick and icky. Plus, when you go outside and they are cruising, it just seems like they need a little padding (or is that just me?). A great vegan alternative is Isabooties - started by two moms and the styles are EXTRA cute. The ones I have seem a little thinner than Robeez, but they have a great sole that's got some grip to it.

The Non-Functional But Incredibly Cute Baby Shoe: There are about the same number (that's six-bazillion if you're counting) of great shoe companies like Pedipeds, for example. My other favorites include Pedoodles (great for first time walkers) and Oh Fives (ridiculously adorable). But my ultimate favorite is Vincent Shoes -- a Swedish company that makes fairly affordable pre-walkers (extra affordable if you use this code: OCT-20-OFF).

Drew has the Mini's and we love them not only because they are adorable, but because they actually have some support and padding. However, they're still soft and comply with all the "early baby walker shoe rules."

I'm a huge fan of European styling, so these shoes are perfect for my taste, and the Minis have a bit of ankle support as well. The dot sole is great for grippage on our hard wood floors. And he doesn't try to pull them off. I take that as a good sign.

You can always try to win some for yourself. Just check out the site and leave a comment here with your favorite shoe (any one -- not just a prewalker) and why you like it.

And I'll be honest. I was getting really tired of the shlipper.

There I said it. 

Keep in mind, a lot of these places carry older kids shoes, (here's a complete listing) and so it's worth checking them out if you're sick of the same styles and same offerings. We tend to spend more money on shoes for my daughter since she broke her leg as a young toddler and we both think she needs good support. However, she gets blisters from ALL Stride Rite shoes, so we're always looking for great alternatives that don't look like Rockports.

Now, if you have any other baby "gear" questions, apparently I think I'm the person to ask. Go figure.

I Totally Forgot How Much I Love Tampons!!!!!!

Yeah. She's back.

I guess on the bright side, this means I can get pregnant again.

Ha. Haha. HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

Clearly I Have No Shame

"Mommy, ENNA just called me and said we can swim in her pool tomorrow!" Bizarrely-named imaginary friend #3

"Really? Where does ENEMA live?" *snort*

"ENEMA lives behind us, Mommy!"

*haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-snort*

"She's going to visit us later!"

*cough-sputter-giggle*

"God, I hope not..." *the huz chuckles*

Something Happened on the Way to the In-Laws

I lost a pants size!

I guess when you only wear clothes with S/M/L then you'd never know. Or if you wear Mossimo Supply shirts, a XXXL (considering my tiny back-to-her-original-cute-size BFF wears a XXL and she's about 40 lbs lighter than me and about 8 inches shorter).

Hellloooo Mossimo. NOT the way to make women happy, my friend.

Anyway, I hadn't worn actual jeans until last week and they were both baggy. BAGGY! So, I decided to give my old pair (not my pre-pre-pre pregnancy jeans, but ones that I had worn while NOT pregnant or recovering from pregnancy) that I left at my in-laws.

And they fit.

Just fine. Not even a muffin top.

And just to make sure, I found another pair in the same size at THE GAP and then fit too. (And don't worry, I didn't steal them).

So, there's a little light at the end of the tunnel. It's amazing what fitting into your pants can do for one's soul.

Now if only I could catch some freaking zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzs.

Of Princesses and the Commercialization of America

If there's one thing that still haunts me about living with my in-laws other than the repeated image of my father-in-law seeing my naked ass is that I feel as though I lost a lot of parental control.

In your own home, you are the master of your domain, and you are able to safe guard and filter what enters and exits your child's brain.

These are the formative years. These are MY years. These are the very few years that I have left as a strong primary influence on my daughter.

She'll get plenty of time to run with her peers in which she will surely be influenced to do stupid things like think Ricky Schroeder is hot stuff and wear too many pairs of matching slouch socks at one time.

But when you live with your in-laws, the evil step-children of mainstream America, you are left to fend for yourself without the ability to filter.

The barbies, the princesses, the pretty pink ponies pleasantly peering past posies.

Blech.

It's nothing I would ever purchase for her and it's nothing that I find imperative to her development as a young girl.

Nothing.

And yet, thanks mostly to their neverending gifts that a frazzled mother cannot pry from her daughter's hands (or theirs) and throw directly in the trash, she is obsessed.

I had turned my head the other way for most of our time there, because in the long scheme of her life, this will be a very small period in time. But when she told the Mayor that he couldn't wear a princess outfit because he was a boy, and she started drawing all her people laying down because "they're sleeping princesses waiting for their prince to come" I started to take notice.

And now that I live in my own home, I feel my power coming back. The power that says I can raise my children how I want to raise them. No Backyardigans decorations on her wall, no outfits drenched in Dora, and no barbies.

None.

I've purged our house, pawning off many of her character toys (that she doesn't play with anymore) to friends of the family when we moved. And I've directed friends and family who like to buy her gifts to this guide.

But the princesses still live strongly, on our screen, in our magazines, and for our Halloween costumes. I gently steer her to generic princesses, with super magic powers that include finding the cure for cancer and helping others in need.

Unfortunately, it's hard to find images like that.

I do know that in every obsession, is a teaching moment. Where her princess can be a different princess. The princess that eats vegetables. And cleans her room. And shares with her brother. Even if she is still obsessed with every freaking Disney princess movie out there.

And I'll try to remember that in a few years, I'll be the Evil Stepmother all year round -- no costume required. So I had better make the most of these years while I can.

You're Only As Old as The Number of Times You Have to Get Up to Pee in the Middle of the Night

Based on the number of years I used to abstain from using public bathrooms for fear that I would fall in and get sucked into oblivion, you'd think that at this point I'd be wearing Depends.

