Another letter to Hank.

Oh, Mr. Baby.

You are now nine months old, but I started this entry back when you were right around seven. I hardly ever get a chance to sit down and write, but with the time change, you're going to bed earlier and giving your dad and me some much-needed free time in the evening.

So yes, as I said, you're now nine months old, but you're under the impression that you're about two years old or so. You've been pretty much anti-crawling up until recently, when you started pulling yourself along with your arms, folding one leg underneath you, and using the other foot as a rudder. You can get pretty far using this method. Your favorite thing to do is walk by hanging on to our fingers and pulling yourself up. You've even tried to pry our fingers loose from your hands to attempt standing on your own. It's especially exciting to go for walks (or stomps, as it sounds) right before your bath, when you're barefoot and down to just your diaper.

You haven't officially said your first word yet, but you've transitioned from screaming "DA DA DA DA DA!" to "Ma ma ma ma ma" and now have been working on "Wooowww... wow" at various pitch levels. You also love screaming with ear-splitting delight at cats, dogs and Elmo. Whatever it takes to keep Yo Gabba Gabba and Spongebob out of the house.

You're starting to discover the joys of feeding yourself. It makes a humongous mess, but sometimes I'll spoon out a little soft food onto your high chair tray and let you go to town. You also do a good job with your mesh feeder and the mess is significantly easier to clean up. You haven't been too excited about kiwi or avocado, but you love cottage cheese and bananas. I've also let you try things from my plate - this morning you had some biscuits and gravy - well, just the gravy. Your favorite seems to be tomato soup. You absolutely hate the pureed meat from a jar. I guess I can't blame you on that one.

What else? I'm proud to announce that as of November 1st, you officially have a tooth. You didn't seem to be too bothered by its arrival. You're also getting a lot more hair. Your eyes are more or less blue, and you go back and forth on who you look like. Your new favorite games (in addition to the old standby "Where's the Baby?") are "This Little Piggy" and "The Itsy Bitsy Spider." You've finally started to show an interest in books, although "Goodnight Moon" seems to make you angry for some strange reason.

Hank, there's just so much you've done over the relatively short time you've been here with us that I can't even sum it all into one blog entry or even an entire baby book. Your daddy and I - and the rest of our family - can't wait to see what you'll do next. We all love you so much that it's hard to even type those words without tearing up. You are our funny, ornery, sweet, smart, stubborn little boy.

Baby-Snarking Club: Kristy's Big Day (#6): Chapters 1 - 3

So if you're new to snark, this is where I basically dissect books/TV shows I loved as a kid and critique them with my adult bias at the helm. Today we will be snarking the first three chapters of Kristy's Big Day, my favorite Baby-Sitter's Club book.

The cover:

The tagline reads "Kristy's a babysitter - and a bridesmaid, too!" I guess it's not unlike go-getter Kristy to wear lots of hats, mostly of the collie-bearing baseball variety.

So Kristy is all bridesmaided out in her yellow empire waist dress with a white sash and some snappy slingbacks. Oh, and a wreath of flowers on her head. She looks roughly like a teenager, so good for Hodges on that one. He makes some major missteps later in the series, like losing his grasp on what Japanese people look like. 

Kristy is adjusting a similar flower wreath on stupid Karen’s head. To her credit, Karen does look pretty cute in her flower girl dress (also yellow with a white sash), ruffly socks and patent leather shoes. She has straight bangs and wavy, shoulder length hair, a far cry from the crazy top-of-the-head ponytails and Sally Jesse Raphael glasses she rocks in her own series.

Then there’s Andrew. Andrew is wearing a little blue blazer, creased khakis, a yellow tie and untied brown oxfords (a nice touch). However, instead of a normal-looking four-year-old boy like in the picture above, Andrew has Reese Witherspoon’s hair circa Sweet Home Alabama, ears like Jeep fenders and the face of Donald Trump. Seriously, did you click on the link to the cover? Here's a close-up:

Also, is he tying his own tie? I guess when you look like The Donald, you learn how to dress like him pretty quick.

Chapter 1:

Like most books in this completely unpredictable series, Chapter 1 begins with a quote. It's Karen, running her mouth about Ben Brewer, the ghost of one of her relatives that resides in her attic. Andrew's having an internal meltdown, which Kristy notices and tells Karen to STFU, even though she admits to be a little freaked out herself. "Why was I letting a six-year-old get away with this?" she asks. I've been asking the same question for years, Kristy. Every one of you in this series lets Karen get away with whatever the hell she wants and I can't figure out why no one's put their foot in her ass yet.

