The Daily Fuss

House Part II: City or Suburbs?

Over lunch this week, a client brought up a familiar subject I love to discuss - the mental and emotional struggle that ensues when a couple faces the decision to move from the city to the suburbs.

This move is generally spurred by the prospect of trying for baby #2 and the inevitable realization that there is just not enough room in the condo for toddler stuff and baby stuff.

The question: Do I upgrade from a condo to a house in the city, or move to a suburb with award-winning public schools and more square footage for my money? SIGH.

I have made my past preference known for the urban over the suburban. My most comprehensive comparison of the two can be found in a post entitled House. I published this post on August 18, 2010, just weeks after moving into our Highland Park home.

My pro-con list is better informed now that we've been here for a few years, so I figured it was as good a time as any to update my comparison.

To recap, the 2010 points in favor of city condo dwelling were as follows:

1) neighborly anonymity

2) can walk almost everywhere

3) ease of internet grocery shopping

4) taxi cab prevalence

5) accessibility of Midway airport

6) common elements are handled by someone else

7) calming familiarity with urban sounds

Points in favor of the suburban home:

1) yard

2) more space for stuff in the house

3) free guest parking

My tune has changed since August 2010. For starters, I love my neighbors, a few of whom in particular have become good friends. We walk plenty in the warmer months and make good use of the Green Bay trail, says the girl who trained for and ran two half marathons this past year.

Thankfully, Peapod has beefed up its delivery schedule to HP. I have also converted back to United as my preferred airline (yay O'Hare) and have American Taxi on speed dial, sometimes last minute. Finally, I faintly hear the train in the distance and it's all the reminder I need that I still live quite close to civilzation as I once knew it.

Additional 2013 points in favor of our suburban situation include:

1) close proximity to the commuter train - a stress-free ride to work

2) Ravinia Outdoor Music Festival and the Chicago Botanic Garden are a mile up the road

3) Anthropologie, Pottery Barn and Paper Source are a half mile down the road along with one-of-a-kind boutiques and restaurants

4) gardening is now my relaxing way to be sustainable - I also have a wormery

5) grilling without having to take an elevator ride to the patio is a bonus - plus our backyard never closes so winter grilling is an option

6) sandboxes and swingsets - we have a little park right in our own yard

7) ability to entertain in our home - we have thrown crazy elaborate birthday parties and even hosted thanksgiving and Christmas this year

8) ability to hang and perpetually admire outdoor lights and Christmas decorations

Finally, one of the most fun things about our suburban dwelling is that it has such potential for greatness. We spend countless hours pouring glasses of wine and poring over Houzz, in an effort to determine exactly how to majorly renovate our house. We'll most likely do a mojor renovation in the next year or two.

If it doesn't happen, it's likely because we've found the perfect "new" house a block or two from here, into which we will move. And the list of things we love about Highland Park will continue to grow.

How about you? Is city living your thing or do you prefer the burbs? Post a comment and share your fuss with us.

What the Fuss? WONDER!

It's a superstore! It's a play land! It's WONDER!

Imagine a 35,000 square foot baby and child emporium stocked with every toy, necessity and boutique find imaginable. It also has a huge play area where you can stay all day and try out the toys available in the store.

I like to shop online - almost exclusively. And luckily WONDER! offers that option too. Still, the store is so much fun, I can't resist the urge to shop in person.

 

 

WONDER! also has:

Nursing lounges for breastfeeding mamas

A custom "race" track to test drive wheeled vehicles

A fully stocked library area to test drive books and visit for story time

Private party spaces

Yoga, music, creative movement and art classes taught by amazing instructors

A fun-filled event calendar

Nursery and kid room vignettes

A stay-all-day or annual membership play area

Friendly and helpful staff

A kid-friendly easel at every checkout

 
 
Rumors of another store abound, but at this time, there is only one WONDER! 

This store is also the online distribution center. If it's in stock online, then I know it's in the store.

Fantastic!

