PR's, Where's My Schwag?

I'm well over my 100th post here at Crabmommy and I have scored exactly two tubes of lip balm for my efforts.

Yes, I have also earned myself a nice gig over at Cookiemag, which frankly was my goal right from the get-go. Because while I like to pretend that I have a blog in order to commune with motherhood at large, it is a sad and ugly fact that the Crabmommy also must make at least a few shekels from her writing in order to validate the fact that her father sent her to a very expensive writing school and her husband grinds himself into the dust to provide her with the opportunity and Macintosh hardware necessary to carp about momming, as well as the giant block of crack cocaine I need to pick me up after a hard week's labor as a mother. In short, two tubes of lip balm just isn't cutting it. PRs, you know who you are. You come and see me. You love me. But also, you talk hogwash. Which is pretty much your job, I know. But I want you to de-lurk now and start making good on those promises. Come out and give me my goodie bag. And make it huge.

Truly do I appreciate blogging and it is utterly swell to write twaddle about Crabtot and find kind listeners ready to humor my every passing thought --whether it be a notion about Mormons and Mountain Dew or the sexual orientaton of Madeline's Miss Clavel -- and stupid deed, such as taking my tot swimming in sewage. But there comes a time when appreciation needs to come in a colder, harder form. There comes a time when Google AdSense's hefty $5/mo. check just isn't enough. And while I am thrilled to be a part of BlogHer, which is superfantabulous, even those swell gals can't give me giant vats of delightful products.

And so, when one has two blogs to write and many bills to pay, one might get a tad excited by those PR's that come swarming, offering their freebies, waving tubes of lip balm in one's face and saying, "Crabmommy we adore you. Please test this product on your chapped and crabby lips."

But no matter how good the Become Beauty lip balm -- and people, it was good -- it doesn't feel sufficient recompense for the past year of grind. And I confess to being utterly dashed by those marketingpeeps who have come to me bearing praise, promises, and postage-stamp-sized samples of beauty products. The lip balm, it was luscious. And I was fortunate enough to have one prizewinner forget to claim her score, hence I became the proud owner of two lip balms. But PRpeeps, there has been a too-long silence from you and frankly I am ticked. I have good traffic, but a bad wardrobe. I carry my wallet in a plastic bag. As for the wee mite, for Christmas Crabtot received a vintage plastic doll with the word "Liège, Belgium" printed across its acrylic dress, purchased for exactly one dollar (okay, it's because I forgot about Xmas until day before, and we were in a minute South African town sporting little in the way of retail opportunities but anyway).

Yes, Crabtot could use some Haba puzzles or TEA kimonos. She could use a cuckoo clock from Switzerland. Some Hannah Andressen tights. In short, we could both use some glamor and I need you to provide it. I know, I know, one would think as a Cookieblogger that I might be given great big wodges of goodiebags, replete with swanky mommy makeup, $75 cashmere loveys for Crabtot, and oh, I don't know, maybe even a David Netto toddler bed for $2000 or one of those cool Nordic sleds they're gabbing on @Cookie that no doubt costs more than my air-ticket to South Africa, not to mention the rent on my decidedly un-Cookielike prefabricated dwelling! But sadly, Conde Nasty hasn't sent me that plump monthly shipment you might expect. And while I adore working for these people and I love my blogjoblet, I need to get me some stuff. I need to be schwagmommy. I think I've earned it.

Look, I'm not greedy. And it is against my various contracts to accept ginormous loads of schwag. But a little bit more schwag, this I think is reasonably fair. So, PRs, since I absolutely know you are out there, listen up. I have dreadful cracked footsoles. I wear an ancient purple robe to blog in. My hair is the dull color of ticks. My skin is like so many raisins. Show me the products.

More posts this week at the bloglet. I'm carping about the phrase "we are pregnant"; I'm celebrating the fact that Crabtot thinks she can swim; and I am starting monthly momoscopes -- in which, Astromommy that I am, I forecast your monthly escapades with your offspring. It's not going to be pretty, but at last you can be forewarned.