The Women Who Saved This Blog Post

I'm pleased to announce that Halloween was a success! It was touch and go there for awhile, but Carson eventually cooperated and actually *gasp* enjoyed himself. When his incessant whining and wacky outta control behavior began during dinnertime (hot dogs and baked beans-the epitome of a healthy meal!), I was sure we were destined to eat the nasty candy I bought to give out to trick-or-treaters. Really I didn't care if Carson and Ella got to experience the joys of trick-or-treating, I just wanted to be sure we'd get some good candy. I'm a good mom, see.

The highlight of our evening, though, was two trick-or-treaters, girls, women who came to our house begging for candy. Both Tate and I were dumbfounded after these women left and we kept replaying the exchange with each other and asking if that just really happened. When I opened the door, I was surprised to see a girl who looked to be possibly 15, maybe 17 standing there holding a bucket full of candy. Standing next to her was a women who appeared to be in her late 30's, maybe early 40's, but certainly someone far too old for trick-or-treating. Both were wearing sweatshirts and jean shorts, and just stood there obviously expecting me to drop candy in their buckets. Tate asked them what they were supposed to be and the older woman pointed to the younger girl and said, "she's havin' a baby."

Huh?

How does "she's havin a baby" answer the question of what they were supposed to be dressed up as?

And why the hell were they out trick-or-treating?

Most importantly, what the f*ck?

I quickly proclaimed to Tate soon after they left, "I'm so blogging that." I certainly appreciate the most excellent blog fodder since I was expecting to write, "Carson was so horrible and threw himself screaming on the doorsteps of all of my neighbors, making them hate us even more!" Instead he surprised us with his excellent behavior and manners, saying, "sank you" to all who bestowed candy upon him.

Here are a few pictures of my "baseball player," "pumpkin," "man," and me as an "incredibly sex-ay farmer."


[pictures removed]


Why yes, I am wearing my frumpy overalls and pigtails. So, so hawt.

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Thank you, Dawn for awarding me a Perfect Post Award for Time!!!!! Thank you!!!



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Join Heather, Nell, and I on BlogTalkRadio tonight at 8 PM central time when we discuss successes and failures of making friends as adult women!

Click HERE to listen

This Chicken Bocker Wears Excessive Jewelry and T-Shirts

Thank you, thank you, thank you for all the great discussion on yesterday's post about the dress code at The Wine Loft. I very much appreciated that you didn't all agree and that you seemed to say what you really felt.

Veggie Mama summed up my opinion nicely with this comment,

It just seems really excessive, like they're going out of their way to be snobby. I like the idea of a nice place you can go and not feel out of place by being a little dressed up. If the sign simply said, "Business Casual dress code strictly enforced," I wouldn't think twice. But listing all of the specifics (like we're too stupid to figure out business attire) just makes you feel like a child. NOT the kind of place I'd want to frequent.

Precisely.

I fully appreciate that a business wishes to cater to a specific clientele. McDonald's caters to kids, certain restaurants require gentlemen to wear a jacket, biker bars are typically filled with bikers. Having a dress code is not in an of itself a problem, it's how The Wine Loft has chosen to be very specific in it's exclusions that I have a issues with.

Having stated at the bottom of their list of rules that "business casual or business attire is suggested" seems sufficient enough of a guideline. Why do they feel the need to include such specific exclusions? This is a chain restaurant with more than one location. Mobile's location has only been open for several months and this sign was on the door before it ever even opened. Therefore, it appears that this was a proactive list of rules rather than a reactive list of rules.

Their rules are incredibly subjective and most likely very difficult to enforce. What exactly defines "excessive jewelry" or "baggy clothing?" If a woman with excessive jewelry and her boyfriend wearing a hat and baggy shorts enters the restaurant to be seated, does the maitre'd ask them to wait just a moment, only to return with a manager who has the job of asking these people to leave? Do they allow them to be seated, only to have the other patrons stare at these hooligans who are clearly not following the posted dress code?

Several comments were made in regards to whether these rules were targeting African Americans. Anonymous asked this question,

I'm troubled, is it the "no excessive jewelry" rule that is making some of you view the sign as "racist" or excluding blacks?

My reason for asking is because it seems racist to me to automatically jump to the conclusion that only black people wear excessive jewelry and baggy clothing so the sign was therefore aimed at black people.

Every race is guilty of breaking those restrictions and not EVERYTHING is about race. My other question is that if you saw this same sign in lets say New York (being more culturally diverse than the deep South) would you still think they were trying to restrict blacks?

