I need someone to explain the draw of buying used cloth diapers to me. Used diaper sales are all over my facebook today, so surely one of my friends can enlighten me.
I get that used diapers are cheaper then new ones, but the fact that they are used means some little person pooped and peed in them. Probably a lot. The fact that they have been through a washing machine doesn't really help me understand this phenomenon any better. I would never ever want to put on some one else's underwear that had previously been pooped in, even if it had, indeed, taken a turn around a Whirlpool.
If you buy used cloth diapers do you also buy used grown up undies? At least no one has likely pooped or peed in those! Do you make your kids give their old underwear to their younger siblings when they out grow them?
Is it because they are babies you think they don't care that they are wearing someone else's drawers? Because I bet they do care. Babies are just miniature people. They have feelings and dignity and it probably makes them sad to wear used underwear.
In fact, I am going to hypothesize that 20% of colic cases from moms who cloth diaper are caused by by their babies protesting used dipes.
Poor babies. If only their mamas had bought them new undies their colic would be cured. :(
(By the way I will laugh my behind off if this thread ever gets pulled up by a google search for colic cures. :P)
The end.
Telling you what you should do since 2010
Showing posts with label i think i am funny. Show all posts
Showing posts with label i think i am funny. Show all posts
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Sunday, May 15, 2011
On Tribes and Communism
So, I used to belong to a parenting group. Some of you reading this are probably in that group or are former members. Often, this group refers to itself as a "tribe".
About once every couple months someone would lament about not living in a communal society/compound where we would grow our own food, take care of each other's kids, and sing kumbaya around a bonfire every night roasting organic marshmallows.
Does this sound nice? In a dirty hippie, don't shave your arm pits sort of way, yes.
In reality though? It would never ever ever ever ever in a hundred million years work out.
Here is what would happen if we all moved into a communist society together:
Fights! Lots of Bitching! Starvation!
Everyone likes the idea of communal babysitting. It sounds nice. It takes a village blah, blah, blah. But. Big but (and I cannot lie) there is no way every one would take turns nicely. Some would take advantage of others generosity and never pitch in (or pitch in just enough to fly under the radar), while others would work their butts off taking turns for other people. Bitterness would be seeded and cultivated as some took on work for others. Everyone likes the idea of being helped, but not a lot of people want to do the helping.
The communal farm would go the same way. 2 or 3 people would farm while everyone else gave ideas on farming. There probably would not be enough food to last the winter and then we would have to eat tree bark or something.
The bonfire would probably be well attended every night, but it would be a dangerous situation to have the embittered so close to the lazy near an open flame. Plus if we are going to have to eat tree bark it is prob not a good idea to waste it every night on a bonfire.
So there you have it. Communist living at its finest. Who wants to live with the tribe?
(To the few of you who will get bunched panties over this: I see you are upset. What feelings can I reflect back to you to make you feel better about this blog? :P)
see also: I really do love most of you. This was written in good fun. :P
About once every couple months someone would lament about not living in a communal society/compound where we would grow our own food, take care of each other's kids, and sing kumbaya around a bonfire every night roasting organic marshmallows.
Does this sound nice? In a dirty hippie, don't shave your arm pits sort of way, yes.
In reality though? It would never ever ever ever ever in a hundred million years work out.
Here is what would happen if we all moved into a communist society together:
Fights! Lots of Bitching! Starvation!
Everyone likes the idea of communal babysitting. It sounds nice. It takes a village blah, blah, blah. But. Big but (and I cannot lie) there is no way every one would take turns nicely. Some would take advantage of others generosity and never pitch in (or pitch in just enough to fly under the radar), while others would work their butts off taking turns for other people. Bitterness would be seeded and cultivated as some took on work for others. Everyone likes the idea of being helped, but not a lot of people want to do the helping.
The communal farm would go the same way. 2 or 3 people would farm while everyone else gave ideas on farming. There probably would not be enough food to last the winter and then we would have to eat tree bark or something.
The bonfire would probably be well attended every night, but it would be a dangerous situation to have the embittered so close to the lazy near an open flame. Plus if we are going to have to eat tree bark it is prob not a good idea to waste it every night on a bonfire.
So there you have it. Communist living at its finest. Who wants to live with the tribe?
(To the few of you who will get bunched panties over this: I see you are upset. What feelings can I reflect back to you to make you feel better about this blog? :P)
see also: I really do love most of you. This was written in good fun. :P
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
On a Random Sign on a Random Road
I have lived about 2 hours south of my parents since 2001. I make the trek up there every couple of months.
Ever since I have been making this journey there has been a sign on a country road that makes me think every time I drive by it. It is located pretty much in the middle of no where. It is at the corner of a country road in the corn fields of central Illinois. It is a whitewashed board shoved in the ground with scrawling letters and an arrow pointing down the country lane.
The sign reads: Penis Contest ----->
Really?
A penis contest?
What happens at a penis contest?
Do penises perform feats of strength?
Is it a beauty contest?
Jousting?
What is happening at this location???
It couldn't possibly be graffiti.
Somewhere, down that lonely country lane, there is a penis winning a gold medal and taking a bow.
Ever since I have been making this journey there has been a sign on a country road that makes me think every time I drive by it. It is located pretty much in the middle of no where. It is at the corner of a country road in the corn fields of central Illinois. It is a whitewashed board shoved in the ground with scrawling letters and an arrow pointing down the country lane.
The sign reads: Penis Contest ----->
Really?
A penis contest?
What happens at a penis contest?
Do penises perform feats of strength?
Is it a beauty contest?
Jousting?
What is happening at this location???
It couldn't possibly be graffiti.
Somewhere, down that lonely country lane, there is a penis winning a gold medal and taking a bow.
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