Me and The Bulls Eye Boutique

Dear Target,

I have a hate/love relationship with you.  Yes, hate/love and not love/hate.  I hate that I love you.  I hate that you cast a magical spell over me every time I pull into your parking lot and walk through your automatic doors.

Why is it that you will not allow me to walk out to my car without spending at least $100?  I may be running in for a loaf of bread or can of infant formula, but I am sure to walk out with much, much more every single time.  You continuously mock me having the clothing section right by the checkout.  You know that I cannot resist another tank top for $9 because you can never have enough tanks.  And those $1 bins are like crack to my kids and me.  Shame on you for supplying such a powerful drug.

I would also like to take issue with your clearance sections.  Those red clearance signs with their bright white letters call to me like sirens who crash ships.  Those signs taunt me with their bargains on misfit items that I would never look at if they weren't donning red clearance stickers showing the item is now 30% off.  Five minutes ago I didn't need a new welcome mat, waffle iron, or napkin holder, but now...because they are on clearance...they are headed for my cart.

And let's talk about the fact that you now have a huge grocery section.  I don't need to go anywhere else!  I can get my eye glasses, prescription medicines, groceries, clothes, diapers, sheets, and gardening supplies all in one store.  If you just sold gas and had a doctor's office, I don't think I would ever have to leave.

Oh, Target.  How I hate that I love you!

Love/Hate,
Me

Three Stikes and You're Out, Sears!

There are certain stores and restaurants in town that we just refuse to patronize and it is always due to poor service or quality.  Once we make this decision, they are "on the list."  My friends know that we take "the list" pretty seriously.  If we are out with friends or family and they suggest one of the places on "the list" we tell them that it is not an option and they can't have our money.

Once in a while, we forget why a business is on "the list" and make the mistake of going back.  This is one such story.  I hadn't been to Sears in about four years, in spite of there being one about about two miles from our house.  There's been times I've wanted to go there for things like a filter for for the water in the fridge or a tool for a job my husband's working on around the house, but I always keep on driving to the next closest "unlisted" business.

Right after Baby C was born we got a card in the mail for a big package of pictures for only $4.99 at the Sears portrait studio.  What a deal, right?  Given the fact that I hadn't had the time to take him to JCPenney to get his pictures done (I love JCPenney portraits!), one afternoon when my parents took the other boys to their house we decided to run over there real fast and get pictures done at Sears.  Now, one of the reasons we had put Sears on the list was because of their poor picture quality when my oldest son was a baby.  I had hoped that by now the quality had improved.

When we arrived at Sears, the store was just as "ghetto" and old school Montgomery Ward style as I remembered.  I tried to give the portrait studio the benefit of the doubt, as they were in the midst of remodeling.  The session went fine--as well as can be expected with a baby.  The photographer was patient and nice, but oddly sucked on a lollipop the entire time.  I was told to pick up my pictures on July 3.  The date stuck in my head because I had to pick something else up at the mall the same day.

Well, life happened and I didn't make it to Sears on July 3, but I did truck all three kids into Sears on the July 6.  We parked on the second floor, rode the elevator up to the third floor and waited...and waited for the employee to find our pictures.  After a trip to the bathroom with the kids, I returned to the desk to find out that I had been given the wrong date and they wouldn't be in until July 9.  I was fuming.  Anyone with three kids under 6 knows that getting all of them out of the car and through a department store without a fruitful end is very, very frustrating.  Strike one, Sears.

I received a call from Sears on July 8 to let me know my pictures were in.  I received another call yesterday, July 14 reminding me they were in and wanting to know what day and time I would be there.  I told her I didn't know and I would be there when I could.  I drove over there in the afternoon and parked on the third floor so that I could not have to deal with the elevator once inside the store.  I got everyone out of the car and the baby in the stroller only to find that the good folks at Sears had decided to no longer use their entrance on the third floor.  The bridge from the parking structure to the doors was still intact, as were the doors...only their handles had been taken off and they had put paper on the windows.  What?  Are you kidding me?  I had to walk through the structure to a mall entrance and then walk through the mall and through Sears to get to the portrait studio.  Strike two, Sears.

