The Daily Fuss

Howdy Neighbor

I've been on the neighborhood ladies email list for two weeks and, in that time, a few emails have buzzed around. One even had an attachment, it just took time for me to dig around in my personal email and open it.

I finally had a few spare moments today to sift through the latest sales and Southwest getaways, reply to Evites or delete copious offers for vitamin supplements. For me, it's the electronic equivalent to the Sunday paper inserts. You know ... funmail.

I eagerly opened the flyer attachment from the most recent neighborhood ladies email only to find that Las Toberfest (I have no clue where the name came from) was this past Saturday. Sadly for me, everyone attends this soirre and, according to one of the two neighbors I actually know, I should "never miss Las Toberfest."

Ooops. How was I supposed to know that my neighborhood chickadees would celebrate something that sounds remotely like "Octoberfest" in August?

As the newbie, I was naturally looking forward to meeting the rest of the gals on my block. Being the proverbial new girl is not generally a big deal. However, I am somewhat self-conscious in this particular instance because we bought the house months ago, tore it up, put most of it back together and just recently moved in. Speculation about the new Freemans has been swirling down the street for some time now.

In the context of a suburban neighborhood community curiosity, I am the most highly scrutinized type of new girl. I'm the new girl who decided that this year we'll focus on renovating the interior of the house and next year we'll tackle the exterior and landscaping - the part of the house that everyone sees. Everything we've done for the past several months begs the question ... What the heck are they up to in there?

I'm the new girl who's had a dumpster parked in her driveway for several weeks at a stretch since April. I'm the new girl who had a carpenter set up on her front lawn making a noisy, dusty mess.

I'm the new girl who (even after a month since moving in) still has a hundred pounds of corrugated cardboard bound up on her curb for the recycling truck every monday.

I'm the new girl who hit an all-time, hillbilly low in early July when our Jeep was stuck on our lawn for several hours one suffocatingly hot, friday evening. It was on that very day Ryan I decided that the good folks in our new neighborhood were wagering on whether or not we had full sets of teeth or were related to one another or said things like "git 'er done" or would one day shoot the racoons right off the top of them there garbage cans. Varmints!

We have a one-car garage and thusly, a one-car width driveway. We also live on a no parking street. With contractors and family members coming over to deliver things, haul things away and help us in general, it was occasionally just easier to roll right up on the lawn next to the driveway for a brief spell.

Unfortunately, our model of Jeep Grand Cherokee had a tempermental steering column/ignition pin lock and if you turn the wheel after parking you can apparently break the whole damn thing. This very scenario played out with us looking like complete hilljacks - our Jeep parked (cockeyed, as Ryan will point out) in the middle of the yard long after the help had gone home.

AAA sent a service truck out to have a look. After thirty seconds, the driver said, "The ignition's busted. I can tow it to a shop for you. Should be fixed by monday. Or .... I could call my uncle. He can probably help you tonight." Yep. His uncle.

While we waited for the only, living, willing, repair guy who could install a new ignition on site at nine pm on a friday, we made vain attempts to unlock the steering column ourselves using random suggestions drudged up from the bowels of the internet by the Google-machine.

Please try to picture one of us jumping up and down on the front bumper while the other violently jerks the stiff wheel back and forth. These sad, turf-destroying efforts came in short bursts because it was too damn hot for human beings to carry out this ridiculous exercise for any extended period of time. By the time help arrived, the wheel was in an unusual position. "You never want your steering wheel stuck completely upside down" the helpful master of the obvious told us, as he busied himself in the portable garage that was his utility van.

People who point out the obvious usually make me nuts, but this guy installed a new ignition for us faster than you could say "chop shop" so I just can't bring myself to hate him for it. It barely even weirds me out that this alleged "uncle" didn't seem much older than the AAA driver who had led us to him. Once our precious transport was back in the driveway where she belonged, I was nothing other than entirely grateful and relieved.

