Yesterday was one of those gorgeous, mid-winter days that manages to convince you April is just around the corner, even though the calendar still firmly states it's only the end of January. With DH at work for the day, G and I ventured out to enjoy the 60 degrees temperatures at our favorite local park.

Unfortunately, we encountered a decidedly chilly atmosphere once we arrived. While the winter sunshine had brought out a smile on my face, I was apparently the only one in such a good mood. The parents--and most of the kids--we ran into at the playground were downright grumpy.

The whole day got me thinking that the playground is kind of like a microcosm for the rest of the world; there is a social pecking order, high drama and bumps and bruises, both of the physical body and of the soul.

What we learned on the playground yesterday:
Lesson #1: Some parents use the playground as a free babysitting service. That's fine... as long as your kids are old enough. One mother sat in a lounge chair brought from home, reading a book and listening to her iPod (I've never been able to master the double-skills of reading and listening to music at the same time) while her FOUR YEAR OLD proceeded to break every rule--official and otherwise--of the playground. He climbed up the slide backwards (once while my daughter was in the process of trepidatiously sliding down), he climbed up the outside of the jungle gym and he pushed younger children out of the way when he chose to follow the rules and actually go down the slide.

Lesson #2: Never tell a two year old to hurry while climbing up a ladder. I--or rather, G--learned this the hard way.

Lesson #3: Don't bring anything out in public you don't want to share. In our hour at the playground, I saw a girl throw a hissy fit because a perfect stranger wouldn't let her ride the bicycle she'd brought from home; then, I saw a boy nearly start a fight when another kid wouldn't hand over the stuffed animal he'd brought from home. Even G & I learned this lesson firsthand--we'd come to the park fresh from the farmer's market, where we'd bought some carrot sticks for a snack. You guessed it: a few kids came toddling over, expecting me to hand over the carrots like it was snacktime at preschool.

Lesson #4: Dress for success... and the weather. Even though the temperature on my outdoor thermometer read 55 degrees when we left the house, I was skeptical; so I dressed G in a pair of corduroys, a turtleneck, a sweater and a light jacket. Within ten minutes of arriving at the playground, she was peeling off layers and obviously sweating underneath the bulk of her wardrobe. My bigger mistake was the pair of shoes I'd put her in (rather, she chose for herself; I simply acquiesced). Instead of putting her in a pair of tennis shoes, I let her wear her Mary Janes... which are still a size too big. I fear that decision may have played a role in Lesson #2.

Lesson #5: Kids--even toddlers--can be mean to one another. I know, this is a lesson Lindsay Lohan should have taught me in "Mean Girls", but I really thought the mean gene didn't quite kick in until grade school. I was wrong. G desperately wanted to play with a pair of three year olds, who told her she was gross and to go away. The parents of these two mean kids simply laughed and shrugged. Gee, I wonder where they learned that model behavior...

Lesson #6: I've never been so glad G's going to have a sibling. That way, we can avoid the loneliness (and my heartbreak) of Lesson #5.

Lesson #7: Your children are listening to you. I have been reading G the same book ("Someday" by Alison McGhee--a real tearjerker!) almost every night since she was an infant. There's a line in it that says, "Someday you will swing high, so high, higher than you ever dared to swing." I thought it was just another line in another book to G... until mid-swing, she screamed out, "I'm swinging higher than I ever dared to swing!" Bring on the tears, my child does listen to me.

What real life lessons have you learned through a "child's" situation?

When DH & I were first married, we lived in upstate New York. We eagerly searched for a "love nest" to call our own; he'd spent the last four years in student housing, and was ripe and ready to live off campus. When we found a great little duplex just a few miles from school, we were more than a little shocked at the rock-bottom rent the landlord offered. It was significantly less than we'd been quoted for apartments in the larger complexes around town. Figuring it was a "perk" of DH's role on the university's football team, we simply shrugged our shoulders and signed on the dotted line.

Fast-forward a few months to that first October. The week before Halloween, a massive snowstorm hit the area. We were inundated with more than a foot of snow; our house was entombed by the storm. We turned up the thermostat and hunkered down for what we knew would be a long, New York winter.

When the natural gas bill came the next month, I thought it was a mistake. Did the company erroneously add an extra zero to the bill? $500??? I just knew it couldn't be right. Feeling indignant, I called the utility and asked them to please fix our bill (I'm now embarrassed by my naivety). The customer service representative actually laughed at me; "Is this your first winter around here?" she asked. I hung up, completely disenchanted. I guess this was why our rent was so cheap.

