Fluffy tush and how it started

I don't know that I've shared here that I started using cloth diapers for Speedy last year. It started on Ash Wednesday, as part of my Lenten Penance. It need not be abstaining from something. Sometimes, it can mean adding something, especially it has value, merit, or conserves resources, or it increases one's spiritual connection to God. I needed to find a way to save money since the merchandising job went away with the company shuttering shortly after my maternity leave ended, and my Thirty-One business was not yet consistent. I had a literal handful of pocket diapers that a couple friends gave me. I liked them, but didn't have enough of them to make it fully feasible. So, I started out with using cloth while at home, and disposables while we were out of the house. At that time, we were leaving home to go to a lot of places, so it was about a 50/50 split. As we used up the disposable diapers, and I gained confidence in using cloth diapers, I found myself leaving the house without changing the fluff butt to paper butt. Plus, I was growing fond of the cute prints some of my covers have.

Fast forward to this year, and I've scored a couple ninja deals on a couple bundles of second-hand diapers that I have shared with a friend. She expressed interest in trying cloth for her youngest, and got hooked on it, to the point that she decided to start cloth diapering her 3 year old triplets who have shown no interest in using the potty. She bought more diapers, costing as much as 3 months' worth of disposables. The diapers have already paid for themselves, and the family is using that money to pay off debt. I know some people look at me sideways when I tell them that we use cloth diapers. But these are not the ones I had when my 22 year old was born. If I'd had the diapers I have now when he was a baby, all of my kids would have been in cloth. These do not require pinning a moving target. It doesn't mean I touch poop. Besides, if you actually read the instructions on a package of disposable diapers, it tells you to knock solids into the commode. Nobody does that, and there is a lot of unfiltered biohazardous poop in landfills as you read this. I am guilty of putting a share of it there. 

It does mean that we save easily $30+ each month, going on low estimates of using store brand diapers, or the big case of Luvs at BJ's. It does mean that I can't remember the last time we had a poosplosive diaper. It does mean 2 extra loads of laundry a week. Since I don't wash my husband's laundry, or the older kids' stuff, I have room in my repertoire. This goes back to other posts where I explain why I don't do the family laundry, among other oddities my household practices. I can guarantee you that my electric and water bills have not increased $30 each month since we've started cloth diapering. The human ovens in my household playing dial-down-the-AC causes more havoc to the bill than washing 2 loads of diapers a week does. So, if you want to say it's too expensive, your argument is invalid.

Personally, I have spent $95 between the 2 lots I purchased second-hand, and the diapers gifted to me from friends. There are lending programs in many places that loan out diapers for families to try, or to help them avoid having to decide between diapers and something else that is needed. I *might* spend $10 a month in electricity, water, and detergent to wash the diapers, and that is a high estimate. When I am done with the diapers, I can sell them and make back what I have paid for them. You can't resell used disposable diapers. And when we do some math, based on the history of my older kids finally potty training at age three and a half, we're looking at three years of using cloth, which means a savings of $1080, based on a $30 per month expenditure on disposables. Those numbers can be higher if national brands are used and couponing deals not utilized. Even subtracting the cost of laundry, my savings is $720. This is for one child. When I resell the diapers, I am going to recoup the initial investment. So, even if I break even and sell them for what I paid, we're looking at $815 saved on one child. There is a chance I could sell them for more than I paid, but since I'm still using them, we won't know that till later. Again, all of these figures are personal to my household, and if a child can't tolerate store brands and must use a national brand disposable diaper, these numbers will be very different.

Yes, time is money, and my time has value. When you think about it though, the time spent going to the store and arranging the trek around kids, naps, meals, other errands, and payday takes longer than throwing a load of laundry into the machine between other tasks, refereeing kids, and keeping the toddler safe from himself. Plus, I don't have to be publicly presentable to do it. I also do not have to deal with the challenges of taking my very active children to the store to procure the butt covers. Some days it is just not worth leaving the house.