Let me just say that if the neighborhood folk somehow overlooked the weeks and months of renovation hoopla at our house, there was little chance they missed the car parked on our lawn during prime time on a friday night. Las Toberfest was a golden opportunity for me redeem the Freemans before the whole hood - a shot at showing them how hilariously, brilliantly normal we are, and I BLEW it. 

Damn you, ill-named and inappropriately-timed Las Toberfest. Damn you!

Into the Sunset

Amongst other suburban chores, grocery shopping isn't my thing. I'm not good at it. Even when shopping online, I forget crucial elements like toilet paper, butter, soy sauce or some other deal-breaker item. Just mention grocery shopping to my husband and he will happily tell you that I suck at it.

What's worse is that when faced with the prospect of perusing real-life aisles for necessities on my list, I wind up hauling home a few hundred dollars worth of wine, cheese, magazines, greeting cards semi-sweet chocolate and other pricey must-haves. I am an absolute MORON in the grocery store.

My first trip to Sunset Foods, the self-described gourmet grocer in Highland Park, was nothing short of a disaster. Please don't misunderstand, this store has all the fancy everything I could ever want  (organic, prepared foods, awesome bakery/deli, European etc.) and some of the no-frills stuff too. It's just the whole experience that throws me over the edge.

Here's the deal: I ran in looking for a few specific items early one morning - milk, Yo Toddler!, cheese, white vinegar and tea to be exact. After forty-five seconds I realized that I was in serious breach of the dress code. The mom squad was showered, hair blown out, in full makeup and expertly decked out in full Yoga regalia. I was sure I'd wandered into a Lulu Lemon by mistake. Alas no, I have come to accept this as Sunset dress code. I was fresh from bed, hungry and improperly groomed for my Sunset debut. Boo, Jen.

I scooped up my items, minus the cheese because NONE of it was organic (gasp) and headed for the checkout. I was a few steps away from freedom when a random woman at the foot of the register aisle grabbed my cart. I jerked it back once and she didn't let go. Finally, I figured it out and let her do what she wanted - unload my groceries onto the belt for checkout. But not before throwing in a Martha Stewart Living and a Twix just to make it appear as though I wasn't finished with my cart until ... okay now.

I paid and was about to leave when the bagger asked me if I "wanted a number."  Confused, I said "What? No." and scurried away. I later learned that they give you a number so you can drive up and have your groceries loaded for you. Convenient and strange in my opinion. I see the utility in not having to load several bags of groceries into your car, but who's gonna unload them when you get home? HELL-O? DE-LIV-ERY.

The whole ordeal turned me off to say the least. Still, a lack of this and a shortage of that around the house forced my hand and I begrudgingly made several more trips to Sunset over the next few weeks.

I am pleased to report experiencing a pivotal moment in my relationship with the grocery store this week. I walked in, found the organic cheese for Lei (in the organic section dumb-ass), stealthily and efficiently made my way through the store checking the remaining items off my list. I let the unloader, checker and bagger do their jobs without assault, took a number, pulled up the Jeep to be loaded and was on my way. I felt like such a know-it-all big shot. It was actually kind of fun.

I even wore my favorite yoga pants.

What the Fuss? Sinker Stinker

I wasn't going to fuss about the Step 2 Fun Flow Play Sink because summer is nearing its end and I was worried you would fall in love with it and it would be scarce in the stores. But Lei and her little friends love it SOOOO much I simply couldn't resist. Plus, the heat isn't waning and I'm sure plenty of kiddos have grown weary of their splashy summer water toys.

I will admit that Lei's favorite thing to do with this toy is sit in it and/or wash her tub-friendly babies in it. So, I put a swim diaper and suit on her and away she plays - sometimes for hours in conjunction with the rest of her outdoor set up.

We paid $60 at Toys R Us on the way to Gaga and Ga's house in St. Louis, and would buy it again. It's light-weight, easily comes apart and fits in the car for family parties and trips to friends' houses.