It doesn't seem too unreasonable to me although I'm not into upscale places. My third question is that they typically expect the same dress code at church so does that mean churches are trying to exclude black people as well?

When you work at a business with a similar dress code does that mean the business is trying to avoid hiring black people? I could go on all day here but I just thought some of those comments accusing the sign of "racism" were actually very subtle form of racism in itself. Think about it.

This was a good point, yet just because this dress code is the same for church or work, there's just something that feels very exclusionary about their rules. Being that this is a culturally diverse city, perhaps I do feel this way because this is the Deep South. I see, hear, and feel racism more here than I have anywhere else I've ever lived, so this may be why I wondered if this sign was directed at African Americans. The question of whether this thought is a "very subtle form of racism in itself" is a valid one. Maybe it is, but I really don't think that those who pointed it out meant their statements to appear racist.

I feel very strongly that they are losing potential customers with a sign such as this. Although I could easily put together an outfit that would pass their very critical standards, I would not consider visiting this establishment simply because of their rules. If they had a sign that merely stated their business casual suggestion, I would actually be interested in checking this place out on a rare evening out with Tate.

So there you have it! My opinion! Your life is now complete, you can sleep better knowing this vital information.

*******

If I had the guts, and I do not, I would call them myself and ask them the reason behind this specific dress code. If anybody out there would like to do so, feel free and let me know what you find out. I'm way to chicken to do it myself.

Channeling My Inner Linda Richman

Welcome to Wine Tawk. I'm your host, Jennifer. On this episode, we'll talk about wine, doors, and dress codes, you know, no big whoop, just wine tawk.



This is a picture taken of the door of The Wine Loft in Mobile. Listed are very specific exclusions of allowable clothing items and accessories.

In case you are unable to read the guidelines clearly on the picture, here is what it says:

No Athletic Pants, Shirts or Shoes
No Hats
No Bluetooth Devices
No Excessive Jewelry
No Baggy Clothing
No T-shirt
No Muscle Shirt
No Ripped, Torn, or Frayed Clothing
Business Casual or Business Attire is Suggested

I have some thoughts and opinions about their rules. Please discuss your thoughts in the comments section and I'll tell you my opinion tomorrow.

Tawk amongst yourselves....

Getting the Cussing Out of My System

Shit, y'all. I need to get out all of my g*damned curse words right here and now. I'm supposed to be blogsitting for Megan at Velveteen Mind and she said I used "foul-language" (lovingly, of course) and I've got to f*cking prove to her that I can write a whole f*cking post without any g*damned curse words.

I don't f*cking know what I was thinking, agreeing to blogsit for Megan, a real writer. But, I'm going to use the time to get something off my chest. Stuff I don't feel comfortable talking about here, on my own blog. It's a risk, sure as shit, but it will be a great opportunity to reveal a little secret of mine.

Wanker, shit, f*ck, bitch, f*ckity f*ck f*ck, horse shit, mutha f*cka. Wish me luck. NOT cussing is extremely difficult.

Go visit my non-cussing self now.



For those of you too lazy to go to Megan's, please enjoy this video of Alton Brown. He really IS TOO SEXY.

Just the First in a Long Line of Embarrassing Moments

Yesterday at the grocery store, Carson was pointing to some balloons while standing in line to check-out. He was gleefully shouting "blue star balloon, blue star balloon!!" A woman standing behind us was so impressed and said, "Wow! Did he just say blue star balloon! You're raising a smart little guy there!"

Of course, I felt proud. Who doesn't love when they're complimented on their smart kid?! In fact, I like to take full credit for his near genius abilities, as surely they're a direct result of my superior parenting skills. *snort!*

Instead of telling this lady about my obvious awesomeness, though, I just said, "Yes, his little mind is just like a sponge, he's always repeating everything he hears!" That part in italics becomes very important in just a moment...

Carson decided to impress her some more. He pointed at something (I'm not sure exactly what he was pointing at specifically, it was just in the direction of the candy/magazines/junk area by the register.)

And that's when he said this:

"Dog shit! Dog shit! Dog shit!" (I have NO IDEA what he was trying to say, but whatever it was sounded exactly like "dog shit.")

And *poof*, my awesomeness disappeared.

The look on the lady's face was something between shock and disgust. She was suddenly not as impressed with my parenting skills.

Super! Juicy! Details!