WONDER! is located at 250 South Waukegan Road in Deerfield, IL.

All photos courtesy of WONDER!

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Excuse Me?

A toddler can turn a ten-minute car ride into an hour.

A toddler who needs to stop to pee in crowded downtown Chicago on a friday night on the way to your brother-in-law's rehearsal dinner can turn that ride into a circus sideshow.

Ryan, his mom, Leighton, Mairin and I packed into the minivan for the brief trip from Navy Pier to Maggiano's. As soon as the last seat-belt clicked, Lei informed us that she had to pee. I said, "We will be there in five minutes. You can pee at the restaurant.

Traffic was horrendous and we made a wrong turn. A series of wrong turns and one-way streets led us a bit north. The whole time, Leighton was calmly repeating that she needed a rest stop.

Mairin started crying.

Lei's volume increased. "I have to go potty. I have to go potty." In a sing-songy cadence.

The radio was on. (Don't ask me why).

My mother-in-law dug frantically for an address.

My husband began sweating.

I focused on breathing in my nose and out of my mouth. I was feeling car sick.

Finally, it became obvious that Lei felt she needed more attention. "I HAVE TO PEE DAMMIT. DAMMIT I HAVE TO PEE. DAMMIT. DAMMIT. DAMMIT."

Whoa.

We stopped at a restaurant and Grandma whisked Lei out of her seat. We were parked around the corner from the entrance (another one-way situation) so we couldn't readily see that this particular restaurant was closed.

Grandma came back twelve minutes later, sweating, carrying Lei in heels, back aching because the toddler insisted on being carried the five block trek to find a suitable potty and Grandma obliged.

Ryan's brother was married in July (feel free to go back and reread that knowing it was 85 degrees outside). Until yesterday, I had forgotten about that car ride and how we spent the remainder of it trying not to laugh at Leighton's proper use of such a naughty word.

Yesterday afternoon, Lei was goofing around on a chair and knocked over my external hard drive. As it crashed to the floor I yelled "Dammit Leighton". She happily skipped around the house yelling "Dammit Leighton" for the next five minutes.

I no longer have to guess as to where she learned that word.

To Frell and Back

We've been obsessed with Ella Enchanted for several weeks now. We stumbled upon it during one particular week of oppressive heat and humidity where taking Mairin outside simply was not feasible.

On our third straight day of ordering Enchanted on demand, our nanny suggested we give Ella a shot.

We haven't returned to our original choice since. Sorry Amy Adams, Patrick Dempsey and the cute guy from X-Men. We do love you so.

I never imagined that a two year-old would be so enamored with all things Medieval and Renaissance-y, but she most definitely is.

I'm ordering this cloak from Magic Cabin because I am frustrated with the daily ritual of gingerly tying every blanket we own around her shoulders as a sad substitute for an ill-fitting cape.

So where do you take a little girl whose dream (this week anyway) is to surround herself with elves, ogres, giants and fairies and meet the beloved Prince Charmont? You take her to the Bristol Renaissance Faire, of course.

Situated on the Wisconsin-Illinois border, it's conveniently located 30 minutes from our house in Highland Park.

We had a blast and packed a billion bits of fun into the three hours we spent walking the acreage of elaborately designed fantasy.

Petting farm, face painting, soft pretzels and ale, potty break, forest sprite sneak-ups, stage shows, shopping, cookies and boobie dish for Dinkie, potty break, butterfly ride yes ... no ... yes ... refund (too nervous), flower garland, Lei feigning nap on stone bench, turkey leg and ale, potty break, home.

 
 
 
 
 

Today was the last day of the faire this year, so be sure to check it out next July if you are in the hood. We highly recommend it.

Fussworthy Tip: Wear clothes that can get dusty or dirty and bring plenty of cash. There are a few ATMs on site, but all vendors accept cash only - including preferred parking ($3).

Blizzarre

Tonight, we're staying at a Marriott in the city, near the hospital, just in case Little Sis decides to join us smack in the midst of the worst snowstorm Chicago has seen in years.