In fact, I used to joke with people that at least they made french-cut ones.

But alas, even after two babies, I still have a bladder of steel. I'll make every OB-GYN happy and say it was because of the Kegels.

Heh.

I can generally make it through the night without having to get up to pee. For the most part, I always have, unless I've been pregnant.

And then it's an every three-hour free-for-all in which I contribute to the depletion of the ozone by going through massive amounts of toilet paper.

So now that I'm waking up WAY too often thanks to Mr. Drew, I have to say I'm tempted by the bathroom. I guess now that I'm walking past it, the toilet beckons me.

"Come, lighten your load, my friend."

But I walk past, try to ignore the talking toilet, and go back to sleep. Except then I really have to go.

And that just sucks.

I'm hoping this is the downfall of my elite bladder. Because I don't have too many things to brag about these days.

On a separate note, I need help with Drew's costume. I was thinking BLUE TIGHTS, a hoodie with yellow felt buttons, and a sock cap (where can I find this people?). Does that sound lame or cute?

And I'd love to hear your thoughts on the whole Deceptively Delicious Debacle. You know. Adding veggies secretly into our kids food will all surely send us to HELL!

Only In America Can You Get Sent to Hell For Sneaking Veggies in Your Kid's Food

*Edited below*

The last time I saw my therapist she told me that the reason I was so traumatized was because my mom used to give me zucchini bread. Except I didn't know there was zucchini in it.

Heh.

Clearly trying to slip spinach into brownies and cauliflower into macaroni and cheese will cause our children great psychological damage.

Apparently there's a terrible amount of hullabaloo surrounding Mrs. Seinfeld's new book. Not only has she stolen someone else's idea (um, no offense, but our parents were sneaking veggies and everything else into our food waaaaaaay before both of these books were written), but she's lying to her kids.

And worse, she's encouraging us to lie to them as well.

Now I buy those special noodles with Omega 3 and extra protein, and I swear by V-8 Fusion. So, am I supposed to explain to my daughter that her noodles have special fish oils in them and her juice actually has vegetables as well?

She doesn't even know what the heck juice is except something you drink.

It's one thing to lie to your kids -- and quite frankly, I'm not even a fan of telling your kids a store is closed or the playground is broken when you just don't want to deal with the consequences of their reaction. 

Is that lazy parenting? Or just picking your battles? Does lying like that start a bad precedence and promote distrust? Or are we just all pissed off that Jessica Seinfeld wrote a book?

Perhaps. But putting a little broccoli into my daughter's meat sauce doesn't seem like such a bad thing. (And really, who gives a shit who wrote the damn book). Besides, I wouldn't just suddenly stop putting veggies on her plate and say "Weeeeehoooo kid. No more veggies for us!" I'd continue to feed them to her and encourage good eating all the while trying to get them into her system any way that I can.

So what exactly is it? The pureeing? The racy title? What?

Because God knows my mom would throw a shitload of "who knows what the hell this is" in her ratatouille to make sure we got our veggies. Was that wrong when we just ate what she gave us and we didn't know exactly what variety of fall vegetable was looming in our bowls?

If one more person tells me (a mother with a fairly healthy eater mind you) that I need to provide my daughter with a variety of foods from early on bla bla bla, I'm going to scream. For the most part, parents know that. But when you have a daughter who had possible food allergies, and a son who's been waking up at 4am to poop on days where new foods are introduced, it's a little hard to just try to feed them new things when you finally discover something that works.

And what parents don't realize is that it takes about 15 times before a child will like something new. That means FIFTEEN times where carrots and olives and spinach are thrown at me.

And a lot of parents do not last that long.

But just because you don't have a picky eater, doesn't mean that moms and dads out there that do didn't do exactly what you did to get their kids to eat good foods.

In fact, chances are they've tried more things than just slipping it into their food.

My daughter used to love avocados. Now she hates them. I've never seen her eat a tomato and I still continue to put them on her sandwich and in her salad to which she continues to spit them out.

So be it.

But I would think that if my three-year-old asked the specific ingredients I used to create her scrumptious meal, then I would surely tell her. But considering she's usually busy feeding her brother paper and building lego castles, I'll hold off on the full disclosure thing for now.

Does she need to know exactly where her little brother came from, or do we just tell her what she needs to know based on her age? And does she need to know exactly what's in her food or is it so okay to throw some wheat germ into her pancakes and not tell her?

I mean, I'd happily tell her what wheat germ is, but um, you know. SHE'S THREE.

If you've got helpful hints and tips about how to get your kids to eat healthy foods (you know, other than SNEAK them), share them on Friday on your blog. PBN is doing a blog blast on the topic and you can win a $250 Gift Card to Williams and Sonoma. And if you've tried the recipes, liked the book, hated the book, and actually tried the recipes, considering posting!

There's No Place Like Home, er, The In-Laws

Heard this weekend at our grand homecoming:

"Mommy. I missed my home sooooooo much. I'm glad my whole family is back together again."

Okay. Enough on the Painting.

Sheesh. You people DO know what you're talking about. And it's scaring me. We've certainly learned our lesson.

- Priming is a good thing.
- Rollers suck.
- There's a reason why people pay other people to paint.

Now. Moving along to more important things. Like either I have the world's most vicious cold or I have allergies. The cold I had kicked my butt for five straight days. That's long for a cold for me. Then I was taking allergy medicine. Then I was feeling fine.

