another little trash shed

One of my pals prefers to heat with wood briquettes (as opposed to wood). So she usually orders a little bit of fire wood, and a whole lot of wood briquettes. But this year she didn’t order quite enough fire wood. So she did what all of us really should be doing all year long: she drove the tractor to the big university trash corral, brought home a huge load of pallets, sawed them into tiny pieces, built a shed out of some scavenged stuff she had around, and filled it up with sawed pallet bits. Free heat! I spent most of the summer fantasizing about doing just that. But now I can’t lift a pallet onto the table saw, so I guess I’ll be waiting until next year. And giving my friend high fives. Here are some photos of her pretty little trash shed:



wohoo, it’s buy nothing day!

Ah, Thanksgiving behind us, and Black Friday ahead. In the United States today people will be flocking to stores to begin their Christmas shopping. Why anyone would actually leave their house and head to the mall on the one day when the stores are guarenteed to be over-crowded is beyond me. My high school best friend and I used to do so of our own free will. Gag.

For those who haven’t heard of it, Black Friday is the day after Thanksgiving when all Christmas shopping hell breaks loose in retail land. So folks interested in toning down the consumer-obsessed aspects of our society have chosen it as “Buy Nothing Day.” (In America “celebrated” on November 25th, internationally on November 26th.) Participation is easy. All you have to do is buy absolutely nothing for one day. And if you find yourself getting carried away on the tide of holiday cheer, you can even buy nothing the next day as well.

The adbusters website had this to say about “Buy Nothing Day” and “Buy Nothing Christmas”:

“This year, why not gather together your loved ones and decide to do things differently? With the simplest of plans you can create a new rhythm, purpose and meaning for the holidays. Why not take the spirit of Buy Nothing Day and morph it into Buy Nothing Christmas?

“With catastrophic climate change looming, we the rich one billion people on the planet have to consume less! And if that’s too extreme for grandma and the kids, try for a Buy Less Christmas. And maybe a buy local, buy fairer, buy indie Christmas. Whatever you decide, ’tis the season to reclaim our year-end celebrations and make them our own again.”

Hell’s yeah, amen, and here here. I’ll be wandering around Tilburg, Holland today eating Thanksgiving leftovers. And I don’t plan on buying a thing.

What do you think about buy nothing day? Are you going to participate?

Friday November 25th 2011, 9:00 am 6 Comments
Filed under: conspiracies


gobble gobble gobble

My first Thanksgiving in Germany was a small ordeal. I bought some expensive seitan gyro thing from the grocery store and ate it with a big salad at the little white table in my room with my au pairing host family. No turkey. No family gathering. No pumpkin pie. I didn’t feel particularly sad to not be celebrating the holiday whose mythology, for me, has come to represent the American lie about “our” relationship with the native Americans. But I will admit that I like me a Thanksgiving spread.

I’ve been so entrenched in the American myth surrounding the subject throughout my life, that I didn’t even realize that Thanksgiving, like so many other holidays, was originally a pagan deal that was eventually turned into something else by the Catholic church. Check it:

“The pagans in Rome celebrated their thanksgiving in early October. The holiday was dedicated to the goddess of the harvest, Ceres, and the holiday was called Cerelia. The Catholic church took over the pagan holiday and it became well established in England, where some of the pagan customs and rituals for this day were observed long after the Roman Empire had disappeared. In England the “Harvest Home” has been observed continuously for centuries.

“In our own hemisphere, among the Aztecs of Mexico, the harvest took on a grimmer aspect. Each year a young girl, a representation of Xilonen, The goddess of the new corn, was beheaded. The Pawnees also sacrificed a girl. In a more temperate mood, the Cherokees of the American Southeast danced the Green Corn Dance and began the new year at harvest’s end. No wonder Chief Massasoit and his ninety braves felt right at home with the Pilgrim Fathers on that day in 1621!! Obviously, the idea for this “first Thanksgiving” did not just “pop” into the mind of Governor Bradford as most people believe! On the contrary Thanksgiving, in the guise of the pagan harvest festivals, can be traced right back to ancient Babylon and the worship of Semiramis!” (Source: A buddy of mine. But if you have qualms with the text, I’m sure I can find out where she picked up the quote.)

We probably won’t be doing a ritual sacrifice, but today, for the first time in six years, I’m going to be celebrating with turkey and pumpkin pie and gravy and stuffing—with a gaggle of other expat Americans and an even bigger gaggle of Dutch people along for the ride in Tilburg, Holland. We’ll drink hot applely beverages, bake a heap of pies, and eat until we burst. Celebration of a fictional friendship between European colonizers and native Americans aside, I love me a holiday that revolves around good food and better people. Here’s to a future without any more colonization and with a lot more harvest feasts.