There is absolutely no way I would give up my OB or voluntarily deliver anywhere other than Prentice just because I live in the suburbs. Not a chance. So, Marriott it is.

My due date was yesterday. Well, my first due date - the one the doctors give based on how you're measuring. By my own witchdoctory estimation, my real due date is somewhere between February 4th and 8th, but I liked the 31st way better, for obvious reasons, so I went with it.

Admittedly, it felt somewhat bizarre to leave my freshly feathered nest to stay at a hotel in my very own city, against the advice of all local and cable weatherpersons characterizing the impending snowfall as a wintry armageddon. And by the looks of the empty grocery store shelves and line at the pump, the seventh seal was breaking as we buckled our seat belts and fired up the Jeep to head down. Apparently, the National Guard has been mobilized. Awesome.

Luckily, we left in time to avoid much of the traffic pick-up and made it to our room before the conditions completely deteriorated into a windy, snowy, freezing mess. Ryan is at the gym whilst I type, then we're off to Kamehachi for a sushi dinner. It's likely to be a relatively uneventful evening unless we turn on The Weather Channel - then we're back to apocalypse talk, but we're packed and ready for our new delivery anyway. In fact, I'm hoping my water breaks right after dinner. 

We put quite a bit of effort into preparing for Little Sis in just the last few weeks. I finally hung things on the walls, cleared out the third bedroom, ordered the cord blood collection kit, paid the bills, compiled tax documents, took the life insurance physical, laundered everything we own, ordered baby provisions, cleaned the Medela pump and bottles, outfitted the crib, cleaned the basement, tiled the kitchen backsplash and the half-bath floor, tuned up the Jeep, charged the camera batteries, changed the sheets, loaded up at the grocery store, mailed the returns, put bedding on the cradle and crib and had Ryan take a picture of my hugely pregnant self on the way out the door.

Holy crap! I forgot to pack clothes for Little Sis! What a jackass! Oh well. Someone can certainly bring her little bag if she decides to come today or tomorrow. I honestly JUST realized my oversight this very second and I feel terrible about it. My little deuce is already getting screwed in ways my first born did not. It's inevitable, I suppose.

Leighton and Luella are acutely aware that something's up and they're acting out accordingly with temper tantrums, barking at shadows, dancing on furniture and "forgetting" to call potty - both of them. It's a super attractive scenario at our house right now. Thank the sweet lord for Grandma!

Even if the storm passes with no sign of Little Sis, a night out of the house in a comfy hotel during a spell of extreme Chicago weather is not exactly a punishment for us. Still, we are holding out hope that a sudden drop in barometric pressure urges the newest member of our family out of her cozy little spot tout suite.

Come on baby!

Whine. Ohh.

I'm an oenophile in the best possible way. Not the snobby I-don't-even-get-out-of-bed-for-bargain-wine kind of way, because even two buck chuck serves his purpose. Somewhere. But, in the way that says "Hi honey, I'm home" or "The long work day is winding down" or "I'm slightly warmer and calmer after a glass of Cabernet" or ... feel free to insert your own adventure here.

Wine is yummy and sexy and artful when produced properly. Plus, it's respected. You never hear about high-schoolers lining up shots of vino. Slamming wine coolers, yes. Wine, not so much. Coeds don't fire up a round of Asshole with a case of Pinot. And, you'll be hard-pressed to find "fitty cent taps" of Merlot on any college campus. It's simply not done.

I was going to do a post about how the economy has turned many Americans into smarter spenders - perhaps even this superconsumer - and how I need to cancel my wine clubs to comply with this new brand of limited consumerism. I just haven't been able to pull the trigger on that yet.

Even in the twenty-sixth week of my pregnancy, delayed at the Minneapolis airport for the second time in two weeks until well after ten pm, I am having a glass of Pinot Noir ... at the airport ... in front of people. Yep - pregnant, airport wine in public. The reactions are mixed and I'm taking it all in stride.

