I laughed pretty hard at this.  I think Maya Rudolph does a great Beyonce, and whoever this guy is sounds just like Jay-Z.

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Photographers and hair accessories lovers, take note.  Embraceable Lace is new to the NGN scene, and she’s offering you all a 15% discount with the code NGN15.  :)

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I, like you, am addicted to Pinterest.  Sometimes, though, I look at some of the things on there and think “There’s no way that’s a good idea.”  Like those huge paper pom poms that people hang in nurseries?  Adorable, and really cute for parties, but I feel like it would just be a terrible, terrible dust trap.  I’ve put a few things I’ve pinned to the test.  I’m not adding pictures, simply because I want to make sure that the re-pin goes to the original photo on the original site.

1) Ana White Pottery Barn Knock Off Tutorial.  I pinned this cubby.  I was going to build it with Angie when she came up to visit, but because all of the tools I have consist of a pink hammer and a cordless drill, she surprised me buy building one.  It’s currently attached to the wall next to the front door.  (More pictures on this to come.)

2) Tub and Shower Magic Recipe.  I loooove a clean house.  And I loooove a clean tub.  Scouring it out when I’m 8 months pregnant is a little difficult, but then I saw this recipe on Pinterest and I had to try it.  I heated up my vinegar and mixed it with blue Dawn.  Spray tub like crazy, then wipe soap scum off.  Seriously?  Magical!  My only mistake was not buying the concentrated Dawn, which acts more like a gel.  If you do this… get the concentrated kind.

3) That Popular “We Do” Sign.  I keep seeing the “We do loud.  We do hugs.” sign on Pinterest.  And then I saw this sign, which I liked a little better.  I needed something to fill a big frame on my photo wall, and since I haven’t found anything yet.. I wrote this out in some chicken scratch handwriting and put it on the wall.  I swapped a few lines out.  “We give,” among a couple other ones.  I like it until I find something different.  :)

How about you?  Have you pinned anything and tried it?  Link me, boo.

I want to know more about your pregnancy.  Do you get stretch marks?  Have cravings?  - Anonymous, via Formspring

My first two pregnancies gave me stretch marks, so I’m not sure if this baby is showing me the same ones or if I’m getting more.  Sounds super hot, right?  Cravings.. hmm.  For awhile I wanted grapefruit every single day.  And for awhile I was chugging glasses of milk every day.  Now I don’t want any milk but I reeeaally want iced tea.  Mmm, what else about my pregnancy?  I’m generally ouchy and will ask anyone with a fifty foot radius to rub my back.  It’s kind of creepy, actually.

How did you and Jack meet?  - Anonymous, via Formspring

I went to a concert.  Jack was the drummer, and he introduced himself to me after the show.  We shook hands and chatted briefly about Coldplay.  He thought I was underage, so didn’t talk to me for months after that.  :)

Okay, so he's playing guitar in this picture.

What does your work entail outside of writing actual NGN blog posts?  – Pete, via Facebook

Well, sometimes other companies will compensate me writing on my own blog.  Those posts have a clear disclosure at the end, per FTC regulations.  Occasionally I’ll be asked to write articles for other sites, or write copy for companies (for websites, print material, packaging, etc.), or do some social media/blog consulting, which is basically me playing on Facebook for other companies.

What products/tools do you use in your hair?  Perfume?  Makeup?  Nail polish?  - Allison, via email

Hmm, I’m not too specific about hair products, but I don’t use anything that has sulfates or silicones in it because they don’t work well with my hair.  I heat style once or twice a week, and I’ll use either a flat iron or a large barrel curling iron.  Oh, one product I loooove when I can get my hands on it is Lush Revive & Balance hair moisturizer.  My hair’s pretty thick/dry, so this stuff is a magic potion for my hair.

I’m sort of a creature of habit when it comes to the rest.  I’ve been wearing the same perfume every day for years now – Dolce & Gabbana Light Blue.  I have no idea if that makes me dated, but I love the smell, and so….