Kristy begins to give us the rundown on her family situation, which should be imprinted in your permanent memory bank if you've ever read more than one BSC book. Blahblah Bradford Court, Watson, mansion all the way on the other side of town. Then she says something that never really made sense to me: "Watson is okay, but sometimes he can be a jerk." Watson never came across as a jerk in an arrogant dickhead way; maybe Ann just wasn't familiar with the term "douchebag," which is more of the impression Watson gives me. Or maybe it didn't exist in 1987. At any rate, I just subsitute "douche" for "jerk" and it makes me like this book a little better.

So Kristy's mom interrupts her pondering to call her, Karen and Andrew to dinner; they're having pasketti. Kristy remarks that "ever since Mom got engaged to Watson, she's been in a great mood." 

We get a brief introduction to Kristy's younger brother, David Michael, and their two stereotypical teenage brothers, Sam and Charlie, who do stereotypical teenage boy things like eat a lot and drive cars. There's a random paragraph about David Michael transferring to Karen's private school, a reportedly "messy" situation that never comes to pass in any subsequent books.

Blahblah brothers and sisters discussion, Charlie wants some wine, wedding date is set, and we reach the point of the book: Elizabeth asks Kristy to be her bridesmaid. Then all canon jumps the rails as Kristy craps her drawers over wearing "a long fancy dress with flowers in (her) hair." Sam tries to remind Ann that Kristy is dyed-in-the-wool butch - "Since when do you like long fancy dresses and flowers?" - but Ann's having none of that. Kristy is EXCITED to be a bridesmaid. Andrew, of course, has to be a pansy-ass when his role in the wedding is announced - escorting Karen down the aisle. But as we know by the cover, Andrew puts on his big-boy khakis and does it anyway.

It's a weird place to end the chapter, but there it is.

Chapter 2:

Shockingly, Ann saves Chapter 3 for the long-winded explanation about the club's inner workings and its members' one-dimensional personality traits. This one is a long-winded exposition of how this wedding was only made possible by the Baby-Sitters Club. In a nutshell, because it's really boring:

• Kristy's mom's company (just referred to as "the company") springs a two-week business trip to Europe (also rather vague) on her, scheduled to overlap with the wedding. I really had no idea that Elizabeth's job was that lucrative.
• Someone already wants to buy the Thomas house. The guy is even willing to pay more than the asking price to be in there by July. This was the 80's, you know.
• All this mayhem has forced them to have the wedding in two and a half weeks. ZOMG PANIC TIME
• There are a lot of a lot of recipes for crab crepes on Google. I looked this up because I'd never really heard of using crepes as hors d'oeuvres as Elizabeth mentions, but maybe they're going to cut them up.
• "Mom went to her bedroom and called Watson privately."

• Kristy claims to be too old to whine about this inconvenient situation and the unfairness of it all. Oh, Kristy. You're never too old to whine, I promise.
• Kristy retreats upstairs to wax nostalgia about living next door to Mary Anne, then lets guilt overtake her and goes downstairs to help Elizabeth make wedding to-do lists. The forecast calls for lots of children. HOW EVER WILL WE DEAL WITH THIS!?!@

Chapter 3

Chapter 3 is the new Chapter 2 in this particular book. We do get an "outrageous" Claudia outfit description that sounds pretty moderate compared to most of them:

She was wearing a black leotard and skintight red pants under a white shirt that was so big it looked like a lab coat. Claudia's a wonderful artist and she had decorated the shirt herself, covering it with designs she had painted in acrylic. She had pinned back her long black hair at the sides with red clips.

We know you can do better than that, Klawdeeuh.

The only other thing worth mentioning is that Sam prank-called the club before Kristy got there, saying, "Hello, this is Marmee March. I need a sitter for Amy tonight, someone who has experience with little women." I'm amused and at the same time annoyed, because really, what 15-year-old boy would make a Little Women reference in a prank call?

The rest of the chapter goes something like this:

 Fin.

Since these take so long to do (and to read, I imagine), I'll only be doing three or so chapters per entry.

I feel stupid (and contagious).