That was our only winter in that house, but the lessons DH & I learned from our utility bill fiasco have stuck with us. Even though we've been firmly entrenched in the South ever since, we still treat our winter heating bill with the utmost suspicion.

This winter has been one of the coldest on record; in fact, I think one of my old meteorological colleagues from the TV station said the first week of December was statistically the coldest on record, dating back more than 100 years. I can't tell you how many times I've said to my Southern friends, "This is NOT why I moved here!"

I adhere to a strict heating regimen in our home. I don't know what's the norm around you, but where we live, two-story homes typically have separate heating and air conditioning units for each floor. That means I can control the temperature on the second floor (where all our bedrooms are) independently from the first floor.

Every night, I turn off the downstairs heater--yes, I turn it completely OFF (I'm sure I'll learn my lesson when a pipe eventually freezes, but until that time...). Then I go upstairs and turn that thermostat on... to a "toasty" 62 degrees (hey, we're sleeping under flannel sheets, a thermal blanket and a down comforter... plus two pairs of socks and three layers of pajamas, but who's counting?).

When DH wakes up in the morning (the life of a law enforcement officer includes a 4:30am wake up call), he shuffles down to the frozen tundra, AKA our first floor. While we slept, the temperature downstairs has plummeted to an icy 50 degrees (actually, it might be colder than that, but our thermostat only goes down to 50 degrees, so we'll never know for sure). When I wake up a few hours later, I turn off the heat upstairs. I then head downstairs to check the thermostat; DH is notorious for "cheating" and adding a few degrees to my mandated daytime setting of 64 degrees.

All these efforts typically mean our natural gas bill is never more than $100 a month during the winter; I have friends in similarly sized homes who pay two or three times that--they also keep their home at a sultry 70 degrees day and night.

Sure, it means you can never go barefoot in my home...

Sure, it means I often type my blog posts wearing gloves...

Sure, it means lots of laundry to ensure all our sweatshirts and long johns are always clean...

But it also means great savings. Hey, if you're going to be frugal, you've got to suffer a little.

(And I should add, my own mother keeps her house at 64 degrees in the winter; and she lives in CLEVELAND, OHIO!!!)

But don't worry, come summer, we'll make up for all this frigid suffering. I refuse to turn the air conditioner on until July 4th; and then, it's set to a balmy 78!

From extreme couponing to making your family freeze all winter long, what are your most outrageous cost-cutting techniques?

It's my guilty pleasure, and I know I'm not alone.

The stories of Amber and Jenelle and all the other underage mothers on the MTV series "16 and Pregnant" (and the "spin off" series, "Teen Mom") are absolutely enthralling to me. It's an embarrassment to my husband, and maybe I should be ashamed to admit to this addiction.

I'm not sure why I find myself pulled in to what is--I know--truly bad television. Maybe it's because whenever I watch the show, I think about the woman who gave birth to me. Really, she wasn't a woman, she was a girl, although the circumstances of her life forced her to relinquish her childhood and grow up long before I'm sure she was really ready. She wasn't 16 when she got pregnant with me--the records I have show she was 17 when she conceived me, 18 when I was born. But the similarities are there; or at least, they are in my imagination.

I worry and wonder if she was an out-and-out train wreck, like Jenelle.

I hope she was more like Catelynn, who has more poise and strength at 17 than I have at 28.

I think about the choices I made as a teenager, and feel blessed that I don't have more in common with these girls.

I pray G will be smarter than they are and avoid the situations that led to these life-altering consequences. (I hope that C will be smarter, too; or, if that he finds himself on the "dad" side of this equation that he has more integrity than most of the boys on this show.)

This show unravels a slew of complicated emotions inside of me, and I think that's why I'm so addicted to it.

What's your TV guilty pleasure?

Her name is Amy Chua, and in some circles, this Yale Law School professor (and former Duke professor, too) is public enemy #1.

Of what is Chua guilty?

Well, just listen to this...

Chua expects her two teenage daughters to get excellent grades!

She urges them to excel at extra curriculars like music and athletics!

She demands their respect!

So why has Chua become such a villain among American mothers? Because this Chinese-American mother--who is the author of the new book "Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother"--makes us feel uneasy. Uninspired. Inadequate.