And now I'm stuffy again and coughing weird things up. It can't be another cold, can it? (Granted both my kids are stuffy, but cripey -- change of season, new place = one very stuffy house).

And while you're at it, care to recommend a fun place to go (flying is fine, of course) that's warm and doesn't require passports. You know, since I don't have passports for my wee ones. The huz has four days off in a row before we do this whole "weeee we're moving again for a little while I'm going to stick my head in a toilet" thing.

Of course, considering my son can't breathe through is nose (TEETH I TELL YOU TEETH!) and he's not sleeping (I saw 1-3am with a happy awake baby last night -- that is not good), I'm not sure I want to go anywhere.

All I have to say is that after this is all over, I had better see teeth and somersaults. Or brain surgery. Seriously. He better have learned how to operate after all this no sleep crap.

And a big shout out to ImpostorMom who pleasantly introduced herself at Baby Loves Disco today. Her family is adorable -- AND, she's this uber baby food maker that is making me feel like a total slacker for just giving Drew orange food and some rice puffs. I have no idea what to feed the kid and I'm blaming his rash attacks last month.

Oh, and I'm lazy.

Anyway, who's got a good schedule of when/what to introduce?

And While the Whole Blogosphere is Pregnant and Yakking...

Seriously. I can hear the crickets chirping. Or is it mommy bloggers barfing? Sorry girls. Just know that being sick is a good thing. It means the baby is growing and you're closer to more sleepless nights.

Heh. Okay. I'm totally kidding. It might be the most annoying thing to have someone tell you that being sick is good when you're throwing up so much that you can't see straight.

Anyway, while we wait for our beloved mommy bloggers to come back to the land of the living, here's what I've been up to aside from worrying about my upcoming move, supervising the painting of my son's room, being pissed at a preschool who won't refund but 2 weeks of my prepayment even with military orders, and working hard on a number of very exciting projects (because, as you know, it's my blog and it's all about me):

Naked block building. It's all the rage. Don't worry. They're safe.

Brunch with Jake (on wide screen outside Rockefeller Center) after breakfast with Martha in the form of two really cool radio show hosts.

Watching the world unfold to a now 9-month old (ps: WTF?!)

Giggling every time my daughter tells someone that Drew is going to be a dwarf to her Snow White. And then not giggling every time she tells them mommy is going to be Ariel.

Continuing to be awed at the fact that my 3-year-old daughter could beat me in Pictionary (pss: WTF?)

And what have you been up to? (And have no fear. I'll be back with more Sturm und Drang filled posts next week).

I Interrupt This Parenting Blog to Tell You How Much Painting Sucks

With a few extra days off, my husband decided to paint my son's room. We're might possibly be the worst painters in the world. I mean, I've never painted anything. And my husband has painted walls he didn't really care about.

So give us a cheap roller, a 3-year-old who can actually paint but does so in the same spot over and over, and a lot of "green grasshopper" paint, you get a very long day.

LONG.

And I wasn't even painting.

I admit that it's pretty exciting to own your own home and have walls to paint cool colors like "green grasshopper." And I can understand why people paint.

But the process of painting is a bit tedious. Or at least, the process of watching someone paint is tedious.

So, I'm curious. Is there a better roller brand we should be using? Is there a specific technique that we should be using but are not? Clearly, we need help!

fUGGly

There's nothing like a little chill in the air for people to think it's perfectly okay to wear their UGG boots. I suppose those folks think they're one upping all the other people who where them all year long.

Um. Yeah. They don't look any better with your snowsuit people.

It's always nice when mainstream America takes fashion cues from Pamela Anderson. Clearly she has her finger on the pulse of what's cool and hip in this world.

But even Pam is ditching her UGGs. Not because they look like someone skinned a sheep with a butter knife and sewed them together with their eyes closed, but because she discovered that they were made from real sheepskin.

Don't try to put one past that Pam, people. She's one smart vegan cookie.

If you didn't realize, UGGs were popularized by American surfers, not Iditarod competitors. Even men and women with frozen snot hanging off their nose hairs wouldn't be caught dead in them.

Doesn't that tell you something?

But that doesn't stop massive amounts of people from shelling out hundreds of dollars to purchase these shapeless wooly boots and actually wear them.

In public. With any number of outfit combos. I mean, don't you wear boots with your swimsuit? Pajama pants? Track suit?

I know they feel sooooo good and they're warm. But so are farts. And I don't generally do those in public. And I bet my farts smell better than your feet after being stuck in those shoes all day long.

Here's a concept. Wear socks. Don't walk around in a mini skirt and crop top in the dead of winter. Invest in a jacket.

And whatever you do, don't let them near your Crocs. Apparently bad footwear, when left alone, get horny.

Just Don't Tell Anyone I Was On Martha Stewart Radio in Jessica Simpson Shoes

I vowed on principle never to buy Jessica Simpson shoes.

I know she doesn't really design them, but for criminy's sakes. Her signature is inside them. And I don't know why it bothers me, but it does.

But I was desperate and I needed to look halfway decent (read: wear clothes that actually fit that didn't look like pajamas) and the shoes were cute.

There. I said it.

And I actually walked almost 20 city blocks in them brand new.

That's pretty darn good.

But that's not really the point. The point is that Liz and I were on Martha Stewart Radio's Morning Living to talk about safer toys (you know, remember all those toys that are poisoning our kids). We had 15 minutes of fame today, and it was fabulous. Plus we got to tell everyone about our new safer toy guide (in case you were looking for toys sans poison).

If you're having as hard a time as I am keeping up, make sure to subscribe to them in your RSS feed reader (www.recalls.gov). Seriously. There are new ones everyday.