For the Americans reading… Do you celebrate Thanksgiving? Force yourself to attend stressful family gatherings? Boycott on principle?

Thursday November 24th 2011, 9:00 am 6 Comments
Filed under: conspiracies,expat life


another day in the life: prego winter edition

Several times I’ve written day in the life posts—one of the purposes of this blog being to depict what it’s like to live in a tiny caravan in an intentional community—and several times you’ve responded with enthusiasm. (If you missed it, you can read another “day in the life” post here.) So I thought I’d write another. The details of life are different during every day, but they are even more diverse seasonally. And especially now, with the added challenge of being pregnant. So, here you are, a pregnant winter-y day in the life of Click Clack Gorilla…

one day in november

As I empty out the wood stove’s ash drawer in the bushes outside of my Bauwagen, I imagine archeologists of the future reconstructing our lives here from these little piles of ash, from the bits of plastic and debris that so quickly become compacted in the dirt. But archeologists will probably never excavate the remains of our little community. One day the university will force us to move (our land is hot real estate for them, and they make threats about once a year), and then they will remove all of the dirt here to put in the foundation of their latest Borg ship. And so it goes.

Tempuratures have been dropping, and it’s chilly when morning finds the Beard and I in our sleeping Wagen. I wake up hungry and try to ignore my growling stomach for as long as possible so as to steal a few more minutes cuddled beneath the blankets I dumpster dived across the street. But my growling stomach and the cramps in my legs (the latest prego-symptom, only happens when I lay down for too long) drive me into the crisp air sooner than I would like. Some mornings I manage to stay in bed reading for hours. But these days I would need a breakfast delivery service and a masseuse to make it possible. I dress quickly in the chill, reminding myself that chilly though it may feel in here, it is still much colder outside.

Outside I can see my breath, and I waddle between Wägen putting together breakfast: to my Wagen for the bowl full of oats and chopped apple, to one of the tiny kitchen Wägen for the raw milk to pour over them, and then into the house where I retreat whenever I need a warm place to collect the energy to light my own wood stove. People drift in and out as I eat: the day’s vokü cooks arrive with backpacks full of produce for the lunch menu, Platz-mates wander by looking for a fresh cup of coffee. I am gone by the time the first vokü guests arrive to begin filling the house up with cigarette smoke and backpacks.

Then I trudge to my Wagen where I have been putting off doing the dishes for days. I stuff crumpled newspaper and kindling into the wood stove, and light it with a match. It’s a sweet little oven with good air flow, and soon it’s crackling merrily while I put on fingerless gloves and clear off the counter to make room for me to do dishes and lay them out to dry. Then I put off doing them for a few more hours while I write blogs and e-mails and put a load of laundry into the new machine in the house. Slowly, it gets warm enough for me to consider taking off my jacket inside.

I’ve been unmotivated lately, feeling the first grip of winter doldrums wrapping around my limbs. But I have so much time right now! I remind myself. And I’m not using it in ways that will make me happy about it later, I frown. So I sit down, and I make a list of things I’d like to accomplish between now and February (baby arrival date). 1. Read as many books on the to-read shelf as possible. 2. Continue writing the au pairing series for autoposting on the blog for the first months of baby. 3. Work draft on the history of our cultural obsession with throwing things away into an article, and pitch it to a few magazines. (I haven’t been feeling the trash book lately, so I have been thinking I would rather try to work some of the best parts of it into articles and call it a day. That way I can abandon the project without feeling like I’ve given it up. Besides, a bunch of good articles are just as likely to lead to a book should the muse find me afterall.) 4. Compile and layout issue two of the Click Clack Gorilla zine.

No matter what the season, I always spend a good part of any day sitting at my little table and staring at my books. It’s a meditation of sorts. I let my mind wander, process past events, hatch schemes, plot projects, compose sentences, and think about how fantastic that shelf will look once I finally get all the books I still have in America onto it. Then I take another look at my to-do list and take the throw rugs outside to air out while I sweep ash and fire wood dust and leaves out the front door.

