Seattle Mom Blogs

For the final part of my Essential Advice for New Bloggers series were talking about how to take your blog to the next level.

Of course I need to start off this post with a BIG, HUGE, GIGANTIC disclaimer in which I tell you that I am still trying to take my blog to the next level. So it’s not like I’m the expert here.

Still, we can learn about this topic together. Right?

So I’ve gone around to various sources and picked out the best of the best in terms of advice, guidelines, and recommendations on this topic and compiled them below. I’m also throwing in some links to my favorite resources. Finally, share your own tips and ideas!

1) Ask your readers

This can be scary, but it’s one of the very best ways to get targeted feedback about how to take YOUR blog to the next level. Finding out what your readers like and dislike about your blog is the best free advice you’ll ever get.

Of course it’s still YOUR blog; you don’t have to change everything just because someone says so. But odds are you’ll see trends and patterns in your readers’ feedback that will help you make decisions to move your blog towards greatness.

2) Learn from the A-listers

You know that one blogger, the A-lister who you subscribe to and read religiously?I want you to go, right now, and look at that blog. But this time don’t look at it as a reader, look at it as a blogger. Analyze. Evaluate. What things is this blogger doing that make his/her blog successful? Try and remember how you first found this blog? What drew you in? Why did you subscribe? What brings you back?

Read through thearchives… especially from the very early days. How has their blog changed since its inception?

Once you’ve spent some time analysing a couple of your favorite “A-list” blogs (and really, A-list is whatever you want it to be!), look at your own blog again. What can you improve? What is and isn’t working? I’m not suggesting you copy your favorite blog (because really, how dumb would THAT be?!) but the fact is you really can learn from the people who are making it.

If you’re really brave (or even if you’re not) email your favorite blogger and ask them for their insights on how they got their blog where it is today.

Some bloggers have even gone so far as to post their advice for all of us to enjoy. For example, check out:

, from Jennifer at
Growing your Traffic from Shannon at Rocks in My Dryer

If you know of others, please leave a comment and I’ll add their links here!

3) Learn from the EXPERTS

Look around at the many excellent how-to blogsthat are out there. Pick one or moreto subscribe to, and make a commitment to reading it regularly. You’ll be amazed at how much valuable information is being put out for the taking!

Check out these blogs about blogging

• Problogger (this is my personal favorite)
• Daily Blog Tips
• The Blog Herald
• The Blog Bloke

Check out these blogs about writing

• Daily writing tips
• InkThinker

Check out these blogs about design

• Web Designer Wall
• Design*Sponge

Do you have a favorite how-to blog that isn’t listed here? Leave a comment and I’ll add it!

4) Ya gotta have goals

Sit down and list out everygoal you can think of for your blog. Even the silly ones. Even the really really lofty ones (”get on Oprah”, anyone?). If you’re having a hard time, here are some example goals to get you started.

• Increase subscribership to 1,000 readers.
• Increase web traffic to20,000 hits/ week.
• Post quality content 5 days/week.
• Go to BlogHer.
• Publish a book based on my blog.
• Become an A-list blogger.
• Generate $100k/year in blog revenue.
• Become a paid blogger for a major website.
• Spend less time blogging.
• Spend more time blogging.
• Improve my writing.
• Learn to use a photo-editing tool.
• Move to Wordpress and become self-hosted.

Like I told you, there’s no goal that’s too silly or too lofty. Remember, these are your goals on which you will not be judged. Have some fun!

Now pickthree goalsto focus on. Put themin priority order.

Next, brainstorm 3 things you can do to bring your blog closer to each goal.

Here’s an example.

Goal:Increase subscribership to 1,000 readers.
How I’m going to get there:
1) Sign up for Daily Blog Tips’ blogging hero contest.
2) Guest blog on three major blogs.
3) Introduce new blogging”features” to generate excitement and momentum.

In conclusion…

And THAT, my friends, is the end of theEssential Advice for New Bloggersseries.

So, let’s discuss. What have you learned and, more importantly, what are you going to do about it?

I can’t wait to find out!

Jenny Blackburn. All Rights Reserved.