I'm no poser; I imbibe in public. Women will overwhelmingly affirm my decision to partake, "Good for you", or "I drank when I was pregnant and my kids are fine" or something else tantamount to the fact that our moms were probably shit-faced when pregnant with us. "You go girl." Woo Hoo!

Conversely, men and any server (of either gender) under the age of twenty-three will inevitably give dirty looks. Mmm hmm. The non-baby-havers are the judgmental ones, for the most part. Go figure.

I personally don't care, and I don't judge other people - especially women. It's not in my nature to harm my child and I do not have a drinking problem, so I assume others are capable of deciding when and where a drink is appropriate.

However, a pregnant woman enjoying a glass of wine or a beer at diner raises more eyebrows than your average thirty five year-old Chicago boy polishing off several car-bombs following a continuous stream of cocktails on any given friday night, while groping the ill-formed butt cheek of some strange, young and equally shit-faced girl. It's truly something to behold.

So do you, or don't you indulge while pregnant? Please post 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 things 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 delivery 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. 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.

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.

Identity Crisis Part I: Suburban Living

I've started this post more times than I can count. The words just haven't come. I'm not one to dance around an issue, so I'll be straight out with it.

We bought a house.

We bought a house on the north shore.

THE SUBURBS.

We close on thursday.

Remember when I swore to NEVER move to the suburbs? What the hell happened to that conviction? Has becoming a parent finally changed me that much? 

Remember last august, when I was so proud of myself for showering and blow drying every day since Lei was born? That same woman is (as we speak) wearing a bra that has underwire poking out and stitching that's popped apart so that the elastic leaves a mark for two hours after I take it off. That's almost as fucked up as the fact that I will wipe anything on whatever pants I am wearing at that particular moment - banana, snot, drool, mish mash - anything but poop. Actually, that's not fucked up, THAT'S discretion.

No mistake ... I'm completely into this decision. I'm excited to have more space. I just never wanted to deal with maintaining a lawn, or basement or roof or anything deemed a "common element" in condo life.

I just don't feel like myself. Maybe after we close, I'll be back to my sassy ways. Hell, I already ordered an outdoor umbrella and stand. Still, until thursday ... expect a few, incredibly worthy What the Fuss? posts.

Is anyone out there feeling me on this suburb thing? The last time I inquired, dear readers, I got much urban support. Now, I guess I just need a shout out from the suburban contingent.

Pears and Glass

I took prenatal vitamins and ate healthy food while pregnant with Leighton. I breast fed her for eight months, made my own baby food and continue to make her meals from scratch. And oh yeah ... I fed her glass the other day.

You heard me. FED HER GLASS. I am not proud of this mishap, but as cautionary tales go, this one turns out just fine.

The cliffs notes version of the terrifically harrowing saga goes something like this: We were driving back from St. Louis for Christmas Eve in Milwaukee. Lei, Lue and I were camped out in the back seat, having a wonderful time. After the seventh round of "point to Mommy's nose" Leighton got hungry. I reached for some Gerber pears because I figured they were pureed to a velvety consistency and Lei would be able to eat them in a moving vehicle without choking.

Yes. I realize that at the outset of this post, I congratulated myself for my Martha Stewart-like dedication to handcrafted baby food. However, I make it in large batches and freeze it, so it wouldn't have traveled without spoiling. I figured a few rule-breaking jars of America's favorite pears wouldn't be a dangerous deviation from our norm.

I was wrong. On the fourth bite, Lei started gagging and gasping. I could see that she was able to breathe, so I figured we had a "wrong pipe" situation. However, it lasted for sooo long that I had Ryan pull over. I quickly snapped her out of her seat, and after a few pats on the back, she was okay. By okay I mean wailing, bright red, and super duper pissed - like the time she rolled off the couch and fully blamed me for it.