 
The sink is as cute as it is sturdy and can be used with the legs on or off. And now, we leave them on since Lei's enough of a little monkey that she can climb in and out herself. It's the perfect size for a tot and I have a feeling this will make an annual appearance for years to come.

Oh Boy!

Earlier this year, I had a revelation related to the use of foul language in front of Leighton. It was the first phase of me coming to the realization that she is impressionable.

This realization has escalated to a new way of life that involves me always having to eat my vegetables and to stop saying things like "I'm not really a nap person" even though I'm really not.

Leighton is incredibly verbal and super duper stubborn. This lethal combination can be frustrating. I just need to remember that she's sixteen months old, not sixteen years when I feel my face getting red.

Everything has to be her idea or it sucks. (Ryan will tell you that she gets this from me. I disagree, but only because it's his hypothesis). So I need to be crafty in suggesting activities such as putting on pjs or petting Luella.

Instead of "oh shit" or "damn it" I say "Oh Boy". I apparently utter this quite a bit because Lei tosses that little nugget out there with serious frequency. "Oh Boyiee!"  I must also have an affection for "okay" because she's been using it in place of "yes" and it's driving me insane. Wanna play on the swing? Kay! Wanna come in for lunch? Kay! Wanna stop saying Kay? Nope.

Scraping the bottom of the patience barrel is incessant use of the word "mine". I know it's just one stepping stone on the steep path of self-actualization and identification, but it's maddening. Last week I told Lei that I didn't like the way she was using that word. "Who taught you that?" I asked. I knew her truth before she uttered the answer - a sweet little "You".

What the Fuss? Nice Rack

Cute and clever - a wicked combination. Especially when we're talking about baby products. I spent the last sixteen months balancing bottles and nipples on a drying rack that resembled a warped starter set of Construx.

Why you ask? Because I didn't know any better.

When we moved, my mom showed up with a few treats for me. (Let me say that she rarely, if ever, shows up empty handed. In fact, Leighton's first move after greeting her Gaga is to rifle through her purse looking for gifts. Please remember that my mother only lives and hour away and we see her quite often. The pavlovian effect was swift).

This time, my gifties were two newAvent wide-mouth Natural Feeding bottles, a kickass bottle brush(also Avent) and the Boon Grass Drying Rack. Yes, Lei is a toddler but she still like her baba at night and I refuse to deprive her of such things until she's two. We have no baba shame in the Freeman house. Plus, she has been a straw drinker since eight months and does not like sippy cups. Hence, the baba.

I love the Avent products - made in England and beautifully designed. Still, the jackpot portion of my haul was the Boon Grass Drying Rack. It's two dishwasher-friendly pieces of fun that hold any baby item to dry completely. It's ingenious, adorable and takes a spin in the dishwasher without warping.

You can pick up your Boon Grass Drying Rack at Target for $15 - or closer to $20 elsewhere. This Fussworthy Must-Have makes a great shower gift and is not to be missed.

Just curious, at what age did your toddler give up the bottle? Parents seem to get nervous about it and my nanny said that the parents of her other charges were sheepishly wondering the same thing. Please leave a comment and share your fuss with us!

House

When you're single, married people are always asking you when you think you'll get married. When do you think he'll propose? Are you bummed you're not married yet? What kind of wedding do you want to if he proposes tomorrow?

The list of questions is endless, right down to china patterns and venues. It's like the married-folk have joined a little club and they're dying to see your membership application.

Once initiated into the club, you are immediately privy to the gruesome details of the dysfunctional inner-workings of these marriages over a nice wine-soaked round of Bunko or whatever those wacky wives clubs are doing to entertain themselves these days. You almost feel the urge to make shit up about your husband to fit in, but think better of it and just chip in a few cents about how he doesn't pick up his socks or wet towels. That ass!