I gravitate towards pricier cosmetics, but I justify the cost because I buy so little of it.  Favorites are Laura Mercier Tinted Moisturizer and blush/lip stain by either Tarte or NARS.  I don’t spend a lot on mascara, because I’m wary of germs and usually toss it every month or so.  I’m a moron at doing my own nails, but I really like Essie nail polish.

And there you have it. 

Feel free to answer all of these questions for yourself.  I’d love to know how you met your significant other, how you’re handling this pregnancy, or what products I’d find if I snooped around in your bathroom or makeup bag.  :)

via howtogeek.com

I would hunt for bison, cross a river in my covered wagon, close my eyes in a moment of silence when someone on my team died of dysentery or cholera, be transported in my mind to Little House on the Prairie days while my retinas burned staring at pixelated images of oxen and bonnets.

I find that my ten year old self is similar to my current self.

My very non-Amish dad lives in the non-Amish section of Amish Country, Pennsylvania.  (Catch that?)  Every time I drive down to visit him, I find myself longing for a simpler life.  Churning butter and canning applesauce and letting my sleep patterns be determined by the rising and setting of the sun.

I was a big Laura Ingalls fan as a kid.  And an Anne of Green Gables fan.  And a Boxcar Children fan and a Babysitters Club fan, although that’s not really relevant right now.  I just had the sudden urge to wear a neon, off-the-shoulder top.  (Totally in for Spring 2012, I’m told.)  So glad I’m ginormous for all these nostalgic trends.  Booo.

Wait, where was I?

I enjoy the idea of living simply.  Quietly.  I probably annoy Jack with this, but if there are too many lights on and music’s going and we’re watching the news, I experience sensory overload and have to start shutting things down in order to preserve my sanity.

I waver between really enjoying mopping my floor and really loving the idea of having a cleaning service come once a week.

Every year I think it would be nice to start a garden, but every year I kill the hardiest of flowers in a pot on my front steps.

I want open fields and my internets.

I like handmade clothes, but cannot make handmade clothes.  (The five times I used my sewing machine, I threatened to set it on fire.)

I Pin instructions for making your own laundry detergent.  I also Pin fancy things and small appliances on a board called “Hey Husband, I Wouldn’t Hate It If You Bought Me This.”

It’s too much of a dichotomy, no?

Do you struggle with this?  Is there a balance to be achieved?  Are you reading this and shaking your bonnet-clad head at me?

I don’t want to die of cholera.  Let me just be clear about that.

This is from four years ago, so please forgive my poor editing skills.  I had made the video private for about a year, but I publicked (<–not a real word) so you can see how incredibly nerdy I am.

I told Jack I would like to be surprised and not find out the gender, but by the time the 20 week ultrasound came around, he had convinced me to find out, and our monotone tech announced that we were having a girl.

When I was pregnant with Baby Shark, I was adamant about not finding out the gender.  “Let’s be surprised!”  He wasn’t really into it, but I remained strong through my ultrasound.  But, it was discovered that Baby Shark had a problem with her kidneys, so we probably had about a dozen ultrasounds during that pregnancy.  During one of those ultrasounds, a tech kept using gender-specific terms.  “He’s growing well.”  “His right kidney…”  Etc., etc.

I was so upset.  I felt like my surprise was ruined, so we had the tech put the gender on a piece of paper and stick it in an envelope while I sorted out my feelings.  Jack went to work and I moped all day.  He convinced me to open the envelope, so we decided to at least try to make it fun.  Later that night, we uploaded a video to Facebook showing the process.  We had gone to a local bakery, gave them the envelope, and had them write the gender on a brownie.  We took Rembot out to dinner, and the waitstaff seemed as excited as we were.  They all marched out with a brownie and candles and screamed “It’s a girl!”  The video was a fantastic way to tell our family and friends.

So this pregnancy, I decided, enough is enough.  We are not – under any circumstances – finding out the gender.  Jack protested, but I stood firm.  Had an ultrasound; didn’t find out the gender.  Because kidney issues can be hereditary, they wanted us to do a follow up ultrasound.  Another chance to find out the gender.  We did not.

