My mom took me to the pediatrician at seven years old because I had body odor. She was convinced something was wrong with me. Perhaps I was suffering from Trimethylaminuria (fish odor disease), or starting puberty very early. The doctor, who always handled my mother’s anxiety and late night phone calls with grace and gentleness, assured her that I just needed to scrub better under my pits because I was a bit smellier than the other kids. 

Obviously, the problem got worse once I hit puberty. No kid’s body odor situation deescalates from seven to thirteen. Plus, living in Central Florida isn’t exactly conducive to not sweating. The only time I got a break was one week in January when temperatures dipped below seventy degrees. So, instead of stuffing my bra, I stuffed my armpits with folded up paper towels to create a buffer between them and my light yellow uniform shirt. 

Middle school was hard enough, especially when you’re two heads taller than all the boys - and most of the girls. I had to get pit stains out of the mix if I was to survive. Eventually, the doctor put me on a prescription deodorant, of which 20% was aluminum. It was the early aughts-- tanning beds, Furbies, and Limewire were popular. No one knew any better.  

Fast forward to adulthood. My braces and nail biting habit were gone, but my body odor was here to stay. My friends (God bless them for their honesty) never failed to let me know that I needed a little refresh. I stashed deodorant sticks in every bag and would frequently visit the bathroom for a little bird bath when on a date. I could not get away with a natural deodorant product, despite my best efforts. 

I needed the chemicals and I needed them badly. Moving into a van didn’t help the issue. Roaming around solo for a year with no running water got me super comfortable with my body odor, but I can’t speak to how the gas station attendants, campground hosts, and unassuming baristas felt. I tried several popular natural brands, lemon wedges smuggled away from the bar caddy, and face toner. Nothing worked. At least I was never truly alone, with my armpit bacteria along for the ride. 

Like all of the best things, Pit LIquor came into my life unexpectedly. And honestly, I didn’t believe it would work for me. I mean, alcohol and some essential oils? Couldn’t I just concoct this by myself with a bottle of rubbing alcohol from the drugstore for $0.99 cents? Nevertheless, I tried a few sprays of my boyfriend’s Whiskey Vanilla. It killed my odor instantly, which was a pleasant surprise. But I wasn’t sold. 

I continued to use it over the next few days but returned to my regular travel size powder fresh (yuck, I know, but powder fresh was the only thing that smothered my typical lox-bagel-extra-red-onion scent). Like earworms and chia seeds, something about Pit Liquor was sticking with me. 

Then my deodorant spirit guides stepped in to facilitate a slow stroll past a shelf of Pit Liquor at the local market. Compared to my $2.99 travel size conventional stick, it was certainly a splurge. However, my pits had been drinking aluminum for the past seventeen years and I wasn’t a stranger to splurging on fun items that caught my eye - 4th of July costumes, a surfboard I’ve used once, etc. After a first, second, and maybe third thought, I grabbed the Coconut Lime variety and plopped it into my basket.

To say I’ve never looked back wouldn’t be entirely true. I forgot it last time I traveled and used a conventional roll on in a pinch. But 99% of the time, the pretty glass bottle comes along. I’m still genuinely surprised that it works so well, doesn’t make me smell like booze, and doesn’t stain my shirts. On particularly sweaty days, I’ll need a refresh toward the afternoon. But other than that, my pits are just good to go. I get to let my body sweat, like nature intended. I get to put healthy, effective ingredients on my body and rest assured they are doing no harm. I get to smell like real lavender, real oranges, or real vanilla. But most importantly, I get to do the wave at large events without assaulting neighboring nostrils. It really was that simple all along.  

But hey, Pit Liquor is all about transparency so I want you to know that I write for this company. You’ll see my name on some other blog posts, although none as personal as this. However, I started writing for them because I love their products so much. If I can shepherd others down the path to healthy, odor-free armpits, confidence in their bodies, and pride in the way they show up in the world, then hell yes—my English Lit degree wasn’t a waste afterall! I’m changing the world, Mom, one pair of pits at a time.