The same holds true for the couples with kiddos. Once you have a baby, you can't wait for your friends to reproduce. Mostly because having a newborn pretty much sucks and misery truly loves company. However, you direct your discussions to sweet baby gear and dazzle them with pictures of your peanut sleeping or posed in other similarly peaceful states. You only divulge the horrors of parenthood - no sleep, diaper blow outs, the exorbitant cost of the sweet baby gear, ear infections, bad babysitters, sore boobs, and the like once your friend is about to give birth. Ha ha - SUCKAS!

I had no idea that more of these clubs existed, related to the stages of life through which we must matriculate to feel successful, but aren't nearly as glamorous as they first appear. However, I am on to the next club, not necessarily in the same order as everyone else - the houseowner club. I have been a homeowner for some time, just not a houseowner. HUGE difference. And, everyone else who was rah-rahing for me to buy the house is now referring to it as a "lifetime love-hate relationship". FAN-TAS-TIC.

City condo living and suburban house living are completely different. Let me point out a few of the most crucial deviations in my opinion:

1) In a high-rise in the city, we can live twenty feet from twenty people for ten years and not know ANY of their names. Sure, I vaguely know three-packs-a-day on the pool deck guy, weird helmet guy, pot-smoking sorority girls know as the besties, the association president el presidente, ambiguously gay dude, the woman who can never remember how old Luella is and whether she is a she or a he but asks every single time we're in the elevator, lawyer guy, the triathlete, Auntie Social and the woman who furiously tries to manually close the elevator door before you can shut your mailbox and dash there yourself. Worth mentioning - the couple whose children addressed everyone as "hi people" who once lived at the end of the hall.

In the burbs, I am on the Highland Park Ladies email list, currently watering the neighbor's plants and rearranging their trash cans while on vacation and have been asked several times via snail mail to "Save the Children" by a specific individual. What the fuss? I so frequently stand at the sidewalk in front of my house to make polite conversation that I am ready to put a bench right at the foot of the driveway. And, I've fielded so many inquiries related to our renovation that I am considering holding an open house to take care of multiple requests to see things like my new soapstone countertops all in one fell swoop.

2) City = Drive some, walk everywhere else. Burbs = Walk some, drive daily. We need a second car and that absolutely blows.

3) Peapod needs some advance notice to schedule a grocery deliver to the burbs. Whereas I can schedule at the last minute in the city. Many people have tried to convince me that grocery shopping is relaxing and fun and wonderful. I CANNOT STAND grocery shopping anywhere other than the internet - Peapod to be specific. Otherwise, I need to go to Whole Foods for much of the order, then Sunset for the few other things I can't get at Whole Foods (like preggo waffles and the WW frozen Quesadillas to which I am addicted and will rarely admit to eating) and then to the specialty market for the things I need that are at Whole Foods but way more expensive than they should be and as a matter of principle, I can't buy them there. It's all bullshit when I can get everything I need from Peapod, while I track my spend and avoid getting sidetracked by impulse purchases. I spend no less than $100 on wine, cheese and tapenade every time simply walking through the doors of Whole Paycheck. Boo.

4) City = Hailing a taxi. Burbs = Calling the night before for a taxi. There are multiple reasons Ryan and I are both having a tough time with this one. But the most important factor is that we like to do things at the last minute.

5) We now live very far from Midway, which means no more Southwest. I hate O'Hare, hate getting to and from O'Hare, I despise all airlines EXCEPT Southwest. I need a game plan here because this just isn't working for me. Plus, if you take a city cab home from the airport, the credit card authorization is out of range. It's like I live on a farm or something. Last night, the driver who brought me home from O'Hare thought I was leading him somewhere to be mugged or killed. In the city, the opposite is generally true.

6) We suddenly have a roof, yard and basement to worry about. In the city, we had a 24 hour doorperson and maintenance crew. We never bothered with those things considered "common elements". SIGH. This is the main issue that no one mentioned until after we bought a free-standing house. "You'll spend so much money every year on stuff you won't even notice - new roof, new furnace blah blah blah."  The dryer broke the other day and we bought a new set of front-loaders. Super expensive pain in the ass is all I can say.