So, all that said, it isn't for everybody. It works for me. It works for a lot of other people. There are just as many brands and types of cloth diapers as there are disposable diapers. Pockets, flats, fitteds, covers, PUL, aplix, velcro, snaps, .... yea, I've been acquiring the language. As I learn more, I will share, including products that I have used and what I think of them. In the meantime, on other social media venues, you can search for the hashtag, #makeclothmainstream so you can see some of the cute fluffbutts that make mamas like me happy to see.

Telling it like it is

I was talking to my neighbor, K, earlier and our conversation came around to Thursday's adventures. At the last minute, I landed some tickets to a football game, and took Clone, Beast & Devildog, while the oldest sat on the youngest at home. He was a good sport about it, despite his displeasure at the short notice. Of course we got home late, and being a school day, Clone still had to get up and get to school. K was surprised I sent Clone to school after being out late the night before. I'm not raising slackers, these spawn are being taught a work ethic early. Well, K said that it was a good way to raise them, and went on to say that the last time Clone was at K's house, K was folding hers and her 23 year old son's laundry.

Clone: What are you doing?
K: Folding mine and J's laundry.
Clone: ooh, he's LAZYYY! Heck, I'm nine and I do my own laundry! You should make him do his own clothes, he's a big boy.
K's son, J: Shut up, [Clone].
Clone: welllll, it's truuuue.

And you know she had that smarmy, know-it-all, nine year old tone and attitude when she said it too. She's becoming another one that doesn't mince words either.

The power of a shower

Wednesdays are my long days, whether I am home that day or working. The 2 middle kids have religious education classes (aka CCD or PREP) on Wednesday nights. We are gone for part of what I call 'witching hours', but that just means it's a condensed witching hour when we get home. As a busy mom with the kind of life we have here, I'll admit it for the world to see: I don't get a shower every day. The story I stick to is that I'm doing my part to help spare the environment and cut my utility costs. Now, does anyone care to remind my 17 year old this please, since I am always wrong and just a haranguing nag?

Today was one of those days that felt derailed from the time my feet met the floor. About all I got accomplished at home this morning was tidying the laundry room and a long-overdue vacuuming of the air filter. And I washed a load of towels. They're finally in the dryer 14 hours after they started their journey to clean.
A friend of ours died on Sunday-- the terminating, long-coming result of living the hard life of partying and not taking care of the personal temple loaned to us. You can't get on a transplant list when you were already a decidedly non-compliant patient after your oncologist tells you to stop drinking and smoking (everything). I feel most sorry for N.S.'s mother and son. No parent ever in their life imagines the final act of their job as parent to their child is to bury that child. Every child fully expects that at some point they'll say the final goodbye to their parent, but no one expects that before you are of legal age to vote or just barely driving age, you are left half-orphaned. But here it has happened. No matter the timing, circumstances, or quality of relationship you have, losing a parent just plain sucks.

And in all of this, and the lack of planning by N.S. or his family, we then see a friend, T.K. pick up the slack, take Mama by the hand and help her with the legwork of burying her only son. Devildog got home from school this morning, and as I was getting ready to leave, T.K. came over to tell us the funeral arrangements. It ended up with them on the patio, watching the geese fight over the pond territory as they relayed their lamentations over this situation. Finally I realized the time, and stuck my head out there to tell my husband he needed to take over as Mini-Human's monitor, lest she bake some cookies and reprogram the computer while no one is watching. I really had to get to work. I got such a late start to my day, that I didn't get all the service calls on my schedule done. The allotted times are longer than normal, and that last one was likely to take the full time allowed, which I didn't have in my day after the 2nd store visit. The kids had classes and Devildog had homework to do (which I doubt he did.) When we got home, I had a kitchen to clean up since Devildog cooked dinner, and my reports to submit.