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Catch more of Jenny Blackburns humorous anecdotes on being a mom, a woman, and a whole lot crazy at Absolutely Bananas. If you have questions, anecdotes, or topics for On Blogging, email jenny[@]seattlemomblogs[dot]com.

Hi there!

So, it’s been quite a while since I last posted anything. And normally I wouldn’t go into one of those “Oh-I’ve-been-so-busy-please-forgive-me-I-still-love-you-Interwebs” tirades…but I’m going to, so I apologize in advance.

Some of you know that the past six weeks or so have been rough for me. On May 13, (which happens to be not only my birthday but that of the fabulous Isabel, my friend and fellow SMB columnist) my husband woke up to hear me gasping for breath, not breathing, and turning blue. He called 911, and my mother-in-law, who happened to be in town visiting, did CPR on me for the three or four minutes before the paramedics arrived.

Turns out, I had an episode of what the doctors call ventricular fibrillation, and went into heart failure. Thank God my husband was home and my mother-in-law was visiting, or else the outcome would have been entirely different, and I wouldn’t be here today, writing this post.

So, anyway, I spent about two weeks in two different hospitals, in part recovering from the incident itself and in part recovering from surgery as the doctors implanted a defibrillator in my chest, so that if this ever happens again, it will shock my heart back into functioning.

The doctors are attributing the cause to something called Peripartum Cardiomyopathy, which is defined as heart failure in the last month of pregnancy or within the first five months postpartum. According to Wikipedia, “PPCM is a diagnosis of exclusion, wherein patients have no prior history of heart disease and there are no other known possible causes of heart failure.”

Basically, although they can identify what it is, the doctors have no idea why it happens, which is scary.

But anyway, my excuses for not posting now made, you can read more about all of this stuff on my personal blog. On to more exciting (or at least more relevant to my column) topics.

I have to confess that since this happened, for the most part we haven’t been carless. We’ve had a slew of family visiting from Portland, and most of them have brought their cars, so we have had the very great luxury of being able to hop in the car and go…well, wherever we need or want to go whenever the fancy strikes us.

When we did happen to be carless for a few weeks after this happened, it basically meant we were housebound, because I’ve been in no condition to be busing it everywhere. (Which, by the way, was driving me slowly crazy; I am not a person who likes just sitting at home so being stuck there has been hard.)

Anyway, now my husband Brett’s sister Rachel is here for the summer to help us, and she has her car here.

Of course Brett and I have had good intentions to leave her car parked, to continue taking the bus, ordering our groceries online, riding the bus to church, work, etc. — for the most part, to continue our carless lifestyle.

But…well…it’s hard! The temptation to just jump in the car and go wherever we want or need to go without having to check a bus schedule or wait around for a bus or rush to catch a bus is so irresistable. It’s so much easier. And I feel guilty for that, even though I know that right now I really need to take it easy, and that includes not trekking all over Seattle on the bus with a baby strapped to my chest, carrying a diaper bag.

At least Rachel’s stay with her car is temporary, so in a couple of months, we’ll be back to our carless life. I hope by then I’ll be more in a position health-wise where we can continue to be carless.

I’ll leave you with a picture that I took quite a while ago (in late April, I think) at the intersection of 22nd Ave. NW and NW 56th Street in Ballard. I didn’t put the sticker on the sign, but I wish I had. I love it!

If you can’t quite read the rest of the sticker, it says, “DRIVING / Start: Walking! Biking! Using Public Transport!”

Now that’s my kind of bumper sticker.

Also, does it strike anyone else as ironic that it’s essentially a bumper sticker (you know, for a car) that is advocating to do away with cars? Hah. I guess that is why it’s on a stop sign and not on a bumper…

Anyway, to sum up: I’m back, blogging, and not quite carless. It should be an interesting summer, I think, with gas prices at record highs and rising every day and the temptation to drive everywhere looming large. I’ll keep you all posted as we navigate these murky waters of being not-quite-carless anymore.

Read more of Kathleens writing at http://shinelikestars.blogspot.com. If you have questions, anecdotes, or topics for Carless in Seattle, email .

Its been a busy week and while no one here is getting hauled out of a Tim McGraw concert (or at least I hope not) that doesnt leave any shortage of great blogging.