And Jack was disturbingly upset.  He wanted to know the gender of his baby.  And because of HIPAA laws, the ultrasound tech wouldn’t tell him, simply because I’m the patient and I didn’t want us to find out.

“It just makes me feel like I had.. nothing to do with this.”

Bah.  On one hand, come on.  Be surprised with me.  Won’t it be fun?  But, on the other hand, I realize that Jack and I are two completely different people.  We like different things.  We switch radio stations on each other in the car.  He likes background noise, and I prefer quiet.  He’s better at listening; I’m better at reading.  So on, and so forth.

And I want to be surprised.  And he does not.

When he was out of the room, I whispered to the tech to please write the gender down.  She wrote the gender on a post-it note and I shoved it in my pocket.  And then I stuffed it in my wallet.

At home, I transferred the note into an envelope, and then another envelope, and then ANOTHER envelope, and wrote Jack a little note, telling him that while I would much prefer that he find out the gender with me at the hospital when our baby is born, he is welcome to find out on his own, and I will respect whatever decision he makes.

I also wrote NOOOOOOOO DON’T OPEN MEEEEEEEEEE on every single envelope.  :)

I gave it to him, and he was thrilled.  He waited a solid week and a half to open it, and, as I had requested, videotaped his reaction so I could one day watch it.  (Can you tell we’re super into videotaping things?)

So Jack knows the gender.  And I do not.

“Can I post the video to NiceGirlNotes so your readers can watch it and then I’ll delete it?  Everyone will know but you, won’t that be fun!?”

Ummmm.

:)

A lot of you are kitty lovers – even though I am not – and love me anyway and email me pictures of your cats being all sneaky on window sills and stuff.  So I know we’re cool.  And like I’ve said before, if you own a cat, I’ll still come over your house and hang out with you and let you feed me.

But I won’t cat-sit.

Did I mention I’m allergic?  So I don’t want to pet your cat, either.  But I will absolutely let you make me dinner while I sit on your couch and read all of your magazines and your cat stays a safe distance away from me.

Wow, that was a long preface.  Yesterday, I posted on Facebook that I had some sort of weird cut/fang mark/something on my hand.  Not sure how I got it, but it hurts.  I blamed the stray cat intruder, even though it never touched me (that I know of).  Haha, demon kitty attacked me in my sleep, or whatever.

But then this morning, I woke up and my hand looked.. worse.  A lot worse.  And it’s red.  And kinda puffy.  And sure, you can say it, a little gross.  I doubt my camera has captured the intensity of the grossness, but humor me for a minute.

Scenario #1: I was bit by a spider and am turning into Spiderman.
Scenario #2: Demon kitty gave me some sort of terrible virus where I have to be quarantined and drink broth and a movie is made about me with Wentworth Miller starring as my doctor and me starring as me.

Decided on going to the doctor, because.. ouch.. my hand kind of hurts and I have a small human inside me that I have to think about, too.  Regular doctor was booked solid, so I met with her partner.

ME: I took a picture of what my hand looked like yesterday.  *shows her phone*
DOCTOR: Mm, well it’s a good thing you came in today.
ME: It is?
DOCTOR: It’s definitely infected, and with your history of MRSA combined with the fact that you’re pregnant, we should take care of this right away.

(boring chat about antibiotics)

DOCTOR: Do you know how you hurt your hand?
ME: No idea.  Maybe I abraded it on something?
DOCTOR: Well, do you have any animals?  Because it looks like a cat scratched you.

!??!!?!?!?!?!!?!?!?!!!??!

Demon kitty.  It’s after me.

The three of us left the house to shop.  Locked the door, shut it, hopped in the car and drove off.  A few hours later I pull into my driveway.

“Why is my front door open?”  We stare.  No cars in the driveway.  Jack is gone for the weekend.  The girls are out with Lola.  Why is the front door open?  The door stands ajar.

We remember locking it.  And as I try to come up with reasonable scenarios in my mind…

a cat comes walking out of my house.

