1st World Problems: House Hunters Edition

My husband and I are entering the beginning phases of kind of maybe sorta purchasing a home.  And I added in all of that uncertainty because this shit is seriously more stressful than having a baby, sitting as a nude still life model for an art class, or allowing my five year old to shave my head while blindfolded.  Some days I am through the moon excited and other days I feel like I am running a crack ring off of skid row.  But this bipolar adventure has brought a new kind of fabulous comedy in my life that is called House Hunters, or House Hunters International when I am in the mood for some patchouli and exotic awesomeness.

On this show, 90% of the people have enough money to buy baby panthers to guard their new home- a home so big my entire family could live in just one closet with room to spare.  And every single future home owner, be they poor as shit or rich as piss, have the same exact wants.

1.  Large open concept floor plan.

2.  Granite counter tops.

3.  Big kitchen.

4.  At least 3 bedrooms.

5.  Hardwood floors.

I use to think that I wanted my children to go into a field like medicine or reality television so that they could make tons of money and buy me a French masseur who was a little liberal with his hands.  But now I just want my kids to learn how to make wood floors and granite counter tops because that is where the Kardashian money is at!

This show is not meant to be a comedy.  It is meant to be…um…well…it is kind of like the peanuts that you get on an airplane; nice, unexpected and probably unnecessary.  But this show is a comedy because of the shit that the future homeowners want/say on this show.  And so without further ado, here is my top ten list of first world problems as told by House Hunters.

OMG! I think that is laminate wood flooring instead of bamboo!

1.  This finished basement is really nice, but I think it might just be a little too finished for my husband to use as a man cave.

Because everybody knows that real man caves are made out of stacked gasoline cans, steel and Chuck Norris blood.  But the crown molding is a nice touch.

2.  We want a house that we can really fix up and make our own.  We want to put the “sweat equity” into a home.  But this home, is just too much of a fixer upper and would require a little too much sweat.

In other words, just give me a few rooms to paint and perhaps a bathroom with a squeaky door to fix while I wear a headband.

3.  We want a home with a lake and a fenced in backyard.  Would we be able to fence in the lake?

Yes, and you may also fence in all of the fishermen and use them as Ken dolls in your life size Barbie dream house.

4.  We want new construction, but we don’t want to listen to homes being built while we are in our home.  Do you know if other homes are still going to be built here?

No, actually when the developer heard that you were moving in he decided to quit building forever.  You are that big of a deal.  He is also naming his dog after you.

5.  This paint is hideous.  It is a total deal breaker.  (Walks to a new house.)  I love that the entire home is white, and we could paint it whatever we wanted.

Because everybody knows that only white walls can be painted…on Wednesday while playing Billy Idol’s White Wedding.

6.  I want a big open concept floor plan with a separate formal living room and dining room.

Do you always speak in riddles?

7.  We want an old house with lots of character.  But we would like it to have an updated kitchen, bathrooms and living space.

So you basically want Betty White with Mila Kunis’ body?

8.  I’m downsizing.  Nothing bigger than 2000 square feet for my cat and me

Is your cat a cheetah?

9.  I want something in the heart of the city, but I don’t want my neighbors to be able to look in my windows.

Perhaps you could moon them every time they walk by?  I would stop looking out my window if all I ever saw was an ass.

10.  I want a home where all of my family can fit, but I really only want to clean one or two bathrooms max.

Would your family be offended if you asked them to poop in the closet?

 

 

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Rule #1 of Park Club: THE PARK IS NOT A DAYCARE

If you have kids or ever plan on having kids, at some point those kids are probably going to want to to to a park.  Or at some point, your kids are going to begin doing Chuck Norris style ninja kicks off your sofa and into your wall, and you are going to have this great epiphany and say:

“Let’s go to park and get some fresh air.”

But what you are really going to be thinking is…

“Time to unleash my little beasts from their cage!”

Whatever comes out of your mouth, there is something you need to know when you make this decision to go to the park.  It is kind of like Fight Club.  There are rules and shit.  No, these rules are not posted on a sign because we don’t talk about the rules about the park.  But now, we have to talk about these rules.  Because there are too many damn doorknobs taking their kids to the park without the FAINTEST FREAKING IDEA about park rules.