A Wannabe Hippies husband just returned from their own version of Man vs. Wild. Alone in the woods with 11 boys? Not for the weak of heart!

Mamikaze is heading into her first summer as a stay at home mom. Wonder how that happened? Well, shes writing all about it.

Think youre busy? Well just reading the list of all of the balls MagnoliaMamas got in the air right now made me want to take a nap.

Momma’s Tantrum is dealing with some very real child tantrums, but the recent sunshine did her family a world of good!

Northwest Ladybug may be a great project manager, but would she have made a better harbor master? Maybe she just needs a change of scenery.

Over at Who Made this Mess, you can find a great new way to make money off your kids, or at least keep the bickering under control! Thanks Lela.

Then maybe we can donate some of that money over at Welcome to Married Life, as Krista blogs about the Global Food Crisis and those in need.

Parents of the Great Pacific Northwest, brace yourselves. It looks as if all three of our local news weathermen are predicting a sunny weekend in our area! Now, after you have recovered from hearing that news (doesn’t it seem like we’ve been waiting an awfully long time for summer to get here?), you may be wondering what to do with your kids during this weekend of sunshine and high temperatures.

Besidesbeing surrounded by gorgeous mountains andevergreens year-round, we are also surrounded by tons of bodies of water and these places are sure to fill up fast on this, the first hot weekend of summer’08. Yes, it is a blast to hang out at Alki, Golden Gardens, and on the shores of Lake Washington, but these beaches often become over-crowded on weekends. Frankly, I’d rather spend time organizing my sock drawer than try to fight for a patch of sand (gravel) at one of our local beaches.

Instead of flocking with the masses, we’re staying home. Yup, you heard it. H-O-M-E.

There are so many things you can do with your kids to stay cool in your own backyard that I just can’t justify the stress of packing, hauling,driving (have you seenprices at the pump lately?), unpacking, hydrating, etc. that is involved withheading to the beach. Instead, we are setting up our umbrellas and pretending that the beach came to us this weekend.

Here’s how you can too:

• Turn on your hose. This may seem simple, but the mere sight ofcool, runningwater is known to reduce my internal body temperature by at least 10 degrees.
• Find your sprinklers. They don’t need to be fancy, simple garden-type will do. If you do want to get fancy, head to your local store (if you haven’t already) and pick up one of those sprinkler balls (ALL of my kids are in love w/this), a slip-n-slide, or one of the other hundred types of sprinklers before they run out (go fast, you only have until tomorrow before the rest of the Puget Sound figures out that the beaches will be crowded and rush to buy their own sprinklers!). Kudos if you managed not to break the one from last year!
• Don’t underestimate the power of the kiddie pool. A well-placed kiddie pool, a beach umbrella and a good book will keep you happy and cool while the kids get soaked in the sprinkler. Optional items include a) a strawberry daiquiri b) an icy cold lemonade and c) a stylish hat (think Samantha in the Sex and the City movie).
• Sunscreen! Remember this important item or you will spend the rest of the weekend applying aloe vera to crabby children instead of frolicking on your backyard beach.
• Have a picnic. Make it fun. Cut the crusts off the bread, live a little! Set up a blanket, towels, or a portable table if you don’t want the ants joining you and have at it. Serve all the food with toothpicks (I find that my kids will eat anything attached to a toothpick), or make them eat with their hands tied behind their backs. Don’t forget the popsicles. Whatever you do, make it fun!
• Water games,squirt guns, water balloon tosses, running from one side of the oscillating sprinkler to the other trying not to let itgetthem, are some of my kids’ favorite keep it cool activities.
• Bring the inside out. Grab your portable radio (er, iPod docking station, I guess this is 2008) and crank the tunes. Find an extension cord and set up a TV on the picnic table for a little late night, mock drive-in movie (pop the popcorn). Use you imagination.
• In the evening, drag out an old tent and set it up for storytime (or ghost stories if they are a littleolder) under the stars. Although it doesn’t get completely dark until nearly 10 o’clock, staying up late to stargaze with your children in the summer is an experience you both will benefit from.
• Relax. Remain calm and keep your eye on the prize. Creating fun summer memories doesn’t have to be hard. Keep it simple and just enjoy being together.

