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Tuesday, October 27, 2015

The Value of Experience

Growing up, we never had liquid hand soap in our house (or a second bathroom for our family of six or even a shower, for that matter). My mom kept a bar of green soap next to our sinks that we used to get clean--and a bar of that heavy duty Lava soap with sand in it next to the kitchen sink to get the tough stains off of my father's and brothers' hard-working hands.

As a child, I remember going to friends' houses and seeing that they had liquid soap and thinking that they were basically living in a castle. How fancy and extravagant it must be to have such a novelty.

Now that I have my own house, hand soap is one of the little indulgences that I allow myself. I use Seventh Generation because it's purdy, smells good and isn't full of chemical crap. But really, it's just a cheap and easy way to get clean and wax nostalgic. It is also a reminder of the little things that can excite and amaze a child.

The kids get the unscented kind so they don't use the whole damn bottle in one wash because it "smells pretty".

Mama gets the good stuff. Queen of the castle! Queen of the castle!

My nostalgia-induced hand soap addiction makes me wonder what those little memories will be for my kids. Will they think that having canned bread sticks with spaghetti at a friend's house is the most amazing meal ever like I did? Will they take after me and swoon over their best friend's vast collection of toys, not realizing that those toys are parting gifts in place of their parents' affection?

When will my children start to notice things like how some houses are warm and inviting and others are cold and lifeless? That some families value possessions over people and feel that having more is never enough.

Will my children see buying a cheap bottle of hand soap as a frivolity in life or as a necessity? Because it isn't the value of the soap that matters to me. It is that the idea of the soap has value to me. Emotionally. As silly as it sounds, that small indulgence ties me to my past while celebrating my present. When I soap up my children's hands, I remember what it felt like to think that such a thing was an extravagance. But now it is part of our everyday.

What about you? What is your "hand soap"?

This post is sponsored by Seventh Generation, but all opinions, sappy stories and hand soap addictions are my own.

If you share this post, I will buy you a pony. I suck at Twitter. I am OK at Facebook. Pinterest is my bitch. I am also on Bloglovin' and Instagram.

Thursday, October 15, 2015

A Farewell to Fatty

Diabetes took its toll.
Our family is no longer whole.

I will always miss your penetrating stares.
You glared away without a care.

You liked to puke with reckless abandon.
You and the boy had much in common.

You did not like to go outside.
Though when you did, the critters would hide.

I will miss you forever you fat, furry bitch.

If you share this post, I will buy you a pony. I suck at Twitter. I am OK at Facebook. Pinterest is my bitch. I am also on Bloglovin' and Instagram.

Thursday, October 8, 2015

How to make laundry less of a dirty job

Let’s talk dirty today. Real dirty. We’re talking grass stains, ketchup remnants and pit smell. Yep, let’s talk dirty laundry. I fucking hate it. Like, HATE doing laundry. It makes me feel like this:

But I have found a few corners to cut that help me hate it a tiny bit less. Like:

I have developed a sorting system that I think is pretty genius. I bought three big laundry bins. A green one for colors, a black one for darks and a white one for, well you get the point. This makes it easy for my three and five year olds to put their own dirty clothes away. Sometimes my husband even puts his dirty socks in there instead of leaving them on the bedroom floor. I know! Crazy, right?!?! Having the three colors just works better visually and the bins are bigger than those crappy laundry organizers you can buy.

Please note the Bruce on the loose...

Stain Removal
I found that having my stain remover in the basement where the laundry was pretty much guaranteed I never used it. Now, I have it upstairs with the dirty laundry so I actually spray the stains before I put the item in the laundry basket. My kids look less and less like filthy hobos every day! Winning!

As for detergent, even when the kids were babies, we never used Dreft. I think it is a total ripoff that preys on new moms’ emotions. I have, however, always used a dye- and fragrance-free soap because my husband is a freak that breaks out in full-body hives if I use anythings else. We are talking ER visit hives. Right now I am using Seventh Generation Free & Clear and liking it. It is tough on the stains my kids create but gentle enough to not make my hubby require an epi pen after wearing clothing washed in it. Their detergent is made of 97% renewable plant-based material, so not only does my family benefit from using it, but the environment does, as well.