7) I can hear bugs instead of the 22 bus. I am rattled by the table-saw hum of the mating cicadas in my yard. I would pay someone fifty bucks to record the lilting sounds of Clark and Fullerton at dusk. "Next stop - Clark and Belden ... Clark and Belden. Psshhht. Vroom." Oh I do miss it something awful. That, and the bright lights of the skyline to guide me to the potty three times each pregnant night. Now, it's pitch black and I use my right leg like walking cane for the blind. My shins look like half-eaten corn cobs - bruises and bug bites. Gorgeous.

There are upsides.

1) Lei loves her yard - especially the swing set. Luella does too. In fact, she one self-assured pooch these days. It's as though she can't believe we won the lottery and have an actual yard! A YARD! I told her that I'd like to see the carcases of ten fallen voles, lined up on the patio by the end of the week. She agreed to give it a shot.

2) We can walk to the lake, Ravinia, the train and downtown HP. With this comes the ability to walk to a restaurant, have a few cocktails and not have to drive home. That is a major plus where suburbs are concerned.

3) The guest parking situation has improved immensely. In the city, you fend for yourself and probably should have taken a cab. We do have parking - a definite plus - although not a huge one in my opinion. Even traffic wasn't much of an issue for me, just for those visiting from out of town.

I'm confident more upsides will emerge by Halloween - Halloween itself likely being one of them. I just need to revisit this list regularly and stay positive, even in the face of pregnancy, renovations, out-of-commission second bathrooms and a brand new, defective, front-loading washing machine. The washing machine was a bitter pill. Tomorrow is a brand new day. 

What the Fuss? Feeling Wretched

The first trimester is a roughie. Actually, pregnancy is trying all the way around - especially the nausea for me. It's kind of like being hung over for somewhere between twelve and forty weeks. One minute, I can't eat a bite without turning purple ... the next minute I want curried chicken salad, pickles and chocolate covered almonds. I'm such a chubby little cliche. Boo.

I was debilitatingly pukey and had headaches while we were getting the house ready, packing and moving. I figured I was a bit dehydrated but I couldn't drink enough water because a full stomach made me feel even worse.

Don't fret. This story has a happy ending - my perpetual hangover has a cure. A few weeks ago, my expert-googler husband found nausea relief  bands for my pressure points. They're called Psi Bands and they're as comfortable as they are adorable. Psi Bands are soft plastic bracelets that hit your pressure points that trigger nausea relief. They come in various colors and patterns. Ryan picked out Daisy Chain for me.

I couldn't believe they worked so completely. I wore them to my next OB/GYN appointment and sheepishly showed them to my doc. Without flinching he said, "There's good data supporting those." For $17 per pair - I'm sold. You can find Psi Bands retailers on the website.

Unfortunately, Psi Bands can't rehydrate a preggy. However, coconut water can. 

My aunt dropped by to help us paint one day and brought Vita Coco coconut water for me to try. She touted it's hydration ability and I was thirsty, so I figured I had nothing to lose. Within ten minutes of downing a peach and mango water, my headache was gone.

I got some fiberglass under my bracelets and had to leave them off for a while. I swear the Vita Coco helped with the nausea too. You can pick up both the small and large sizes at Whole foods. The small starts at $2.50.

For any woman dealing with nausea from pregnancy, these two wonder products are sure to please.

Do you have any tricks, tips or products that help with nausea? Leave a comment and share your fuss with us!

Been Busy

So I took a little break. I needed it. There's a lot going on these days and while fully immersed in bloggy land much of the time, I consider myself a private person. Well, maybe not exactly private, but I'm not great at lying - which (in my opinion) includes sins of omission.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I preferred a month of radio silence to thirty, cagey What the Fuss? posts to avoid telling you all that I'm pregnant. What?!

Yep. Number Two is scheduled for debut in February. Leighton will be two in March. Luella will be seven on Christmas. (That's 42 in Yorkie years.)