So,  I’m about to tell you about the rules of what we will know refer to as park club.  And the unofficial rule number one of park club, which we’ll call zero rule, is that I get to personally unleash a can of mommy whoop as on your lame ass if you don’t follow these mother freaking rules.  Recognize.

image credit sheknows.com

rule #1 of Park Club

The park is not cheap day care.

Watch your kid you lazy ass.

Just do it.

 If you don’t, zero rule goes into full effect, biyotch!

image credit downwindersatrisk.com

rule #2 of Park Club

Play with your damn kid.

Push the swing. Play tag. And chase the freakin’ ball.

Don’t be a dipshit.

I’m serious about zero rule.

rule # 3 of Park Club

Don’t yell at your kid for being a kid.

Your kid is going to get dirty.  He might even eat dirt. He’ll survive.

Maybe if you ate some dirt you wouldn’t be so damn uptight.

Boom. Boom. Pow. Pow. Zero rule.

image credit baytownblog.com

rule #4 of Park Club

Don’t let your kid act like a jackhole.

Don’t let him push, bully, or in general act a fool.

And I realize your kid might get that behavior from you, so I might let him slide.

But I’m going all stink eye and loud mouth on your ass. Zero.

word.

rule # 5 of Park Club

Get off your damn smart phone, idiot!

Save Facebook, Pinterest and Angry Birds for your morning deuce.

You’re at the freaking park.  Practice some eye contact.

And if you don’t put the phone down, you’ll never see my roundhouse kick coming.

Hi Mom. I'm on the swings. Stop pinning shit.

So now you have the unofficial Park Club rules.  It’s a big freaking deal.  I don’t want to play with other people’s kids, no matter how cute they are.  I don’t want to worry about unleashing whoop ass on stupid people who don’t pay attention to their kids. Play with your kids at the park and nobody gets hurt.

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Box Full of Babies

When I am healthy, well rested (whatever that means) and have a fridge full of groceries, I think:

“Holy bananas!  I love babies!  I want a whole box full of babies!”

 

They're just like kittens except they don't suck!

 

But when I am sick I feel differently. When I feel like I should take a fish tank vacuum to my nose,  sneeze so hard and frequently that I should probably wear adult diapers and wish that somebody would go all Old Yeller on my ass, I think:

“HOLY BALLS!  I AM DONKEY BALLS INSANE!  WHERE IS THE MOTHER FREAKING RETURN LABEL ON THAT BOX FULL O’ BABIES?!”

Operation fill that uterus is dunzo.

Next week, when I talk about all of the babies that I want to collect, please post this on my Facebook wall…or staple it to my forehead!

 

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Stupid. Pregnant. Girl. Me.

Paper Cutting – By Zhang Xiaohng (2002-2003)

This is your fair warning.  This post is a bit graphic, and it is not my usual lighthearted, feel good, funny stuff.  This is a true story about my first pregnancy and birth.  It is not pretty.  If you are pregnant, it might bother you.  But this experience made me who I am today and for that reason it needs to be shared.

 

Eighteen months ago I got pregnant for the second time in my life.  My husband and I had “planned” it.  I knew when I was ovulating, started taking prenatal vitamins (which I still think are a waste of money) and had even begun dreaming up baby names.  I remember taking my older son, my Monkey Boy, to a friend’s birthday party and not feeling well.  When we came home, my husband decided to go out and buy some beer, and I told him to pick up a pregnancy test.  Odd purchase, I know.  Before taking a sip of my Pacifico, I decided to take the test.  Sure enough, a slender pink line showed up next to a much darker pink line signaling that my “eggo was prego,” to quote Juno.  And just like that I was scared out of my mind; practically certain that I would end up dead as a punishment for tempting fate more than once.

Four years prior, I had been pregnant with my Monkey Boy.  I was a stupid, stupid, pregnant girl back then.  At the time, I thought pregnancy was going to be like a sitcom or reality show.  I was so caught up in the mainstream pregnancy bullshit that bombards virtually every woman with an occupied womb that I was completely distracted from the reality of pregnancy.  My list of priorities went something like this:

  1. Come up with cute baby names.
  2. Buy cute maternity clothes.
  3. Read silly book that tells you your baby is the size of a sweet potato.
  4. Watch a lot of TLC.
  5. Have a baby shower.
  6. Decorate nursery.
  7. Buy lots of cute baby clothes.
  8. Take maternity pictures.
  9. Start a scrapbook.
  10. Eat whatever the hell I want.