After collecting my pictures, which were very cute, I decided to head downstairs to the appliance section, as our second refrigerator seems to be on its last leg.  I looked at the refrigerators as my two older boys ran around like monkeys trying to open every fridge in the store.  There was no missing us.  I searched and waited for a sales person for 15 minutes before finding someone in the electronics department who in turn went into the back and found someone who was not on the sales floor to come help me...one of only two customers in the appliance department.  Now I know I haven't been to Sears in a long time, but one of the last times I did go there was when I was shopping for appliances for our kitchen and I know for a fact that every time I went there, I could barely walk by the department without being asked if I needed help.

When a salesperson finally did come out, he barely gave the the time of day.  He could barely tell me about the rebates, as he was distracted by his cell phone the entire time.  In the end my "Blue Crew Appliance Specialist" (ha, ha!) told me that I needed to look into the rebates myself and when I asked him about credit offers, he checked his cell phone AGAIN!  I told him that I was sorry to interrupt his cell phone time and that I would be on his way.  He told me that he just kept checking the time because he had to go to lunch.  Oh, that's sooo much better...NOT.  I walked away in disgust and told him his customer service skills were CRAP.  I've never said anything quite so ugly to ANYONE, but then again, I have never had a salesperson quite like this guy.

On my way back to the elevator, I asked the cashier in the tool department for the store manager's name and number.  She quickly got the manager on the phone.  I relayed what had just happened.  She gave me a very half-hearted apology with the caveat that they were short-handed.  That was it.  Strike three, Sears.  You're OUT and you are on "the list."

Sears sucks.  Period.  I said it.  I haven't always hated Sears.  We actually registered there when we got married so we could get things like tools, etc.  This time, however, I have learned my lesson.  I will not go back to Sears.  Not in four years, not ever.  In the next week or so,  I plan on going to the Home Depot to buy the GE refrigerator I was set on buying yesterday.

Punctuation Plunder

Does anyone else find this sign ironic?  The "Writers Store" apparently sells everything writers need...except for apostrophes.  Perhaps the "Writers Store" doesn't believe in plural possessive nouns.  Any way you slice it, I just can't trust a company that boasts itself as a "premiere source for writing" but doesn't have a basic command of punctuation.

I am by no means a perfect writer, but if you are running a store for writers, you probably should be pretty well versed in the ways of the apostrophe.

I Laid Down the Gauntlet

Tonight, I laid down the gauntlet with my boys. Most nights I am a short-order cook whipping up customized meals in order to stave off whines and complaints. Tonight, I made a dinner that both of the boys said that they wanted. After taking eating about half of his dinner, A refused to eat anymore and B poured half of his cup of milk into his dinner. This meal was the meal that pushed me over the edge; I had had just about enough. They began asking for just about anything else than the food I had cooked--oatmeal, cheese, hot dogs, you name it. Usually, I would just give in, but not tonight. Nope. No more giving in and no more Mrs. Nice Mommy. From now on, you eat what I cook and that's it.

Tomorrow night is meatloaf night. My meatloaf isn't bad. If the boys don't eat their dinner and want something else, that's just tough. I will wrap it up and they can have the leftovers the next night. My cooking isn't amazing but it's not gross. I don't want to raise picky eaters and I can prepare three or more dinners every night. I've taken a stand!

This Time of Year

Yesterday was the last day of school for our school district and there's something about this time of year that makes me so emotional. Today I committed the act I try to avoid at all costs: driving by our local high school when it is lunch time or when school has just gotten out. Today I drove by as school got out. Ugh! It takes at least five minutes to go from one end of the school to the other when this unfortunate navigational misfortune takes place. My blood typically boils when the kids refuse to let the cars pass and take forever to walk in the crosswalks, but today was a bit different.

As my SUV slowly crawled down the street, I was instantly transported back to my years at Pacifica High School and my own personal feelings that came with the end of the year. I loved seeing the yearbooks my friends and I had worked so hard designing in our fellow students' hands. I loved the idea of three months of freedom. I adored that excitement of feeling full of possibilities and the fresh slate of the following school year.

And within that five minute crawl past the high school, my eyes fell upon a group of boys talking. I imagined they were making plans for the summer. Swimming at one boy's pool perhaps? Summer jobs? Maybe a road trip or what movies they wanted to see together. Then I imagined these boys being MY boys and my eyes welled with tears. They will go to this high school one day. In the not-so-distant future, they will be sharing last-day-of-school pats on the back with a yearbook under one arm. One day, my boys will be like these boys making excited plans for the future, cracking jokes, and goofing around. They'll be tall and gangly, but have fabulous skin, of course. I tried to pick out which kids my kids will look like and who will make up their group of friends. Will they hang out with the kids on the steps, the kids under the tree, or that big group on the corner. I then slipped into a fairy tale in which my boys want my husband and me to play an active roll in their clubs or teams--a time when I'll wear Burroughs High School red to their games and maybe wear their letterman jacket as I sit in the stands...if they haven't already loaned it to some (stupid) girl.