It's certainly been very exciting, although not timed perfectly. We moved to our new house last thursday and I took on a new role at work and I feel like throwing up most of the time and packing was horrible and unpacking was even more horrible and none of my clothes fit and Leighton learned the words "no" and "mine" and has taken up whining and I'm traveling this week for work, and I'm sitting in a hotel room with a head cold that Lei passed generously to me on the way out the door.

Good times.

For the record, I will die in this house. I am never moving again. Unless of course we sell all of our possessions with this house and start over back in our condo in the city. Condo + City of Chicago = Perfect retirement community.

Anyway, back to reality and our little Number Two.

I am an only child. If I haven't mentioned this before, you may be having an A-HA moment. The fun of reading a blog is to put the pieces together over time and this is a big one.  I have close cousins, but I never had to really share anything - including my parents. Nor have I ever been involved in a sibling rivalry, much less argument for that matter. Come February, I will be way out of my element. GaGa and GaPa won't be much help either.

Come February, I fully expect that the utility and import of baby doll toys and furniture will zoom into sharp focus for Lei. Right now, she knows what to do with all of that stuff, but she sees it in a way that it relates to her as a baby not another, completely different, teeny weeny REAL LIVE BABY!

Number Two is going to blow Lei's little mind. And then, I fully anticipate her desire to send it back from whence it came.

I missed you all. Please forgive the sabbatical. I'm back.

I Can't Hear You

It started with pretending to ignore us. "Hey Leighton. Time for bed. Night night. Are you sleepy?" Come seven PM, all of these phrases were met with a blank stare.

Two days ago, this acting became too much for little Lei, and in keeping with the theme of open defiance, she made the decision to blatantly refuse to hear us. She puts her hands over her ears and turns her back to us when we start talking about getting cozy for bed. Only the dangling of a toothbrush will bring her back, and only for as long as it takes to effectively brush eleven little teeth.

Naughty.

It's hard not to laugh and thusly encourage such behavior. That's one of the toughest things about parenting - not laughing at inappropriate behavior. The other toughest part is not letting things get to you, and laughing seems an obvious remedy. Catch 22.

How do kids come up with these silly mechanisms anyway? Surely, Ryan and I don't stall lively discussions by putting our hands over our ears.  As far as Lei's concerned, she invented this little earmuff stunt all on her own. Clever little girl. Sadly, it does little more than entertain us - she still goes down at seven.

For those of you who didn't answer on the Facebook Fan Page, what time do your kids go to bed, how many hours to they sleep each day (24 hour period) and how old are they? Please post a comment and share your fuss with us.

Hair Raiser

Our little pumpkin has certainly been blessed with silky wisps of baby hair that dovetail into a mulletous tuft of fuzzy half-curls in the back.

It's a good look for her. This diaphanous cap accentuates the cherubic cheeks and wide eyes, playing up the angelic angle even when she's sassing you. We love it.

She brushes her own hair daily with a soft toy brush and then turns to Bitty Baby's molded plastic mane. Hair gets some attention from her, but has never been a focus. Until recently.

On Kate's last day, she gathered a few strands of Lei's spun gold into a teeny pony and fastened it up with what appeared to be a giant elastic. Leighton looked at herself in the mirror no less than one hundred times with her awesome new look.

Last week, my cousin Kristine hooked Lei up with another mini pony. Something clicked for little Lei that day. She's been pony-obsessed all week. 

Today, she spent twenty minutes, on two separate occasions, hunting in the couch cushions for random elastics. And found a few.

She lamely attempted to use them herself before insisting I oblige. Then to the mirror to admire and admire and admire her style.

I have short hair, so this whole pony-influence doesn't come from me - it comes from her friends - her caregivers whom she admires. Kate, Kristine, Anneke - three lovely ladies with long, beautiful, blonde hair.

Her new obsession is adorable, but I feel a little bit bad for her. Doesn't she know she's not a prime candidate for hair accessories? I can handle ponies and pigtails for now, but she'll be four years-old before I even think about introducing her to a barrette.