Yes, in the grand scheme of all that is pregnancy, I was about as deep as a kiddie pool.  But it really isn’t all that surprising looking back.  As I mentioned, there is tons of shallow pregnancy propaganda that begin sneaking their way into the hands of pregnant women at practically the point of conception.  I remember going to my first doctor’s appointment and getting a goodie bag filled with crap from tons of name brand companies just waiting to get my address to send me free formula, diaper coupons and discounted photography offers.  My view of pregnancy was skewed from being a sacred and monumental moment in my young life to instead becoming another excuse to have a credit card or indulge in personal vanity.

And boy was I vain.  I remember seeing so many images of beautiful (and I mean beautiful by Hollywood’s standards) pregnant women with small protruding bellies, skinny arms, tight asses and polished hair.  I wanted to be a pretty, pregnant girl.  I didn’t want to think about the “gross” stuff that went along with pregnancy.  I didn’t want to think about something enormous coming out of my well groomed hoo-ha.  No, I was going to have a labor like Jennifer Aniston on Friends, or Salma Hayek in Fools Rush In or even Julianne Moore in 9 Months.  Just a few quick pushes with a bit of “dew” on my brow, and I would have a beautiful baby to hold in my arms.  There was no need to delve any further into my doctor’s policies, the hospital’s policies or the typical procedures that most women endure when giving birth in a hospital.  Why would I look for anything more, anything of any real substance within an experience that I had unknowingly begun devaluing from the moment that I entered the doctor’s office?

artist unknown

The problem with stupid people is that they don’t know they are stupid.  They think that they are normal.  So when the nurse took my blood pressure at my 37 week appointment, and it was through the roof, I wasn’t smart enough to know that the fact that I had been crying about struggling to pay my doctor’s fee would have something to do with it.  When my doctor told me that I would have to be induced that day due to the potential threat of preeclampsia, I was actually excited.  He told me that babies are basically ready to come out at 37 weeks anyway. I was going to get to meet my baby three weeks early!  Hooray!  Idiot.

On the way to the hospital, my husband and I sat nervously chatting in the waiting room as I waited to be admitted.  We didn’t know what to expect, as we had never done any research into the actual birthing process other than watching A Baby Story.  You could say that we were a bit like teenagers preparing to watch an rated R movie for the first time.  We had no idea what we were in for.

They started me on Cervadil.  The nurse told me it would feel like a sharp tampon.  It did.  I had to lie in a hospital bed with monitors hooked up to me while I waited for my labor to begin.  I was then given Pitocin after a nurse decided that my cervix was soft enough to begin inducing labor.  By this time, my husband and I had called my mother to come up.  For a moment, we had actually thought about not calling anyone and surprising everyone with a photo of the baby after he was born.  Little did we know that in a matter of hours my mother would be holding my hand as I underwent an emergency c- section.

The trouble started after my epidural.  I began vomiting and the nurse decided to check me before entering a catheter.  The vomiting had caused me to pee all over the place since I could no longer control myself after the numbing effect of the epidural had taken place.  The nurse checked me and said I was about seven centimeters dilated.  Her face then sunk as she announced, “I can feel his balls.”  Me being the stupid pregnant girl didn’t understand what the big deal was.

As a woman that I didn’t know began shaving my nether regions and another woman began forcing a clipboard in my face asking me for consent, I quickly realized that feeling a baby’s balls means that the baby is breech.  A breech baby in that hospital meant having a baby via c-section.  My husband became distraught.  This never happened in the happy ending movies that we watched.  My mother agreed to go into the surgery with me.  Twenty minutes later, I had my baby boy.

Being wheeled back into my room, I thought everything was fine.  I had simply pulled an Angelina Jolie, Gwen Stefani, Victoria Beckham or Britney Spears.  I was too modern to push, I thought.  As my Monkey Boy began to nurse for the first time, I began to feel very sleepy.  I then felt a gush between my legs.  I mentioned it to my mother, but she told me it was normal to have some bleeding.  I continued to nurse.  I suddenly felt very weak.  I felt too weak to hold my baby.  I told my mom that something felt wrong.  At that moment, the nurse entered the room.  She checked me and ran out of the room to tell the doctor I was hemorrhaging.  I didn’t even know what that meant.