And then, guess where I went?

The Clubmom offices! That's right -- I visited where all the magic of Cafemom and Clubmom happen. It's extremely glamorous. Okay, it's very homey and down to earth. And I'm very proud and happy to be a part of their organization.

So, there you go. That was my fantastic day in New York.

Now if only I could have met Jake Gyllenhall in person (and not from behind the window at the Today Show).

I know. I'm being greedy. I'll stop.

So anyway, I'm curious. Are you a clubmom and/or cafemom user? If so, tell me your groups?!

That's Probably Why They Call it SOUTH Jersey

It takes only a quick visit home to realize that my slanderous opinion of the South started way back when I was a young high-banged lass growing up in South Jersey.

If Mississippi is the state that time forgot, then South Jersey is not far behind. All it takes is a quick visit to a local mall or a WaWa to figure out that South Jersey is living up to its name.

The South.

Now, there's certainly not a southern drawl to be found around these parts, but many folks would probably agree that a Jersey accent can be almost as annoying and fairly difficult to understand. There is, of course, the famous "adding of the s" to everything, including "yous" and my favorite bookstore "Barnes and Nobles." And I'm always a fan of dropping prepositions -- "Down to the shore" is "Down the shore;" clearly four words takes way to much time and energy to say.

If Southern women are schooled in the art of Southern Hospitality, I'd say South Jersian woman are famous for the opposite. Granted, they'd probably give you a pair of stirrup pants, a betassled leather jacket, and acid wash stretch jeans right off their tanning bed bodies. But aside from that, there is no filter; most of what they say sounds like something that in most places would start a fight. Of course, New Yorkers get accused of that, however, they're usually dressed in $400 pumps and a Prada coat, not uggs and a Members only jacket. And nobody wants to mess with a 20-something with large wooly boots and a plether coat.

In July.

If the Southern vernacular of "might-coulds," the "y'alls" and the "fixins" might lend themselves to lower intelligence (you know, for those judgmental types), I'm pretty sure that telling your son he won't get "jack" if he doesn't get into his stroller and then proceeding to tell him that means "jackshit" when he asks is almost just as bad.

And while Mississippians are clearly contributing to the deterioration of the Ozone with their massive amounts of barbeque and black-eye-pea powered farts, South Jersians are single-handedly contributing to the green house effect with the number two per capita use of Aquanet (second only to nursing homes and assisted living facilities).

But regardless of how many black-lined eyes and lips I encounter, it's still nice to come home and see that nothing has changed.

Besides, it makes my oversized shirt and saggy bottom jeans look somewhat fashionable. These days, that's worth its weight in gold.

Or a better, a WaWa coffee and a Yeungling beer.

LR = Little Rock

*Explanation and timeline of why the hell I'm moving to Little Rock added below*

It just sort of hit me about two minutes ago when I got an email from my daughter's former but never actually real preschool saying how I need to pay more money to hold her spot for when we return.

In April.

I haven't told her that she's not going yet. I haven't figured out how to tell her we're moving again. She's just gotten settled -- nervous habits disappearing -- happily prancing around her room with rainbow curtains that she's going to paint pink and purple.

"Grandma, did you know I'm starting a new school?" she asked my mom excitedly.

The new girl emailed me and at the bottom she wrote "What's going on with LR?" and I was like "LR? What the hell is that?"

Yeah. Denial. It's a grand thing.

I've not thought about it once. My decision to go with him instead of stay is a firm one. I can't be alone for five days week. I can't tell my daughter that daddy will be away for five days a week for five months.

Hell, I can barely even swallow it myself.

Apparently they are trying to get us the base in Atlanta. You know, the one that's 20 minutes from our house.

But he starts November 3. In Little Rock. Where we'll live. On base. TLF for you military folks. With two big dogs and two little kids. Far away from our nice new house, neighborhood, neighbors, and friends.

I just fucking UNPACKED ALL MY SHIT.

And bought paint. And a crib mattress. And my kitchen. I love my kitchen. And I'm tired. And sick. And sick and tired.

There are positives. He'll be home every night. He'll be home for the holidays.   

And we need to be together. Because if we're not, I'm not sure I'll be able to hold it together.

For very much longer.

--

April 2005: Huz gets denied requested assignment. Decides to get out of active duty and find a reserve/guard job.

August 2005: Huz gets denied request to get out of active duty because he can't find a guard job and apparently he's extremely valuable to them.

October 2005: Because he can't find a guard job, the huz gets an assignment to Grand Forks, North Dakota. We laugh out loud and refuse it.

October - March 2006: Huz searches for Guard Unit to take him and finally lands a job with a Guard Unit in Delaware.

September 2006: I leave with Quinlan and Drew in utero for the in-laws while huz stays to finish out his active duty term in Mississippi through December.

December 2006: Huz starts work with the Guard. Waits for training in Little Rock or Atlanta.

January 2007: I have Drew.

March 2007: No sign of training yet, but has an interview with airline. We're still living with the in-laws.

May 2007: Gets job with airline. Leaves for airline ground school.

July 2007: We buy house and move to Atlanta. Starts flying.

Current: Guard realizes that the huz has been with them for almost his whole term and has not done training yet so finally assigns him training in Little Rock.

And so, training will be from November - April, at which point we will return to Atlanta permanently and end this TWO YEAR LONG transition period.

It's Times Like These That Make Me Wish I Had a C-Section

"Hey Mommy. How did you get Drew out of your belly?"

