The ocean called and they're running out of shrimp

Thursday, April 29, 2010
"Oh yeah, really? Well, the Jerk Store called, and they're running out of you."

I'm like George, who doesn't have a comeback till it's too late. Here are a few examples of situations where I should have said something, but I didn't.

"What do you mean you don't know how to make a bottle? You have two kids."
"Both my kids are breast-fed."
"So you've never made a bottle?"
At this point I mumble something like "well i'm sure i could figure it out - scoop and water, right?"
What I should have said is: "No, I have never made a bottle because these are my two bottles (pointing crudely at my boobs) and I don't know why you think that not knowing how to mix powdered milk with water makes me a bad mother. My bottles are always warm, always full, easy to clean and full of yummy goodness...and they prevent against (Are you ready?) ear infections, stomach viruses, diarrhea, respiratory infections, asthma, obesity, Type 1 AND Type 2 diabetes, childhood leukemia, and SIDS. So bitch, go mix me a margarita and shut the fuck up about your stupid bottles. Oh, and by the way, I was just kidding about the margarita because I'm BREAST-FEEDING*."

"Wait. Where does she sleep then?" We're at a park and there's a mom with two kids who are both a few months older than my kids.
"She still in bed with me. I swore after him that I would never get up out of bed to go sit in the baby's room to nurse. So she's in bed with us till she night weans."
"But she sleeps in her crib for naps?" her brow is furrowed and I'm starting to get the sense that she is judging me.
"But she won't sleep in her crib at night?" I was right. She's judging me.
"She does till about 10 and then she comes into bed with us."
"Hmph. Both my kids are good sleepers."
"You're lucky." There was more, but I'll spare you the details.
What I should have said is: You're judging me? Bitch, your kid is over there freezing his ass off because you forgot to bring him a long-sleeve shirt or a sweater. And not that you forgot it in the car, you forgot it at home. Even though we live in Colorado. And it's spring time. And it snowed two days ago. So while your kid is standing there, cold to the bone with his thumb up his ass, my toasty-warm kid is running circles around him."

We're at story-time in the library and a mom shows up late. She sits part-way into the circle and gives her kid, who is in her stroller, also part-way into the circle, a set of keys. Then her friend shows up, so now they're about half-way into the circle, oblivious to the toddlers sitting behind them. And then, this is the part that pisses me off...they start talking. During story-time. At the library. And I can't really hear what they're saying because the baby in the stroller is banging those goddamn keys so loudly. But I said nothing.
What I should have said is: "Excuse me, hon? Could you please skooch back out of the circle, stop talking to your friend, and trade that Mr. Roper-sized ring of keys out of your baby's hand for something quieter? Thanks."

Same story-time except this mom is across the circle on her phone while her kid, Daniel, who is about three years older and a foot taller than the other kids, is sitting in the front row. He has his arms out-stretched and his hoodie flipped up over his head, blocking about as much of the view as one single solitary kid possibly can. But the worst part is that he apparently had already been to story-time that week and the library asks that you only come to one story-time a week because it's no fun for anyone when your kid ruins the story for the other kids by loudly blurting out the ending. to. every. single. book. The librarian, god bless her, asked Daniel to pipe down and when he said, "We already read that book!" She looked right at the mother and said nothing. She then looked back at her book and said, "Yes, it's the same story as Tuesday. You're right. Same stories all week long."
What she should have said is: "Bitch, put your fucking phone down and pay attention to your kid. He is up here flapping his sweater wings and ruining every single story for all the other kids. You might not be able to hear him over those two moms over there talking during story-time while that baby jingles those goddamn keys but seriously. You adults need to learn how to behave in public so that you don't raise a bunch of neanderthals. Now, who wants a fucking cookie?"