I've been playing SongPop on my new phone, and it's pretty obvious by now that I'm terrible at it except when it comes the 90's Alternative category. (Seriously, if you want to win, challenge me at Modern Rap or Today's Hits.) I know nearly every song and can even remember what year of junior high or high school I was listening to it. Now I understand why my parents were always listening to Dan Fogelberg and Ann Murray in the car.

How I wanted to look in 1995.

Speaking of which, Hank and I were driving home the other night and "Smells Like Teen Spirit" came on the radio. That song will always and forever remind me of a very important night in my freshman life that just didn't quite work out...

It was early 1996, maybe March or so, and I had started hanging out with this kid, David, whose personal hero was Kurt Cobain, much like a bunch of boys at that time, I'd guess. There were a group of juniors at our school who decided to form a band, Endless Nameless, and made plans to put on their first concert at a local venue normally reserved for 13-year-old girls' birthday parties. Everyone who listened to that kind of music and fancied themselves "grunge" was planning to be there.

With my ribbed turtlenecks and tapered jeans, I was so far from grunge it was laughable, but I so wanted to fit in with that crowd. (Interesting side note: Kyle, my future husband, was part of the most notorious group of grunge kids in the school.) But being a cheerleader and completely insecure, that wasn't going to happen. Still, I got dressed in what I'm sure was my best flannel shirt and Airwalks and walked over to the Frazee Center from my house with David and my friend Jackie, who had dated one of the guys in Endless Nameless.

How I actually looked in 1995.

When we arrived, the music had already started and kids were still flooding in. I balked. Flat-out refused to go in. I had an internal anxiety attack I had to fight to keep from becoming public. There was no way I was going in there with all those people who knew how to mosh and dyed their hair with Kool-Aid. I was sure I'd be labeled a poser, which was a huge insult to a 15-year-old in 1996.

Mercifully, the sky turned navy blue and a huge storm started to roll in. I convinced David and Jackie that it wouldn't be a good idea to be packed into the tiny building if a tornado were to touch down. The storm ended up being big enough that the show was called off.

I had looked so forward to that show, so I guess even if I had sucked it up and gone in, I would have been disappointed when the weather shut the party down. Still, being that insecure kept me from really being comfortable with how I looked for a long time, and I still struggle with it off and on even today. At that time, I was so afraid of disappointing my friends and my parents, who most likely would have loved me even if I'd decided to start shopping at Goodwill instead of Gap. I don't have many regrets, but not letting myself be myself is a major one. Someone get on that time machine business.

Too much booty in the pants and other hazards of childbirth.

(This post was inspired by my friend Mandy of This Girl's Life.)

At 5'2" and 115 to 120-ish pounds after giving birth, I feel like I have little room to complain about how I look. With regular clothes on, it's not immediately obvious that my figure has changed. But it has... quite a bit. I guess I was lulled into a false sense of security a few weeks after having Hank, because stress, depression and being unable to do anything besides cater to his every whim let me get down to a weight I hadn't seen in years. I lost about 40 pounds in two months and was fitting into jeans I wore in high school.

But then I stopped being miserable and started eating again and realized that crazy weight loss was too good to be true.

While I weigh more or less the same after having Hank as I did before, things have settled in some not-so-flattering spots. For one thing, I have a C-section scar at my bikini line. That means the skin doesn't really have anywhere to go around it, so I have two weird rolls that balance on top of it. It makes things like low-riding pants and underwear uncomfortable and unattractive, and tight-fitting tops completely out of the question.

I have no idea what size jeans I wear now. I had to go through three pairs the other day to find ones that fit. The Levi's that I'm wearing right now? Size 3 Short, super comfortable and covers up Roll #1 (the larger of the two, situated under my navel) nicely. But jeans whose tags bear the same size, jeans that I couldn't keep up without a belt before, are now so tight around my middle that I can't bend over without some serious regrets. "Busted can of biscuits" is an accurate description of how I feel on the regular.

Unfortunately, my bustline didn't get the message that things were supposed to expand. Prior to Hank, I measured at a weird, but appropriate size - 35A/B. I wore 34B bras and they fit the way they're supposed to fit. After deciding to stop nursing (at which point I made it to a 36C, yowza), the girls shrunk. A lot. I am now a 34AA. For the first time since high school, I've resorted to padded bras to make up for the loss. Not a fan.