Hopefully there will be many more beautiful weekends ahead. I’m not suggesting that we all stay home for each and every one of them – but if beating the crowds, reducing your vehicle use and stress are important to you, remember that you can have just as much fun in your own backyard!

Oh, and if you have a neighbor with one of those elaborate water slide contraptions, might I suggest whipping up a batch of cookies STAT and becoming her new best friend? Just a little nugget of helpful advice, from me to you.

Carrie Blankenship is the mother of three (four, if you count her goofy puppy). She writes her way through motherhood at Stop Screaming I’m Driving! She accepts bribes of lattes (especially Starbucks) and offers of free babysitting. If you’re really lucky, she may even do your laundry. She can be contacted at carrieb-at-seattlemomblogs-dot-com.

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My parents are children of immigrants from China to the then-Malaya, a turn-of-the-century magical destination of opportunity.

First-generation Malaysians, they are also the precious bearers of tales featuring howling, heartbroken mothers forgotten in forsaken lands, their sons and husbands braving treacherous, month-long sea journeys for gold-paved streets and people so rich they throw away their crockery after each meal (a famous South Indian fable describing banana leaves used as plates – a tradition very much alive today).

My father, the youngest son of one such man, was born in Malaya, so he knew no such perils. My mother, also born in Malaya in the early 40s, too was spared the ordeal. But they may as well have been the ones sleeping next to filthy strangers in pitch-black basements, ten to a cabin, eating fermented rice crawling with maggots and salted fish, because my parents, they have carried my grandparents’ tales well tales of real suffering, as opposed to the Oh man! Gas is $4.50 a gallon?! whines we, the spoilt and lazy children of an ungrateful generation prone to complaining and not much else, like to indulge in.

Take the bus. Or walk, my dad would undoubtedly retort if that complaint ever escaped my mouth.

With two kids?! I would’ve asked, as though he was the mad one.

What? They cant walk? wouldve been the gruff end to that conversation.

The story of our journey to America is, of course, less colorful, although some might argue (some being me) that my 30-hour journey with one layover, one transit and two young children, can trump my grandmothers three-week cruise with my 15-year old aunt (adjusted for, like, modern advancements in transportation). Granted there may be very little entertainment or refreshments or, you know, sanitation, at least she got to take care of business without feeling like the worst mother in the world.

Its funny to think of myself as a migrant because Ive read Amy Tan and Lisa See and Jhumpa Lahiri and a few hundred migr stories with the same family on the run beginnings, fish out of water middles and rags-to-riches endings, that I cant help wondering what my own story will be like.

Will I suddenly be speaking in Chinese, wearing cheongsams and arranging my house according to the rules of fengshui, bringing my extant Chinese-ness to the fore for fear of losing it?

Will my daughters, all grown up, be tortured, confused creatures of fusion upbringing who end up taking pre-college, self-discovery trips to Malaysia?

Will one of them end up hating me for not having integrated as readily and as completely as I shouldve after 30 years, loathing my yearning for mahjong partners or my evening Chinese serials and my unwillingness to eat enchiladas without chopsticks with a teapot of Chinese Oolong to wash it all down, my English still embarassingly rife with lahs and lors that have not managed to fade even when all we speak at home is American, where herbal is erbal and rubbish is not even a real word?

Good grief, it seems romantically possible, doesnt it?

But I am already halfway not there. I dont have much of an accent, some Americans tell me with some measure of disbelief.

Actually, I do have an accent an American accent (how can one have zero accent? Not possible).

I dont use fengshui because my kids will probably redefine all of it in under two minutes.

I dont watch much TV either, American or Chinese.

But I definitely would like to play some mahjong soon before I forget all those clever combinations and how much fun it can be (a great Math training exercise, fyi).

When I go home next year for our first visit in what will be three years, I will probably revert to Malaysian English (with sudden lapses to American when I have to make the kids understand that this is the last time mommy is telling you to cut it out!).

I will probably complain about the heat and the lack of sanitation and the state of the roads (youve never seen a real traffic jam until youve visited Kuala Lumpur or Bangkok).

