Love Notes

When I was growing up, I always joked that I'd find a man who liked to cook.  In deep south Georgia, where women did almost all the food preparation while men sat around on the couch and talked football and farming, this was more of a fantasy than an actual list item.   

I also always dreamed of having red-headed children.  I come from a long line of red heads.  It missed me, but I always hoped I'd pass that gene along.

In law school, I met my husband.  Our first Christmas together, he surprised me by cooking me dinner at my apartment.  It was really, truly, wonderfully good.  To my surprise, it wasn't just a one-time dating tactic.  His resume actually lists cooking as a hobby and interest.

I would have married him without the cooking, but it was definitely icing on the cake.

There was, of course, one catch.  My husband is Chinese, so I was sure when we married that my gene pool would be obliterated.  It was a small price to pay.

Imagine my surprise when, upon the delivery of my second child, one of the first comments out of the surgeon's mouth was:  Is his hair red???

It's not fire engine red, but it definitely has an auburn cast.

I take tiny miracles like these as evidence that God loves me in even the smallest of things. 

Community Wipes

Since his birth, our now two-year-old has known only one kind of wipes:  Pampers Sensitive.  Some well-meaning soul told us early on that they were the best for little bums, and we trusted and never deviated.  Until recently.  Since the arrival of our second son, we've been trying to save money.  We eat out less, opted for Netflix over cable, edited our cell phone plans, and switched to Luvs diapers after trying out a sample and determining that they got the job done just as well as the more expensive brands. 
 
That's when I began to eye the wipes. 
 
At home, I didn’t really feel the need to change our brand.  We have a newborn with sensitive skin, and I didn’t want to change things up. 
 
Daycare, however, required a different analysis.   
 
Unlike the infant room, our son's toddler class at daycare observes a "community wipes" policy.  Every 3 months or so, each of the kids' parents bring in a big box of wipes, and the daycare staff  use those wipes on every child.  I began to notice that some of the other parents had switched to generic wipes for the toddlers, and I thought, "Hmmm, maybe we should try that too." 
 
The next community wipes time, I instructed my husband to go out and purchase cheap wipes.  He did so and I proudly sent them - unopened and untested - with my son to school.  They might not be the best, I reasoned, but at least our oldest will continue to get the "good ones" at night and on the weekends.
 
One day, we ran out of the Pampers Sensitive.  My husband had just picked up another box of the cheap wipes for daycare, so I tore it open, popped open a purple lid, and pulled out a wipe.
 
Much to my dismay, I quickly learned that there was a reason for the price difference.  These sheets were more like moist paper towels than wipes.  They felt sticky, wet, and scratchy on my hands and - I can only imagine - on my son's previously pampered hiney. 
 
It was a moment of guilt-inducing self-awareness.
 
I am not against generic brands.   I am not against savvy shopping.  But there is something about this particular scenario that bothers me.  I think there is a part of me that knew those wipes were not going to be up to par, as evidenced by the fact that I still used the premium brand at home.  Despite this gut feeling, I never checked the new wipes to make sure they were sufficient.  Instead, prodded by the perception that some of the other parents were getting off cheap, I decided to jump on the bandwagon.  It wasn't until I had to experience the difference myself that I realized that this was not good for any of the kids . . . including my own son.
 
I love my sons.  I take joy in their blossoming friendships at daycare.  I wish only the best for all of those children, who are almost like siblings to mine.  If I had any of those sweet babies over to my house for a play date, I would never use the cheap wipes on them.  I would be embarrassed and ashamed.  I’m pretty sure someone would leave with diaper rash. 
 
If this is true in my own home, why would I treat those children differently in the community context?  What is it about the “community” policy that caused me to cheap out, turn my head the other way, and hope for the best?
 
There is a lot to ponder in these questions, so I think I’ll leave this story here for today.  If you’ve ever found yourself in a similar situation, I’d love to read your comments.