All of this happened in the span of five minutes. When I pressed the brake pedal at the final stop sign at the corner of the school, I glanced into my back seat and saw three beautiful little boys all in some sort of car seat or booster. Their cheeks are still chubby with baby fat and they all have some sort of shmutz on their faces--even the littlest one had a little dried milk on his chin. As I placed my foot on the accelerator I was instantly thankful for the precious days I have with my little boys and I vowed to treasure the present and look forward to the future.

A Little L.A., A Little OC

I grew up in the O.C. I was a beach girl--the daughter of a surfer. I was a baton twirler who spent her high school Memorial Day weekends in the Garden Grove Strawberry Festival Parades. I cruised Balboa with my friend Tracey listening to Color Me Bad and sneaked my way in to Knott's Berry Farm more times than I can count. (I knew every trick in the book.) I was O.C. through and through. So when I got married back in 2000 and agreed to move to Studio City (L.A.) with my husband who is in the entertainment industry, I was truly a fish out of water.

Giving up my life in Orange County (and Long Beach) was not easy. I gave up my hair place, doctors, the florist (yes I had a florist!), malls and stores, restaurants, family, and friends. The big city feel of L.A. scared the crap out of me. I'm not going to lie, people drive CRAZY here! I felt like everyone looked different than me and I certainly didn't feel cool enough to fit in with the people I did meet. I saw a celebrity almost every time I went to the grocery store...and I'm not talking about B listers either. It was tough to start a marriage in a land I didn't know. I was starting over. No friends, family, or familiar haunts. We hadn't lived together prior to being married. In fact, we had only ever spent time together on the weekends, so needless to say, it was not an easy adjustment all the way around.

When I lived in Orange County, I believe that the world revolved around those of us behind the Orange Curtain. Now that I'm here, I've gotten a much bigger picture and better appreciation for the fabric of California as a whole. This September, my husband and I will have been married 10 years and during that decade something pretty awesome has happened. I've started to become more adjusted to life in L.A. I used to drive with white knuckles through the streets of Hollywood during my occasional trips "over the hill" and now zip through Hollywood's crowded streets without a second thought. I like that every house is old and they all have a story. I have grown to love that I live in an "industry town" in which the moms at the park understand what it's like to have a husband who has to leave on a shoot for days, weeks, or even months at a time. I love that I live where I can walk to a bakery, restaurant, antique stores, the hardware store, and world famous studios all within minutes.

Now, almost ten years after living here, I am now at a crossroads in which I've discovered that I'm not an O.C. or L.A. gal. I read the L.A. blogs and most of the time I don't feel like I connect with them. In fact, I still feel a bit like an outsider when I talk with a lot of other women here in La-La land. And while I try to keep up with what's going on in Orange County, I know longer fit there. I'm used to driving like a maniac, trendy shops every few blocks, and the diversity I just don't recall from my days in the north O.C. Not feeling like I truly fit in in my past or my present is a strange sensation. I carry a lot of what I grew up with in West Garden Grove but have grown to love and value where I am raising my children. I guess I'm a Californian stuck between my past and my present hoping to instill in my boys the best of both.

Getting Back On Track

It's been five and a half weeks since Baby C joined our family. We've gotten through the toughest of the newborn days but still have rough patches here and there. C's smile is amazing and melts my heart every single time. My other boys adore him too and are always happy and willing to give him a bottle when I'm too busy to sit down and nurse him.

I had a minor setback the other day, personally. Someone I am close to made a crack about me still carrying my baby weight. I was crushed. As I've mentioned before, weight is a really big deal to me. I had thought that I had done a pretty good job up until that point of camoflaging my ample thighs and belly, but apparently it wasn't good enough. Now before you go and say nasty things about the person who made the comment, let's just say that they "didn't know any better" and leave it at that. I have to turn the other cheek and just move on from the comment. Move on and do something about it, that is.