But I will probably also reminisce fondly, telling my girls things like, you were born here as I drive by our old homes and hospitals, or this is where Mommy used to play or this is what durian tastes like with a pensive, nostalgic quality to my voice, as I try to sear those aromas and images into my memory to take them home when we return to the Northwest.

With time, the bigness and brightness that is America will undoubtedly cast them to the unreachable recesses of my cluttered mommy mind, only to be summoned occasionally in sudden outbursts of Malaysian gibberish uttered unkindly to my husband on an especially trying day.

Or to regal you with my ramblings here at Seattle Mom Blogs.

Nothing too epic nor heart-wrenching. Nothing involving kitchen gods nor rice padi fields (okay, maybe one padi field). Nothing spicy, nor sweet and sour (unless it’s a recipe).

Just exotic enough so you’ll .

Read more of Jennifer Tais writing at The I’mPerfect Mom. If you have questions, anecdotes, or topics for Tea Leaf Journals, email jenn[at]theimperfectmom[dot]com.

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After a highly technical process of elimination (I had my 9-year-old draw a number from a bowl), the winner of the Camp Pack from Mabel’s Labels has been chosen.

Congrats to Shannon! YOU are our lucky winner, and it sounds like you’ll be getting these in just the nick of time!

Here is Shannon’s winning comment:

“With my tribe of pirates (three wild and crazy boys) we need all the labels we can get, and Mabels look fantastic! Now if only they came with a magic pill to help out with my debilitating mommy brain syndrome Id be so much the better!”

I will be emailing you (Shannon) at the email you provided, OR you can contact me via carrieb at seattlemomblogs dot com!

Thanks to everyone who entered!

Carrie Blankenship is the mother of three (four, if you count her goofy puppy). She writes her way through motherhood at Stop Screaming I’m Driving! She accepts bribes of lattes (especially Starbucks) and offers of free babysitting. If you’re really lucky, she may even do your laundry. She can be contacted at carrieb-at-seattlemomblogs-dot-com.

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When the daily realities of living with small children starts eating away at my sense of autonomy and satisfaction, and the days start feeling like a jail sentence, its a major sign that its time for me to re-evaluate, re-strategize, and recharge.

Re-evaluating means my husband and I add up time, money, who works when, school options (for the kids), and more. For a variety of reasons, weve recommitted to me being home full-time right now.

Re-strategizing usually means I remember all those things I’ve fallen out of the habit of: getting outside every day, showing respect for my children, spending time with other families and kids.

Recharging usually means spending time with friends, meditating, being with my husband, and writing. I also try to do mini-recharges throughout the day.

Once Ive gotten back into the groove, I set out to recharge my two kiddos (who are almost-five and twenty months).

Here are some of things I do to fill up their love cups

Cuddle Time
A few months ago, I realized that I was never playing with my kids.

Dont get me wrong, I dont think I should spend all day playing with my kids, and I would read books, cook, make play-dough, garden with them, etc., but still, my son would wail, Mama! Play with me!

So I decided I would give the kids at least a half hour of my undivided attention after breakfast clean-up (in the secret hope that this would take off some of the heat throughout the day).

And oh boy, my oldest (Orlando) is not about to give this up anytime soon. He dubbed it Cuddle Time and it has a permanent slot on the calendar.

As much as I struggle to become enthused about playing monsters, airplanes, robots, creatures, monsters, and monsters, Ive learned that Orlandos imaginative play is his way of talking and working through his thoughts, experiences, and feelings. By letting him lead the play, Im able to learn (and influence) much about him.

Im keeping Cuddle Time on my calendar, too.

(For a great read about how and why to play with kids, check out the book Playful Parenting).

Trading Time
This one is simply give a little, get a little. While I dont give the undivided attention I give during Cuddle Time, I try to acknowledge when things have been on my terms for a while and make the switch to doing something kid-focused.

Also, whenever one of us (but not the other) wants an activity to end, Ive started suggesting we set a timer. As in, Mama is going to blog, I mean, cook for fifteen more minutes and when the timer goes off, we will go to the library.

Somehow, the impartiality of the timer helps; plus, its a concrete representation of time for a kid who doesnt yet read a clock.