My husband told me that the room smelled like blood.  He told me about the doctor reaching into me and pulling out large, thick bloody chunks from inside me.  I remember feeling sleepy.  I told my doctor that I was very tired.  He told me to go to sleep, but I didn’t.  Everyone knows that when a person in movie feels sleepy as they are bleeding uncontrollably that they are about to die.  I decided right then and there that I would not go to sleep because I didn’t want to die.  I had only held my baby once.  I didn’t want to die and leave him motherless.

I asked my doctor if I was going to die.  He told me if I stopped bleeding that I wouldn’t.  What kind of a person says that to somebody?  He took me into the operating room and a bunch of doctors and nurses stared at me.  I felt people doing things to my body, but I am not exactly sure what was happening.  I just know that I was alone and didn’t know where my baby was.  Eventually, the bleeding stopped, but nobody would allow me to see my baby that night.

I spent that night in a hospital bed with my husband asleep on the couch next to me.  I got two blood transfusions from a nurse with a cold.  She didn’t heat up the blood before she gave me the transfusions, so my whole body shivered a lot that night.  I didn’t sleep.  The nurse gave me some medication, why I don’t know, but she told me it might make me lose control of my bowels.  I stayed up all night determine to not let that happen.  I felt I had already lost every ounce of dignity I had that day, and I wasn’t about to spend the night in my own waste.

That morning I couldn’t leave the room or see my baby until I proved that I could eat.  The nurse brought me lime gelatin.  Who the hell wants to eat lime gelatin that does not in some way contain some alcohol?  I managed to keep it down.  As they wheeled me down the hall, I saw my baby.  I know this sounds silly, but when he looked at me, he knew who I was.  He recognized me.  I felt an instant calm.  I felt at home and a little bit of peace.

I stayed in the hospital for five days.  I remember looking in the mirror after I was able to walk for the first time and not recognizing myself.  My skin looked like it belonged to a cadaver.  My knees were the size of basketballs; thick and squishy with edema.    Looking back, I guess it was the price I paid for being a stupid, pregnant girl.

When I explained this story to my doctor 18 months ago, he looked at me and said that what happened was not my fault.  He told me that my doctor should have known to do an ultrasound to determine the positioning of the baby prior to inducing me.  He told me that I should have been provided with options for my preeclampsia due to the circumstances in which my blood pressure was taken.  He told me tons of reasons as to why the shit storm that was my first birth was not my fault, but in hindsight, he was only half right.

C.D. Bank

I should have been my own advocate.  I should have done my research.  It was my body, my baby and my life.  Nobody else had as much invested in this as I did.  I’m the type of girl who won’t get her hair cut or colored without knowing the amount of time that a stylist has been doing hair.  But when it came to finding a person to handle my birth and pregnancy, I simply picked a name out of a phone book.  How stupid is that?  I let people put things into my body, make decisions about my health and cut into my body without knowing a damn thing about them.  Isn’t that some form of insanity?

So 18 months ago, it is no surprise that finding out that I was pregnant, that I had actually done it again, was about as scary to me as finding out that I had an incurable disease.  But 18 months ago, I decided to not become a stupid pregnant girl again.  I became a very smart pregnant girl.  I did my research and was lucky enough to have a pretty smooth VBAC experience.  I learned my lesson, but the sad thing is that there are many women who never do.  There are literally thousands of girls that walk into their first appointment as sponges just waiting to absorb information, but instead absorb a bunch of superficial shit and end up walking out misinformed and pregnant.  Just like I did.

If I could go back in time and talk to that stupid pregnant girl that I once was, I would tell her this:  Being pregnant and giving birth is the most important and personal experience of your life.  It is defining and can be empowering.  Pregnancy is so much greater than all the shallow shit that is used to make it into a commodity for women to buy into.  Treat it with the respect it deserves.  Research it.  Know it.  And choose the best path for you, not the path most travelled.

 

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A Baby is Not the End

“It’s supposed to be hard. If it wasn’t hard, everyone would do it. The hard… is what makes it great.” ~ Tom Hanks as Jimmie Dugan in A League of Their Own.

My son and I after my college graduation.

Jimmie Dugan was talking about baseball, but some people think that baseball is a poetic metaphor for life…and I agree.

