Motherhood Uncensored

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.

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?"

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:

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.

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