*Just to be clear - I do not think I am a better mother than anyone else because I breast-feed. I think that breast-feeding is a societal issue and that American women do not get nearly enough education or support when it comes to learning how to breast-feed. Breast-feeding is hard. Just ask my friend who has had mastitis...oh, I lost count at four times. She might be up to five. But damn it if she hasn't stuck it out because she is committed to breast-feeding her kids. And both my kids are tongue-tied, which has made feeding them a bit more challenging (not that I'm comparing it to mastitis...oh no I am NOT!) And again, I don't think I'm a better mom - a more committed mom, yes. A more educated mom, sometimes yes. A mom willing to make some serious short-term sacrifices with the long-term goal in mind? Yes. I mean, have you seen the bags under my eyes?!? But a better mom? No, there are plenty of wonderful mothers who give their children formula for one reason or another. But what gets my panties all in a bunch is when a mother who chose formula over breast-milk, which is unequivocally better for the health of the child and the mother, wants to judge me and question my choice as if there's anything to question.

Birthday dress

Tuesday, April 27, 2010
It seems almost stupid to be proud of this, but I made my first dress. I've made E a few pants, but those don't count because they consist of two seams and a piece of elastic. However, since making the dress I've been inspired to up my game in the boy's pants department (that should never be taken out of context) and came up with a really cute pair or pants that I made out of a pair of blanket-soft linen DKNY pants I've had since college. But that's a post for another day.

My mom is a gifted seamstress. She used to make costumes for know, the one in NYC. She's a sewing savant. She can look at a dress and replicate it without ever even touching the original dress. I know, because when I was trying on wedding dresses, I fell in love with a dress that had cost more than any car I'd ever driven. So I called my mom and wept, not ever thinking she'd be able to make the dress for me since she lives thousands of miles away. She came out to visit once and when I showed up to Miami for our second wedding, the dress vision of perfection.


She covered each and every one of those buttons by hand.

So it seems so very childish for me to be excited about sewing a dress, but I am. I followed a pattern and made a dress. I even top-stitched. And when I was all done and held it up I cringed at how amateurish it really was (it is tough to make a dress with help from a toddler and a baby in your lap!) but when I closed my eyes and pictured it on the little girl it was intended for, I couldn't not give it to her for her third birthday.


The little girl is one of E's first friends. She has a halo of blond curls and bright blue eyes (perfect, right?) Her mom and I met at a parent-tot gym class and if I were a guy, I would want to be married to her. She's beautiful, she's a bad-ass, and when she says "in sickness or in health," she really means it. I hope they love the dress as much as I loved making it and that they are able to look past the imperfections and see the love in every stitch.

Call of the Wild

Sunday, April 25, 2010
I want to eat my baby. My friend, Bangs, has come close to taking a bite out of B, but I figured it's because she's biased, being her kindof aunt and all and because she hangs out with me and is as close to hispanic as you can get (my brother often calls her his little tortilla.) So I thought that wanting to eat babies was a spanish (and spanish wannabe) thing until Bangs's sister came out to visit and said, "E is so cute, I want to eat him up." Bangs's sister is super white American. Then D was talking to his mom and she said, "B is so cute I just want to eat her." D started laughing and theorized that it must be a woman thing. Not a hispanic woman thing necessarily, but definitely a woman thing...because no guy we know has ever yearned to eat either of my babies.


I mean, look at those arms. And those cheeks. And you can't tell from this picture, but her chins all rest on her chest and the crease where they all come together, well...that's my favorite place to bury my face and gobble.

A light bulb just went off over my head. What if animals in the wild don't eat their young because of competition for resources, but because they find their babies so cute that they start to nibble and then accidentally get carried away? This would revolutionize the theory of evolution as we know it. Oh, my phone's ringing. Must be the Noble Prize committee calling me now.

What is this? Leave your boundaries at home day?

Wednesday, April 21, 2010
We were at the post office yesterday and I couldn't believe our luck. We walked up to the counter. We never walk up to the counter. We usually stand in line for anywhere from 10 to 45 minutes, but not today! Today, we walked right up. I sat B up on the counter and handed over my parcel. The postal employee behind the counter proceeded to take B's shoe off and rub. her. foot. I shit you not. Who does that?!?

