Earth Mothers

Posted: 5 January 2009 in observations, other folks, propaganda, the fantastic

Not for the squeamish.  You might as well just stop now.  Look, don’t write me later to say you didn’t want to, need to, know.  I’ll take all your points.

2009 may be the year of the hippie at our house.  Of course, I say that with plenty of earthy tolerance and love, since I am already halfway there regardless of the year.  We’ve started composting, or at least, are trying.  I can’t quite get the hang of my new tumbler and admit a certain exasperation that I just can’t go out there every day, add a few eggshells, and viola!, fertile soil!  Regardless, I’ve gathered finely crushed leaves and am collecting the kitchen waste and I have high hopes that summer will yield some compost, if not something suitable for compost tea.

2009 also brings us the neti pot.  I know you are a convert, that you love it and that, gasp, you’re scandalized we’re so late on the sinus cleansing wagon.  You’d think, for someone who has as many migraines as I do, that we’d have tried it already.  What brings the dawn of a new day to our home?  D has been sick for a week with a terrible, hacking cold.  She discovered the neti pot at the drugstore and promptly brought it home, cradling it in her arms as a certain source of salvation.  She’s still sick, but that thing is wonderful.  Sure, my essential oils are great when you need to sit over a bowl of steam, but this little pot pours water in one side of your nose and out the other, taking debris, mucus and sinus pressure with it.  On the downside, I can’t help but fear I might drown and the saline is a little terrible (but in that nice way), but I think we’ll let it stay.  PS.  I am not the zombie woman in that video.

In exchange for trying the neti pot (despite having escaped the cold thus far) D had to agree to try Instead.  I warned you.  Don’t say I didn’t.  Instead wouldn’t have come into our lives if it hadn’t been for a poorly timed waxing appointment that couldn’t be canceled.  Waxing involves a sort of frog position and certainly isn’t the time to be dripping blood or wagging a string to the four winds.  I mean, ugh.  This woman already has to spread hot wax all over my bits, I doubt she wants to avoid a string.

In desperation we headed back to the drugstore where we poked cautiously at the Diva cup.  The cost was a turn off though, considering that we had no idea if it would work or if I would…like…the sensation.  So we settled on the disposable instead, wedged that sucker up inside, and I held my breath.

No literally, I held my breath.  I didn’t want to pop the little pink rimmed cup out (as one poor reviewer had) and I didn’t want it to suddenly slip during an aerobic waxing session.  I walked carefully, sat very still and hoped for the best.  And you know what?  That thing is awesome.  No more chaffing from unfriendly cotton torpedoes.  On the downside, there’s not enough research to determine possibility of toxic shock and you do have to eventually remove the thing, so it isn’t for the squeamish.  But again, it’s hands down amazing as far as low maintenance lady business goes.

D agreed to try it in exchange for me putting the little spout up my nose.  I know, you wish you lived here, we’re such scintillating conversationalists.  But you should try it.  Really.  The Instead.  Or the neti pot.  Or the composting.  Peace, baby.

Points for everyone.

  1. Linsey says:

    I’ve been using the bulb syringe over the neti pot. My ENT said I had to use one or the other after my surgery and let me tell you, after I stop using and and then use it again, the things! that! come! out! but yesterday, when I made the saline solution – i put in too much salt. way too much. and you know what? that’s uncomfortable. it’s like shooting fire into your sinus. always follow the recipe. that’s all I’m sayin’.

  2. linaria says:

    I want to use a diva cup SO BADLY. I am the poster child for recycling, reusing, upcycling, whatever you call it, I bring orange peels home from work to compost them and make my own shopping bags out of clothing from the Salvation Army. “Feminine products” are the one major hole in my front against excessive, unsustainable consumerism, and I feel guilty about it EVERY MONTH.

    All because I am really, really squeamish.

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