A CAT.  Many of you know my utter disdain for cats.

The three of us collectively gasped, and, as Angie pointed out…

So, at this point, my even-keeled self is properly freaking out.  We locked the door, and the door is open.  I don’t own a cat, but a cat I don’t recognize just slinked out of my house.  What… the… junk.

“Do I call the police?”

Thankfully, just as I turned my head, I saw my neighbors across the street pull up.  Fantastic family.  I ran over to them, and apparently I looked panicked, because they asked what’s wrong.  I explain, and the man of the house marches right over, swings the door open and heads inside.  Angie and I sheepishly follow while Amanda starts Tweeting out her will and last testament to her devoted Twitter fans.

No one’s inside.  Neighbor checks the shower in the bathroom, which I am so grateful for, because not everyone is thorough enough to check the shower for killers.  He says it’s all clear, and I try to piece together what happened.

There’s a package I’ve been waiting for my front porch.  So.. maybe.. we locked the front door, shut it, but it didn’t latch properly.  The mailman knocks on the door, drops the package on my front porch, and leaves.  The door opens and some stray must have made his (or her) way in.

I panic again when I think that this cat may have gone to the bathroom somewhere in my home, and I am grateful that all of the bedroom doors were shut, which eliminated the “a cat hung out on our beds” fear.

Angie has a startling thought.  “THANK GOD that cat came out.  Can you imagine if you walked in your house and suddenly you notice a cat walking around?”

My heart stops just thinking about it.  Seriously, if that happened, I probably would have gone into labor on the spot.

Poor Amanda and Angie.  I was SO rattled by unwelcome wildlife (OR MAYBE SCARY HUMANS HIDING IN MY BASEMENT) being in my house I could not relax.  I emotionally ate carrots and hummus and paced back and forth and generally looked like I needed to be medicated.  I was – how do you say? – on edge.

Amanda graciously followed me into my embarrassingly Hoarders-esque basement to make sure there weren’t any psychopaths hanging out down there.  I had a hacksaw in my hand and Amanda was armed with a hammer and an inverted lollipop.  No psychopaths.  Phew.

Later that night, some friends met us for dinner, and my friend Lindsey leans over and goes, “What if that cat had kittens in your basement?”

as;ldkgjalsdgasg!!!

Lindsey bursts into hysterical laughter at my angry face and, no, I did not sleep well that night.

Thanks, Lindsey.  Thanks, Cat.

I was caught up in a whirlwind of pain and joy and adrenaline rushing.  While the girls’ births were very different, the hours after birth were much of the same.  Seven-pounds-nothing each had Jack completely wrapped around their tiny fingers.  He sang the same song to little bundles swayed back and forth in his arms.

Twice, I sunk back into my pillow, and asked my midwife if I could finally have some painkillers – the strong kind.  And maybe a steak.  And how about a gold medal for that marathon session I just pulled, hm?

And once on a humid Saturday in August, and again on a Thursday in February, Baby and Mommy were cleaned up and nurses were thanked and midwives were hugged and I settled into a wheelchair, little girl snug in my arms.  An aide pushed my chair along and Jack followed, juggling bags and blankets.  We murmured thank yous to congratulatory whispers from strangers as we passed by them in the halls.

By the time we were settled into our new room and everyone had left, the clock was teetering close to three am.  It was the same, twice in a row.  Jack half asleep on what must be the most uncomfortable couch ever known to mankind.  And there, in the darkness, me and this tiny stranger.

The tiny strangers I carried for long months and felt dance against my ribcage.  No longer little mysteries, waiting to be born.  Now here and in my arms and blinking at lights.  Those quiet, late night, face-to-sweet-little-face moments are the magical ones.  I held Rembot and pressed my cheek into her hair, soft and thick.  I cradled Baby Shark, face against my neck, her breathing a faint, rhythmic hum.

Those first weeks, there was little sleep and little combing-of-the-hair and little of anything other than stumbling around the house in a sweatpants-clad fog.  We snuggled in the living room and watched the clock strike four.  We dozed off on the couch as the sun came up.  We caught cat naps to the familiar rumble of the dishwasher and thanked God for every person who ever gifted us a pack of diapers.

