Love at First Wipe – How I Fell in Love with My Baby’s High Chair
I’ve got to admit it. I’m in love… with my high chair. Have you ever heard of something so silly? Let me explain.
I know it sounds a bit nuts, but it seems that someone who actually has children has designed a high chair. It’s easy to keep clean – one quick wipe will usually do it – it looks like a work of art, and my baby is comfortable and secure in it.
You know how the old fashioned kind of high chairs are all angular? This one is all flat planes and curves. There aren’t any corners. There are no little crevices for food to get stuck it. That’s why it’s so easy to keep clean.
Now all I have to do to clean the high chair is just take a baby wipe and use one hand to make it sparkling clean. It’s amazing – I can hold my baby in one arm and clean her high chair at the same time.
I no longer have to haul my high chair into the back yard in order to hose it down to get it clean. And because there aren’t any little crevices I don’t need to scrub the corners with an old toothbrush anymore.
Too bad this high chair wasn’t around when my first two kids were babies. I can’t imagine how much time it would have saved me.
The chair itself, which weighs about forty pounds, looks like it could be in the Museum of Modern Art, it’s so sleek and functional. It looks contemporary instead of like it came out of a 1950s sitcom.
Instead of legs there’s a pedestal. And because there’s a pedestal, I now have a high chair that I can slide smoothly under our dining room table. Now our baby can actually sit at the table with us instead of being an arm’s length away from us.
And I love how easy it is to raise and lower the high chair. Its pneumatic lift makes it practically effortless. Because the high chair has 6 urethane casters I can easily glide the chair across my hardwood floors and go in any direction and not have to worry about scratching the floors.
And get this – there’s even a waterproof seat pad. I wonder why no one else has ever thought about this before. Now it’s not necessary to put the cloth seat into the washing machine after every meal. One wipe and the seat pad is clean. I love this efficiency.
And I can take the five point harness off and wash it as well. Although my child can get quite restless at times, I’ve never gotten even a little scared because the harness keeps her so secure.
No Love Is Perfect
I guess nothing in life is perfect and there are some things I would change to make this high chair even better. First of all, the outer rim of the tray is exposed. That would be okay, but you have to hand wash the tray because it’s not dishwasher safe.
Also you only get two tray liners when you buy it. I’d rather that three or four were included.
Next, to find out about the Boon High Chair go to => http://www.squidoo.com/boonhighchairreview now
Beginning of my novel. VERY first draft. (read it over once, I’m editing now) Opinions? Criticism?
I sat high on a cushioned stool, tapping my fingers against the cold, hard granite countertop of the greeting table. My head rested on my palm as my eyes explored around the room. I checked on the clock every now and again. It seemed like time was moving incredibly slowly and painfully. Every minute I was driving deeper and deeper into what seemed to be endless boredom. I stared at the wall where the clock hung. I couldn’t believe I had been at work for five hours and hardly anyone had come to dine. There were only two parties eating at our restaurant at that moment. While all of my other co-workers were lazing away in the cozy employee’s lounge, I had to fill in for the hostess who was late again. I sighed deeply hoping that either the hostess would walk through that door or some people would, so that I could do my job. The slow days were the worst.
Suddenly, I had a great craving for some chocolate crepes. My stomach growled. I couldn’t remember the last time I had them here. They were the best and with my employee’s discount, I always got them half-off. Nothing tastes better than a break from work and half-off chocolate crepes. I couldn’t wait until my lunch break. Realizing that it was only half an hour away, I smiled to myself.
Without warning, some customers walked in through the French doors. I immediately snapped out of my thoughts. The cutest elderly couple I had ever seen approached me with beaming faces. “Two?” I asked them, putting on my sweet, waitressy grin.
“Yes,” the man replied in a humble tone, and then grabbed his wife’s hand.
Aww, I thought to myself.
I slid two menus from a shelf in the table and curled them into my arms. “Right this way,” I told them. I picked out the best table in the place for them to sit. It was right beside a window with the perfect view. Our restaurant was situated right next to the beautiful park. At that angle, they would be able to see the amazing, gleaming lake.
“Oh, this is lovely. Thank you,” the woman gasped as they sat themselves down.
“You’re welcome, madam,” I said as I placed down their menus in front of them. “You’re waiter will be with you shortly.”
I walked to the lounge and knocked my hand against the door upon my arrival. A few of the faces turned up to look, but the others were buried into something else. I spotted Jack, reclining in a cyan chair, sleeping deeply. I had seated the couple at one of his tables.
“Hey, Jack!” He didn’t stir. “Jack!” I said as I punched him jokingly in the shoulder. “Wake up, lazy. Table 7. A couple. Serve them.”
He opened his eyes and reluctantly pushed himself up, stretching out his arms with an exaggerated sigh. He punched me back like I had just done to him and gave me a glare. “Thanks for putting them at one of my tables.”
I smirked. “You are very welcome.”
