Kijiji, you move me

As of late, I have discovered kijiji.ca. I understand why Dave kept it somewhat of a secret until the late summer when we purchased a crib and dresser through the service.

Kijiji is slightly addictive.

When I was on the road with NET, I had a teammate who consistently felt that the present meal just might be her last. Not that she was going to meet with sudden death; rather, that the food supply might just slow to a trickle and then run dry. (Perhaps this is the result of living off of the goodness of others for 9 months.) I feel sort of the same about kijiji. I have now successfully purchased two high-end snowsuits for next to nothing. The problem is that I feel like I have to purchase similar snowsuits for all of the winters from now until our last child turns 18. I actually have mental pictures of myself retreating to the basement each November for years to come where I open a huge box, smile sweetly and say, "No worries. I have a size 12 in blue." This could become a problem. Perhaps Dave should install some sort of program that blocks my access to this on-line flea market.

But back to the crib and dresser.

Strangely enough, as we began our correspondence with the seller of the baby furniture, we soon discovered that we had actually known her a few years back through some very good friends. (C&S: she lived in your basement once upon a time.) This six-degrees-of-separation actually garnered us a significant discount for which Dave's cheque book is forever grateful. Not to mention the crib and dresser: they are mighty fine and better than anything we have had to date. I have actually considered them as living-room furniture.

So, with such success tucked under my belt, I sought out kijiji's help to face the coming winter. You see, the first few years of our marriage were spent perched precariously on the edge of financial ruin. (This is what happens when one manages the finances for a non-profit organisation!) Consequently, the kids' snowsuits were never the best, nor the warmest, nor the wind-proofiest ... you get the picture. So, I decided that I had finally had it with our less than adequate arsenal of snowsuits. No more would I put up with hoods that left gaps between jacket and chin; children who were always one step away from frozen; zippers with no tabs; and on and on. No! I had had enough and to kijiji I went. And, oh kijiji, you delivered.

For some reason, there are a heck of a lot of people out there selling used-only-one-season Columbia snowsuits for all of my children. Well, two of them at least. Jacob has a great snowsuit that his paternal grandmother purchased for him last year. I cobbled together a fabulous piece of warmth for Benjamin thanks to Dave's first cousin and Isaac's godmother. Isaac is still quite comfortable tucked in his carseat or in his Columbia snowsuit (courtesy of a friend of a few years past). But Hannah had destroyed the knees of last year's pants and Joseph's had been worn by one too many brothers.

Very quickly on a Saturday morning I found suits for both Hannah and Joseph. Hannah's seller quickly agreed to post me the suit while Joseph's was a little hesitant. When I queried as to her reluctance to ship the suit to our little town, she responded that she was in the military and a little paranoid. I responded (thinking that a military connection might earn me some Brownie points) that I had a cousin in the military. My breastfeeding brain momentarily forgot the word 'intelligence'; and so I told her that this cousin was in that branch of the military that, if she told me what she did, she would have to kill me. To which I was met with silence.

And then: "That's my job too. What's your cousin's name?" When I told her, she gasped and said, "She's one of my very good friends." So, dear military cousin, you are now in service of the family. You got me one boys snowsuit, Columbia, size 3T, orange and brown. I even got a matching hat for free.