But when do you do it? (TWSS)
I tend to tackle all of our laundry on Sunday. I spend the day getting all of it clean, load by load, then I dump it all in the middle of the living room for the kids to sort while watching America’s Funniest Home Videos. Seriously. They even put theirs away when they are done. They don’t fold it, but their clothes are wash-and-wear so they don’t really need folded anyway. They just throw each pile into the drawer it goes in and call it a day. It is a beautiful thing.

And now I have some GREAT news for you! Seventh Generation has agreed to give away FIVE $50 prize packs that include detergent, fabric softener, stain remover and more! Shipping and all. It makes me want to do this:

So, what are you waiting for? Enter already!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

This post is sponsored by Seventh Generation, but I proud to be partnering with a company that cares as much about what goes into their products as I do about the ones that I choose to use on my children.

If you share this post, I will buy you a pony. I suck at Twitter. I am OK at Facebook. Pinterest is my bitch. I am also on Bloglovin' and Instagram.

Saturday, October 3, 2015

Why I'm Awake

  • 2 am: girl goes to bathroom. Leaves hallway and bathroom lights on.
  • 2:30 am: boy is lonely and climbs into bed with me.
  • 2:30 - 3:30 am: boy proceeds to touch me with his feet for an hour.
  • 3:30 am: cat jumps on chest and proceeds to make nest.
  • 4 am: cat bores of sleep and decides to attack boy's head.
  • 4:30 am: girl comes in inconsolable because she can't find her unicorn (I can't make this shit up).
  • 5 am: girl returns to bathroom and leaves all lights on again.
  • 5:30 am: husband begins snoring so loud he even wakes himself up.
  • 6 am: oh, fuck it. I give up.
If you share this post, I will buy you a pony. I suck at Twitter. I am OK at Facebook. Pinterest is my bitch. I am also on Bloglovin' and Instagram.

Tuesday, September 1, 2015

Being Nice vs Being Kind

As I approach my 36th year on this earth, I have come to the conclusion that I have spent the last 35 years of my life trying to be nice. But I am not nice. And when I try to act as such it comes off as disingenuous. I am not good, or attractive or of good quality. I am loud, brash and often off-putting.

What I actually am is kind. Empathetic. Caring. But not “nice”. Though I may be loud, brash and overly outspoken, at the heart of things, I care deeply about people. About helping them when they are hurting. About putting their needs in front of my own. Sometimes to a fault. That is why I am honest about how broken I am at times. Because if bearing my soul a little too often helps even just one person, it is worth it.

I see niceness as trying to placate others with personality. That is bullshit. Being nice won’t help a person in need. Being kind will. Being nice just projects a rose-colored view on the world. Being kind changes the world.

So stop being nice. Start being kind. Start being the change you wish to see in the world. With kindness. With empathy. With love.

(Drops mic. Steps off soapbox. Opens beer.)

If you share this post, I will buy you a pony. I suck at Twitter. I am OK at Facebook. Pinterest is my bitch. I am also on Bloglovin' and Instagram.

Tuesday, August 25, 2015

Living life in color, once again

Lately, I have been struggling with changes that are going on in my life. A new job, my oldest beginning kindergarten and other changes have been hard on me. Not just because there is a different routine, but because it is slowly showing me that I am becoming myself again in many ways. I have come out of the shell of grief that my brother's death created and started to become the person I was before it all.

Unfortunately, I am realizing that the person that I was/am again might be a lot for certain people to handle. I am loud, and brash and honest. A lot of people have become used to the broken me and aren't as accepting of the new/old me. When I was grieving, I was subdued, quiet and did more listening than talking. Because I didn't have words. But the words are back, along with my annoying asshole personality.

So I am at a crossroads of whether I need to tone down who I am or whether I need to get rid of people who I like in my life but aren't excepting of the new me. Which is actually the old me. Dizzy yet? Yeah, me too.

I am just trying to get my bearings so I can start moving forward and decide who I want to be by my side along the way. It has been a painful struggle, but one that I know will help me grow in the long run. I have been blessed with a semi large group of friends. But I can't tell if they are friends that should be in my life or friends who I just keep there because we have history together.

