Hibernate Blog

Every once in a while I am reminded of how imperfect I am, and no, this is not a post about mama guilt. We downsized to one car, committed to Saturday trips to the Farmer’s Market, actively recycle and switched out many of our light bulbs, all of which made us feel as if we were making a statement that we care about the earth. However, the big thing we haven’t done has haunted me this trip.

Disposable diapers.

Yup, I use them, Huggies Natural Fit to be exact. I lined the inside of my suitcase with them in preparation of a week away from home. I felt downright smug to have been so prepared (Discovering I forgot both my toothbrush and toothpaste tempered my smugness, but still…). At the booth I happily unpacked for the first diaper change and then quickly realized that our aisle mates, the booth actually abutting ours and, more specifically, the area designated for Fin and all of her accompanying paraphernalia, was in fact a reusable cloth diaper company.

Yay guilt and mortification.

I have been meekly and silently changing each Huggies diaper, my face red with shame. Perhaps this should be the signal that I ought to explore cloth, but really, I don’t want to. Now, the question is, should I approach this the way I would a child, “I know you may not want to, but you have to at least try,” or should I let myself decide on my own?

I don’t know about the diapers, but I will leave a note for the staff at the Renaissance not to swap my towels tomorrow.

Sitting in my hotel room typing out a quick post. It’s late, nearly midnight late by east coast standards, 8pm and change by the clock here in the room. Finley has long since passed out, her thumb and a plush hotel bed carrying her away to dreamland, no doubt imagining all the people she’ll charm with her thicker-by-the-day hair.

The Wynn is visible through my window, electric and hip looking and, of course, impossible to capture through my window via camera. I was equally transfixed and delighted by the amazing wonderland at the ABC Show. The SaraBear Company booth, which Melissa and company flew out early to set up, looks incredible, even if it was hard for me to find in my post-flight fog.

Tomorrow we’ll work our first full day together at the show, offering sneak peeks at the still-in-development patterns we have to replace the styles we are discontinuing. So far, the response has been incredible, which has us even more excited than ever about new irons we have in the fire.

More soon!

“The reporter will be there with a photographer on Thursday morning,” the caller from the newspaper told me. It was perfect, two days to plan and an early enough start that I had a reasonable chance of not having stained my shirt by the time they arrived.

Of course the best laid plans…

Sigh.

The day began with a stain (tooth paste smeared by tiny hands on the counter) followed soon thereafter with an emptying of drawers, furrowing of brow and sweating of upper lip (by a nervous mom). Finally I decided on a top and set about getting the girls ready. I planned to put it on last thing so it didn’t get soiled. Sean kindly offered to iron the shirt for me. Twenty minutes later everyone was dressed so I dashed upstairs to dress.

The one detail I had not considered: fit.

I slipped my arms into the shirt and then went to button it. No dice. Thanks to an incredibly successful breastfeeding relationship with daughter number three, the poor buttons of my shirt couldn’t make it across to the sweet little button holes on the other side of my chest. It would be fair to classify what came next as mild hysteria much to the chagrin of my trying-to-help-me-stay-calm husband.

Fearful of completely wrecking the day and igniting and argument about what is really important, I sighed and threw on a funky t-shirt from Banana Republic and slipped on some kicky red wedge sandals, “Shiny three inch heels can make up for jeans and a T,” I justified in my head.

Back at the office with the photographer and Melissa, I was relaxed, the breakdown of earlier all but forgotten.

“Ok, Melissa, you stand here. Over just a touch, look this way. Ok, perfect, now Amanda you come right over here next to Melissa, ” the photographer directed.

Melissa groaned.

“What?” he asked.

“Is it me? Am I too tall?” I asked.

Melissa chuckled ruefully, “Yeah, kind of.”

“Want me to take off my shoes?” I asked. I was kind of kidding.

“That’s ok. They won’t show,” the photographer said.

“Really? I mean seriously, it’s bad enough I’m in a t-shirt. Promise my feet won’t show?” I asked as Melissa threw out an, “It’ll be fine,” and the photographer said, “No one’ll ever know. It’ll be our secret. Promise.” I kicked them across the room, well out of view.

So tell me, is “sucker” emblazoned on the barefoot chick’s forehead?

It’s no secret that we are work horses here at Sara Bear. We sneak into the office for quiet moments on Saturdays or in the evening. We do this because we are passionate about what we are doing, both the inspiration (babies and parents) and the actual job (promoting and selling a product we know works). Each discovery and accomplishment is a thrill and there is really only one thing that can surpass it:

Unencumbered time with family.

Sometimes this means kids, but sometimes (insert wicked smile) it means husbands.

About a week ago Melissa took a trip, intended as a surprise, but let’s be real, when you wait as long as we do to get away, it’s tough to keep it a secret. They headed to the city, an easy train ride from our beautiful Adirondacks and at the same time, a world away.

We jaunted to NYC, part business and part husband’s birthday celebration. We left the kids behind, in the happy arms of Nancy (the best adopted aunt in the world) and my Dad, “Grandpop”.

Enjoying a room with a view that was exhilaratingly different than the deer, ducks and bunnies back home.

Indulging unapologetically in touristy things (three times!).

Before leaving they visited the World Trade Center site.

Few words were said, we simply watched, reflected and mourned. Seven years to the world, how unbelievably fragile and difficult to grasp.

It was the perfect taste of freedom, with decadent frivolity and grave reminders of how blessed we are. Thanks, New York City, for offering such a starry night and magical getaway!

You’d be surprised how often we get asked about whether our caddies can be used for pets. Just yesterday I took a call from a woman looking for a basket to strap to her bike to tote her dog in while she vacationed in the area. Sigh, what are you going to do?

Today we received an email from a woman who is currently expecting. Her mom gave her a caddy and shortly after bringing it home it became a more diaper catty than caddy.

That’s one lucky cat. Best wishes to the mom-to-be!

Do you have a caddy picture you want to share?
Email it to: amanda at sarabearco dot com
(Replace “at” with @ and “dot” with . )