Last night was night one of Operation Get the Hell off the 'puter and Spend Some Time With the Man. The fun and excitement we shared is almost too steamy for one post. But, I'll try to keep it reader friendly. Heh.

We watched Survivorman on TLC. We drank a few beers. We were losers and went to bed (TO GO TO SLEEP) at 9:30.

The end.

We're SO EXCITING! Um, yeah.

Luckily, the evening certainly wasn't a waste of quality time! We learned a few survival skills in the (highly unlikely) event we're ever stuck in the Kalahari desert. Scorpions, once their stingers are removed, can be placed on a kabob, grilled, and eaten. Millipedes cannot be eaten as they are toxic (trace amounts of cyanide, apparently.) Your pee can be distilled for drinking. Beware of sleeping under trees because cape cobras could fall on your head. Also beware of sleeping on the ground where cape cobras and scorpions could crawl on you.

I hope you'll find this knowledge useful, as well. I sure slept just a leetle bit better knowing I could drink my pee (once distilled) in case I ever ran out of water. In the desert. And I was stranded. And I hadn't met my demise thanks to a cape cobra, scorpion, or millipede.

BlogHer '08 in the Kalahari anyone?

Keeping in Touch With Their Peeps

This weekend at the park, I witnessed an odd phenomenon. Please tell me if this is normal.

Kids, I'd guess to be around eight or nine, walking around the park...talking on their cell phones. I'm pretty sure they weren't pretending and these phones appeared to be theirs and not their parent's.

I don't know if I'm completely unhip. Are all pre-pubescent children so important that they must be in touch with their peeps at all times?? Has the fun of the playground been replaced by the cell phone?

Seriously, is this the norm? Sure, I can understand getting my preteen a cell phone. But, a third grader? Uh, no, I don't think so.

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Please come show me the love over at MamaPop! I'll be posting twice a day so any time you can stop by will be much appreciated!

Karma Bit Us Them In the Ass

Without implicating anyone I know, lets say that "Jenni" and her husband "Tater" and their two children "Cart" and "Ellie" were in a little fender bender recently. Said fender bender was not their fault and they were issued a check from the other driver's insurance company.

As it turned out, "Tater" was able to easily buff out the scuff on the fender, leaving them with this insurance check.

"Tater" and I "Jenni" started dreaming of ways to spend this ill-received money...a new digital camera or money towards another laptop or maybe just put it in the bank.

They decided to go for a new digital camera, one with 10 megapixels and a large screen and image stabilization. Oh how excited they were, dreaming of the beautiful photos they'd soon be able to take! The moments they would capture! They couldn't wait to make their camera purchase with the insurance check.

Until later that evening when the garage door decided to go kaput. So much for spending the money on a digital camera.

F*cking karma. "Tater" and "Jenni" have learned their lesson.

Direct All Pool Pooping Concerns To Me

Apparently there is a major epidemic of kids pooping in pools and bathtubs. My Google search results told me so. I have become the Internets premier authority of pool/bath pooping. Every single day, I get visitors looking for answers to many pool-pooping related questions.

To ease your searching, I've compiled your questions into one handy post and answered them each with my vast poop knowledge.

1. What to do when a kid poops in pool

Scream "Doody in the pool!!!!!" and get Carl to come retrieve the turd.

2. Toddler poops in pool

Hmmm, I wonder if this could have been avoided with, I don't know, a swim diaper! I'm just sayin'.

3. Why kids poop in pool

Because they're all full of shit

4. Toddler poop stories

Well, I hear they sometimes poop in pools...

5. Children pooping in the bathtub

Yes, it happens. I have proof. No need to be alarmed. It's a rite of passage for all Moms. Welcome to the club!

6. Kids poop pool

I'm no medical doctor, nor do I play one on the Internet, but pooping a pool sounds serious. Forget Googling this and get your asses to the Emergency Room.

I hope I have been of help to all of you who wound up here in your poop-related time of need. You can always count on me to be your go-to girl for any further water-born poop concerns.

Showering Made Me A New Woman

I had therapy a playdate to attend yesterday.

Eventhough I was going to be amongst friends, I didn't want them to see me looking like this...


I showered and put on make-up. It was nice to feel human again. Since it was going to be so hot, I tried to dress appropriately.


How do I look? Does my underwear make my butt look big? No? I didn't think so either.

Corruption in the Blogosphere

I gave in.

I wasn't going to, but I was curious. And you know what they say about curiosity killing the cat. I'd hate to be thought of as a cat killer.

So, I did it.

I set up a Facebook page.