And when I remembered to stop and savor it, I did.

I drank it all in.

I’m nine weeks away from doing this again for a third time.  From meeting the tiny human tapping against my ribs, this little causer of heartburn and ice cream over-consumption.  From greeting wee hours of the morning with a blanket over my shoulder and a baby in my arms.  From whispering shhh and there, there.

Nine more weeks.  Also, I would like my steak medium rare.  In case you were wondering.

Visit DisneyBaby.com to upload your own magical memories.  :)
Disclosure: This post was sponsored by Disney Baby.  All opinions – and cute babies – in this post are my own.

We’ve been talking about Bittylutions – my series on mini, achievable resolutions.

KEEP ALL THE THINGS CLEAN AND ORGANIZED seems like a lofty and overwhelming goal.  Especially if you’re busy and have children and baby pet chupacabras and a collection of Pez dispensers lovingly displayed on your fireplace mantel.

I am home a lot.  I live here, I raise my kiddies here, and I also work here.  My brain cannot properly function if my house is not in order.  I had to adapt a little bit, because if I only got things done when my house is 100% clean, I’d be walking around the house with dust rags, being chased by naked and hungry toddlers.  You know what I mean.

But if the space around me is cluttered, my brain feels cluttered.  And at the same time, throwing myself into being 100% organized and clean all the time seems anti-bittylution.  See my conundrum?

In the beginning of January, we had our floors replaced, which meant Jack and buds stacked up furniture in the kitchen, and boxes went every which way.  Basically, junk went everywhere, and I was overwhelmed just looking at it.  We plowed through, bit my bit, and even though furniture went back where it belonged, things were still askew.

WHO PUT DUCT TAPE IN THE BUTTER COMPARTMENT?

Know what I mean?  Not only did I have the usual blocks and books shoved under the couch dilemma, but there was also just an explosion of THINGS.  Stacks on stacks on stacks.  So, I got a little extreme.  If you’ve been stumbling around in a catastrophic mess, I think my crazy gameplan will work for you.

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Pick a day where you have a block of time free.  Kick all of the humans out of the house.  While I can get stuff done with Rembot and Baby Shark underfoot, I am profoundly less productive.  I called Lola one weekend morning, and she whisked the kids away for me.  I had the house to myself, and I feel like (for me) that this was key.

Getting read-dayyyyy: Eat a healthy breakfast, because as tasty as doughnuts may be, they don’t provide me the energy I need to plow through some work for a few hours.  I threw on workout clothes, mainly because they’re the only clothes that fit, and I am not at ALL productive in pajamas.  Seriously, I peel those bad boys off the first thing every morning, otherwise I find that I drag until I shower and get dressed.

Snag some plastic bags for garbage and containers (I used some Trader Joe’s paper bags) for donations.  I put some of the TJ bags in the corner of one room.  When I find things that I need to donate, I drop it in that bag so it’s all in one spot. Get all of your cleaning supplies together.  This is important: no television.  No internets.  No cell phone.  I know, I’m a tyrant, but seriously if you don’t shut ‘em down, you’ll end up Pinning cute decor for your house THAT IS STILL MESSY.  (I hear about two dozen of you yelling, “Hollaaaa” and “Mmhmm, I know that’s right.”)

Turn on some sweet jams.  I get a playlist going on Grooveshark and plug my laptop into the stereo in my living room.  I issue an apology to my neighbors via Facebook status if they hear an abundance of 90s hip hop and catch glimpses of me doing the Cupid Shuffle in my living room.

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Hour #1: I know.  Seeing the word “hour” may be a little overwhelming, but it’ll go quickly.  I make my living room and kitchen priority since they’re the first rooms people see when they come in the house.  (I have no formal dining room, and an open floor plan means people can see the kitchen/dining area the second they walk in the house).  The first chunk of time is for picking things up, not dusting or mopping or sweeping, so don’t be tempted to start cleaning fingerprints off switchplates.