But as I get older, and possibly wiser, I am sometimes finding it painful to go forward staying friends with people who are no longer supportive. So do I keep doing the work to stay friends with people out of loyalty or do I just slowly fade away from them? I'm not sure what the right answer is and it is a very big question to pose.

I struggle daily because I want to be liked. But my personality isn't very likable. I rub a lot of people the wrong way. Some people choose to embrace that as a positive quality. Others are just frustrated by my lack of social couth.

I guess this is all a somewhat apology for being absent here on the blog. I'm not exactly sure who I am or where I am heading so it is hard to give perspective on myself, let alone anything else.
Living life in color, once again.
I will end this post by letting you know that I am happier now than I have been in a long time. Maybe my whole life. I am just trying to make sure that I keep heading in the direction that leads to my own needs and happiness and not others'. That is a very hard path for me to take. But I am working on it.

If you share this post, I will buy you a pony. I suck at Twitter. I am OK at Facebook. Pinterest is my bitch. I am also on Bloglovin' and Instagram.

Friday, July 17, 2015

Diaper-free is the life for me!

Well, it's official: we are now a no diaper household. Yep, I finally bit the bullet and potty trained The Boy.

It may seem like a time for nothing but celebrating, but I feel a bit of sadness at the lack of diapered booties running around my house. (No, I am not getting knocked up again so don't even go there. Not today, Satan!)

Sure, tiny toddler whitey tighties are cute and all, but there was just something about an itty bitty booty in a diaper that I have always loved. A diapered booty is just so sweet and innocent and pure (unless said diaper is overflowing with poo, of course).

Also, my son has the aim of a drunken sailor so every bathroom in my house smells a whole lot like pee. Seriously, it's like my son thinks that his thing is a damn garden house and every surface in my semi-clean bathroom is a thirsty plant.

Before we made the final call to go full-undies, I made sure to take some pictures of his last day in diapers.

My baby boy.


I especially liked the Seventh Generation diapers in the end because they just looked so simple and clean. No cartoon figures or cutesy patterns, just an earthy tone that harkened simpler times. I wish I had been using Seventh Generation diapers sooner so I could have given more of my photos a timeless feel when I took nakey bakey pics. I also like that they aren't harsh on a baby's skin--in fact they are the ONLY diaper on the market with an unbleached core. Believe it or not, I actually care deeply about what I put on my kids and into the earth.

And the best part? From May through September, for every pack of Seventh Generation Free & Clear Diapers you purchase at Whole Foods, Seventh Generation will donate a pack of diapers to nonprofit organizations that provide services to families in need across the United States. Win-win!

This post is sponsored by Seventh Generation, but I proud to be partnering with a company that cares as much about what goes into their products as I do about the ones that I choose to use on my children.

Wednesday, June 10, 2015

Fatty has diabeetus

Fatty has been sick lately. Really sick. We thought she had a UTI, but it just wasn't getting better after two rounds of antibiotics, so we took her in for more testing. $300 in blood tests later, we got a diagnosis:

So what does that mean, besides that Fatty is now only one Werther's Original away from officially becoming the curmudgeonly old man from Cocoon? Well, it means that I have to chase her geriatric ass around the house twice a day to dope her up with insulin. YAY! Because I needed one more thing to make getting the kids to school and me to work in the mornings any more difficult. It also means that we now have $200 in insulin, needles and special food to buy a month.

I am sure some of you are asking if all of this expense and hassle is worth it, to which I reply, "Of course it is you heartless fucking douche canoe." Because that cat is a part of my fucking soul and all of this crap is totally worth it to have her glare at me lovingly for however much time we can buy her.

Bitch, I will cut you.

The other morning I literally had to comb through every damn room of the house for 45 minutes trying to give her her damn medicine so she won't DIE!

Damn you, Fatty. You awesome geriatric ball of fat, fur and love.

If you share this post, I will buy you a pony. I suck at Twitter. I am OK at Facebook. Pinterest is my bitch. I am also on Bloglovin' and Instagram.
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