It Just Wasn't Meant to Be

So after all that fuss about preschools and waiting lists and tours and OMG I got a spot for her it's providence crap, I realized just last week that since we're probably moving to Little Rock for five months it doesn't make sense to send her to school here.

My brilliance never ceases, eh?

I'm just hoping she'll stop talking about it because I'm dreading the whole "you're not going to be able to go to school because we're going to have to leave your pretty cool room and move yet again" conversation.

I'm going to tell you a secret.

A tiiiiiiiiiiiny little part of me is relieved.

I admit to being ambivalent about sending her to school. On one hand, I know it's great for her and she wants to be around kids, and she'll have a fantastic time. She practically pounces on anyone who comes in our door, talking their ear off and offering them a plethora of drawings.

But the other half of me worries about what she'll actually learn, who she'll meet, and if she'll set the record for colds for the school year.

I think I'm a closet school hater. It really has nothing to do with my homeschool background, since I spent the whole time I was homeschooled begging to go to school. I loved school.

Loved.

But for my daughter, it's different. Things are different. Kids, parents, teachers, kids. They are all different. And I feel so strongly about the power of school. I really do feel as though it can greatly impact a person's well being, self esteem, and personal growth.

And so I worry.

Unfortunately, it's unescapable. My daughter will need to attend school because the "good loving appropriate" mother side will win out. I will make it win out -- at least after I've done all my research and made sure it's the right decision.

But I'm thankful I have just a little more time.

Thanks for visiting The Mom Trap. Feel free to click around -- and I'd love to know what you're doing about the Toy Recalls! Plus I'm giving away some HP Photo books today. Just click here.
 

Sibling Rivalry

And so I've begun to deal with fighting children. I thought I had a bit more time for this, but alas, my son is crawling and cruising and everything his big sister does is apparently the cat's meow.

I even try to tempt him away with his favorite snack.

Paper.

He's not even interested. If she's building with legos or blocks, he is the destroyer. If she's coloring, he comes to eat her crayons. And all she can do is scream, yell, and beg me to move him.

He's become quite averse to baby prison, and so I'm left with a true dilemma. Do I continue to move him or stick him in the exersaucer? Or does she just have to learn how to deal with it?

I'm not being harsh, but there's only so much I can do -- she can go to her room and play, or she can deal with him. But then I think I'm not being very fair. She deserves to be able to play on her own if she wants to.

Speaking of which, now that we're headed to Little Rock for five months (oh, did I forget to mention that lovely news? YEAH. Thank you Air National Guard) she can't start school. And she needs to see other kids. She sent our Pet Sitter home with three pieces of artwork and an earful about everything from dinner to her halloween costume. Granted I've been sick and working a ton and so we haven't gotten out of the house but still.

Poor kid needs someone else's ear to talk off.

So what do I do? Move him? Move her? Teach her how to deal with it? Lock them both up?

And That's How My In-Laws Saved my Marriage

Ever since my sister-in-law and then my in-laws had no room at their "inn" last weekend when the huz needed a place to crash on something other than that ever popular crappy pilot lounge couch, I've felt fairly justified for every single thing I've ever written about them.

Granted it's all true. No exaggerations here. But still. Being mean to your own kid (not just your daughter-in-law) is like full license to strongly dislike, isn't it?

And so, last Tuesday, I was very surprised when a man holding a very large bouquet of edible fruit knocked on my door.

I admit to thinking that perhaps my father-in-law had come around and was sending a peace offering for his crazy email in the form of weirdly shaped fruit flowers.

Hell. I'm a sucker for a pineapple daisy on a shish-kabob.

But as I went to grab the bouquet I saw something so startling that I nearly cursed right in front of the nice fruit n' flower delivery person.

"Happy Anniversary"

Yeah. Apparently it was my anniversary. And my freaking in-laws reminded me.

I turned to my husband, hiding my head behind the ridiculously large cellophane wrap and said "It's our anniversary today!" with a happy! excited! Oh-my-shit-I-totally-forgot-Ha!-please-laugh-with-me! kind of voice.

"You forgot, didn't you?" he asked in such a way that was clear that he had not.

Yeah. I totally forgot my anniversary.

I could blame the fact that I really got married by the Mayor of Landsdowne, PA on New Year's Eve Day to recorded organ music that said Mayor played via a button on his "pulpit." Or that I'm still a little bitter about having to get married on October 2, 2004 which was just shy of three months post-partum requiring me to buy a new dress that I could nurse in.

Or maybe it was that whole domestic zero thing.

But really, I just totally forgot.

Now it's one thing to totally forget. But it's another when you are reminded by a nice and pretty tasty gift from your in-laws. The in-laws that you just don't want any good reason to like.

So not only do you have to live with that lovely realization, but then you also have to send them a fucking "thank-you" note. 

As we played rock, paper, scissors to see who would actually send the email, I told him that I had already booked a babysitter for a lovely evening out with a new friend, who kindly relieved me so I could make it up to my husband without having to create blow-job coupons.

And so with my unshaved legs and unpedicured toes, the huz and I hit a deserted quiet wine bar and enjoyed each other's company for the first time in almost a year. No arguments and no nit-picking. Just two flights of wine and us.

And a melon martini.

And some wine.

And even though my son was wide awake enjoying David Letterman with the babysitter when we arrived home, and I'd most likely be getting less than 2 hours of sleep in a row, those three hours gave me hope that all the bickering and badgering isn't us.

Just a symptom. Not the source.

And while I did have to write the customary thank-you email, I will say my husband made sure I'd never ever forget my anniversary again.

ahem   

Because Peeing and Breastfeeding are Almost the Same Thing, Right?