Jack’s name suited him well. If you ever asked me describe him in one word, without a hesitation, I would say: jackass. Two words: unnecessary jackass. Three words: half-witted, unnecessary jackass. It was impossible to hold an intelligent conversation with him. If you were a girl, he would spend the time staring at your breasts (and I mean ANY girl) and if you were a guy, he would find some way to insult you or some way to change the conversation to “chicks”. He was so irritating; never respectful to anyone he met. For some unknown reason, my best friend Tori “fell” for him. She claimed that under it all, he was a really sweet and understanding guy. I don’t believe it one bit. I know that he’s just as shallow as he appears. Tori is such a good girl and I know he is just using her. She always saw the best in everyone, even the worst people. I knew that in the end, he would break her heart; I just didn’t want it to happen. I wouldn’t be able to count the amount of times I begged her to end her relationship with him.
Tori and I lived together in a quaint house just outside of town. It had two floors. The bottom was hers, and the top mine. I remember being so worried that I wouldn’t like my housemate. That wasn’t the case at all. She was adorable and probably the most caring girl I had ever known. Her look was so much like her personality. She always dressed in bright, sunny colors. Her brunette hair in the cutest bob. Her brown eyes always bright and aware. She was like the opposite of me, but we never had any problems. I couldn’t remember fighting with her once the whole year I knew her. I loved her. She was like a sister to me. We knew anything and everything about each other.
She was on vacation for about two weeks in Hawaii. I missed her terribly, but she was coming back in a couple of days. It was so lonely at home and at work without her. She was practically my only really good friend there.
I came back to my position again and noticed that the hostess had finally arrived. She was flirting with a guy at the table, about to seat him. He was fairly attractive with dark, short, curly brunette hair. He also towered over
her. Clearly a few inches above six feet when the hostess only reached his shoulders. I also knew that he was way too old for her. She was still in high school and he must’ve been in his early twenties. I watched as she pulled a menu from the shelf nonchalantly and asked with a flirtatious voice, “Will anyone else be joining you?”
The guy laughed and rubbed his neck. “Uh, no. Actually, I work here.” Was that an accent I heard? “This is my first day.” Definitely an English accent. I had never even met another person in my life that had one.
I approached them, about to thank the girl for finally showing up, but I was interrupted by him. He turned to me. “Uh, do you think one of you can show me to the manager?”
“I can,” I said, without thinking. The girl gave me an evil look as if I had beaten her to it. “Uh, thanks,” I thanked her trying to read her nametag. I never had good eyesight. “Lynn.”
“You’re welcome,” she scowled.
I know it has tense problems >:[ I emailed this to me from another computer, but I forgot to save it after I fixed it.
Yeah. MS word changed the "never heard anyone that had one".
Thanks. :]
Beginning of first chapter for my novel. Criticism? Opinions?
I sat high on a cushioned stool, tapping my fingers against the cold, hard granite countertop of the greeting table. My head rested upon my palm as my eyes explored around the room. I checked on the clock every now and again. It seemed like time was moving incredibly slowly and painfully. Every minute I was driving deeper and deeper into what seemed to be endless boredom. I stared at the wall where the clock hung. I couldn’t believe I had been at work for five hours and hardly anyone had come to dine. There were only two parties eating at our restaurant at that moment. While all of my other co-workers were lazing away in the cozy employee’s lounge, I had to fill in for the hostess who was late again. I sighed deeply hoping that either the hostess would walk through that door or some people would, so that I could do my job. The slow days were the worst.
Suddenly, I had a great craving for some chocolate crepes. My stomach growled. I couldn’t remember the last time I had them here. They were the best and with my employee’s discount, I always got them half-off. Nothing tastes better than a break from work and half-off chocolate crepes. Mmm. I couldn’t wait until my lunch break. Realizing that it was only twenty minutes away, I smiled to myself.
Without warning, some customers walked in through the French doors. I immediately snapped out of my thoughts. The cutest elderly couple I had ever seen approached me with beaming faces. “Two?” I asked them, putting on my sweet, waitressy grin.
“Yes,” the man replied in a humble tone, and then grabbed his wife’s hand.
Aww, I thought to myself.
I slid two menus from a shelf in the table and curled them into my arms. “Right this way,” I told them. I picked out the best table in the place for them to sit. It was right beside a window with the perfect view. Our restaurant was situated right next to the beautiful park. At that angle, they would be able to see the amazing, gleaming lake.
“Oh, this is lovely. Thank you,” the woman gasped as they sat themselves down.
“You’re welcome, madam,” I said as I placed down their menus in front of them. “You’re waiter will be with you shortly.”
I walked to the lounge and knocked my hand against the door upon my arrival. A few of the faces turned up to look, but the others were buried into something else. I spotted Jack, reclining in a cyan chair, sleeping deeply. I had seated the couple at one of his tables.
“Hey, Jack!” He didn’t stir. “Jack!” I said as I punched him jokingly in the shoulder. “Wake up, lazy. Table 7. A couple. Serve them.”