I couldn't figure out what went so incredibly wrong for her, so I inspected the pears. They appeared fine, but when I stuck my finger inside the jar and felt under the label/sticker, I felt pieces of broken glass. BROKEN GLASS! WTF?

You couldn't even see the damage from the outside because the label covered up the crumbly glass and held it all together. Two jars must have banged into each other and this one got smacked just right. Gerber will be getting a letter from me. How unfortunate for them to injure the child of a woman with an audience. BUMMER FOR GERBER.

I didn't see any blood in Lei's mouth or throat and we managed to calm her down. Once I realized that she was out of immediate danger, I sat back and thought about the fact that I had, perhaps, just scooped a tiny shard of glass onto a spoon and fed it to the most precious little creature on my planet. The thought of it was so utterly ridiculous to me - like putting Tobasco on her eggs or letting her loose on a can of mixed nuts or letting her play on a window ledge or Munchausen syndrome or something equally odd. I couldn't comprehend it. And, if anything seriously traumatic would have happened, I'm not sure what I would be writing to you at this very moment. Shudder.

I dismissed the horrific thoughts and proceeded to load Lei up with roughly 12 ounces of formula. I proceeded to check her respirations and heart rate every five seconds for the rest of the ride home. I couldn't completely calm down. It sucked.

The long short is that Dr. Weissbluth's office told us to make our way home and check in with the ER Attending at Children's, which is less than two blocks from our house. We bundled up and walked there in the snow like we were headed to Argo for a holiday tea break.

There was no wait in the emergency room (it was pleasantly eerie) and Lei had a great time rifling through tongue depressors and making eyes at the nurses. She didn't even need an Xray and she pooped three times since, so we are out of the woods with regard to crapping shards of Gerber safety glass. WHEW!

Anyway, the point of this - other than the fact that I will never feed my child Gerber food again - is that I will never feed my child Gerber food again. Oh wait. I said that already. If you are wondering why I don't just buy the plastic tubs of food instead, the answer is that I think contents smell and taste like plastic. Who knows how long that boiled food sits in there before your kid eats it? And, if I feed Lei commercially prepared baby food, I use Earth's Best because it looks, smells and tastes much better. The grocery store just happened to be out of pears the day we packed for our trip.

Bottom line: Nothing beats mama's (or daddy's) cooking - just ask Leighton.

So, I got to thinking about all of the cool gear we've used to feed Leighton since birth, and tomorrow's post is a ginormous What the Fuss? on all things feeding. Like anything you do in the kitchen, you simply must have good equipment, and I am more than happy to share my fuss with you.

Fungineer

I hate that so much time has lapsed since my last post. Getting ready for the holiday was more challenging than anticipated. Great ideas were fleeting and I hatched several posts. I just couldn't finish a single one to my satisfaction - including this one which was originally entitled "Daddy Wisdom" and had an entirely different point.

So here we are with less than a week until Christmas and I'm BACK IN THE SADDLE; Fuel-injected with holiday spirit. To kick off the next twelve days of Christmas we are visiting Ryan's parents. We just drove five and a half hours from Chicago to St. Louis with an eight month-old baby and a six year-old yorkie. Our other baby.

The ride was actually kind of fun.The girls sat in back, with our Captain at the helm, alone up front with legroom, talk radio and whatnot. We watched a few DVDs, read some, ate and drank some and even slept a wink or two. We slept precisely 45 minutes of the 330 minute voyage, but who cares when good times are in full swing? RIGHT?

Ryan has many MANY good qualities. For example, he's the family Fungineer (fun engineer). He plans shit - really plans it. My husband even reminds me of my own father in that he peruses the paper, web and other obscure resources for the goings-on about town and ACTUALLY MAKES US DO STUFF. And the crazy thing is - we always have a blast doing it. He also shares my father's irritating opinion that when you tell him you "really have to pee" during a road trip, you can actually go 35 miles more than you think without dying. WRONG!

Anyway, for this car trip, Ryan surprised us with a portable DVD player and the ride would have been far less successful without it. Note that he picked it up at Walgreens - the same place he procured both the Boogie Buster and the Vick's Vaporizer.

