If I were a celebrity I would totally endorse this product for free.

Sorry, but I only have one confession for you today. Men and the squeamish, you may want to step away from the blog. I'm going to talk about menstruation and feminine hygiene products.

O.K., are they gone? Good. Here's my confession.

I'm madly in love with the new Always Infinity pads. In. LOVE. I know, it's just a pad, but I love it nonetheless.




My periods are abnormally heavy. So heavy that I begged them to give me a hysterectomy when they did my gastric bypass (they said no--one operation at a time). So heavy that for the past few years I have been using ginormous incontinence pads (seriously, they're 11 inches X 6 inches. HUGE!), not to mention also using the maximum absorbency tampon available (O.B. Ultra Plus, if you must know). If I tried to use any other kind of pad, even the overnight kind, I would bleed all over the place within an hour or two.

So, last month I got a free sample of Always Infinity (the Overnight version) in the mail. My first thought was, "No fracking way." Honestly, they're thinner than a panty liner. And it has holes in it! I don't care what new technology they claim to have stolen from super absorbent aliens, there was no way this could work for me.

But have you ever worn a huge, thick incontinence pad? They're not comfortable. And they can show, especially now that I don't wear shirts that cover my butt every day. So, I decided I'd give the Always Infinity a try. I chose a day I wasn't going anywhere in case I had leakage issues. I wore black pants and put a towel under me wherever I sat.

Did I mention that they're tiny pads? Super duper thin? With holes in them?

But holy crap, they worked! Even on my heaviest day. Even during a vigorous work out on my heaviest day.

So, Always Infinity, I love you. You complete me. I would go on TV and talk about my period just to get people to buy you if any one actually cared about my opinion. You have changed my life forever.

Yes, the kids are still alive.

I know, I know. I've been slacking in the mommy-blogging department lately. I know there are a few of you out there that only come to hear about the kids, so this post is for you.

Monday was the first day of school. Ben started 5th grade, Liam started Kindergarten. I missed having all three kids in school full time by THIRTEEN DAYS. The cut off for the free Georgia pre-K is September 1st, and Amelia won't be four until the 14th. That and the whole not potty trained yet thing.

Clean and shiny

So anyway, Liam went to full day pre-K last year, so going to school all day isn't such a big deal. The big deal this year is that he gets to ride the bus with Ben.

Walking to the bus stop

On Monday I was awakened at 5:30 am when Liam, fully dressed and with his back pack on, came and asked if it was time to go wait for the bus. The past two mornings he has wanted to go out and wait for it as soon as he's done eating--regardless of the fact that there's still 45 minutes until it comes.

Obligatory getting on the bus shot.

Ben was less excited for school, or so he would like everyone to think. He's done his usual "I don't care about this or anything else" act, but when it was time to go on Monday morning, it was obvious he was excited.

Our county makes it mandatory for all 5th graders to participate in 4-H. I like the idea of it, but I'm not thrilled that it's one more thing I get to deal with. The county fair is in October and they've already sent home a list of categories your child can enter for the 4-H competition. Ben initially wanted to raise an animal. Umm, no. So, now he wants to make a small quilt. Now, that actually sounds like a fun project and I could easily teach him (he already knows how to do basic sewing), but here's the thing internets. I need your opinion. I'm worried that a ten year old boy who sews a quilt for the fair might get a certain label, you know? The same kind of label a 10 year old boy who covers his Pinewood Derby car with glitter might get (yeah, he did that). Do you follow? Should it matter?

Amelia has just been hanging out with me. I have big plans of doing some home-preschool with her, but we'll see how much actually happens.

Along with starting school, we also instituted chores, complete with a giant job chart, on Monday. I'm still not over being a germ-o-phobe control freak, so most of their jobs are pointless, but they're still jobs. Liam and Amelia refused to clean their rooms Monday night, so they got to experience getting big red Xs on the job chart. Each X subtracts ten cents from their allowance. Oh, the crying, people! The crying that ensued! Those red Xs were like permanent marks on their souls. On the bright side, they have diligently been doing all their work ever since. Mission accomplished.

Welcome to the world, baby!

We started out the day by having a little party in Sylwia's room. There's Sylwia and her husband, Mr. Sylwia.



There was a two hour delay in the schedule due to an emergency. Sylwia made her displeasure at having to wait known. Loudly and belligerently. These were a couple of nurses who came to get her.



After all that complaining about having to wait, she got cold feet when the time finally came. This is her best fake smile.




Weeeee! Here we go!



Here we are, crammed in the elevator.



Finally! Still unnamed baby Hardman makes his debut!



5 pounds, 12.6 ounces. Not bad for being three weeks early.



Lucky Tina got to be present for the c-section. Sure, she's a doula, but still. I'm totally jealous. Apparently Sylwia was hilariously loopy during the procedure.



Here he is, enjoying his first meal (his blood sugar was a little low, so he couldn't wait).

I had to leave about an hour later, and Sylwia was still in recovery so I didn't get to see her or hold the baby. Right before I left, the nurse from a few pictures up came down to the nursery to get Mr. Sylwia. She seemed a little exasperated. She said she needed his help with Sylwia. I haven't gotten an update on what went on that required his assistance, but I'm sure it will involve belligerance on Sylwia's part. She spent the morning insisting that all 4 of her BFFs and her husband be allowed in the O.R. and threatening to get up and leave recovery when she wanted to rather than when they felt it would be good for her. I can't wait to hear this story.
I'll keep you posted.