At least, that's what a few folks are saying over at the YouTube. I've got nursing video over up over here and we're Festing Breasts today. Please join in raising our fists (and our boobs)!

No That's Not a Satellite. That's My Nipple.

Come join the breast festivities! And fidget is nursing LIVE RIGHT NOW. Go chat! And totally separate, I'm on television here too (no I'm not still hugely pregnant, thank you very much)

Now if only I could breathe through my nose.

And here's the Breast Fest Montage:

Bah Doze Ith Runny and I Canned Breafe

Along with three very tasty brownies from First Class, my husband gave me his cold.

So generous, my husband.

And of course, he has it when he's home, so he can nap, snooze, and relax it away, while I'm stuck here, chasing after two kids and washing my hands in a fairly obsessive manner so not to pass it on to my children.

Am I fooling myself, or is it possible for me to contain it and not give it to them?

Anyway, I have a few random things to discuss, all of which require your utmost attention.

• Anyone else excited about the season premiere of Queer Eye? Or I am totally alone in that endeavor? Or is it not even on tonight and I'm just drunk on cold medicine and juice?
• Speaking of drunk on cold medicine, did I see twin Bachelors last night? I looked up at my silent television to see two identical men vying after bevvy of desperate lovely beauties. Or maybe it was that I was just drunk on cold medicine and juice (can you tell I'm riding that excuse for as long as I can?).
• Is it wrong that I told my daughter that the Airborne kid's powder stuff was candy? I mean, it sure smells like it. And now that I've given it to her three times today, she thinks I'm the coolest mom around.
• I'm thinking they're riding this caveman thing just a little too far with a freaking sitcom? Eek.

And finally, tomorrow is the Breast Fest. Post some recorded video on your blog if you're nursing and if not, post the montage. And if you haven't seen the montage, I'm not sure what you're waiting for?! Go over there... and while you're there, leave a comment for our friendly yet totally misguided trolls.

Bottles Come in Stages, and Other Things That Make Me Realize I Really Don't Know What I'm Doing

I've been trying to give Drew a bottle since he's decided to start biting me during his bedtime nursing session. I know he's teething, and with my daughter, the biting never happened until at the tail end of a session, and then rarely at all. But with Drew, he's been chewing on my nipples for the last three nights about two minutes into his bedtime nursing session.

And I'm not liking it. At all.

So, I bought some different kinds of formula and decided to try to give him a bottle. It's helpful for a variety of reasons -- not only because if he'll take it, that means I won't be stuck doing bedtime until he's 2 years old (like I had to do with Quinlan), but then I won't have a series of very cute, but still very annoying bite marks on my boob.

And so, there he was, totally taking the bottle. Sucking heartily on the formula and I was extremely excited until I looked at the bottle and realized he had only taken maybe two ounces, which, for all his sucking, should have been the whole bottle.

Brilliant mother that I am, I realized that perhaps bottles come in different flows, or as my friend pointed out, different "stages." Oh yeah. Right. Stages.

Duh.

Poor kid was probably extremely thirsty drinking from a droplet. Heck. Even a droplet probably flowed faster.

Anyway, I think I'm just going to stick with a sippy cup since he takes one and I don't feel the need to start him on a bottle. Might as well stick with a sippy cup, right?

Any thoughts on this one? And seriously, the biting MUST stop. Have any of your weaned because your kid wouldn't stop using your boob as a chew toy? It was at every feeding session last night and I'm not so sure what to do.

And make sure you check out the Breast Fest montage . We need you to go vote on it, and put it up on your blog on Wednesday for the Great Virtual Breast Fest!

The Best Things in Life Are Free[cycled]

I figured that a good way to make up for all the thousands of diapers I've donated to landfills over the last few years was to join Freecycle. Just saying I'm a member seems to absolve my past Styrofoam and plastic tampon applicator sins.

Plus, I missed getting the 140 emails from Facebook so I figured this was a better option.

Now my limited knowledge of Freecycle prior to joining was that it was a give and take sort of place where if people had leftover pipecleaners, an old pair of sneakers, or a broken fan, they could list them on the site and some pipecleaner collector or weirdo with an old sneaker fetish could pick them up from you, thus saving them from eventually becoming the nasty smog-filled air that we breathe.

You've got to figure that anything worth any major value would be sold on eBay or Craigslist. And anything not worth selling but clearly not garbage material would be donated to a local charity of some kind.

Right?

So that would leave gobs of wire hangers, some popsicle sticks, and baby food jars. Things that I would definitely throw away, but people might want. For some crazy wire hanger party or popsicle stick festival.

Hey. I don't judge.

But then I realized that not only were people giving away decent things, like bags of clothes and a record player, but people were asking for things. Apparently you can send out "Wanted" emails, you know, in case YOU are the one having a wire hanger party or popsicle stick festival.

However, that's not the case, at least here in my humble but still very busy Atlanta suburb Freecycle group. People seem to think that Freecycle is their Christmas list. That's right, their proverbial letter to Santa. Take this request:

"Wanted: Working washer and dryer. Electric hook-up preferred"

or this one

"Wanted: A working lawnmower please. In very good condition only."

Um. Okay. I'm pretty sure if someone had a working washer and dryer, or a very good lawnmower, they would be using it. Or, perhaps selling it for some money before giving it to you.

Would it be wrong to say "Why not go and buy it?" or "I have one. But I'm USING IT"?

That's me, the Freecycle troll.

Anyway, just last week the mother of all "Wanted" emails came across my email box and I just couldn't help myself.