Time-in
This is a replacement for time-out, and we use it as opportunity to get connected or centered after a conflict, upset, or when Orlando needs my guidance (e.g., he is having trouble sharing or sitting still).

The main thing about time-in is that it is an energy thing. If I take the time to chill a little bit and dont put all my focus on correcting Orlandos behavior, I usually have much greater luck getting through to and connecting with him; and he has an easier time resetting to his own center (and thus behaving).

For more information about time-in, I would highly recommend Scott Noelles short four-part online series. I cant do the topic justice here, and he really covers it all.

In-Touch Time
We have two versions of this, the mellow Tree Massage and the uplifting Fill You Up.

For the Tree Massage, Orlando lies on his stomach, usually across my lap, and I start drawing a tree on his back with my hands.* He likes to pick the type of tree.

The trunk starts at his sit-bone and goes up his spine, the branches spread over his shoulders blades, and the branches are dotted with fruit. To make it even more grounding, I draw roots down his legs to his feet.

For Fill You Up, either kid lies down on his back and I start at his toes, squeezing/rubbing his feet, legs, etc., all the way up to his head while telling him, I am filling you up with love! Both of my kids love it.

The thing I try to remember about love is that when I give it wholly, fully give it even just the tiniest bit of it, it does come back to me.

I have chosen to be home full-time with my kids, and each time I actively choose to do time with them rather than slog through it, we not only shave a little bit of time off our sentences, we escape jail altogether.

* Thanks to my brother, Ralph, for the tree massage idea!

Read more of Stacy’s writing at Mama-Om. If you have questions, anecdotes, or topics for Crazy Much? email stacy [@] seattlemomblogs [dot] com. I’d love to hear from you!

All the photos in this post are by me, Stacy Lewis.

So how about thatteen pregnancy pacthuh?

Can I just sayHoly Effin’ Crap.What happened to a few drops of blood in a bowl or a traveling pair of pants?!

My husband and I totally expect to come up against some weird American “culture things” raising our girls here but a pregnancy pact is definitely waaaay over our heads. Okay, they’re six and almost-four but we can still talk about this. I like to be prepared.

Now Raeven is a very social person who loves to make new friends at parks and will often ask if she can follow her new friends and their families to wherever they’re going. Of course, the answer is often “no” followed by a lengthy explanation as to why we can’t let her walk away with total strangers.

Once, after one of the episodes where she’d wanted to go off with a new friend to another part of the playground and we’d already set up our picnic spot which was too far away from where she’d wanted to go, I’d told her in resignation that I was her mom and she had to listen to me rather than her new friend.

I’d been iffy about saying that but I’d big fat said it anyway. After the sobbing had subsided and the tantrum whittled down to a few dramatic grunts and sniffs, I’d said that I was glad she had made a friend but that we did not know the girl’s parents and that no matter what her new friend had said about it being okay to go with her (I’d been a little cheesed off how that little twit had kept insisting that Rae could go with her, making matters worse) that because she was my daughter and to keep her safe, she had to listen to me.

Seriously, I want to build a relationship with my girls that’s fun and resilient enough to “compete” with the friendships she will form in the future. I know I’ll probably fail in the “fun” part (I’m not getting pregnant together with her for comradeship, WTF) but I can’t in the “resilient, so I have to wonder: Should I tell them that where we come from, honoring thy parents and elders with obedience is a cornerstone of our upbringing? Is that enough here in America? Probably not. And surely we don’t want blind obedience. Or do we?

I remember my dad telling me once that the day will come when our kids will appreciate and trust their friends more than their own parents.I dread to think that the day has come.

I dread to think what my girls will do to belong to the group of friends they’ve decided they want to be a part of, and the kind of ideas they will come up with to define their sense of self and identity.

I dread to think that one day, they will turn around and tell me that “where we come from” doesn’t matter anymore because we’re here now, where you get a divorce because being married gives you mental disease, and you can beat up your friends for a few laughs on Youtube, and you can get pregnant with a homeless guy because it’s like babysitting but, like, for your OWN baby and for, like, no money for, like, forever.

Oh, my head.

Read more of Jennifer Tais writingatThe I’mPerfect Mom. If you have questions, anecdotes, or topics for Tea Leaf Journals, email jenn[at]theimperfectmom[dot]com.

