First things first. Ms. Ruusupuu (Finnish for “rosebush”) was a pretty little thing. In a fetching combo of black and pink, she was a sight to behold on a rainy day. Her curved pink wooden handle felt substantial and smooth in my hand. The print brightened up just about any outfit.

She was no slouch in the function department, either. With a thumb’s press of the button on the handle, she’d spread her little metal arms and protect me from the elements. Another press and they’d glide back down against her little erect spine. It was that simple.

Most of all, though, she was strong. I am simultaneously ashamed and proud to admit that two years ago she won an umbrella fight on a bar terrace. There were boys and black umbrellas and something akin to fencing, and–despite her demure good looks–she bested all competition, leaving behind a trail of aluminum skeletons, their black nylon skin hanging in sheets from their mangled limbs. She and I triumphantly marched from the bar, her hoisted over my shoulders in triumph as she protected me on our rainy, tipsy walk home.

Alas, nothing gold can stay, and she held out another two years before she finally met her demise on the way home from work. An umbrella that lasts for four years despite weekly use and an umbrella battle is definitely a thing that works. I’ll be asking for another one this Christmas!

Though I’ve curbed both of these tendencies considerably, my fascination with faddish cleaning products rivals only that for glosses. Whenever my husband and I see an ad for some sort of Swiffer-related product, he teases me about wanting it (though let the record show that I have never purchased any Swiffer-related products).  Despite all my best attempts, these recently caught my eye. Perhaps it was the praise my dear friend (herself no slave to cleaning fads) had apportioned to OxiClean. Perhaps I liked the flashy red box. Perhaps the Munchy’s new mobility has made me more attentive to the cleanliness of the surfaces upon which she crawls. Whatever the case, I took these home without knowing precisely where I intended to use them.

Well, my friends–-I must now lay claim to one of the heretofore hermetic secrets of cleaning: these things actually work. First, I tried them out on my stove, on the baked-on spaghetti and other foodstuffs, which stubbornly clung to the surface despite travails with vinegar, a scrub brush, baking soda, BioKleen, and 409 (perhaps I would have had better luck with some of these in my homemade volcano).  Wonder of wonders, nearly every last gunk-bit and stain came off with a Brillo and a little elbow grease.

Next, the Brillo ticked off another success in the form of my discolored and dingy kitchen floor! While these are poorly installed linoleum tiles and will forever look less than Architectural-Digest-ready, the Brillo restored them at least to their pre-us state.  

Third, a new little blue pad tackled the dishes (with a little help from me). They did a particularly nice job on plates and pans with caked-on food. And wow, the sink actually SHONE when I scrubbed it lightly after the dishes.

I’m sold on the efficacy, though I can’t find much information online about the environmental impact of these little buggers. I will, however, promise to do my part for the environment by not cleaning that often.

At least with these, I sort of know how.

While a nice pinkish tint is a must and subtle flavoring an asset, for me, the true worth of a lip gloss comes down the subtle interplay of two variables—staying power and viscosity. This is to say that, while I enjoy a long-lasting shine, most of the glosses that last a really long time have an extremely tacky texture, attracting tiny pieces of hair and sometimes gumming up. I would rather sacrifice a bit of staying power for a smoother, lighter texture.

If a nerd were to array the above variables into a matrix, she might place Shiny-licious right here:

Add these factors to its under $6 price tag (much cheaper than most glosses at Sephora), a touch of fetching pink, and its inoffensive berry flavor, Shiny-licious is truly a gloss that works.

• It was inexpensive
• It’s cute
• It doesn’t leak all over my library book
• It doesn’t leak all over my manuscripts
• Did I mention that it doesn’t leak?
• It holds just enough coffee for two nice-sized cups but not so much that I will start having seizures
• It keeps my coffee nice and warm

They seem to have discontinued the jollier red and blue (at least online), but I assume the steel one works just as well.

Enter the Munchy, a squalling, yawping slip of a scrawny thing, the racket emitting from her rosebud mouth inversely proportional to her size. Born only 5 pounds, 13 ounces, she wasn’t much to carry at first, and my first experiments in babywearing went swimmingly: she loved being nestled against me in the Hotsling. In fact, for the first few weeks, the only way I could calm her from 4:00-5:30 each afternoon was to wedge her into her little baby package and dance to M.I.A.

Then, one balmier-than-usual March day, I set out on an errand with the Munchy in her pouch. I barely made it a single block before she started screaming at the top of her lungs. I adjusted her in the sling, but nope, she just wasn’t having it. I sheepishly returned home, trying to ignore the “horrible parent” scowls I was getting on the street. I still don’t know why she suddenly declared a Hotsling strike, but she never let me carry her in it again.