While the remedy for the bra size is way too costly and painful for me to consider right now, I guess the logical solution to the pants situation is to work out. Just typing those words made me involuntarily sigh heavily. I absolutely despise working out. People who update their Facebooks with their exuberance about their morning run or daily trip to the gym... I just don't understand how their brain works. I'm not sure that it's wired correctly, because I don't know how any logical person could find anything so tedious to be fun. Believe me, I've attempted it all. I've bought the shoes, I've tread on the mill, and I still just hate everything about it. I'm thinking about attempting a local cardio class next week, which doesn't involve (a) picking up anything heavy, (b) moving without going anywhere or (c) attempting dance moves that my body was not meant to do. We'll see how that goes..

I have a husband who compliments me regularly, and not in a cheesy, forced way. He genuinely thinks I'm hot, which is sweet of him, but at the same time... I mean, he loves White Castle and peanut butter on his waffles, so it's not out of line for me to question his taste. Maybe he can picture me the way I was before.

I think this is just one of the many unexpected (or under-emphasized) things that come along with children that you have to accept as part of the package. No, you can't smoke that cigarette. No, you can't order that glass of wine with dinner. No, you can't go out for sushi for 10 months. No, you can't bend over to tie your shoes. No, you can't sleep in. No, you can't get the whole house clean in one day. No, you can't fit into your old jeans without a fight, and your jeans will probably win. No, you can't keep them tiny forever, as much as it breaks your heart to know that they're already becoming independent...

...but that's another entry for another time.

The Wardrobe Project, Day Whatever

It's been a minute, hasn't it? I haven't felt very inspired lately. I've been wearing scrubbies to work because I've been cleaning out our basement storage units, so there's no need for getting fancy. But I thought this outfit was semi-cute, so it seemed worthy of a quick WP photo session in the bathroom.

Black Converse Chuck Taylors: I've had these since 2004-ish. I remember buying them on sale at Urban Outfitters when I lived in Boston.
Green apple locket: Claire's, $1 (!!!).
Chambray-ish button-down shirt: TJ Maxx, $10. I've been wanting one of these forever. This one has some shiny thread mixed in.
Skinny jeans: Old Navy. I totally forgot I had these until I was switching winter and summer clothes out last week. It's amazing how many fall/winter things I have to wear now that I'm not hugely pregnant.

It's Monday. We need...

1. Amazon gift cards.
2. Finally upgrading my iPhone to a 4. For $1.06, no less! I can finally use apps again.
3. Driving through a downpour of falling leaves on a sunny afternoon.
4. Hank's wrinkly smile.
5. Finding $6 from last winter in my coat pocket.

What else?

Birth this.

Pictured: not me. Thank goodness.

After purchasing an organic wood teething necklace (complete with a hemp cord) off of eBay, I was amused at this "granola" decision of mine. While I've taken steps to make sure that we buy organic baby food and BPA-free bottles and whatnot, I won't be expecting the Crunchy Mama's Brigade to mail me a membership card anytime soon. But organic wood and hemp necklaces (which, by the way, is huge and hideous, but Hank likes it)? What's next? Co-sleeping? Baltic amber teething beads? Refusal to buy gender-specific toys and clothing? (Ain't no way.)

Then I went to Melissa Beck's blog (yes, Melissa from "The Real World" - she is honest, hilarious and just skreet enough to be legit) and read Josie Maran's birthing story and Melissa's subsequent reaction, which was, in essence: good for you, honey, but you're gonna break your arm from patting yourself on the back so much.

You really need to read it yourself to understand why my reaction was a little more to-the-point.

They didn't have "Boo, you whore."

If you're feeling tl;dr... she gave birth in her backyard and wants a freakin' cookie for it.

Guess what? I wasn't laboring in a kiddie pool inhaling the scent of honeysuckle and "taking in the view between contractions" - I had my baby in a hospital. I toughed labor out for as long as I could take it - I didn't even go to the hospital until six hours after I knew I was officially in labor - but eventually agreed to an epidural. Then the epidural wore off and I was whiny and screechy until the midwife came in and realized I hadn't dilated past two centimeters in the entire time I'd been there... so then... hold onto your Moby Wraps... I had a C-section! Yes, the party of natural birth was shut down.