Then we went to Costco (I know, we lead a glamorous life.) I had to return something so by the time we finally get up to the counter, E has been tugging on my hand and making me crazy for a good five minutes. I smile at him and calmly inform him that if he wants to hold my hand, he's going to have to stop tugging on it. He tugs again. So I not-as-calmly inform him that we are no longer going to hold hands. And then a voice behind us says, "Here, I'll hold hands with you."

I turn around and the woman standing in line behind us has her arm outstretched and E slowly reaches for it. She is about 5'10" tall and a solid 200 pounds.
"Um, hey bud, you need to come stand by me." She twirls E around.
The woman behind the counter is demanding my attention but I can't do it. I can't not know where E is. And I certainly can't let this woman keep holding his hand.
"Sweetheart. I need you to come stand by me." The space between us is making me more and more uncomfortable. Costco, like the DMV, rigidly controls the distance between the next person in line and the actual counter. And so he's not within arm's reach of me. He's all the way over there.
"Sweetheart. I need you to come stand by me." I'm exuding calm. At least I'm forcing myself to. She seems like a perfectly nice woman.
"What's your name?" she asks him.
When he responds, she asks him how to spell it.
I almost laugh out loud at what a ridiculous request that is. He's two-and-a-half. He can't spell his name. But I digress. At this point I look at the lady behind the counter and smile a tight smile. I take the three steps toward my son and grab his free hand. "Sweetheart. YOU NEED TO COME STAND BY ME."
"He's very trusting," she says. "Don't do that with a man. Don't trust a man like that," she tells E.

I throw my receipt, my membership card and my refund in my purse and grab E. We get out of line and cross into the other side of the store. I usually allow him to ride on the front of the shopping cart but I put him up in the seat instead. "Why can't I ride on the front?" he asks. "Because I love you, sweetheart. Because I love you."

In relaying the story to D later that afternoon, I realized just how shook up I had gotten. Again, she seemed like a perfectly nice woman but she was crossing a my line. Her behavior was making me uncomfortable. It seemed like one of those pivotal moments...where everyone watching me crying on the six o'clock news would tsk tsk and think that I should have known better. That I should have seen it coming. What kind of mother lets some stranger hold her son's hand twenty feet from the front door of a busy store?

Am I over-reacting? I honestly don't know. Something about her, maybe her insistence on interacting with E even though I was asking him to come stand by me, or maybe the fact that she was the second person that day that seemed not to have any respect for personal boundaries, was making me prickle. Maybe I was just punchy from being a sleep camel. I don't know. But if it ever happens again, I'm ready. I will lean over, grab my child's hand with complete disregard for the person behind the counter as well as the people standing in line, and look the stranger in the face. "Thank you for being so kind to my son, but I'd rather he stand next to me." And that will be that.

Best Nursing Pads EVER.

Monday, April 19, 2010
Bras. Tampons. Shoes.

That should take care of any of the guys who got past the title of today's post.

I have been struggling with nursing pads since B was born. I thought I could just reuse the ones that I'd purchased while nursing E, but they were a tiny bit funky and I don't know about you, but I don't want funk near my lady parts. So I bought a box of Lansinoh disposable nursing pads and figured that I'd just order some new washable pads.

Well. I googled and googled and googled. In all my googling, I could not find the ones I had and loved. I was tempted by these but the threat of thrush and the reviews that warned of how they are magnets for dog hair...I don't know about you, but I don't want thrush or dog hair near my lady parts either. I still had my cotton pads, but who do these work for? They're lumpy and they leak like crazy. Wearing cotton nursing pads is only slightly better than not wearing pads at all. So those were out. No, I really, really wanted to find the leak-proof pads I had before.

But then by the time I had a chance to look again, B was getting close to being 16ish weeks and from what I remembered from the first time around, it was around four months when my boobs and my baby had worked out some sort of agreement - if you stop spraying me in the eye then I'll stop tugging on you like a baby bear eating a fresh-caught salmon. So then I was reluctant to keep looking because I expected the problem to resolve itself.