I don’t know if it is an American thing or a universal rule, but when I was growing up I somehow knew that there was a universal way in which life was “suppose” to happen.  And it goes like this:

1. Graduate high school.

2. Go to college.

3.  Start a career.

4.  Get married.

5.  Travel and enjoy married life.

6. Start a family.

Like I said, I don’t know who created this schedule.  Perhaps Nora Ephron and Meg Ryan?  Maybe it is a throw back to a more conservative time.  Maybe it just one of those trends that popped up and never went out of style like the little black cocktail dress and pearls.

It doesn’t matter where it came from because for one reason or another, I grew up thinking that this was the path that I needed to take.  And I was fairly certain that any person who didn’t follow this path was doomed to live a miserable, pathetic little life that Meg Ryan would never dream of playing in a romantic comedy.

But at 19, I found myself veering off the path that the book of life had dictated for me.  At 19, I dropped out of college.  Yep, I was that loser kid who graduated high school poised to take over the world with a scholarship, new car and all expenses paid only to throw it all away.  And so began a very hard, long road.

I won’t go over everything that I endured as a young adult trying to figure out my way in the world, but here are some of the highlights:

1.  I once spent two weeks eating off of a gift certificate that I won at work because I had no money for groceries.

2.  I had my power turned off in the middle of summer in Arizona…which is basically the equivalent of strapping myself to a desert cactus naked.  Painful does not begin to describe it.

3.  Bills coming out my ass.

4.  Feeling lonely and worthless more times than what I care to count, and having very few people to honestly talk to about my troubles.

5.  And then I found this guy (my husband) and ended up having a baby…

And for many people, hearing that a girl struggling like me was going to have a family would be enough for some people to write me off as another shitty statistic in a world already burdened far too much by girls like me.

But I didn’t become a statistic.  With support from family and my husband, I was able to do all this within 7 years…

1. Had a healthy baby at 21.

2. Went back to college and got my associates at 22.

3. Graduated college summa cum laude, with highest honors at 24.

4. Had another beautiful baby at 25.

5. At 26, I will graduate suma cum laude with my masters degree.

6. Figured out who I am.

What a difference time, determination and perseverance makes.

But I know that a lot of people who start life out the way I did do not end up where I am now.  And I think it has a lot to do with that damn book of life.

There is no one right or wrong way to live…minus being a jackass.  There is no road map to follow.  There is not guarantee that if you do x, y and z you will end up living happy.  But somehow, tons of people end up feeling the same way that I did.  They think that if they don’t do x, y and z they will end up…no place.

I remember walking into college as an 18 year old freshman and having no clue who I was or what I wanted out of life.  I just knew that I wanted to make my parents happy.  I really wanted to make my parents proud and happy, and I thought that by following the book of life I would do just that.  But I wasn’t happy.  Not even a little bit.

It wasn’t my parent’s fault.  They grew up with the same set of self imposed, book of life rules.  They grew up believing that the secret to happiness could only be had by living life in a certain way.  So it makes sense that they would want the same for me.  But now that I know better from my own experience, I plan on doing better.

Yes, I would like my sons to have an easier start in life than I did, but truth be told, the easy life isn’t always so fun or right.

I did a lot of really stupid shit, and it probably cost me a shit load of money, grief and heartache.  But I also had a lot of fun, and at the end of the day I wouldn’t change a single thing.  And finding yourself, really truly finding out who you are at your core, is worth blazing a rocky trail instead of taking the easy path.

If you followed the book of life and your life ended up great, then I think that is great.  But if you didn’t, if you are somewhere in between where you do and don’t want to be…then don’t give up.  And don’t think you are a loser for not getting life “right” the way that society expected you to.  And above all else, don’t listen to anybody who tells you that having a baby will prevent you from being able to do anything.  Because in my opinion…

My kids are the reasons for my success and have never been excuses for my failures.

And…

“Here’s to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers. The round pegs in the square holes. The ones who see things differently. They’re not fond of rules. And they have no respect for the status quo. You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them. About the only thing you can’t do is ignore them. Because they change things. They push the human race forward. While some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do.” – Apple Inc.

I hope everyone has  a little bit of crazy in them.

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Got Teeth? Baby Sharky Brush Review & Giveaway!

This is what I know about teething after having two children that both decided to grow teeth.

