Marketing That Really Stands Out

Here' s a sign I saw by the side of the road yesterday:

Gently Used

Low Mileage

KITTENS!!

I suppose that's better than high mileage kittens, eh? D found the sign to be rather ridiculous, but you know what? I still remember it, and I'm sitting here writing about it, aren't I? I'd say that makes it pretty darn effective.

Can't a Girl Get a Bath Around Here?

Hello there!

I’m just popping in with a quick short story from my everyday before I run off to get some work done. I promise, I have a few fun blogs in the works for the near future, so don’t give up hope on me yet!


About a month and a half ago, after a long day of being a tired and overworked mommy (babies are quite the time suck, even if they are quite worth it), I decided to hand my beloved Norah over to her father so that I could take a bath.

Now, if you have ever been a new momma, you know that baths are a rare commodity. Between feedings and changings, and trying to figure out what in the world your baby wants, there are laundry and dishes and groceries, and meals that need cooking. Throw in 20 hours working from home, and you have one burned out momma. I needed that bath. I mean, I needed that bath. I needed that bath like I need air – I mean, I was going to turn blue and convulse and my heart was going to stop if I didn’t get that bath.

Did I mention it had been a rough day?

Anyway, I handed Norah over to D and proceeded to draw myself a bath. I even had the forethought to grab a Coupland novel and a glass of water, so I could properly enjoy my bath o’ luxury. The tub reached a state of relative fullness, but it wasn’t quite finished. I decided to climb in anyways and get a head start on my way to relaxation.

No sooner had I sat down in the tub then D came flying into the bathroom, practically shrieking, “She’s throwing up blood! She’s throwing up blood!” I deciphered that my husband was shouting at me that my daughter was dying of some sort of blood-vomiting disease, and immediately hopped out of the tub, searching for a towel. All kinds of crazy thoughts are running through my mind at this point: What in the world did she eat? What if there are, like, little shards of glass in her tummy? Oh, this is very, very bad! How much blood is there going to be? What’s going on with my poor baby?!?! Oh, god, we can’t afford the Children’s Hospital! What if her little intestines are in shreds?!

I ran into the bedroom where little Norah was playing. I’m sopping wet, just barely wrapped up in a towel, and I have no idea where my glasses are, so everything is a little blurry. I look around and I see….. no blood. There is no blood, anywhere.

Stupidly, I think to myself that maybe I need to get my glasses to see the blood – ‘cause, blood isn’t, like, a distinct bright red color or anything, right? *sigh* I looked to D, then looked to Norah, then back to D, then back to Norah. Finally I asked him, “where’s the blood?”

D: Right there! (points to a tiny spot of spit up that, as far as I can tell, has no blood in it)

Me: Where?

D: THERE!! (points closer to the same spot)

I looked very closely, and what did I see?

A tiny, tiny, spot of blueberries, about the size of my pinky fingernail.

Let me just say, there is an enormous difference between vomiting up pints of blood and spitting up miniscule remnants of blueberries. Like, maybe the difference between calling 911 and just grabbing a burp cloth.

Details, details – I know, I’m so picky.

I proceeded to grab a burp cloth, wipe up the spot, and tell D that he was looking at blueberry spit up.

D: Are you sure?

Me: Yes, I’m sure.

D: How do you know?!?!

Me: Because, as far as I know, Norah doesn’t have purple blood. If you find out differently, let me know, but until then I’m getting in the tub.

Now really, I know blueberries aren’t exactly ‘blue’ in color once they’ve been cooked. But they are purple, which is not the same thing as bright, bloody red. At least in my experience, purple, and blood red are generally very different colors. Generally. I could have missed something in art class, I suppose. I’m still trying to figure out whether I should be more concerned that my husband thinks my daughter has purple blood or that my bath water was getting cold while all this was going on.

It was a very nice bath, incidentally, once I got past the ‘o-mi-god, my daughter’s insides are being ripped to shreds by some horrible malady and she’s puking up blood everywhere’ train of though. Very nice, indeed.