However, there were no "impatient doctors" - my midwife spent the night in the hospital so she could be right there for me and another one of her patients who was having her baby at the same time. And yes, there were plenty of "beeping machines," but it was the beeping from one of those machines that let us know when Hank's heart rate was dropping so it could be corrected immediately. I'd like to see your hummingbirds figure that one out, Josie.

"When I held Indi and Rumi for the very first time, I knew that I already had everything I needed to be a mom to them."

Huh. When I held Hank for the first time, I was like "OHSHIT." But that might have had something to do with not being in a kiddie pool in Pennsylvania and not being surrounded by my friends and family.

That's another thing. Josie keeps yakkin' about being so thrilled to have her whole fam damnily all up the mix. That right there is the only time when I felt instinct kick in: I wanted everyone to leave so I could die alone in peace. I no longer wanted encouragement or medical intervention. If I couldn't die right there, I just wanted to go home and be pregnant for the rest of my life. And I certainly didn't want anyone without a medical degree down there watching the action.

You cannot tell me that this woman didn't cuss her husband out at least once through the four-hour process (which, by the way, my labor lasted 29 hours but whatevs) or yell at her mom to get out of the room or scream "I can't do this"... even if it was all just in her head. You can look back on childbirth and think, "Okay, that wasn't so bad," but I think you're full of honeysuckle if your recollection of it was that you were at one with the universe the entire time. And while the bead gifts were lovely and meaningful, I really doubt that the healing properties of mother-of-pearl were at the forefront of her thoughts.

Don't get me wrong - I'm sure there is something beautiful about giving birth on your own terms and letting your body handle it. But the process of expelling another human being from your body sucks, regardless of where it's done and who's presiding over the matter. That's why I dig Heather's blog. Heather is about as crunchy as it gets - she delays vaccines, extends breastfeeding and has had two of her four children at home. And she keeps it real. I have been reading her stuff for years and while she's staunch in her beliefs, she's not judgy or condescending.

So yeah... shut up, Josie.

This is as crafty as it gets around here.

 Yep, with a little help from Hobby Lobby, I made that.

I got the idea from 52Mantels (this one in particular)... I love that prayer. Simple and relevant to all seasons, but especially fall.

So first I nosed around Google until I found a suitable frame for the quote (I searched for "baroque frame vector," I think). This one was a free preview that I blew up in MS Publisher. I suppose I could have paid for one that would have printed at a little higher resolution, but it's going up on the mantel and didn't really print that pixellated after I turned it into a PDF.

I typed up the quote (using "Monoment" from DaFont.com and "Baskerville Old Face" for the credit), centered everything, and printed it out on grayish mottled cardstock.

Then I checked the trusty Hobby Lobby website to make sure that what I wanted was on sale... sho nuff, frames and scrapbook paper were half price and 30% off, respectively.

 While the frame was easy to pick out - I'd seen it last week and liked it - trying to find suitable scrapbook paper was not as simple. I'd like to point out that, being a non-crafter and all, I know next to nothing about scrapbooking. So is Thanksgiving a not-often-scrapbooked holiday or what? There was hardly anything fall-related except for Halloween (and all those were ridiculously cute and made me want to start getting on board the crazy scrapbook train like, yesterday).

Anyway, as you can see from the above photos, I chose this two-sided page because I wasn't sure what would look good with the cardstock. I ended up going with the yellow stripe because the swirls on the frame kind of blended in with the floral pattern.

So yeah. I cut the paper to size, cut out the quote (leaving a little white space all the way around), glued it down on the scrapbook page, and stuck it in the frame. I'm really happy with it and looking forward to finding something else I can put in there for Christmas.

I feel like this was an extra long entry for something that didn't really require it. Anyway... go out there and make one of your own. If I can do it, anyone can. I'll post pictures of the completed fall mantel soon.

How to Paint a Chevron Pattern on a Pumpkin: An Illustrated Guide

1. Get the necessary supplies: masking tape, ruler, pencil, paint color of your choice, paint brush, and of course, a pumpkin.

2. Measure out your chevrons and mark with pencil dots. Mine were two inches long and 2 and 1/4 inches apart. Tape those suckers off. Looks good so far!

3. Attempt to recreate an even row for the next section. Realize it looks awful and the tape isn't really sticking anyway.

4. Tear all the tape off.

5. Start over using clear packing tape. Measure each piece first and then assemble it before placing it on the pumpkin. Congratulate yourself on figuring this out.