15 minutes – living room: I set the microwave timer for 15 minutes and get biz-zay in the living room.

- Throw any garbage away.  (Baby Shark has not mastered the art of throwing her tissues in a trash can.)

- Throw any laundry in a hamper.

- Hang up coats and put them in the coat closet.

- Deliver shoes back to where they belong (for us, it’s a lidded basket in the living room).

- Clear off surfaces.  Coffee table, armoire, couch, loveseat, sofa table.

- Pick junk up off the floor.

*IMPORTANT.  Put things in their homes.  If there are crayons and coloring books on the coffee table, I throw the crayons in the crayon cups and put everything in the cabinet where I keep the art supplies.  If you’re not sure where the “home” is yet, just stick homeless things in a box, but don’t get hung up on organizing spaces just yet.

Stop when the timer goes off, even if you didn’t get past the first few steps.  You’ve still made progress (YESSSS) and now it’s time to move to the kitchen.

15 minutes – kitchen:  Set the microwave timer.  Mine goes eee-eee, eee-eee when it goes off.  In case you were wondering.

- Throw any visible garbage away.  (But don’t start opening cabinets looking for expired Cheetos.)

- Empty the dishwasher/dish rack.

- Load the dishwasher and run that action.  (If you have no dishwasher and all of the clean dishes are put away, just start washing dishes and enjoy the sweet melodies of Salt-N-Pepa while you do so.)

- When the dishes are done, clear off the kitchen table.  (Send things to their homes.  For example, right now I have a coffee mug, a dish rag, and some mail on the kitchen table.  The mug goes in the dishwasher, the dish rag goes in a hamper, and the mail goes in the mail slot thingy that we’ve got on the wall.)

- Grab another rag and some cleanser and scrub down the table and push all the chairs in.  Because now one section of the kitchen looks relatively clean.

- Start clearing off counters.  I go from left to right and just send things home.  Empty seltzer bottles get put in a bag for recycling, cereal boxes go back into a basket on top of the fridge, etc.

Stop when the timer goes off, and head to the bathroom.

5 minutes – bathroom:

- Throw any visible garbage away.

- Throw any laundry in a hamper.

- Ignore the shower completely.  Seriously.  Close the curtain and walk away.

- Pick up stuff and put it away.

Stop when the timer goes off.

15 minutes – living room:

- If all of the extraneous stuff in the living room has been sent back to their homes, then break out the cleaning supplies and start wiping down hard surfaces.  Otherwise, keep working on decluttering.  Surfaces first, then the floor (this is where I find mismatched socks).

Stop when the timer goes off.  Look at you, champ.  You just cleaned for 50 minutes straight.  Your playlist should be still be going strong, so do a little celebratory step and give me a whatwhatt.

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Ten minutes – ch-ch-check it out: I sit with a notebook and a pen and I reassess the situation.  Usually at this point, my living room is shiny and clean, my bathroom is no longer cringe-inducing, but my kitchen still needs love.  I start writing a list.  Cater it to your needs – for example, if you have a large foyer, you may want to move on to that.  I have no foyer, but three square feet of tile that just need a quick sweep + mop.

The next hour.  Or two.  Or even three:  My list will look something like this:

• 15 minutes – kitchen
• tidy up the girls’ closet
• 5 minutes – bathroom
• 15 minutes – kitchen
• clean up my closet/Jack’s closet
• fold any clothes that are in the dryer and put them away
• 15 minutes – kitchen (Can you tell that my kitchen is tiny and that Jack hoards 30 jars of salsa all day long?  Can you?)

*Note: Before I tackle any laundry, I do a quick peek in our closets and dressers to straighten things.  It makes it easier to put little girl underwear away if the little girl underwear bin doesn’t have legos and juice boxes in it.

I keep splitting up kitchen time or I get overwhelmed.  I don’t worry about organizing cabinets, drawers, or the fridge.  Just cleaning off counters, putting things where they belong, and doing a quick sweep and mop.