"Wanted: I am looking for a mobile home that is free for moving thanks."

Now that is ballsy. A freaking MOBILE HOME?

So here was my response:

"Wanted: One million dollars. Large bills are fine thanks."

Okay, so it was my response in my head because you just never know when you're going to need a bag of pipecleaners or hell, a new temporary home in Little Rock, Arkansas for the next 5 months.

And you thought my moving adventures were over.

-------

So, the Breast Fest Montage is LIVE. Go view, vote, and send out to the world!

Sometimes You Feel Like a Nut. Sometimes You Don't.

Fairly Odd Mother. Where did that come from? My super-smart husband came up with it.  I hope it was a compliment.

So you've got three kids. Was the transition from 1-2 or 2-3 harder? When I had my second child, I quit working, so I traded in one “baby” for another.  Having a second child was just more juggling, more diapers and more tears.  But, I wasn’t quite as freaked out the second time around. I had already lost my mind when I had my third child---my firstborn was not even 4 years old---so, again, not too much of an adjustment.  As long as I count heads (1-2-3) all day long, I can keep track of them. Instead, I found going from 0 to 1 to be the hardest of all.  We had a bumpy beginning as I learned how to adjust to ‘mama hood’.

How did your decision to homeschool come about? There were so many things that factored into my decision that you’d be asleep before you finished reading them.  Let’s just say that the lifestyle seemed interesting to me, so I borrowed a book from the library called “Teach Your Own” by John Holt.  After reading this, it was hard to think of any other option.  I have plenty of days where I need to go outside and scream for a moment, but I had those days before I had kids too. My husband thinks it is how I avoid going back to work (because, you know, being home with three kids all day isn’t ‘work’).

You knew Mom-101 before she was an uber famous blogger. Any good juice on her? (heh) The one thing that still makes me laugh and shake my head in disbelief is that when we met for the first time (in October of ’91 or ’92?), she was dressed like a member of Kris Kross.

This is Mothering at its Finest Right Here People

Pssst. I'm going pink for Whymommy, Mod*mom, and all our other breast cancer warriors. Care to join me?

It's My Life and I'll Cry If I Want To

Jessica, tell me about your blog name. I have a little trouble when it comes to naming things, be it characters in stories, children, or blogs. My first blog was called Blanketz n' Scarves because it was a knitting blog. Then it stopped being so much about knitting and became more a reflection of my life. And that's where the, oh so original, name came from. But it's not so bad actually. It's pretty succinct, there's little doubt about what readers are going to find, and it comes with a theme song; It's my life and I'll cry if I want to..

So you're a knitter. What else do you do when you're not blogging? Right now I'm on maternity leave so I'm busy taking care of the kids, nursing the baby, watching endless Charmed and Without a Trace reruns. When I'm not on leave I'm an administrative assistant who dreams of a more exciting career writing or changing the world or something.

Why did you start blogging? I jumped on the bandwagon years ago so that I could display my few knitting master pieces. Back then I posted once a month, if that. Then I changed blogs and started from scratch. I vowed to post every day and to work on my writing. And voila!

What can't you live without? The Internet! Oh and my family, ahem...

Apparently I've Been Working on the Breast Fest a Little Too Much

"Jingle Boobies, Jingle Boobies...."

Porno for Parents (And Yes, There are Prizes, but You're Gonna Have to Work For These)

So now I know what to do when I post on a controversial topic. Give away something fantastic and everyone agrees with me.

Sweet!

Speaking of that post, we're asking folks to share their own opinions on parenting ethics. How far would you go for your kids? Would you lie? Would you steal? Would you not return a duck?

Check it out and share your thoughts!

Thanks to everyone for participating in Reader Appreciation week. It's not quite over, considering the Mominatrix has a brand new column, sharing her thoughts on porn.

And if you're wanting one last chance at a prize, you'll need to listen live to the Mominatrix tonight (9-10pm EST) as she talks with Orgasm expert Lou Paget (9:15-9:30pm). The first five callers will win a tin of this fantastic all natural lube (invented and made by a Philly mama).

Yes. I said lube. I know it's not a stroller. But you know what good lube can lead to, don't you?

If you have a question for Lou, leave a comment or email me. OR better, call in (or try out Blog Talk Radio's new handy chat feature). I'll be co-hosting with this fabulous lady, who will share her thoughts on pregos and the Big O, plus a bunch of other fantastic stuff.

If you don't want to miss a Mominatrix podcast, make sure to subscribe via iTunes. It's now separate from my Motherhood Uncensored show.

And please make sure you send in a picture of your boobs at work by the end of the day today. We need all the pictures we can get!

It Depends.

I've been fortunate to have never been in a position where I've had my parenting ethics hugely challenged. Sure, I took a duck home accidentally. And I've discovered items in my bag that I didn't pay for thanks to a careless check out person.

But I've never had to lie or steal for the sake of my kids.

And I hope to never have to.

In trying to find a preschool for my daughter, I did find myself trying to think of ways to circumvent the waiting list. It was never about offering money. But I did consider telling them about my background in music and offering to teach music classes for the kids.

And it was only partially because I'd want to do it. There was definitely the other half of me that thought it might help her chances to get into the school.

I can't really say how far I would go for my kids. If they were starving, damn straight I'd steal food for them. And if they were in danger, then in my opinion, all rules fly out the window.

But I can't say I'd do anything over top to get them something they want. Like a tickle-me Elmo, or a Cabbage Patch doll.

Or an ivy-league school. 

But I just don't think it's fair to say parenting decisions are black and white. "I'll never steal." or "I'll never commit a crime."