Well, guess what! Seems like the 2nd time around, the valves don't seal off quite as well and you continue to need nursing pads well into what are we at? Six months. Box after box of disposable nursing pads (oh, the landfills! oh, the dollars down the drain! oh, the crinkly sound they make that I swear everyone in the room can hear!) and I finally faced the fact that I needed to find those magical nursing pads that had been eluding me thus far. I resumed my determined search of non-cotton, non-crinkly, super-absorbent, leak-proof reusable nursing pads. And then I smacked my forehead with the heel of my hand and said Doh! I'd shopped these websites in the past six months and couldn't believe I'd missed them...

Here's what I found:
Knickernappies Stay Dry Nursing Pads - I love these. I got them in white but am considering getting them in an array of spring colors, just for shits and giggles. They're super absorbent, they're leak-proof, soft and unlike cotton, they don't stick to your nips. $9.99 for 3 pairs.

Snap-Ez - I also really like these. They come in an array of colors and are also soft and comfy. And if you're sleep-deprived and stupid, they call you and make sure that you don't plan on driving all the way from Lakewood, CO to Blaine, WA to pick up 2 pairs of nursing pads (like you said you would when you checked out) and they ship them to you anyway and trust that you'll pay for shipping later. That's customer service! $4/pair.

Meg A Roo's Design - Love these. I should have gone with the 5" regardless of what she specifies on her website about bra size, but I also wanted to see if there was a difference between 4" and 5". There is. The 5" sit further back in my bra (34B) and don't create the double bull's-eye effect through my shirt. The reason I really like these is because you can specify whatever color you'd like. I wanted black and brown ones and Meagan made them for me, lickity split. I highly recommend paying the extra dollar for velour. $3/pair
As a side-note: If you cloth diaper like we do, go ahead and order yourself and stack of her extended tab prefolds. They are quickly becoming my favorite diaper. I'll tell you more about them when I finally get around to writing up the one about cloth diapering.

Homestead Emporium - The ones I bought aren't listed right now, but I got the bamboo velour super soaker pads and these are the Cadillac of nursing pads. They are a bit pricier, but totally worth it. They're tear-drop shaped (hide better in your bra) and they have two darts in them so that they form more of a cup, which really does make a difference. They hail from Canada, so they took a little longer to get here, but they were worth the wait. $9/pair

So which ones would I buy if I were you? To tell you the truth, it would depend on the circumstances...if I was pregnant for the first time and planned hoped to have more, then I would definitely go with the HEs. And I'd get a good four or five pairs. Hell, if I was pregnant for the 2nd time and knew I wasn't having more, I'd go with the HEs. They're sooooo nice. But if I was in a hurry to get them, I'd go with the Knickernappies or the Snap-Ez because the Meg A Roo's are made to order and the HE's take a while to cross the border from our friends up north. If I was looking for black and brown ones, then I'd go with the Megaroos. If I wanted less expensive white or light colors, I'd go with the Knickernappies, not because they're any better than the Snap-Ez, but because they're equal quality and they're cheaper. But if I wanted to pick out specific colors and thought it was worth the extra buck a pair, I'd go with the Snap-Ez over the Knickernappies. It just depends on what's important to you.

Regardless, you could go with any of the above and be happy. And no matter which ones you pick, you are doing a lot of very important things - you are supporting small business/WAHMs (work-at-home-moms, for you unenlightened), you are keeping disposable pads out of the landfills, you are keeping tons of money in your pockets, and most importantly of all, you're breast-feeding.

Happy Ending

Friday, April 16, 2010
No, this is not about Tiger Woods or Ben Roethlisberger because, quite frankly, I'm tired of hearing about those two shitsticks. Tiger, not only are you a horrible husband, but you're a terrible father. It will be difficult enough to be the children of Tiger Woods, but now you've dumped this huge pile of man-slut sex crap on top of them. And Ben, you don't have children (thank god) but it doesn't mean you should be out having sex with them.*

But I digress. Like I said, this is not about those two jackasses. This post is about my jogging stroller and how my rollercoaster ride with Kelty has turned me into a very loyal Kelty owner. (Oh man, can you imagine what'll happen the day The Clymb hosts a Kelty sale? I won't know what to do with myself!)