6. This stupid tape doesn't stick either and the little structure doesn't account for a round surface. Discard tape; bang head on kitchen table.

7. Take a deep breath. Remember where your strengths lie - painting - and go on dafont.com to chose a nice script initial to paint on the pumpkin instead of f***ing with tape and all that bulls**t.

8. Oh, good. Your paintbrush is old and terrible and silver paint doesn't really show up that well on a white pumpkin.

9. Wipe the paint off the stupid pumpkin and take it outside to be with its friends in its natural state. Vow never to craft again.

Good Things for your Friday.

By Ryan Feerer

1. Writing with a brand new black Sharpie marker.
2. Hearing your baby work toward saying "Daddy." The "Da" and the "dee" come seconds to hours apart, and he definitely won't do it on command, but it's getting there.
3. Painting a silver chevron pattern on a Grey Ghost pumpkin. I haven't done this yet, but it's going to be awesome.

The Wardrobe Project: Days 9 and 10

From Monday (counterclockwise from top left):

Navy blue shirtdress: Moda International on eBay for $8 (including shipping!). I thought from the pictures that this was going to be an actual shirt material, but it's actually really thick jersey. I wasn't crazy about it at first, but then I added the belt.
Tan skinny belt: $3 at K-Mart. Totally cute notched design, and for three bucks? Yes, please.
Oatmeal-colored cotton cardigan: Kohl's for like $8. I am generally not a fan of Kohl's, but every once in a while I'll find something decent. Dillard's had these for sale at the same time I bought this for $20. It pays to shop around.
Brown elephant necklace: JCrew knockoff on eBay for $1 or something ridiculous like that.
Tan riding boots: Lucky Brand; $200-ish on endless.com a couple years ago. Okay, this was a big splurge. I think I used my entire tax return to buy these, but I adore these boots and am so glad I bought them.

From today:

I used this picture from Pinterest as inspiration...

...and came up with this.

 

Melon-colored Dolman-sleeve top: TJ Maxx; $8 or something like that. I bought this last year when I was about 8 months pregnant and sick to death of my clothes, but still refusing to cave and buy anything labeled as maternity wear.  

Gray skinny corduroys: Lauren Conrad (from Kohl's) thrifted from a Facebook friend; $5. I used to hate wearing cords for the longest time, but I love these.

Gray scarf: K-Mart; $3.

Tortoiseshell glasses: Claire's or something. They're not prescription. I just love wearing glasses sometimes.
Boots: You know the boots.

"Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower." -Albert Camus

I'm in kind of bad mood, so I'm cheering myself up with another Top 5 list. Get used to them. In honor of the upcoming chilly weather (yay!) this one is the Top 5 Things I Love About Autumn.

1. The clothes. So many great colors, patterns, and fabrics. I love me a flip flop, but boots are my favorite kind of shoes. I also don't have the cutest legs (they're pale and kind of skinny), so tights are a big plus, too. And layering makes me feel like I worked harder at planning my outfits than I actually do.

2. The temperatures. Hot weather is unpleasant to me. I do not look forward to summer at all. I am itchy and sneezy and sweaty and frizzy from May to September. I much prefer 50 to 60 degree days and chilly evenings wrapped up in a blanket around a bonfire.

3. The drinks. Just off the top of my head... caramel apple cider, peppermint hot chocolate, soy chai, salted caramel hot chocolate, and hot tea with honey and lemon. Mmm-hmm.

4. The decor. I've already busted out some glittery fake gourds and pumpkins for the mantel and have potted three mums for outside. I have big plans for the fall decorations this year.

5. The holidays. I haven't been a big Halloween fan since sixth grade or so, but I'm looking forward to it this year because we got Hank an adorable costume and I can't wait to tool around in his stroller and see all the other equally adorable costumes. On the other hand, I adore Thanksgiving. This year, Kyle and I are hosting it, which will probably be horribly nerve-wracking and messy, but I'm looking forward to wearing an apron and making magic in the kitchen. I also love Christmas shopping with my mom or my cousin Rachel on a crisp fall day.

5 Incredibly Useful Baby Items Under $5 (or free!)

Surprise! Baby stuff is expensive. Although I've always loved a good bargain, it's now even more of a priority. Here are five little things that I've found to be super cheap and extremely helpful in baby raisin' - without compromising safety or quality.


