Share the Love: Seventh Generation Baby Wipes

Did I say baby wipes?

Ahem. Pardon me.

I mean *big boy* wipes.

My three and a half year old has been trying to really hard to make it to the bathroom to do all his business, but then things like Star Wars costumes and building forts get in the way literally and figuratively.

And so we're back to training pants again while he vehemently insists that he is *not* a baby {unless he wants to be carried, then he is most definitely a baby, just to be clear.}

Lately, we've been battling over using wipes.

He wants big boy toilet paper. But I'm sorry. Sometimes there's no getting around needing wipes, kiddo, so I lovingly explain such to the kiddo.

Thankfully, when the wipes protesting began, the mailman delivered a giant box of Seventh Generations newly improved baby wipes.

Ahem.

I mean *big boy* wipes.

And luckily the newly improved wipes were so different from the other wipes that I was able to convince Mr. 3 Years Old and Highly Opinionated that these wipes were, indeed, *big boy* wipes.

Simply because they are bigger in size than the old wipes.

I am for real.



So aside from the fact that I'm no longer in a long and saturated battle of the wills over wipes because of the newly improved Seventh Generation wipes, I have to say that I truly appreciate the improvements made.

*They are bigger and one does the job of what two or three of the old ones did
*They are "grippier" because they are textured {hubby says coefficient of friction explains, but I have no idea what that means}
*The smell is virtually non-existent. They seem to not hold any odor; the old ones did have some sort of smell despite being scent-free.
*The snap-down lid is vastly better at keeping the moisture locked into the wipes than the old sticker top

What hasn't changed that I love about Seventh Generation wipes?

*They are still fragrance-free and dye-free
*They are still free of parabens and phthalates
*They are still made with renewable resources
*They are still made in the United States

All of that said, I'm still a fan.

Now, please join me in praying that Mr. 3 Years Old and Highly Opinionated potty learns before his baby sister or brother joins us in September because I plan on using these wipes with the baby, and I don't know how I'll explain that one away!



Want to try the wipes yourself?
Seventh Generation is giving away a box of its newly improved wipes!

*THIS GIVEAWAY IS NOW CLOSED*

Simply share a baby-care {or toddler-care} tip in the comments to be entered. Or maybe, if you feel extra kind, you could share a potty learning tip with me!

If you'd like an extra entry, tweet @SeventhGen with a baby care tip and put a link to your tweet in the comments section.

Entries close Friday, March 8 at midnight. Please be sure to leave your email in your comment!

Disclosure: Seventh Generation sent me a box of baby wipes for review. I am being compensated for the time it takes to write the review, but my opinions are my own and we use Seventh Generation products in my house daily. Entrants for the giveaway should be age 18 or older and live in the United States. Seventh Generation will fulfill the prizes by shipping baby wipes directly to the winner within 4-6 weeks after March 25.

Bigger Picture Moments: The Smallest Jobs

"Do small things with great love."
Mother Teresa of Calcutta

"Mommmmmyyyy!" my 3 year old cries. "He's doing it again!"

I drop the dishes into the sink and run into the dining room only to find a grinning nearly 20 month old dancing atop of the dining room table.

I thought we'd broken this habit several months ago.

But, oh, dear God, he's at it again.

And with such determination; it seems that every time anyone leaves the dining room abandoned for a moment, E. climbs back onto the table and begins executing his sweet toddler dance moves, sans any audible music.

But he grooves so happily, so intentionally that I swear he's hearing the beats, the melodies of songs in his heart.

I put on my I-mean-business-mommy face before gathering his excited body into my arms and escorting him off of the table.

"E.," I say sternly, staring into his big blue smiling eyes, "we do NOT dance on the table."

He keeps smiling.

And the next time I leave the room, G's hollering again that his little brother's back on the table dancing his heart out like it's his job or something.

And, kind of, it is -- a toddler's main job in life is to explore, connect the dots, put things together.

I mean, really, the kid has no idea that tables aren't meant for dancing.

So he keeps climbing back on top and getting down with his small self because he loves it.

He just loves dancing on the tables, and it's vividly clear, this passion of his.

Honestly, he loves just about everything he does, entering into each activity with open palms, open heart, open eyes.

I look at myself in all of my adultness and think about how I set about doing my own work.

I think about how I scoff at folding the trillions of socks overflowing from the laundry basket without so much as giving thanks for the small feet that fill them.

I think about how I quickly wipe down finger-printed windows, never really appreciating that there are finger prints on there from two little blessings.

I think about how I become slightly irritated by the dozen or so sippy cups scattered around the house, never feeling grateful for the hands that hold them, the mouths that drink from them.

And I think about how I miss the wonder in the small parts of my job. And how I see things only for what they are sometimes and miss altogether the meaning behind them, making it impossible to really grasp the joy, dance my heart out in adoration of the tasks at hand.

Maybe I've just placed too many sanctions on too many things to really find the joy enveloping them. Maybe I don't really see what's laid out before me.

Maybe table tops really are meant for dancing.

Have you found the Bigger Picture through a Simple Moment? Link with Sarah!

Live. Capture. Share Encourage.

{Originally written but never posted in April 2011.}

Everyday Life: Dehydrated

Sometimes when I'm at the end of my rope, and I think my kids are totally going to turn out to be juvenile delinquents because the older one is chasing the dog around with a stick in the backyard while militantly ordering him to get to time out NOW and the little one laughs when he jams his fingers up my nose while tears stream down my face from the sting and I'm pretty sure that one or both of them threw their bath toys in the toilet after *not* flushing just to see if I will run out of the house crying and pulling my hair out {deep breathe in!} ...

my three year old reminds me that he is only three by saying something during an overheard conversation like, "Aunt Jill, I broke my leg."