Next we tried the New Native Carrier, a hand-me-down from a random bag of baby gear my friend passed on to me. A little roomier than the Hotsling, this (I hoped) would be the answer to my prayers. The name, at least, was promising. Evoking Dr. Sears again, I thought of the colic-free Balinese babies and their wise relatives bearing their little baby bodies effortlessly for hours on end. And guess what? Slightly larger Munchy loved it!

However, I returned home from every outing feeling lopsided, as if my one shoulder had been permanently readjusted to be lower than the other. I had nightmares about scoliosis testing in middle school. She never felt quite secure, either, so I felt concerned about her neck and head and constantly adjusted her.

Upon a friend’s suggestion, I tried her Baby Bjorn. Slightly perturbed at myself for betraying the Balinese children in favor of the Scandinavian, I tried the nine-pound Iris in it facing inward, since she didn’t yet have the head control to face out. Better! I got one of my own from Craigslist. Yet, on some outings she liked it while on others she would scream and squirm until I took her out. I decided to give babywearing a rest for a while and just use the stroller.

But alas, hefting the stroller up the subway stairs was a huge chore. As the Munchy’s head control improved, my husband decided to try her facing outward in the Bjorn. This pleased the Munchy, who had already become very curious about the world around her. And it was good.

That is, until a couple months later when the searing back and shoulder pain—and the “I could topple forward at any time” feeling—set in. I will happily declare the Baby Bjorn a “thing that works” for a particular window of babyhood: as soon as the baby can face outward and before she’s so heavy (in my case, around 15 pounds) as to send a desperate, aching mother to a semi-seedy massage parlor reeking of fish for a 20-minute back massage during lunch.

I say all this to announce that I have finally found the carrier of my dreams: Ergo Baby Carrier. It’s not sexy: it looks a bit like a weightlifting belt with a shoulder harness attached, but it’s the most practical, most comfortable baby carrier my husband and I have tried. The big difference between the basic Bjorn and the Ergo is that the latter has lumbar support (the “weightlifting belt.”) This helps better distribute the baby’s weight down across the lower back and hips (which are far more equipped for heavy lifting than the upper back and shoulders). While I was nervous that the Munchy, accustomed to the front-facing Bjorn, would despise facing us once again, the ample space at the sides of the shoulder harnesses allows her to look out. I think she also especially enjoys that no part of the carrier comes between us, so she can snuggle sweetly against our chests. It’s also extremely easy to adjust, which is a bonus when two people of quite disparate sizes use the carrier. I’ve already tried the back carry once while doing the dishes (worked great), and I look forward to experimenting with the hip carry when she gets even heavier.

One qualification: we found it pretty useless for a newborn, though I know some people have had luck using the “infant insert” to wedge the baby sideways. This never felt natural to us, and we only really started using the Ergo at around 5 months, when the Munchy’s legs were long enough to fit around the seat part of the carrier. While I never found one perfect carrier to take the Munchy from birth to later infancy, the Ergo works when it really matters–when she’s no longer a scrawny little thing.

[Photo credit: husband]

Summer, then, presents a challenge in the form of tops, particularly tees. Most women’s t-shirts are baby doll–style, which means the sleeves are tight and way, way too short to favor my arms, while flattering in the bust and waist. On the other hand, men’s t-shirts tend to be shapeless and baggy, even when purchased in smaller sizes.

Fortunately, the androgyny-loving hipsters at American Apparel are on the case with the unisex Short-Sleeve Deep V-Neck T-Shirt (BEWARE this model’s chest hair!)and the Tri-Blend Short Sleeve Deep V-Neck. While the cheapskate in me balks at paying $22 for a tee, the would-be fashionista in me knows a good thing when she’s found it. I own three of these – two of the all-cotton, in mint and lapis; and one of the tri-blend (50% poly, 25% rayon, 25% cotton) in black (not a true black but more a smoky dark gray).

Despite images online (While American Apparel isn’t known for being demure, their aesthetic is decidedly anti-breast), the v-neck on the tees is not THAT revealing—but just revealing enough to betray a hint of sexy cleavage. And because the shirts are unisex, you must buy at least one size down, most likely two. Last week I bought the tri-blend, as I’d read rave reviews online. While I usually prefer 100% cotton, I believe the tri-blend has the cotton beat for fit: it has an appealing clinginess the cotton lacks, making it a bit more slimming. Plus, I wore it to a Sabbath show a few nights ago and didn’t swelter in the heat.

I’m looking forward to checking out their long-sleeve version for the fall, which is already on the shelves.