Plastic grocery bags + empty Kleenex box (free): I can't take credit for this idea - I read it somewhere else quite a while ago. However, it's been a great way to corral all those bags into one place for diaper disposal. We don't even mess with a diaper pail... just yank a bag from the box, toss the dirty dipe in the bag, and throw it out with the regular garbage. We have one in Hank's changing table and one in the car. 

Dollar General bottles ($1): It'll probably become apparent after a short time that I love the Dollar General (around here, we put "the" in front of all retail stores and restaurants - the Wal-Mart, the Target, the Pizza King). Don't get it twisted with the Everything's a Dollar-type stores - they are more or less terrible in my experience. Anyway, I have had great luck with the bottle I picked up on a night where I was headed to meet family for dinner and realized that I had forgotten Hank's bottle. The DG was the closest store to where I was going and I figured I could just make do with it for that night. It ended up being one of the best dollars I've ever spent - they don't leak, the nipples are medium flow and just perfect for Hank, and they're BPA free. I went back and got two more after realizing they make Dr. Brown look like he got his medical degree from a gumball machine.

Dollar General socks ($1 to $2): I find baby socks to be very frustrating. They're always so huge and oddly shaped and the cuffs are never tight enough to prevent accidental sock removal. Dollar General, however, makes the best baby socks EVER. They're made of really thick, soft terrycloth, they wash very well and they actually stay on.

Lots-o-Links ($4.99 on Amazon): Use these for attaching toys to strollers and high chairs (to avoid having to constantly pick up and clean the damn things once your baby figures out how awesome gravity is), to extend dangling toys from the car seat handle, or just as regular toys themselves. Hank loves munching on the ones with extra bumpy textures.

Zippered garment/bedding bags (free with the purchase of whatever's originally inside): I've always used these for comforter/blanket storage, but their usefulness can not be overstated once you have kids. And since they seem to be the gold standard for baby item packaging, you can accumulate quite a lot of them. I use them for storing Hank's clothes by size, for toys, bedclothes... anything you can think of. The package that the Lots-O-Links came in? Full of outgrown socks. Added bonus: we have a very old house that occasionally gets musty-smelling when it's humid, and the garment bags do a great job of keeping that smell at bay.

Here's the 411.

Hi there. We know each other, don't we? Or at least we did once upon a time. Don't lie - you stumbled upon this blog after some hardcore Google stalking, didn't you? It's okay; we've all done it. Ain't no judging here.

So clearly, you're wondering what DogmaticSusie's been up to for the last few years. Let's get caught up - or let's get acquainted, in case you have no idea who I am.

Yes, I am living in my hometown again. I moved back in 2008 after being away for eight years because I got divorced. Yes, I also got divorced. That's all I'll talk about on that subject. You understand.

Anyway. Living back in the ol' C'ville has been interesting. There are a lot of negative things associated with living in an economically depressed area where pursuing an education is seen as gettin' above your raisin'. However, being close to family is invaluable and there are other good people here, people I remembered from high school but never bothered to get to know because it's high school and you tend live in your own little bubble there.

Which brings me to my next point. Yes, I am married to Kyle.

Yes, that guy who hung out on the back stairs who wore combat boots and lots of flannel and did the "Long December" video everyone remembers from media class in 1997. We both came back home for the same reasons and ended up trying our luck with Match.com. Three years and many awesome road trips later, we had the best wedding ever at our house in the middle of nowhere.

Oh, and if you've been wondering, yes, I have a lot of tattoos.

Nine of them right now, including two half-sleeves on my upper arms. No, I don't think that makes me trashy or irresponsible. With the exception of one which is rarely visible, I've thought through each of them for months to years before seeking out reputable, talented artists to make them a reality. And I can cover all of them up with relative ease when the situation calls for it.

And finally, yes, we have a little boy. His name is Hank (just his nickname, but that's good enough for the Internets). He is almost seven months old (!!!) at the time of writing and he's just as brilliant and adorable as you would expect from two people such as me and Kyle.

See?

I really never gave much thought to being a parent until Hank surprised us early last summer. It's true what they say about getting to a point where you can't remember what life was like before your child.(I do, however, remember what it was like to take naps whenever I felt like it. That's hard to forget.) Like this morning... I got up to get ready for work and came downstairs to this little guy smiling and kicking his feet excitedly. How did I ever manage to start my mornings before?