Thanks to Bon, Sarah, and Erika, who'll now be collectively called the Original Corruptors (O.C) for either writing about Facebook or putting up a widget thingy on their blog to tempt me. I fell right into your well-crafted trap. Well played, my friends, well played.

As if I didn't already have about a zillion rounds to make each day, you forced me to add another addiction. Google Reader (113 subscriptions and growing daily...another thing to "thank" you for, Erika), two email accounts, MySpace (which has lost it's luster since finding Facebook), Sk*rt, Maya's Mom, my own blog, my playgroup message board...and now Facebook? How am I going to have time for all of this and child rearing?

Since we women can't even go to the potty without each other, I thought I'd share this Facebook phenomenon with you. Go set yourself up. But don't come crying to me when you get addicted. Blame the O.C.

When my husband comes home from toiling all day in the mines and says to me "woman, go fix me a chicken pot pie* when I've prepared nothing for dinner (or even thought about it), I'll pour all my blame onto the O.C.


*First person to guess the movie reference to 'fix me a chicken pot pie' wins an autographed napkin from me!**

**Actually, you don't win anything. Unless you really want my autograph or a napkin, to which I'd say "um, okaaaaaaaaaaaaaay?!"

When What You Really Want to Say is Butt-Out

To solve those problems with pesky inlaws or assvice-happy strangers, try this!

Presenting the BUTT-OUT Tool...



At fine retailers, nationwide.

Don't say I never did anything for you.

Is This Some Sort of Cruel Joke?...

Because I AM NOT LAUGHING.

Colic is no laughing matter. It's especially unfunny the second time around.

In fact, I'm f*cking pissed that I'm having to deal with all this again. It makes for a spec-f*cking-tacular day when the baby is either eating, sleeping, or incessantly crying.

I know all the "remedies" for colic. Let's see, Dr. Karp recommends the five S's...swaddling, swinging, shushing, side-lying, and sucking. Of course, you practically pass out from all the exertion required when you ever so carefully swaddle the baby with blankets that are never big enough, getting the baby on their side at the EXACT RIGHT angle, swinging vigorously from side to side with just the right amount of head movement, and shushing in their ear, continuously without breaks, for if you stop the screaming commences. If these steps aren't executed just so, then you can forget about quiet. As if lack of sleep doesn't exhaust you enough!

I've eliminated dairy and tomatoes from my diet so far. She is wearing socks. I try to never let her get overstimulated. I try never letting her get bored. I've used the swing, the vibrating infant seat, the floor, the sling. I tried rides in the car and putting the car seat on top of the dryer. I manipulate her legs, do "the backwards C" and The "I Love U" on her belly to make her fart. Gripe water, gas drops, and Mylanta have all been tried. I've also tried putting her on a schedule.

I've f*cking tried everything. I. Give. Up*.

(And, no I'm not suffering from Post-Partum Depression. I personally feel fine, I just have another colicky baby. If you've had one, you'd understand my frequent use of the "f" word. I did my best to edit the "f" words...I couldn't delete all of them!)

*I suspect that I haven't actually tried everything...and I don't really give up. Any other suggestions that you've tried?

So Sayeth the Wise Bug Man

Every three months I get a visit from my trusty Bug Man. I look forward to his visits, as he keeps my home relatively roach and critter free. A roach and critter free home makes me happy.

Not only is he a master bug get-ridder-of-er, he is from my hometown of Springfield, MO. So every three months I have a slightly varied conversation about Cashew Chicken, Bass Pro Shops, or how he got a ticket on his way home for Thanksgiving in 1973 because he was driving his 1972 Javelin over 100 mph.

This past week he added a whole new subject to his regular repertoire of conversation. He offered me assvice about my new baby. Who knew the Bug Man was such an expert?! I am so honored to have received his wisdom. So f*cking honored.

Did you know that you shouldn't pick up your new baby too much or you'll spoil her? Yep, that's right! When Reshel cries because she's hungry or has a crap filled diaper, or God forbid, needs some affection, I guess I should just let her lie there.

I also learned this. Putting babies to sleep on their backs isn't necessary. Generations of children survived being put to bed on their stomachs. He IS right. I survived, you all survived. I guess there's no need to listen to the latest research because the Bug Man sayeth otherwise.

His final pearl of wisdom was that car seats are also not completely necessary. Sure they have saved thousands of children's lives. But babies just hate them, so therefore, it should be a law that if the baby is crying, it's okay to hold her while the car is in motion. I wonder if the law would state that I could hold her and drive at the same time? I wonder if he offered this advice to Britney Spears?

