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Your search for Britax has 2 results.
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| Karma As Co-pilot
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Added on 05/31/07 by Betsy
Yesterday's post about the universe using Goodwill and garage sales to offer it's wares came true yet again.
I have been collecting baby crap for a woman who is broke and didn't even have the cash for a car seat. She works at a retirement home full time for seven dollars an hour and has a 2 month old girl.
Two weeks ago a friend of my mothers-Pat-who works at the same retirement home called and asked me to collect stuff for her, she had gone in with her coworkers and raised $20.
All they wanted was a car seat to keep the baby safe and free up mom to go to the grocery store alone with the baby. I took this as a challenge.
My 2 year old had a 1 year old highly rated car seat she was to big for, so I cheated a little and passed that along. I asked did she have a bouncer, swing ya know all that junk the rest of America takes for granted.
No, Pat said she has nothing. She works all the time and her mother watches her daughter. She financially supports her mom, herself and her daughter on 7 bucks an hour.
So Karma and I went shopping.
Saturday in mid- May is prime sale season. On this particular day there were 29 subdivision garage sales, each sale having 11-110 sale houses.
I started at 7:30. Now one of the problems with starting early is that people. . . (read post) |
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| Hunting Good Will
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Added on 10/17/06 by Betsy
If the Olympics should come to Chicago as Mayor Daley is hoping, I will contact the city's Olympic committee because I have the perfect idea for a new competitive sport. If the Olympic Committee gets a better gift bag from Tulsa and we are out of the running, I may contact NBC because my idea would also be a divine reality show.
If you watched the Atlanta Olympics you will remember the cheesy back stories about starving Eastern block mommies who sent their buxom baby off to shot put boarding school so she could have a shot at the good life.
Picture Chicago 2008, the cheesy camera fog parts and reveals the doors of Goodwill. It's 8:50 and the athletes are taking their positions, climbing out of all manner of hoopty and limping to the starting gate.
There's the Pall Mall Paul who talks through a hole in his throat but can jog like a pro when he spies anything that plugs in and was mad after 1989.
There's Grandma Jean who pretends to be checking everything over with her bifocals, but is actually switching price tags.
There are the religous chicks who always come in a herd and can never seem to satitate their thirst for ankle length denim skirts.
And then there is me. And just like them something happens to me once I get inside those doors.
I feel a rush of adrenaline and once my hands hit the handle of the. . . (read post) |
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