I started eating better and I've already seen another pound shed off by controlling my desire for after-dinner desserts. I've cut out "naughty" breakfasts and replaced them with a (measured) bowl of Special K, a banana, and strawberries each morning. (I'm allowing one splurge breakfast per week.) I'm really controlling my portions and allowing myself healthy snacks when I need them. But on top of it all, as if from heaven, one of my girlfriends emailed me today and asked if I would like to run the Disneyland 5K in September.

It's on! I'm doing it! I haven't been on my treadmill since the first trimester of my pregnancy and I've NEVER ran a 5K or to the corner of my street for that matter. I'm going to take it slow, but this 5K is the perfect motivator to get my booty moving again. I have a big press event June 10 and hopefully I'll seena bit more trim me in the mirror by then. I know that I can do this! And when all is said and done, I eventually want to lose 20 pounds, I know I need to take it one day and pound at a time.

Time To Be Social

Grab the link-up button and post "It's a Social Parade Wednesday Link-up."  Every Wednesday a new linky will be posted with that weeks exchange info.  This week is Google Friend Connect Round Up!! Here's a link to the details http://www.smartandtrendymoms.com/2010/05/link-up-and-get-new-blog-readers-its.html

To participate, follow the blog in the first spot or all of them.  All blogs participating must post about Social Parade and link to that post. Have fun and be social!

Reporting From the Trenches of Motherhood

I haven't posted here in a while because I've been sent out on assignment down into the trenches of motherhood. On April 6, my husband and I welcomed beautiful baby C into our family and life has been nonstop ever since. Baby C weighed in at 6 lbs, 5 oz and 20 inches long. I had a labor that I will perhaps blog about once I have had a chance to get over the fact that the jerks at Kaiser made my labor way more traumatic than it needed to be due to their arrogance and lack of compassion.

Anyway, we are back in the land of sleepless nights and exhausted days. It's funny how motherhood has a way of producing some sort of Jedi mind trick allowing you to forget how tiring it is to be up with a newborn all night and how fun it is to feel like the baby is going to suck your boobs right off your body. You forget the joy of yellow poop projecting across the changing table and the fact that your waist is still but a distant memory even four weeks after delivery.

Baby C is fabulous. He's is a cute as a button and growing fast. My other two boys love him to pieces and the dog has yet to give him a second look. (Of course, that could very well be because the dog is desperately in need of being groomed and can probably barely see the baby through his long "bangs.") He seems to have a pretty calm temperament and doesn't mind the noise the other boys make while running through the house playing.

I have to say that by and large, baby number three is pretty darn easy. As a mother, I feel like I have lots of tricks up my sleeve. (And believe me when I tell you I'm wearing sleeves. My post-pregnancy arms are not a sight to behold.) I'm also so much more calm than with my last two. I know that the difficulties and sleepless nights will pass. I know what I have to look forward to. Every moment is so very fleeting. Today, for example, I swear that my four-week-old bundle of love smiled at me for the first time. (Yes, he is a genius. I just filled out his MENSA application.) It was magic. It made me forget the fact that I have not slept since 4:30 and the fact that my boobs feel like I imagine my dog's chew toys feel. Baby C is just so precious, I can barely stand it.

So anyway, I'm back and sorry it took so long to get here. I'll be reporting the good, the bad, the ugly, and the wonderful of my journey. I'm also hoping to start doing a few giveaways here, instead of over on my Disney blog, Babes in Disneyland. If you aren't already, please follow this blog through google and "like" me via Facebook so that I can have more visible fans here.

Parents Say The Darndest Things

I am a public school teacher and proud of what I do.  Reading intervention is my specialty.  I take education very seriously and feel that my time as a teacher has exposed me to the ins and outs of public school, private school, and homeschooling.  In light of this, let's just say I have pretty strong feelings about education and appropriate placement for students.

No matter where you stand on the issue of school placement, I heard a comment from a parent the other that would/should shock and disappoint anyone.  A mother at my son's preschool mother actually told me that she was considering not sending child to public school in our district because the district has a healthy-eating policy that prohibits students from bringing cupcakes on their birthdays.  Now, I am not a fan of the no cupcake-birthday ban, but I certainly can understand its foundation and furthermore cannot begin to comprehend how this would impact a parent's decision about their child's schooling--especially given the fact that this student has a speech issue that is currently going untreated and likely would continue going untreated in the private schools the parents are considering.  What a shame.  I feel so bad for this child, because I see so many children with the same stumbling block given my line of work.