Oh how I love unsolicited advice. Especially useful advice such as the Bug Man's. What's the worst advice you've ever gotten? (Doesn't have to be parenting related advice...)

Hints from Hel...Jennifer!

As a public service, I'd like to offer a few suggestions for the many urologists whom I'm absolutely positive read my blog each and everyday...

Please offer magazines that possibly might interest your few female patients...especially when making them wait for one hour and fifteen minutes in a very tiny room. I am unable to read Field & Stream, Sports Illustrated, Car and Driver, and Men's Health. My eyes can't focus on things in which I have no interest.

Don't be afraid of your pregnant, female patients. No, most of us females don't have dysfunctioning, limp dicks, not even close. But, it's highly unlikely that our unborn babies are going to suddenly fall from our female loins. We probably aren't even going to suddenly go into labor.

It's not necessary to have that many posters of penises on your walls. I can certainly understand not wanting to further frustrate your "dysfunctional" male patients with a bunch of vagina posters. But really, I don't need to see that many diagrams of the male anatomy.

When your nurse comes in to the tiny room to remove the stent, she shouldn't be surprised that I'm wearing underwear. No one asked me to undress, so therefore, I remained clothed. Do the limp dicked male patients automatically derobe while waiting for the doc? 'Cause, see, that would be weird.

I hope that I have offered some useful and insightful advice to assist you in your treatment of female, vagina-ed patients.

***I'm slowly working my Google Reader down. I still have sooooo many posts to catch up on (as of right now I have only 83 to read) AND so many new readers to visit! Thanks for your patience!!!

****And...are any of you having problems with being notified of new comments via email? I just discovered 3! new people who had commented, but I never received notification?! So, I guess I also have some investigating to do...I don't want to miss any of you!

Not Knowing is the Hardest Part-Updated

I feel like this is a stupid question...How do you know when you are really in labor?

I spent most of yesterday convinced I was in the early stages of labor. I had many of the symptoms of early labor as opposed to "false" labor. In fact, I felt so bad, I didn't feel like reading blogs.

I DIDN'T FEEL LIKE READING BLOGS.

After 7 hours of irregular contractions, they finally stopped. I still feel very crampy, but the waves of contractions, back ache, and abdominal hardening stopped.

(I was finally able to get my Google Reader to "no new posts.")

Tate and I were freaking because we weren't quite sure what we were going to do with Peanut when we needed to go to the hospital. Tate's parents are set to come and stay with us in about 2 weeks. I couldn't really decide if I was truly in early labor or if it was just a false alarm, so I didn't want his parents to drive 11 hours just to have the contractions stop.

Not knowing if I was actually in labor was the hardest part. Since I was induced last time, I have no experience with spontaneously going into labor. Not knowing if my in-laws should come was incredibly stressful.

I have a doctor's appointment this morning. Maybe she'll tell me I'm 9 cm dilated and it's time to be admitted! Or maybe she'll say that I'm going to just have suffer through the cramping until labor starts. Maybe I'll post an update later, maybe I won't.

Any advice would be much appreciated. Thanks in advance.

**Don't forget to participate in my name the baby contest! Click on the button to your right! You may not have much time left to participate. Don't miss out on the fun!!!

Update: I'm not in labor. Fingertip dilated. Bladder infection (explains the cramping and possibly the contractions). Induction scheduled for May 11.

Thank you all for your kind words and advice. Your comments have really helped.

I'll probably not do much commenting at all your blogs today, I'm grumpy and fear my comments may come across that way. Hopefully I'll be back to my jolly self tomorrow.

Thank you all again.

Attention Thinking Blog Award Bestowers! This is the Post for You...

I mentioned in yesterday's post that my writing doesn't fit in the genre of "thinking blog." Please accept the following crap as evidence.


I've made it no secret that I enjoy the children's program Blue's Clues. My favorite, and I believe most people's favorite host is Steve. It was a sad, sad day when Steve went off to college and was replaced by creepy Joe. Peanut is happy to watch Blue's Clues, as well, although he is oblivious to whether the host of the show is Steve or creepy Joe.

Have any of you watched the newer spin-off of Blue's Clues, Blue's Room? Well, to put it mildly, this show is the biggest piece of shit show ever produced. It's horrible. It's mind numbing. It's the worst show on TV, next to CSI: Miami with that vomit-inducing David Caruso.