He opened his eyes and reluctantly pushed himself up, stretching out his arms with an exaggerated sigh. He punched me back like I had just done to him and gave me a glare. “Thanks for putting them at one of my tables.”
I smirked. “You are very welcome.”
Jack’s name suited him well. If you ever asked me describe him in one word, without a hesitation, I would say: jackass. Two words: unnecessary jackass. Three words: half-witted, unnecessary jackass. It was impossible to hold an intelligent conversation with him. If you were a girl, he would spend the time staring at your breasts (and I mean ANY girl) and if you were a guy, he would find some way to insult you or some way to change the conversation to “chicks”. He was so irritating; never respectful to anyone he met. For some unknown reason, my best friend Tori “fell” for him. She claimed that under it all, he was a really sweet and understanding guy. I don’t believe it one bit. I know that he was just as shallow as he appeared. Tori is such a good girl and I know he was just using her. She always saw the best in everyone, even the worst people. I knew that in the end, he would break her heart; I just didn’t want it to happen. I wouldn’t be able to count the amount of times I begged her to end her relationship with him.
Tori and I lived together in a quaint house just outside of town. It had two floors. The bottom was hers, and the top mine. I remember being so worried that I wouldn’t like my housemate. That wasn’t the case at all. She was adorable and probably the most caring girl I had ever known. Her look was so much like her personality. She always dressed in bright, sunny colors, her brunette hair in the cutest bob and her brown eyes always bright and aware. She was like the opposite of me, but we never had any problems. I couldn’t remember fighting with her once the whole year I knew her. I loved her. She was like a sister to me. We knew anything and everything about each other.
She was on vacation for about two weeks in Hawaii. I missed her terribly, but she was coming back in a couple of days. It was so lonely at home and at work without her. She was practically my only really good friend there.
I came back to my position again and noticed that the hostess had finally arrived. She was flirting with a guy at the table, about to seat him. He was fairly attractive with dark, short, curly brunette hair. He also towered over her. Clea
Clearly a few inches above six feet when the hostess only reached his shoulders. I also knew that he was way too old for her. She was still in high school and he must’ve been in his early twenties. I watched as she pulled a menu from the shelf nonchalantly and asked with a flirtatious voice, “Will anyone else be joining you?”
The guy laughed and rubbed his neck. “Uh, no. Actually, I work here.” Was that an accent I heard? “This is my first day.” Definitely an English accent. I had never even met another person in my life that had one.
I approached them, about to thank the girl for finally showing up, but I was interrupted by him. He turned to me. “Uh, do you think one of you can show me to the manager, uh, Mister Lombardi?”
“I can,” I blurted out, without thinking. The girl gave me an evil look as if I had beaten her to it. I turned to her. “Uh, thanks,” I shrugged, trying to read her nametag. I never had good eyesight. “Uh, Lynn for finally showing up.”
“You’re welcome,” she scowled.
Ugh. Why doesn’t it show indentation?
:[
Anyway, thanks in advance!
beginning of my novel (not even the first chapter because i’mma make it much longer) alt version?
Very first draft. Opinions? Do you spot any mistakes? Thanks in advance.
The first time I stepped through those French doors of The Mauve Spot, I was proud. It was the starting day of my career as a waitress. Everything around me smelled, tasted, and felt like a fresh new start on life. I loved it a lot. New things always made me happy. But after that first month, it started to become a regular thing. I no longer used my senses to describe a “fresh, new start”, but used them to describe “same old, same old”. I miss those days. I don’t like it anymore and things that weren’t “too bad” have gotten a lot worse. Isn’t that’s what is supposed to happen after a year of it all.
It’s not that I hate my job or that I am bad at it. I actually love serving those kind people that come by every so often—you know, the ones that tip a little extra and don’t complain. We also get the occasional, obligatory, jackass customer who never seems satisfied with what they get, but I don’t even get that annoyed of them. What I hate is the slow days, when we have neither. I actually like doing my job a lot better than just sitting around in the bland employee’s lounge. They spent so much time making everything else extravagant, but they can’t be bothered put cushioned chairs in there or at least a television. It’s worse than watching paint dry because there is no paint drying to watch. Manning the greeting desk was just one step above the lounge.
Here I sat high on a cushioned stool, tapping my fingers against the cold, hard granite surface of the countertop. Boredom was washing over me like a tide pulled by a very lonely moon, except, I wasn’t really lonely. There were ten other of my co-workers sitting in the dull lounge or doing who knows what.
Yeah. I’m gonna post the better one after I’m done editing. It does seem weak. I think I can do better.
I don’t like starting novels with dialogue….
High chairs or booster seats, which do you use first with babies?
Hi, I’m having twin girls, my 1st pregnancy, due in May.
What is better and safer for babies, high chairs or booster seats? My baby shower is coming up soon and some people have asked about buying booster seats, but we have no idea – we thought high chairs were better for babies. Anyone know? Thank you!