I've heard a lot of excuses for not sending children to public school and this one was the worst.

How Did This Happen?

I'm now in my 39th weeks pregnant with my third son.  I've made no secret that I'm not a huge fan of being pregnant and now I must admit to the fact that I'm...just plain HUGE.  I told myself I wouldn't get this way this time...but I let it happen.  I gave myself license to eat things I would never normally touch.  Because of my discomfort, I stopped exercising, which I had vowed not to do.  Basically, I had planned on doing "everything right" this time around.  Ummm...not so much.

Back during the summer between junior high and high school my battle with weight began.  I packed on a good 20 to 30 pounds that summer.  From there I yo-yo'ed up and down for most of high school.  I used to gain and lose weight so quickly that I once "outgrew" my clothes while on our family's two-week vacation and had to wear my dad's jeans.  No teenage girl wants that to happen.

My senior year in high school, I finally got all of the weight off and dropped to about 108.  I went on the most unhealthy of weight loss plans--I barely ate.  Mixed with my new love of swimming on the swim team, I was what I thought to be fabulously slim and trim.  That is until one day a friend told me that I was a little too slim and trim.  She had me look in the mirror and pointed out to my purtruding collar bones.  I was not just thin but way too thin.  She told that I was so thin that I was wasting away and that she couldn't see me any more until I got my problem under control.  That was a wake-up call for me.

For most of college and into my married life, I had my weight issues under control.  I straddled the line between thin and too thin carefully and tried not to get to hard on myself when I would fluxuate by five pounds every now and then.

After my first baby, I lost most of the weight within the first year or so.  With my second child, I lost most of the weight in about a year too, but that year was very, very difficult for me.  I fell into my old feelings about my body and let my issues about weight consume me.  My body image and how I appeared to people around me plagued my thoughts. 

And now, I'm huge again.  I've never made it this far in a pregnancy; my other sons had already been born by this far along.  I'm so incredibly uncomfortable, it is hard for me to move, which means I just keep getting bigger and bigger.  (I swear that this baby is going to rip through my ribs at any moment.)  It's gotten to the point that I don't even want to look at myself in the mirror when I'm wearing a tank top or (GASP) naked.

I have a feeling in the months to come, I will be dealing a lot with my weight issues and the troubling roller coaster of pounds and emotions I have been on since I was so very young.  It's my thing, it makes me crazy, and I will undoubtedly be putting a lot of pressure on myself to look like I used to.  I'm just warning you now, because this will probably be the place where I vent and cry and whine.

Because That's How I Roll

Do you hate those people with all of the plastic toys in the front yard? So white trash, right? Well, here's my front yard today.


I hate me too. Here's the thing. I can't get an internet signal in the backyard, so this morning I dragged all of my kids' crap stuff to the front yard so I could sit on my porch in the cool So Cal breeze and relish in the discomfort of the sweet, sweet baby who is late at coming out early and sip juice boxes.

On top of it all, my kids think I'm super cool for setting up a different place to play with the same old junk. I'm pretty ok with life's little victories.

Desperate Times Call for...Salad

Today I loaded the kids and we drove a whole 3.5 miles to the locally-famous Caioti Pizza Cafe in Studio City.  This small restaurant located across the street from the restaurant Robert Blake made famous, Vitello's, is known for it's labor-inducing salad.  I know it sounds crazy, if you search the restaurant's name or "labor salad" online, the two are found side-by-side throughout the web.  The labor-inducing property is supposed to be the dressing. 

I'm not at my due date yet, but this is the farthest I've gotten in either of my other two pregnancies and I can honestly say that I am beyond miserable.  My back and ribs are killing me and I feel like the baby has a foot just below my arm pit.  I'm tired...really tired and in constant pain.  Already, little baby "C" is bigger than my other boys were when they were born and in my book...he's ready to come out.

I ordered a half order of "the salad" and a cheese pizza for us to split.  The salad was served up with to log books and other literature attesting to its success.  I'm not going to lie, the salad was amazingly delicious...and that's not just the pregnancy appetite talking.  The boys played with their toys while I mowed down "the salad" and filled in my own page of the infamous journal.  While I was eating it, I noticed an older couple in the corner of the restaurant anxiously watching me, as if I was going to go into labor and push out the baby with the aid of the young, way-too-cool wait staff.