Before dubbing herself a "Tiger" mom, Chua might have been categorized as a helicopter mom; but that term doesn't go far enough. Chua admits to hovering, nay, dominating her daughters' lives. She doesn't allow them to go to playdates, attend sleepovers or watch TV. Their intellectual and "approved" extra-curricular activities are the only things that matter.

THAT is why Chua is the enemy.

As David Brooks--a noted political writer who was overwhelmed with parental responses to Chua's book--discusses in his recent article, Chua's children are lacking in one crucial element of their education: socialization with their peers. Any person who has ever attended high school or college knows how critical this is. Any person who has ever held a job in an office knows how important this is. Yet Chua seems to regard intellectual pursuits as tantamount, treating social skills as a distant (and I do mean distant) second.

But Chua may be on to something. In her article "Why Chinese Mothers Are Superior," she claims that she's simply an example of what is a cultural norm in China: placing high expectations on a child's academic success, giving that child the tools to succeed and demanding nothing less than excellence. Whereas American mothers tend to lead more with their emotions (ie, "Oh, Johnny doesn't like math, so we allow him to pursue other interests), Chua asserts that Chinese mothers refuse to fall back on what she sees as mere excuses.

And the statistical evidence shows Chua and her Chinese peers are on the right track. A 2009 international education study called Program for International Student Assessment (PISA for short) found that students in Shanghai, China, led the pack in a variety of disciplines. What made these results even more astounding was the fact that 2009 was the first year China ever participated in the PISA study. How did the USA compare? Our students finished 17th out of 65 countries in the reading assessment; we were 23rd in math; we came in 31st--below the "test average"--in math. It's pretty abysmal, and it's led to some serious discussions in the American education community about what our country is doing wrong and what China is doing right.

I find it difficult to completely vilify Chua (and so does her daughter Sophia, who wrote this eloquent rebuttal to her mother's critics). I hear the stories from my friends (how are almost ALL of my "working mom friends" teachers?) about students who come to class completely unprepared, without any parental assistance or guidance at home--that is, if their parents force them to go to class at all. I saw the school district which I attended ditch a challenging math curriculum in favor of something simpler, that would make it easier for students to succeed. Success shouldn't be easy; if it is, then it isn't true success.

I'm curious to see if any of you have read about Chua, or (if this is your first introduction to her and her controversial ideas) what you think about her tactics?

There's an old story about my great-grandmother and her descent into senile dementia. Apparently, she arrived home one day from a trip to the grocery store to find she'd been robbed. The thieves had taken some rather unusual objects--things like her potholders--but had left behind the wad of cash she'd left unattended on the counter. Undeterred, my great-grandmother continued going about her daily tasks; but every time she left her apartment from then on, she always left this note on the door:

Dear Robbers,
Go away. You've already taken everything.
~Julie
Of course, there were never any thieves. Those "robbers" were just my great-grandmother's forgetfulness. My mom later found the "stolen" potholders, but their disappearance was really just a tangible sign to everyone who knew her that my great-grandmother was losing her grasp on reality.

Over the past year or so, my mother has told me stories about my own grandmother's descent into an elderly haze. But while there's been a lot to be concerned about, I held out hope; I'd yet to hear a story that reminded me so gravely of the dementia that ripped my great-grandmother out of this world and into her own paranoid universe, rendering her mental capacity shot long before her physical body gave way.

That is, until last weekend...

That's when my grandmother--now 84-year-old, the same age at which her own mother passed away--received a phone call. It was from her bank, the same regional (please note the emphasis on that word, it's key to the story) institution with which she's conducted business for the past 50-odd years. My grandmother noticed the area code on the caller ID--it wasn't from her immediate area (of course not--it's a regional bank; it's headquarters and most of its call centers are located two states away). Immediately on edge, my grandmother (so she told my mother) cursed at the innocent operator on the other end of the line (who, no doubt, was probably just making a courtesy call or trying to sell her identity theft protection). She then slammed down the receiver, got behind the wheel of her Camry, and sped like wildfire to her local bank branch. That's where she canceled the account and withdrew all her money, taking it home in plastic bags.

Insert loud, audible sigh here.

This is what I--and I suspect, just about everyone else in my family--had both anticipated and feared. I think we were all waiting for my grandmother to do something so off-kilter that it reminded us of her mother.