When I move onto the bedrooms, I like to go in this order:

• throw garbage away
• deliver any water glasses to the kitchen (I am the biggest offender of this)
• make beds if they’re not made
• throw any dirty laundry in hampers
• hang up/fold any clean laundry
• put toys and books in their bins
• throw all of Jack’s stuff in one box for him to deal with later (if I don’t know where it goes)

Full disclosure: by the time I get to cleaning bedrooms and the half bathroom, I’m tired.  I know it seems like it’s not productive, but I do five minutes in one bedroom, five minutes in another, etc., just to keep myself from sitting on a bedroom floor, going through a bin of dolls and then just sort of passing out.  It’s less overwhelming for me this way.

I probably spent five hours cleaning, sorting through boxes, and doing laundry.  BUT, I’m super pregnant and am a little slower to bend, pick things up, climb up and down basement stairs with baskets in hand, etc.  And, when I’m on a roll, I keep going and then finally pass out.

Celebrate:  No, really.  I do.  I celebrate hard.  My house is clean.  I eat a really good meal and then shop on the internets.  (Slow your roll, Jack, I promise I don’t go overboard.)  :)  But, I do like rewarding myself after a marathon clean session.  I bought fancy new cleaning supplies.  Maybe not glamorous, but fun to order nonetheless.

The Bittylution Portion of This: This is just suppose to be a one-time marathon session.  At this point, I’ve maintained the “cleanliness” <–I use that term loosely.

Once my house was mostly clean, I started listing tiny projects that I could tackle.  Cleaning out the linen closet, organizing baskets in the kitchen, cleaning out the fridge + freezer, wiping down cabinet fronts, etc.  I do this on top of whatever basic cleaning I need to do for the day – dishes, laundry, etc.

But I break it down into manageable steps.  Oh, I’ve got an extra five minutes?  I can get rid of the Tupperware containers that are missing lids.  Oh, wait.  That’s ALL of them.

Some resources for getting organized / scheduling daily cleaning:

- Simple Mom

- Home Ec 101

- Flylady

I actually highly dislike the Flylady website, and I find a lot of the stuff to be a little too “fluffy” for what I need.  (Be prepared for crazy acronyms all over the place.)  I did read her book, Sink Reflections, and it was a lot easier to understand.

Got any other resources?  Ideas?  Tips for success?  Candy?

Hm?

This time, with a review and a comparison of the Maclaren Twin Triumph and the Maclaren Twin Techno.  Both fantastic double strollers.  If you’ve ever pored over your laptop, researching double strollers while eating Cheetos, I think you’ll appreciate my vlog review.  And?  I finally got my theme song.  Whatwhatt.

Some notes:

• I said “both come with a raincover” but I was actually showing off the hood.  They do both come with raincovers.  I’ve never had to use them, but I think they’d be really convenient for parents who live in metropolitan areas or if you’re on a day trip at the zoo or the park and it starts to rain.
• These strollers are void of the features I’ve seen on double strollers.  I previously owned a front-and-back double stroller that had food trays for each seat.  The stroller was so long, that I needed a walkie-talkie to talk to the kid in the front seat, and the stroller alone (sans children) was well over 40 pounds.  I’ll gladly take a lighter stroller and avoid bulky trays to boot.
• Because the wheels are larger on the Twin Techno (and this possibly just has to do with my height), I noticed that I had to adjust my stride slightly so as to avoid kicking the wheel.  It was an easy adjustment, and there was no issue with this on the Twin Triumph.
• Both are the lightest weight double strollers I’ve ever tried out.  I’m currently 31 weeks pregnant, and I can still manhandle the strollers like a champ.  *flexes*
• Want to buy one?  Check out more specs on the Maclaren Twin Techno and the Maclaren Denim Twin Triumph!

Oh my dang.  Want to win one!?  Maclaren is giving away a shiny, brand new Denim Twin Triumph.  It’s super stylish and I’m pretty sure pushing it around ups my street cred, even if I’m singing the Chubby Little Snowman song while doing so.

Oh hayyyy, I'm the prettiest double stroller you've ever seen!