Incidentally, have never noticed any of the foregoing items at Walgreens. Moreover, if he had told me that he was going to stop and pick one up on the way back from emptying the Jeep's contents into storage to make room for the Bugaboo that I refused to bring along because we can just use the umbrella stroller that came free with our Big Girl carseat, my head would have exploded. The moral of this story is that he was spot on with the Boogie Buster, vaporizer and DVD player and probably with the Bugaboo too because we are having our picture taken with Santa in some swanky mall situation and we would look silly with the umbroller - but whatever. I'm over it.

Last week, the Fungineer escorted we (one of us decidedly "wee") ladies to Gethsemane Garden Center and brunch thereafter at M Henry. While Ryan and I struggled with installing the Big Girl car seat, Leighton warmed up the car.

That night, he took us to see the Lincoln Park Zoo Lights. It was an impressive little event. l was positive Lei was too young to enjoy it, but I was wrong. She had a blast.

The point I'm finally making here is that I have a tendency to resist ideas that aren't mine. Somehow, the Fungineer pushes past that glaring personality flaw, makes some whacky plans for us and we all have a grand time together. This quality lends credibilty to all of the other things he does and says. I love him and trust him. And, it's always good to trust your partner. I can't imagine how this post would have turned out if I didn't.

Who is your family Fungineer? Post a comment and share your fuss with us?

Hi People

Leighton will be six months old in less than two weeks. Other than Jamison (who is four months younger) and her buddy Patrick (whom she rarely sees) she doesn't have any baby friends.

I have no idea when kids actually make friends, but I do know that Lei wants to devour Jamsey when the two are together. In fact, Leighton was sucking on her teeny friend's toes this past weekend. If putting someone else's tootsies in your mouth isn't the foundation for lasting friendship, I don't know what is.

Little friends aren't easy to come by in our building. Sure, there are a few kids, and the neighborhood is loaded with them, but I have a feeling we aren't the friendliest folks in the world. We don't even know the names of the people who live on our floor. 

Before they moved, the family down the hall (with two little girls) brought a gift for Leighton. The card said "For Baby" because they didn't know our names either. When they left, the four year-old said "Bye-bye people" as she walked down the hall. Her mom said "Sorry about that. Since we don't know anyone's name, we told her to just call everyone people". I promised myself that Leighton would learn to make friends and address neighbors by their proper names.

Yesterday, in the midst of calculating nanny costs and day school fees (yes I know that it's really daycare when you're six months old but calling it school makes me feel better), I came to a startling realization. My kid is getting bigger and smarter by the minute and the confines of our condo can no longer contain her. She screams and babbles and actually sees the animals at the zoo and investigates everything and mimics our moves and grabs Luella with wild eyes and ... needs constant entertainment.

I panicked. Then, I Googled. Then, I signed up for Mommy and Me Yoga, Music Together classes and investigated a new gym that has cooler kid stuff than our current gym. Finally, I decided yes to the new gym and vowed to expose Leighton to both a nanny and fabulous daycare so that she is properly cared for and adequately socialized. I mentally spent $27k wihtout batting an eye.

Tonight we will sit down with a calculator and red pen and determine a course for our precious peanut. Perhaps this is the reason people move to the suburbs or closer to family. See Urbane. Or, maybe this is just the beginning of the Nanny vs. Daycare debate.

How do your kids make friends? Did you struggle with the nanny versus daycare decision? Please post a comment and share your fuss with us!

Urbane

I moved to Chicago eleven years ago for law school. I fell in love instantly. I never want to leave. Ever. I'm staying put come hell or high water - and where I live, I would likely look down upon Noah and his drifting ark were it to flood.

I enjoy lively urban living. Bustle suits me. I'm a busy body and enjoy the comfort of knowing that even if I doze off for a spell, my city is alive and well and will soon resuscitate me.