The waiter enthusiastically told me that just yesterday he served a woman her salad and after eating it her water broke at the restaurant before she and her husband had finished their meals.  It's been about three hours and I've felt no contractions.  My water has not broken.  In fact, I don't feel any different than before lunch--still miserable.  Now I'm wondering if I should have ordered a whole salad instead of half a salad.  I'm also wondering if it's just the law of averages when it comes to "the salad."  When you have that many women in the final days and weeks of their pregnancies ordering the same thing, you are bound to have some of them go into labor soon thereafter, right? 

Nonetheless, in the days or weeks (oh don't let it be weeks...) of my final pregnancy, I am glad that I have taken part in an L.A. tradition.  And here's to the labor-inducing salad.  Everyone cross your fingers (please!) that it works tonight!

A Secret Hiding Place

Kids love secret hiding places--forts, treehouses, clubhouses. My kids love to build forts out of blankets and hide away in their Star Wars tents for hours. My friend Pam and I have a fantasy of a hide away of our own. We talk about it all the time--nothing fancy, of course. We dream about a place where we can just get away to every once in a while, perhaps a studio apartment. This amazing place would be girly and stylish. It would be free of toys and other small debris that make you scream in the night when their sharp edges jab into your bare feet. It would be a place where the freezer was always stocked with the ice cream and Lean Cuisines WE like and where it is perfectly acceptable to watch Lifetime movies without criticism. There would be no apple juice in the fridge or raisins between the sofa cushions.

Most importantly, this place has two beds. They are soft, comfy beds...and no one steals the covers. And speaking of these beds, while in them, no one wakes us up at the crack of dawn requesting a cup of milk or to watch Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. This place is the girls' hideaway that we half joke about sharing one day. It's a place where we can go for a night--together or alone--to just get from it all and come back to our families recharged and refreshed. No laundry. No dishes to clean. No bottoms to wipe.

I love my family more than anything on this planet, but sometimes it's nice to just get a little peace and quiet and remember who I was before I possessed "working boobs." Sometimes, it's nice to imagine a place like the apartment I had before I got married. Pam and I lived on the same street when we lived in our single gal apartments, and I sometimes think we are dreaming of very similar hideaways when we discuss our grand plans. It would be a place where we can just zen out and ponder all of the day-to-day little things and life-altering big things that we all allow to fly around in our brains but never have enough time to contemplate.

Let's be real. I would never do it. We would never do it. Financially, it's crazy and well, the idea of being able to get away for a night more than once every four years is completely unrealistic. My family needs me too much and I need them too--plus I would feel way too guilty leaving them for my own needs. Pam and I will, however, continue dreaming and talking about our little piece of paradise for years to come--over giant dinners at Lucille's and delicious desserts at Yogurtland.

And even greater than our daydreams about our hideaway is my friendship with Pam because it provides me with a getaway in and of itself. We came together through college, our sorority, and living on the same street...and several other ways as well proving that we were always bound to be friends. I know that I can make it though the ups, downs, good, and bad of motherhood because we are doing it together. I know that she is just an email, texts, or phone call away when I need her and more often than not my conversations with her--long or short--are all I need to recharge and refresh.

I love my friend Pam and you will too. Stop by her blog, Mom is a Four-Letter Word.

Rights for Breastfeeding Mothers

It was announced today that it is now "illegal" to tell a woman she cannot breastfeed in a public place in the state of Wisconsin. The bill, signed in to law today, allows women to nurse their children in a public or private places so long as she is permitted to be there by law.

Wait. Are you kidding me with this? Was it actually "illegal" to breastfeed a hungry child in Wisconsin in a public or private place before? That seems unbelievable. You wouldn't tell a mother she can't give her baby a bottle, so how dare someone say you can't nurse your child? The kicker is that only 40 other states have such rights signed into law for mothers and babies. What?!

Here's more on the law...
Breast feeding in public is permissible, thanks to a new WI law - WXOW News 19 La Crosse, WI – News, Weather and Sports |

And for the record, I'm not a granola mom who whips it out in public without considering those around me. I am always covered up and not only make sure no one can see "where" the nursing is taking place, but try to ensure no one can see any other skin as well. If you are a nursing mom and looking for a great solution to cover up while nursing, stop by my blog and enter to win a Cover Me Strap. These straps turn baby blankets, towels, etc. into a nursing cover. It's fabulous!