A couple of months ago I bought a Kelty Duece Coupe from a neighbor. It was out in her yard and I came by to ask her if she liked it because I was on the look-out for a double jogger and turns out that she was selling it. I paid her $120 for it and walked it the 100 yards back to my house. I grabbed some snacks, loaded the kids up and went for my first run. I fell in love instantly. Even though it was really wide (compared to our old single seat jogger), it turned very easily. It glided along, and more importantly, it let me glide. I ran, pumping my legs and arms, unencumbered by the limbs of others. But once the high wore off, I noticed a scraping sound that soon started to wear on my nerves. Turns out that the fender was cracked and rubbing against the wheel, so I promptly had D take it off, not realizing that without it, every little pebble we rolled over would spin up and rocket into the faces of my adorable and unsuspecting babes. I ran a few more times with them, avoiding rocks like land mines, but eventually I parked the stroller in the corner of the garage and resolved to email Kelty's warranty department and order a new part.

March 13th - Sent an email to the address on Kelty's website.
March 25th - After confirming that I had typed the address in correctly, I resent the email to their warranty department.
April 1st - Called Kelty and asked for a new part. The woman who answered the phone asked for my number and said that she would call me once she had determined whether or not they had the part in their warehouse.
April 2nd - Called and gave them my credit card number. Part ordered. Sweet.
April 12th - Called Kelty to see where my part was. They are headquarted about 30 miles from my house, so it was a little weird that I hadn't received anything yet considering that B could have done her Mission Impossible belly scooch to their warehouse and back in the time since I'd sent them the first email. Spoke to a representative who will remain nameless. As tempting as it is to out the girl that pissed me off, this is a company issue. There is fundamentally something wrong with the warranty department at Kelty because seriously, who runs a company that doesn't answer their emails? Doesn't even send an automated "We've received your email and will hopefully respond with in 24 hours days?" Anyway, the rep was polite yet unhelpful. She did a little sleuthing and discovered that the part had been ordered as a miscellaneous item and so the warehouse hadn't pulled it because they couldn't tell from the order what the item actually was. She explained this to me as if it were my fault. She said she fixed the problem in the system and that it should resolve the issue. When I asked her when I should expect to receive the part, she huffed that she had no idea. I explained to her that when I called, I expected her to tell me that the part had been sent, not that it was still sitting, unidentifiable, in their warehouse and would have sat there another month if I hadn't called to check on it. When I asked her to at least tell me when it would ship, she, in a not-unsarcastic tone, offered to go to the warehouse and ask them herself. I said, "Great. And here's my number so that you can call me once you know."

After hanging up the phone, I started to fester. I was mad. So I called their customer service number and spoke to Rachel. She was sympathetic and understanding. She said that she would take care of it. Then she called me back to see what size wheel our stroller had. Whah? This is where all hope of ever jogging with our stroller wheezed out of me like the air slowly escaping from the latex balloon that E brought home from this weekend's birthday party. Then I got an email that she was overnighting the part to us. Sweet...?

April 13th - The part arrived by noon. And thanks to the super nice guy from DuctWorks who signed for it while cleaning out our ducts. (And thanks to CKE for inspiring me to get my ducts cleaned!)

April 14th - Sent Rachel an email thanking her for overnighting me the - wait for it - wrong fucking part. Actually, I was really nice about it. I did thank her for trying to fix things, but then I also expressed my frustration and disappointment. All I want is to be able to go for a jog with my kids. I'd leave my kids at home, but then child services would get involved and then I wouldn't be able to go for another run. Ever again. So I really just want a jogging stroller that I can safely buckle my children into and run behind, wind blowing through my hair, dog trotting by my side. And guess what! I'm going to have one. A brand new one. As a gesture of good great-will, Kelty is sending me a brand new Speedster. Even though I told Rachel she didn't have to do that. Twice.