I have a corner unit with an amazing view and a 24-hour door person. It's my birdhouse in the sky. Hence the flood comment. I maintain control and feel at ease from my vantage point. Plus, the sound of the 22 bus lulls me to sleep and the moonlit city lights illuminate my path to the bathroom in the middle of the night.

What's not to love? Luella is paper trained. We see the Navy Pier fireworks from our living room every Wednesday and Saturday. We keep our favorite take out on speed dial and can order 100 different kinds of food to our doorstep within thirty minutes. The world's best farmers market is up the street. We can walk to the zoo in four minutes - the lake in five. We can whoop it up and take a cab home thus eliminating any opportunity to drink and drive. Oh. And, we don't need to be home to accept packages or let the cable guy in.

Why would anyone ever trade this bliss for suburban living?

I realize that with children come a new set of circumstances and considerations: safety, childcare, schooling, space and the plain old expense of living. With one more child, we will need a bigger home, a new car, more child care ... blah blah blah. The cost of city living can be steep, but to me, it's worth it.

I want Leighton to experience Chicago and come to love it as I have. I want her to visit the zoo several times each week and make use of the museums and parks. I want her to dine al fresco with us during the summer and play in the Lincoln Park snow in the winter. I want to take her to take the el to see the White Sox and walk to see the Cubs.I want her to love people and know as many different kinds of people as she possibly can. Yes - even Cubs fans.

I don't know what to do. We're looking at bigger homes in the city, suburbs and even Milwaukee and the whole ordeal makes me cranky and tearful. Urban twenty-somethings always say they're "never moving to the burbs" and then, one by one, they flee.

Why? Is it cost, space or safety? Do they like having to drive everywhere instead of walk? I'm having trouble recognizing the lure of suburban living. Maybe it's just me.

Did you struggle with the "city or suburbs" question? What did you do? What is so darn great about the suburbs? Please share your fuss with us.

Life On a Sub Part I

Six of us shared an apartment our senior year of college (way, way back in the day). Student-worthy housing in Madison was decent, but my friend Dana and I shared a rather tiny bedroom. We had a lofted bed, two dressers, jam-packed closets and a tv/vcr (don't laugh) strategically organized to fit our worldly possessions.

I thought it was quite cozy. During one visit, my grandfather astutely pointed out to us that the quarters were tight. He mused that it's like living on a submarine. He never resisted the urge to drop a WWII reference on us.

Whenever my house gets messy and I need to go through the laborious task of sending every little thing we own back in its rightful home, I think about the submarine thing. And I laugh. It's true - even now.

We live in a two-bedroom high-rise condo in Chicago. Such accommodations are not known for supreme spaciousness, but that's the trade off of city living. We can fall out the front door to the zoo, train, ballpark, restaurants and can run downstairs for milk, sugar, wine, crack ... whatever we need without having to get in the car. O.K. Not crack. Glad I have your attention. Plus, we have a kick-ass, corner view of the city and lake, a parking space, pool and 24-hour doorman.

I love my birdhouse in the sky.

We had space issues long before Leighton came along. I lived here alone for years before Ryan moved in and managed to jam every square inch of the abode with my prized items - mostly organized into bins or boxes by project. I looooove projects.

When Ryan did move in, I gave him a closet to start and then a dresser. Upon further reflection, I realize that's pretty much all he has, still. He even keeps his golf clubs in the car. Actually, they're in his brother's car right now, but who's keeping track anyway?

I plan to share some of my space-saving tips and tricks in Part II of this post tomorrow. If you too are space challenged, please post your space-saving tips to comments and share your fuss with us!

Rocky Road Trip

The longest distance we've traveled with Leighton in the car is the ninety miles from Chicago to my parents' house in Milwaukee. Until today, that is. My husband's parents live in St. Louis - a mere 288 miles from Lincoln Park.

Sometimes we fly, but we usually drive so Luella can come along. This was our first trip with both Luella and Leighton, and car was the obvious method of transportation. 