She does not feel safe, even in the very insular world she's built for herself since my grandfather's death more than 16 years ago. She fears everything--the known, the unknown, the seen, the unseen. She trusts no one--not even her own daughters. This weekend's incident pointedly laid out--for all of us to see, unable to avoid--how paranoid my grandmother has become.

I find myself on edge. I'm waiting for a phone call from my mother that will bring the news I can't really digest right now. I know it's coming. It may not be next month or even next year, but this is the final act. My grandmother's "performance" this weekend signaled (in the famous words of Winston Churchill), if not the end, or even the beginning of the end, but at the very least "the end of the beginning."

My grandmother--as I knew her--is gone.

And now it is I who is paranoid.

Most moms pray for a night to themselves... heck, for an hour to themselves. Every Friday night, G's old nanny and her husband take her out for a "date." They dine on spaghetti and meatballs and stewed apples. My daughter returns home three hours later absolutely exhausted and ready for bed.

I usually spend those three precious hours doing something utterly un-selfish; I clean the house or do all our grocery shopping (that reminds me... there's a load of laundry sitting wet in the washer that I must put into the dryer before it develops that never-gonna-get-rid-of-it moldy smell). Sometimes I'll go to the gym or out to dinner with a friend (this is what DH & I typically do when he is off every-other Friday).

Tonight, after a stressful week, I planned on staying home and pampering myself. A hot cup of tea; an old (but still unread) copy of Ladies' Home Journal; a warm bath (the main purpose of the bath was to shave--something I hadn't done in about a month and which I knew DH would appreciate immensely).

I thought I wanted to be alone--key word "thought."

About 45 minutes into my precious alone time, I felt a pang in my chest. It wasn't the type of pang that sent me running for the phone to call the doctor or the ambulance; it was the type of pant that sent me scurrying for a photo album.

I was missing G.

Yes, the same girl who refused to nap two days this week; who insisted on sitting down in a pile of melting snow and ice this morning outside a local children's museum; who peed in her big girl underpants without my knowledge, then proceeded to change into a new pair of underpants and stash the now-wet pair behind the TV (yeah, she seriously did that). I missed her.

I'm sure tomorrow morning--when she escapes from her big girl bed at 7am to play with her toys--I'll be wanting my alone time back. I'll be fantasizing about how I'll spend my next "alone" night. But right now, I just want 7:30 to get here... and I want my daughter home with me.

This week marks 24 weeks in this pregnancy; I can't believe Baby "C" will be here in less than four short months! The 24-week mark is one of those milestones I really focus on in pregnancy, because to me, it crosses a huge cavern in the baby's ability to survive outside my womb.

When I was pregnant with G, I knew two other women who were pregnant as well. The first--a dear friend from my old job--was due exactly 3 weeks ahead of me. The second--my cousin and absolute closest relation (when it comes to friendship)--was due 10 days after me.

Then, within the span of 5 weeks in the spring of 2008, both went into premature labor. My friend went into labor first; she was 23 weeks along. She lost her son. Then, just a few weeks later, my cousin developed preeclampsia (the same condition that forced Michelle Duggar into early labor in December 2009 with her 19th child, Josie); she was 24 weeks when she delivered her son. He survived.

So to me, 24 weeks is a critical and pivotal point. The ordeals through with my friend and cousin lived almost three years ago now reminds me how fragile life is... but that after 24 weeks along, my baby at least has a chance to survive, should the worst happen.

Gestation: I've decided to embrace the due date given to me by my obstetrician--May 1st, even though I know it's technically impossible for me to be due before May 4th. But heck, anything that gets this baby born a little earlier is motivation for me! That means I'm 24 weeks 2 days along.

Weight: Yeah, I'm done answering this question honestly. I will say that I'm gaining weight at the exact same rate as I did with G, which is fine with me. I was able to lose it rather easily through breastfeeding, and I'm optimistic I'll be able to do the same this time. C, however, is now the size of a large banana, and weighs just over a pound.

Fetal Heartbeat: I asked this time! Woo-hoo for me! It was 158, which is apparently "high" for a boy, if you believe the old wives' tale about a boy's fetal heartbeat being lower than a girl's (however, G always had a low heartbeat--in the 130s or 140s--so I don't hold much stock in that myth!

Health Concerns: None! I've had some nose bleeds, but they haven't been horrible (in fact, DH has had at least three that were substantially worst than mine, so I can't even complain). I am still exhausted, but as my OB says, I'm 5+ months pregnant and caring for a 2 year old all day... I SHOULD be exhausted!