I still can't believe they're sending me a new stroller. I'm not even the original owner of the old stroller (nor did I pretend to be.) I am so excited. And so grateful that I spoke to Rachel, who apparently is hellbent on making sure that Kelty customers are happy. (Turns out that Kelty also owns Slumberjack, which coincidentally is the maker of E's little sleeping bag. Guess I'll know who to call if I ever have a problem with it. Rachel, that's who.)

Turns out that our stroller was about 10 years old and Kelty no longer has the parts for it. And while I still think that Mr. Kelty needs to march his ass down to the warranty department and give them the what for, I'm impressed with the customer service department and I'm impressed with the actual stroller. This is a testament to the quality of their product. Because I would have never paid $120 for a 10 yr old stroller guessed that it was 10 yrs old. And had the fender not been cracked, this thing would have spent another 10 years on the streets. Insert inappropriate hooker joke here.

*I have to admit that part of me empathizes with these guys. I imagine that it must be very difficult to live under the kind of pressure they are subjected to and to live a life of excess. I used to see it all the time when we lived back east - people who hadn't figured it out yet. That life is not about objects (whether they be cars or women or shoes) but about the people you love and the experiences you share. The material race is one that you can never win, and one that is, once closely examined, incredibly unsatisfying. It is the chinese food of the soul - sure it's tasty, but it quickly leaves you feeling empty. And when you get caught in the cycle, in the self-propelling hunger for more, there is nowhere for you to go...because you will never be the best at owning things. Now, that doesn't mean that I don't appreciate nice things. But like my brother observed the other day, it's not so much the things, as it is what I get to do with them. Yes, I'm super excited about our new tent, but because we get to go camping in that tent. And yes, I love our house and our new car, but because they make a nice backdrop for our lives. So while I understand that it must be difficult to be rich and famous and the best at something, no matter how hard it is to be Tiger or Ben or any other ego-maniacal super athlete/actor/trust-fund baby, I also know that it doesn't give you the right to act like a total asshole and stick your dick in everything that moves. And don't get me started on the whole if Ben wasn't an NFL superstar, he'd be behind bars by now for all the shenanigans he's pulled. Don't get me started.

Puppy Love

Tuesday, April 13, 2010
E continues to pee in the yard like a dog. And it wouldn't be so bad (I guess) if it was just our yard. But we were recently at a friend's house and when I looked down, E was peeing in the garden the kids had been playing in. He had his pants down around his ankles and looked up to announce that he was "making mud." Right on.


B is ferociously trying to crawl. Yesterday, Scout dropped his ball and it rolled in front of her. I watched her as she threw her arms out in front of her, dug her toes in and hinged in the middle till her butt was all the way up in the air...but then she tipped left. She did it again, this time tipping right. I thought for sure that she was going to end up with her chin or forehead in the carpet like she normally does, but third time was the charm. She managed to commando crawl the couple of inches to the ball, which I proceeded to immediately yank from her successful little hands. She reminds me so much of a puppy - she's got the front going one way and the butt going another way and it's just so stinkin' cute how uncoordinated her attempts are.

She also scrunches up her faces and breathes in and out really fast, like she's sniffing. Every time she does it, E laughs and screams, "You smell like strawberries!"


Last week I took Scout to the vet to have a growth on his throat checked out. It's not cancer but just a lumpy reminder that he's getting old. He is such a good dog. I know he still has a lot of life left in him, but having to face the fact that he's not a young pup any more really sucks. I'm glad it's finally spring around here and that we'll be taking a lot more pictures like this soon.


I mean seriously, is that a handsome pup or what?

Unofficial Poll

Thursday, April 8, 2010
E has taken to peeing in the yard. He crawls out the doggie door, pulls his pants down, and pisses in wide, wet arcs all over our grass dirt.

My question(s) to you:

Would you let your child do this and why/why not.

How would you feel if he were peeing in the front yard (E often does)?

And lest my non-child-bearing readers feel left out, if you don't have kids, how would you feel about seeing someone else's kid doing this?

Post your opinions in the comments section. Feel free to elaborate on any aspects of yard-peeing I might have left out and regale us with stories of when your kids (or you) used to pee in the yard, too! Thanks.