Never say never. Because it really just depends.

So, how far would you go for your kids? Write a post about it today and be entered to win a $200 Visa Check Card. Click here for details.

Slave to the Mommy Trade

Mommies are slaves? Do tell. I was making light of being a mother.  No one ever told me once your child came out you instantly become a slave and your little being is now your master.  Every whim, every beck and call must be answered and attended to or the wrath of said child will be bestowed upon you.  It's not quite that bad now that she is 2 and is starting to understand the term "just a minute, baby."  But I was certain that her infancy was going to do me in.

So slavery drove you to blog, or something else? It started out as a way to keep our family in touch with our lives as the Navy moves us about the country, but most of them still live in the land of Dial Up and never bother to check more then their emails once a week.  Instead, blogging has become an outlet for me.  I can ask questions about motherhood or life and receive positive responses and answers.  My husband is always out to sea, writing is my way of feeling like I'm talking to someone other then my daughter  all day.  Its also a way for him to catch up on our lives. He can pull into port, log on and see new pictures or funny stories I can't or forget send him in a 200 word email.

So if you had to be someone's slave (other than your kiddo), who would it be? George Clooney is probably the only guy (significantly) older then me that I crush on.  He's funny and cute.  The Italian villa he owns doesn't hurt either.  I could live there, eat true Italian food all day every day.  Drink myself silly on wine...  ahh.

When you're not blogging, what are you doing? Appeasing my master.  Between play groups, toddler tumbling and swim class, I also enjoy shopping for shoes.  Not always for me, the kid or the hubby reap the rewards from my obsession as well.  When not bowing down to a 3 foot toddler or indulging in my shoe obsession I also like to read, watch mindless reality television, I've taught myself to crochet, and I've even started to drag myself to the gym 3 times a week.

Motherhood Insanity

So, Tiffany, why did you start blogging? I debated for months if I should take the plunge and blog.  So after much wishy washy behavior I finally decided enough was enough and this past summer Motherhood Insanity was born. I blog because if I didn't I might be forced to climb under the bed and hide. Having twins is crazy, they are always working together to get one past me. Throw a new baby into the mix and I'm just one step away from needing my own floor at the hospital. I blog because I know there are other moms out there struggling like me to keep their head above water some days. We moms aren't alone and should stick together less the children take over.

Twins? Please don't tell you dress them alike. Hell no. My twins aren't identical and honestly I rarely think of my girls as twins. They just happen to be two children that I had on the same day. They are as different as night and day and I want their clothing to reflect that. I have started letting them pick out their clothing which has proven to be hysterical in it's own right. I see other twins out dressed exactly alike and frankly I could just never do that to my girls. If they ever choose on their own to dress alike then I guess I'll have to live with it, but until then I'm promoting individualism.

So other than blogging and email, what can't you live without? Let's see, just one...I'll go with a good book.  I don't get to read as much as I would like but I love having one to look forward to and keeping a list of those I plan to read.  Currently I'm reading The Kite Runner.

A good book is almost as good as a good post. Got one to share? This is the post I wrote for my girls 4th birthday.

What's your take on the whole Britney thing? She's out of control and I want to be just like her when I grow up.  Hope you got the sarcasm on that one...wink wink. Someone should really make her wear some clothes!!! She certainly isn't helping herself out with all of her public displays but I'm sure living under a microscope is difficult.  Still...she seems rather crazy at the moment and in desperate need of some good PR and maybe a parenting class or two.

To Catch a Thief: Redux With a Giveaway Even Better Than a Stolen Duck

WOOT. Binkytown is the winner of the stroller (thanks to Random.org for its help). And Katie, email me with your address so I can send you the duck, etc. that you won from the duck raffle.

I recently discussed a small incident where I found that a lone little $6.95 ducky toy had accidentally fallen into my stroller basket after a brief romp through The Gap. This was after I had just packed my then sleeping 3-month-old son and near-3-year-old daughter back into the car.

I sat there for about 23 seconds (because I'm really good with time and I knew) and drove right home.

What followed was a series of lovely stories about good old fashioned thievery of the parenting kind. A box of laundry detergent, a shirt that wasn't rung up, and a pack of gum.

Seriously, what does gum cost these days? A buck?

We laughed. We giggled. We made light over our "free" things.

But then, THEN it became this whole "You're setting a bad example for your children because you pocketed a $6.95 duck and you're single handedly causing inflation and you don't want to teach your children to steal do you?"

WHAT?

Um. They're 4 months and 3 years old. And PS. I just didn't tell them I didn't pay for it. And really, what kind of awful conversation would that entail with a 3-year-old? Seriously, who wants that kind of pain? Agony? Torture?

"Honey, do you see this bunny here. Mommy took it. That's right. She stole it because she was too lazy to get you both out of the car and stroll you back into the store to give back the duck. So I'm probably going to go to hell for this, but I just wanted you to know that stealing is bad and wrong. Now go back to making pancakes out of playdoh and peeing on the floor."

HUH?

So maybe I'd talk to my elementary-aged kid who discovered it was not paid for. And bring it back. But are we really feeling awful about a $6.95 duck that no one but the internets knows about? Would it really weigh that heavily on your conscience? It is really why prices are so high (oh I get it, people are stealing gas....)? Really?

C'mon. Let me hear it.

--

So what does a stroller thief need most? A NEW STROLLER!

That's right. The folks at Mutsy are offering a Mutsy Spider stroller to one lucky Motherhood Uncensored reader.

It's a lightweight stroller with a swivel front wheel, fantastic seat recline,