Other Concerns: I am proud to say that DH & I (along with my parents) undertook a complete overhaul of my home and storage spaces in the first few days of 2011. My mom helped me sort through all of G's old clothes; some will be sold, some will be given to friends with girls, and most were discarded because they weren't quite in the condition I thought they were when I'd put them away. My dad brought down all of G's old baby gear from the attic and helped me take stock of what we had--and what we still needed. Then DH & I did a little shopping (I decided "C" needed a Duke-themed room, instead of the zoo theme G had). We've since built up G's "big girl" bed (a full-sized bed with a trundle), which she's slept in for the past week with a lot of success, and moved her old crib into C's room. All we have left to do is paint G's reclaimed dresser (which actually belonged to the cousin I spoke about earlier in this post) and C's room. We've made a lot of progress!

What's Different: The baby's movement--C moves way way more than G ever did. With G, I bought a medical-grade, at-home doppler to monitor her heartbeat; that's how rarely she moved. With C, I KNOW he is doing a great job "cooking" in there, because he moves non-stop. Morning, noon, night; literally every 15 minutes or so I get a nice jab. The doctor told me he's now head down (as opposed to the transverse position between my hip bones he'd staked out for the first 21 weeks), so I can now look forward to more kicks in the ribs :)

Next Appointment: January 31st--this will be a double appointment; I'll have my blood glucose screening as well as an OB checkup with my favorite nurse practitioner. After that, I only have one more "monthly" appointment before I move on to every-other-week check-ups. I can't believe how quickly this pregnancy has progressed!

Are you one of the catrillion (yeah, I made up that word) people trying to lose weight in 2011? (Thankfully I'm not, but mostly because you're not supposed to drop the L-B-S's when pregnant!)

Or are you one of the bazillion (another made up word... I'm on a roll) people hoping to kick a bad habit? (I'm hoping DH will kick the "I always leave the toilet seat up and cause my wife to fall in during her numerous middle of the night trips" habit.)

I said last year that I don't really make "resolutions"--instead, I try to incorporate changes to my lifestyle. This year, I seem to have a lot of these lifestyle "goals," and I'm curious to see what your goals for the year are as well!

#1) Washing my face twice daily
Yes, I know this is a lesson I should have learned when I was a teenager: a clean face is a happy face. But these days, I am SO exhausted by the end of the day that I simply fall into bed without a second thought to my mascara and bronzer (the only two types of makeup I wear). This causes two problems: one, I end up with mascara all over my pillow case and two, I end up looking like a raccoon in the morning. So this year, I'm pledging to take better care of my skin.

#2) Being more accountable with our money
This is absolutely necessary, thanks to my new "stay at home mom" status. I've always been frugal, but I'm taking it to a new level these days, as we (obviously) have less discretionary income than we did when I was working a full-time job with benefits. My goal isn't so much to cut back, but to know where we're spending our extra cash--are we wasting it at Starbucks? (yeah, probably) Are we putting enough into our rainy day fund? (probably not) Are we keeping our utility bills to a minimum by turning out the lights when we leave the room? (definitely not) These are questions I want to be able to answer definitively, instead of simply saying, "Uh, I guess so."

#3) Cooking more
As I type this, DH is in the kitchen cooking breakfast... this should not happen. I feel that when I assumed the title of "stay at home mom," I also took on the title of "housewife" (aka, "Domestic Goddess"). While I have mastered the "house"-wife part of the title, I have neglected all too often to tame the kitchen. Quite frankly, I hate to cook. I would rather clean toilets than cut up chicken (it's so slimy!). But since DH puts in so much time and effort to literally "bring home the bacon," I feel the least I can do is learn to cook it. Any easy recipe websites would be appreciated!

I think those are pretty simple goals for the new year; there's nothing over-the-top on my list, just really being more accountable for my actions.

What are your resolutions goals for 2011?


I had to use this picture, because it's from my alma mater; back in the year 2000, I stood on the Duke quad as part of the number "2004"; it's a tradition!

It was the most wonderful time of the year... now, it's simply the most depressing.

First, all apologies to those of you with January birthdays; that includes my oldest nephew, two male cousins and two of my three sisters-in-law. I am whole-heartedly sorry that I find your birth-month so glum; I'm sorry that I struggle to see the silver lining in short, dreary days and long, bitterly cold nights.