Clymb On

Monday, April 5, 2010
Usually people go online to complain about shit. But not me! At least, not this time.

My friend Bangs recently sent me an invitation to shop The Clymb and I gratefully accepted. I love outdoor gear. I love sales. I love outdoor gear on sale. And while we buy lots of stuff off of SteepandCheap, I like The Clymb's format - putting up a ton of stuff from one brand at a time. I get an email before the sale and if it's a brand I know or am curious about, I'm all over it. I recently cleaned up at a LOLĂ‹ sale and two weeks ago we bought a new Burley on TC.

Once I got the confirmation email that a HoneyBee had my name on it, I put our old Burley on Craig's List. I was not expecting it to go the day after I posted it for the full amount I was asking (ah, supply and demand!) I was excited to have sold the old Burley but a little nervous about breaking the news to the boys. I explained to E that we had to share with the man who took the old Burley and that we were getting a new one. He reluctantly accepted my story but was fully on board once I told him that the new Burley was going to be faster. Whew. Now to convince his dad that we could live without a bike trailer for a week or two.

"Holy crap. So we rented the old Burley for $50 for three years?"
"Um, yeah. And the new Burley will be even faster."
Wow. That was a lot easier than I'd expected.

"Are you tracking the Burley? Has it shipped yet?"
I knew I wasn't getting off that easy. "Yes, hon. It's on it's way. It's in Henderson and should be here tomorrow."
"What time does FedEx get here on Saturdays?"
I gave him the are you serious? look. D smiled sheepishly. E ran around screaming about how he and his dad were going to go for a bike ride to lake park and they were going to go super fast. The boys were already outside waiting at the end of the driveway when FedEx pulled up. It was Christmas in April.

The box had three alarmingly large holes in it. D unpacked the trailer and sure enough, it was all jacked up. It looked like FedEx had tied the box to the back of the truck and dragged it from Portland to our house. The trailer had been rendered unusable and once this sunk in, my heart broke to see D and E both so very disappointed.

"Mom, is Dad sad?"
"Yes, sweetheart, dad is sad. But it's ok. We'll fix it."
"Dad is sad because the Burley's broken?"
"FedEx's mom told him 'be careful' but he was not careful and the Burley is broken. And dad is sad. But that's ok. I'll fix it. I'll get my wrench and dad and I can fix it."
"Oh, sweetheart. A wrench won't fix it. I'll call the store and tell them it's broken and hopefully they'll send us a new one." But I wouldn't count on it.

I called TC and left them a message even though I knew they wouldn't be in till Monday and that I'd be calling as soon they opened. And I did. At 10am mountain time I was on the phone, ready for more disappointment.

10:00ish - Immediately spoke to a cheerful and helpful human being named Paisley who vowed to make things right. I mean, seriously. Even her name is cheerful.
10:21 - Sent Paisley this email with pictures of the damage:
Hey Paisley,

This is in reference of our order #26456. Let me know if you need to send FedEx a picture of my two-and-a-half and my 37 year old little boys crying about the damage. :)


11:06am - Received this email from Paisley:
Hey Nanette,

I just spoke with Burley and they have a Honey Bee for you. Yeah! We are going to ship in [sic] via UPS tomorrow for you.
I need to work with my Customer service team to get a return label issued to you. They will follow up shortly.

Can't believe how excessive that damage is. We're definitely having a conversation with Fed ex regarding this. I'm really surprised they even dropped it off looking like that.

And love your comments on your "boys"...your comments hilarious, not that[sic] fact that we made them cry. ;)

Thanks for sending the pictures! That's very helpful for our claim.


I mean, really? I called D and he was floored. "So, wait. They're going to send us a new one before we even send the old one back? Wow."

I know! Wow, indeed. The Clymb totally rocks. And if anyone would like an invitation to shop TC, email me and I'd be thrilled to send you one.

Sidenote: Hey FedEx. Listen to your mom. Try and be more careful next time. Because there is nothing sadder than a disappointed 37 2 1/2 year old who can't spend his Saturday morning going fast.