I just felt reallllly blegh, and my razor was failing from being used every time I shower (duh, it's DULL, so change it). I sat with Devildog to watch some tv together, but was restless. So I took that shower, shaving with a fresh razor, and shampooing my hair. I think I probably washed about 10 pounds of the blegh, emotional clutter, and my derailed workday. It sort of reset my self, and the gloom swirled down the drain. I emerged gently recharged and without the blegh. By the way, that is a rather inarticulate word, but at this point in my day, be thankful that's what I muster and not something worse.

Final thought that just entered my head as I was proofreading this post: Since my husband is a veteran, he and I qualify for burial next to each other in the National Cemetery. Whoever goes first better pick a good seat.

We need more than 2 front teeth for Christmas

My dad has been known to sing "All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth" whenever a young one loses a tooth. My Clone lost her first tooth earlier this year and proudly stuck the tip of her tongue through the slot in her teeth to show Grandpa the exciting dental news. Of course, he sang this line to her. She said "Grannndpaaa, Santa doesn't bring you TEETH for Christmas! You get toys!" Well she holds fast to Santa=toys, but some of us want a BrewStation, cast iron skillet, Kitchen-Aid mixer, knives that are worth a squat, a new desk, and/or a 4 bedroom/2 bathroom house with a 2 car garage and a fair sized yard.
"Toys" would be a subjective term, because what is a toy to someone, might be useless to another person. Then there are practical gifts. Underwear, socks, sweaters....That's the stuff Mom puts under the tree for you. Santa brings the real stellar goods. I was at the SuperWally yesterday to get a few things. Since I had practically no agenda for the day, and hadn't wandered a store in ages without spawn in tow to annoy me with their cart driving habits, I wandered. I was scoping out stuff for presents, and got a couple things from the clearance selections. I also priced out those necessities like feet and butt covering items. Beast is in need of underwear, and I have seen this fact for myself. He has a typical male regard for underwear, and it has now come to my attention that Devildog has the same trait. This morning, Devildog once again got Clone ready for school for me, and let me laze in bed a bit longer so I can rest. I'm still fighting my lungs for the real estate that oxygen is supposed to occupy in there. It's basically a prolonged asthma attack and I'm just doing nebulizer treatments (that I'm also allergic to) because I'm pretty certain that a doctor is going to tell me to do just that. Plus I'd get a prescription for something like singulair and a z-pack, all of which require copays and I lack resources to cover them right now. I feel ok, except this whole lack of adequate oxygen saturation is making me feel less than energized. So, this morning, while I wasn't 100% yet, I felt rested enough to crawl from the bed and move forward with the day. Devildog took the Clone to school for me, then came home to get ready for work. As he passed me, shirtless, I caught a glimpse of grey elastic (yes this particular pair is supposed to be that color) with skin showing on both sides of it. I haven't done my husband's laundry in over ten years, so I don't know the condition of his drawers till I see them on his person. I asked how long his underwear were like that.... "uhh about two and a half months." When asked why he still wore them..."They still cover my [arse]." So it truly is genetic then. The Beast has underwear that likewise gape at the separation of elastic and fabric, and he doesn't care. The elastic is also too snug on him, but he doesn't care. Obviously a male standard for keeping stains off the interior of pants requires only that the important parts be COVERED, additional exposure elsewhere notwithstanding. Meanwhile I need my parts to be covered, but not riding up my ghetto bootie, show evidence of their location under my clothing, riding high above the waistband of my pants, or losing stitches between elastic and fabric. I suppose by a male standard, I ask too much of my undergarments, because I need for more than my backside to simply be "covered". Life is so much simpler when all you want or need to have for Christmas is dental parts to grow in where they belong. Turkey is easier to chew with them in place, but if you eat too much, you'll wish your elastic would stretch just a little more than it already strains to do.

EDITED to add: As I was making dinner tonight, I was slicing some sharp cheddar with one of my 13 year old steak knives. The age alone explains their inability to do as much. This pretty much eliminates any doubt that I could use new knives about as much as my male people need new drawers.