It is four o’clock before I finally force myself to take care of the dirty dishes. Doing dishes has become complicated. I can no longer carry a full tub of water to my Wagen from the faucet in the house. So instead I carry several loads of dishes into the house and wash them there. Then, finally, I fill my wash tub to about a quarter and use that to wash the little that remains. Everything seems to take longer these days, every activity requires more rest afterwards. I feel like I’m doing chores in slow motion, and I write detailed to-do lists so as to have small things to cross off, so that I can feel like I’m getting something done. Sweep, take out compost, and rinse out milk bottles have all become seperate bullet points instead of the over-arching “clean up kitchen” that might have stood on one of my to-do lists seven months ago. The baby kicks on and off throughout the day, and I sing “You Are My Sunshine” and “I Send My Love to You” to my stomach. Bonnie Prince Billy makes lovely winter soundtrack music.

By this time the sleeping Wagen has reached a lovely sauna-like tempurature (where the Beard has already lit the wood stove and spent the afternoon playing the fiddle) and the drying laundry hanging from the ceiling has made the air appropriately damp. We eat dinner sitting in bed (a big salad and baked camembert cheese with jam) and play Simon the Sorcerer 2 (point and click adventure games are a favorite winter pastime of ours—last year we played Monkey Island and Full Throttle is next on the list). At 7 o’clock I waddle over the the other Wagenplatz where we eat eggs with mustard sauce with cold feet around a big table in their communal kitchen. There are already three kids living there, and we joke about the little gang they are going to form once they all get a bit older. After a bit of chatting and a lot of baby gurgling, I waddle back to our Wagenplatz through cold, fresh air where I fall into bed next to the Beard and quickly fall asleep.

Monday November 21st 2011, 9:00 am 5 Comments
Filed under: conspiracies,daily life,tiny house livin',wagenplatz


midwives and monologues: week 26 peanut

It seems like all the pregnant ladies writing books and blogs always mention talking to their bellies, but the first time I did it it felt awkward. What do you say to someone who has no experience of the outside world and no understanding of language? And with me having never been inside my abdomen myself and unable to remember the good ole days when I was brewing in my mother’s middle, we didn’t really have any common ground to start from, Peanut and I.

I rambled a bit about how pointless those factors made my monologue, and then I spent a good ten minutes trying to explain trees. I told Peanut that I thought she would like them. I haven’t really bothered talking to her since. Instead I sing—one of the universal bridges of communication between folks who don’t speak the same language, or don’t speak any language at all. She seems to like it, and stops moving once I open my mouth. I hope she’s just as enthralled when she’s out of the pen and being dragged along to band practices once a week. We’re already fantasizing about our family musical trio, classic country-musician style. No pressure, Peanut. Ha ha.

midwifery

This morning I had my first at-home midwife appointment. (You can read about how we found her here and here.) Though this woman always comes across as unfriendly in the first few moments with her, she was immediately friendly and pleasant once we were inside. I like her a lot. And most of all, I like her attitude about pregnancy and child birth, which seems to revolve around the phrase “as long as you feel good, it’s not a problem” when it comes to anything that could be considered irregular. This strikes me as being incredibly helpful in 1. not freaking me out and in 2. avoiding unnecessary medical intervention. I’m really glad I found her.

“So, what are we going to do today,” she asked me as she set her briefcase down on the platform next to the wood stove.

I shrugged. “You tell me. As an American I haven’t got the foggiest idea what a midwife does at an appointment.” She laughed. We’d already been over how sadly lacking American culture is in midwifery.

Then she sat herself down at our little table, flipped through my Mutterpass (passport-shaped book where all your vitals throughout pregnancy are recorded by the midwives and doctors you see), and handed me a plastic cup. I was to go pee and stick a little white tab in for thirty seconds. If the tabs showed any green or purple, I should tell her. If they were all shades of yellow, no problem. I had all purples and greens. Protein and sugar. Probably doesn’t mean anything, but the sugar could mean that I have gestational diabetes. I’ll find out after some tests next week. My fingers are crossed. Gestational diabetes sounds kind of annoying.

After a finger prick (low on iron) and a blood pressure reading (looking good) she had me lay down on the bed (on my own bed! how comfortable it is to have an exam in your own home!) and measured my stomach (96 cm), felt around for the baby’s position, and checked my ankles and legs for swelling and varicose veins. When she got out a hand-held ultrasound thing-a-ma-bob to listen to the baby’s heart, the baby started kicking. “She doesn’t like that,” she told me. “Some babies just don’t like ultrasounds. She keeps moving away.” My stomach bulged out like a wiggling plate of jello with each kick. I love watching it move; it is so incredibly, fantastically surreal.