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Well it’s official: I should not adopt nor give birth to an infant. For me older child adoption is the only way to go. Why? Well let me tell you

Recently my hubby Bill and I were babysitting for his brother and wife, Mike & Ronda. Their little girl Emma is the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen (yes I know, I’m biased.) When Mike & Ronda asked if we would take her for an afternoon we jumped on the chance to spend the day with her. We also thought it wouldn’t hurt to get some more kid practice before we adopt.

Emma is a year and a half and therefore still in diapers. I often joke that , and while it’s not really a phobia, I honestly do have a hard time with them. Mike & Ronda know this, but when they dropped her off they were happy to report and we were relieved to hear that she had already pooped that morning. Whew! We should be poop-free for the rest of the afternoon.

Not so fast! Sure enough, she gets a poopy diaper. Now the thing is I’ve actually changed a diaper before ONCE. And I could only manage to do it by NOT LOOKING. (Yes, it’s actually possible to successfully change a diaper with your head turned and a horrified look on your face.) I think since I got through it once before I was a little overconfident with Emma that morning, because when I went to change her diaper I made the mistake of LOOKING.

As soon as I saw the poop I quickly looked away, said to Bill something to the effect of, “Oh my God, that’s SO GROSS!”, and then I started gagging. And then I actually threw up in my mouth a little. And then my eyes got huge and I looked at Bill with a deer-in-the-headlights look on my face as I realized the inevitable. And then I dashed for the bathroom and HURLED.

Yes, I ACTUALLY VOMITED. And the worst part is that it hit me so hard and so fast that I didn’t make it all the way into the toilet before I tossed my pancakes (we did indeed have pancakes that morning). I managed to barf mostly in the toilet but partially on the bathmat. NICE.

So I hurl one big hurl, and then I start laughing because I know how ridiculous this whole freakin’ scenario is. People change millions of diapers a day without barfing! I scooped poop every day for four years working at the animal shelter and NEVER barfed! But I look at poo smeared on a kid’s booty and I projectile vomit? WHATEVER!!!

So I’m laughing, and laughing HARD. I’m laughing so hard that I start crying. Laughing so hard that it took me a minute before I could even stop to talk. Then I yell down the hall to Bill, “OMG dude, I just hurled!” And Bill yells back, sounding a little miffed, “Yeah I know, I heard it.” And that makes me laugh even harder. And all the while my poor hubby is in there having to step up and do what I couldn’t do without barfing. He deserves a gold star or something.

Later on he says to me, “You always know it’s a good party when someone hurls.” Ha! And of course Mike & Ronda laughed their keisters off when we told them. They felt a little bad of course, but it’s too funny not to laugh.

And that, my friends, is why it’s a good thing I’m not having a baby or adopting a baby. The Great Diaper Debacle of 2008 (as I have since dubbed it) pretty much confirmed without a shadow of a doubt that adopting an older kid is definitely the right choice. Yes I know I will still have to deal with some poo, snot, and puke, but at least I won’t have to do it several times a day.

Actually, the truth is I probably won’t end up having to deal with that stuff at all. One glimpse of bodily goo and I’m likely to barf and then Bill will have to deal with it instead. God I love that man.

(Yeah I know, I’ve already been told a thousand times “It’s different with your own kids”, but honestly, I have no desire to find out if that’s actually true!)

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In addition to being a writer and aspiring mom, Susan Metters also carries the distinguished title of Cancer Survivor Extraordinaire. Some of her secret ambitions include meeting Dr. Phil, hosting Saturday Night Live, and rising to the top as a rock star. You can read more about Susans life adventures by visiting her blog with the Seattle P.I., . If you have ideas, questions, rants, or ramblings feel free to email susan [at] seattlemomblogs [dot] com.

Back in Malaysia, my parents live in a small town called Batu Gajah (literally stone elephant) not unlike Duvall in size and population. They are retired schoolteachers. My dad golfs and my mom line-dances and sometimes, they drive around in our erstwhile blue Toyota station wagon.

Kindly note of the words erstwhile, meaning its now more of a vintage blue, you know, like muddy brown; and our, meaning the car has been around since I was still living with my parents.