How to enter:
- Comment on this post.  That’s it!  Examples of what to comment with if you’re having stage fright: Talk to me about double strollers, my vlog sunset walk at the beach, eating Cheetos, movies starring Ryan Gosling, etc.

Additional + totally optional entries:
- Follow Maclaren on Twitter.
- Follow NiceGirlNotes on Twitter.
- Subscribe to NiceGirlNotes or get it in your email.
- Follow NiceGirlNotes on Pinterest.
(I need a brand new comment for each additional entry.)

Note: asking readers to “like” a Facebook fan page as a giveaway entry is against Facebook TOS.  So, I would love it if you hit up Maclaren and NiceGirlNotes with a “like,” but it cannot count as an entry.  Zuckerberg, you’re killing me, Smalls.  :)

Good luck!

Disclosure: This giveaway is open to residents of the US, Canada, and the UK only.  Winner will be chosen at random.  Maclaren will ship the Denim Twin Triumph to the winner.  I received no monetary compensation for this post; Maclaren sent me both strollers for review.  Opinions are my own.  Giveaway closes on Saturday, February 11th, at 11:59pm EST.  Also… hi.

*Comments are now closed*

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The winner of the Maclaren Denim Twin Triumph is….

Congrats, Allison!  Thanks to all who entered!  :D

*Allison has 48 hours to respond to my email.  In the event that she has not responded, I will choose another winner.*

Just like actors who portray serial killers in episodes of Unsolved Mysteries.

I had been sniffling about something or another – dealing with a large appliance malfunction or attempting to get a writing project out while Baby Shark kicks my laptop and giggles about it when HOLY MOLY, CUTE TINY HUMAN, IT’S 10:00PM WHY ARE YOU UP?

Parenting Tip: If your toddler keeps waking up, and you offer to let her ‘sleep’ on the couch next to you while you work, carry aforementioned toddler to the couch knowing full well that she will do everything but sleep.  Like smear Chapstick all over her face or demand, toes up in the air, that you do the “This Little Piggy” game one more time.

Which wouldn’t be so bad, but it was the Chapstick Medicated kind, so then she sort of just smelled like Vicks, and talking about Little Piggies eating roast beef makes me feel alarmingly PETA-friendly, what with pigs devouring their cow neighbors and all.

Wait.  Roast beef comes from cows, right?

Right, it totally does.

Jack came home from band practice around 10:30, which is the norm, to see Baby Shark huddled up against me, couch pillows askew.  He kissed her and tucked her in bed.

He came back out into the living room, and we had a typical back-and-forth that couples can have when it’s late and we’re tired and there’s work yet to be done.  And something about him standing there in his “I’m getting skinny” black t-shirt and jeans, announcing that he was headed to bed felt irrationally smug.

I’m usually pretty even-keeled.  Robot-like, as we’ve discussed.  But I started tearing up and my voice did that squeak-every-four-words thing.  And Jack gently mentioned that I am notoriously emotional during pregnancy.

Naturally, I straightened up in my chair and told him that I wasn’t emotional in my most emotion-less voice.  If I knew how to raise just one eyebrow, I would have done so at that moment, as if I was daring him to question that statement.  But I’ve tried, and it never works and I end up looking really confused and kind of crazy, which would be defeating the purpose at this point.

We chatted awhile longer until we reached a calm resolution.  He gave me a ‘go get em, Tiger’ fist to the chin, squeezed my large pregnant self, and headed to bed.

Okay.  Maybe I am a touch emotional.

Especially during dramatic movie previews.  Or when my favorite hand soap is on sale.  OH, HOLD UP.  I’m positive I told the server that I wanted freshly squeezed grapefruit juice, not orange juice.  WHAT IS THIS IN MY GLASS?

The day I had my ultrasound that told us that we were going to have our very first girl, I cried at a Pillsbury cinnamon roll commercial showing a mom and daughter baking side by side.  Some ad exec did that on purpose, obviously.

I mean, cinnamon rolls aren’t even that tasty, and the little doughboy looks totally murdery.