She’d forgotten the equipment she needs to take a larger blood sample for some tests I’m due for before my next doctor’s appointment, so she said she’d drop back over later this afternoon to take care of it and then again next week to put the results in my Mutterpass and give me the equipment for the diabetes test. I still can’t get over how convenient it is to have a midwife come to your home for appointments, how much less formal and more comfortable everything is when it’s not happening in a steriley white-and-gray-toned doctor’s office with paper-lined exam tables. As she was putting on her coat I asked her one last question.

“What about chopping wood? Do I need to stop doing that at some point?” What with all the taboos about pregnant ladies lifting heavy things, I’d been wondering if chopping wood might be off limits at some point as well, and it is not a topic that gets any attention in modern pregnancy books.

She laughed. “If you enjoy it, go right ahead. Chop as much wood as you want. Just as long as you don’t hit yourself in the stomach or chop off your hand. And if you start to have contractions, then stop.” Heh. Guess I won’t be convincing the Beard to take over all the wood chopping after all.

Read more posts about gorilla pregnancy

punk rock dads and peanut’s pants
if you do not buy our products, we will kill you
my cloth diaper fairy godmother delivers
possibly the future kindermobile
ramen confessions

Friday November 18th 2011, 9:00 am 6 Comments
Filed under: conspiracies,gorilla parent (pregnancy)


around my grave

The first time I heard about Slab City, California was on a blog post at Birds Before the Storm earlier this week. Magpie had been out to visit what apparently is the closest thing America has to a Wagenplatz and had taken some lovely photos of the squatted desert caravan community. It looked pretty neat.

The second time I heard about Slab City was today, when spacebook told me that a dude I went to high school with had been found dead in the hot springs there. “Thirty-year old Karl Weikel had been submerged under the water for approximately 14 hours while others unknowingly soaked in the hot springs right over him,” reports this article. “The cause of the death is yet unknown, but an autopsy is scheduled for today. Karl was reportedly on drugs and alcohol when he went into the hot springs Friday night.

“However, he had also been the target of several beatings a couple nights before,” the article continues. “No two people seem to have the same version of that night’s events, but it’s rumored the attempt to burn some one out of their trailer is related to the altercations. Because of the beatings he received, the sheriff suspects foul play might have been involved in Karl’s death.”

I didn’t know Karl particularly well, hadn’t seen him since graduation back in double ought, but I still remember him clearly. He was the class clown, he was in a lot of my classes, and if my memory hasn’t been completely distorted by all the years of whiskey, he was part of the AP Bio trip our class took to the Virgin Islands where we had a pretty ruckus good time. (Can you fucking believe that my high school had a bi-annual trip to the Virgin Islands associated with the AP Bio class? High fives for Mrs. Peterson for organizing that, where ever she might be.)

If I was in the United States right now I would go to my mom’s house, dig out a bunch of old photos and post a few in a little nod to his memory from across the sea. I don’t know if we would have gotten along today, but he was someone I would have liked to run into again sometime. Last I had heard, he seemed to have become a pretty interesting fellow. Either way, I hope that however he went, it wasn’t in a lot of pain.

A birth on the horizon, a death in my graduating class—it’s launched me into a philosophical mood. Death is almost always a sad event, particuarly for those close to the deceased. And yet, I always think to myself, it’s “the next adventure,” as Gandalf says in Lord of the Rings. It’s an innate part of life, a confirmation of the connectedness of everything and everyone as we are returned to the earth that fed the plants and animals that sustained us.

So it seems like an appropriate moment to share one of the newer Black Diamond songs with you, Around My Grave Sing Songs of Joy. It’s become my favorite song of ours, and it’s about thinking about death in a less “it’s the end of the world” and in a more “cyclical, intensely sad, yet intrinsic to our very lives” sort of way. Unfortunately, we haven’t recorded it yet. So instead I’ll share the lyrics and raise a glass to Mr. Weikel. Hope you enjoyed your thirty years, Karl.

around my grave, sing songs of joy // black diamond express train to hell 2011

Blackbird, fly so high. But lay my bones deep in the ground, lay my bones deep in the ground.

Hey little brown bird, blood red chest, dead girl lying, crimson lips.
When I die don’t say no prayers, cause there ain’t no heaven, and there ain’t no hell…just sing.

Elderberry summer wine, berries’ blood will course through mine.
When I’m gone don’t shed no tears, just raise your glass, your fist, your voice…and sing.

Maple maple, sugar tree, branch above and root beneath.
When I die my cradle be, between rock and root I’ll sleep…and sing.