Oh, and I finally finished my Bachelor's degree. It's in English with a concentration in Technical Writing. Need some words? I'm your gal.

So there we go. Is everything clear as mud now? Good deal, Lucille.

Guilt as a maternal instinct.

I have always heaped a lot of guilt on top of myself. It's just part of my sparkling personality. Becoming a mother has not helped alleviate any of it. As you can imagine, it's gotten infinitely worse. Another human being's welfare and personality is up to me (and Kyle, my husband, but I haven't started feeling guilt for someone else - yet).

So as much as I wish that this picture was a cute cartoony representation of my life, it's not. I have to work 37 and a half hours a week in a town 25 minutes away from our house because it is not financially feasible for me to stay home with Hank. This causes much guilt. I feel bad about relying on my mom, my mother-in-law and Kyle (whose job is flexible enough for him to be able to stay home two days a week) to watch him. I feel terrible about shuttling him around from place to place every day. I feel like an absolute monster for even thinking about wanting to do something for myself after work, like shop or hang out with friends... I have yet to do that, by the way, and I've been back to work full-time since mid-August. Christmas shopping will be interesting.

When I come home at night, it's a race against the clock to get everything done. I have approximately four hours before I hit a wall. Like last night... I picked Hank up from my MIL's, made French toast and scrambled eggs for dinner, and then gave Hank a bath in the kitchen sink while Kyle made a Wal-Mart run. I try to have some semblance of a routine for the baby by operating on the "Three B's" schedule every evening - Bath, Bottle, Bed. We got through the first two just fine, with him drifting off to sleep after just a couple ounces, but as soon as I went to lay him down in his swing (because he's become anti-crib for some unknown reason), he was wide awake and flapping his arms and legs excitedly.

As much as I want to spend all my free time with him, I was annoyed and frustrated. I had planned to make myself some homemade hot chocolate with peppermint marshmallows and dye my hair, which I haven't touched since December. I left him strapped in his swing to watch his favorite program, the screen saver on the Apple TV (he can see it from his room when the door's open) so I could walk away and grumble to myself. And then I immediately felt that guilt hit me. I have this cheerful, healthy baby in the next room who just wants to spend a little more of his waking hours with me, and I'm selfishly wanting him to fall asleep so I can have some uninterrupted time to myself. Good lord, I'm getting sniffly just writing about it.

So I went back in to his room and shut the door, turned on some white noise and rocked his swing until he fell asleep - maybe another 10 minutes. By then, the wind was out of my sails, so I just took a shower and went to bed. What's another day of six-inch roots?

I'm still wondering how I strike a balance between me time and baby time... and husband time, too.We need togetherness as much as we need solitude. I guess Hank isn't going to be permanently damaged if we decide to go out on a Saturday night and leave him with grandparents, but it's difficult for me to relax because all I think about is how crappy of a parent I am, leaving him during free time and pawning him off on my parents or Kyle's parents, who probably need a break as much as we do.

Is there an anti-guilt pill someone can prescribe me?

The Wardrobe Project, Day #8

Oh look! Another blog! Big surprise, I know. I just can't seem to get comfortable anywhere since LiveJournal, which would still be the ideal place if anybody was still going there, but it's pretty much a ghost town now. Tumblr seems to be more like Twitter, a place where you write quick little snippets or post pictures, and that's not really blogging to me. Why do I agonize over this?

Anyway, let's just jump right into this, shall we? Today's feature...

Dress: Target; on clearance for $16, it had been $43. I pretty much love this dress. It's the perfect length, I adore anything with an A-line skirt, and the fabric is wearable for pretty much all seasons. I am not crazy about the puffed sleeves - they're a little Anne Shirley meets Twiggy - but they're not bad.
Amber square briolette earrings: American Eagle. They have the cutest jewelry.
Hair: OMG, mark it down... I actually was able to pull off a Pinterest braid tutorial. This one was amazingly easy. I'll definitely be doing it again.
Navy patent leather heels: Charlotte Russe or Forever 21; I bought these on December 31st, 2006. I remember that because I needed some last-minute clothes for a New Year's event I worked at a local martini bar.

I would really like to stop taking pictures in the bathroom. However, I don't have a whole lot of choice. Maybe when I get around to upgrading my phone, it'll have a timer on it and I can prop it up somewhere less... bathroomy.

So yeah... welcome to my next attempt at maintaining a blog.