"Always be a little kinder than necessary." JM Barrie

As 2020 draws to a close, we could all use a little extra kindness in our lives. Kindness to ourselves, kindness to others, kindness to the world around us. Here at Pit Liquor, we're committed to showing kindness to our world through our sustainability program, and through our top-notch customer relations. Did you know that National Kindness Week is November 9-13? Let's kick off the celebration with a few stories about kindness, both big and small. 

Small Kindness

When I think about small acts of kindness I often think of the classic "pay for the person behind you" idea where you pay for your own food or groceries as well as the person in line behind you. I'll be honest, I was a skeptic about this idea for many years. I always worried I would be the one using my last $5 to cover a millionaire's coffee order. Of course, good judgement is always wise, but let me tell you how much of a difference this can make.

One day not very long ago, I was having the absolute worst week. Everything that could possibly go wrong did. I was upset with my partner, our house was  a mess, our money wasn't stretching as far as it should. Our children were being generally terrible, I was in a particularly bad disagreement with a family member, and I was feeling really lonely. While I was out running errands, I stopped by my favorite local coffee shop for a much-needed caffeine boost. As I stood in line, all I could think about was the weight of bad things I was carrying in my heart. It took everything within me not to cry right there at the coffee counter. I managed a small smile and half-hearted "How are you?" to the barista, who joyfully responded with the news that someone had paid for my drink. I was flabbergasted. I could have afforded to pay for the drink myself, but the fact that someone else cared enough about me to cover the cost meant the world to me. I'm not exaggerating when I say that small act completely changed my day. I suddenly realized there was a big wide world out there beyond my own struggles. Everything was going to be ok.

Kindness Through the Mail

I imagine almost every person in the world, including you, is feeling the pain of being separated from loved ones this year. My best friend lives several states away, and it has felt particularly difficult lately to live far apart. We spend time on the phone or using video-message apps, but it just doesn't feel the same as a hug or in-person conversation. It probably doesn't help that we have five children between us, so our time is often full-to-bursting with online school and parenting and potty-training.

My best friend holds that title for a variety of very spectacular reasons, but one of her extra-amazing qualities is her talent of sending thoughtful notes and gifts through the mail. Every month or two, she'll send me a handwritten note or small gift: a box of chocolates, stickers for my kids, a little something she picked up because she was thinking about me. None of these have been expensive or elaborate, but her kindness on an ordinary Tuesday often transforms my whole week.

In our digital age, I have forgotten the power of a handwritten note. The notes my friend sends always make a point to tell me something specific that she loves or appreciates about me, and to speak kindness and encouragement to my heart in some way. Now that we've been in quarantine for over six months, I have a whole stack of notes in her loopy handwriting that I can look through when I'm feeling especially discouraged or lonely. This small, seemingly insignificant kindness on her part has bolstered me through the one of worst years ever. Imagine if we all began writing notes to those we love, near and far.

Sacrificial Kindness

Have you ever noticed how hard things seem to hit all at the same time? You lose your job and break up with your partner in the space of a few weeks. You lose multiple people who matter deeply to you in one season. It sometimes feels like all the hard parts of life gather together into one giant rain cloud that unexpectedly lets loose in a life-storm of difficulty. I've certainly experienced my share of painful seasons. A few years ago my husband and I battled infertility and then a miscarriage while he was working extremely long and stressful hours at work. We lost two grandparents in the space of six weeks while I was in my third trimester with one of our daughters. Another time my then-4 year old had her tonsils out the same day my youngest was almost hospitalized with bronchitis. (I have a lot of children so it seems my struggles regularly coincide with something child or pregnancy related. I now refer to some memories as "that year when I was pregnant with somebody." Clearly, I live in a zoo of small humans.) 

