Affiliation

You might notice that for the first time in 9 years I have placed ads on my blog.  In an effort to help my family financially, I am bravely stepping out into the internet to explore the possibilities of doing what I love and having it help fill our needs by adding a few affiliate ads.  Any purchase made by folks who click on a link on my blog will earn a little commission for my family.  Not too shabby.

I tried this once before, several years back, when monetizing first became a thing.  I set up my links and excitedly went back to my home page to view the new look.  But the ads that had been posted were of products I don't support or use, and would never endorse.  It was the shortest lived ad campaign ever.  I deleted the ad widget immediately.

Things have changed.  I can now choose the exact products that I myself use and totally trust.  You will see our family's favorite herbs, children's products and other items I have ordered and loved.  Many will be from Amazon because since moving to the boondocks, Amazon has become a lifeline... our very own supply-plane-on-the-Alaskan-fronteer ("De plen! De plen!"), our personal Wells Fargo Wagon ("Yesth it could be...sthomthin' sthpecial, justh for me!!!").  Also, chocolate by mail, am I right?

I hope those few dear readers that I have (you know who you are; the ones who click on my new post within minutes of my having posted it) will not feel betrayed or disappointed.  It's a brave new world, and I need to find a way to work from home.  I'll tell you briefly what I like about some of the products now and then.  So, tune out here, if you like!

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  So I often share my love of honey bee propolis with my friends.  I use YS Organics Bee Propolis.  Bees create and coat the inside of their hive with this "bee glue" to combat viral, fungal and bacterial growth.  I know bee products like pollen, propolis and honey are being used in other countries to prevent diabetic amputations, and to fight anti-biotic resistant bacteria.  A good start already.

I was born with Gilbert's Syndrome, which makes my bilirubin count high and my immunity low.  I get sick a lot, or used to.  One day when we were all dying of the black plague, I called my midwife to warn her.  "No biggie, I'll just load up on my propolis."  She said.  She taught me about it, and I tried it.  I counted each time I began to feel yucky and then subsequently did not have to take to my sickbed for a week.  After 17 illnesses were skipped, I quit counting, convinced that - for me, at least - this stuff worked.

*SCARY DON'T-SUE-ME DISCLAIMER*  I am no doctor, so  IF you decide to try it, use with caution, follow directions and don't use if you allergic to bees.

I like to take mine with some zinc and vitamin C.  I call it my Magic Elixir.

*****

That wasn't so bad, was it?  This ad thing will be an experiment.  If I don't like it, I will stop again.  Also, if I become ridiculously wealthy and loose my earthy connection to my poor Irish roots, then of course, full stop.  We can't let that happen.

Who Says...?

Who says he's not 

my baby anymore?

Today I stayed home from church with a sick little Tessa.  

A cold, and tummy trouble too.  I haven't been home on a Sunday maybe since just after Jonah boy was born.  After I read to Tessa on the Hammock, she went inside, and Jonah climbed up beside me and nursed.

Some people are shocked, I am sure, that I would still be nursing my 22 month old.  I could give you all of the statistics for why extended breast feeding is so good for children.  It boosts their immunity, it provides the exact long-chain fatty acids that form the myelin sheathing on the nerves in their brains which are still forming at age two, and it has been shown to even produce a larger vocabulary at an earlier age, from mamas that talk more to their babes during that great face-time.
 The list is longer than my stretch marks.

I suppose I do it for all of those reasons.  But there are other reasons that are not in some study somewhere, and will not make the headlines in Newsweek.  A busy toddler hasn't got much interest in hanging out with the mom-lady.  There are bugs to poke, dog-dishes to splash in, foreign objects to masticate (the sweet granny ladies at church have regular heart attacks when they see him head for a paper-wad on the floor).  There are toilet paper rolls to unwind, beds to bounce on, and entire stacks of laundry to unfold.  It's a busy life.  

So nowa-days, he comes to me for one of a few, too few, reasons:

To wash his hands... 

go figure, he cherishes marinating in his poopie diaper 

("Dop!" he yells at me to stop when I go for the clean dipe), 

but the dude's got to have clean hands. 

To kiss an owie.  He's a klutz so we're good for a 10-a-day minimum.

For "WaWa"  (any liquid) and "EAT!"

And to nurse.

Let me tell you how this goes down.  He looks at me as he is bumbling through the room on his next conquest.  Suddenly he hits the breaks, and sidles up next to me.  He leans on my knee, and tips his head to one side, looking up at me through those long lashes of his.  A sly little grin pulls his pink lips up into a shinny smile, and in a soft, cooing voice, he ever so tenderly mews,

"peas?" 

and signs "milk please".

When I smile back, which I can't help but do, he giggles and moves his feet in a quickstep.  He knows a smile is yes.  And if it's not a yes, he knows I can be persuaded by another, higher pitched and even sweeter

"peeeeas???"

I scoop him up and his busy agenda dissipates.  He cuddles into my arms that were shaped by four nurslings before him, and nuzzles while I sing to him or just talk and play with his toes.  Sometimes he pulls fuzz off my shirt, or stops to jabber at me.  He stares into my eyes, pokes the mole on my nose, and plays with my necklace.  He sometimes drifts off to sleep, and I love on him unabashedly, sniffing his skin and caressing his chubby fingers one by one.  But not so much lately.  When he is done, he pops up with a smile and a giggle that to me says, "Thanks, Mom, that was your best milk yet".

To which I croon, "Was it yummy?  I made it just for you!" 

And then he's off.

Off to his busy little world once more, increasingly within which, I play less and less of a roll.

I promise, I will not nurse him until he is four (even though that is the average age of weaning world-wide because the rest of the world doesn't think breasts belong to men).  Two and a half is about when my kiddos and I have mutually agreed to retire the nursing bra (though truth be told, I haven't owned a regular bra since the last century).  And I will be both ready and terribly sad when that day comes.

As I drifted into a rare nap on the hammock today with Jonah at my side, I felt so grateful that my Father in Heaven has given me this body to do this important work.   I have, in partnership with him, created tiny humans, and my body's job didn't stop there.  I have the continued blessing and honor of holding my babes in my arms a scant time longer to nourish and comfort them. 

Yes, he's still my baby.

This is what happens when you have sisters.  But because you also have brothers, it only lasts about 60 seconds.