Wednesday November 16th 2011, 4:16 pm 11 Comments
Filed under: conspiracies,daily life


click clack gorilla on the diy showoff

By the by, today my caravan renovation project is being featured on The DIY Showoff. Here here. To all the new faces who might be coming over from their link—welcome!—and here are a few articles you might want to check out to get a feel for what Click Clack Gorilla is all about.

The Marauder’s Guide to Wagenplätze (FQAs about the intentional caravan community I live in in Germany)

The Caravan Renovation Project in a Nutshell

My Cloth Diaper Fairy Godmother Delivers (“Gorilla” parenting, I’m expecting in February…)

Why Dumpster Find of the Week? (The whys behind my weekly showcase of dumpster-dived goodies)

Rumo & die Wunder im Dunkeln (Reflections on my six year anniversary of expat-dom in Germany)

Tuesday November 15th 2011, 12:14 pm 4 Comments
Filed under: conspiracies


wagenplatz dominos part five

We are in the final stretch. I had my doubts that the group would manage to get six Bauwägen moved before rain and mud made moving them a joke. We are procrastinators all. But on Sunday we moved two trailers within a couple of hours, and there is only one more Wagen to go before the Beard and I can move our sleeping Wagen to its new happy quiet baby-friendlier place. After another Friday night of very little sleep thanks to loud music coming from the house, I CAN’T WAIT. *Hops up and down like a kangeroo.*

This time a truck-turned-kitchen was up for pushing. If the motor still worked, it would have been an easier number. But as it is, we pulled with the tractor, and then pushed it into place by hand. It went something like this:

Want to read more about moving tiny houses? Check out these posts:

the wagon moves (wherein we haul my trailer home for the first time)
wagenplatz dominos part three: moving the ship
wagon dominos part two: moving my tiny house
wagenplatz dominos part one



wagenplatz dominos part four

With the ship Wagen moved (there have been a lot of new faces around CCG these days, so for those of you who are wondering what the hell a “wagen” is, read this), the last few moves in Wagenplatz dominos are falling lightly into place. Moving this purdy red number was pretty straight forward (no need for mad scientist ideas this time), but getting things to the point where it could be moved took a lot of work. There was trash to be hauled off. There were trees to be cut down. There were three other trailers to be moved. And somewhere in the middle of it all some jerk came and dumped a truckload of really shitty mulch (haha, more like shredded leaves and seeds) right in the way.

But yesterday the path had been cleared, the tractor was fired up, and this Bauwagen got moved. On to the photos:

The most obvious way to move a big trailer is to hitch the towing bar up to a tractor or a big truck and to pull it. But sometimes your trailer is in a spot that doesn’t make that possible. So you get a half dozen people and you push, you pull it with a steel cable attached to the axle, or you push it with the nose of your tractor.

And tomorrow—part two! Because we actually managed to move two trailers in one day. Only one more to go before the Beard and I can move our sleeping Wagen into its new, much quieter spot. (!!!!)

Want to read more about moving tiny houses? Check out these posts:

the wagon moves (wherein we haul my trailer home for the first time)
wagenplatz dominos part three: moving the ship
wagon dominos part two: moving my tiny house
wagenplatz dominos part one
moving out, moving on

Monday November 14th 2011, 12:31 pm 3 Comments
Filed under: conspiracies,wagenplatz


my cloth diaper fairy godmother delivers: first impressions of our new cloth diapers

Since many of you have played cloth diaper fairy godmothers and fathers by buying the Beard and I something from our baby registry, I wanted to share how ecstatically excited I was this morning when the first package of loot arrived at my door. Look! Look! You made my morning.

Though these things were ordered ages ago, they were all sent to my cousin’s house in America first. She then repacked them to send to Germany together. Because international postage is a bitch, and it’s getting more expensive by the second. Not to mention customs fees, which get charged when you order something but don’t get charged when individuals send you gifts.

This package was mostly full of cloth diapers, diaper inserts, a few diaper covers, and biodegradable liners that you can use to make dealing with pooped up diapers easier. I think hormonal insanity may be the only explanation, but cloth diapers make me really, really excited. Inordinately excited. But at least some part of dealing with poop does. Otherwise diapering for the next however many years would be a pretty grim prospect. (Am also excited at the thought of trying this, though I don’t think I’ll bother even attempting it until next summer when we’re outside all the time again.)