Here is what I have found to be true about these difficult times: When your life feels like it is literally falling apart at the seams, people show up. It might not be the people you thought it would be, but there is always someone who brings kindness right when you need it most. When my husband and I lost his grandparents, his boss sent me flowers and a few friends made us dinner. When I miscarried while my husband was out of town, a friend drove me to the hospital. Another friend simply sat on my couch with me while I cried. Last year when I had two very sick children, a friend brought milkshakes and stayed with one child while I took the other to the doctor. Even in the darkest seasons, there are people in your life who truly care about you, and who will cross oceans, literally or metaphorically, to offer kindness in your times of greatest need.

I hope each of these stories inspires you to spread kindness to those around you in small and big ways. Happy World Kindness Week!

Hey mama, did you pee alone today? Because I didn't. In fact, I haven't peed alone in over 8 years. That's right, eight years. I've spent the better part of the last decade without the regular decency afforded to most humans. 

First it was the colicky baby that wouldn't let me put him down. I would slip him into his bouncer, frantically taking care of things before he screamed so loud it bothered the neighbors. 

Then it was the sleepless baby, her sweet, bright eyes never willingly closing. I spent a full two years without a good night's rest. And bathroom breaks alone? Forget it. I took her with me so that the minute she was occupied I could fall asleep on the floor.

The third baby added a true circus routine to our lives. My littlest one firmly believed the only place to be happy was in my arms, and the ever-revolving door of diaper changes, feeding, naps, and playtime gave me no room to breathe. 

Once we started potty training, the bathroom became a place to model what needed to be done. We'd celebrate moving from diapers to toilet, my toddlers cheering me on with just as much gusto as I did for them. Obviously, I also got jelly beans when things went well.

We're a few years down the road now, and this week we officially used our last diaper. My youngest is daytime potty trained, meaning we are down to a few pull-ups and, of course, regular trips to the bathroom together. I still get a rousing cheer when I use the bathroom, and I still rarely pee alone. But I see something new. I see a light at the end of the tunnel. My older kids don't need me in the bathroom anymore, and they are quickly needing less and less of my help in other areas too. This long season of littles has been hard and sweet and good. And now I'm excited for what lies ahead. I already love the conversations and board games and adventures I get to share with my big kids.

 ...

I see you, mama. I see you crying on the floor in the middle of the toys, wondering why this is so hard. I see you picking up cheerios off the floor and wishing for a hot meal. I see you at the end of the day, so tired you can barely make it upstairs before you curl up in bed. I see you pulling yourself out of bed night after night to rock the fussy baby or the frightened toddler, willingly sacrificing your sleep for your little one. I also see you laughing with your child, your heart opening wide with love for this little human. I see you pulling your child close, breathing in their baby smell, cherishing these sweet, quiet moments.

Your child sees you too. Those small eyes looking at you see past the spit-up on your t-shirt and the messy bun. They see you. They want to be with you always because you are their world. You are their moon and their stars and their galaxy. They cannot image a world that does not revolve directly around you. Their love for you runs as deep as the ocean and as wide as the sky.

Their small eyes look to you for affirmation, for encouragement, for love. They gauge their mood from your facial expressions. They model their likes and dislikes off your own. This might feel like an overwhelming responsibility sometimes, but really, it's a treasure. Someday these small humans will grow to much bigger humans who roll their eyes when you dance to "Baby Shark" and who think it's dumb that you like to dip apples in peanut butter. So when they insist on going potty with you (or eating out of your bowl or "borrowing" your sunglasses), it isn't to make you crazy. It's to be with the center of their world; to bask in the glory of mama.

Will you ever pee alone again? Probably. Chances are by the time that small human heads off to their first job, they won't be accompanying you to the bathroom anymore. But today when they scream "Good job, mommy!" after you pee? You are seen. You are loved. You are a super hero.

Melanie lives near Raleigh, NC with her husband and three kids. She loves hot coffee, good books, and deep conversations. Connect with her on Instagram via @intentional_motherhood