The producers, writers, and directors of this show should be ashamed of themselves and possibly even jailed on charges of criminal negligence. The character of Blue, who can now talk thanks to this horrendous show, is so irritating. Worse is the character of Sprinkles, Blue's baby brother. I feel like severing my auditory nerve every time I hear his whiny little voice. And creepy Joe? He must be mortified to walk around in public. His part in the show, as a supporting actor to PUPPETS, must haunt him.

I certainly wouldn't want to offend any children who actually are fans of this show. Peanut is not a fan of the show as I've learned now for several mornings in a row. Nick Jr. has been playing new episodes (the horror!) at 9am, when I shower. Usually, he sits quietly in his pack-n-play while I shower. The past several mornings I've heard him crying while I was in the shower. I blame you damn Blue's Room for my abbreviated showering routine (I'm shaking my fist and scowling angrily).

As for the title of this blog, please understand that I'm making fun of myself for feeling the need to blog about a most inane subject. Most of my post subjects are inane, but I've reached an all-time low here. Thinking blogger, I am not.

Preggos and Nurses and Grumps, Oh My!

Good news! I passed my glucose tolerance test yesterday with flying colors! I was going to have some harsh words for my placenta if it had screwed me and Petunia over again. The test itself wasn't the greatest experience of my life, but not anywhere near the worst either. Actually, outside of drinking the icky glucola and having blood sucked from my fingers and arms, I got to catch up on some fantastic people watching and eavesdropping. I pinky swear not to break any HIPPA laws during this gossip session.

Being a Ob/Gyn office, one expects to see pregnant women. I saw two women who I'm absolutely certain were each 22 months pregnant. I thought I was miserable....uh, not quite. These women seriously looked like they could explode. I eyed them closely for fear of an eruption at any moment. I hurt for them.

Again, being an Ob/Gyn office, one periodically has to be inconvenienced due to a doctor being called away on a delivery. Of a baby. Kinda out of their hands, if you ask me. WOW...you would have thought that the doctor had personally kicked some of these women in their nether regions. They were pissed, to say the least, demanding to know "why didn't you call me, I gots to work" and "my time is more valuable than this, refund my co-pay, I'm leaving." The receptionists handled the grumps well, explaining that these deliveries just pop up and aren't planned. "Babies just come when they're ready." Tee hee.

I got to overhear an entire conversation about some high school English teacher that has the nerve to assign her children writing assignments. Huh? Isn't English a class where you learn to write papers?

There were also two women giggling about seeing each other at the gyno office. They thought it was "super duper funny". I shit you not, one of the women actually said that. She sort of looked like a 30 year old cheerleader.

Luckily for me, I got to learn the best places to buy smocked outfits....for boys. You know what the best part is? This place sells these outfits for less than $60 each. Well that's just super duper! Are you kidding me?!? Personally, I would be much more excited to know where to buy clothes for less than $10. And, I wouldn't subject my son to smocked clothing, yikes. My Midwestern roots and genetics do not allow for smocked clothing for my son.

The nurses who kept sucking out my blood were very sweet. They were rooting for me to pass and high-fived me when the final count came in under 180.

On a final non-gossip related note, Peanut and I survived spending time without each other. I have no idea what the babysitter did with him while I was gone, but the kid slept for 3 hours this afternoon. That is a world record for him. Gave me a chance to satiate my ever deepening blog reading habit.

Please Help Spread the Word

Please help me spread the word about this asinine policy on the feeding of a breastfed child in a day care setting. The day care is City Kids Daycare in Columbus, OH. Due to breastmilk being a "hazardous body fluid" and the "extra trouble" to warm the milk, they charge an extra $50 per week for children fed breastmilk.

The Lactivist, Jennifer Laycock, (Click on The Lactivist) has started the crusade to end this discrimination. Her blog lists the phone numbers and email address of the director of City Kids Daycare.

I'll be emailing the director and sharing with her my dismay at this situation. Please spread the word on your blogs, discussion forums, to lawyers, the media...anyway that you can. As Jennifer stated in her blog, we cannot let daycare centers dictate what we feed our children.

I can't even believe that this is an issue?!?! I suspect the policy will be reversed after getting several hundred emails/phone calls. Unbelievable. Sorry I don't have time to write more, Jennifer covered all the bases in her blog.

To Whom it May Concern

Due to some paranoia (NOT my own), I'll be changing the names of my children and husband on this blog. From here on out, my husband will be know as Tate, my son as Peanut, and my daughter as Petunia. I'll continue to be me.