There are a lot of reasons to choose cloth diapers, and there are a lot of reasons to choose disposables. We chose cloth for three reasons. One: I cannot morally stomach the thought of putting somewhere around 6,000 little “disposable” pockets of crap into the landfill. And jaysus, have you ever read those stories about people excavating fifty-year-old diapers from landfills and finding little nasties like live polio cultures in them? No thanks. We owe it to the survivors of the apocalypse not to leave things like polio (these cultures get into diapers through vaccines by the way) laying around in a huge heap of other valuable resources. Two: Price. Disposables are expensive when you add them up over time. Cloth diapers are expensive once. The difference turns out to be about a tenth of the cost (you would have paid for disposables if you use cloth), according to these folks. If we ever have another kidlet, those numbers just keep getting more attractive. And the fact that we choose cloth diapers as THE thing we wanted to get as presents from the present-minded, those numbers are looking a whole lot like a big fat happy zero. You guys rock. Three: I don’t use things like disposable pads because I find the feeling of that fake-o pad material absolutely horrible. And because disposable products are pretty much the business persons’ wet dream solution to holding buying trends steady, and I don’t want to support that. And because of the environment. It’s all cloth for me, and I’m not going to put my kid in something that I find uncomfortable myself.

There are of course lots of other benefits too, according to the moms of the internet. You tend to get less diaper rash, they smell better, they are fucking adorable, they aren’t choc full ‘o chemicals, and etc. The only problem I’ve heard about so far being that cloth diapers put your kid in a bigger bottom size than with disposables, which can make finding onies that fit impossible. But I didn’t buy anything under size 62 (three months) anyway. You also, obviously, have to do a lot more laundry, but it’s a price I’m very willing to pay to reap all those benefits.

The irony of purchasing cloth diapers out of ecological concern/guilt is the way they come packaged. You’d think that companies marketing to crunchy folks interested in having a low eco-footprint, or whatever the hell that’s called, would be smart enough not to pack their products in individual plastic bags. But FuzziBunz, Kissaluvs, Happy Heinys, and GrowVia all do. Look at all this fucking trash! Just from eleven diapers!

Yeah, yeah, yeah FuzziBunz, print “No waste” and “Eco friendly” on the paper wrap inside the plastic wrap you deliver your products in. No one will notice your hypocrisy. They’ll obviously be too busy hugging trees. Cough. Hack. Choke. The only brand that seems to have thought about this issue is Thirsties. Their cloth diapers all came in “Responsibly & Sustainably Packages 100% Biodegradable/Compostable Bags.” Good for you, Thirsties. And we’ll see if I still think you’re so great when I bury your bags in the compost, and they are still there next year… (I have heard too many questionable things about biodegradable plastics to erase all cynicism on the subject. But maybe my experiment will prove me wrong.) And anyway, they still deserve some extra points for better intentions.

I’m rabidly curious to start testing all these diapers, and I’m sure once the time comes I’ll be writing some detailed ramblings about the pros and cons of all the different styles we’re trying out. But even pre-use, I’ve already got some concerns. Happy Heinys, for example, say right on the label that you’re going to have to replace the elastic around the leg in their diapers at least once in their lifetime, or at six months of use. And yet they do not look easy to take out and replace. FuzziBunz, on the other hand, admits the same but includes replacement elastic and have fashioned the bits of elastic around the leg in such a way as to make them easy to switch out. Many of the inserts (to make the diapers more absorbent) don’t fit in many of the diapers’ designated diaper insert pockets. (Good thing I’m mostly planning on folding up prefolds and bits of towel and burp cloths to use as inserts. Then I can at least make them whatever size I need.) But the real test is yet to come.

So. In conclusion, Captain Diaper Head says:

1. Cloth diaper companies should really reconsider all the plastic packaging. (Maybe I should mail it back to them with a complaint letter? Any other ideas on meaningfully commenting on that?)
2. If you’re going to make diapers that are going to need repairing make them easy to repair, even for sewing idiots. Especially for sewing idiots.
3. Glow-in-the-dark-skull-and-crossbones cloth diapers are the best thing to happen to baby poop since, well since I don’t know what, but they are fucking awesome.
4. Thank you so much to all of the Click Clack Gorilla readers who bought us something from the registry. You are super heroes all.

Want to read more Click Clack thoughts on Gorilla Parenting? Check out…

if you do not buy our products, we will kill you
buns, ovens
possibly the future kindermobile
ramen confessions
punk rock dads and peanut’s pants
midwives and home birth in germany part one
midwives and home birth in germany part two

This post was a part of the Cloth Diaper Blog Hop on Change Diapers.

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Friday November 11th 2011, 8:50 am 17 Comments
Filed under: conspiracies,gorilla parent (pregnancy)