"Oh, no!" Aunt Jill says. "How did you do that?"

"Well, Aunt Jill, my leg was dehydrated ... it doesn't have hydrates, so I broke it, and now I have a cast."

{Deep breathe out.}

And I remember that I should wait, at least, until they both turn five to decide whether or not they are both going to have permanent seats with name plates in detention {either here at home if we homeschool or at away-from-home school.}

Chicago Moms Blog: A little village-wide plea to poison the ground water?

If you weren't totally convinced before that I'm a tree-hugging nut, this would be good confirmation. And now, I also think my suburb is playing Big Brother, so I'm probably a little bit of a conspiracy theorist, too. {No one is perfect, right?} I just don't like to be told how to kill my weeds. Scratch that. I don't like to be told to kill my weeds period! They are my weeds! Mine!

****
In other news, I happened to capture a perfect moment while G. was soaking up some rays this afternoon during Baby E.'s snooze. You can see my son is a true fisherman who takes after his Buba and his {late} Papa Brian, as the kid loves fishing.

Even in the backyard.



In a tiny blue pool.

With no fish.

But for a real fisherman, that's not a problem. You make your fishing experience.

"Whatcha doin', buddy?" I asked, so extremely glad that my camera was nearby and had a memory card in it.

"I'm trying to catch some dogfish for my dinner for me and George," he said.



{You know, George the monkey? As in the curious monkey on PBS. He's G.'s first (semi) imaginary friend. Because he's not really imaginary but he's not exactly real either

"Ah," I said. "Should've guessed that."

Oh, and you'll be happy to know we are not actually going to have dog{fish} for dinner.

The Bigger Picture: All eyes on Haiti

She came to me unexpectedly. I was at a conference, only a junior in college when I first saw her lovely picture at the International Childcare Ministries booth. She was a slender girl with chin-length dark brown hair. If I thought my was heart swollen when I approached the booth, I felt like it was almost ready to explode when I decided to sponsor her.

We wrote letters. I posted her drawings and pictures on my fridge, and I looked forward to hearing about how she was doing in school and at home. She shared about her life and siblings, and I chronicled to her my journey from college student to wife to mother. And a relationship was built out of the unexpected.

But last year, her letters stopped coming. Then her holiday cards stopped coming. Finally, her pictures stopped coming. After another month, the organization sent me a letter explaining she simply would not be returning to school. And that was that after five years of building a relationship. The sweet-faced child I'd gotten to know through drawings, school pictures and letters had disappeared into the hillsides of Haiti to help her parents tend to a farm and chores. And just as my child had disappeared so subtly from school, Haiti gradually disappeared from my mind.

Until Tuesday. As soon as I saw the headlines about the magnitude 7.0 earthquake the tiny country suffered, I thought again of our little girl. I wondered if she was OK, if her family was affected and how they fared. I wondered whether she was hurting or needed help or was giving aid or was left all alone. And finally, I wondered if she even was* anymore.

You see, Haiti has a face for me. And it's hers. And because of the unexpected, once again, my eyes are on Haiti -- everyone's eyes are on Haiti.

It's absolutely stunning how people, in the words of Sara Joy, show up during a tragedy. Every time I see a Tweet go out offering prayers and encouraging aid for Haiti my heart soars. People can be so good. This generation of mine is so compassionate. And I don't want to lose that compassion as my generation ages and the next one takes the reigns.

So my husband and I did something Wednesday we hope to continue. We put all of our eyes on Haiti and prayed.

Not just mine or his, but the boys, too. I pulled the two year old up onto my lap and showed him a map. I pointed to where we live and where Haiti is located. I then showed him a slide show of the buildings that had been toppled and explained that many, many people no longer have a house, food, water, clothes or even some of their family any more. He digested the pictures and asked the obvious questions.

"Why they have no house?"

"Why they have earthquake?"

"Why they have no food?"

I answered as best as I could. He seemed satisfied. I asked him if he wanted to pray for the people.

"Yes, mommy, I pray with you."

So we prayed sweet, heartfelt prayers.

We talked a little more and he said then said he wanted to send the people "monies and food."

I felt relieved to begin teaching him something that would matter.

And then he scrambled off to watch Curious George. As he played, I attempted to get some work done for the business. My blood pressure rose as I worked on what seemed like the impossible for the business. I began feeling overwhelmed and woeful.

And then unexpectedly, just as that little girl appeared into my world so many years ago, my little guy came up to me and said "Mommy, you show me more pictures of broken houses so we can pray."

Sometimes the unexpected plummets you into great joy; sometimes it skyrockets you to the depths of sorrow; and sometimes the unexpected, in the face of a child, reminds you to open your eyes, focus on Haiti and pray.



* I don't know that we'll ever know if our little girl is OK because she quit school, and often the organization does not keep in contact sponsors in the loop after children drop out. Plus, the organization is not even sure of the status of most of the children and workers who are currently enrolled because of the severe infrastructure damage. If you'd like to help, you can donate to the ICCM relief fund. It's a wonderful organization, and most of the money collected through sponsorship directly is used for the children. If you'd like to pray for our little girl, her name is Mirlourde. And I do believe based on her letters that she loves the Lord.