1.  Teething sucks for everybody involved.

2.  I am the perfect human pacifier.

3.  I cannot be the perfect human pacifier everyday.

4.  Teething sucks for everybody involved.  Seriously.

When my firstborn started teething, I tried lots of different things.  I tried little tubes of gel goo.  I bought a whole bunch of rubbery type objects.  I froze washcloths.  And I even bought this stupid little necklace thing that looked like a bunch of laundry detergent gel pouches strung together.  It popped.  Nobody cared.

Ultimately, I became the human pacifier, and while this worked, it drove me a little crazy on more than one occasion.  So when my second child began to sprout his first few teeth, I went into overdrive trying to figure out what would be the perfect, most comfortable teething device…that did not breathe or wish to shower regularly.

I tried wooden teethers.  No dice.  I bought a very expensive little giraffe.  He was part of my son’s “in crowd” for about a week, but don’t worry, he is now secret BFF’s with the dog.  And in desperation, I have offered up a wide array of wooden cooking utensils for my son to use as teethers, but he has preferred to use them as sticks in a game of fetch where I take on the role of four legged mutt.

Rarely do I shop at Babies R Us.  But one day for one reason or another I found myself there.  I was walking around the  feeding section when I came across this little guy…

Baby Banana Teething Toothbrush

A friend had told me about the crazy, spectacular wonderful that is the Baby Banana Toothbrush.  And so for about $8 I bought it.  And my son fell in love with that little banana sucker.

In fact, I loved this little guy so much that I wrote to the company to tell them that their product was fantastic….and I also mentioned that I write a blog and would love to give one of these little guys away.  But the people at Live-Right Solutions did one better.  They sent me their new teether aka the Baby Sharky Brush.  And this is what I thought:

Baby Sharky Brush

Pros:

Like the Baby Banana Toothbrush teether, Sharky is easy to grab.  I mean like really easy.  In fact, I mean like my son holds that little blue shark like he is made out of $100 bills because he doesn’t want to give it up.

Sharky’s fins prevent my son from gagging himself with Sharky which has saved me from running like a Smurf on fire every time I decide my son has been too quiet for too long.

Sharky is ick free.  The Baby Shark Brush is made of 100% medical grade silicone and is BPA, Pthalate and Latex free.

Sharky is soft and chewable…which is probably the best part.

Sharky can stand up!  Hallelujah for a stand up teether!  This prevents me from spending time figuring out the perfect way to lay Sharky down so that he does not get dust or other crap on him that would require washing him.

Sharky can be attached to one of those pacifier leash thingys.  I don’t have one…because I guess I still enjoy playing mommy fetch.

Sharky’s little bristles must feel fan-freaking-tastic because my son loves ‘em.  And the bristles are not separate from the teether.  Sharky is all one piece.

Sharky is dishwasher safe…because what good would a shark be that couldn’t handle some hot water?

Cons:

So far none really.  I have had the Baby Banana Toothbrush for over a month, and I have had Sharky for a few weeks.  So far we have all lived peacefully with no complaints.

Don’t let the toothbrush in the title fool you.  While this teether can be used to brush teeth, that is not it’s only job.  This product is an AWESOME teether, and I think it would be an ideal first toothbrush.  But I have yet to use it for the purpose of brushing teeth.

My cute baby holding the Baby Sharky Brush like it is a $100!

 

Mush Man's inner monologue: "This Sharky is great. My teeth feel awesome. Look, a kitty."

And now for the fun part, I get to give you (well maybe you if you win) a Baby Sharky Brush.  Just enter right now through Rafflecopter…right now…no don’t go away and think, “Oh, I will come back and do this later yada yada yada.”  Just do it now, and if you get confused or need help, drop me a line on my Facebook page.

And yes, I do need you to enter on Rafflecopter.  It is the fairest way to enter as there is no room for human error because it selects the winner without me having to do anything.   You can either log in with Facebook or with your email address, and Rafflecopter will direct you to the Baby Banana Brush Facebook page to like in order to enter.  For an extra entry you can leave a comment on the blog via Rafflecopter.  That is the ONLY thing you have to do.  No comment here, like this, like that nonsense.  But you have to do it through Rafflecopter in order for your entry to count. Don’t worry.  Everything will be fine.

Disclaimer:  Live-Right Solutions  sent me a Baby Sharky Brush to test out and keep, but that was only after I contacted them to tell them how fabulous I thought their other products are.  I would never write a review for a product that I didn’t love, and if there was something that I didn’t love about this product, I would definitely write about it.
 
 

 

 

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