Technically, today isn't really the most depressing day of the year; that dubious honor belongs to Monday, January 24th. Psychologists say this day--dubbed "Blue Monday"--was pinpointed because of six factors: weather, distance from Christmas, our (most likely) failure to uphold our New Year's resolution, debt (and ability to pay it--this is around the time the last of your holiday-spending credit card bills will come rolling in), lack of winter-time motivation and the need (and failure) to find something on which to take action (like planning for a certain someone's birth... it just feels sooooooo far away right now!).

But this Monday, I am feeling pretty blue. All my beautiful holiday decorations are packed away, stored in the attic for another year. A wonderful woman whom I never got a chance to meet--but who played a huge role in my daughter's life--passed away over the weekend, and we'll be attending her funeral this morning. It's a very "Blue Monday" indeed.

And then... there's the silver lining. It's tough to find--especially on a day that only boasts a measly 9 hours and 47 minutes of daylight. But I think of all 2011 has to hold: baby "C" joining our family and three of my best friends welcoming new babies; new career possibilities, for DH and maybe for me; G turning three, potty-training, sleeping in a big-girl bed, and starting preschool, swim and dance lessons. New friends. New adventures. A new beginning.

Yes, it's hard to keep my chin up while the January gloom shines (or rather, fails to shine--there's no sunlight here!) down on me... but knowing all the wonderful things that are on the horizon (the return of Daylight Saving time, YAY!!!) will keep me powering on.

Besides, blue isn't all that bad. After all, I am a Duke BLUE Devil.

I don't know why they call it "morning sickness"--any woman who has ever been pregnant (except the extremely lucky ones I secretly hate) knows that the nausea that comes with pregnancy can strike at any time of day. For me, I've always had more "late-afternoon sickness," a problem which I've been dealing with on and off since my sixth week of this current pregnancy.

I had read that ginger was a great cure for this nausea, so when the first rumblings in my belly began, I made a mad dash for the grocery store to buy some ginger ale. Guess what? Most of the commercial brands of ginger ale on your store's shelf don't contain ANY ginger. Zero. Zilch. Nada. Instead, they use artificial colors and flavors as a substitute. The result? Zero, zilch, nada relief for my nausea.

When a representative from the company sent me an email asking if I'd be interested in a review, I basically BEGGED her to send me some of the soda. At that point, I'd tried two prescription medications, copious amounts of vitamin B6 and just about every homeopathic remedy listed online. "Reed's Rx Nausea Relief" was my last hope!

The great folks at Reed's Natural Soda sent me eight cans (each can contains 5.5 fluid ounces) to review. To be perfectly honest, I wasn't blown away by the taste... at least, not at first. While the ginger soda doesn't have a medicinal taste, it does have a very strong ginger flavor--far stronger than anything you'd find in a can of Canada Dry. After a while, though, the taste grew on me. Maybe it was because--gasp!!--it was actually working. The nausea that plagued me for more than three months completely disappeared whenever I downed a can of soda. I credit that to the 12 grams of fresh ginger in each can. Additionally, each can also contains 10 milligrams of vitamin B6--so if B6 helps you fight nausea (and a friend of mine who is an OB-in-training swears to this remedy!), Reed's has what you need as well.

Another great feature of Reed's is what it doesn't include--a lot of calories. While a can of ginger ale can easily contain more than 200 calories, a can of Reed's contains just 66; and truthfully, it's nausea-reducing benefits are so profound, you could probably split each can into two servings of just 33 calories each. As a pregnant woman, I know I don't want to waste my calories on liquids--I'd rather gorge on holiday cookies and candies! Reed's helps me keep my weight gain under control.

BUY IT!

Reed's Rx Nausea Relief is sold at pharmacies and grocery stores nationwide; $7.99 for a 4-pack. To locate a retailer near you, click here. You can also click here to buy a case direct from Reed's.

You can also download and print a $1 off coupon directly from the Reed's website by clicking here.

MY VOTE:

While the taste might not be for everyone, the benefits are. I'd tried prescription medications like Phenergan and Zofran to try to ease my "morning sickness"--they didn't work, but Reed's Rx Nausea Relief did. If you've had a tough time finding relief from nausea, whether it be caused by pregnancy or motion sickness, Reed's might be the answer you're looking for.

Disclaimer: I was provided eight cans (two four-packs) of Reed's Rx Nausea Relief for the purpose of this review. No other compensation was provided. The opinions expressed in this review are my own, and were not influenced by the sponsor company.