And Ive not been living with my parents since 1991.

Ive been sitting here the last 15 minutes, trying to summon the most loving, sentimental descriptions my brain can muster at 11.20pm, to paint for you a picture of this vehicle in which Id spent much of my youth: road trips with my parents and sister; drives to the swim club, friends houses, church, school; thousands upon thousands of hours waiting for my mom in it as she visits the market, the bank, the post office, even the doctors (way back when leaving your child locked in the car was as casual as letting them out to play all day on the streets).

Who am I kidding? I hated that thing.

I began loathing the Toyota the moment I realized in 1985, way before I could drive, that it was a piece of crap. It was a used car my dad had gotten to act as a back-up for the 15-year old Civic wed owned.Ithad no air-conditioning (Malaysia is in the tropics, FYI), the seats were black and purple velvet (in the tropics!) and worst of all, it did not have a player.

It was 1985, and I was already my parents worst nightmare, a confused adolescent transitioning into an obnoxious teenager. A car without air-conditioning was bad enough. A car without a ? 13-year old me wanted to die both from the humiliation and the heat.

Makes one wonder what condition the Civic was in if THIS was the back up.

Id asked my dad once why hed bought such an old car (putting it mildly).

Old doesnt mean useless. Besides, were not made of money, was his curt answer.

You may be shocked to know that the Toyota is still chugging along, and has so far managed not to kill anyone. The last time I saw that deathtrap (four years ago?) much of the paint on its hood, around the bumper and doors had peeled right off, and rust had managed to erode away the rest of it, giving it an antique-y look. Youd think that after some 15 million near-death incidents from heat exhaustion and accidental stunts (like the drivers door opening without warning) and the odd noises, like the hood squealing whenever it went over a bump as though someone was trapped inside, my parents wouldve gotten rid of it.

Yet, my dad has seen fit to outfit it with a new used engine two years back, a deal hed gotten from an old mechanic friend. So now, its a piece of crap that will probably outlive all of us.

Good as new now, my mother had said with some emotion, as though my father had just rescued a family member from the brink of death.

“Besides, we’re not made of money,” she’d added, tilting her head up, defiant and proud that she and my dad had, once again, gotten away with such a good deal when lesser people would’ve balked and surrendered to the temptation of a shiny new car with a shiny new loan to go with it.

It has always been this way with my family. Repair is better than replace. If you can fix it, fix it. Old doesnt mean useless (even if it may kill you). Which is why explaining globalization and present-day economies of scale to my parents, that have made replacing some items, like washing machines or fridges, and sometimes even cars, can be cheaper than repairing them, is next to impossible.

Aiya, I can hear them starting. Americanized daughter asking why parents living in small town Malaysia insist on salvaging piece of crap deathtrap. Young people these days, such excess, such wastage. Tut tut. What do you know about poverty and deprivation, the days when even being able to walk around was a luxury?

A few months ago, my husband and I considered selling our Chevy Uplander for no real reason other than to have a newer car (were a one-car family). We shopped around online for its replacement, hovered between the new Mazda SUV and a Jeep. In the meantime, we sent the Chevy away for the day to be detailed.

When it was returned, we were stunned. There was the ride wed fallen in love with two years ago, shopping for our first American car. Why did we want to replace it in the first place? Status? Impulse? Because its the Microsoft Vanpool van? Who the heck knows?

I dont know if we can ever keep our car for as long as my folks have kept theirs (the stuck around for about 22 years before it finally died a permanent death) but there is something to be said about being good to your possessions so they last long enough to create memories (even if theyre crappy ones), especially in tight times like these. My parents wouldve been proud to know that wed decided to stick with our one-car policy and our old car – if only Id told them about the whole want a new car, need a new car episode. Didnt want to listen to an hour-long lecture on being more frugal especially with gas prices going up and the US dollar going down.

Besides, were not made of money.

Ps. This post is not sponsored by Honda or Toyota and is not a testimony to how long their cars last. My parents are just very careful car owners.

Read more of Jennifer Tais writingat The I’mPerfect Mom. If you have questions, anecdotes, or topics for Tea Leaf Journals, email jenn[at]theimperfectmom[dot]com.

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