I washed all 26 Fuzzi Bunz before we left so they could air dry (Now desperately trying to prove that cloth diapers have less environmental impact on the environment than disposable per a previous post) while we're gone. I grabbed the little stack of leftover cheaters, pulled one one out to change Leighton and let Ryan load the car.

I've grown accustomed to Fuzzi Bunz to the point that I have trouble with disposable diapers. I can't tell if the little thing is up high enough in the back while I'm putting it on so that it doesn't leave a sag in the crotch. To compound this issue, the only cheaters I have left are a size 1-2 and at four months old and almost fourteen pounds, Leighton has definitely outgrown them. Proud of my tape job with such limited resources, I quickly realized that this diaper looked more like a bikini brief than a full coverage garment. Still, confident that the supremely engineered flavor crystals were more than absorbent enough, I put Lei in her car seat.

My husband is an efficiency expert when it comes to driving. He can mentally calculate the time it will take to arrive at our destination given an assumed number of stops lights and potty breaks plus traffic. Surprisingly, this does not translate to all other areas of his life. For example, it is far more efficient for him to remove his socks and other clothing items and toss them right in the hamper, than it is to first drop everything on the floor and get crabbed at by his wife until he traces back your path of initial disrobement, collects his stuff and subsequently take it to the laundry room. I feel for him on some level. His refusal to embrace the hamper is akin to my ability to do quick and proper math only when seated at a blackjack table.

Ryan rented a full size SUV so we could effectively haul our stuff and sit comfortably for the five and a half hour journey. We packed the Bugaboo and bassinet, Leighton's clothes, Bebe Pod, breast pump and accessories, toys, blankets, burpies, our suitcase, laptops, stuff for Lue, snacks, drinks, cell phones, camera and bag of chargers. Off we went.

We blew Ryan's trip estimator within the first few two minutes of movement. I was so busy rushing around laundering and packing everything all morning that I had forgotten to eat. I turn into a bitchy lunatic when my blood sugar drops. So that's fun.

What's worse is that Leighton's nukka fell out as we were pulling out of the driveway. And, in this rental car, she was seated behind me so I couldn't even reach over to put it back in. She can't sit behind Ryan because he's 6'5" and needs all of the space behind him. The middle seat didn't have clips for the latch system. Just in case you are wondering. The bitchy lunacy and fussy baby made Lue nervous and she wouldn't sit down. In fact, she started panting because of the circus we'd become and also because she and I were sitting in the blazing sun. The commotion made me car sick and I needed to pee.

Awesome. Ryan was super happy. The traffic coming out of the city made the whole deal even more amusing.

We made it out of the city and stopped at McDonalds. We aren't fast food people, but Ryan couldn't fit my sass-delivering pie hole with a Filet-O-Fish fast-enough. Instantly, I was an new woman. Whew! Mom is back!

Once back to cruising speed, our efficiency expert announced that we would not be making another stop for two hours. What?  I fed Leighton "right before we left" at 2:15. Unfortunately, we didn't actually hit the road until 3:30 and it took an hour to get to Micky D's. Since Lei eats every three hours (this week anyway), I reminded Ryan that we would be stopping again in thirty minutes. Utter deflation.

He tried to tell me that she could wait. Lei argued from the back seat. He chose a mile marker that we had to make it to. And we did. Right around 5:15. I fed (sat in the back with baby, Boppy, booby, and blanket over the window), changed our sweaty little peanut and put her back in her seat. She was sweaty because it was 90 degrees outside and no matter the a/c level, she was so snug in her car seat, the cool air didn't quite get in there.

We spent the rest of the ride shivering, while Leighton snoozed comfortably. We made a few more stops, growing more efficient with each, and arrived at Grandma and Grandpa's house at 9:40. Six hours and ten minutes ... not bad. I'm interested to hear Ryan's plan and accompanying rules for the trip home.

Do you have any amusing travel stories or tips for new moms? Please post a comment and share the fuss with us.