*O.K., I've just been updated. She was just having a hormonal moment. She had to be sedated and finally passed out, giving the labor and delivery staff a much needed respite. She's now in her room, nursing the baby (who finally has a name--Mosiah!) and is back to being belligerent and making the nursing staff regret their career choices.

Come back later.

Later, there will be a fabulous blog entry here, complete with pictures. But right now I'm off to witness the miracle of birth. Well, I probably won't witness it--she's having a c-section--but I'll at least get to witness the immediate before and after moments. That's right, folks. Your favorite crazy Polish commenter is about to have a baby.

Keep Sylwia in your thoughts today. She's not a fan of c-sections.

Also, Keep Kirsten in your thoughts today as well. You can read her blog here. Her boyfriend, his dad and his brother were (more than likely) killed in a plane crash in Idaho yesterday. I don't know her personally--I'm just a fan of her blog--but she's already had a hard year without this tragedy.

Taking care of business *Edited*.

Did you know I thought you spelled business buisness up until about a year ago? I did. Sad, I know.

Anyway, I need to take care of a little business, but if you stick it out and keep reading, there's a tale from Wal-Mart at the end.

Business Item #1:

*Based on e-mail response, it apparently wasn't clear that this item of business should be read with a heavy dose of sarcasm. SARCASM, people!!*

It has been brought to my attention that several people have been offended because my friends and I refer to ourselves as The Fat Frumpy Five (FFF). First of all, really? Really? Why on Earth do you care? Is it because of the terms fat and frumpy or is it because we said "five," making it appear we're some uber-exclusive club?




Here's the deal: We are fat and frumpy. Maybe we're not always fat or always frumpy, but I'm sure even supermodels have days when they feel fat and/or frumpy. We choose to embrace our inner fat frumpiness. Get over it.

If it's because of the Five aspect, I'd like to remind all the offended parties that we only became a fivesome because we were never invited to take part in the other girls' reindeer games. The only difference between our "clique" and your "cliques" is that we gave ours a name and didn't pretend it didn't exist. Don't be jealous of our creativity.

However, in the interest of keeping the peace, The FFF has decided that we will change our name, eliminating the elitist "five" from our nomenclature. Henceforth we shall be known as The BFFs. Big. Fat. Frumpies.

Is that better?

Business Item #2:

As today is our first day of school, I'd like to remind you that Ashbellum began at 4:00. I hope you're not working!

Business Item #3:

Bad Girl's book club, right here, Saturday the 15th. We're reading The Rapture of Canaan by Sheri Reynolds.

O.K., and now for the promised Wal-Mart story.

Click on this for a larger view. It's worth it.

I was in line today and the woman in front of me was chatting up the cashier. I'm basing this solely on memory, but it's as close to word for word as I can get.

"Hoo boy, it's going to be hot today. I was going to go down and fish in the pond by Joseph's Creek, but I don't know. Maybe we'll just go to Red Lobster. I got me a coupon in the mail. I need me some fish. I'm taking a GED class and fish is brain food. Ain't no lie. I been eatin' fish for two weeks and my test scores went up. Brain food, fish is. That's why them Japanese are so smart. Daddy don't like it much, but since he ain't got no teeth he can't eat red meat. Sos I make him eat the fish. I'm the one doin' the cookin' , sos he eats the fish or he goes hungry. Sometimes I'll fry him up a pork chop and put it in the blender with some gravy. It makes it like mulch, but he ain't got no teeth and he loves them pork chops. I tell him the fat will just kill him faster. Maybe that's why he wants it. Fish, now. Fish is good for the heart, too. That's why them Japanese live so long. They're smart and live longer than roaches. It's because of the fish, I'm tellin' ya."

I LIVE HERE.

Pretty sure I'm going to die, but it was worth it.

That, my friends, is the last bite of a warm, gooey, banana and Nutella filled crepe.

I've been craving one for a few days now, ever since I recommended it as a cure for Marianne's sudden aversion to sweets.

You see, there's this little side effect of gastric bypass called dumping syndrome. You get it when you eat things with a lot of sugar or fat. Or, uh, Nutella.

And I'm pretty positive I'm done for.
Goodbye forever.
Remember, I want dirty jokes and board games and ice cream sundaes at my funeral.

But don't be sad--I'm going out with a smile on my face and Nutella crepes on my breath.

People, what am I going to do?

About my hair, that is. Seriously, it's bad. Really bad. I'm trying to let it grow, but it just won't. It would be cuter straightened, but it's so brittle and frizzy that it's not cute at all.

I think that maybe I'm adopted, and I've figured out who my real parents are. It would explain a lot.

A lot.

That's right. I'm pretty sure I am actually the child of celebrity couple Gene Wilder and Gilda Radner.
The proof is in the hair.

Anyway, for more pictures of my awesomely bad hair (and awesomely good friends), hop on over to Sylwia's blog and check out the hospital room baby shower we gave her yesterday.

Also, Sylwia has been quite insistent that I post this picture of my kids, because according to her I never post any smiling pictures of them. So here you go.

You'd smile too if you had been plied with Italian Ice and a wheel chair ride.